As you can see, I’ve made updates here by adding some stuff from FeedBurner. According to their site, it’s supposed to promote my site and make it more good looking–sort of “Pimp My Style”. Anyway, we’ll see.
Thanks for crashing in on my site and please be patient with me. After I’m done with all the work and my crazy work schedule, I’ll continue writing here.
(Writer’s note: I have again fired another transcriptionist because his numerous typographical errors were too much, our planet was nearly invaded and destroyed by the aliens from Orion nebulae who stumbled upon it and mistook it as a declaration of war. I finally decided to take the matters in my own hands and from now on, will be the one to type the Cereal story in this site.)
Jack scratched his eyes several times but he still could see a small town before him.
“Y-you really l-live here?” he still couldn’t believe his eyes.
“You still have a hangover or something?” Wally looked at him annoyed, “of course I live here. In fact, I was even born here.”
Stretching before them is a clean old-fashioned looking town with whitewashed tenement apartments and not a speck of dirt can be found on the streets.
“Man, I thought you live in a ghetto,” Jack told Wally honestly, “ I never expect that you live in this place.”
“Yep, you still have a hangover,” Wally looked down on him pitifully, “c’mon, let’s go to my place and have some breakfast.”
Jack looked around and saw a signboard nearby. It was made of carved wood, well varnished and polished with words: WELCOME TO CEREAL STREET. Where Peace, Love, Harmony and Freedom in the Community Rules.
“Cereal street?” he muttered, “ what a crazy name for a town.”
Cereal Street is a small town found a few miles east of St. Peter’s borough. Although it is situated near a desert, a latitude line lies inexplicably on the town’s border cutting sharply the climates of the desert and the town (a local rumor has it that this strange phenomenon inspired a certain man, who visited the town in the early 50’s, to create a TV show about “another dimension” with ‘zone’ in its name) thus, allowing the townspeople to enjoy a fair rain shower on spring, warm temperature on summer, chilly autumn temperature conducive for Halloween and a snowy winter perfect for snowball fights and ice cream. It has a population of 100 people composed of 30 families where 26 are omnivores who eat salads, crustaceans and food served at the local Chinese deli called The Shao-Lin Haus, 2 are closet carnivores and 2 are staunch vegetarians.
According to the oldest town gossips, Cereal Street was named after its founder when he and his troops got lost in the desert but managed to survive and finally settled when they accidentally discovered a huge underground water reservoir. However, when it was officially declared a town, the registrar at that time was a bit deaf thus, naming it Cereal Street and the real name of its founder was soon forgotten. In the early days, the town enjoyed an economic boom when a gold mine was discovered in the desert at the opposite end of the water reservoir. But when the town was cut off from the main road and the alleged gold was found out to be actually brass, it caused a mass withdrawal of businesses and mass emigration leaving it almost into a ghost town. In the late 60’s, a group of hippies and their families, washed-up from the drugs, sex and rock n roll culture, moved to Cereal Street and reformed the town to what it is. Although it was cut off from the main highway, the town did manage to lure tourists every once in a while. Most of these tourist were just looking for a clean dine-in restaurant and washrooms while the others are just plain stupid traveling without even a primitive map. Nevertheless, the town is reputed for having its clean tenement houses, good food served at the Shao Lin Haus and friendly people—well, some of them have their own little personality flaws but, aside from that, they’re still perfectly nice people. Really.
At Wally’s suggestion, they decided to stop by at a small convenient store. It was a modest looking convenient store with five rows of shelves, and two refrigerators.
“Wally! Welcome! Welcome!” a man at the counter greeted them.
“Hey, Abu! Good day today!” Wally answered back with a cheerful smile.
“He knows you?” Jack asked.
“Yeah,” Wally answered bewildered with Jack’s reaction, “doesn’t your local convenient store guy know you?”
Jack said nothing but he began to wonder. What’s with this guy?
“This is my friend,” Wally continued pointing at Jack, “he’s kinda new here.”
The man, in his late forties, had a stocky body, jet black hair, and a thick mustache.
“Hello, I’m Abu,” the man cheerfully introduced himself to Jack, “welcome to my store. Feel free to buy. I got everything and anything you need.”
Jack looked around for something to buy when he spotted a jar of imported candies at the counter.
“Oh, that looks interesting,” he said as he pointed at the candy, “I’ll buy those Fruity Bombs, plea—”
Before Jack could finish, Abu instantly pulled out a shotgun from the drawer and began firing indiscriminately.
Luckily, Wally managed to drag Jack down to the floor before he gets shot as Abu continued firing all over the place.
“DIE YOU GREEDY MOTHERBITCHES!” Abu screamed.
“What happened? What did I say?” Jack looked at Wally in horror.
“Nevermind, I’ll tell you later,” Wally told him, “but first—” he began to sing in a language that Jack couldn’t understand. Soon, Abu stopped firing and began to calm down.
Gingerly, Jack and Wally got up from where they were hiding. Abu, visibly exhausted, took out a some pills from a bottle and downed it with water.
“I’m sorry about that,” Abu told Jack sheepishly, “ I give you discount bargains, is that okay?”
