Nothing but a Wet Dream

Solitude.

I'm in suds up to my ears with nothing but a jock strap on. My pen's got a feather in it and I'm ready for something big, but my ass is submerged and I don't have the strength to go on. As I'm pining away in my thoughts, the little lady walks in.

Oh fuck, I think to myself, she hates it when I do this.

She waltzes in like she's 23 dreaming in a 58 year old's mind and kisses me on the forehead.

"Honey, I brought you some ginger and salt for that face of yours."

"Thanks baby, I appreciate it. "

I lick my lips and salt my teeth until there's nowhere to breathe anymore. My handsome little dick is already doing situps when she hops into the tub and looks at me as if you don't know what I mean.
Lucky for you we're all assholes, because god only knows if we weren't.

A few hours later I meet the good ol' boys for a pint and some bowling balls. I hate hanging out where I work so we decide to go to Cortlandt Lanes. They have Coors Light on draft and that's what we like. "Born to Run" is streaming out of those speakers and I'm ready for love. Pins are bouncing around and of course I won. The boys shake my hand but you know they're pissed. I go up to pay for my game and the guy at the counter tries to overcharge me. Fuckin' cheapskate, we're all just here for a good time. I throw him an extra bill for being a dick and head out through the automatic doors.



And then all of a sudden I wake up. I've rolled over into a damp spot on the side of the bed. My mouth feels like I just licked the sofa clean. I look outside and the cold harsh reality of Dakotie sets in. The machines need tending. Another day, another funeral.

Life's a Circus

Oh boy. Once those machines get going, I feel it -- that sour burn in my gut like the first time old Lundy hit the sauce. Making money is sweet, especially when you've got someone to spend it on. That's right. Driving through the desert this morning monitoring the machines, I heard a brand new country song on the radio, "Donny's Got Himself a Girl." Nice choice, DJ. And sweetie? I'm coming home. "You and Dakotie are all I need, little Lunder ain't ever gonna leave."

Dropped sweetie off at the salon this morning to get her hair done. Eh, this'll take a few hours. Stopped by Hoaky's General for a quick bite, paper, cuppa joe and some chat. It's one of those 3-legged-dog-on-the-corner deals, real quaint. Once Hoaky was finished spinning a good one I hopped in the pickup and rode with the window down like a soggy mutt on his best day.

Later on the lady and I went to the $2 theater. Movies aren't my thing -- just a bunch of phonies yappin'. Honey likes 'em, though. Life is my thing. Fresh air and warm beans by the fire, sitting in the town square late at night watching the shadows move. Real shit. Some people live with nothing but the scent of bowling-shoe spray up their noses for their whole lives and do nothing. Not Lund.

Got some sick shit under my boots from the machines, better break out the fucking flathead and scrape it away like the useless memories of my old life. It's a real circus out there and we're all its grinning clowns.

Don't you think?

met Dolph

Machines.

Not too bad if you know how to use them. A six pack of beer and a day's work is all it takes.

Dakotie.

Not as great as I thought. The air smells like rum and feces, but that rocks my boat just fine. It's a hard day's night that's a hard man's work.

My buddy Bill Winchester called to talk about money. You need to shut up Bill. Get back to work. Riboy haunts my dreams like the broken tonkas of my youth. That goddamn Czech princess.

There's a nice bar on Pearlamb Rd called Let Caution Die. I went there the other night to see if I could get over Riboy. It didn't work.
But I do have a story to tell.

I was drunk off my ass with near a bottle of Jack in me. I was busy looking to keep my cool and the band was busy kicking the shit out of my ears. I've got an epiglottis full of bees and naught to show for it. The band was Czech, of course. Just like my old Reebe. Mammaltop was their name.
I caught a blonde giving me the eye from four and a half seats away. I say half because her ass was that perfect in between size. And slim as a fucking hornet. I almost shit all over the bar like a crazed mexican but I didn't. I waltzed up to her. "Hey Skirty" I said. My vas deferens was a loaded muzzle on short burst rapid fire. "Can I buy you a drink?" Sure, she says. Sometimes I can be a handsome fellow, especially after a few. I sit down next to her and order two whiskey sours with a side of fries. "Are those for me?" She asks, pointing to the fries. I grin. "Nope, they're for the homeless guy outside. Would you like to give it to him?" That's right, I'm sensitive and shit. More to old Lunder than meets the eye.

