Sunday, November 25, 2007

Try a little tenderness, you magniloquent bastard

It is Sunday evening; I am not the same man I was Friday night. For it was in the witching hours of Freya's honoured day that Nigel Tewksbury as you know him died in a Soho brothel. I had spent the day smoking hashish and reading Le Petit Prince while languishing semi-nude (no bottoms) beside a secluded rill. The drugs had almost tricked me into believing I was inhabiting some kind of earthly paradise, but then, all of a sudden, there was a windy chill that awoke me to the weird horrors of reality. I suddenly remembered it was garbage day and that it was my responsibility to take the rubish to the curb (as Helga is in Las Vegas or God-knows-where).

And thus Harmony was destroyed by Noise (it is certainly one of history's sad trends, wouldn't you say?). Anyhow, I was so upset at being awoken to Facts that I decided, To Hell with it, Nigel, let's go to the brothel--and let us make love to the most deformed prostitute available. Life is a freak show--let's bring the carnival into the bedroom.

(Forgive me for using the royal "We," but I was feeling rather bombastic at the time).

Her name was Chastity--can you believe it?!--and she was barely four foot tall and had no teeth. She was one of those whores who liked to talk afterwards--I normally despise the kind--but for some reason I listened to her because I was so full of boredom and insomnia that I couldn't even be bothered to ignore the bitch. She informed me that she was married to some fat dullard and that she had a teen-aged son. She said she prostituted to buy her son a computer as he was technologically-inclined. And I responded by saying, "Where can I reach him? He can have a go at fixing my printer."

And the worst thing happened here. I actually cared! I could afford the best fucking technician on the continent but instead I hired the son of a freakish whore! And as I let Chastity go down on me a second time--more out of charity than desire--I thought to myself, "Try a little tenderness, you magniloquent bastard." And at that moment, I experienced a profound jouissance--damn it, it was terrifying. I fell asleep wanting to be a better man, and I realized I can be a real asshole sometimes--for God's sake, I decapitated a gibbon not too long ago! And that night I dreampt I reassembled old Harold and he went swinging through the trees like he was new. His smiling gibbon's face will haunt me forever, the damn ghost!

And as I left in the morning, I gave the sleeping Chastity a kiss on the cheek that may have even been sincere.

Dear Abby, I am full of confusion.

1 comment:

Cerise said...

Watch out Nigel, caring for others only causes you pain, and compassion is God's deadliest weapon. If you're an asshole you can remain untouched by the suffering of others, sure, no-one will like you, but you wont be in a position to care. Then again, only a compassionate, philanthropic, empathetic person will know true joy.