Get Zombie: 8-Book Set (66 page)

“They
were wearing these bright blue, full-body dolphin costumes…”

Yeesh.

These
people are worst than the Mirovingian Vampires that prowl the streets
at night in Waikiki, sucking people’s gore.

I
don’t think I’ll come back next semester. I like the
class – love the cool teacher – but I feel like I’m
wasting my time. I could be working on my writing. That feels much
more productive. The problem is that I KNOW what I want to do with my
life. No need to take class after class, hoping for a revelation of
my future. I know what I want. Which can also be a problem. Because
you end up not wanting to do anything else. It’s not that
you’re lazy. You just would focus on your craft – what
you love – and work hard at it – rather than working a
9-5 job folding clothes and getting spat on by customers from the
mainland.

Warren’s
class is silent.

It’s
dark inside.

It’s
a computer room. The monitors all look like portals to some bright,
happy dimension. I can her Mr. Rogers yapping, saying something about
“layers” and “RGB” and “pasting”.
Is he talking about new birth control methods? I realize that he’s
talking about the photo-editing program Photoshop. My ears hurt from
all the technical talk. I’ve neglected using the Left side of
my brain for so long now.

I
see Warren sitting near the door, almost spilling out into the
hallway. He sits with his head resting on his palm, other hand moving
the mouse around in tiny circles. Why does he put himself through
this shite? It’s always hard for me to watch: Heartbreaking,
even.

That’s
it.

I’m
not coming back next semester.

Warren
and I meet up with his father in the parking lot, and he takes us to
our dart competition, at a bar across the street called Se LeVi.
Being in a dart league does nothing for my self-esteem. Each time I
miss a target, each time I miss a bull’s eye, I can feel the
eyes of my captains, Warren & Dave, whipping my spine with thick
wet noodles.

And
it hurts like a mother.

It’s
always the same. You see the same people. Samoans and Hawaiians
laughing so loud, glass breaks and wood splinters. Team members call
each other assholes if one of them misses an important throw, and
bitches if they DO hit something! And that’s just the women.

It’s
all in good fun.

As
long as you’re drunk.

I
once tried flirting with one of our competitors. She was older, and
taken by another (one of the best – but not much liked –
dart players).

This
was at another bar, Emerald City, across from the Neal Blaisdell
Center Concert Hall – here you can see Wrestling shows and
Opera and concerts. I saw Metallica there once. Good times,
especially when people you don’t know hand you hard liquor.

She
was sitting at the bar, singing karaoke, and I would’ve made my
move…but I was too drunk. Instead, I would speed-walk
occasionally into the restroom and puke something awful into the
toilet. Later, as Warren’s dad drove down the freeway at 12 in
the morning, I threw up in the back-bed of his red pickup truck. But
I didn’t want my hideous filth all over his truck, so I puked
in my hands, and then tossed the mess overboard and onto passing
cars. There was a puddle on the back-bed, so I smeared it here and
there because I thought that would help it dry up quicker.

This
is how I play darts.

These
are my league nights.

Really,
I come here to drink and take shots of whatever whenever, because I
wanna be a part of the Laugh Pack. Just not too many 151 shots,
please, oh please.

I
am relieved each night it’s over. These things usually go on
for 2-3 months, with us playing once a week on Thursdays (note:
Nowadays, the other guys play 3-4 times a week). I love darts but I
loathe playing in leagues! I don’t like being told when to do
things. I wanna play when I feel like it. I can’t take the
stress of competition. I can’t play, I say, okay? No way!

But
there are good nights, though. This one happened AFTER a darts night:

To
cheer me up, a pal (who shall remain nameless, and who hates me now
because I’m an idiot) and I hop into his truck and drive to
DHV. It looks like your ordinary video store, but step inside, my
friend, and walk to the right, for here there be much porn, indeed.

The
first thing that hits me is how bright the place is. It’s a rat
maze of porn. A labyrinth. I expect to cut a corner and see David
Bowie playing with a tiny, crystal ball.

I
have never been here before, and I am shocked by the quantity –
yet impressed by the quality of the products. Equally surprising, is
the amount of Adult Cinema knowledge my friend has. He’s like
the freakin’ scholar of porn. He knows exactly what he wants,
and exactly where to go. I, on the other hand, find myself a tad
uncomfortable. I see a young couple “reading” the back of
a DVD box. They look at me – I quickly turn away and look at
some crazy box covers. The couple walks past me, laughing. Are they
laughing at me?! WHY? It’s because I look 14, I know it! Well,
I’m not! I’m 25! Bastids.

