Drop 173: Review

curtains

‘So, what did you think, Sam?’

‘Honestly?’

‘What do you mean honestly? Of course.’

‘OK,’ Sam said, lighting a cigarette and squinting. ‘Then I’ll tell you: I hated it. I really hated it. It was just plain awful. What the hell kind of directing was that? No skill in it, no flow, no intuition for pace. No knack at all for the simple art of story telling. What was he trying to do? I mean, sure, put your stamp on a famous work, by all means, but this guy’s artistic license was off the charts. The plot was all over the place, and none of the characters were believable, though maybe the fault there lay more with the actors — god, don’t get me started on the actors! Every last one, clueless. Not one bright spot among them. No one understood the conflicts inherent in the characters, and the two leads showed none of the ambiguity that drives the story’s critical undercurrent. It was sad. Just sad. All of it. The sets were lame – not period appropriate at all; in fact, the production value overall was appalling, the effects idiotic. Admit it, the horses looked more like overgrown rats! And what were those brown hanging blankets supposed to be?’

‘Wow, that’s harsh.’

‘Well, you asked for the truth,’ Sam said, looking away from Mary as if something had caught his eye on the other side of the street, then snapping his head back to face her, ‘and this is it: every last person involved in that atrocity should be taken out back and shot. I’m upset I had to sit through it. Outraged. Honestly, I’d rather have eaten a bad oyster on my wedding day, got dengue fever in rural Gabon, sawn off part of my pinkie, or lost my only set of house keys during a blizzard in Minsk.’

‘Man! You felt that strongly about a 4th grade play?’

‘Oh Christ, Mary. You fucking asked. You know, just cause your kid is nine, doesn’t mean she can’t wear a ball gown with a soupçon of panache.’

By E.M. Vireo

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Drop #168: Crumbs

cappuccinoJohn is having lunch with Sandra. ‘You have some crumbs on your shoulder,’ she says, pointing, then staring at them till he brushes them off.

Two minutes later she stops mid sentence to tell him he has something in his teeth. ‘What is that, basil? Here, I have a toothpick.’ He accepts it, removes the culprit, then returns his attention to her so she can finish her story.

A few minutes later she interrupts him to ask what that stuff is in his hair. ‘Those pesky crumbs again. How did you manage that?’ She leans in and picks them out, one by one. ‘There. All better.’

Sandra goes to the bathroom to pee. When she comes out of the stall, a woman putting on makeup looks up at her reflection.

‘Woah!’ the woman says. ‘Bull’s-eye.’

‘What?’ Sandra says, then checks the mirror. She immediately sees it: a massive bird poop above her right ear at the hairline, blobbed thick and wide in white and greenish brown, seeping a full inch down her face in three gooey strands. ‘Oh my God!’ she says, grabbing at the paper towel.

Back in the dining room the cappuccinos have come, each served with two biscotti. John eats his and quickly helps himself to Sandra’s before she gets back. He gobbles them up, spilling crumbs down his face and onto his lap. His first sip leaves a foam mustache on his lip, and the cutest smudge of powdered chocolate on the tip of his nose.

By EM Vireo

Drop 167: AKA

wine shadowShe’s in the bathroom, halfway through the date. She really likes this guy. He’s handsome, with a great smile and seems smart and nice too. It’s definitely going well. The conversation is flowing and there’s plenty of flirtation going on. She’s only just met the guy and is surprised to be into him, but it’s exciting.

Back at the table, he’s waiting for her with a smile. He’s topped up her water and her wine. The dessert menu has also arrived.

‘So, any plans for tomorrow?’ she asks, sitting and looking it over.

‘I have an acappella battle.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. I’ve been practicing all week, and tomorrow’s the big day.’

‘You sing acappella?’

‘Every weekend.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Acappella is my life!’

She gets up, drinks down her wine, drops a few twenties on the table. ‘Don’t call me,’ she says as she walks away.

By E.M. Vireo

Drop #166: Date

This post is not suitable for children – you have been warned

icecream bearThey stepped out of the movie theater into the warm night, hand in hand. It was only a first date but it seemed to be going well, and he hoped it would progress to something delicious quite soon.

‘So, what do you want to do now?’ he asked.

