19. brewing dysfunction - Sick Sacraments

19. brewing dysfunction

“Can you believe this?” Micky braked in frustration. “We are stuck in  

traffic because the Tasty Freezette has just opened up their first  

shop in Lemon Heights. People are mad.

“You know Denver,” he said and took a sip of his java, “I know why  

everybody hates us.” He looked around him. “These are the same idiots  

who complain about cigarette smoke, toxic waste and nuclear energy  

yet support the death penalty, the gun lobby and the war industry. It  

is no wonder that these sheep get all excited about a new ice cream  

shop. They are bored out of their fuckin’ minds and are suffering  

from heavy P.D.M.S.”

“What?” Denver quickly figured out an acronym. “Pretty Damn Much the  

Same?”

“No. No. Post Disillusionment at the Mall Syndrome. It happens once a  

month after they get their paycheck. Either they can’t find what  

they’re looking for or it’s too expensive. Disillusioned, they return  

home from the mall and have to wait another month.”

“That’s a big bummer, ’specially when their life’s credo is, ’I shop,  

therefore I am.’”

“Right you are. What’d you expect from a city whose mall is its town  

square?”

“’And ‘cause there’s no open space at the mall.” Denver shook his  

head. “They all sit in their cars, waiting for their turn at the  

Tasty Freezette Drive-Thru.”

“Ain’t life sweet?”

They were both silent for a moment, listening to the local university  

radio station playing a song by Pollution Circus. Finally, Micky was  

able to uncork himself from the bottleneck and move onto the open lane.

I have what you want

You want what I give

You give me nothing

I give you everything

You take, not asking

I tell you something

You got no real right

I’ll leave you nothing.

Still silent, they drove past the suburban developments spread out  

over the once pristine golden foothills of suburban sacramento. Built  

and ready to occupy within a month, these wood housing units, with  

the garages attached larger than the family living area, could not be  

distinguished from one another due to their general uniformity.

“There was cablevision in every home, a home page on every net, a  

swimming pool in every backyard, and a movie star for a pet.” Micky  

sighed. “They think they are so individual, yet their every move is  

controlled from cradle to grave. Credit card, drivers’ licences,  

broadband cable, Homeland Security. They all live a virtual 3-D  

world, all engulfed in righteousness and moral severity.”

“Hey, here’s a joke for you.” He looked over to Denver and handed him  

the paper cup half full of dark roasted coffee. “How do you make a  

housewife scream two times?”

“I dunno.” He took the paper cup. “How do you?” he asked, slumped in  

the passenger seat, feet resting on the dashboard, eating the sticky  

bun that he had stolen from Sunbreads.

“Two times!” Micky repeated.

“Yeah okay, two times.” Denver added, took a sip and returned the cup  

to Micky. “Okay. Tell me.”

“First, you fuck her in the ass and then you wipe your dick on her  

curtains.”

“Sick!” Denver was shocked that Micky would bother to tell such a  

joke. “Sick, sick, sick!” He abruptly sat up right and looked out at  

reality through the Galaxy’s windshield.

“It’s sick and anal and you are right!” Denver proclaimed and turned  

down the radio. “What has happened to the good life? What has  

happened to enjoying life? We’re all so superficially nice that we  

can’t talk to each other anymore. But you know damn well, that  

everyone has opinions. They all suppress them in order to hold the  

peace, but one of these days,” he cut the air with his right hand,  

“all they’re holding back is goin’ to come out in one big poop. Of  

course, the revolution won’t be televised.” He proclaimed, “You won’t  

be able to see a damn thing through all the shit.”

Micky was about to add his two cents but Denver cut him short.

“And then this work ethic! The divine right to be slaves! So  

everyday, after eating breakfast,” he stuck a piece of sticky bun  

into his mouth, “and brushing their teeth, they pile into their cars,  

which they’re making huge monthly payments on, and drive to work  

where they remain for eight to ten hours as forced labor. Then they  

return to their individual homes in their individual little  

automobiles and hook themselves individually to the one cable to get  

individual worldwide access. Oooh. It is such a perfectly controlled  

little machiavellian world. It is a police state and they’re living  

in a box.”

“I suppose,” Micky tried to interject.

“Yeah. Meaningless activity is what they do. It’s a love-hate  

relation between us artists and them society because we do something  

meaningful. We represent the freedom of self-determination, which  

they envy. Their envy builds their hatred. We do dirty things. They  

clean. It’s a vicious circle. Heil peace!” Denver exclaimed and  

jabbed his left arm out sideways, slapped Micky on the shoulder and  

made the coffee slosh.

