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"Your Too Straight for my Girl Friend" A Night with Twiggy. -The Art of Sex Drugs and Pissing People Off Chapter 2

The Diaries of A Scene King.

 "My idea of a drug experience, is eating some psilocybin mushrooms and wandering around the Louisiana park lands, but cocaine makes you feel numb, and sometimes numb is the best way to feel."-Trent Reznor

   The Second Stair Case.   

 (get it.. like the second story, it's like a play on words n stuff.)

                                             OR

"You're Too Straight for my Girl Friend"

     (A Night With Twiggy)

 

 

Part one. A prequel to the real story or chapter 1.5 

..... Blow Me....

  I would like to start off by saying that I do not do cocaine. Anymore. Just like I am not the decadent club whore that I used to be. At some point I really did turn into something of a hopeless and tragic romantic. If you don't believe me, try back reading through all my    blogs, and Facebook posts. And as you will see in this story the small beginnings in that change. I may seem to still be a dirty slut, but you will notice my actions are carried out with far less enthusiasm, as I begin to crave love.
  
     I have turned from virtual party boy into a whiny ass emo kid who cries into his Black Veil Brides album cover and still plays "My Heart is in Ohio" on repeat to get to sleep at night. And while I'm not sure which lifestyle was more self destructive, at least my current situation is far less expensive.
  but...
The last time

    I did cocaine, was on one such suicidal death race to alleviate another broken heart. 
   After crossing around 200 miles of rickety mountain road at 90mph, and toasting my vodka filled cup to the line of white crosses
that honored the poor souls that passed before; I still arrived back at my parents house no more worse for the wear. The entire way,I had made constant Facebook updates, documenting my attempted journey into the abyss of bent metal and flames. I had somehow devolped a fan club of "friends", cheering me on and telling me "I could do it." Sometimes I get the feeling that people don't like me, but then I remember that I am awesome and feel better. There were also a few comments telling me that I was stupid for texting and driving.  Apparently they completley missed the memo where I'm pissed drunk and driving at insane speeds across narrow mountain passes that twist and wind endlessly into cataclysmic drops into the depths of the earth. (so dramatic)

    Now that I was still alive, I only wanted one thing; to feel numb. I dug through the unpacked boxes that had made the 3 day road trip from California with me, and found what I was looking for. A small plastic cube containing the remains of a white crystalline alkaloid substance and a very potent one at that.  
    I remember when I got it. I was living upstairs from an ex girlfriend and was with my current one.  My current girlfriend had an eccentric habit of needing cocaine every time we had sex.  My ex girl friend had a Columbian boy friend so this arrangement seemed to be symbiotic. She (the ex) gave me a small baggy of what she had left, saying "it was weak ass shit." and that they had been doing it for days whilst making a new album for their band.
  When my lady and I tipped our finger in it for a taste, our faces went entirely numb, leading us to ask two questions of considerable importance. "They consider this weak?" and "Can we meet your Drug dealer?"  

  Back in the present, which is still in the past, I Headed to a strip club ran by the Hells Angels, and on the out skirts of town.  I sniffed up two bumps in the bathroom through a one dollar bill (because I'm cheap). I purchased a lap dance from a girl named "Pixie Styx" who was asking me to share my powdered candy. I grabbed her by her tangled locks and guided her head down.. down down to lick... no pervert.. not that.

  To lick the plastic snow globe clean.  I Then took what was left out of her mouth with my numb tongue as we made out in coke frenzy.
  At the end of the night however, I was still alone.  Laying in bed alone. Staring at my ceiling alone.  And I was still miserable. I was still alone.  That was the last time I did cocaine. 

t-shirt's available soon!

part 2  or the real start of chapter 2

Rice Rice Baby... egg roll.. egg roll.. ( I love Asians, please don't think I'm racist)

  It's mid July I think, in the summer of 2011 (I hope). If not the drugs have taken their toll on my ability to properly perceive the space time continuum.  I am practically homeless and I am stranded in Riverside County.
   In a series of Unfortunate events; revolving around bad decisions, extortion that had been perpetrated by LAPD's traffic division, and a notorious fetish model whom does not appear in this particular story what so ever. I am now living with my sheltered,savant,and almost
lovable keyboard player Dan. (I say almost, because, despite the fact that he looks like a
cuddly pokimon, he is in truth is a complete ass and will kick me out soon if I don't find a way to get him money.) While This little roll-poly Asian boy can listen to any piece of musical notation once, and instantly play it on a multitude of sound producing devices
commonly called instruments, his common sense was more less than common. He also had
better hair than I did, a fact of which I did not approve. Behind his gigantuine platform
boots (that he slept in) eyeliner, and J-rock hair, he borrowed a striking resemblance to the time traveling and affable character from NBC's fantasy series, "Hero's"; in fact upon our first encounter I had asked him if he would awkwardly adjust his glasses for me, and say " I can bend space and time."
  (Which to my delight he did, but to my disappointment lacked all adorableness.)

this is Dan from our Album artwork

Quotes by Dan:   

     This sheltered boy had once asked me, "Is a girl supposed to (get wet), down (there)?" ..........and ....
"Why can't I figure out how to get the milk out when I suck on her titties?"

