dr. doooom's answering machine

Dark - part 8

All the tourist bullshit aside, Dark had to appreciate soaking in the view of Diamondhead from the hotel’s beach that early morning. He’d purposely left the drapes open part of the way so the sun would wake him up. It felt good to stroll the beach, feel the sand between his feet.

A day off. That’s what he needed. Just to lollygag around all day, go swimming, and hit up the clubs tonight. See if he just couldn’t break off a piece of tourist ass. Dark threw his towel on the sand, dropped his key, and walked toward the water. Let the ocean wash out his sins, clear through the cobwebs. He floated in mother ocean, eyes glancing at the peak of the long dormant volcano crater, piercing through the sky. The sound of the water, the waves crashing in and sucking themselves back out.

Those dreams were staying with him. Even now he had a clear view of her face. Luckily he couldn’t much remember much of last night's neural journeys. Dark had woken up on the floor, hazy memories of psychotic laughter, ringing.

Better to envision that beautiful girl. Who was somehow real. He couldn't remember ever seeing her, ever, before that dream. She would still look about the same, the Westways had been printed about eight years ago. Had he seen her before, in passing, her image piercing his subconscious all those years? Or had he truly conjured her in his dreams, before ever seeing her, a phantom fantasy made real?

And the Robby Chan connection. The feared underworld boss standing proudly with the inner yearnings of his fantasy, scared, frightened, haunting, presumed figment of his imagination, in front of his Kahala villa in that damn magazine. His thoughts had drifted occasionally toward wishes that he'd never even seen it, but shit a case was a case and ain't no time to waste.

Suddenly Dark knew the Waikiki nightlife would have to go on without him, he had to get started on this, go check out that house. He seemed to have eluded the forces trying to kill him, but he knew to always assume you got people on your tail, despite any encouraging evidence to the contrary. Best to strike while the iron was hot.

Posted 1:20 PM by Alfred

so there’s a huge amount of action going on here at the skunkworks. Charlie the plant foreman, lost a finger in the spleen machine and separate incidents were negotioated with an insurance fraud salesman from phoenix. By way of Nebraska.

So anyway like I was saying it’s all about the benjamins. No not really hoes it’s all about the all about. You know whut I’m sayin’, all bout da all boot. Ferereal. Sincerely your honor. And then it’s an okedoke and then it’s some pistol smoke & then it’s an ak in your waylay and it’s like franklin in yo Delano & quick withdrawal from mitheral that’s in ice cream in the ancient tongue if you didn’t know and then it’s no mo games on a solo tip freak it.

So the really important thing that I woanted to impreach on you this day & age ,my brothers & sisters from othere miznithers is that it’s highly impressive on the pantomime tip to tip your waitresses heartily. They work long shifts to a sometime stiff crowd and then you never know what can happen theres lots of cigar smoke, it’s all very… sophisticated. And professional. And related to lots of estufa muy importante on the solo tip. Like I was saying, the sophisti… (no) I did that already Brandon, don’t try to impart your afterworld styles on this okefenokee swamp land Babylonian, cuz he won’t have it. we need more butter on this set, lots a camomile tea, where is my chamomile tea, dammit!!??

Fiznark. Its’ like I’m done but they pull me back in . yes period right there, problem with that oh yeah that’s what I Thought you irish brew imbibing blibbering brainwashing brother of biz markie and sister of sledge and sasquatch on the solo tip.

Thursday, May 15, 2003

Posted 12:42 PM by Alfred

Woke up to the alarm. Hit snooze. Woke up to radio. Hit snooze. Woke up to radio. Hit snooze. Woke up to radio. Realized I should get up. Mrs. P still out like a light. Stumble to the kitchen, little shit-zu’s jumpin all over the place, they wanna go outside. Ok you little bitches let’s go outside. Go outside. Damn I wish I had a yard like this (someday) hiked up the driveway & grabbed the paper. Breathed in the morning and air and looked out at the pacific ocean and chinaman’s hat. Nice. Yelled at the younger dog to stop eating crap out of the ground cuz her stomach is all fucked up anyway.

Walked back in the house. Put the two different kinds of dog food in the two different bowls and performed the necessary segregation as instructed so dog B does not eat food A and thereby have a tummy embolism. Cubby eats in the office, where Mrs. P is already back at studying for today’s bio final. One more test mi amor and then pau until summer school.

Stumbled into the shower. I don’t care if you’ve got a shower the size of fukn Julius caesar’s swimming pool, if it don’t have proper water pressure it sucks my hairy, um, trombone. Seriously though. What the hell? Hi we spent a grip on this phat tile shower with the whole 9 yards view out the window on the ocean, and, wait what’s this? Oh yeah, it’s like dripping water on you. fukn hell. I’ll take my little bathtub shower back at the crib that shoots water like a real g. any damn day sucka. And all they had was this fancy ass shampoo for color damaged hair – dumb blone? Has anyone heard of this? Anyway, my locks are soooo silky smooth today though, so it’s all good I guess.