I
don’t want to be with people here.

Alone
time, please.

I
wish I had donkey eyes. The placement of a donkey's eyes enables it
to see all four of its feet at once. If I had that super power, I
could see anyone laughing at me behind my back. And I’d whip
around and point and go AHA! Laughing at me, are you??

To
relax, I find much entertainment while browsing the titties – I
mean
titles
– on DVD covers: Blacks on Blonds, Browns on
Yellows, MILFs, Zoo MILFs, Midgets on Acid, Vagina Wars, Toilet
Babies, Japanese Screamers, Paranoid Creamers, Fart Eaters, Golden
Showers, I Eat Doodoo, Old Couples (eww…), The Anorexic
Playground, One in The Pink – One in The Stink, Touch my Tofu,
Mothers & Daughters, My Ass is Haunted, Vomit Tryouts, Animal
Fantasies….

One
title that sticks to my mind in particular is Mother Makes my
Entrance Wider with Devices.

I
walk into the animal fantasies section and back up like a warehouse
truck, “Beep beep beep”. I pick up a VHS. The cover is
black. I hold it in my hands. Don’t turn it over. Don’t
do it, son, you’ll regret it! I close my eyes and flip the box
over. I’ll open my eyes very – oh so very! –
slowly. If I see a hint of anything disgusting that’ll turn my
eyes black, I’ll put it away.

So
I open my eyes so very slowly and…

…see
nothing but yellow.

So
the front of the VHS is black while the back is yellow. Very
mysterious. But also very good news for me. I don’t want to see
any kind of animal sex. Ha! Although, it was exciting expecting to
see it. That, I’ll never understand. Why do I want to see
something I DON’T want to see?

Meh!

To
be human.

I
explore the area further. I see panties that you can eat, as well as
condoms; dildos ranging from the size of a pinky to the size of an
arm; candy shaped as you-know-whats; and underground magazines from
The Honolulu Mongoose to Fat Girls Urinating Local Style. I bypass
the homosexual area by putting my hand to the side of my face, and
come to a long line.

It’s
an autograph session…for someone named Diamond Head.

Hmph,
I say under my breath. Must be a local porn star.

Because
I don’t have my glasses on, I have to squint to get a good look
at her “features”. I’d walk to the front of the
line, but I’m afraid of angering all these women – Yessm,
that’s right, women. It’s been said that women purchase
more pornography than men. They all seem anxious, and I don’t
want them mad because I don’t want my piss blown in. One of the
women looks over her shoulder and tells the lady behind her that she
just creamed her undies, she’s so excited.

I
turn so I can find my pal and tell him the news, when suddenly
there’s a ruckus. A woman with a heavy pigeon (local) accent
raves.

“I
no understand why you gotta come to my island and try dominate. Why
you no can stay in Maui? I get kids, too, you know! I gotta support
my family! And feed my kids foods!”

Her
friend backs away, fearful. “No, Tasty, no. Not like this.”

The
other women circle Diamond Head, as if to protect her from any sudden
movements made by dear Tasty. The porn star stays in her seat, hands
folded neatly on the table. I can see that some of the women already
have fists for hands. Diamond Head SLAMS HER HAND ON THE TABLE –
all jump back in awe.

“DON’T
CHALLENGE ME!”

For
a second Tasty is shocked. She then gets herself together and jabs a
stick-like finger into Diamond’s chest.

“You
goat.”

Diamond
grabs her hair and the two go at it gorilla style – banging
into the walls and making a mess – the other women cheer and
hoot and hiss and spit. My pal stands over my shoulder, his face
nothing but two wide eyes. People are screaming behind the walls of
porn, “Emergency! Emergency!” The women are knocking down
whole walls, hands on throats, kicking each other in the gut. Diamond
had those pointy, metal heels and kicked with her eyes shut tight
with rage.

Blood
guns out from under Tasty’s dress and splats on the floor. They
both fall and I can see a large purple gash in Tasty’s upper
thigh.