“Woah. Fuck head! You almost made me spill coffee on my crotch,” and 

he brought the Galaxy to a stop at the red light. “Are you finished  

ranting?” Micky asked. “I was about to say, before you got all  

excited and kept on interrupting me. Here take this,” he handed  

Denver the coffee cup. “I suppose it has to do with this massive  

population influx that’s been going on for years. I mean, it never  

stops. I think only one third of the population of california is  

native. The rest have brought with them their funky ideas about  

morals and righteousness, and pollute what we commonly know as,” he  

looked at Denver for confirmation, “california thinking.”

“I’m with ya’,” Denver said, raising the coffee cup in salute. “We  

are a rare breed, Micky, you and I. It’s time to get rid of these  

whores. All they ever do is moan about how good it was back home, but  

they always fuckin’ seem to forget that they’re living in paradise.  

Just look what they did to los angeles. They made it into a zoo. It’s  

La-La Land down there. With the wheels of world pop culture sitting  

right smack in the middle.” He took a big bite of the sticky bun.

“Say,” Micky interjected, “What generation are you, may I ask?”

“I dunno.” Denver mumbled, chewing his sweet dough ball.

“Don’t beevis out on me, butthead. I’m asking you something important.”

“I already know what you’re getting at.” He swallowed the lump and  

chased it with dark roast. “I even think I told you.”

The beat of aggressive rap music could be heard slowly pulling up  

along side the Galaxy. Denver looked over to see a group of teenagers  

branded all over with consumer rebellion, as seen on MTV. They were  

rocking in their lifestyle automobile and swaying to the music,  

sipping cokes from their favorite fast-food depots and smiling all  

the way.

“Looky here.” He glanced over at Micky Hill who was picking his nose  

waiting for the red arrow to change to green. “Where do you think  

these cool warriors are going?”

“Why, they’re off to buy some culture.”

“Positively enhanced by the latest Hollywood blockbuster.” Denver  

said and smiled at the driver. He gestured to the other passengers  

and pointed at Micky. It seemed a shaved head could bring barbies and  

kens to peel with laughter.

“Looks like they’re having a great laugh at your expense.”

“Huh?” Micky said and shrugged his shoulders. “Like to be wannabees.  

Unaware that they are the ones being processed, and ready to smother  

out anything organic, like you or me.”

There was a slight pause before Denver questioned Micky’s last  

statement, “You are organic?”

“Yeah!” he stated. “I’m in one big recycling Fuck, I mean, flux. Just  

like you, Denver. If it wasn’t for those damn nano clips that your  

father dumped off at your house, you wouldn’t of made those  

sculptures. I remember how the Grid rippled with excitement when they  

found out you had crawlin’ paperclips.”

“You know that was the last time I saw him.’’ He paused and watched  

the teenmobile drive away. “I’m tired of being laughed at. Why is it  

cool to laugh at someone and speed away?”

“They are laughin’ at themselves.” he said, turning left onto the  

freeway. “They just don’t know it yet.”

’’Do you want some more coffee?” he asked, “Otherwise, I’m going to  

finish it.”

“No. Gimme the last few drops.” Micky demanded and took the cup from  

Denver. ’’Weren’t you goin’ to roll a joint?”

“I’ll roll at the pool side.’’ Denver paused. ’’You know what my  

solution to the world’s problem would be, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Micky smiled, and added, “I can imagine, Denver.”

“That’s right. These fuckers need to dilate. They need to respect  

their gifts, instead of always throwing up on everything and spoilin’  

its nature. I hate heterosexual assholes!” Denver pounded his feet on  

the dashboard.

“Woah. I think. I think you been drinkin’ too much coffee. You’ve  

forgotten that I’m a heterosexual.” He crumpled the paper cup and  

tossed it into the back seat.

“Yeah but.” He thought fast to find an exception to exclude Micky  

from his broad generalization, “You are a sensitive asshole. Did you  

know it’s the biggest muscle in your body? So, if it is the biggest  

muscle, it must be important and you shouldn’t ignore it.”

“That’s good to know. I wonder if your parents know that?”

“Delve into the fourth dimension. Penetrate deep into the annals of  

man’s lower intestines. Make him squeeze out the last drops of his  

eccentricities. It is time to purge!”

“Dilute Denver.” Micky tapped him on the shoulder and began to sing  

the refrain of an obscure song they both happened to know.

Guys are not proud.

They are disgusting.

Guys are not proud.

They’re always lusting.

Guys are not proud.

They’ll stick it in anywhere.

They’ll even do it with sheep.

They’ll even do it with sheep.

