Some Thursday Night Lite Fiction For Youse

She didn't seem like the kind of girl who would rip the legs off of a
cricket. But then again, how well do you know anyone? The incident
happened shortly after I was fired from my sex-line phone-chat job.
I'm not going to say I was good at it, or even that I liked it. But,
loosing that job put me into a state of unease over my liquidity.

Since I didn't have any prospects, and there are only four things I
hate more than daytime teevee, (tuna, cockroaches, acid burns, and phone
companies, ohh, and clowns. Okay - five things...maybe more - never
really thought about it until now.)

Anyways, for fun I would go down to the more seedy districts of the
metropolis - and meander around the bums and muggers, and con-men.
This gave me a marginal thrill, since I knew even if I got rolled or taken,
I really had so little to loose that it would be far cheaper than going
to a movie.

So around there one afternoon, I bumped into her coming out of one of
those falling down hotels that might have been nice back in the day.
She had the look in her face like she wasn't in a hurry to get
to her destination, and I wasn't going anywhere - so we started
talking.

After a walking who knows where, talking about crazy shit like black
holes, urban renewal, micro-climates, and good war movies, we ended up
back at her hotel room with a cheap bottle of wine, or whisky or
something that tasted awful, peeled skin off the inside of your
stomach, and did a number on your brain-pan. That was the beginning of what
became a bi-weekly ritual. It wasn't like it was an amorous thing, it
was just that she was nice to me, and I like it when people are nice to
me. Plus, there was that whole daytime teevee thing.

About two weeks down the line another fellow started showing up at her
place, with the name of Rex Bowen. I don't know if she knew him from before, or if she met him after me, but it was her place, and she could invite in whoever she wanted. But Rex couldn't talk in a conversation if his life depended on it.

Rex wasn't all that bad of a guy, but he had annoying streaks. Like he'd come in all strung out on meth, and then drink some of our drink and start singing show-tunes, or worse, lousy renditions of Deep Purple and Motorhead. I didn't think much of it, cause she kept on opening the door for him when he came around, I just got ready to cringe whenever he came by.

Anyways this one time he comes in - lit up like an electrical storm - and grabs the bottle, slams down a good fourth of it, and then begins singing this ridiculous made-up tune that went something like this.

Motion picture
Mo-tion Pic-ture
I wanna be in a motion picture...
motion
picture...
motion
picture
I wanna be in a motion picture...

Well, from out of nowhere this girl shouts out at the top of her lungs - and I mean a real scream,
"REX YOU RETARDED DOOF! SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Only Rex was waaay too into his song to care. I mean, he was feeling the groove. Swaying around the room with a bottle in one hand, and his other clenched around an air microphone.

Mo-tion Pic-ture
Mo-tion Pic-ture
I wanna be in a motion picture...lalalala

So she came up from his side, and from out of nowhere, latched a handcuff around the wrist that had the bottle. And with shocking strength, pulled him straight to the iron bedframe - at least 10 feet away, and locked the other bracelet around a big pole. The big doof barely even noticed. He just kept on singing his damn stupid song.

I wanna be in a motion picture.

"Rex," she said loudly and clearly. "If you don't shut up right now, I'm going to pull off your legs." He really didn't hear her. Or else, he really didn't believe her. That was, in my opinion, his mistake.

She got up, and went into a closet. She dragged out a large, and very heavy cardboard box. In the middle of the room, she opened it, and pulled out a big winch - like the kind you see on the front of heavy Army trucks. She carried it into the bathroom, which was sort of kitty-corner from the bed. There were some clanking noises that came from in there. Then she came out with a cable, and wrapped it around Rex's legs. Rex was still lost in song.

Mo-tion pic-ture, mo-tion, picture, motion picture, I wanna be in a...

"I'll show you a fucking motion picture." She said, walked into the bathroom, and the next thing I knew there was the sound of mechanical grating, and the cable got tighter. Rex stopped singing, and started screaming. I watched as his pants got tighter around his legs,
and his body began to straighten out - pulled from the one arm handcuffed to the
bed rail, and his legs wrapped around a winch cable. I decided it would be best if I didn't watch the rest.

When I opened my eyes, the bed was across the room, Rex was pouring blood from two stumps where his legs used to be, and she was covered in blood from head to toe. She said,
"How's that for a goddamn motion picture."
I paused for a second, and spoke,
"I think we're going to need more booze. I'll go get some. Start figuring out how to clean this shit up." I stood up and headed for the door.
"Yeah," She said, "that sounds like a good idea. I sure can't go out for anything!" She cackled madly as I walked out.

I walked away from the scene, never intending to buy her, or us anything ever again. She was a nice girl. She didn't seem like the kind of girl who would rip the legs off of a cricket. God, did I just think "cricket?" I must not be in the right frame of mind after just going through all that. She didn't seem like the kind of girl who would rip the legs off of a man. But then again, how well do you know anyone?