When they got out of the convenient store, they met a middle-aged man, carrying a tool bag, running towards Abu’s store.
“Don’t tell me it’s not another tourist.” the man stopped them, “I was having a chat with my wife when I heard the racket.”
“You see—” Jack tried to explain but Wally interrupted him.
“I’ll just tell you later, Hank. We need to get home already.” With that, he dragged away Jack and continued their way to the apartment. When they were already far from the store, Wally finally told Jack about the storekeeper.
“ I forgot to tell you that Abu moved here after the civil war in his home country. Before he became a shopkeeper, he was a war veteran over there and that explains why he goes on a battle mode whenever he hears the word b-o-m-b. But aside from that, he’s just perfectly nice.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jack agreed, still shaking from the experience, “he nearly riddled me nicely with his bullets. By the way, what’s that song you sang?”
“Oh, that’s just a lullaby in his home country’s language he taught me to sing whenever he hears the word—”
“Bom—”was Jack was about to say but Wally quickly covered his mouth.
“Shh! Abu may be in his forties but he had a hearing range of bat. You’re gonna launch him to battle mode again if you ever utter that word again.”
As they were walking along the tenement building, Jack recognized an unshaven man with filthy clothes, walking towards them. It was the beggar that he usually spots standing near the apartment block where he lives. When they finally got closer, Jack automatically brought out a penny and handed it to the man.
“What the hell was that?” the man yelled as he threw back the coin to Jack .
“I thought you need some coins and—” Jack was about to explain.
“Mr. Agnew, I’ll pay the rent probably by next week,” Wally told the man, “business is not good these days.”
“You’d better be Harrison! Or you’ll have to pack your shit outta my place!” the man growled as he shifted his stare at Jack, “who’s this jerk?”
“That’s Jack, he’s kinda new here,” Wally answered before turning to Jack, “this is Mr. Ciro Agnew, the landlord.”
“Shit! You own the tenement block?” Jack couldn’t believe what he heard, “I thought you’re just a—”
“Well, if you’re gonna bring this beatnik to my place, might as well tell him to pay for his share,” with that Mr. Agnew began to walk away, “alright, I’m off to work today. It’s payday and I’m sure most people have money today. See you around, beatniks!”
Upon seeing Mr. Agnew disappear from a distance, Jack whispered to Wally:
“I can’t believe that he’s your landlord. Shit! I see him almost everyday standing near the apartment building where I live.”
“Everybody here knows that. That’s just his part time job.”
“His part time job? Why does he need that?”
“With a wife and ten kids, how can you feed them with an income coming from 28 people who collectively earns less than the city council clerk?”
“What the f—” Jack was about to say but Wally had already gone inside the apartment building.
“Hurry up! I’m hungry as a bear!” He heard Wally yell at him.
Jack obediently followed but he began to wonder if he had been sucked into…
another dimension!
(Insert X-Files theme song here…)
(Writer’s note: My transcrptionst–the ungraiteful, lazy bloke who typez down evry thing I dictete–resygned for unknwn reasons leavving mee no choise but to hire a nu one. Howver, my nuw typst is uneble to wryte the chaptr titel wit romAn nomerals whitch explainzs the titele so plieze, bar wit dhe nuw chnges. Also, please bear with soem of his typorgphical erorss. Hee iz stil adjsting with da uze of de kompytr–de fuking azshol! Bt I promis dat I wil b de won tu typ de stori. Tenk yu veri moch!)
As Jack and Wally were walking, Jack tried to start a conversation with him.
“So, you frequently go to St. Peter’s borough?”
“Nah,” Wally replied, “I just happened to pass by the borough and saw you lying on the pavement. What’s with you people drinking yourself almost to death and then passing out on the street? Pathetic!”
“Actually, I’m a filmmaker. I just went there to look for someone to play the gangster in my first movie.”
“And nearly drank yourself to death?” Wally smirked.
“I didn’t mean to,” Jack continued, “it just so happened that my best friend—or so I think he is—quit on me because we couldn’t find the perfect guy.”
They were walking into a narrow alley when Jack noticed a group of thugs staring at them. Stares that spelled trouble.
“Yo white boys!” one of them called out.
Wally stopped and looked at them calmly. The thugs began to prowl closer to them.
“Stand back, man!” Jack warned them, “I know karate!” but he was just lying.
“Yeah? How ’bout you, giant boy?” said one thug looking at Wally. At more than 6 feet, Wally dwarfed everyone else especially Jack.
“I’m not gonna fight, you guys,” Wally replied, raising both his palms at the level of his face, “if you’re gonna fight this guy (looking at Jack), fine. As for me, I’m not gonna fight.”
“Oh no you don’t,” replied the leader, “we don’t wanna fight pig face here (casting a look at Jack). We want you, giant boy.”
“I said I’m not gonna fight,” Wally insisted with firmness in his voice.
“We’ll make you,” said one thug as he pulled out a baseball bat and the others took out butterfly knives.
With one motion from the leader thug, the thug with baseball bat began to move closer swinging his bat menacingly but before he could move any closer, Wally raised his one leg and kicked the thug mightily hard on the chest. Instantly, the thug fell dead conscious.
