The Space Noir Bar - Michael Marino (best classic books TXT) 📗
- Author: Michael Marino
Book online «The Space Noir Bar - Michael Marino (best classic books TXT) 📗». Author Michael Marino
We got up to ready ourselves for the feast, groggy and high already when the elusive Che Stadium walked into the hut resplendent with full beard and cigar in mouth and a smile as wide as the gulf between Retropolis and Luna. I swore he looked like a pop culture t-shirt I had hanging in my closet back on Retropolis in my apartment at the Buckminster Fuller Memorial Dymaxion Hotel next to the YMCA on Lower Mama Cass Ave. in Old Detroit.
His smile was as infectious as an airborne virus. “If you all will accompany me as our guests it is our honor to have you join us.” Good gawd he was as smooth as a chamber of commerce salesman at a snake oil medicine show or Kiwanis convention in Kalamazoo.
“Che, good to meet you,” I said guardedly. “But I do have one question, OK many questions but first where the hell are we. No one has actually been forthcoming on it?” He laughed one of those “don’t cry for me Argentina” laughs as he answered with the obvious pride reserved only for mighty Mongol conquerors who’ve dealt a deadly blow to those Germanic tribes of ancient yore along the Danube.
“You’re in the Village Compound of Suk Muk Dic in the lower Rudy Valley located in a rift in a vortex of riff raff and many many degenerate revolutionaries. I hope that answers your question. As for exact coordinates, unfortunately that I can’t tell you. Oh, not that it’s classified or anything. It’s a simple fact that longitude and latitude don’t exist here. It’s a fluid universe wrapped in a cocoon with a spun web of time and space fluctuations. Ha, the more realistic response would be is that we are in a burrito with loose meat falling out of one end except the burrito keeps repairing itself.”
Even his voice had the Latin swagger of a Desi Arnaz and Benicio Del Toro as did his steady bearing and “walk the walk talk the talk” gait in rumpled military fatigues and mud encrusted combat boots. I noticed Maddie looking long and hard at his khaki ass while I drooled for a cigar and a bottle of rum SOMA and a naked latin lover senorita with breasts as big as pinatas.
“Here. Have a copy of my book,” Book? What book? He proceeded to pass out tiny breast pocket sized books with plaid covers to all of us with a curious title. “How to Talk Dirty and Create Revolution and Influence People” by Che Stadium. “I call it my Little Plaid Book. Tactics and strategy and psyops in the first half, and a collection of Rodney Dangerfield jokes in the back. Love his routines….got a whole holographic collection of his. Great philosopher of the 20th Century,” Che said proudly...and obviously plaidly. “Take my book...please!” Where are the rim shots when you expect them? Loose the dirty comic and bring on the strippers with so many vericose veins showing that her legs look like they’re wrapped in road maps. Oh look, on the left inner thigh...it’s Pittsburgh!
How best to describe the hours leading up to dawn before our Falcon foray would come to fruition… let me take a shot at it. Pure unadulterated ramped up rampant debauchery enjoying an overdose of sexual amphetamines laid out on a banquet table with a tasty yet bizarre selection of sexual offerings of near voodoo practices among the village people of Suk Muk Dic that our party was not only privy to, but would also be engaged in as willing and active participants leaving us panting for more .These sexual practices were brought to this planet by Kurtz and Che, implemented as ritual and are referred to in the village as “the bedroom arts” complete with repetitive chants … “Does your poontang have a yen for yin or a thang for yang?” and “Do you ching? I Ching”
The Kurtz brand of sexual activity has been around since the last Ice Age on Castroid. It certainly heats things up enough to melt a Polar Ice Cap on Mars. I call it Sex on the Rocks, and bartender, I’ll have whatever she’s having as long as it’s Yin Yang Poontang. I do not celebrate celibacy. Poontang for everyone Barkeep ...set 'em up! As for the missionaries...burn them at the stake and Let's Party with a Game of Naked Twister where your yin (if you're lucky) may end up in somebody's yang!
