<\/p>\n
It was a dark and stormy night when Boodles, the talking kitten, ran up to her master.<\/em><\/p>\n “I’ve found the key to the cupboard under the stairs!” squeaked Boodles.<\/p>\n “That’s excellent!” replied Nacho, her loving owner, “Now we can solve the Case of the Speckled Egg!”<\/p>\n Man, James plowed “Been “Yep!” “You’d He ripped I glanced “Let’s I looked “Hookers, I looked out “Maybe…maybe…” “Nope. “What…writing, “I’m James “The “You’re “Nope. He closed “You I nodded. “What’s “Well, “What?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n “This.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n “This “All of “Right “Right.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n “What?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n “This.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n James closed “Fuck!” “I’m on James This doesn’t happen to everyone, but it’s a common problem with the Well, whatever.<\/p>\n Boodles and Nacho ran up the stares when, suddenly, there was the “Subject acquired,” spoke the first android guard in his clicking, clattering voice.<\/p>\n “Confirmed,” spoke the second android, “subject acquired.”<\/p>\n Dr. Gundrum, smiling, crossed his arms and nodded, “Well, well, well, Nacho Sasha. And Boodles, too!”<\/p>\n “What do we do?” Boodles asked<\/p>\n “Delta 3!” Nacho shouted, and they sprung into action. Boodles took the Gundrum, obviously surprised, was screaming for his androids to get up “Good show, Boodles!” Nacho said, pumping his fist in the air.<\/p>\n “Delta 3 always works!” Boodles replied. “Let’s away!”<\/p>\n “Let’s away!” Nacho replied, pumping his fist in the air again.<\/p>\n They ran down the hall to the front door, then hopped into the always reliable Chevy Nova and took off.<\/p>\n I “He’s She nodded, I cleared my “Boodles? In a normal I put the “Do you Fuck. The best “Say “Say “It.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n “It.” “No, “Why do “I just “This She punched She took a James came I wiggled
\nwas I ever on a roll when I heard my front door open. That’s not usually cause
\nfor concern, but it was 3am. I listened to heavily booted feet pace through my
\nhouse, down the hall, and then kick open the door to my study. It was my old
\nfriend James, skunk as a drunk, and looking for destruction. Thank God it
\nwasn’t Saddam Hussein, that might have been boring.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\ninto my office, fell against the desk with his arms supporting him, then
\ngrinned malevolently.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nto a party?” I asked.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nhe shouted, “Though I’ve come here to wind down!” He pulled a bottle
\nof $150 scotch from the shelf above my computer, uncorked it, tipped it to his
\nlips, and swallowed. Unless his mouth can hold about six ounces of fluid, it appeared
\nthat he was shotgunning it. <\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nbest take a breather,” I muttered.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nthe bottle away from his mouth, a stream of peaty brown following it as he
\nstruggled to get it upright and jam the cork in, then he fell to the floor
\nwithout a hint of grace and stared at me with glittering eyes. “Let’s get
\nsome pussy.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\naround my study.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nget our dicks in some fucking pussy!” At least, I think he said that. He
\nwas slurring a bit.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\naround my study again.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nmaybe?” James suggested.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nat the dark, wooded acre behind my house. <\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nJames raised his arm, then, as if it were too heavy, he let it fall against his
\nside. “Is Doctor Who on?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nMaybe you should lie down or something. Sleep it off?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nyou?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nsorry?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\npointed at my computer with his heavy arm and grunted.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nbig project – Boodles the talking cat and her mystery solving owner, Nacho
\nSasha.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nkidding.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nI’m on page 2000 of the Adventure of the Speckled Egg.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\none eye and glared at me. I hung my head in shame.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\ndrunk?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\n“Actually, it’s just the intro to another stupid Greatsociety
\narticle.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nthe rest of the article about?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nnow, this.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nwhat?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nthis, right now.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nnow?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nboth his eyes, then leaned against my desk. I turned back to the computer and
\nbegan adding to the Adventure of the Speckled Egg which, in truth, was my big
\nproject. Boodles was leading her loving owner, Nacho, to the cupboard under the
\nbasement stairs to get the key to the safe at Evil Dr. Gundrun’s house so that
\nthey may retrieve the speckled egg and win the hearts of the beautiful Julia
\nvon Stroschneider and her pet cat, Mr. Pitty Paws. But this was just the end of
\nact two, the adventure was – <\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nJames shouted, falling forward and crawling towards me like some little girl
\nmonster from a Japanese horror flick. He reached my chair, grabbed my legs and
\nstared with hard, drunken eyes. “Stop typing!”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\na roll.” I replied calmly, “Boodles and – “<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nscreamed. It was the sound of ultimate suffering and all that, you know? Like
\nwhen the Buddha was just about to achieve enlightenment and, suddenly, he had
\nto pee. Remember that? I decided to stop typing, for the sake of friendship, so
\nI picked up my pen and pad and moved to the couch, letting James pass out
\nagain, curled around my desk chair as if it was a very small woman with one
\nstubby leg and four wheels.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nSo Boodles and Nacho took the key and were rushing up the stairs when…
\nNo, what, I was doing it again. “Stares” for “stairs.” What the fuck?