An
autographed copy of Diamond Head’s new DVD slides to my feet.
Its title is “Who’s Eating Gilbert’s Ass-Grapes?”
Starring Diamond Head, MangoGO, BJ Simpson, Braddah Kimo, Tuna Girl,
and Cabbage Inside. A security guard rushes in laughing and separates
the two.

Tasty
is furious.

“ROAAAAAR!”

She
reaches under her skirt and flings a handful of yellow in Diamond’s
face. The security guard takes the girls away, proudly.

My
pal buys what he needed (3 DVDs at $29.99 each) and we both have a
good laugh in the truck. Then we speak about darts and I tell him how
much I hate it now. I’m in a slump. I use to be good –
not really good – but good enough. Now I can’t even throw
a fit. What the F’s the matter with me? I can’t clear my
mind. My brain is so polluted with filth that I’m throwing
tuna. My dart games are a mess. I see better games in my stool.

My
Team: Warren, Dave, Me, Barry, and Warren’s girlfriend, Janet.
They’re all getting better. Improving.

I
have access to the best advice from all the grand masters on the
island. One of the grand masters, at Scores, tried to help me. He
changed my throw and everything – “Throw faster,”
“Stand this way” – and it fucked me up like
something weird. I’m hopeless. Not even a grand master blaster
can release the pressure. Not even the Dart God can resurrect my game
from the Darts Graveyard.

“The
Black Building”

THE
SUN’S PUNCHY. The street’s busy and yelling. What time is
it now? 2:3o pm. Work was easy. Hopefully, I can save enough money to
go skydiving. Once I do that, I can rest with the dead. Crash &
Burn. Fall & Bounce. The End.

When
I die I want my funeral to be outdoors, and I want the theme song
from The Exorcist playing in the background on a loop and on a large
television screen shall play my favorite movie/book Fear &
Loathing in Las Vegas. My friend Brandy will tell everyone to stand
and do a handstand because I think handstands are funny and everyone
will do it because I’m dead and they feel bad.

I
wish to be put into a coffin made of crystal and shaped like an
amazing penis. It shall be lowered vertically, via crane, into the
vagina-disguised grave, then raised, then lowered again, then raised
again. This goes on for an hour, while everyone – still doing
handstands – hops about here and there.

I
stand outside the gothic stronghold, this black building – I
don’t even know what it’s called. I thought it was
Nortuary. I think it’s actually Galaxy.

Tourists
walk past.

Why
must they always be walking clichés? DON’T wear kaki
shorts/DON’T wear rattan hats/DON’T put on layers of
coconut lotion (I hate it!) 5 inches thick. And please, oh please,
put your loud ass, spoiled, CRYING, younglings on a leash! Strap on
those mouth cover-ups that they put on crazy mental people, like
Anthony Hopkins.

Why
do you tourists wear all that shite anyway? Is it any more
comfortable than dressing good and looking attractive?

I
wipe the sweat from my brow.

Cars:
“Honk-honk!”

Trucks:
“Beep-Beep!”

Crosswalk
signal: “Click click click!”

(You
see, I don’t know how it is in other parts of the world, but in
Hawaii, our signals click to inform the deaf that it’s ok to
cross; actually, in Japan it’s more creative: Their crosswalks
play a cute little tune!)

I
see a person dressed as Batman, sitting at a bus stop. He is wearing
slippers, and he smells like a bum. We make eye contact and I look
away quick as a cat because I’m shy.

Half
hidden behind a long fence that’s covered by a ratty black
cloth, the black building looks so out of place – tucked away
from the law offices and convenient stores and the Hawaii Convention
Center and the Hard Rock Cafe. There are some trees loitering behind
the little black building. Waikiki’s not so far off from here.
I might walk there later at night and oogle at the pretty Japanese
tourists.

I
begin planning my day: Check out Black Building. Go to Hawaiian
Brian's (a video arcade/pool hall/darts place) and work on my dart
game with my other dart friends (who my main dart friends hate).
Sheesh! Can’t we just get along?

Also,
there’s someone there that I like, so that’s a plus. So
she’s seeing someone else. Is it a crime to at least see her, I
ask you? As you can see, I feel guilty for thinking this way. But
that ain’t gonna stop me - Ha!

I
walk past the shitty fence. It’s weird seeing the building so
empty. It looks so dead. There are some of those giant spool/tables
and bundles of extension cord. No cars; no people. Nothing else but a
light coconut-lotion scent hangs in the air.