The followers of Kurtz were pioneers when it came to free love and free sex where for three days it was a time of nudity combined with wild, three ring circus sexual activity. (Unfortunately we had to leave in the morning.) The sexual positions are enhanced with mating calls and words. For example, if a hulking Suk Muk Dic resident came up to you says, “Me want do it as does the deer!” Ok, we know it today as Doggie style but I guarantee you if you meet a young lady in a singles bar back in old Detroit and say “Me want do it as does the dog” You’ll get knocked off a bar stool..now if she says in reply, “German Shepard or Standard Poodle” ...you know you’re in Amigo!!
The rituals are however sexy as hell where you are encouraged to have a romp or two to manifest manhood and appease the gods of placenta. I spent many pleasurable nights in Tokyo worshipping at the Gonzo Ganja Ginza so can only imagine the results of these daily fornication frolics.
Some say the practices began, hidden perhaps in Tibet high on a mountain top where only the 102nd Dalai Lama knows it’s treasured secrets..hell no wonder he’s peaceful, he is contented and administered by virgin concubines who know the hidden secrets of sexual positions and secretions. No wonder he’s smiling all the damned time. Forget the butterfly effect..in the world of fornication festivities down on the carnal commune they also engage in what is referred to as “bundling” (I can hear it now..”wanna bundle baby? Your sack or mine?”)
Bundling is a bizarre practice where young couples of the Rudy Valley compound who intend to mate and marry with fuel injected hormonal tendencies, natural sexual curiosities and innate exploratory factors regarding the opposite sex can screw one another with the caveat that they are bound in space blankets on a bed with a force field separating them to prevent their sex organs from breaching the Berlin Wall to get drunk on the elixir of lustful libido mainly to prevent the groom from having his foray bungling in the bundle jungle.
Dawn comes early when you’re running on empty. After a night of sheer energy and ecstasy it was time to sober up, put a lock on our libidos and gyroscoping genitals to make the trip to the Rabbit Hole. Che would lead the way with a small platoon. He arrived to get us ready and damn if he didn’t look like he had slept for hours in a fountain of youth, refreshed and invigorated while I must have looked like I spent the night in a flophouse fighting off wino’s and thieves until daybreak. Art Deco was as decadent as they come and prefered his “own” company while Long Wang and Wang Chung had each other to yin each others yang.
Asrini and Maddie? Well, while I was engaged in sexual exploits with Sela Ward look alike twins into the wee smalls… they had doubled up with couple of blond Nordic looking bi-sexual beach boy type hulks, probably canal surfers on Mars. I never saw bigger smiles on a woman’s face until that morning. Perhaps after we get back home I’ll take up surfing and wax my woody too.
We hoisted our packs on our backs, checked our weapons, and headed out of the Rudy Valley to our destiny ahead. Little did I know that I was about to walk in front of a careening Iron Butterfly bus driven by a drug addled driver named Pink Floyd...the maddest hatter of them all.
We got underway early with the heat of the red sun of Robotia already steady as it pierced the sunrise and leveled the horizon. Che Stadium led the way with his band of merry men who would run interference should we happen to run into a freight train of hellfire from Toho “to protect and serve and kill” recon teams who may have breached the rift. I suggested a pile of donuts for a bait trap to delay them just in case this should happen, but as Che so succinctly pointed out...we had to move fast, no time for Krispy Kreme dreams. “We’ve got to move fast,” he said. “I’ve heard from intelligence that Narco Marx and Joel Faberge had offered their services as well to the Tohos along with the Com-Reds. We were now deep in the shithouse and only one direction left on our compass ...straight ahead.” I wasn’t about to argue. Narco was a formidable foe, not a faux foe by any stretch of any imagination.
It didn’t take long for the machismo to start oozing arguing over directions. Che declared, “We’ll take the Geo/Time Rift and be there before you know it.” His proclamation, though convincing was questioned by Long Wang. “If we take the GWB Rift we’ll get there a lot faster.” To which Maddie added, “The Dan Ryan Rift will avoid the morning rush and flux. It can be a real bitch this time of day!” Wang Chung, wanted to take the Chinatown Tunnel rift to pick up some egg rolls but his fortune cookie was overruled by Che, the Latino leader who craved a
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