SPACE NOIR BAR by Mike Marino (top books to read txt) 📖

a Game of Naked Twister where your yin (if you're lucky) may end up in somebody's yang!

The followers of Kurtz were pioneers when it came to free love and free sex where for three days it was a time of nudity combined with wild, three ring circus sexual activity. (Unfortunately we had to leave in the morning.) The sexual positions are enhanced with mating calls and words.  For example, if a hulking Suk Muk Dic resident came up to you says, “Me want do it as does the deer!” Ok, we know it today as Doggie style but I guarantee you if you meet a young lady in a singles bar back in old Detroit and say “Me want do it as does the dog” You’ll get knocked off a bar stool..now if she says in reply, “German Shepard or Standard Poodle” ...you know you’re in Amigo!!


The rituals are however sexy as hell where you are encouraged to have a romp or two to manifest manhood and appease the gods of placenta.  I spent many pleasurable nights in Old Tokyo worshipping at the Gonzo Ganja Ginza so  can only imagine the results of these daily fornication frolics.

Some say the practices began, hidden perhaps in Tibet high on a mountain top where only the 102nd Dalai Lama  knows it’s treasured secrets..hell no wonder he’s peaceful, he is contented and administered by virgin concubines who know the hidden secrets of  sexual positions and secretions. No wonder he’s smiling all the damned time. Forget the butterfly effect..in the world of fornication festivities down on the carnal commune they also engage in what is referred to as “bundling” (I can hear it now..”wanna bundle baby? Your sack or mine?”)



Dawn comes early when you’re running on empty. After a night of sheer energy and ecstasy it was time to sober up, put a lock on our libidos and gyroscoping genitals to make the trip to the Rabbit Hole. Che would lead the way with a small platoon. He arrived to get us ready and damn if he didn’t look like he had slept for hours in a fountain of youth, refreshed and invigorated while I must have looked like I spent the night in a flophouse fighting off wino’s and thieves until daybreak.



Poontang and Strangelove? Well, while I was engaged in sexual exploits with Sela Ward look alike twins into the wee smalls… they had doubled up with couple of blond Nordic looking bi-sexual beach boy type hulks, probably canal surfers on Mars.  I never saw bigger smiles on a woman’s face until that morning. Perhaps after we get back home I’ll take up surfing and wax my woody too.

We hoisted our packs on our backs, checked our weapons, and headed out of the Rudy Valley to our destiny ahead. Little did I know that I was about to walk in front of a careening Iron Butterfly bus driven by a drug addled driver named Pink Floyd...the maddest hatter of them all.

Chapter 29 - Rush Hour at the Revolution

 

 

 

 The feast and drugs had placed my head in vice, but marshalled what energy hadn’t been expended by getting underway early before  the heat of the red sun of Robotia  would  pierce the sunrise making breathing and traveling unbearable. Che Stadium, a commanding presence  in battle worn fatigues  led the way with his band of merry men who would run interference should we happen to run into a freight train of hell fire from Toho’s “to protect and serve and kill” recon teams who may have breached the rift.  I suggested a pile of donuts for a bait trap to delay them just in case this should happen, but as Che so succinctly pointed out...we had to move quickly, no time for Krispy Kreme dreams. “We’ve got to move fast,” he said. “I’ve heard from intelligence that Narco Marx and Joel Faberge had also offered their services as to the Tohos . We were now deep in the shit house and only one direction left on our compass ...straight ahead. I wasn’t about to argue. Narco was a formidable foe, not a faux foe by any pantie hose stretch of any imagination.

It didn’t take long for the group machismo to flare up arguing over directions. It was an argument worthy of two native New Yorkers claiming knowledge of the best route to a Harlem whorehouse on the other side of town.

Che declared, “We’ll take the Geo/Time  Rift and be there before you know it.” His proclamation, though convincing was questioned by Long Wang. “If we take the GWB Rift we’ll get there a lot faster.” To which he added, “Of course the Dan Ryan Rift will avoid the morning rush and flux. It can be a real bitch this time of day!”  Wang Chung wanted to take the Chinatown Tunnel rift to pick up some egg rolls, but his fortune cookie was overruled by Che, the lounge lizard in training Latino leader who craved a breakfast burrito  you could only obtain  once inside the Geo/Time  barrier at a place called “For Whom the Taco Bell Tolls”

Then the whining of the wailing wall began as Hymie Hymen Swartz, one of Che’s platoon leaders, declared that the Breakfast Blintz at the “Cheeses of Nazareth” deli was to die for, but only available by taking the Bris Boulevard exit after entering the Golda Meir Gateway Rift.  Dublin Donohue suggested the Irish Eyes-Danny Boy Rift where  everything was bright and gay...Long Wang agreed, (for obvious reasons) and Gino Dino Gambino wanted to go made guy all the way and take the Fongool Forgettaboutit Freeway rift near the Santa Luciano Coney Island where the gelato gushes from geysers and the Meyer Lansky Memorial Hot Dog Stand where a chili dog is not just a frozen chihuahua.

