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Blue Country #13

Updated on April 24, 2011

The End. It's abrupt and I think thats the point.


When I hear the phone buzzing I stub out the cigarette that had been burning un-smoked between my peace fingers and I answer it.

“Jill’s phone.” I say. It’s Kristin.

“Whaaaaaaaaasuuup slut?” She answers. It sounds almost guttural.

“Not very fucking much.” I say, looking at Bob who is staring open mouthed at the television. Colin Hanks is on Larry King; it’s on mute.

“Wanna get fucked up?” Kristin asks, cheerfully indifferent.

Bob clumsily hits the volume up button and the sound comes back on. “-test actor of his generation.” Bob looks at me and breaks out in nervous introverted laughter.

“Naw…I don’t think so.” I say to Kristin.

“Whatevaa, byaatch.” She hangs up.

Bob, who I’m sure is high as fuck on smack and possibly crystal meth, hasn’t stopped laughing throughout and he trips and falls onto his face while trying to get a frozen burrito into the microwave.

“These… aren’t even… cold.” He says.

“They’ve never been in the freezer, Bob.” I reply. “They’ve had no time to freeze. Those frozen burritos are not frozen.” I say.

Bob is still on the floor, his head down, his face smooshed. “Uh,” He says. “Well, that makes sense… I guess.”

“Bob,” I say sighing, and pinching the bridge of my nose, “You’re smacked to the walls aren’t you?”


“Veins completely flooded with heroin?”

“More…or …less.”

I roll my eyes and light another cigarette. “Bob you are a royally fucked up guy.”


“Just making sure.”

Later I’m sitting on the patio wrapped up in my feather coat, waiting for the sun to come up and hitting my half packed blue and turquoise bowl. The grass pulls in cool and clean and I exhale a long thin trail of yellow-grey smoke.

I think about the trip I made earlier to the black part of town. I couldn’t find anyone who I thought would be a good basketball coach.

I just really don’t…have much on my mind right now.


Because Ted Bundy (personal hero) used the technique so successfully, I’m trolling the RHU campus with a cast covering my left arm. I’m carrying some of my old textbooks and I’m looking for just the right girl. Bundy once said that he was the most cold hearted son of a bitch you could ever meet. I understand what he meant. I don’t think my heart is even beating.

“I’m looking for a girl who won’t believe it’s happening. I’m looking for a girl that I think will ask “Why me?” I’m preying on the weak. I enjoy it.

I hang around the store that they have inside one of the buildings, where I notice some wicked highly fashionable sweatshirts and I make a mental note to come back and purchase one later.

I spot a girl who is almost right; brown longish hair, wide green eyes, mini skirt, sipping a starbucks latte. Her shirt says, “Hot Body.” But she’s wearing too much eye makeup and it saves her.
I keep looking, leaning against the coke machine, occasionally lowering my sunglasses and flashing my perfect smile. I feel so calm. I’m almost bored and I think “Maybe I don’t need to do this anymore.” Even summoning the energy to try to attempt to whip myself into the required frenzy seems like a trite exercise, but I spot the perfect girl; short blonde hair in a pixie cut, wide green eyes, yellow sundress. I still don’t get excited, but I know perfect when I see it so I decide to annihilate her anyway. I mean really obliterate her. I am going to fuck this bitch up. This will ruin her day.

I usually don’t have a plan or anything so its surreal that I know exactly what I’m doing when I drop my books, doubly so when the exact girl that I picked rushes over to assist me. Cue smile.

“Oh, you poor thing.” Oh, she’s so dead.

I simulate a burst of good-natured nervous laughter. “Yeah, I’m not much use with only one arm.”

Her lower lip protrudes; she melts in front of me.

“What happened?” She asks.

I watch her pick up my books and I stretch my neck as I think of a good lie. “Farming accident.”

She looks up at me, her wide eerald eyes lit with earnest interest.

“Oh…so you work on a farm?” She inquires.

“No.” I answer. “Independently wealthy.”

“Oh…” She looks confused. “What were you doing on a farm?”

“I told you,” I say. “It was an accident.”

“Listen,” I start by cutting her off before she can keep asking questions, “If you could help me carry these to my car, I’d really appreciate it.”

She smiles, so eager to be helpful. I know she says yes, but now the monster is waking up and it drowns her voice out. I really didn’t think I was going to enjoy this. Apparently I was wrong.

“Thanks,” I say. “You’re…nice.”

“Aww,” she laughs, “I can’t just leave you.”


I carry what I can with one hand and I lead her to my car.

“What’s your favorite movie?” I ask. She looks at me with a sly, inquisitive grin.


“No reason.” I say.

“You tell me yours first.” She suggests.