(Allow Dr. Aiden to answer for the boys and girls who do not know.
  Yes. If your doing it right
... and.. 
      is she actually lactating? and why would you want it too? Your supposed to be a vegan for fucks sake! 
  
 
   While it seems that I may be addling on about irrelevant details,or just being a plain dick, I assure you some character back ground will come in handy later in this tale. For now the important footnotes are as follows. I am living in Riverside with Dan. Dan is "I lack the words to describe". I have built a tent in his living room resembling a hybrid of a sultans palace and my old bedroom. We are in a "goth band". We kind of suck and you can purchase our album here. 
D=vision of Ang=ls : Half Empty .  

  Shameless advertising aside, I am once again lamenting over another failed love attempt with yet another Model, who is in no way affiliated to the for mentioned fetish  model whom aided in the destruction of my life (and is coincidentally featured in the above album artwork) , accept that they actually did ,on some finite level, may
have seen, or met, or possibly shared a photo op at some miniscule point in time, at a
nameless club or event, which could lead to the possibility of them knowing each other in real life, in which case they did not. None of that was important. what is important, is
the fact that I thought I was over Natalie by meeting Ashley, and Ashley seems to like a guy
called "Dirty Dave". Solution to this dilemma should be obvious. Go get wasted and do drugs with celebrity rock stars in a place filled with naked women. Duh, isn't that what Jesus would do?

Girls Glam Metal and Disco ..    

    I am making the long drive  into Hollywood in the middle of night, after spending the usual two hours of getting ready, and I was wishing my hair would just spike as naturally as an anime characters. (or Dan's for that mater.)  I had been on the phone with my friend Lanni earlier. (spelling a name all wrong is a good way to preserve ones Anonymity isn't it?) and she had invited me out to have a few drinks with her and her boyfriend at the Hollywood strip club featured in both "Pulp Fiction" and various music video's.

1433 N La Brea Ave  Los Angeles, CA 90028

     Crazy Girls was more than just a strip club, it was a haven for all of Hollywood's, rock and roll riff-RAD looking to see some boobies. It also had live bands performing up on the stripper stage. Lanni's boyfriend was more than your average Hollywood musician wannabe. He was a rock star. 
   
     I remember when I first met Lanni at club perversion.  I had a total crush on her. Her big bows, big hair, big eyes, and tiny attention span bordered on adorable. Then, I heard her talking about her uber cool boyfriend who was just sooooo awesome, because he was in a band.  I had snobbishly inquired as to which band he was in as everyone in Hollywood is either in a band, or wants to be, or is "important" in some way. She returned my query   as if I should have already known the answer. "Jeordie White, and he's in 'Marilyn Manson'." I  promptly bowed my head in honor and a quick meditative practice of what the Buddhist's call "Shut the fuck up." I was out manned. Her bf, was definitely cooler than I was.

      Before you could hope to translate the book of revelations from English into English that makes sense, I was sitting casually if not awkwardly in a  low lit room of  sensual colors, and red carpets. Playing with an ice cube that listlessly  swam in a sea of Captain Morgans, and Coke, casting a rainbow of light that danced of the shiny onyx table top, and watching a retro funk band bring back disco  on the stripper's main stage. A with a few scantily clad hotties pole dancing at their sides. I sipped my drink and tried to look self confident while creating idle conversation with "Twiggy Ramirez" . I tried to convince myself that this was a normal situation and that I belonged here.  A bit awkward, as I didn't really know what to chat with him about.  I figured asking him to hook me up with a record deal or even asking him if he wanted to "jam" sometime would be a little over the line and all.  Plus he was mostly talking up a record producer who had happened to be there. Stuff  about tracking, and  the new Manson album that was supposed to be coming out. Of course this forced me to visit most of my attention on Lanni, as she was the only other person there as of yet that I knew. This also made me feel awkward because I didn't want him thinking that I was coming on to his girl. In truth, I have always felt most comfortable talking to the fairer sex. Men make me feel nervous and defensive.  It mostly likely has to do with the fact that it was always boys, who picked on me in school and possibly the time they threw me into the girls bathroom which is where I learned to talk to girls. **

