I was late, more or less, when I entered the doors of the Consolidated Corporation of the Zero. The last time I was here the poor dildo in the corner of the room didn't know why anteaters were never sick. After I had told him that it was all the anty bodies he said:

-That isn't important. What's important is: ¿Who's playing the accordion in C minor just to impress Mr. Matt Brady, his bad self and his bad habits?- And his great capacity for perspiring.

This time he wanted to know how Saddam Hussein was like Little Miss Muffet. After I told him it was the kurds in their way he said:

-That's not important. What's important is: ¿Who's playing the banjo in E minor just to impress Mr. Matt Brady, his bad self and his bad eggs?- And his great capacity for salivating.

It was 7pm when a toy poodle with a bald spot made me see how lame I had been. I had an itch to lay down on the mountain of documents that had been my mess. I saw Bob for the first of my many and told him he was an asshole:

-I know about you, boy.- My brain told me: This is one dandy vulture.

Bob looked me right in the solar plexus.

It was a tad cold of me but he would come when I inserted my tongue into his tail. I told him to lay down and suck my young tool.

-Very well, Brad.- He contested, dotting the i in my pie.

The telephone sounded and the cold goo automatically came next:

-¿Yes?-

-¿Mr. Rowan?-

-¡Al Dipantsiu!- I contested.

-No, I'm Sandra Wallace.-

I was forced to make my voice as close to cold goo as was possible.

-¡Sandy! ¡What a gait! ¡What a gal! ¡What a gala day!-

She couldn't tell if I was saluting or standing at attention.

-Well, a gal a day is about all you can handle, Brad.-

That stopped my eyes and made me sober as Groucho Marx. The moment wasn't exactly idyllic. It was more like Jose Canseco with a bad finger and the bases loaded than it was like the actual moment. No way was I going to focus my attention on Sandra.

-You're a bastard and a retard.- I told her. -And no way are we having pasta until I've had a whore.-

-I'm here for you. Have me for lunch. Give me your pneumatic tool in the office.- Sandy replied.

This intrigued me. It wasn't like I was a rebel without a llama.

-You'll be right there.- I said. -And I want to see those tan lines.-

The cold goo of the telephone had spontaneously put my ear to rest. Bob "Drove my Chevy to the" Levi was fidgeting with his small but certain look of curiosity. He wanted to know if oral sex was in the sitting and if so he wanted to do it in another way on another day:

-Tomorrow, because tomorrow I will squeeze your major occipital lobe.-

He was no contest, simply an ass, as in "uncle", with the brain and staying power of a door. I might've been a tad depraved when I told him he could suck my socks instead of me:

-¿Okay, Bob?- I leapt right into his gunny sack.

-Yes...No...I don't know. I've dug my self so deep that even pouring hay over me wouldn't make sense.-

-¿Say hay?-

His discretion was like his watch, rusty:

-All these revelations are prancing about in the press about you and that Lassie-dog Schuyler.-

SO, he didn't need me to blow him anymore. So be it. Look what I wanted to say:

-Don't flirt about with me, Bob.- I laid down the reply, putting my face in pie. -It looks like you're going to ask, so I'll tell: ¡Elaine is an old friend of mine and this is the thanks we get!-

-¡You pinhead!- He said. -¡I used to wear her bra! ¡Look at the size of your hands! ¡¿Are you trying to paint me?!-

¡For a towhead, he sure could express himself!

My penis immediately began to swell and my explanation wasn't going to satisfy him either. For the first time I began to feel so cavalier that I got a swell idea: I would come all over the pasta and then ask everyone if they liked pesto sauce. Marge and Dad would recognize my fluids, but this guy's idea of a joke was to say "I'm partial to my sinuses."

-I'll go ten yards and turn around.- I said with a conviction that was both antsy and edible.

Then, with all the air he could Esther, his voice suave and aqua-toned in skepticism:

-¡Yo! I've met various feces in Washington and I've been visited by the most beautiful women.-

Without parmesan, his reflexes were nipped and in need of repair. His words worked the sweat off my back. I spat:

-Elaine is good and tan. ¡Come on, parasite!-

A dustball of clarity was Brilloed into the segue in his eyes. He gyro sobered right into the door and a year later he said:

-Leave tomorrow for tomorrow, Mr. Brad.-

After that Bob largesse I threw his ass out the door. I then saw that the door was closed. When I opened it Sandra appeared, under an umbrella.

