The Girl tried to Kill me.

Excerpt from My Megalomania At Midnight click here to purchase  for free from May 23-27, 2016

Men are like dogs, too dumb for their own good, and women are like cats, too smart for their own good.

…while the automatic teller machine is at the entrance, right by the door and its temptationally blinking fancy lights like a pin ball machine. Then my mind lights up like a light bulb. The Archetypical theory: Pimps are the managers. Whores are the musicians. The johns are the fans.

Except the roles get confused: the strippers are the pimps and the audience are the whores and johns.   

While master debating the philosophies in my mind, like a capitalist zombie, I stick my card into the automatic teller machine for a $3. fee to get a withdrawal of $200.

Damn! Am I a whore? Pimp? Or a John?

           

The cigarette smoke, of my future fans and of me, stings my eyes. Chain smoking, coffee, and porn; by now I’ve used 50 bucks to get two strippers, Kitten and Avona, to give me a lap dance. Avona is tall and slender with black hair and she’s gyrating on my waistline as she slowly removes her skimpy lingerie. Kitten, with her long curly 80’s style hair dew with cat ears on, and tight spandex and titty tape, is whispering in my ear telling me over and over again how I like it and how they’re gonna’ milk me. They seem to be getting into me cuzz I ain’t totally into them. Therefore, these two see me as a challenge. Perhaps; it’s refreshing for them to not have a john that already has their eyes bugged out and mouth slobbering like a dog in heat. My sights are set on grandeur.

Peaking behind a thin curtain there is another chick checking me out. She’s got on tight leather pants and a sports bra. She’s licking her tongue over her lips and teeth.

…now I was imagining the chicks, in my sea of fans, paying their homage to me by lifting up their shirts and showing me their tits. Damn, I’m getting aroused.

Next a guitar riff comes from the stage. I should be angry and curious, but that’s faded because my shirt has been removed and they are both nude and gyrating with hard nipples rubbing together. My eyes are rolling back and my cig burns my fingers.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

 I wrap each of my arms around both those goddesses and pull them closer.

For a brief instance, my head got dizzy, the smoke burned my eyes. Once I’m refocused she…Was she my Angel?...stood in front of me. It’s that chick that was checking me out while I was getting my lap dance. Black leather sports bra, jet black hair with fiery red streaks, and has on tight ass leather pants.

My musing Goddess snaps her fingers and Avona and Kitten immediately leave.           

“Excuse me, but I want you all to myself.” With that she sits on my lap and starts running her fingers through my hair. What is her deal? How much will this cost me? Yet, I am going to try to make the most out of this. For once, I’m a superstar.

A few seconds later she’s fondling me. Shortly after, she’s whispering in my ear, “I want to show you something that you’ve never seen before.”

I’m following her and I’m remembering a personal philosophy. That philosophy is: Men are like dogs, too dumb for their own good, and women are like cats, too smart for their own good.

With that I’m following her out of the club like a dog trying to stick my nose up her ass. 

Strange enough; there was one car in the back parking lot. It’s an all black Mercedes with a licensed plate that read, E.V.I.L. She pulls me in tight and whispers in my ear, “Everyone’s vision in lucidity. Why don’t you open the door for me?”

She uses one of those hand held devices to unlock her car. I open up the driver’s side door. The interior is white and black leather with skulls embroidered on the seats.

“You’re my type of ugh…” I felt a fierce blow to the back of my head.

                                                ….. girl..

_________________________________________________________

The echoing bass drum and electric guitar riffs resonating through the trunk’s speaker woke me up. The song’s rapper Ice-T’s “The Girl tried to Kill me.”

 click to play this as you read

I was in a real tight dark spot. Dressed in only my skivvies, and bound with duct tape over my mouth, around my wrist, and ankles. This psycho bitch is surely going to kill me. But, the good thing about this is that I’m at least lying on a pile of clothes. So I can be comfortable before I die. Right?

Ice-T’s lyrics, “I knew my life would soon end.”

How could I get outta’ this?

She’s smoking a cherry vanilla flavored cigar slowly. In the fashion of a pimp. She grips the cigar with her teeth as she casually keeps her hand on the wheel, leans back with her eyes barely peering above the dash board…and spins the revolver glancing at all the bullets.

She drives on the back roads. It’s a two lane road, forgotten on current maps. She’s got the cedes’ on cruise control at 60 mph. Her destination:

MIDNIGHT-

________________

She stops the car, gets out.

Click, click…she removes a few bullets in preparation for mental/emotional warfare. She’s done this so many times it is becoming instinctual.

For a suspenseful effect sticks the key into the lock and turns it slowly, lets the trunk lid ajar. He looks up with his eyes bugged out, soaked in sweat like he’s been swimming. She removes the duct tape very quickly from his mouth; then presses the pistol firmly against his head. “Don’t Speak,” she says calmly.

The moon glared an eerie neon glow and the clouds were speeding fast.

“Get out of the car.” I’m trying to get outta’ the car but I’m too weak, and all taped up. “I said get the FUCK OUT OF THE CAR!” with that she grabs my hair and pulls me out of the trunk. It feels like a thousand pebbles and rocks of the asphalt are being imbedded into my brain when I hit the ground.