     I would like to point out, that Twiggy is not quite the same guy you may remember from the good ol' days of Marilyn Manson.  The "Smells like Children" or "Anti-Christ Super Star" days. Not even the "Dope Show" days.  He does not wear a dress, nor does he have dread locks and white face make up with no eyebrows. He was wearing a suit. He has shoulder length hair and has a beard and mustache, like a Hispanic Grizzly Adams. And  I would have been a little disappointed if this had been my first meeting with the rock legend; however, it was not.  That first time was at Bar Sinister, when Lanni introduced him to Dan and I.  At least I think she introduced him, it could have been that Dan had plunged himself 2o ft through the air (and that's a lot of weight to plunge) like a flying sumo canon ball and into the rock star, then simply asked..."Are you  "Twiggy Ramirez?"  "Theee reeeeaaal Twiggy Ramirez?",   "Twiggy from Marlyn Manson?"  I pretended not to know Dan, for I knew the answer to the question was no  it wasn't. I was wrong. 

       Dan was obviously a fan, and Jeordie, I realized found his excitement endearing, and really it was.  Sitting there, thinking about all of  this, and also thinking that any man sitting in a
nudie bar deep in thought and acting nervous  must  look like a total creeper.  I gave Dan a text and told him to join us. 
                                                                         

                                                                                                

Stripper Zombie's, Dirty Dave, and the art of being Numb....

    The smell of smoke was in the air.  Diffused light bounced and filtered through broken glass. I could hear the glass crunching beneath me and mingle with the screams behind me,  as I crawled behind the bar for shelter.  Dirty Dave through me glock. "How many rounds left?" I asked  "Not many" he replied in the dry tone of one ready to die. "You know, earlier tonight I would have rather been shooting at you Dave." 
"You may still get your chance, man. One of the zombies bit me. When I change, promise me you'll finish me." 
"It would be my pleasure Dave, it would be my pleasure."
    This of course, never happened. Nothing ever gets that exciting.
 This was just the scenario that was playing through my head as I shook Dave's hand. Ironic that I was going out tonight in order to not think Ash and Dave, and ended up in the exact place he was.
  I was feeling pins and needles in my ears when Lexis had introduced him as Dirty Dave, but fortunately she had also
been buying me so many drinks that she may as well of thought that I had alcohol inhaling  gills.  If not filled with the steady flow of rum and whiskey I may at any moment start flopping around the grimly floor like a beached whale and die.  Lexis was among a group of girls Lanni had invited to join us that evening, along with an Aussie rocker girl named Emma and a punk rock porn star named Tuesday. (not to be confused with Wednesday or Friday.)    Dan was there now too, and apparently so was Dirty Dave.
 I moved away from Dave's area at the bar and attempted to avoid him and eye contact.  I introduced Dan to all our new friends and in order to look cool, I called him my keyboard player.  Tuesday pointedly pointed out (I like that, pointedly pointed out) that he seemed like a keyboard player because he was so shy and quiet. Or was he actually quiet and shy, the world will never know.  I pointedly pointed out that he was Asian because I have an amazing grasp of the obvious. Tuesday on the other hand, was not quiet nor shy, but swam at the other end of  the swimming pool, taking more of the  Sid Vicious approach to life. That is if Sid Vicious had been a sexy Latino girl, didn't do heroin, and modeled for Hustler's Barley Legal.      

    Demonstrating her sexual and anarchistic nature, and the fact that Dan was indeed shy.   She asked him if he wanted to "see her tits", and then pulled her shirt up.  Dan quickly averted his eyes away from her exquisitely perky and darkened nipples and blushed as hard as an Asian can blush.  She  practically crawled  onto his lap and literally shoving her bosom into his chubby round face began to scream "Look at me fucker!" " Look at me when I'm talking to you!" but Dan could not peel his eyes away from his stompy boots and missed what was infinitely more entertaining and somehow more erotic than the girls who were being paid to be naked on stage. The show abruptly ended however; when the zombies attacked!

(oops there I go again, I apparently just really want to write about zombies today, but all the zombies were still in downtown Los Angeles walking back and forth looking for crack rocks.)
   
