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 deliriumspinning 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.
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