This caused the other thugs to charge after them in unison. Jack tried to run for cover but Wally grabbed him and wrapped one arm around the neck as they fend off the group. One by one, each thug fell on the pavement.
“I told you guys I’m not gonna fight,” Wally casually straightened his jacket after the last thug fell down, “c’mon Jack, let’s get outta here.”
“Y-you’re a gangster, man!” Jack exclaimed as they continued walking, “suppose those guys get back on you?”
“They won’t, I’ll make sure of that. Besides, I doubt that they’re going to waste time with a second hand furniture dealer.”
“You’re a what? I thought you’re a—”
Wally turned to him again and said, “ What? You never heard of a second hand furniture dealer before?”
Jack was worried as they walked further to more darker and narrower alleys. He was afraid that they might encounter another thug group and get into more trouble.
“You live here?” he asked Wally.
“No, a few more walks and we’re there. You’ll see.”
Jack began to have visions that this man’s neighborhood is a darker, dirtier and more violent place. Shit! If this is not his neighborhood, what would it be? He began to have thoughts of making a last will testament.
“Well, here we are,” he heard Wally say as they turned to an open space.
Jack looked at a place near the desert lying before them and his eyes nearly popped out of its sockets.
“You live here?”
When Jack finally woke up with a slight hangover and a pain at one cheekbone, he was in a dark room. When he looked around, he found out that he’s in a warehouse. He began to worry, please, I hope it’s not what I’m thinking. He began to have thoughts that he’s being held captive by Jigsaw, the serial killer.
Jack’s heart began to thump faster and louder as he heard footsteps walking near him.
The room suddenly lit up and it revealed a man who looked intimidating with his imposing height.
“Good, you’re awake,” the man spoke in his deep voice. He looked like he’s in his mid-30’s, wearing black leather jacket draped over a blue shirt, black pants and heavy work boots. Jack’s mouth ran dry. Oh, shit! I’m with a serial killer and I’m gonna be dead any minute!
As the man approached nearer, Jack’s heart began to beat faster. He began to have visions of scenes of his life flashing before him. He began to pray—no, he forgot that he’s agnostic and the last time he went to church was years ago when his mother died.
“W-what a-are you g-gonna d-do with me?” Jack stammered.
The man stared at him but said nothing.
“I said, what are you gonna do with me, you pervert?!” Jack screamed.
“What’s with you, man?” the stranger frowned, “I just helped a drunken bastard like you and brought you here so that you won’t die stark stiff sleeping on the freezing cold pavement and you repay me by accusing me as some pervert?”
Jack stopped and thought for awhile.
“Sorry about that, man,” Jack said, “I guess I just mistook you for something.”
The stranger began to walk away.
“Hey,” Jack called him, “where are you going?”
The stranger turned and replied: “If you still want to sleep, go ahead. I’m going home. Just make sure you lock the place when you leave.”
Jack was about to go sleep when his stomach began to growl. The last meal he had was 18 hours ago. He gathered his courage, got up and ran after the stranger.
The stranger was at the warehouse entrance when Jack finally caught up with him and grabbed him by the shoulder. Instinctively, the man whirled around and punched Jack on the face.
“Oww!” Jack fell on the floor nursing his injured jaw.
“Dammit! You shouldn’t have surprised me like that!” the man growled.
“I’m hungry.”
“Well, aren’t you gonna go home and have your breakfast?” the man asked as he helped Jack get on his feet.
“I used up all my fare home last night,”Jack replied gingerly touching face, “ I was thinking if you could spare me some scrap of bread?”
“Scrap of bread?” the man continued to walk as Jack got up and started following him.
“Yeah—well, not really.”
“I thought you said just some scrap of bread.” the man laughed as they turned to another curb.
“I mean, I thought—well, maybe, you could give me something decent to eat.”
The man stopped, turned around and gave Jack a hard look as if studying him.
“Please?” Jack gave his most piteous-looking “lost puppy” expression.
“All right, you can come along.”
“Thanks! By the way, my name’s Jack.”
“Wally.”
While they were walking, Jack was secretly smiling. Looks like he had found the actor to play the gangster.
The first bar that Bob and Jack went into had them thrown out. The same with the rest of the bars. Because of this,the two men started to feel frustrated.
“Oh, man!” Bob moaned while they were lying on the pavement after they were thrown out again, “I think I quit!”
“Oh, c’mon Bob!” Jack disagreed. “I ‘m sure we’re gonna find our guy somewhere.”
“Yeah right,” Bob replied sarcastically, “ and by the time we’re finished combing this borough, we’re all black and blue.” He got up and started walking to a different direction.
“Hey, where are you going?” Jack looked bewildered.
“I’m going home!” Bob grunted.
“You can’t leave me like this, man!” Jack called as he started to get up, “we’re buddies! We’ve been together through thick and thin since kindergarten.”
Bob turned around and stared down at him hard before answering.
“Jack, you never went to kindergarten with me. In fact, you skipped kindergarten ’cause your mom cheated on your test scores so you can get to grade school. The only reason why we became classmates in grade school is because you spent two years in the first grade.”