    We were at Lexis's house. Twiggy and Lanni were no longer with us. I had barley hung out with him all night, accept when we were all waiting to get an 8 ball of cocaine. That's the thing that is important in a friendship. You don't need words to express your feelings in Hollywood, just an intimate act of two grown men sharing one mirror and a straw in a bathroom stall .  This says more than any words can describe.  At least this is often true in the mindset of those of us who do cocaine, and for the time being this was my only interaction with the rock star. 
    We were doing the rest of our coke with Lexis and Tuesday at their apartment. Twiggy and Lanni had taken theirs with them, and went home.  I tried to get Dan to try it, because I am a good friend like that.   I always attempt to be a positive and beneficial influence on my friends lives. (sarcasm) I eventually convinced him it was o.k to stick his fingers into it and get at least one tingly lick. Just like that candy they used to sell when I was a kid.  You know, the flavored sugar that you shove a candy stick into and suck all the sugar off the wet stick! Yea?   Now imagine if that was cocaine in the bag! Sales would double.   This was the only time Dan did coke, and he barley tasted enough to numb a tooth ache, and despite the fact that he claimed to be coke-head afterwards, he couldn't even stay awake the rest of the night.
 Of course we had also poured him a big strong glass of vodka and o.j to watch him  chug it fast. Why? because it was funny and because we are mean. He was light weight despite his all so tubby demeanor, and passed out on the floor about ten minutes later. 
    I used to have a favorite way of doing cocaine. I am a sensual being by nature, and I didn't care much for the gasoline like drip that rolled down the back of your throat when insufflated.   It made me feel like I had head congestion or had sucked the cock of the Toxic Avenger. I much preferred to enjoy the experience with a pretty girl.  To run the powdery substance like gloss across her soft lips and mouth, and then to take hers into mine and ingest the drug through a slow deep kiss. Numb, tingling lips pressed to one another as a euphoric rush screams through your body and your mind lights  off fire works.  This makes everyone a good kisser, because you can't tell if it's the kiss or the drug that's making your heart beat faster and weakening your knees.  This method of consumption will also often lead to other things that maybe you wished you hadn't done.

   A very small amount of cocaine is euphoric and this euphoria can act as an aphrodisiac.  Too much cocaine will just make people more aggressive and possibly violent from the fact that their dick is no longer wanting to be as attentive as their mind. (both of which was probably small to start with.) What I am actually failing to point out here is that cocaine is an anesthetic. Anesthesia, numbs.  Numb is not good for your erection . Nuff said. 
    Numb Numb kisses led to other things. As of yet, I had not done to much coke.   We were naked and borrowing Tuesdays bed, something that I believe would have pissed her off had she known and may well know soon if she reads this.  My heart was racing a hundred miles an hour. I kept wondering if it was from the
sex, or the drugs, but I feared having a stroke at any moment. We would periodicly lick more coke off of each other whist barley missing a beat. At one point She asked me if I wanted her
friend to join in. Now my brain was thinking "This is fucking awesome, hell yea!" My body was thinking.."I can't feel my penis." 
My mouth said something in between, that was more or less unintelligible but likely said with a lot of pep and over confidence. 
  Wow, what a fantasy! The two hot girls on each side of me, petting me. Waiting for me. Wanting me. Wondering why da fuq I wasn't hard. I was seriously trying to focus, but my brain was suddenly distracted by  ten thousand other things that seemed more interesting all at once.  Lexis became angry because she had forgotten that it was her idea to invite her friend in and suddenly blamed me for it and "left us alone." (drugs can effect your thinking)  Unable to perform any other action I went down on the only girl left in this threesome, while wondering if the art of brain surgery was really that difficult, or if maybe I could start a back alley side practice.  I was also thinking about anything but what I was doing, until I finally just got bored and went into the other room to do something else.  I began to realize that sex and a whole lot of cocaine don't mix for me very well but would be necessary for my practice of neurology.***  


     I also thought about Ash.  I wished that I had not been a fling for her.  I wished that I was with her and not here. And I felt bad. Because it occurred to me that Lexis might be thinking the same thing about me that I was thinking about Ash.  I wondered why that was.  Why you really really like a certain person, but that person just looks at you as a good time, and why when your not really really into someone, and just wanna have fun, it is usually that person that really really likes you.  It was if cupid had a cold, and got wasted on NyQuil while shooting his arrows in all the wrong directions.  This would have made me feel sad, but at the moment I could not feel a thing.