We talk and eat fries for a while when a big blonde fellow comes up behind her. He leans between us and kisses her on the mouth while I sit and finish the rest of my Special. "Is he our guy, baby?" He asks in a heavy accent. She giggles and nods. He extends his hand to me. "Dolph Lundgren."

"Lunder, Donny."
"Hello Lunder, how are you tonight?"

Wait a second. "Just who are you, pal?"

"I am the owner of this bar. I am also a famous actor."
He looked familiar from those Terminator flicks.

I look over to the girl and he does too.
"Anna, were you leading him on?"
She smiles like a little elfin grinch.
"Lunder, I'm sorry, this is my wife, Anna."
"Wife, huh?" Can't say I'm surprised. Seemed too good to be true.

Dolph looks at Anna and she takes the rest of her drink and moves to the dance floor. I watch her leave and sip goodbye.

Time for me to go.

"See you around, Dolph."

"Yes you will, Lunder."

That grinning blond behemoth.

I walk out the door still a little doozied up and see the homeless guy. He's got a little tin to shake. I got somethin' better. Hey buddy- fries, want 'em? I put the fries down in front of him.

He gets up and throws them at me. My button-down's covered in ketchup. "Man, what the fuck you think I'm outside a bar for?" Welfare's got all these guys entitled these days.

I've got to call Bill Winchester back.

Little Lundy Dreams BiG

Every once in a yellow moon I like to pour myself a big drink of nog and whiskey. It soothes the nerves and helps to calm the skin. I'll admit I had a bit too much tonight, but now I can warm up to this little notebook of dreams.

I have always wanted to head out to North Dakota but I can never get up enough funds to get there. I have this plan. It is 17 years in the making. It first came to me when I was sitting at Sarbo's Greek/Chinese Dinner in downtown Ducakie, MH. A bird landed on the sill outside of my table. It looked at me, picked up an old bug scrap and flew away. My mind instantly flashed to meat cleavers digging into the carcasses of large farm animals. You can make a good big bad buck making machines. So right then and there I did a blood promise with myself to get out to Dakotie and make some machines.

Things happened. Life turned over on me like a fat goat rolling in its own shit. 17 years past, debts collected, got divorced, lost my house. It has been a ribbon of bad times. One morning I got a post marked advertisement from the tourist office of the Great State of North Dakota. I sprung into a silly, excitement ripping through my decrepit bones.

"I'm going" said I.

I went.

Machines.

Lunder's Day Off

I've got a canker on my leg the size of a dead walnut and it won't say goodbye. It's a Wednesday, the kind of Wednesday where you'd like to bottle your own piss and spread it all over town like a good boy. My girlfriend left me, I work at Fishkill Bowl, and the only good thing in my life is Taylor Swift's "You Belong with Me" on repeat. My name is Lunder, Donny Lunder.

I've got a story for you too. The other day I was busy flogging Riboy Boznak when my carburetor gave out and then I'm stuck in the desert with a death wish and a dead horse.

Two years ago my mom died. She told me heaven was waiting for her. I told her I was too. See ya later I said. Here's the keys to my house she said. Goodbye

The desert is hot as shit in case you've never been. I saw a Chihuahua scamper across the sand and I was ready to leave. Riboy's busy texting and groaning like a goddamned lunatic while I'm busting my ass to get this carburetor up and running. Then, out of nowhere a fat native american boy shows up. What are you, a plus size Apache? I say. He grunts and moves towards me. Foaming at the mouth with the refuse of a Big Mac like a rabid animal. The Cabbage Patch kid points to the engine and tries to say something. That's right, it's a car. Like a horse. You know horse, right kid? He pushes me aside gently and begins to work the carburetor. Pretty soon we're good to go. He wants payment and I want to get out of there. I slip him a twenty and we part ways.

The sack of meat in the passenger seat is busy talking but Freefallin's on the radio and I'm feeling good. The sun goes down and we get back to our hotel. A guy with long hair is waiting outside for me. "Hey Reebe." Turns out he's waiting for Riboy. My mistake.

"Johnny? What are you doing here?"

"For you." he says.

She turns around to me.

"I think we should see other people."

And that was the last good day I had.