“I know,” Jack reached out and grabbed Bob by the arm, “c’mon man, you’re my best friend.” His eyes started to blur with tears forming as he gave his friend a pleading look.
Bob stopped. Then, he held Jack’s hand clinging on his arm…and shoved it off.
“I quit!” then he started walking away.
“What? I thought you understand my dreams?” Jack was stunned. Is his best friend really leaving him high and dry?
“Forget it, Jack!” Bob barked back, “Get real! You’ll never make it as a director. Just get yourself a regular job and pay back what you owe to my mom.”
Jack watched as Bob disappeared by the dark alley. Then, he cried out loud:
“Bob, the exit back to the city is on the other way!”
“I know!” Bob answered back, “I’m just gonna get some drink!”
Jack momentarily froze where he was standing. Although he was surrounded by drunks, scalawag policemen and strippers, without his best friend, he felt all alone.
Frustration, hunger and feeling of abandonment slowly crept all over him. Maybe Bob was right. Maybe the whole film making idea was just what it was. Just a dream. Slowly, Jack walked to a nearby bar and went inside. This time, he doesn’t care if he gets thrown out. He just needed a drink.
Luckily, nobody paid attention to him. All except the bartender.
“Hi, I’m Hal! Welcome to my bar!” the bartender greeted him cheerfully. He was a midget, about two feet and wearing a white bartender’s uniform and apron. Jack stole a look and read the neon sign at the window: LONG TALL HAL’S.
“I needed a drink,” Jack solemnly replied as he sat down on a stool. The midget bartender promptly poured something in a glass and went over to attend the other customers. Jack took the half-filled glass and boldly drank it.
“Give me some more,” he said as he laid down the empty glass. The bartender poured him another. And another. And another.
“Hey, bartender! Gimme some more!” he called out again as soon as he drank down the last shot.
Unfortunately, the bartender was busy at that time, chatting with the other customers and Jack became annoyed.
“Hey, shorty!” he called on top of his voice.
The whole bar hushed to silence as all eyes fell on him.
“What didja say?” the bartender turned and started to approach him slowly in a threatening manner.
Jack laughed sardonically. The hard drink, whatever it was, had made him a bit bolder and he didn’t care of the midget’s reaction.
“I said, SHORTY, pour me another one!” he yelled again as he slammed the glass on the table.
Suddenly, a tattooed brawny hand roughly grabbed him by the shoulder. Jack turned around to see that it belonged to a stocky man with long hair.
“Hey fatso! You callin’ my brother ’shorty’?”
Jack flashed a mischievous smile and responded “Yeah? Got a problem with that, Metal—”
WHACK! Before Jack could finish, he heard the sound followed by a sudden power failure. Or was it? The next thing he knew, he fell on the floor and began to hear voices drowning into a blur.
THUD! Jack felt the cold, hard concrete pavement as he heard some faint voices:
“And don’t ever come back here or I’ll make you eat your balls!”
Followed by the slamming of the metal door.
Jack remained lying on the pavement smiling sarcastically to himself as he stared at the full moon shining above him. What a beautiful night! First, my best friend left me. Now, I’m thrown out for the nth time. Man, I’m starting to get used to being thrown out.
As he drifted to stupor, he felt a figure hover over and cast a shadow over him.
“Santa Claus?” was all he managed to say before he finally passed out.
Script? Check!
Camera? Check!
Budget? Check!
Lights? Uh, there’s one bright flashlight, one penlight and one spotlight. Okay, check!
Jack looked at his list as he and Bob gathered all the equipment and cramped it in his bedroom. It was early morning and they were busy setting up the equipment in their room. Today, they’re planning to shoot on Jack’s apartment. The whole apartment was as dingy as a rundown apartment so, it would probably pass as a gangster hideout.
Now, what could be missing? Jack thought.
“Hey Jack!” Bob called him while busy setting up the camera on the tripod.
“Yeah?”
“Who’s gonna play the characters?”
Oh, shit! Unchecked!
The script was about a gangster taking over a neighborhood and Jack realized that he needed to find someone to fill the gangster’s character. In order to find this, it had to be a real gangster. Or at least looked like one. And he knew where to find one.
St. Peter was a borough found at the north side of the city. In fact, it’s like little Amsterdam where strip clubs stand side by side along with cafés, protected or sometimes owned by scalawag policemen, serving recreational drugs.
Putting on a brash facade, Jack and Bob braved the notorious borough brightly lit with neon and strobe lights.
“Look at that, dude!” Bob grinned as he pointed at the scantily-dressed women exhibiting provocative poses on windows but Jack slapped his hand.
“Shh! Don’t point! We’re here to look for our actor.” although, he also can’t help but roll his eyes and steal glances at a group of streetwalkers passing by and sharing meaningful glances with him.
They were so busy looking elsewhere that they bumped into two policemen sitting beside a parked car.
“Oh, shit! Cops!” Bob blurted in panic. The police jumped into action and in a matter of minutes, Jack and Bob were pinned against the car with their hands behind their backs.
“I’m sorry, officer, but m-my friend and I a-are…” Jack tried to wrack his brains to give a good explanation. Great! Just when I was looking for someone to get into my movie, I get to run into the cops.