   







    In the other room and mostly all dressed at this point, I believe. We did everything we could to get Dan the hell up off the floor and to come crash on the bed, something that seemed to require a full
group effort of at least three people to get him on his feet. Dan  missed the correct turn into the bedroom and went into the bathroom instead. We assumed at the time, this was to relieve himself, but several minutes, maybe hours later (my perspective of time was running in fast forward), Lexis suggested we go find out what he was doing. He seemed to be fond of washing his hands. So much  that he had decided to fall asleep that way. He was still standing straight up, with his head  face down on the counter top, hands dipped into the running water and snoring loudly. It would have been a shame to wake such a blissful sleep.

     In the morning before we returned back to Riverside. If I returned back to Riverside, because I honestly don't remember if I did, but  in the morning none the less, I received a text message from Lanni. I wasn't aloud to be her friend anymore.  "I was too pretty and not gay enough to be her friend and it seemed that Jeordie had been under the impression that I was gay. ( not the first or the last time that happened.)  He was angry that Lanni's friends had gone to hang out with Dan and myself instead of going home with him. As per their relationship agreement, he had permission to fuck her friends. Maybe I'm just not rock star enough in my mindset, but with someone as incredible as her, why would you want too.  I would have traded him in a heart beat. She told me if I even texted her again, he would send her back to the small Midwestern town from which she came. 
    I should have been upset, or sad, or angry, or at least disappointed at loosing a good friend over a nonsensical  reason, but I was young and shallow and proud.  Instead of lamenting as I should have, I turned to Dan and said, "Fuck Yea, mother fucker! Twiggy Ramirez said I was hot!" "too hot to hang out with his girlfriend!" "He's a famous rock star, so that must mean I'm cool!"  It didn't. It just made me one friend shorter. 

  Happily, as with most things in Hollywood, this did not last more than a few weeks. Next thing I knew, Lanni, Twiggy and I were like old chums, drunk and high, and on a roof top, partying with all our other friends. We had "kissed" and made up.  He really did give me a big smooch at some point.  He blamed the whole thing on the drugs, and so did I.  I didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable around him any longer. I didn't feel like some weird fan standing next to one of my teen idols, trying not to look or sound stupid or star
struck. He had acted like a real human with real human emotions and I saw him as such.  I wasn't hanging out with Twiggy anymore.  I was having drinks with Jeordie. It was nice. 
  
  When it comes down to it we are just people like everyone else no matter how famous we get, how much money we make, or how much cocain we do. Weather we are Vietnamese Goth kids who look like time raveling super hero's and looking for a "quarter inch cable in our pants" (He said that), or a wild punk rock porn princess;  whether we live in loft or in our cars or a tent in someones  living room. We all have the same wants, and insecurities and fundamental needs.  In the end I guess we
are all just a little to straight for our girlfriends. Wait. that didn't come out right.

-End.
 (of Chapter Too) (yes Too not Two) (there is a difference)



"No matter how good you feel, or how glamorous cocaine makes you think you are... there will eventually come a day.. when it's YOUR TURN to buy."- Unknown comedian.

"Cocaine gives you the feeling that some very attractive person has jumped out of nowhere and given you a really nice compliment.  This feeling lasts for about 2o minutes, then it is replaced by the feeling that need more coke."- Killing Your Self to Live by Chuck Klosterman

"Winning" -Charlie Sheen.

Foot Notes:  * Crazy Girls is a Hollywood Landmark

                     **  I was never thrown into the girls restroom, just my books were. I never learned to be good at talking to girls either, and I definitely did not learn in bathroom. That would have made me a pervert.

                    *** I actually knew a Hollywood Neurologist who ran fetish clubs on the side and was always reeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaalllllly high on drugs. 

 

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Easter Sunday or The Hills Are Alive with the Sound of Fuck Bunnies

     Chapter One sort of ...

The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Fuck Bunnies.

    It is Easter Sunday.  No, not this Easter Sunday in the year 2013 that was last Sunday, and I spent it awkwardly with my family trying to avoid eye contact with water girl working in the restaurant in which we dined. The water girl, in case you would like to know, has recently been trash talking me over facebook and youtube, in a juvenile attempt to undermine my oh so credible Youtube and Facebook fame. I will leave it at this. She sucks, I'm cool, and I would rather be gargling brocken glass than drinking the water she is serving.  Oh fuck balls, there probably was broken glass in my water! I digress.