Then she has me on my knees.

“Ya’ kno’ hun’…” she lights another cherry vanilla cigar and I hear the clicking from the zippo lighter. She bites down on the tip and spins the revolver again.

… “Life is like Russian Roulette. Just think, you don’t know my name and I don’t know-

yours. But, you were ready  to have a very intimate moment with me.”

I tighten my eyelids and feel the beads of sweat on my brow.

“You know countless times everyday, perhaps hourly, people do that, look for sweet escapes and die spreading the disease A. I. D. S. All in Deep Shit. Do you feel like you’re in deep shit now?” she pulls the hammer back, lets it fall forward squeezes the trigger and click…nothing.

“You want to kill me you son of a bitch.” She blows smoke in my face. She laughs a bit, and then removes the pistol from my head.

 “You Know..maybe I’m overreacting. After all, sex is a part of enjoying life.” She bites down on the end of her cigar and lightens the mood by laughter and a joke.

“Why does Michael Jackson like twenty-nine year olds? Cuzz’ there’s twenty of them.” Gets face to face and I can feel the heat hitting my face from the cigars fiery cherry.

“So..lover what do you have to say for yourself?” I’m searching my logics. What can I say to this crazy bitch to play along with the humor and evade my demise?

“Well uh, um.”

“Just let it out lover.”

“Well, I would have worn a condom.” Hopefully that will work.

“That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard!” Now I got her high heel on my chest, I’m on the ground. She’s got both hands on her pistol.

“Ain’t never met a bitch like me.” The sudden change in her voice is now very familiar; sounds like she could be one of those rappers.

“Now you better decide! Do you want to live or die?” I’m so frightened. Thank the Loh’rd that I’m too dehydrated to piss on myself. I don’t know what to do.

“Live or die!!” Screams louder as she presses harder into my chest. She is getting disgusted, “You know lover, by not saying anything you are indicating to me that you want to die!” I can’t speak because of shock and because the air in my body is slowly being spiked away.

All I can do is close my eyes and hope again that something will come save me.? My eyes tighten. Click…Click. Click. Click. Click.-the sound of the revolver skipping the empties of the roulette. Until pop. The majick bullet is squeezed out. The one with my name on it.

POP? Is that the sound of the shot? Or is it the sound of….

Some would say that “popping” is the sound when one gets their head out of their ass. The bullet hits the dirt.

Now we are back in the car cruising down the road. The windows are rolled up and she’s chain smoking her vanilla flavored cigars. I can barely keep my eyes open from the sting of smoke. Outside, the sky has fallen. The rain is so hard I’m expecting the windshield to crack. I keep feeling inside of my ears cuzz’ they are wet from sweat. But being paranoid; I fear it is blood from busted ear drums due to that shot being fired so close to my head.

How is she seeing out of the windshield? She keeps drinking from a flask that has a skull and cross bones on it. She offers me some of this devil’s nectar. Fortunately she respects my wishes not to drink. The music is bumping loud in her stereo.

I’ve put the mystery together and solved it. She’s a female rapper who goes by the name V-Chip. She’s all over the radio and TV. (including all the VH1’s and MTV’s) but she’s managed to stay behind the curtains, being quite elusive. Many have even questioned whether she even exists. Furthermore, many have thought she was some type of hype promotion tool.

V-Chip (Veronica Chipley). She tells me her full name in a very intelligent, articulate way; like she’s some sort of Harvard PhD literary professor.

“So what shall I dub you home boy.” Amazingly, her voice changes to a street ghettofied tone. Damn, this woman has got to totally have some sort split personality disorder.

And in synchronicity with the eerie lightning neonizing the outside from inside the car it looks like a TV screen with electronic fizz. Thunder strikes booming with shot gun f/x echoing over the bass line playing from the stereo.

 “I’ll dub you Head Trip. That’s your new name bitch!”

Damn it I open up my eyes and it stings. She’s got her pistol pointed at me once again.

“What’s your name?” she presses harder and harder against my temple and pulls the hammer back. Got that cigar in between her teeth like she’s a 70’s pimp.

“Al’right my name is Head Trip.” I whine as she pulls the trigger. Click.

“Just fucking with you, baby.” I close my eyes again and she removes the weapon.

“Agh shit!” I open my eyes again.

“Agh.” Feels like I’ve opened my eyes in an over chlorine watered swimming pool.

NOW…

We’re playing chicken on a dirt road with a Peterbilt (18 wheeled truck).

“Ya’ think he’ll budge?” She giggles childishly and accelerates faster and takes another pull off of her flask.

Fine, just let me die. Naw, to hell with that!

The truck is getting closer and closer. Its horn and her stereo’s music are getting louder, and the rain is pouring down harder. She continues to giggle childishly.

3

FEW SECONDS LATER:

“Just seeing how you would cope, babe.” She says in a dignified voice once again. With my eyes squeezed shut I heard her wheels squeal with the skid. Felt, like we did a 360 turn, just barely missing the truck. Heard the truck’s horn blow. Opened one eye half way out of curiosity, I just had to see what happened. Saw the driver give us the middle finger “You’re number one” salute.