“You have the right to remain silent!” barked the police holding down Bob.
“Anything you say and do will be held against you!” yells the other.
“It’s a mistake! You got the wrong man!” Jack began to tremble in fear as the thought of spending a night in jail is something he didn’t expect.
“Shut up, junkie!”
“We’re just indie film makers and we’re here looking for an actor.” Bob spoke in a struggled manner. The two policemen stopped and let them loose.
“Shucks! Sorry, man! I thought you’re some undercover agents!” grins the other policeman.
“Yeah, you know how dangerous this place is.” agrees the other.
“By the way,” Bob finally managed to get over his shock, “how come you’re here if you’re not into arresting people?”
“Well, we were assigned to patrol this area,” the policeman with leather jacket replied, “but hell, this place is one cool Disneyland for adults!”
“Yep,” agreed the other as he took out one roll of marijuana stick and lit it.
“Hey, that’s pot!” Jack exclaimed.
“Hey, everybody’s gotta let out some steam some time,” as he let out a huge billow of smoke, “want some? There’s plenty of this baby in this place!”
“By the way officer,” Jack began to feel calm (probably because he inhaled the smoke), “we’re here looking for some gangster-type of guy for our movie. Well, not actually a real gangster but, he had to look like one.”
“Oh, I see. You might get into luck and find the right guy here,” the other policeman with leather jacket explained, “but we’re pretty sure you won’t find him easily!” then both policemen let out a hyena-sounding laughter. When Jack and Bob left them, they were still laughing.
Jack was at his apartment. He was living alone because he seemed to have no luck with women. Real young women that is, because the only set of women who took interest at him were a bunch of middle aged transvestites who live a few blocks away. His only real friend is his balding friend, Bob, who works as a fluoroscope operator at a nearby airport (when they were kids, Bob had a full thick hair but Jack suspected that his job caused him to get bald). Bob came over to Jack’s apartment and offered him encouragement and a can of lukewarm coke.
“Don’t worry, man,”Bob said, “he’s not the only ticket to Hollywood.”
“Bob, Meyer turned me down. He’s the hope of young filmmakers.”
“Well, you’re already 32.” Bob replied.
“That’s not the point!” Jack retorted, “if Meyer turned me down, there’s no way any bigtime movie honcho’s gonna listen to me!” he drank the remaining coke and set down the can on the coffee table.
Suddenly, an idea dawned on him.
“Wait a minute, Bob!” Jack’s face lit up, “you’re right.”
“Well, I am almost always ri—”
“No, YOU are right! Meyer’s not my only ticket to directing a movie and making it to Hollywood!”
“Yeah, I’m listening,” Bob looked at him eagerly.
“Bob,” Jack stood up as he stared ahead of his vision of the future, “I decided that if Meyer was able to produce and make his own movies, then so can I!”
Of all films, Jack’s dream to direct a gangster movie. His father was a perennial bit player who appeared on virtually every gangster movie ever made and the young Jack grew up watching gangster movies trying to catch a glimpse of his father who is either cast in the background as one of the body guards who will be shot dead in the gun fight or just a passerby sitting in the background then will be shot dead in the following sequence. Before his father passed away, Jack told him that of his plan to make a film of gangster theme to which the old man responded before he expired: “Oh, dear…”
Of course, this was not easy to do because they need to have amass a certain amount of money in order to fund a movie.
First thing that Jack did to gain some capital was to sell his old hurricane-sleet-hail-twister-mob riot-and-mischievous kid neighbors-battered 1979 Camaro. It was very hard for him to part with his trusty rusty car but he had no choice. It earned him $300. Next, he and Bob borrowed from Bob’s mother. They were given $200. They also sold lemonade in their neighborhood to augment their income and earned $10.
“This is wuss, man!” Bob told Jack one day after earning $50 from selling some scrap metal (which was actually a bag of bolts and nuts that they painstakingly removed from a nearby bridge),
“by the time we earn enough money, we’re already living in the retirement home!”
“Patience, my friend,” Jack contradicted, “I mean, at least we’re earning! Look, we’re on our way to earning a thousand dollars. By the way, how much did we earn these past few weeks?”
Bob took out the yellow piggy bank from under the bed and shook it.
“Uh, it’s five hundred sixty dollars and…(shook the piggy bank again) uh, 20 cents.”
“How did you know?”
“Well, you see, the other coins were heavier than the others and—”
“Yeah, yeah, cut the shit!” Jack frowned, “now, what else can we do to add to our money pot?” then rolled his eyes upward and thought for awhile.
“Uh, how about taking some scrap metals from the golden gate bridge?” Bob asked.
“We can’t do that,” Jack answered, “it’s too old and I heard that it’s just made of fiberglass and toothpicks!”
“Okay, how about taking down the ‘Hollywood’ sign? It might be worth some hundred bucks, man!”
“Nah, it’s just made of laminated cardboard put up with some bamboo sticks.”
They were brainstorming for other sources of income when they heard a knock on the door. When Bob opened the door, Loretta, one of the middle aged transvestites, came in partly walking and partly hopping and skipping.