‘What do I want to do? I want to fuck – that’s what I want to do. I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. I want to suck your dick. I want it between my tits and in my ass. I want to lie you down on the floor and destroy your face with my meticulously waxed pussy. I want to do it for hours on the couch and the bed and the kitchen table, rest for half an hour while we drink champagne and do lines, then go again even longer. That’s what I want to do now – right now. I want it bad.’

‘Yeah, that sounds good. Also – and I’m just throwing this out ­there – there’s this new ice cream place that opened just up around the corner I’ve been meaning to try. It’s an organic creamery with like 56 flavors, all made in-house, and a million toppings to choose from, and they mix it all together on frozen marble slabs right in front of you. Anyway, that’s another option – I’m easy, either way.’

By EM Vireo

Drop 165: Good Boy

bag of poopTom runs into Sarah in the park.

‘Long time,’ he says. ‘How you doing?’

‘Great,’ she says.

‘And who’s this handsome feller?’

‘Oh, this is Duke.’

‘Hey there, buddy.’ He pats Duke on the head. ‘Aren’t you a good boy?’

‘He sure is.’

Duke jerks his head away and watches Tom with distrust.

‘Well, most of the time, at least!’ she adds, smiling timidly.

‘Bet he loves the park.’

‘He sure does. Hates being cooped up in the apartment. Runs around like crazy once we get here. He’s obsessed with the squirrels and the birds. I really should bring him more often—but anyway, what’s new with you?’

‘Not much. Work is slow. Went to Montauk for the long weekend.’

‘Great. Love Montauk.’

‘Yeah. Terrific weather. Fresh seafood and–oh my, will you look at that!’

‘Duke, no!’ Sarah shouts. ‘Not here. God, I’m so sorry,’ she adds, slinging her backpack off her shoulder and struggling to produce a plastic baggy.

‘I guess you just gotta go when you gotta go, hey.’

‘It’s a new thing, to do it around people like that. Right at their feet. I don’t know why.’ She is clearly embarrassed as she crouches down with the small blue bag and picks up the sizeable turd, knotting it tidily afterwards. ‘You know, we should really be on our way. Sorry. Come on, Duke.’ She starts leading him away but he resists. ‘I said let’s go, Duke. That means now!’

‘But I don’t want to go, Mommy,’ Duke says, straightening the shorts he just pulled up. ‘I want to play on the jungle gym.’

By EM Vireo

Drop #164: Snub

wedding cakeI see Johnny Malloy’s brother, Charlie, at the fish and chips shop and go up to him.

‘Hey there, Charlie, how you going?’

‘Fine. Fine.’

‘And how’s married life treating Johnny then?’

‘Good, I guess.’

‘Say, I think it was quite rude of him not to invite me to his wedding.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, given we’ve known each other almost ten years.’

‘He must have had a good reason.’

‘I mean, seriously. I think that was quite a low blow not inviting the captain of his inter-pub football team, as if we weren’t really mates after all. Not inviting the man who introduced him to the girl whose friend got him that part-time job at the ice cream stall.’

‘Oh.’

‘To not even extend me an invitation. To leave a good buddy and fellow old Daltonian hanging that way. To be honest, I’m a bit hurt.’

‘Oh. Sorry to hear it.’

‘Well, how was it then anyway?’

‘What’s that?’

‘The wedding–his wedding. How was it?’

‘Oh, nice from what I heard. He didn’t invite me either.’

By E.M. Vireo

Drop #162: Night Out

IMG_3586I was supposed to go out last night with Pete and Jack but fell asleep on the couch. I called Pete around noon:

‘How was your night?’ I asked.

‘Amazing. So much fun. You really missed out. We went to this insane place, the Deadshot Saloon. What a bar! Non-stop action and mad energy all night long. Awesome country music with hot waitresses in cowboy boots and tiny shorts dancing on the table, pouring free shots in your mouth from the bottle. Cheap drinks and fifty cent buffalo wings, great crowd, everyone tipsy and having fun, no pretension, so happening, bras hanging from the roof. God it was a blast. There were—shit, sorry, I have another line. Call you back.’

Jack happened to call two minutes later.

‘So, you have a good night last night?’ I asked him.