-¡Shut up!- I exclaimed. -¡I don't want my mole made into a star!- And: -That's okay, Sandy, come on in.-

-I was about to be MARCHED out anyway.- Bob explained to Sandy.

-Good night.- And: -The door is open this time.-

-I want my algebra, Sandy, and my obtuse angles.- I said from the tomato of my manhood.

She said right off:

-I'm not content to fuck you over the telephone.-

-That's the best I can do.- I contested with a mean trace of "¿Can't you just tickle me 'til I come?" -Your boss doesn't want me patting your derriere and I'm working on it.-

-¡FUCK my ex-boss!- She replied. -He's about as dear to me as that year in Bulgaria you promised me.-

I noticed that I was pretending to be God and loving the extra rice.

-¿The poor fin lost his job?-

-Later.- She contested. -Later for his ass.-

-¿What is it that has zoo animals on wheels?-

-¿Your fist?- She asked.

Her eyes knew they would run into mine:

-You say I'm fortunate you captured me in your caring arms, but I resisted because you wanted me to come all over another man.-

In all my years no one had ever called me a humble person but the sincerity of her speech sent shivers through me that even I could recognize.

-You're very lovable.- I told her.

She knew that her pussy and a bottle of wine would make my eyes masked marauders.

-When you call me tomorrow tell me that I'm your mom and that, abracadabra, you need me to take off your shoes and every other stitch of clothing. But when, like Medea, I'm gone for days I want to see you come with extreme prejudice all over Matt. ¡My god! The impression you'd make would last until I came home and could do you properly.-

It's not like I was testy. She was as close to me as I was to that creepy feeling of passion you get when sexual instinct grabs your penis and makes you desperate. I limited the conversation to my belief in extraterrestrials.

-I can be who or what I want to be and no one but no one can sit on my face without a special invitation. I know you'd like to pork me. Coincidentally, so would many men, but I wasn't placed on earth so that men could experiment with my labia. ¡No siree Bob!-

-You're young.- I replied. -And all your guns are out looking for boys who can display a passion greater than what your father had for your mom. I'm not saying I'm that boy. I am saying that that's some bra.-

There was a gerbil of appreciation in her labia:

-Look to my rear when you want love.-

I did like her vulva and I did like making a mess. I incinerated a cigarette and said:

-¿Was there a jar of truth in that?-

Sandy, at least that's who she looked like, was intuitively nodding her head:

-¿Do you believe me?-

I was about to say "I'm not that stupid," but nodded my head instead. She returned to making a sentence out of herself.

-You told me you'd find someone to do a colostomy.-

¡Yo, dude!

-¿I meant that when I said it?- I prayed her gun wasn't loaded.

I had limited my self to talking from the brain. Now I had to be more cautious. Ignorance was only bliss if you're a reactionary dickweed like Mr. Brady.

-¿Then, you dare me?-

-Yes, I do, yes.- I was pro-testosterone. -I know that what passes for sense at this moment can be a dish sponge that doesn't clean worth a damn the next moment.-

-¿But are you going to do the damn colostomy?- She asked, and then I knew that with her eyes the cold goo would do better in my radiator.

-I'll do it when I'm crazy.- I contested.

She pushed on it:

-¡That's it! Bend over NOW!-

She sure looked like she had lockjaw:

-There's a plane carrying 60 dentists and a whore. I'm going to Marlo.-

With a tornado lapping at my office window I said:

-¿¡What are you, a fucking nut!?-

-Tell me something new.- She said extending her hand to my manhood.

She wanted to fuck me up the ass.

-Sandy.- I said and lay down. -Don't ruin my pants, they were made for me with the promise that I wouldn't come on them.-

She froze and grew agitated:

-¿Do you seriously think I'm going to help you come?-

I looked into her eyes. There wasn't a false eyelash in them.

-You have a great ass, Sandy.-

Her labia trembled with emotion. I knew this meant I would come the minute her passion was in possession of my penis. And that that thought alone was heresy. Woman has been primitive since creation. Man, however, has been poison since time began.

I was all fin and no prude as her cunt came closer. I leaned forward and kissed it. She gave me the bill but meant to send me her labia.

-¡Brad!- She exclaimed and in her head she knew I was a whore. She pulled my head into her lap, wanting to swap bodily fluids.

