Wow, I had a nice dream last night. Well, no fighting or killing or anything, but still nice. I and some other people were living in a massive ice cave for some reason, and it felt like there had been some sort of apocalyptic tragedy. There were plenty of people still being civilized, but the main government or governments were gone. Also, it was like a school of some kind where I was writing a paper and I had a symbiotic maggot-looking worm thing living in my tongue. When I opened my mouth, it would push its way out with a crunchy kind of sound, and even though people insistently referred to it as a parasite, I was sure it more of a symbiotic relationship, with it somehow capable of healing me.
I’d like to go back to that one some day and see what else happens besides me trying to heal people by infecting them with my parasitic mouth worm.
For news in the waking world, I have sent off a sample of the Sexahol to Mix N’Max. I could do it, but he really likes it when I send him weird stuff.
In the meantime, things are ok being one of these club owner people. The same types who were in here dressed all wacky before are still here, and the place really fits them. We’re even getting some people that none of the regulars seem to know. Nerds, near as I can tell from walking amongst them. Or at least introverted types who normally don’t go to clubs but are a lot more comfortable with masks covering their faces.
“See, man, this place is cool,” one of them said to his buddy. They were both in costumes. They had made good use of pads like you see on ATV drivers, and one of them had this welder’s mask with a skull design over the front. The skull’s eyes were replaced by the solid visor piece, though. It was a good look.
They were waiting on the bartender and looking around. I had walked over to the bar myself, in armor, and they were apparently referencing my own costume.
“Hey man, that’s a great job. Did you make that yourself?” a taller one with fake molded muscles on his costume asked me.
“Yeah. Fully authentic.”
“Are you supposed to be somebody?”
“I’m Psycho Gecko,” I said.
One of them went all deer-in-headlights from not having a clue who I was, but the others recognized the name to varying degrees.
“Yeah, right,” said one future corpse. He nearly reached his full potential right then and there, but at that point Moai showed up, threw a feather bolo around me, and dragged me to the dance floor for a brief amount of time.
“They deserved it, Moai. Come on, just a pound of flesh. Half a pound. You know what, I’ll leave all their flesh on their bodies, but they’ll learn an important lesson about who I am.”
Moai wasn’t convinced. He only let me go once the guys at the bar had gotten their drinks and moved on. Then he let me go. I stuck a finger right in Moai’s face, “I’m going to get my bloodbath, you know. It’s bound to happen. Bloodbath later, though. Bloody Mary now.”
Actually, I slid up to the bar to get my Bailey’s. No more Sexahol. I ain’t turning into some lovey dovey hippy Gecko. Ladies and gentlemen, I do not want to impregnate a frozen yogurt machine! I don’t want to be tied down raising a bunch of yogurt flinging crybabies. And given how babies are little more than crapmachines normally, that bodes ill for the quality of that yogurt. It’s a lose-lose situation.
So no, for the good of people not having shityogurt, I did not have Sexahol. That, and being drunk apparently makes me less violent.
The bar wench, because I still love the word wench despite its offensiveness to those it refers to, walked over immediately. “Hey there, I hear you’re the one in charge. Sorry I didn’t get over here quickly before your friend in the costume pulled you away, but I had to go get those guys some more Sexahol. What can I get you?”
“Lots of Bailey’s, whatever your name is. Wait, what is your name?”
“It’s Sandra. I was hired to be the T and A around here.”
“Well, miss Sandra the Titanosaurus and Anguirus, I guess I’m lukewarm to have you around. We’ll see how you do. By the way, are you scared of or get ill at the sight of blood and/or internal organs that are no longer internal?”
She rolled her eyes. “I already answered that at the interview, but no. I can handle that stuff if it happens.”
“Ah, but can you handle yourself if someone gets grabby?”
Sandra reached down and pulled out a switchblade with a little smile on her face.
“That’s cute,” I told her. “I’ll see about getting you a flamethrower. Now, fetch me the Bailey’s. A bottle, if you will. And glasses. No, wait…a monocle.”
She snorted and shook her head, but went about grabbing my current favorite. When she set a large bottle in front of me, she asked, “By the way, you want to try this Sexahol stuff? It’s selling like crazy.”
“Ah, thank you, Tiktaalik and Archaeopteryx, but no thanks on the Sexahol. It makes me horny. You wouldn’t like me when I’m horny.’
“Sure, whatever. You do know T and A stands for ‘tits’ and ‘ass’ right?”
“Really? I thought there were other parts to you as well.”
“Yeah, but those are the parts that make guys want to come up here and try to buy expensive drinks so they can talk to me.”
I unsealed my helmet and pulled it from over my mouth so I could sip on the creamy liquor with the obnoxious burn that gets better over time. I’d say more about the taste and drinking experience, but only after Bailey’s works out an endorsement deal with me. Otherwise, that’s all their getting.
“Huh. Gives me an idea for a trap.”
