Jay Passer

The Ranch

We’re watching late night comedy
Undressed like animals
Woody slides the coke tray out from under the couch
Neil working the swivel-recliner
Upndown
Backnforth
Roundnround
Cold frosty bottles in a brown paper QFC shopping bag on the coffee table
Becca can’t keep still with my boxer shorts stuffed in her mouth
I puffing albuterol nebulizer
Paired with bong tokes 
Neil jokes about the blood of Christian children
He uses instead of bong water 
Woody’s back pain following him from the Wing Stop
Where we’d just pulled a job
It was Becca’s idea
Sometimes she had one
Like a light bulb in an attic
It looks like she wants to say something 
I yank the shorts out
Take your time says Neil we got all night
Little do I know that while I am at work Neil and Woody strap her down to the coffee table and take turns objectifying her body
Woody and Neil
Lumbermen of imminent GenPop video games
I think, Becca starts her eyes wide with speed I forgot my cigarettes at Wing Stop!
Give her something to suck on Ivan, if you can find it Woody chortles
Maybe you left ‘em in the safe we just emptied at gunpoint Neil points out
You think? Becca pipes incredulously
She has one little dainty white sock on while wiping her armpit with the other
I stand up
I sit down
I stand up
I sit down
I stand up
Willya fuckin’ quit that lvan you freak you’re freaking me out yells Woody
I sit
Tufts of cat hair adrift
Somebody needs to clean up after that fucking cat I proclaim
Becca’s baby blues startled, head darting about
My kitten! Where’s my little baby kitty?
Between your not-so-little legs Woody jokes
Comedy punctuated by commercials for insurance against tragedy 
Becca pokes me
Gimme a smoke Eye
She wants a smoke Eye mimics Woody
Give her a smoke Eye parrots Neil
I still wearing my rubberized dead president mask
Fuck all of you 
I got an agenda
Let’s split that stash so I can take this mounting phallus and stick it in Becca before the world ends
They’re used to my scat
My scandalous
Scatalogic
They indulge in it
Even revel 
I can’t phase them 
Woody snorts a chub, chugs a frosty
Starts waving his limp baton around like a schizoid Viennese conductor 
Didja hear him Neil? Whip out that stash
Neil stunned, frazzled
Fantasizing about prenatal Jesus
How to reverse the Resurrection 
Woody like a field marshal of the Lower Rhine 
Brandishing his deflated pizzle in circular motions 
A man in charge
Despite palsied rats running his spinal column
Upndown
We’re flush
From the rush of crime and chemical intake
Frosty bottles
Cold skin like Japanese porcelain on a mist-shrouded morning after the flattening of Hiroshima
We got the shivers 
The fidgets
Wary of sirens slashing apart the sky
Random phones ringing
Angels burned at the stake
Woody’s wee willy flopping like a wet sock puppet
I explode
Damn it to hell you morons I demand my cut this instant!
Becca prods
Becca’s got issues
Becca’s got needs
Becca wants her membranes stimulated
Olfactory
Pulmonary 
Anally
Let’s take a shower Eye
Let’s do Jäeger bombs
Let’s do a line
Light my smoke willya
Rub my back
My feet
Pull my hair, slap my ass
Make me one of those omelettes you make
Becca twists around
Doesn’t he make the best omelettes?
Becca talking to the wall again 
Seeing her friend Melissa again
Melissa the bar slut everyone wants a piece of
A cute fat young thing
Who’d suck you off for a double vodka cran
Until the night she got super drunk at a party on a boat and fell overboard 
Nobody even noticed she was gone til the next day when her body was discovered floating face down in Shilshole Bay
There was a wake for Melissa at Wing Stop
On Taco Tuesday
Becca accuses me of lusting after Melissa’s fat stinky fanny
Is that any way to honor the deceased I wonder aloud
Admit it Eye! You want that ass! Everybody does! You’re no different! Fucking men!