“Hi boys!” he greeted in his baritone voice. If it weren’t for his voice and unshaved chin, Loretta would have passed as a slimmer version of Rosie O’ Donnell.
“Hi Lorie!” Bob answered with a smile. Jack just answered with a polite smile.
“By the way,” Loretta told them, “I want to invite you to some party at our flat.”
“Really? What’s the celebration?”
“Well, I happened to win about $3, 000 from a KTV challenge.”
Then Loretta approached Jack in a provocative manner.
“Are you free tonight, Jack? I thought I might share the booty with you…if you know what I mean.” WINK!
4 am. There was a faint knock on the door.
“So?”
“Here’s the money” then slammed several hundred dollars of money on the carpeted floor.
“Hey, look on the bright side, at least we got money! We can finally shoot the film.”
“I know, Jack!” Bob shot back crossly, “just next time, don’t tell Lorie that I have a crush on him and Jeff Stryker is my screen name!” while rubbing his sore buttocks.
The whole office was bright with the morning sunshine streaming through the multi-colored curtain beads on the window. There is a pot of incense burning, filling the room with its aroma and a little bonsai plant on the edge of the large window pane. Decorating the seemingly bright yellow-colored walls were huge posters of classic movies like “Night of the Living Dead”, “Barbarella” and “The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly”. Seated indian-style behind the low Japanese table is a bearded man with graying long hair, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, brown corduroy pants and Birkenstock sandals. The man was big time independent producer, Morris Meyer, who is considered a legend in the film industry. In the early 70’s, he dropped out of UCLA after embracing the hippie culture and ventured to making B-movies with initially little or no success. He finally made it big when he wrote and produced the film “The Life of John Cheese” which went to rake box office and is now considered a classic in its own right. The success of “The Life…” paved way to Meyer to put up his own independent film outfit, the famous Hand Jab Films. According to him, he put up the Jab, as what he calls his outfit, in order to help young filmmakers and as his continuing effort against the Establishment. But it’s not all roses for the film maverick as the Jab had a record of 3 box office (including “The Life…”), 5 moderately successful ones, 4 box office flops with good critical reviews and 6 so-flopped-and-panned-it-went-straight-to-the-tape. That morning, Meyer was in meeting with a young filmmaker.
32 year old Jack Shaw was not exactly a “young” filmmaker but he’s a neophyte who shows a great promise. Most of his homemade movies uploaded in YouTube gained quite an audience and it gave Jack a confidence that he might just convince the legendary Morris Meyer to produce his first ever film. That morning, Jack was showing Morris one of his homemade videos. The movie was entitled “The Dance Revo Prophecies” about a man who is able to predict future events through the arrows indicated in the game.
“See that man?” Jack pointed to Morris. On the screen, the man (the main character) screamed out in horror when his Dance Revo program could not open properly just in time before the lottery game.
“Cool, cat.” Meyer replied stroking his gray beard stained yellow with a mixture of cigarettes, crack and Japanese green tea. Cat was his name for any man, woman or object that he talks to.
When the short film ended, Jack turned to face Meyer looking confident and pleased.
“So, what do you think about that?” he asked the old hippie.
“That was great, cat. I mean, that was so fuckin’ awesome!” Meyer responded enthusiastically, then he paused for awhile as he took a sip of Japanese green tea then ended it with a cigarette.
“Does that mean, I have a chance right?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, cat! You’re already in!”Meyer patted the film maker’s shoulder. Jack waited as Meyer called his secretary through his plastic Batman walkie-talkie (there were rumors in the movie industry that Meyer was supposed to buy the film rights to the Batman series but was beaten by the gnat’s hair by a major movie outfit) and ordered for the contract to be delivered at once. Meyer was the kind of guy who wants business done as fast as possible and there was a story that he signed in a director in just 15 minutes flat. Unfortunately, that director’s first movie went straight to the tape.
While waiting for the contract to be delivered,
“By the way, cat,”Meyer looked at Jack, “what’s the title of your movie and what is it about?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jack’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm as he gather his thoughts, “I’m sure you’re gonna like this. This! This is gonna be another killer movie like your ‘Life’.”
“Fuckin’ cool, cat!” Meyer guffawed, “tell me.”
“Well,” Jack gestured with his hands as he elaborated his plans, “I’m planning to make a gangster movie. Like Al Capone. The seedy bars, the hot chicks, the gunfights! It’s gonna be classic, man!”
Jack was expecting Meyer to agree but was surprised that Meyer just froze where he sat. A few minutes later, Meyer’s secretary came in. It was actually Meyer’s wife who still look beautiful despite her age. She was a rather plump bleach blonde woman wearing a multicolored mexican poncho over a vintage brown cotton dress and birkenstocks. There is a jade bead bracelet on her right wrist and a matching anklet on her left.
“Here’s the contract, Astro” she told Meyer as she laid the contract on the table.
“Oh thanks! You—” Jack was about to touch the contract when Meyer suddenly grabbed it.
“Not a chance, you filthy fuckin’ cat!” Meyer hissed.
“Hey, I thought you said I’m in!” Jack asked him as he was taken by surprise by the maverick’s action.
“No way, cat Jose!” Meyer shot back, taking the contract and ripping it to shreds.