  It is Easter Sunday .... ehemm... a "few" years ago. I'm not saying when. I'm not old!  Fuck you. I haven't slept, save more than a little. Details of the previous night are a rattled blur. I remember coming home but can't quite remember what we did before we had gotten back to my Hollywood Blvd Apt.  I am willing to bet my left testicle that it involved large quantities of alcohol consumption and possibly drug abuse. Actually I do believe we were at a club called "The Dark Room." which was free of charge, and more of a quaint hole in the wall bar, with the added feature of a small dance floor and upstairs lounge. It was ran by the well Known D.J Xian, who I believe appeared in another book released about the Gothic  club scene. She started Dark Room to appeal to old school, Goth and Death Rockers. Also Nothing in that paragraph is really is relevent to this story and I only reaveled it in order to brag about the fact that I was friends with a well known D.J., a deplorable name dropping action that I will continue to do through out my parables, so just deal. kthanx.-
  
    Anyways, back to my apartment on the night before Easter. I love my apartment.  Granted, it is the size of a Japanese shoe box and I rent out my living room in order to afford the outragious 1100$ a month rent required to abide there. My current roommate is a stripper with blond hair, and very well made synthetic breasts. Which I may tell you, she can put a flashlight underneath to make glow like a lite brite set! Of course, I may not tell you that either.  She is also addicted to xanax, and wants to paint my Japanese paper walls with finger paints. I do however; have a swimming pool, an awesome eastern European landlord, and a live a half of a block walk to the star painted side walks of the Blvd, and all the fabulousness it has to offer. I miss my apartment.
 
    My date and I must have stumbled in there somewhere near 3 or 4 in the morning, and
immediately proceed to commit drunken acts of debauchery that has yet to be named in the karma sutra. We also may have done something completey differn't like have a decent conversation followed by regular old fashioned sex.  Either way, sex at some point was involved. (yes I'm trying to say that I got laid) That is the only thing that I remember about that night before Easter. That I didn't sleep. That, and my date hiding my cigarettes to prevent me from being encumbered by the need for more breath during sex. 
 
    It is Easter morning now and I am still with the girl from the previous night. She is cute, and random, and interesting, and her name is Bunny. Her name is not Bunny, but this is a story about Easter, and she keeps making references to us fucking like bunnies rabbits so... She is also, not the same girl today that she was back then, and therefore; I have chosen to rename her for now, as if she was two completley differn't personas. The girl she is today is absolutley amazing. A brilliant photographer, who can fashion an entire studio set from a days shoping at home depot. Aware, and insightful, and most of all one of the most heart felt and compassionate gilrs I know. In my hours of need she has more than once been there for me, and gave me a place to stay, and let wash my dirty clothes. She is someone I am proud to know. (I am by the way attempting to kiss her ass right now, just in case she is reading this.)  But THIS Bunny is just a little off in some way I can't quite explain. She may or may not have threatened one of her roomates with a knife, after all, that was a second hand rumor. Or it may have something to do with a condom, its contents in frozenly intact and preserving the seed of a local scene celeb.(again so and so told so and so who told me)You see the problem with Hollywood, is that you never run out of rumors and therefore; none of these are the reason that she seems a bit off to me.  She was simply not the same girl that she is now and possibly as mad as hatter. 

   This cute, and quirky, and smiling and adorably weird girl with a bump on her head had told me I could sleep when we got to Jewel's house.  That never happened.

Part two of the sort of Chapter labeled Chapter one, but really wasn't

THE TOY MAKER AND THE DANDY.............. or the Hills of Fuck Fuck Bunnies 2

   I First met Tony at Jewel's first house in Los Feliz. It was before I had even moved to

California, and was there on a pre-move visit, before being club napped to an after party.  I was drunkenly following a white albino skunk through the halls of the two story domicile in a futile attempt to feed the the critter cat food. It became quite angry at me and bit my hand instead. But all was not lost, oh no, for when the cat food was painfully dropped to the booze soaked and cocaine powdered floor, This Casper of stink dove right for it. At this moment I realized the skunk was a drug addict. I also realized he had been DE-skunked and did not stink.
  Tony was in the kitchen and as always, he was dressed sharp. with a bold Italian suit, color coordinated shirt and matching silk tie, he could give Carson Kressley and Cary Grant's love child fashion tips. His cheeks flushed red as they always did as the booze and vigor coursed red through his stout veins. He was a stout fellow. Not fat mind you, but a lovable heftiness like Doug Heffernan in the "king of queens" show.
  Tony was telling me about how much he hated the skunk. Not just with a passion, but with "A paaaaaaaassion." He spoke and did everything with a dazzeling, if not slurred fabulousness and drunken debonair. 
   A year or so later not much had changed.  The house was now located in North Hollywood, and had a pool.  The skunk had mysteriously dissapeared and was replaced by something far less exotic. A South American Aligator named "Ziggy". (Named after glam icon David Bowie's alter ego "Ziggy Star Dust") and the the residents as always and rotated again. That is everyone but Jewel and Tony.  It always seemed to be Jewel and Tony. They were inseparable, yet on Easter morning in the new one story 5 room, silent as a mouse house, they did not seem to be there.   

