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JIM'S FANTASTIC CAR
Everybody got to pay for what he does. The question is
When. And How. Obviously we all have to deal with our own shit. You can expect
nobody to come and clean the shit stuck on your shoes, at least that you were a
baby. In this matter the world is full of examples. Remember Bill Clinton, the
once upon a time most powerfully man on Earth, is that what he was? The
President of the United States of America, a “god”, in the eyes of the justice
because a blowjob! Hey man, a fucking blow job, you know what I mean? We, the
rest of the world, while watching the American Show, we thought that American
Woman never, ever, gives head. You know? That was a terrible thing to do, to
put the dick into the mouth of an American Woman, something that an American
Woman never does. You know, that kind of things are thing of the French Woman,
the French Kiss, ob-la-di ob-la-da.
American Girl sucks no dick, no no no. Thus was a verrrry verrry verrry nasty thing, Mister
President, to do; and to an American little, pretty girl working in the White
House, to home the President’s dicks in her mouth, what a crime! But you know,
after give it a twice though to the affair we realize that what the American
Media did not forgive to Bill Clinton had nothing to do with a blowjob, but
with the bad taste of the Most Powerful Man on Earth. The lux-porno arena got
plenty Miss Universes to suck the pretty little dicks of the Presidents of the
world! Hollywood is full of gorgeous she-stars crazy about give head to whoever
in Office is. And you know, Bill was so fucked up in the head that instead of
calling K--- B--- she put on her knees the most stupid shit in America. I mean,
what was wrong with that idiot? How could that kind of idiot become President
of the USA? Even Miss Clinton would had swallowed the pill in a better
disposition. All right, he was with Marylyn Monroe, who can compete with that
bitch!
Jim came surfing Highway Ten. He was driving a white,
fantastic car. The day was shining blue. I was sitting by a tree on the roadside
when a big car took the bad turn and went out of the road. The guy came out of
the upside-down car without no injury. He kissed his luck, looked at Heaven,
picked up his phone, and I lost interests in his existence.
Right in front of me was a state prison. Some guy
could be on the pan right now and getting toasted, for what? I realized that I
was in a bad spot. A prison, a wanderer, no good. I decided to make a move, and
walk a little bit farther. I was going definitely to L.A. No more hanging
‘round. I had a shower in a truck-stop, got me some coffee, some oranges,
feeling good. I could do some walk. Few steps later I saw that white sport
machine on wheels heading to me. Jim was smoking, and by the look in his face I
could say that was smoking marihuana. He pull over by me and a said :
“Where you’re heading?”
“L.A.”, said I.
“This is your lucky day. Get on”
That was in the border between Alabama and
Mississippi. We had few thousand miles to hit.
“You smoke, man?”
“I’m out of order. Thank you”
“You don’t mind getting the wheel?”
“Of course not”
The temptation was as powerful as the one under which
feel Adam and Eve. I could not tell him that the first time I got the wheel
nearly I killed both, Horst and me, and the second, I just drove a drunkard
into the wood. Jim’s machine was as beautiful as Miss Universe ass, man. I
wanted it badly. I said nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. I said “yes, I can
handle this diamond on wheels”.
We had plenty time to talk. And as he got higher and
higher he shot it, straight in my ears.
“I’m going to run for President when the time come”
“Shit”. Said I. “You have a lot of imagination”
“No joke. All you need is connection”
“You work for a national electricity company or so?
“Better than that”
“A multidimensional internet plug”
“Stop kidding”
“Well, what about me being the next Pope?”
“Listen, all you need is to take and give”
“That sounds like your ass is going to be busy”
“Where did you say you come from?”
“Now or tomorrow? You are high, man”
“So what? How do you think Bill made it?”
“I don’t know, but on the other side of the waters we
heard that he was a kind of master of whores. His whores’ network helped him to
run for Governor and then for President. Am I wrong?”
“So what?”
“You have no Moral, or Ethics?”
“What has to do Politics with Moral and Ethics, man?”
“I don’t know, I just know if I knew that a Master of
whores is running for Governor I would not vote for that shit”.
“Well, here everything is different”
“Shit is shit, everywhere. Anyway, explain me that,
you running for President”
“First thing, you gotta have
a rich connection, your dad, your mother in law, anybody”.
“You got that. I can say it by this wonder”
“Of course. Do you mind?”
“No shit, man. I would enjoy my life too buying me a
wonder like this if I had the chance”
“All right then. The rest is moving in between the big
men your dad is in connection with. Those guys need a man in office to resolve
their problems with the law”
“You mean they are all breaking the law and the
President is their pawn?”
“Exactly”
“Understood. American Way for Democracy. You don’t see
the Master of the Puppet”
“Do you in your country”
“Of course we see the motherfuckers”
“Well, here, we don’t see them”
It was Mardi Grass in New Orleans. Jim would not pass
by without taking a look around Bourbon Street. I wouldn’t mind neither, all
those people in a crazy mood listening the music they never do, New Orlean’s Jazz, walking about with smiles bigger than their
heads, the masquerade of a never-ending night, girls beautiful as the stars of
the skies, guys in LSD and Cocaine playing once in the year the game of the
Brotherhood of souls, the day before the Katrina Deluge. We drank few beers,
chatted here and there with all-smiling girls, and when the time came to going
on our way Jim made me swallow a LSD thing. That thing woke me up. Not that I
had never taken one. But the last I had was way back years ago. It was
summertime. Athens’s summer night is paradise. Plaka Square, at the feet of the Acropolis, stays alive until very late. I was
playing my guitar there by the church, when a couple of Canadians, high as the
highest galaxy in heavens, sat by me. They were in glory summer love thing. She
was sweet as an angel from Vancouver and I could see he was crazy about her.
“Can you play a song of love for us?”, he said.
“Why, you need a love song when you walk the most
beautiful girl I have seen tonight? You won't let her give me a kiss, would
you?”.
Before leaving they make me to eat “the paradise
fruit”.
“No Devil?” said I. You know, when basking around
people take for granted that you are experienced in everything. Which is truth
anyway. No Heroine though. No Crack neither. The only question with a LSD was :
“Is real good?”.
“What do you see”, said she. “You want me to kiss you,
don’t you?”
I mean, how could I say no to that angel of love with
her lips open and a smile in her eyes able to melt down a column of the
Acropolis! I have to say that they were right. I ended up naked in the bed of a
Greek Woman who spoke Spanish better than me.
Whatever, I got in Jim’s Fantastic Car that night with
my mind in a future where I could drive like Fitipaldi,
one hand in the wheel, the other rolling a marihuana cigar, and telling stories
about life in Mars and a Tower where a guitar man speaks with the sound of the
thunder. By the time we reached Houston I was driving at 130 miles per hour,
and had Jim sleeping. Good boy!
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