the haw-raw

The Spectre of Gene Wilder

I was asleep when the first tower got hit. A friend called, knowing I don’t have a television, “Holy Shit, man! You gotta SEE THIS!!!” So I go over. He and his wife are in the living room glued to the TV, watching buildings explode and burn. They offer me some coffee. His wife’s all shakey and says she’s got this cousin down there. It was pretty exciting. I got kinda caught up in the thing so I say I got an aunt in New York, too, and she says her cousin works right down in mid-town Manhattan, so I say, “My aunt works at the Port Authority and is probably lying under 30 tons of concrete by now,” to which she SHE says, “This isn’t a competition, you know,” and I say, “It sure looks like one from HERE,” meaning the whole rich white machine was about to bomb the SHIT out of a bunch of poor people half way ‘round the world. My friend’s wife takes a long, cold sip on her coffee and hisses, “Go suck a donkey dick.” My friend tells her to calm down and I guess they’d argued about this before, so she storms out and I know it sounds stupid but the coffee was pretty strong and, too, it seemed like ARMAGEDDON and all, so I light up a cigarette to calm my nerves and his wife comes screaming into the room yelling at me to put out my smoke, I CAN’T SMOKE IN HERE, WHO DO I THINK I AM, smoking in their house? My friend leans over and lights a cigarette for himself. So she throws up her arms and has one too. I then tell her I lied about my aunt and she calls me an asshole but I can tell she thinks the whole thing is funny and, too, there’s something like a hard-on in her look and, besides, I’m not that close to my friend so while he’s watching the apocalypse she and I are blowing turn-on smoke in each other’s faces and I think, “How can I get rid of this guy so I can fuck his wife?” My heart’s racing from the coffee and the room’s filling up with smoke so I nod my head at the bathroom and go off under the pretense of taking a piss. A few seconds later there she is at the door and then, you know, we’re screwing and, of course, not long after that the second tower collapses and my friend’s at the door, bashing at it, breaking it in and we’re trying to get our clothes on but the bleachy, sweat stink of cum is in the air, mingling with cigarette smoke and she’s shouting at him, “Fuck you, Gary! Fuck YOU!!! Why don’t YOU calm down?!”

That’s when I fell into their tub and cracked my head and I remember thinking as they drove me to the hospital, “I wonder if the Kennedy assassination was like this?”

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