  Bunny let us in. By let us in I mean opened the door, as it was never locked. She said I could go to sleep on the couch and she wandered out by the swimming pool and disappeared into the sun light. I am starting to drift away to a land of fluffy things. The sun is dripping through the bay
windwows and offering a warm blanket across my legs. A warm Californian breeze visits me from the sliding glass door Bunny had left open, and I feel sleep setting in like a lover that I have been wating for an eon to kiss. (I am
trying to use Literary drama for effect. Is it working?) Then; almost as soon as the first
tremors of blissful sleep had pushed its way in, the couch quaked with a great heaving moan as full surround sound speakers vomited forth a cacophony of Julie Andrews, congesting my ear holes like wedding bells pounding on my hapless hung over brain matter. I looked up and waved a half hearted good bye to sleep, and a hello good morning to Tony. 
  Tony had plunged onto the couch with a cold can of beer in each hand and was still wearing his polka dot boxers(I just made up the polka dot part, kuz I thought it be funny) a tee shirt and an ear to ear shit eating grin. His eyes were glittering like a child on christmas morning and he said just one thing in exuberant excitement. "The Sound of Music is on!" and apparently it was.

    Jewel was a sort of scene icon in Hollywood, everyone knew him, and he knew everyone. He had been close friends with Roz Williams, the late vocalist and front runner of the American death rock band, Christian Death. He went to all of Brian Warners (A.K.A Marlyn Mansons)birthday party's and once upon a time, I recall Jordi White,(A.K.A Twiggy) Mansons bassist, had asked Jewel for help on "picking up chicks" during an outing at Bar Sinister. Although, his look varied through out the years; from large bedazzled Platforms, Robert Smith face make

up and Vinal pants; to side slashed jeans and velvet Shrine shirts or from Dread locks, to 8o's rock fashion mullets, one thing remained constant. He always looked like a rock star.  
  In my last encounters with him, he was bearing an uncanny resemblance to Nicky Sixx's long lost twin brother, sans the heroin addiction. Jewl however, was not a profesional musician. Jewel made toys and he wasn't home at any point during this story, but it was still his house.
 
  Have you ever seen or owned a Spawn toy? A Marlyn Manson Action doll? Aliens? If not you are totally uncool and should brownse your local Spencers or Hot Topic a bit more. You should also stop reading my blog because I don't like you. . .At any rate,Jewel is responsible for their creation, and as such a virtual leigon of Gollumns, (actually a
life sized replica of the ring coveter),
H. R. Giger monsters, and the K.I.S.S army which garrisoned the walls, seemed to be dancing and wishing me a "So long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, goodnight.  Bunnie accompanied them by singing along with "coo coo, coo coo"(I mentioned that she was weird right?)
  Tony was in the kitchen again making spaghetti and chicken Parmesan,which were were going to consume with great amounts of whine from a bottle named BOB. Tony was a master chief, and my mouth was salivating as I tried to wish my mother a happy Easter, and warn her to keep Dad away from the T.V or be subjected to "The Sound of Music" for the kabillienth * time. This last fact coupled with mothers comment that "At least it wasn't Evita." received Tony's attention and upon hanging up the phone he assured me in very matter of fact way. "I'm afraid to tell you, that your father is most definatley gay." A revelation that often makes me wonder to this day as I have often found the man watching Liza Minnelli in "cabaret". Tony often sings along to that one as well and I think my father and him could make a very cute couple.

    Part 3. Soft Things Spitting Blood. Or See You Later Alligator ...

and now.. a poem

    Soft things.  Soft things that move and purr. Sleep delirium

 spinning heads the out lines of a pitch black room and the rocking of a bed.
   
  A room that's not yours, and a room that's not hers. She is straddling on top of you. riding you hard like a horse bucking, or a bunny fucking. Soft things like skin and lips and hair.
  No sheets, a blanket maybe. The bed feels dirty somehow and it's not yours. And Its not hers.
  It belongs to my roomates boyfriend. He lives in the back room at Jewel's house. In retrospect I find it amusing that about a year later I will be dating someone who will be living in this very room and it's not the girl that I am with now.  Faster, faster! Soft breathing, hard breathing.
  I recall meeting the owner of this bed earlier. "Harder" she says. Soft things that move and moan. 
  I don't remember his name. I never remember the names of my roommates boy friends, though I bielive she loved this one, and it wasn't the guy who tortured people for money. If it had been, I wouldn't be leaving puddles of love juice on his dirty blankets right now. Faster! Soft gasping, soft tissue, running out of breath. 
   We started this little romp on the couch, or at least had one there earlier as well.

