Tuesday, February 23, 2016

"The Devil and Rusty Pliers" Pt 2

[Act III]
So I made another drink and sat down at the devil’s desk to write an essay “from my soul” about what my personal hell should be. 
Naturally, before I could write it, I had to think it
That proved kinda difficult, distracted as I was by my recent smoldering death and wondering whose bones made up the desk where I was sitting.
[Looks around]
Which skull was Hitler’s, I wondered? 
Was that Jack the Ripper
Where was Walt Disney?
[Pause for laughter?]
sipped my drink and had another cigarette, awaiting inspiration… but as happens sometimes it never arrived… so I left the writing materials on the desk and got up to pace the room.
I don’t know about you, but sometimes I think better on my feet.
As I paced I began to dream of a heavenly hell… a Hades-of-a-Thousand-Delights where all the wonderful sins and vices bathed me in a beautiful blue flame of exquisite pleasure…
I didn’t notice behind me as the pencil stood up and began writing upon the paper… unassisted. 

[Act IV]
Eeeewww, what smells?” said a beautiful brunette who appeared from nowhere
“That’s the sulphur,” I said, suddenly realizing. 
When I first arrived I’d smelled it, too, but now I hardly noticed it. 
[To Audience]
It’s funny what you can get used to, isn’t it?
[slight Pause]
She was gorgeous, so I smiled and added smoothly, “Haven’t we met before, someplace?
“In your dreamsperhaps?” she teased.
She was being very seductive.
Then it struck me. 
She was Lust.
Funny, but Lust looked exactly like I figured she would…
And it was nothing like Leonardo DiCaprio!
“I’m lonely, Rusty,” she purred as she stepped closer. “Will you be my friend in this strange, smelly place?” 
Yes,” I whispered and reached out… I’ll smell your friendly place
[Pause for laughter?]
We embraced passionately… and that’s when I noticed…
Where usually there would be a pleasurable sensation of growing manly hardness… 
[Slight pause]
Now was nothing
My penis was gone!
I reached into my pants and felt around…
… It was as smooth as a Ken doll down there!

[Act V]
Then to make matters worse while I was groping around searching for my manhood the beautiful brunette turned into my ex-wife!
Not the nice ex-wife either, but the nasty one I battled with all the time.
[Pause, then slowly]
Behind her stood the devilsmilingwatching… 
[Pause, then hotly]
So!” shrieked my ex. “In hell five minutes and you’re already boozing around and chasing women!” 
I tried to speak but was unable, as if my voice box were paralyzed… or gone to hell with my frank and beans!
“You’ve been drinking again!” she hissed. “Don’t bother to deny it!” 
The drink I held vanished from my hand… 
“And smoking!” she spat. “I can smell it on your breath!”
PoofUp in smoke went the smoke I smoked!
Hmmmm, I thought…
No smoking… no drinking… no genitals
I was beginning to get a little worried!
I told Lucifer all about you!” shrieked my ex-wife, gesturing behind her where the devil stood smiling
“I said that bum Rusty Pliers cannot resist a pretty girl or a shot of booze and all he ever thinks about is his stupid penis!”
There must be some mistake, I thought as she kept shrieking and shrieking.
This wasn’t the hell I’d imagined!
I looked around for the devil, hoping for some explanation… but he was nowhere to be seen
Then I noticed the paper on the desk. 
It seemed to glow and beckon
I reached out and picked it up.
This is what it read…
Dear Rusty,
I hope a few centuries of spiritual torment at the hands of your ex-wife will help you to Unfuck Yoursela little bit.
Heaven knows, Rusty, you need it.
In the meantime, I’ll be on vacation in Hawaii, where I have a condo overlooking a volcano.
I like to throw virgins in there.
When I can find one.
Ha! Ha! That was a joke to ease your pain.
Which I hope is enormous.
Good luck in hell!
Your pal,
Thank You!
I’m the Writer Rusty Pliers!
If you enjoyed my story please look for
me on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc.
If you didn’t enjoy my story… 
…then I don’t suppose you’ll bother.
Thank You!

I’m the Writer Rusty Pliers!

Tuesday, February 16, 2016

"The Devil and Rusty Pliers"

[Adjusts mic, speaks to audience]
Thank You!
I’m the Writer Rusty Pliers.
[Reads from script]
Uh. Gee, I hope I can read this.
I spilled some salsa and guacamole on it while I was rehearsing this afternoon…
[Lift patch and look?]
Spilled a margarita on it, too… somewhere…
[Lower patch]
Then they asked me to put on my pants
and leave the aquarium!
So I didn’t get a lot of rehearsing done.
[Long Pause]
I hope you enjoy it.
[Relax… Deep breath… Be Rusty]
Tonight’s story is entitled… 