“I guess…Schindler’s list.” I answer truthfully, thinking of the scene with the pile of dead kikes.

“Now…what’s yours?”

She laughs again. “…I don’t even know your name.”

“My name is Vlad the Impaler.”

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“My name is Brad Taylor.” I reply loudly.

She gets this look on her face that I really can’t describe. “Nice to meet you Brad.” She says. “I’m Carly.”

“Nice to meet you too…” I say making sure we’re alone. “Carly.” We get to my Porsche.

“This is me.” I say.

“Wow, impressive.”

I grab the axe handle that I stashed behind the right rear wheel earlier.

“Well theres a very good reason that a guy like me…needs a car like this…” I say, raising the huge club over my head.

“Oh yeah, whys that?” she asks, not turning to face me as she places my books in the back seat.

“I’ll show you,” I say.

She laughs out an “Oh yeah?” and as her neck swivels I can see her face just drop when she see’s me. The force of the handle against her skull knocks her out cold, and a tiny spurt of blood gets on my forehead. I gently guide her unconscious body into the passenger seat and I drive away.


I’ve made my way slowly south to the state border, hitchhiking in various trucks and beaten down old cars along the way, stopping only to buy more whiskey and sometimes to throw up or call my father and not say anything until he hangs up. The guilt is slowly dwindling away but theres a hard dense core of it that sits in the pit of my stomache and it festers in the heat of my paranoid, rancid blood.

I sit in a diner and it’s just about closing time. My cigarettes are stubbed, out forming a circle pattern around the ashtray and I’ve already ordered fourteen cups of coffee and some French fries. The kitchen is closing and I can hear somebody yelling in what sounds like Spanish but could also be Italian. I hear a glass break and a girl is shouting, “You need to calm down, Muzi.” Then theres more Italian words spat out angrily and another crash and the sounds of glass breaking fill the restaurant.

“Just get out.” The girl yells. “Just get the fuck out of here. Jesus.”

I get up out of my chair and I head to the kitchen to check out the fight, even though I don’t want to. I really just want to leave and go drink some more, get even drunker than I am, not pay the bill, go find a place to bed down for the night. But I’m drawn to the kitchen and my feet keep stepping one after the other towards it. I stop outside the door and take a deep breath supporting myself against the wall, listening for more commotion, but all I can hear is something growling and tiny scared gasps of breath.

“Muzi.” I hear. Techno music thumps softly over the little sound system wired above the door. Thump thump thump …thumpa thumpathumpa thumpCoun-tingdown.

“Muzi, stop it.” I can’t move. I can barely stand. The only thing that keeps me awake is the thumping bass from the speakers and the only thing keeping me standing is the wall.

Thump thump thump …thumpa thumpathumpa thumpCoun-tingdown.

I stumble over my feet and crash through the door. A swarthy man wearing a white apron has his pants pulled down around his ankles and a slight looking girl, brown hair, brown eyes, tan complexion is writhing under him as he thrusts into her violently.

“Hey.” I say, blinking rhythmically. I’m trying to adjust to the new surroundings, but I’m still almost face down on the floor, scrambling to stand up and get to my feet. “Hey.” I say again, to myself.

I feel heat on my neck and I realize that I’m lying near a stove that hasn’t been turned off, and the shock of it helps me to get up. “Hey.” I say again, this time more loudly, but the swarthy man still ignores me. “Get… off of her…man.”

Thump thump thump …thumpa thumpathumpa thumpCoun-tingdown

I put my hand on his shoulder and grip it as hard as I can and pull back quickly.

“Hey whatcha hell man?” He says in his accent as he falls off of the girl and hits his head on a cupboard.

“Hey,” I say.

He looks at me in the eyes and doesn’t flinch. His pupils look like black olives filling his eye sockets almost completely. His hair is wild and curly sticking out from under his white hat at every angle.

“Hey man,” He says, nervously. “She was… asking for it.”

I turn to the girl who is covering herself as best as she can, and she still has tears rolling down her face and she’s backing towards the door of the kitchen hastily. “Son of a bitch.” She says, sobbing, and she spits at the man.

“Hey…Baby.” He says, shrugging innocently. “C’mon we was just-a havin-a some-a fun.” Turning to look at me he repeats, “we was just-a havin-a some-a fun.”

“Whatever …man.” I say. “That wasn’t… cool.”

He shrugs, picking himself up and dusting off his white apron. “Stupid bitch.” He mutters under his breath.

Suddenly my arm flies in an arc across from my chest to the kitchen counter with my bottle of Jack Daniels in hand and smashes it. I wave the broken bottle at him and yell: “Just get out of here man.” Gesturing towards him, threateningly, drunkenly waving the bottle not noticing the little slivers of glass that embedded in my fingers and cheeks when I smashed the bottle. “Just get the fuck out man. Right now.” I say.