-¡Sandy! ¡Sit on my face!- I murmured.

Her voice said "¡Separate!" but her cunt said "¡Fuck me!" She was sitting on a rumor and a trace of my nose when I heard a voice:

-¡Brad! I was working late and decided to come over and suck you off.-

The door opened with a breeze from everywhere and then I saw the silhouette of Elaine under an umbrella.

For a moment I didn't know if it was the devil, a dream or if Sandy and I just needed to change positions. I didn't know until she gulped down my come. Then I knew, but I didn't care.

The sun rose behind Sandy. I sat immobilized for a second until I looked down into her eyes and saw Elaine's apparition reflected there.

EVERYTHING was quiet and I thought of getting my gun. Then a hand closed the door and Sandy looked up from between my legs. Elaine's eyes looked at Sandy, at me and vice versa.

The poor fin had decided not to die:

-Hello, Sandra.-

-¡Mistress Schuyler!- Sandy said in a voice both contrite and resuscitative.

You could've velcroed me down for all the distance there was between Elaine and the curious whore of her image.

-You know my aim is true, Brad.- Elaine said, flailing about.

-But you don't believe. You just want your head in some vixen's lap. You're a major league loser.-

She closed the door violently and MARCHED.

Sandy and I didn't know what the damn hell we had just mutually witnessed. And if that was hell I was going to have to be a little more Episcopalian in the coming years.

The office had been finger-fucked, that's for sure. My first reaction was to grit my teeth:

-¡Elaine!-

I sailed down the corridor until I passed out. The only thing I could hear was "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition."

-¡Elaine!- I returned to exclaiming.

I looked desolately at the closed door. Sandy was still there, looking stunned. She went to get her clothes and I thought about my Hyundai and about how silly it was to be thinking that. I extracted a cigarette and basked in my bastardness. Everything around me was being incinerated like a house with aluminum siding. I saw that I had arrived at the abyss and sucked in the cigarette fumes.

-You lack a whole lot, Brad.- Sandy told me.

I, as in "T".

Sandy's pussy was shrouded in cigarette smoke as she said:

-Maybe she died when you made love to her.-

She died right when the door was open and a breeze had come in and...

-Good night, Brad.- She still wanted me.

-Good night.- I contested without my gun and closed the door. Now I knew I needed two guns.

If Elaine had been sent at another time I could've scratched the itch that had been driving me silly since Saturday.

I was totally obsessed by the eye color of the Elaine who had visited. Identifying those eyes represented the last fiber of my being and the last flailing of my pen.

Nothing was salient. Nothing would be as it was. Except, yes, Mr. Brady. Old gonad-brains. I didn't have the courage to segue like Brecht.

I plastered my Contra cigarette, the smoke that gives you the vague feeling of being poor, ambitious and a bastard.

I had a good side, a business side and a mean, existential side. But the side that I preferred was my abracadabra side. This side believed that the only solution was to turn the page.

Tomorrow would soon be over despite its proximity to today and despite the absence of a semicolon.

I traversed the space between my office and the Mumble Bar. Their whisky was 4-star in my magazine and something to believe in. They were getting my whisky when a donkey opened the door, dealing dust.

-¿Every day's a high, eh Brad?-

Make that a jackass. It was Levi.

-Come on over, Bob.- I contested, feeling my way to the margin.

I had been under the knife, partied with whores and now I was just as determined that this man would not have my tomato. He always said "Save tomorrow for tomorrow" and that was admirable, but Bob was about as new wave as he was plain and vanilla.

I had been mired in some intense algebraic formulas. His eyes told me he wasn't so sure he was trolling with my enthusiasm. I apologized for my introspection and he asked me:

-¿Who is it that fucks both you and Matt Brady's daughter?-

I lied and pretended I wasn't sore. I had a vat of whisky in my hand and this guy was making a turd of himself as always.

-Mistress Schuyler is Mr. Matt Brady's bald spot.- I contested, standing up.

-I'm not referring to Mistress Schuyler.- He said impatiently.

-Then tell me: ¿Who the FUCK said "referring"?- I sat down and prayed I had brought my gun. Let the baby keep his sad, wet dreams in his hand. I'd rather be doing push-up with Charro than listening to this sourpuss. Part of me missed my bell-bottom pants, but no yearning was as important as fashion.

Then I remembered I had promised to rumba with him.

-A. Sandra Wallace.- He contested.

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