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'motherfunky'
Watch Your Mouth, My Son “Kevin, I didn’t expect you for a couple more weeks.” “Well I sorted a few things out.” He stops hugging me and we move into the suite. He puts his arm around the girl’s waste and grins like he’s hit the jackpot. “Oh, you two haven’t met, yet… This is Jackie. Jackie, my Dad – Bill.” “Nice to meet you, Jackie.” I shake her hand and nod approvingly towards Kevin. “Nice to meet you too, Bill.” She says sweetly. Please, please she can’t stay here. I’ll have a boner every minute of the damn day. Someone put a bag over her head and I can at least pretend she’s ugly. But that body, no way does that body belong to a ugly chick. Fuck, put her in a potato sack… No that’s not gonna work, there’s nothing I can do. I’m just gonna have to stand here with a hard on until she leaves. I usher Kevin into the kitchen, grabbing his arm and trying not walk like I have a semi – which I have. “That’s your girlfriend?” I ask with my eyebrows nearly floating above my head. “Yeah, amazing huh?” He nods, not taking his eyes of her, hands in pockets, cool as a fucking cucumber. “Amazing? It’s fucking ridiculous!” I check out her arse in those jeans and I look at Kevin, 5’9’’ and 120lbs… It doesn’t make sense. “What?” He asks, arms held out. “I mean, what the hell does she see in you?” “Don’t start this again.” “But you’re so… weedy.” “Actually I’m more toned than you think…” “pfft, toned.” “Oh just because I don’t have RoidFlakes for breakfast like you…” “Yeah yeah. But you’re short.” I acknowledge the ‘roidflakes’ remark with a nod. “I’m 5’9’’, it’s hardly short. Jericho is 5’9’’.” “Jericho?” “Bob Jericho, next door but one.” “Oh Bob, good guy.” “Well I think she’s the one, ok? So don’t fuck this one up. This might be true love” Kevin says with a puppy dog look in his eyes, his head leaning to one side. “I know true love.” “Dad, I’m not talking about the Titty Bar in Romford.” “Whatever. Look, later on we’ll go for a meal or something. But I have to pop out for a bit. Lovely to see you and all.” “But Dad… I just got here…” “Yep. Got things to do. I’ll see you later.” I have to leave this damn room, although I just know Kevin will be ramming her as soon as I leave… with that anorexic little body of his. So I take the elevator and head down to reception. I ask the clerk where my rental car is and he says the guy is waiting for me in the parking lot. I go through the rear exit of the hotel and go down to the basement level where my car should be. When I get there, it’s eerily quiet. I look around for the rental car guy, but all I see is a blacked out van in front of me, the back doors wide open. There’s a guy with his back turned to me, leaning on the door, smoking a cigarette. I walk up to him, to ask if he’s seen anyone waiting next to a Mercedes. But before I get my words out, I feel a massive thud on the back of my head. It’s hazy… dark. Yeah, I’m going down… I’m out cold.
Motherfunky “You man whoring son of a bitch!” He says to me with real menace, holding a small piece of card in his hand. “You got the wrong guy, man.” I say fiddling with the rope in this darkgarage or basement somewhere. “Oh yeah? Well this is your business card isn’t it? Bill Dynamite – Man Whore. “Rammin’ & Slammin for a low low price”? He throws the business card at me and it lands on my leg facing up, I give it a quick glance with an unimpressed look. “That could be anybody’s.” Dammit. It’s the novelty business card I made for Mrs Coolidge one night, she got a real kick out of it. Where there hell did he get that from? At the height of my drink and drug abuse, I was in incredible debt to East End mob boss, Pop. Despite having a huge contract from MECCA, my debts were still rising and the deadline to pay them off was rapidly approaching. I needed cash, and needed it quick so I turned to a profession I thought would be glamorous and rewarding. Unfortunately for me, there was no glamour, and the only reward was the substantial paycheque. For those who don’t know, I was a man-whore. But my customers were not the successful, overworked, young-City-type-women that I expected. Instead, my customers were retired old spinsters with more money than sense. I was degraded every week wherever I would go; the press would follow me after many much-publicised faux pas. My ability to keep my side-career secret and separate was increasingly more difficult as the days went on. Thankfully, when I left MECCA, I was given a substantial payout on the time left on my contract, I managed to pay off my debts and escape the embarrassment and indignity of man-whoring. Unfortunately, I can never do anything that doesn’t one day bite me on my flabby behind. “Alright, ya got me.” I say, knowing I could be in a world of shit. “What do you want from me?” “You’re gonna pay, you piece of shit!” He says angrily, nearly blowing a gasket. “What for, man?” “I’m Danny Coolidge.” “Oh. Shit.” “Yeah. Shit. You were my mum’s man-whore! She loved you. Went crazy over you, didn’t stop talking about you til the day she died.” “She’s dead?” “Yeah. She’s dead. She died last week.” “That’s really shitty news, man. I’m sorry.” “You don’t know how sorry you’re gonna be!” “But I didn’t kill her, what does this have to do with me?” “She left a will. You would have thought she would leave her millions to her only son. But no. She goes and leaves everything to a fucking prositute! She left everything to you! The house, the car, the money, everything. So I’m gonna make sure you don’t enjoy it one bit. I’m gonna take your balls!” “Woah woah, easy… We can work something out. I’ll give you a cut.” “No no… I’ll be giving YOU a cut!” As he deliberates with his buddies over which part of my anatomy to cut off first, I notice whoever tied this knot on my wrists is a complete fag. I should have this off in seconds. I know, I used to hang out with girl scouts, and I used to take bras off one handed quicker than any motherfucker. But these guys are gonna be on me quicker than white on rice once I stand up. I need a weapon. I look around the garage, and there’s plenty of old shit I could use to whoop these fags’ arses with. But they’re all out of reach. But then, I notice by my feet is an old metal pipe… Staring at me… calling me. I untie the knot and spring to my feet. The first big guy comes rushing at me; by I roll my fat arse across the floor and grab the pipe before cracking it over his head. He falls to the floor flapping like a fish out of water. The other guy comes at me more cautious. He throws a punch; I block it and drive the end of the pipe into his jaw. His legs are the first to go, his head still wants to kick my arse, but he falls onto a Black and Decker workmate. Then Danny Coolidge stands scared shitless, hopelessly grabbing anything that’s nearby. Unfortunately for him before he can grab anything, I take the biggest swing of this pipe my arms can muster and drive it full into his nuts. He crumbles to the floor with a whimper. His tears hit the floor before he did. I hold the pipe high above my head, cackling like a Bond villain. “Boys… I give to you, my new personal insurance policy…
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