“The Devil…
and Rusty Pliers”
“How about proposing a toast, Rusty?” asked our host.
“Sure,” I answered. “I’d be delighted.” 
I stood and raised my glass. 
May you be in heaven,” I said, winking at the hostess, half an hour before the devil knows you’re dead!
The dinner guests tittered at my remark. 
A remark I’d learned in Ireland, by the way, where they’ve had a preoccupation with the devil for centuries.
They asked me to propose another toast and we tittered a little over that one too.
Then another toast.
And another
Anyway, after the party I was heading home on my Ducati 900 motorcycle when instead of going around this corner like I usually do… I went straight ahead… flying through the air like Evel Knievel … 
Until I smashed into a bridge abutment and was killed instantly

[Act I]
I awoke in hell standing before the devil.
He was seated behind an ornate desk made from human bones. 
Hello, Rusty,” he said agreeably. “Welcome to hell.”
[Reflective, to audience]
Funny, but he didn’t look anything like I expected he would. He looked kinda like Leonardo DiCaprio.
Not the hairy revenant Leonardo…
… but the well-dressed Leonardo from the golden globes.
“Smoke?” he asked, gesturing to a cigarette box.
Am I?” I answered looking around to pat myself out where I might still be burning from my crash and fall into hell.
Otherwise, for a dead guy, I didn’t feel too bad.
“I mean tobacco,” said the devil with a smile.  
Sure,” I said, taking one. “Can’t hurt me now, can it?”
Hell… no!” he agreed with a laugh. He had nice teeth, proving what I’ve long suspected… that hell is full of dentists.
How about a drink to go with your smoke?” he asked and like magic a gin and tonic appeared in my hand.
“Yes please!” I answered and thought to myself that maybe hell wasn’t going to be too bad, after all.
Excuse me for asking,” I said, sipping my drink. “I’ve made that corner a thousand times. Why not tonight?”
“It’s just like they told you in Sunday school, Rusty,” he answered. “Everyone’s days are numbered… 
And everyone will be judged.
“I don’t remember Sunday school too well,” I said, meaning I didn’t remember ever going to Sunday school… but I didn’t mention that.
The devil just looked at me and smiled.
Enjoying your smoke?” he asked.
Yes,” I answered. “It’s been awhile. I quit in 2010.”
I know,” he said. “And what for? You died in a motorcycle crash! Hahaha!”
“Yeah,” I answered a little peevishly. “Funny.”
C’mon, Rusty!” laughed the devil. “You’ve been on the highway to hell since you were twelve-years-old! I always figured you for a guy who could take a joke.
He laughed again and in spite of myself I began to laugh a little, too. 
After all, what does it matter how we die?
It’s how we live that counts!

[Act II]
“Well,” I asked. “Now what?”
“You choose your hell,” he answered.
“Choose my own hell?”
Yes,” said the devil proudly. “Your own personal hell. One of hell’s finest achievements. Cuts down on complaints and saves a buttload of red tape.”
Careful what you wish for, eh?” I said.
Exactly!” answered the devil. “Or as we like to say around here… Hakuna Matata!”
You have to say this for the devil, I thought, he really seemed to enjoy his work. 
“Here,” he said, indicating a blank sheet of paper before him on the desk. “Sit down and write me a 500 word essay on what your hell should be.”
“Awww!” I whined. “An essay?”
“Better get started,” he advised. “You’ve only got an hour. There’s some liquor in the cabinet. Help yourself.”
“Thanks,” I said. “Will my spelling …?”
“Don’t worry about the damned spelling, Rusty!
Write something from your heart…" 
[Softer still]
… or better yet… from your soul.”
[Slight pause]
“My soul?” I asked.
From the soul of Rusty Pliers! he laughed. 
No cheating!” he added and whoosh! 
He was gone.

To be continued...

Tuesday, February 9, 2016

Arthur’s Mighty Zen Pt 2

Part 2

A few days later I found out
It was Arthur
Who saved my foot,
Not the doctors.
Instead of cutting it off
Like they’d planned 
When they first saw
What a mess it was,
They changed their minds pronto when 
Arthur used his shall we say powers of persuasion
To convince them of the wisdom 
In doing otherwise!

“Or else, pal!” added Arthur threateningly
As he raised his mighty fist.

Boy! You should have heard Arthur 
Give the doctors a piece of his mind!
Said the boys who’d helped 
Get me to hospital that day.
Funny, but now they were proud 
Of the terrible gang boss they once feared.
Oh! The contradictions of life!
Anyway, they told me all about it.
“Arthur was never 
More magnificent!” they bragged.
“You should have heard him curse!
The bleedin sawbones wasn’t ready 
For a bleedin bastard like our Arthur!” they laughed.
“And within seconds they was 
Shifting their asses good and proper
To save you and your bleedin foot!”
Then, with a rare sense 
Of respect they added,
“That Arthur! He sure showed them!”