\nMy friend’s brother’s fianc\u00e9’s editor’s friend has this theory that,
\nwhen someone uses the English language on a daily, intimate, strangely
\nsexual basis they start to fuck things up. Like, we get used to
\nskimming stuff. That’s how that old trick works – how many times was
\nthe word “the” in the paragraph you just read. Twelve! AHAHAHA! Please
\nforward this email to 10 of your friends. It gets you every time, and
\nyou feel like a retard, but it happens because, unless you are a
\nretard, you read and write every single day. So there’s so much to the
\nEnglish language, and so many flexible rules, that your mind is trained
\nfrom youth to fill stuff in. You read a sentence and you don’t actually
\nread the words, you start to read it for the meaning. So if someone
\nshows you a flashcard with three sentences, then suddenly takes it
\naway, you know what they said but you only remember certain keywords
\nand can rarely recite the sentences as they appeared. <\/em><\/p>\n
\neditor types. Over familiarity leads to odd, child-like mistakes.<\/p>\n
\nevil Dr. Gundrun. He was standing up there with his vicious android
\nguards.<\/em><\/p>\n
\none on the left and Nacho took the one on the right, the androids
\nfalling to the ground with a noise that reminded Nacho of that time he
\ndropped the vacuum cleaner down the stairs and it hit the stereo which
\ntoppled over into the TV and that fell against the freezer.<\/p>\n
\nas Boodles whipped her tail around, caught him by the leg, and tripped
\nhim but good!<\/p>\n
\nstopped writing when I heard the front door open again, then I listened to the
\npitter-patter of delicate, creamy white feet move through my house. The scent
\nof vanilla hit me long before Natasha appeared in the doorway of my office,
\nleaning luxuriously against the frame. She was wearing a sarong, of all things,
\nher black hair a little unkempt and her wildly painted eyes creating soulful
\nshadows upon shadows. Her hand trailed up her thigh, parting the outfit so I
\ncould see the creamy skin beneath. “Found James,” she whispered,
\npointing her little fingers at my drunken friend.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nblasted.” I replied.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\n“Heck of a party. You should go out more. Every party needs nachos.”
\nHer hand moved over and pushed the flowing sarong in between her legs,
\n“Every girl, too.” Her latest thing was to put on an affectation so
\nshe sounded like those 1930’s and 40’s movie stars, the Northeast Elite voice
\nthat fancy women learned in overly strict prep schools and with the assistance
\nof old style Hollywood studio voice coaches. It suited her well, even if she
\nwas a tiny thing with blue-black hair.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nthroat. “No time for a party. I’m working on – “<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nThat story is so hot, it makes me think of anal sex.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nsituation, that would have been an outlandish, inappropriate and unexpected
\nthing to say. But you get used to Natasha after the first six months. She
\ndidn’t really mean it, anyway. Well, she did, but not right now. You get to
\nfigure that out, too. There’s a way she stands, a scent that she gives off, so
\nyou can gauge her moods. For instance, I could tell that tonight was a blow job
\nnight followed by a drama queen rant about the women at the party, an hour of
\ntearful self reflection about love and love lost, and then dry humping.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\npad and pen down and walked with her to the TV room, well away from the
\nslumbering James. Without preamble, Natasha began rubbing me and nibbling at my
\near, but then she hesitated and moved away, letting herself sink into the couch
\nnext to me, her lips turning down into a pout. Now this was unexpected,
\nbypassing blowjob and drama and lapsing right into tearful reflection. She was
\ndrunk, or high, or tired. Maybe all three. Sometimes you had to tell Natasha,
\nlike a child, that she was obviously tired and should go to bed. I leaned
\nforward with the intent of doing just this when she turned her pout towards me.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nlove me?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nSerious engagement. No use calling in artillery to soften her up, I’ll just end
\nup killing my own troops. This is what happens when you perform every position
\nin the Kama Sutra with a girl for 15 months and never call her during the week
\nor mention anything personal to her. A dangerous situation. I must ask a
\nsearching question: What do I need more? Freedom or a really good pussy? <\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nsolution is to placate. “Of course I do.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nit, then.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nwhat?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nI said.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nthat you love me.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nyou need to hear it?”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\ndo.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nisn’t the Natasha I know.”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nme, hard, and I tumbled backward out of the couch. Now that was the Natasha I
\nknew. Rubbing my jaw, I didn’t have time to sit up before she leapt on me and
\nbegan pounding me in the stomach, her teeth set in a vicious snarl, until I was
\nscreeching “I love you, I love you!”<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nbreath, shook her hair out of her eyes, stood up and brushed herself off.
\n“Good, I knew that you loved me.” Then she walked to the guest room
\nand, while I was pissing blood in my pants, I heard her gentle snore. <\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nout sometime around dawn, told me I had blood running down the front of my
\npants, said he was feeling much better, took my car keys as I was unable to
\nspeak or move anything besides the little finger on my left hand, and went out
\ninto the day. Shortly after that, Natasha came out, kissed me on the cheek,
\nsaid \u2018Good morning, my love,’ then told me to get the fuck up, stop being a
\nlazy man, and fix her breakfast. <\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n
\nthe little finger on my left hand in response and she nodded, satisfied, and
\nscurried off to take a shower.<\/span><\/em><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[352],"tags":[353,339],"class_list":["post-2445","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-gsarchive","tag-gs-archive-2004-2008","tag-vignettes"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2445","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2445"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2445\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2911,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2445\/revisions\/2911"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2445"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2445"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/greatsociety.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2445"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}