I knew this trip was gonna be a real Alice in Wonderland bitch! Rabbit Hole. What kind of a name for a Vortex Hole in the Wall gang of revolutionaries is that? Was I really going to finally meet this illusory bombastic babe who was giving the universe a kick in the status quo balls in the name of revolution? Would we actually get our hands on the famed Falcon? Would we even come out of this alive?

While I was lost in my own conundrum contemplating our quandary my Vidpod rang. It was Sandoz back at the office. “Doc, you’re still alive!  Arthur hadn’t heard anything for days from you and I normally wouldn’t call but something happened you might be interested in.”

By now my curiosity was getting curiouser and curiouser. “We got a client who actually paid us cash?” I could sense the muffled guffaw stuck in his craw. “”Ha, no way. I’m kidding, but I man came by last night with a package for you. Actually some kind of object wrapped in old Earth newspapers. He said you would be glad to have it but I should hide it until you got back, so I gave it to Madeline to stash at her place.”

I acknowledged his news, but he continued somewhat cautiously. “Then this morning the police found him dead in our alley. Vaped. All ID missing. Inspector Bill Burroughs came by earlier nosing around to see if we knew anything about it and also...also...he wanted to know why you skipped the planet? I think he thinks you had something to with it. The murder I mean.”

I guess I got a little more than defensive. “Sandoz, don’t tell him a thing. About me, the Falcon and especially where I am. I’ll clear it all up when we get back. Give him a couple of space bucks if he comes around again. He likes a good bribe as well as the next cop. Look gotta go. Heading into a vortex rift and may lose my signal.  We’ll be back in a couple of days and hopefully with good news...hopefully alive and not in an acrylic pine box.”

Goddamn Burroughs..always riding my ass. No time to figure out who the dead man in the alley was or what he brought to the office in a pseudo cloak and dagger Dashiell Hammett reenactment. All that was missing was a battered trench coat, heavy fog and and that damned blues saxophone music I keep hearing since I began telling this story!

Poontang knew there was trouble. She could read my face as well as Helen Keller could finger her way through a braille lesbian porn mag. “Trouble?” she asked. “Real trouble sister,” I replied. “I’ll deal with it later. Just a dead guy in an alley and a mysterious package, and it ain’t even my birthday.”

We arrived at the vortex rift Che Stadium had chosen democratically by eliminating Long Wang and Wang Chung’s suggestions scientifically by a few rounds of paper, rock, scissors.

I was beginning to hate these vortex forays. It was like passing through a wall of Jello and placenta and when you got through it you were momentarily dizzy and confused. Che Stadium was the only one who seemed to enjoy the experience. But then again he’d probably enjoy putting his head in a cannon to see how far it would travel without his body attached.

Into the Vortex we went and emerged in a verifiable mental institution of fantasy. I was waiting to see my first Cheshire Cat or Mad Hatter.  This place was real Alice In Wonderland shit.




I remember the story. Alice is just one in a long line of storybook children that would end up as a missing child on a milk carton with a full Amber Alert "Don't talk to strangers" ...yeah Alice, that Mad Hatter is about as strange as they come..."Just Say NO to Drugs" and here is your DARE t-shirt Alice...so what does she do...spends time with a hookah smoking caterpillar. Promiscuous? Of course she was...she only got larger so those below could peek up her gingham and gander. Watch out...that rabbit is looking for a hole! So save those milk cartons...you never know when they might become part of your family album. Drop a hit of acid or mescaline and turn on and tune into Wonderland...don't forget to bring the hookah and the condoms Amigos, along with Alice's training bra!

Chapter 30 - Is That a Mad Hatter in Your Pants

 

 

 

We had stepped through more than a rift in a vortex. It was a strange and mysterious land. It took time for my head to