Don't Order Dog_ 1(26)

Are you people getting the picture here?

If you have the luxury of choice, try to buy the pink one with the knapsack. I think his name is something like “Jo-Jo” or “Fucknuts”. He will be your cash cow. Don’t ask the obvious question; just know that this little pink sumbitch is drowning in charm. He prances and minces and swings his knapsack to and fro and has earned quite a following in the gay community. In other words, he has two markets, which means toddlers will be fighting drag queens in the aisles of the toy store for this little laddie, so act fast people.

That’s it. Ignore this advice and I’ll be telling you “I told you so” for as long as I told you so about that other thing before. I’m not even asking for a cut, just the usual… a couch to sleep on, a shot of Fortaleza tequila and a Camel Light, introductions to women of easy virtue, etc. And don’t think I’m not following my own advice. I’ve nabbed one of the little bastards, and the other three are practically in the bag.

Think Brainybuddies now, and you’ll be on the long green gravy train by Christmas. Remember, you heard it here first.

Ta!

p.s. This message was typed to you ingrates on a Smith Corona Classic 10 found dusty and neglected in the lobby of my hotel. For those who haven’t had the pleasure, just know that every mechanical slap of the keys chimes a whimsical “fuck you” to Microsoft, and for that I am eternally grateful.

p.p.s. The cachapas here are sublime. Pepe, a young man I befriended with a hairy forehead and a penchant for vintage belt buckles and flowery silk shirts introduced me to these tasty little wonders. Unfortunately the capybara burgers tasted like Wayne Newton’s underpants and gave me a fit of gas. Don’t order dog.





15.




Jeri stared at the Polaroid picture lying on the counter with frustrated amusement as she poured a beer. She could have almost predicted the image before seeing it – a young man in a black silk shirt adorned with a grotesque pattern of white flowers sat at an outdoor table, a gap-toothed grin stretched across his light brown face. His long dark hair was pulled back tightly against his scalp and shined with the luster of heavy pomade. Despite his wardrobe and hairstyle, the broad features of his twenty-something face gazed out from the picture with a warmth and happiness that Jeri couldn’t stop staring at, as if the man had just been given the greatest gift imaginable. Behind him, another man sat at the table, a beer clenched in his hand. Only his arm and a portion of his chest were visible beyond the young man in the foreground, but Jeri knew from the tanned, muscled arm and the familiar blue t-shirt exactly who he was.

Sitting across from her at the bar, Allie read the letter and sipped on her wine.

“Allie, did you–”

Allie dramatically threw up her hand for silence. “Hold on, I’m trying to concentrate. And yes, I’ll take another glass of wine.”

Jeri poured another healthy dose of Pinot Noir for her friend and placed the glass next to its empty, lipstick-stained predecessor. She stood quietly at the bar and watched Allie as she continued to read, a subtle grin drawn on her friend’s face.

“Funny, huh?” Jeri asked.

Allie chuckled briefly before catching herself and erasing the smile from her face. “Funny? No. I wouldn’t call it funny.” Her green eyes flashed up at Jeri. “Unless by funny you mean peculiar. But that’s not what you meant, is it? You meant funny as in humorous and cute. As in ‘Hey Allie, look, I’m getting chain mail from a creepy stalker who really likes me and hopes I can meet his parents one day and have his kids before he feeds me to his German Shepherds or stuffs me in a wood chipper. Am I right?”

“Yes, I meant humorous in that kind of way.”

Allie glared at Jeri for a moment before snatching the Polaroid from the bar and examining it carefully. “Let’s see what we have here,” she said, her voice high with sarcasm. “In the foreground, a handsome young man, Venezuelan I assume, with greasy long hair and utterly horrendous taste in clothes. He looks normal enough, though we all know that looks can be deceiving. A pleasant meal with friends at a street side café in Puerta Whatever. Oh, and speaking of friends… yes… there behind our young, poorly dressed soon-to-be-victim is our favorite stalker – Mr. Mysterious-Joe’s-Last-Stand-T-shirt-Guy.” She shot a snide smile at Jeri before continuing. “And how mysterious indeed. Once again our little friend has just managed to evade the camera. Another tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin and toned muscles, the oh-so-familiar faded blue Joe’s t-shirt that I hope to god he washes between photos, yet nothing of that elusive face that must surely be on par with Adonis and Brad Pitt.”