Rocking in his seat to the rhythm, he repeated the refrain and Denver  

joined in. The Galaxy sped past the Riverview, River Heights, Big  

River and Riverend tract house developments constructed on both sides  

of the freeway.

They chose River Glade Estates for its apparent newness, even though  

all condominium developments looked basically the same. They would  

have a better chance of not being checked by suspicious neighborhood  

watchdogs. It was a weekday, so all they had to deal with were  

children in designer swimsuits and overweight mothers in T-shirts  

with stretch marks for days.

A squirrel cut across their way as they wandered the concrete  

walkways that ribboned from one green condo to another and eventually  

converged on the parking lot. While searching for the pool, they  

surveyed the landscape. Newly planted shade trees and camellia bushes  

dotted the brilliant green lawn divided by the white paths that led  

nowhere.

Reaching their destination, they made themselves at home by smoking a  

joint near the pool area. Denver took a beer and went over to lie on  

a string lounge chair at the deep end. Micky conveniently chose a  

site near a sleeping beauty. He threw his jacket onto a chaise  

lounge, unfurled his undersized orange beach towel on the cement  

pavement, and dropped the Sutters Weekly at his side.

He took a beer for himself and placed the paper bag with the rest of  

the pool treats underneath the lounge chair to protect it from the  

scorching sun. Still clothed, he lay belly down in order to survey  

the other poolside guests and cracked open his first Pap’s beer of  

the day.

He became hypnotized by the sound of children screaming while playing  

imaginative pool games. As he blacked out the P in a headline of the  

Sutters Weekly to make it look like a T, Micky thought to himself,  

Olá small child. What are you playing? Are you a dolphin out of water  

searching for the sea of life, or a pirate looking for a lost treasure?  

Perhaps you are a little mermaid waiting for your ship to come in?  

Olá obese sea slug with inflatable hula ring. Are you the monster who  

lives at the dark side of the lagoon and eats happy sea horse  

families as they gallop by? Olá lady with buffalo skin in a stretch  

one-piece with floral design. You look like you have just retired  

from a job with the state. I can see that you are happy, a little  

vague and somewhat bored.

Olá Ms California lounging nearby. How did you get here? He adjusted  

his sunglasses for a better view. After casually tossing the Sutters  

Weekly in the direction of the girl, he looked across at Denver  

Griess seriously lounging on the other side of the pool. He crossed  

his arms in front of him, lay his chin on his wrist, and observed a  

line of ants making their way into a crack in the poolside pavement.  

Suddenly Ms California rolled over, got up from the lounge chair and  

jumped into the pool.

He focused his shaded vision on Ms California frolicking in the  

water. Well proportioned, perfect skin and hair, super white teeth  

and perky breasts that cleaved in her black one-piece bathing suit.  

Unfortunately, Micky determined, she’s exactly the type of girl who  

would never give me the time of day.

He rolled to his side, took a swig of his Pap’s, and his thoughts  

trailed off in the noonday sun. He began pondering why certain  

budding females of the california race simply ignored everything that  

was ugly and out of place, and concluded that the phenomenon was  

mainly due to the bright sunlight of california. The intense solar  

bombardment must somehow block out all that is disgusting from their  

vision. They were simply blessed to see only the beautiful and happy  

things around them. Hence, Micky would forever remain invisible in  

their sight.

I am not an alien, he reasoned as he scraped the bottom of his beer  

can across the concrete pavement. Skin’s okay. No open sores at  

least, except for my head. He lightly patted his scalp with his  

fingers for dried blood scabs. Teeth fine as they can be. No one has  

called me on bad breath. I do have this weird pigmentation on my  

scalp, though. Freaked me out this morning when I saw it in the  

rearview mirror. I hope she doesn’t think I have skin cancer. He took  

another gulp of Pap’s and mentally preened.

Hell! I do strange things in the name of art. I like to break things  

down neo-erroristically. I don’t think my profession would interest  

her in the slightest. Besides, she wouldn’t understand anyway.

He stretched his right leg and darted a look in the direction of the  

voluptuous mermaid and she shimmied herself out of the pool. She  

walked past him, flicking pool water from her hands and feet, and the  

cool droplets felt refreshing as they landed on Micky’s warm skin. He  

watched her adjust the swimsuit’s stretch between the contours of her  

legs. She gave a little squat to align it properly and paid no  

attention to the headlines of the Sutters Weekly that lay visible for  

all to read.

“ALIEN SPACE SHI’T’ Uncovered in the Hills of China.

Scientists say Chinese may have gained valuable space knowledge.”