‘Awful,’ he answered. ‘You’re so lucky you didn’t make it out. We ended up at this absolute shit hole of a honky-tonk joint with the most obnoxious crowd you can think of. So cheesy. So cheap. Bad liquor. Crap loud music through busted speakers and the most cliché thing ever: crass ugly barmaids doing a ridiculous fake cow girl dance on the bar in boots with fat asses hanging out of their too small shorts, pouring drinks all over your face without you asking, screaming non stop. The place was tiny and crowded and annoying, stinking of sweat and old booze, full of drunk sweaty douchebags shouting, always pushing to get by, bumping you, spilling pitchers of beer on you. Only nasty greasy chicken wings to eat and—oh, sorry, I have another line. I’ll have to call you back’

By E.M. Vireo

Drop 161: Haircut

scissorsJim was at the bar, talking to some guy.

“Hey, Jim,’ I said, interrupting them. ‘Nice new haircut you got there.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Thanks!’ I mocked, stepping left and right to view his whole head. ‘You can’t think I’m being serious? Looks like the rats have been nibbling at that skull of yours.’

‘Oh.’

‘What, you going to one of those blind hairdressers now?’

‘No.’

‘Oh yeah, I remember, you have some fancy new guy conveniently coming to your place.’

‘Actually–’

‘Honestly, buddy, he should pay you for the chance to butcher your head like that! Just a terrible cut. I’d go as far as calling it an abomination. Anyway, buy you a drink, drown your sorrows. Buy one for your pal here too.’ I stick out my hand to introduce myself.

‘Oh sorry, where are my manners?’ Jim says. ‘This is Serge. My barber.’

By E.M. Vireo

Drop 159: Fruity Crawl

mermaid‘How was fast bite? You bet sucky?’

‘Sure bid. Took the sigh home and we lucked all might.’

‘Aw yeah. Rid the blasty, hey? Dumped bubblies. Rot it lawn.’

‘Yup. Pot mad foodie.’

‘Good mung faction?’

‘Lure. He lent towns on me for more than a flower. Gingered my loosey. Slicked my Brit. Rate out my blunt.’

‘You red urn the flavor?’

‘Course. Mucked his sob. Pickled the pit. Bee tagged his yak. Went beetfloat till I almost grabbed.’

‘You guys boo banal?’

‘Yeah, with a skittle tube. He venerated me from le mind before humming on my mits.’

‘Loo mum poo?’

‘Free crimes. Dull ripple sarcasms. Flirted all over his race.’

‘Sounds like a glue dime.’

‘Yeah, but off horse, it was just a fruity crawl.’

By EM Vireo

Drop 153: Napkin

orchidThis post is not suitable for children. You have been warned.

‘It’s kind of refreshing,’ she said, looking at him across the table and smiling softly, ‘to be out with a nice guy for a change—you are a nice guy, right? I mean, it’s our third time out and you haven’t made a move beyond that one short and careful kiss. You haven’t grabbed me, made any crass comments, acted macho, even stared openly at my breasts.’

‘Because I respect people, and women especially.’

‘I see that.’

‘And yes, I am a nice guy, in terms of: I would never prey on insecurities, coerce or manipulate a girl into doing anything, or make it seem like she has no option, or is flawed if she doesn’t, or use alcohol or promises to seduce her; and sure, I only kissed you that once, and gently, and I haven’t tried to sleep with you, and I’ll always value a woman’s wishes and comfort as I try to do with all people.’

‘Yes, that’s clear.’

‘But, if I may speak frankly?’

‘Of course.’

‘In truth, my urges are not so polite; I just manage them skillfully. For instance, if I knew for sure you’d want it, I’d be under the table in an instant, teasing your panties aside and gobbling up your pussy as if it were an impossibly ripe mango, then ripping them and diving so deep down that snatch I’d almost drown. Yes, if I had a green light, I’d be under this table tonguing your asshole till it shone like a star, wearing you like a warm winter hat before filling you up with my footlong sub. Of course, I always put subject above object, even though, if you gave the word, I’d straight up beast on your delicious pink, plain revel in that stank. I’d snort coke off your clit, film it all so I could jerk off to it later, record your squeals and use them as the ringer for my phone—the higher ones to alert me of a WhatsApp message. I will always respect the person first and foremost, even if I want to deconstruct her into options, objects, holes to abuse. Always! But damn, girl, I’m less man than epic throbbing cock for you by now!’

She was silent.

‘Forgive me, have I shocked you?’ He looked at her meekly and topped up her wine. ‘Have you nothing to say?’

‘Oh, sorry, yes,’ she said, adjusting herself slightly on her chair. ‘It’s just that I dropped my napkin under the table and was wondering if you’d be a gentleman and get it for me.’

By E.M. Vireo