“Are you on drugs or something, man?”
“Get out!” Meyer responded, “What the shit got into you going here and asking me to produce your fuckin’ gangster film!”
“Hey, it’s not mediocre gangster!” Jack contradicted. He was about to explain more to Meyer when…
“Call the Hell’s Angels!” Meyer angrily ordered his wife.
In a matter of minutes, two brawny men are dragging out Jack while his heels leave a faint dark trail on the asbestos floor.
“You don’t understand me, dude! I’m a director!” Jack yelled at them but they did not respond. They had shaved heads, bearded chins, bloodshot eyes, skins as pale as white sheet, pierced noses, pierced lips smeared with black lipstick, tattooed from the neck down and wearing black all the way to the boots.
When the back door opened, the two strange looking men threw Jack to the pavement. He fell face down and scraped his right cheek and lips and nearly broke his nose. He turned to see the two men as one of them put out a gun. He closed his eyes and waited for his fate as the man pulled a trigger…
A small flame came out of the pistol. The other man turned to the man with a gun.
“You fuckin’ idiot! That’s a cigarette lighter!”
“Hey, sorry!” the other said, “it was kinda dark in my room. How was I supposed to know?”
Jack was about to thank his luck when he saw one man dug into his pocket.
“I’ll slice you like a hot knife through butter!” the man grinned as he pulled out—his toothbrush.
It was the other man’s turn. “You dickhead! You don’t even have your knife!”
“Hey, boss never allowed us to have a decent light in our quarters!” he responded as he continued to mutter, “that old bastard! What does he think of us? Bats?”
“Yeah,” the other agreed as he looked at his clothes, “the old dick made us wear these stupid make-up and tacky outfits!”
“Yeah, I wish I was working for P. Diddy. I would have probably be wearing funky suits and signature clothes!”
Jack was still lying on the pavement, listening to the ongoing conversation when the two brawny men finally noticed him.
“Hey loser!” the other called out, “we’re not going to kill you anymore. Just get your shit outta here and don’t ever come back! You’re gonna put us in trouble.”
With that, the two men turned and went inside the building once more.
That was when Jack realized, the road to fame is never gonna be easy.
My name is Ronnie. I’m a girl with a boy’s name. There are a lot of things about me that I want to tell you but I feel that you might not understand. That’s why, I’m going to talk instead about Zach, my first love.
I met him while I was at the cinema watching the Halloween re-issue of ‘Night of the Living Dead’. I was watching the film when, at the corner of my eye, I saw a boy, sit beside me. After a few seconds, I resumed my attention as one zombie gobbled up one human like spare ribs. Then the boy turned to me and whispered:
“Do you come here often?”
I want to be annoyed because he’s interrupting me but the moment I saw his face, I was surprised to see the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. He was Caucasian (what’s he doing in the third world country like the Philippines, I have no idea) with titian hair, light colored eyes and fair skin (at this moment, the screen flashed a very bright light and enabled me to see his features). He was about my age, probably 23, and his stare is fixated on me. I chose to ignore him and went back to my viewing.
“Hey, what’s that you’re eating?” he asked me again.
I didn’t answer because I have no idea how to tell him what the Filipino street food “betamax” is made of. Instead, I just placed the small paper bag near him to offer. He must have liked the taste when he took one “betamax” and put it in his mouth and never showed a disgusted expression.
After the movie, I was walking my way home when I heard some footsteps trailing after me. I stopped and looked back. It was him. The Caucasian boy. He smiled nervously as he stood a few meters away.
“H-hi,” he stammered.
I intently looked at him, trying to sense his intentions.
“I was thinking if you want a company on the way home.” he said.
I smiled although I really don’t need to be accompanied home. But he seemed to be trustworthy enough. To save you from the cheesiness of the situation, I’ll just summarize it. That’s how Zach and I started dating. It’s been a few months now and he still walks me home.
One night, we were walking alone, holding hands, when Zach said:
“We’ve been dating for months and I’m still fascinated with you.”
I smiled and asked: “Really, how come?”
“I mean, you seemed to be very different from all the Filipino girls I’ve dated.”
“Yeah? Kinda broke all your impressions about Filipinas, huh?”
“Well,” he said as we both stopped and faced each other, “you’re just too mysterious to me.”
I chuckled. Well, that was a compliment to me.
“No, seriously!” Zach’s face looked at me eagerly. “I mean, you seemed to be fearless of everything unlike most girls. Like, you always go out at night and you look like you’re not scared of seeing ghosts, goblins or even serial killers.”
I looked straight at him. He held his breath. He always does that whenever I stop and look at him intently. Perhaps he’s thinking that I might give him a kiss. But not this time.
“I’m not afraid of walking alone because, first of all, there are no ghosts. We’re both atheists and we believe that man is created by himself and not by a so-called supreme bloke called God . Second, goblins are just pesky little creatures and do not pose any danger.”
“And what about serial killers?” he smiled mischieviously.
“What me worry?” I laughingly replied as put my arms around him. “You’re here to protect me, remember?”
It was April night.
Good Friday.
Zach took me for a date and while we’re on the way to our destination, he had me blindfolded. It was part of the surprise, he said.
