Thursday, 23 February 2012

BOOM, BOOM…POW, POW by Brian Murphy

Somewhere in Syria, 1990 A.D.

Spent the whole night listening to my decay…that, and cockroaches whooping it up - couldn’t be bothered with me. No matter how many I stomped, killed, ate, they just kept coming anyway… whole fucking armies… They held an enviable advantage over me. I was only now, beginning to understand, beginning to see where I went wrong. There was probably very little they didn’t mind doing to survive…an approach to diversity and risk I should have incorporated…So what if it made me a whore, yeah?

All Angel had really wanted was for me to lay some pipe into her asshole…I did that, I wouldn’t be in this noir cartoon right fucking now…Just saying…..

I guess, it’s never too late. So I listen, and I learn. At least I have proven one thing. I have survived, not unlike my cockroach visitors.

Yeah, yeah. What a champ. So fucking what? Not a single page of history will remember my survival…Nor should it.

Doped the fuck-up, I could swear I saw a very large burgundy-colored bone, smoking one of my cigarettes. I am living in a very real Loony Tune cartoon, where the cockroaches dance, top hat and cane, doing soft shoe and bad comedy…smoking my cigarettes.


Angel…Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her - the piece of shit who featured large in my most recent downfall - one, landed me here…prison… middle of Syria - the nightmare-corner of Sand &Beau Geste…. Don’t even ask about the food. You’d think Middle-Eastern diets would have plenty of fiber…Swear I haven’t shit solid in months. I guess it’s all for the better – easier to splash out liquid refuse through the bars. Gives the cracked tile in front of my torture chamber, character…shines like acrylic wax.


“You met her where?”

Hassan Didi was so excited I thought he’d fucking explode over the telephone. And over a blond. In the Levant, they were usually expensive happy meals for horny Arabs. Probably ‘cause they didn’t heave mustaches.

“Sal…right away, I can tell you are less than happy.”

“Where’d you meet her, Hassan…”

“”My brother…Of course you think she’s an east Beirut whore. And I would bring this whore out of Beirut?

“Wouldn’t surprise me. Ah, Hassan…of course you met her in East Beirut…Rest of the fucking city is a warzone. (Israel’s IDF thought it would be fun to invade Lebanon that week… Those zany guys…)

“Sal, we meet in Sidon…you can get to there?”

“Hassan, the fuck are you now…”

“Can not say – is military secret.”

“Hassan, we’re heroin smugglers…entrepreneurs, not fucking GI Joes. Where are…”

He cut me off. “Sal, get to Sidon. We meet at Khalil’s old…Get there…this is money.”


By then, the entire Bekaa valley, awash with Syrians dodging Israeli F-15 Homicide Machines, was lousy with explosions. I was seeing my world in cracked or shattered fragments.

Guys driving me from Baalbek must have pulled over forty times. And we were driving along the coast, 3 am under a thick cloud cover, no headlights. Fucking tap-dancing in front of sharks. Palestinian driver skirting new craters in the asphalt, laughed, “Hey, I drive like Steve McQueen in “Bullet, no?

Staring down at Ak-47 in my lap, I screamed back, “Inshallah.”


So we lived.

When I saw Angel, Hassan’s blonde, even I forgot I hated blonds. My mouth watered…
Or was it the neatly stacked bricks of white dope… tight piles of dollars Angel had allegedly transported from our people in Bat-Yam, Tel-Aviv…She had all the right codes, passed all the security trick-questions, swore our regular guy was back in Haifa getting his hemorrhoids

She was easier to smell, easier to look at then our regular “Shin-Bet” guy… all hips, tits and lips…Still, something odd, couldn’t put my finger on it…


That’s when the Syrian commando kicked in the door…Angel killed four…I smeared six…Hassan, my brother, was killed slitting the Colonel’s throat.
A minute couldn’t have gone by and here’s baby-doll, crushing all her charms into my crotch, my chest, breathing hotly into my ear. Have to say…never considered sexual celebrations after pasting a guy or two all over my walls…but…

Still, something felt odd. Swallowing her tongue, devouring lush lips, I reached between her legs…She purred…” can take it all…money, drugs, cross into Israel at the Litany river…choo know where…”

Now I knew something didn’t feel right. Fuck did this “dish” have between her legs? Christ…my brother had brought a bent, Israeli intelligence, looked like Jenifer Lopez, only with an exceedingly large lump of cock hanging between her “get-away sticks.”

I balked…Freaked…Wouldn’t touch her. So she sells me out to the fucking Syrians. For twenty assassinations give or take.

I’m sure one of my more clever cockroach friends here…he woulda done the tranny…Boom,boom…pow,pow…