Too true Woody agrees
She did like dick Neil adds as he flops back down on the squeaky recliner
Empty-handed
Any motive for rising in the first place forgotten 
Must’ve been days later maybe hours but realistically just minutes
Bills rolled
Benjamins
Crispy from the take
Powder mirror passed
Smudged with gas
Gas from ass
Frosties quaffed
But not so chilled now
Neil announcing a need to drain the liz
I enact my agitate-Tourette’s routine
Stand
Sit
Stand
Sit
Stand
In jerky pantomime 
Working on the Stoli now
Surreptitious hits from the kitchen freezer between rapid pacings
I look closer
Between bags of frozen peas and Trader Joe’s wontons
The big fucking bag of cash
Our foolproof stronghold at the Ranch
Top-load freezer in the kitch
Guys not playing with very many cards in the deck here
I re-animate my Myoclonic epileptic routine
Sit up
Stand down
Sit up
Patent that shit
As Neil settles deep into recline
Stretching out
Swivels from the flatscreen 
Accordions spine straight up 
To grab a bottle with a lurch of the chair’s mechanism out of which erupts a
Sudden
Blood-curdling squeal
Like horror movie macabre
What the fuck gasps Woody
Becca practically leaps into my skin 
Neil petrified 
Frozen in space
Spasmodically I sweep into action
Becca caught in my wake like a house in a hurricane 
Woody clutches behind his back
At his spasming sciatica
Neil gone dormant
Catatonic
Shock he’s in shock right, Eye?
Quite observant my love
But you might want to step away for a sec
Why what’s wrong is Neil okay? Should we call a parametric?
Naw
Actually 
I believe this is more a job for the hazmat crew
A what? Omg what’s that smell?
I stoop to lift up the swivel-rocker’s flap of fabric
Sure enough
The cute kitten had covertly crawled into the mechanism
Warm dark and cozy like a womb
Until the shifty weight of Neil returned
Woody flat on his back on the couch as if gunshot
Writhing 
In turmoil
I tease
Can I get ya a beer Woody? A toke? How ‘bout a little railer? Good for what ails ya?
I sing dangerously close to exalt
Woody waves me away grimacing 
Neil inert
Zombified
The rapists
Out of commission 
Becca glued to me like duct tape on an open wound
High time indeed to
Decamp
Vamoose
Skedaddle
All the obsolete terminologies for disappearing
Throw something on girl, any old burlap sack will do
I tug at Woody’s track-suit pockets for the keys to his pickup as he squirms and struggles
As Neil fights petrification
Becca tottering naked as a wasted Venus yet still with one dainty white sock on
Woody fighting back now despite palpable paroxysms of torment
In a grapple of disrobed scarecrows
I yell
Damnit woman we gotta scram! Put some clothes on and in the freezer? There’s a bag with the green! Grab that stash, I’ll be in the truck!
Suddenly my marble effigy of a tart sprouts wings
Keys clenched in a fist I ransack the hall closet
Holes punched through the door
Like every other door at the Ranch
Snag a bloodstained chef’s coat, stiff black leather chaps
Clutching my privates with an old catcher’s mitt
I flee
Out the door and into the black
Becca already tucked in the passenger seat of the truck
How’d she get that fast?
Didja get the goods?
Becca with SpongeBob pajamas on
Her ample anatomy jutting and swimming
Her face streaked with tears
Lamenting her massacred pussycat
I gun the engine which screams like a horse being butchered alive
We tear out of there
I snatch the brown paper sack
Gaze salivating within
Wtf?
At a bag of frozen peas
Becca where the fuck’s the cash?
What? I grabbed the green like you said! Why do we need frozen peas anyway?
I still wearing the dead president’s mask
I try removing it
I tug and yank
But it seems fused to my face
Becca starts laughing 
Frantically 
Idiotically
Maniacally hyena-like
The night speeding with hallucinatory flashbacks
Now you got a dick for a nose!
A dick for a nose
A dick on your face
Adickadadickadadickadadick!!!
Keep laughing wench! I scream
You’re the one with the dead fuckin’ pussy!
Sonny and Cher on the AM radio
John and Yoko on the FM dial
Sid and Nancy dead at the Chelsea
Bonnie and Clyde we are not