Sunday Archive IX: Oscar Bin Laden Draft
From February 2006, here I am wearing a plastic shirt:
Yes, I’m very drunk there.
Oscar Bin Laden, like my college buddy James, was another recurring character on GS a few years ago. Most of his stuff is in the archives. The “OBL” articles trailed off in 2006, and this is the draft from February of that year that eventually became “Today – Silver Spring!”
It was 4am when Texas Billionaire Oscar bin Laden called me. I was paging through the Jessica London catalog because I had developed an unnatural fascination with the cover girl. Jessica London, allegedly, catered to plus size women, but all of their models were just full-figured. Flat stomached MILF’s with glittering eyes awaited me on each page, the near-30 or post models, each shining with one thing: Sexual experience and habitual drug use. The cover girl’s olive skin, heavy eyebrows and kinky hair sent me into an early AM frenzy, her knowing eyes and perfect smile engulfing me as I flipped madley through four-tier skirt sets, column dresses, jacket dresses, and sweaters to land myself in the Intimate Collection. There was my mulatto darling in her pajamas and, yes, a shelf-bra camisole and hot shorts “with moderate coverage.”
I lingered. I studied the moderate coverage.
“Nacho?” Oscar, on the phone, shocked me back to the world. I had the headset screwed to my ear, lost in a world of moderate coverage, slowly turning the glossy page to look at the sweet half-breed in a two-piece tankini. A tiny mole marred the smooth, bronzed flesh above the swell of her left breast.
I breathed, “I’m here.”
“I’m in town.” Oscar replied.
Outside my window, the security light clicked on. A word entered my head, “Fuck.”
“I have a favor to ask.”
“You’re out of favors.”
Time and again, Oscar had tried to upset the world as I knew it. Working against the establishment, he had used his Texas oil money to hatch countless nefarious scams, all of which I’ve recorded in years of pathetic scribbling printed in strange webzines. Hearing from him again was a rude awakening, if it had come at a time when I wasn’t turning a page to look at a brown-skinned girl in a zippered skirtini. There it is. A zipper between her breasts. A sliding, metal gateway to the heavens. I could taste the coated zipper in my mouth, hear the sound as I pulled it down, smell the lotion on her skin, expose her dark nipples… The security light clicked off.
“See,” Oscar continued, “I sort of figured you’d be interested in this. It’ll be controversial. Highly publicized/. I know you’re all about that.”
“Go on.” There she was in a figure-hugging Floral Georgette, anal sex leapt into my mind and I stumbled out of my trance at the same time Oscar said:
“I set a bomb in that Korean bible church on New Hampshire Avenue.”
The catalog dropped to the floor. “Oscar…what…?”
“It was either that or email you cartoons making fun of the Pope, which I did anyway. See, I figured that I could start a civil war in the US by pitting Catholics against protestants, just like we’re seeing in iraq with the Shia’s and Sunnis.”
“I don’t know if that’ll work…”
“So, here’s the thing. I sort of used you as cover.”
“Well, your mom was Catholic, right? And the rest of your family is Baptist, right?”
I had to think about it for a moment, “You know, I’m not sure about the Baptist part. And mom’s bought the farm, nor was she seriously Catholic.”
“You say that, but it’s true. You’re the perfect civil war family! Brother against brother. It’ll catch on with the press and spark a nation-wide explosion that’ll unseat the current gov—“
“Oscar, please tell me what you’ve done.”
“Let me in.” The security light clicked on again.