Thursday, March 26, 2009

Schizo Bebop

The Red Zone for my Dear Readers who are ill informed is a little patch of street blocks on the north side of downtown just south of the great rusted red iron wall separating the haves from the have-nots. It is everything that you would think of "Seedy Tijuana". Under the glaring buzzing neon, an entire block of hookers line up shoulder to shoulder grabbing and goosing you as you walk by. Shabby, smelly bums beg for change as hawkers scream at you to enter their bars and strip clubs.
“Titty girls!”
“Pussy women!”
As I pass by, tired and petulant hookers breath smoke out of chapped lips, teeth plated in silver, “Wanna fuck me, meester?”
So, I head over to one of my favorite dives called, Kin-kle. Thieves, deported criminals, junkies, pedophiles, cholo gangsters, fags and lezbos - a good watering spot. I enter the dark, smoked filled den as a Spanish version of Achy-Breaky Heart warbled out of a multicolored jukebox. I take a seat in the back at a dented and rusted iron table with plastic lawn chairs. The cadaverous looking waiter came to my table and I ordered a Sol beer.
The place was more or less empty for this time of the day. Only an old guy sat at the bar and in the opposite corner a fat cowboy was groping and finger banging an old whore at his table. She wiggled and giggled brown teeth at his advances. He smiled red eyed with a hard on.
Suddenly the light was blocked at the entrance and everything came to a screeching halt. Standing in the door was a four hundred pound six foot three black man. His head shaven bald with puffs of grey lint here and there. He wore a skintight one piece white spandex minidress, blackened and spotted with food, mucus, and God knows what else. He stood there a moment, tottering on his plastic see through platform pumps. His sunglasses were crusted with rhinestones with little pink flamingos on top - dark lenses were missing - he was monstrous.
Gazing around the room with bugged out eyes; flying high on God knows what kind of psychotropic drugs, his glare settled on me. His yellow eyes bulged out even more.
Ooooo-shit! Baby!” He bellowed in a Southern drawl. He clomped over to my table. “You is fine! FINE!!” He smelt like a stopped up urinal.
He reached my table and bent over, breathing halitosis into my face from that gaping toothless hole, “Let Annie sees them soup coolers!”
I looked at up at him, baffled and at a loss, “What? My what?”
“Your soup coolers, baby! Soup coolers!” He cooed pleadingly. He then puckered his massive crusted lips an inch away from my face and blew as if he was cooling hot soup and then husked, “Pucker up fo' Big Annie with the innerestin' fanny.” He wiggled his massive dimpled buttocks.
We blinked at each other and a moment of silence. Finally, Annie stated blankly, “I gotta pee.” And lumbered into the men’s room. He was in there for some time. I finished my beer and left.
Everyone - fag and breeder alike - needs a gimmick for some short con lovin'. Take the Mad Russian - cheapest sugar daddy in the plazita - there he is, toothless old woman face and canceled eyes. The Greek Chorus squeals that this old fart used to troll Plaza Santa Cecilia in search of rentboy in full regalia of the American Air Force back in the day - and he heralds from some Soviet bloc, mind you - grey cap and hunka plastic pinned to his shriveled and milkless teat.
Was a good con until like many of the old time queens that haunt the place, was burned so many times he is now a charred bitter old thing. Trick now is he lures some virile and sticky fingered boywhore to his lair and is said that if the sexworker's cock is too short and not up to snuff, the evil old fuck locks the boy penniless in the room and returns with another more suitable to his tastes.
However, the word is out - rentboys of the Plaza are hip to this character - your dry goods had better be what are promised or you lose to the Mad Russian. Now like a desperate vampire - night after night this polyester clad phantom shuffles the concrete way, licking of dried lips, shifting rheumy eyes searching for his next victim.

1 comment:

mkf said...

soup coolers.

thanks--haven't laughed that hard in awhile.