” Let those sacred cows practice their traditions,”he whispered as he led me by the hand, “tonight is our date.”
I was thrilled to go out on a date with him although at the back of my mind, I’d rather stay at home. I’m not a religious person but I just don’t feel like going out at this time of the year.
We walked a few meters more. It must be some sort of ruins or a place not visited so often because of some rocks that I stumble upon.
“Here we are,”Zach said as we stopped and started to remove the blindfold.
Right before my eyes I saw, we’re in the middle of a ruin. Perhaps an old church because of the thick walls and at one end of the large hall, there’s a stone table which appears to be an altar. The walls were thickly enveloped with moss and the whole place is reeking with thick, damp smell. The only sources of illumination were small rays of the bright full moon that seep through the cracks and recesses of the place.
“Zach,” I managed to speak after looking around, “why? Of all places?”
“Sweetheart,” his face had an eerie expression despite the calmness of his voice, “what are you so scared about?”
“No, I mean, why are we here?” I asked. At that moment, I knew that I really have to go as a cold rush of the wind blew inside the building.
“The resto’s are all closed now because of the season. That’s why I brought you here,” he said as he encircled his arm around my waist and held me firmly close to his chest. “Now stop playing around and let’s get to business.” He lowered his head to kiss me but I broke away from him.
“Zach,” I’m starting to get really nervous, “Please take me back home. Now.” I turned and started to walk away when Zach firmly grabbed hold of my arm and harshly pulled me to the ground.
Stunned by his brash action, I stared at Zach. Now, THAT’S a good reason to go.
“WHAT’S WRONG RONNIE? I thought you’re not scared of anything, even serial killers!” he gloated as his right hand brandished a large kitchen knife that glistened in the full moon. I wanted to scream but a different emotion took hold of me and choked my effort.
“Zach…” I breathed. In an instant, Zach raised the knife and drove it hard to my right shoulder. I let out a bloodcurdling scream as the cold metal tore into my warm flesh. Blood spurted like fountain from my wound and heavily stained my shirt and the knife while some sputtered into Zach’s pale cheek . Zach with his eyes now lit with maniacal murderous glow, removed the knife and lifted it once more to stab me again when a small horde of bats flew straight at him. While he was distracted by the bats, I used my remaining strength to get up and broke to a run.
I ran and ran. Oblivious of the blood dripping from my shoulder. My breath is racing madly as I ran in the same pace.
But no matter where I ran, I could not find the way out.
Finally, I reached a spot where the ceiling is completely removed. The bright moonlight streamed down on me as I walked into the center of the room. I could no longer run. I stopped and stood as I tried to catch my breath.
“Zach, ” I limply lowered my head, “Why does it have to be like this?”
I heard a series of footsteps coming from behind. At first, it was in a rather brisk manner till it finally broke to a run. I turned around in time to see Zach, holding the bloodied knife over his head, running forward to deliver one deadly blow. His face was marked from the multiple scratches by the bats but the menacing look in his eyes remain glowing bright. I could no longer run.
This is the fate dictated upon me.
“I love you” I whispered as I finally surrendered to my fate.
Silence.
I was struggling to walk as I held my wounded shoulder. The blood on my shoulder had already dried but my tears kept dripping down on my face.
I walked through a yard of moss-covered stones. Tombstones. The ruins were really of an ancient church. I walked gingerly and slowly. Guided by no light except the moon.
“Close call, isn’t it?” a deep voice spoke behind me.
Silently, I sat down on a large catacomb. Like a child waiting for punishment.
“Told you he couldn’t be trusted,” the voice continued.
I remained motionless as a dark winged figure flew over and sat down beside me.
“If it weren’t for our schoolchildren who distracted him,” he continued as he folded his wings behind him, “you would have joined the Dark Master so soon.”
It was my childhood friend, Gerard.
“I know.” I managed to respond meekly. “Sorry about that.”
“Where is he?”
Before I could speak, I let out a very humiliating BURP!
“You seemed to have enjoyed him, haven’t you?” Gerard smiled and turned to me, “let me have a taste of him, too.” He let out his long pointed tongue and touched the corner of my lips before the blood completely dries. He eagerly licked off the remaining warm, metallic-tasting liquid then moved his head closer as he kissed me fully in the lips.
My baptism.
My name is Ronnie. I’m a girl with a boy’s name.
There are a lot of things about me that I want to tell you but, Gerard and I are on a date and right now, he and I have just spotted a potential meal to share tonight. So, just stay where you are where we can…
I live in forever damnation
In a cell with no poss’ble escape,
And yet I bathe in all elation
For the love I cannot speak or name.
He is the reason I chose to exist
In a life of solitary confinement,
He is the reason I am filled with bliss
In spite of the hell and heavens’ judgment.
Though his lips speak not my name
I will always yearn to kiss it,
Though his skin feel not my hand
I will always yearn to feel it.
I watched over him while he sleeps
Hoping that he dreams about me.
I cry with him when’ver he weeps
Hoping that those tears were for me.
Now my beloved has left me
Here in my lone cold catacomb,
Forever waiting I will be
Till my love comes back home.