He does.

  Thump thump thump …thumpa thumpathumpa thumpCoun-tingdown

I hear a car start and leave. I look around me. The kitchen is a mess, food and scattered flatware is all over the place. I pick up a scarf that’s strewn over a chair near the door and stuff it in my pocket.

I hurry away and go back out to the highway to try and catch a ride farther south.

“I’m not interested.” I say to the girl with the orange shirt that says Bootilicious on it in white faded letters. “Go…like bother someone else dude.” I say.

She smirks at me and snarls, “I’m not a dude. Don’t call me dude, ok?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Sure.”

A pause in which I don’t look towards her and I feel her eyes drilling a hole in my skull.

“Do you have any blow?” I ask Joe Moore as he walks by. He smiles and nods at me, shooting me a thumbs up, continues walking towards Hector and Mark who are pumping the keg.

I sigh and turn to my right where I’m surprised to see the girl in the orange shirt still standing there, smiling sarcastically.

“What man?” I ask her as I shoot a jet of smoke from my nostrils. “Do you like… want something?”

She rolls her eyes and then tilting her head away from me she bites her lips and refuses to make eye contact with me. I think I see her eyes watering.

“Listen…” I say, popping the roach of the joint I’d been smoking into my pocket. “I’m like…not even really supposed to be here.” Then I look around the room, searching for anyone, anything to take me away from this girl.

“Sure.” She says.

“I swear to, like um…god.” I say as I watch Marc take something out of a prescription bottle and pop it in his mouth. “I’ve got like a court order…banning me from like social events.”

“Uh-huh.” She replies, her mouth tightly pursed, her eyebrows arched.

“I’m like totally banned from… parties and shit.” I say. “Excuse me.”

I do a swim move around her and head towards Joe and Marc who are both laughing at something and lighting each other’s cigarettes, both their heads bobbing to “Voodoo” by Godsmack which is playing over the sound system wired across the ceiling from corner to corner of the room.

“Sup nigga?” I say and slap hands with Marc, who rolls his eyes and smiles wanely.

“Uh, hey.” He replies. “What’s goin’ on Jonny?”
“Nothin’ man.” I say, smiling widely and nodding. “Really nothing.”

“Hey Jon.” Joe says. “You got any blow?”

I shake my head no and put my hands out. “Search me bro.” I say.

He smiles and laughs, “Nice dude.” He says and I guess he see’s someone across the room because his head perks up and he smiles even wider. “Yo Marc,” He says, turning to Marc. “I’ll call you later.”

Marc nods and pats him on the back. “Later buddy.” He says.

“Peace.” Joe responds and heads towards the other side of the room where I see some big guy with a black hat and dreadlocks poking out from underneath it.

“So…” I say, turning to Marc who’s lighting a cigarette and still nodding to the music. “Whatcha got?” I ask him, looking him in the eyes.

“Nothing man.” He says. “Nothing much.”

“Cool.” I say. “That’s cool man.”

“Isn’t it?” He replies. “It’s a scream kid.”

“Right on.” I say, nodding.

“Right on.” He agrees.


I’m looking at Hannah, as she’s getting ready to go out. She’s looking in her huge mirror as she affixes a pearl earring to her left ear. “Where do you want to go?” She asks me.

“Doesn’t matter.” I say.

“No, really.” She says, smiling naughtily for some reason, “We’ll go anywhere you want tonight. It’s up to you.”

“Wow,” I say forcing a smile. “That’s um…like a lot of responsibility babe.”

She licks her lips and turns back to the mirror. “We don’t have to… go out if you don’t want to.” She says, looking at me in the mirror. “We could stay in.”

“Naw.” I say. I’m lying on my back staring up at the ceiling and throwing a Koosh ball at the ceiling and catching it on the bounce. “Need some fresh air babe.” I say.

“Yeah.” She says, as she pulls on a pair of jeans. “Ok. But where?”

“I dunno.” I say. “Anywhere really. Wal-Mart.”

I’m waiting for a good moment to breach the subject of us breaking up. It’s harder than I thought it would be. It’s going to be such a hassle and I wish there was a neat way to do this. Am I really interested in a big emotional brouhaha tonight? Couldn’t I just be like ‘sorry babe I found someone else’? Because that’s the best I can think of but it doesn’t seem like the gentleman’s way.

“Listen Babe,” I say. “I’ve found someone else.”

“Yeah right,” she says. She laughs and comes over to the bed, falling on top of me and kissing me lightly on the lips.

“Uh…” I start but then stop. I told her what I had to; if she doesn’t believe me…not my fault?

“I guess we’ll just… stay in.” I say.


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