“Yeah, a boobie trap.”
“Oh god,” she pressed her palm to her face at that.
“Excuse me!” called someone from the other side of the bar. A skinny fellow with a hairline not so much receding as retreating like the British from Dunkirk. He was in a suit and holding a notepad.
“I better get this,” Sandra said and slid over to him. Addressing him, she asked “What can I get you?”
I couldn’t hear what he said to her over the music and the crowd, but she turned back and walked back over to me. “This guy says he wants to speak to a manager. He’s talking about the club having a lot of violations and not having permits. “
“I’ll handle it,” I said. I took one last sip of my generic drink with a name I can’t pronounce without copious amounts of money introduced to my system, then pulled my helmet back down . I walked over with my bottle of non-specific liquor that could have even been the cheap taste of Kahlua. Not like I’d specify that without a deal of some sort, Bailey’s.
“Hello there chum,” I said, holding out my hand. The man with the hair like the forest around Isengard reached out awkwardly, having perhaps not expected a man in a costume to answer his summons. He also didn’t expect the bait and switch where I left him holding the bottle of undetermined liquor that I’d love to talk about if I had my own lifetime supply of it provided by the company. And my own cloned T-Rex to ride.
“Hi, I’m Timothy Redmond with my office got word you were operating something out of here. Now, we thought this had to be a mistake,” he said as he put on a deceptive, predatory grin, “After all, nothing had been filed with us. No permits, no licenses, no inspections. Just poof! One day, you’re here operating like this illegally.”
“Ah, yes, I see where we are having our little miscommunication here…” I put an arm around his shoulders and led him closer to the dance floor. Moai caught up to me wielding a feather boa again, but this time I smiled and said, “No, no, nothing like that. I’m just going to have a chat with Mr. Redmond here. In fact, I’d prefer you came along. I expect it will be very educational.”
A few minutes later, I held onto a screaming Timothy Redmond as the stereotypical-looking bureaucrat bounced against the side of the building. I wasn’t trying to smack him against the side of the club, but I wasn’t trying too hard to avoid it either. In fact, I figured I could scrape him against it a little. He had some lung power on him, though. That guy was close to breaking glass.
“Oh calm down, you big baby. It’s not that bad. You don’t see me whining about it, do you?”
I don’t think he heard me, so I gave him a little shake, which shook me in turn. I was also hanging down from the roof of the building, with Moai holding onto me somehow. I haven’t paid a lot of attention to how he does that.
“Easy there,” I tried to warn Tim. “What you’ll want to make absolutely sure to do is keep control of your bl- Nevermind, there you go. You’ll want to stop screaming and close your mouth right about now.”
He didn’t listen to that either, but at least his screaming stopped when he sputtered and coughed from the warm liquid I saw wet the crotch of his slacks. Let that be a lesson to everyone: do not piss your pants when hanging upside down.
“Hey, now that you’ve shut up for a moment, I think we need to have that chat now. See, I figured a talk like this had a bit of gravity to it, so why not add a little more? But just holding you over the edge seemed a bit stereotypical.”
He started to cry for help instead of pay attention, so I gently smacked his head into the wall hard enough to stun him for the moment.
“As I was saying, you rude little man, I had to find some way to spice things up, and now we’re on equal footing. Moai, haul us up!”
Moai backed up, dragging my armored body up and onto the roof. I held onto Mr. Redmond and brought him up with me. I dropped him on the roof and he curled up on the ground, keeping low while he tried to wipe his face. I bent down in front of him. “I think you’ll find that there’s merely been an oversight. Our registration or whatever just got misplaced, right?”
Mr. Redmond nodded at me from where he cowered on the roof.
“Glad to hear that. Here, use this to dry yourself.” Moai passed me a towel and I handed it to Tim. As he pressed it to his face, something within crackled. He opened it up to find a couple thousand dollars in fifties and hundreds.
“You know, it occurred to me that with our club’s policy on being costumed, a guy like yourself could probably wear a good mask over his whole head and some tights. A place like this, all those nubile young women wouldn’t know you from anyone else. You could be anyone to them. No, literally, you could dance around like a guy half your age.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
I put my hands on my head and shook it. When I stopped, I used a hologram to make it look like a Magic Eight Ball prediction had floated up on my forehead. “Shut up, take the money, and party,” it read.
“Yo, Moai, please show Mr. Redmond down and out with discretion. Mr. Redmond, I look forward to this entire thing being cleared up. Water under the bridge and all that.”
“Water under the bridge?” he asked incredulously. He still panted a little, but he was gaining control of himself.
“Yeah, that’s where they’ll find you if this mess doesn’t get cleared up soon.” I patted him on the shoulder. He eyed the gloves, possibly very glad that he wasn’t still upside down at that moment.
That’s how we got all our proper paperwork for the club, by the way. There are many ways to cut through red tape. Next time, I think I might try a knife.