Ok so next step was to get my ass out the door, but not before wishing a bon vivant to Mrs. P, whatever that means, and then it’s like I gotta make like kirk gowdie. Meaning I’m outtie. Cuz you KNOW I gotta feed wacko. So it’s heading on down kamehameha, waves lapping on my left, mountain rising to my right, the road is beckoning and I am answering as I must. So anyway, I groove on down the lane and hit up the alf-mansion. Pop in the backdoor like a true mackadocious and well alright then, wacko seems happy to see me. What playboy? You thought I was gonna leave my #1 fish hanging like a new kid? Hellzz no (ps: clubs, restaurants, etcetera, please listen up. It’s NOT ok yet to play NKOTB, ok? Please give it at least another 20. seriously. Not kidding. Ok moving on) so anyway, wacko ate up that food like the playa-president that you and I know he is, and then it was time to feed the “other” fish, meaning the mass leftover vagabonds from the bio experiment that live in the bucket. Chill shortie, we change their water every once and a now, they happy, it’s like a grayfish commune up in there. But wacko, wacko is his own man, king o’ his castle, na mean? Yeah you do.

So then I decided to eat some cereal. Poured the milk, contemplated putting on a pot of coffee, but said, you know what keith? Today you go without, and actually, so far, it’s aiiiight. I even made it through the last half-hour listening to morissey kill uncle, and I don’t even want to kill my cousin. So overall no complaints. Grabbed the latest snoop disc from the vault at the cavern, flipped it to the OFC (office – trying that OFC on for size, I don’t know, doesn’t fit) and here I sit blabbin inconsequential dogshit at you, dear reader.

And here I shall remain until it’s time to take big al to the airport.

Tuesday, May 13, 2003

Posted 5:59 PM by Alfred

ok I know it’s a lot to ask to just take one short drive with me at to Alleghany park, I know I’m putting you out of your way, in avoidance with the scriptures laid down by Antony & Cleopatra. Yes bill Gates, antony. You don’t have to underline it like you don’t know whut I’m talking about. And you ASS – whut is too a word. Now go and fetch me some goddamm supper, beyatch. Bill muthacricken gates thinkin’ you know everydamnthang. Well hellz naw, it ain’t happenin like dat up in dis hizzy.

Fa shizzy and fa charlotte. For her web of dizoom. And for doctora parr up in the crastlevanianed out baptism of jackalope fur. On it & bubonic.

I just erased a whateverz. Wait, what’s this? Ok winger boy, time to take your bob’s big boy bobble head & (and) your chuck woolery bobble head, and invite them into the iron cage for a small-kine lil death match. I got my money on bob. He’s a wiley vet with a taste for blood. Chuck is no spring chicken though, and he’s been known to tear into flesh just as likely as velvet.

A lot of people think that I’m kool keith, but it’s not true. I’m that guy posing as cool dr. strange organ salesman. I’m that plain old joe that Alfred warned you about. I’m like the inverse swirl but done in a counter clockwise rotation, in case you just had to know.

One of the most interesting things in the known universe is the loire valley, and chambord, or so I’m told, by someone whom I reasonably respect their acumen when it comes to good stuff, but as to that of someone near and maybe not so dear to said personage, well whatevs, no news is good news. That probably doesn’t mean what you’re thinking it does.

In the famous words of um, shit I guess I shouldn’t be just quoting people and making up shit they said should I? Naw that’s not nice. But seriously though, the pope rode in my limousine the other day. In my ulterior profession as Waikiki limo driver. He was comin out of the candy club after kickin it like chicken with mike price and one of our more corrupt state senators, totally down-lo, totally not poped out. He had a rocawear jean jacket on and aviator sunglasses, a sombrero and a fake beard. He spoke in an almost incoherent fake accent which was some combination of a bastardized old school basque something or other. But it was john paul alright. It was the og showtime Vatican act-starter.

He’s in a lot better shape than you’d think. Totally with it, but totally denies that he’s the pope. Comes in on Tuesday and leaves on a Thursday. Makes sense now, doesn’t it? hmmm, starting to see the pattern I’m trying to weave? If you’re not, let me administer some Zoloft.

And a percodan.

Monday, May 12, 2003

Posted 5:04 PM by Alfred

I’ve got menehune in my house, and they’re stealing my clothes.

Menehune are like the Hawaiian version of leprechauns, and I hear them cackling and eating my wheat thins in the otherwise still of the night when I wake from dreams of mephisto taking over a piano yard of souls and realize I need to drain the lizard. I hear them talking amongst themselves, but usually decide to leave them be. When I don’t decide to leave them be and want to go capture and/or smash them, they’re way too fast for me. I’ve only seen one. Once. And his name was pat mcgroin, at least he told me, and then he disappeared when I was momentarily distracted by a trick of the light reflecting off the east window.

There’s a bottled water company here called menehune water. Good stuff. I just wish they’ stop stealing my shit. First my gym shorts, now my jacket. What the eff? What does a man have to do in this society to prevent small forest creatures (possibly, although rivers are a main thoroughfare for them) from obtaining illegally, I might add, his apparel essentials on the regulah with abosolutely no respect for the norms of society, passed down from jebediah smithstonian on a Tuesday afternoon back in 1886. or was it 87? I confuse the wines of both of those years from Eckstein Acres, and exclusive vineyard in south central napa. The proprietor is an interesting robotic

gentlemen with linguistics of adequate function in both portugeuse and Chinese, and pin-perfect English as well as Lithuanian. And an old mandarin dialect from souther peking. And he speaks pig latin as well as gibberish, JUST in case someone under his attendance goes into a hysterical religious moment, and he is certified by 8 major religions to advise the highest personnel on such and said person’s spiritual health.

He’s really a major playa, and his name escapes me at this moment, but when it is rounded up, savagely beaten, interrogated even after providing substantial information, and then debriefed and admitted once again to society without his ever having known the ordeal he went through, I will definitely let you know.

Guess that’s it for now.