Arthur visited me in hospital 
Every week that summer.
One time I asked him why 
He was so tough 
On me in the beginning.
“The men had to see 
That I showed no favorites,” he answered,
Only with more curse words.
Then he looked directly at me 
From under his massive brows, and slowly smiled.
“And I wanted you to learn,” he added,
“To stand on your own two feet.”
Then he roared with laughter!
“Shhhh,” hissed the nurse
Who’d come running.
“Quiet! This is a hospital!”
“Shit!” answered Arthur, a little embarrassed. “Sorry.”
Like all healthy men, 
Arthur despised the hospital.
And I think he was a little
Intimidated by the nurse, too.
I know I was.
“Well, take it easy, mate,” he said. 
Then he left.

Next visit Arthur brought me books to read.
Which surprised me because
Before the accident 
Arthur used to make fun of me 
About my reading,
Calling me a bookworm 
And an egghead, etc,
Only with more cursing.
So I asked him why.
“I never finished grade school,” he said quietly.
“So I don’t read too good.”
He looked me in the eye and added,
“I was afraid you’d laugh.”

Oh! The similarities of life!
I’d feared him for his language.
He’d feared me for my learning.

He never mentioned saving my foot.
When I tried to thank him,
He told me with a laugh 
To shove it up my ass!
“Them dumb doctors!” he spat.
“They don’t know shit!”
Then to change the subject 
He cursed doctors ferociously
For about ten minutes,
Hardly stopping for breath.
I listened in awe.

He’s been dead a long time,
Arthur the gang boss.
Killed in an accident 
A few years later
When a Caterpillar D-9
Ran off its own tracks
And tumbled down an embankment.
Arthur was standing at the bottom
Of the embankment, 
Urinating against a bush.
They say he never knew what hit him.
But I wouldn’t know.
I’d already left by then
To begin my journey as an artist.

Sometimes I wonder where Arthur is now.
I hope he’s happy.
And not squashed too flat
By the bulldozer to enjoy the afterlife.
Because I owe him a lot.
A lot he wouldn’t want, probably.
And instead of sentimental horse shit 
Like saying you’re welcome,
He would probably suggest 
Most strongly that I shove it!

Way up where the sun don’t shine!

So from the year 2016,
Arthur, you son of a bitch,
Wherever you are, 
From the bottom of my heart
As I stand upon my own two feet,
One of which you 
Jumped into a shitty ditch
In order to save…
I thank you!
I love you.

You big son-of-a-bitch.

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

Arthur’s Mighty Zen

When I was a lad,
It seems a thousand centuries ago
But really it was 1969,
I began my working life
At the bottom 
Of a road construction ditch.

I was a navvy.
Better known today 
As a manual laborer.
I shoveled the shit 
That had accumulated within the ditch.
From the bottom of it 
To the top.
And sometimes vice versa.

Our gang boss was named Arthur.
He was the toughest boss there was!
He was feared by all,
For he could be a violent man
When he felt he’d been disrespected.
Or when the men slacked off too much.
Or if he just happened to be feeling that way.
Yes! He was ready with his fists!
His language was fierce too,
The most ferocious at the depot,
(And although I’m tempted for old time’s sake)
Too ferocious to repeat here.
Adding to his reputation 
As one tough son-of-a-bitch gang boss 
Who didn’t take any crap 
From anybody!

A reputation of which he was proud.

When I first began working 
In the ditches 
I was sixteen-years-old.
Still a schoolboy really.
I hadn’t spent much time 
In the company of grown men yet,
And hadn’t begun to understand their ways.
So I was afraid of Arthur.
He detected this, and seeing the men saw it also,
For he was very observant 
And always conscious of being the boss,
He treated me with extra hostility,
As if to break my spirit
And bend me to his will.
To show me who was the boss.
And he made sure the men saw it!
“Watch out for Arthur.”
They warned me.
“He’s a mean one.”

Then one day while 
Shoveling you-know-what from the ditches,
I was struck in the foot with a pick.
It bled terribly and hurt like hell!
The pick had stuck in my foot
And wouldn’t come out,
Much to the amusement of my workmates
Standing in the muddy ditch with me,
Who didn’t immediately comprehend
The severity of the situation.
I didn’t either, never having been struck 
In the foot with a pick before,
And I laughed and pointed, saying,
“Somebody take a picture!”
And other witty nonsense
As my boot filled with blood.

Not Arthur, though.
He understood right away.
And he did something about it!
He jumped into the ditch,
Pushing the other workers aside,
And hoisted me out.
Then without removing the pick 
He applied a tourniquet above my ankle
With the sweaty bandana from round his neck,
After ordering one of the men to fetch 
His goddamned truck and be quick about it
So he could take me to hospital.

That’s when I passed out.

I awoke in hospital.
All clean and warm and dry.
My foot throbbed a little.
But otherwise I felt fine.
“Bless you,” I said to those 
Around me dressed in white, 
Feeling very grateful
To the doctors.

They just smiled and took my pulse.

“You’ll be okay, you little shit!”
Said Arthur when he came
To visit me the next day.
He didn’t say anything else
About my accident,
And when I tried to say something
To thank him for his help,
He wouldn’t allow that, either.
“Shut your freakin cake hole,” 
Was how he put it.
Only with more curse words.
Way more.
“Forget it!” he added.
Then he left.

To be continued...