"Fuck me like the EASTER BUNNY! "

 O.k she never said that, but fuck would that
have been HAWT.  What she did say, when I went for round two was, "you really are a bunny rabbit aren't you?" which was kind of hot too I guess. South park was playing on the t.v in the background, and Tony had left or passed out in his room. That's when that guy showed up. I remember him being in the kitchen and asking if Bunny had seen Jewel, small talk about the food Tony made, uneasy intoductions as I ajdusted myself beneath the blanket hiding my naked nether regions and quickly shrinking Johnson. I shuffled the ankles I had bound in my subverted skinny jeans and attempted to look as innocent as a choir boy does after blowing the priest. He seemed indifferent to my prescience anyways, if not annoyed by my existence. Harder, Faster,  fuck fuck fuck .. fuck I'm running out of breath again, I need to
quit smoking. 

  He obviously didn't care much and left shortly after. That was when Bunnie decided we move into his room. Fuck fuck fuck .. fuck like a bunny.

  Soft things that sigh, soft touch, soft biting things, tongues and soft wet hot things. Soft things that wriggle and squirm and fuck and fuck fuck fuck 

fuck like bunny rabbits.  Soft things like pillows. Finally Sleep.

    The morning sun was dripping through the windows and warming me again. A shower wakes me up. A towel drys me off. Wake up, and make up and spike up my hair. In the sitting room now, where the alligator is kept. I press my face against the glass of a 2 ft long by one ft high aquarium with a small sign marked "Do not put hands or face into the cage or you will be removed from this house." It reminds me a little of the way Mcdonalds has to put "Hot" on thier coffe cups to avoid being sued. Only the coffee, for the most part on this planet, doesn't usually reach up and eat your arms off. Oh yea, the sign also says. "This is Ziggy". I had never seen Ziggy awake before. He is usually asleep in the drug induced deliriums which bring me here at night. He is awake however NOW, and his cold reptilian eye lids(two lids for each eyeball)flicker away to expose a dilated yellow gleam that seemed to pull the rays of the sun into his glass cell. He let out an intense hiss through crooked and seemingly frightfull rows of razor blade teeth, and looked me straight in the eyes. No into my soul. Shivers shuddered down my spine and it occurred to me that Ziggy did
not like me very much. It also occured to me that one day he would probably eat one of members of this house hold. After all, you can only feed an alligator on cool ranch doritos chips for so long before he will crave... well .. YOU. On one occasion I had even brought him my left overs from my favorite cajun restaraunt in Burbank. It was alligator gumbo which he lavishly lapped up. I then informed him that he had just ate his cousin. Moral of the story: If you hiss at me, I will make you eat your relatives. 

  He never did devour a rent paying resident  though. Unfortunately Ziggy was arrested for the crimes of being an alligator.
This is a topic that Jewel is very sensitive about, as he adored the reptile.  In fact his house has always been a refuge for exotic creatures, and by that I don't just mean alligators and skunks. Water monitors and ferrets,  but us. The club kids. His open doors have sheltered us, gave us family during holidays when far from home, and made us feel like we belong.
  One night, a rather stoned exotic creature sleeping in the front room answered the door for a cop, who was insistant on coming inside to give the owner of the car parked out front an expired plates ticket. (douche bags.. coff coff) while there he and his parter seemed quite amused by the alligator and took cell phone pics, posing with him.  Two hours later, S.W.A.T teams arrived with animal control and news vans. They busted in and incarcerated Ziggy the party gator back into the boring lands of the swamps. Trust me the wild is much less exciting than our world. The news coverage turned the ordeal into an over hyped and fictitious circus in which they were pulling a wild beast out of a crack house,
complete with sketchy camera angels, and shots of us "shady drug fiends" peering through stained window curtains bwahahah.  Ziggy now resides in a Los Angeles wild life refuge and last I heard was really feinding for some cool ranch dorito chips.

    I grabed my jacket and left Ziggy behind, I needed to get to the dentist. As I stepped
out in to the glaring california sun and dawned my oversized shades, my mouth filled with a

metalic biting taste, something Ziggy would have been familiar with. I turned and spit a puddle of blood into the front yard. There was something very wrong with me. Something wrong with my soft things. Some thing bunny's nor soft things nor alligators

was going to fix. Something was wrong.