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Billy the Asshole

billy went out last night after drinking a lot of river-filled whiskey by himself, along with the regular dirt weed swaggles.

the closest bar was a strip club, he handed the seven dollars to get in to the doorman, as the old mafia-looking owner/doorman questioned billy about his temporary texas drivers license…..

-shut up man, I'm 31 years of age- billy said in a rude drunken tone

-hey, you gonna act like that, you ain't coming in-

-look dickshit, I know you own this place, and you the big shot around here, I don't care anymore about anything, but I got 600 dollars burning a hole in my smelly drunken pant pockets-

-alright, but you better behave- owner undoes cheap silky rope gate..

billy walks up to the bar.

-i'll take a double margarita on ice-

-sure thing- bartender says- slick looking muscle man says.

billy wanted trouble, billy had money, billy didn't care about offending these people around him. billy was a messed up dude, billy lived in his own lil movie that no one ever gets to view. that was fine now with billy. death, life, love, was pretty much the same thing at this point to him.money is power they always told him, but really billy never had much money, billy never had much love that lasted, only death he smelled on certain eloquent arrangements of lovey dovey flights gone -he gets himself into- fight the boredom of nothingness. staring up at sunshines that never came.

billy shackled down at some table and viewed the scene with his already drunken eyes.

he noticed a few of the 18-year-old strippers from his last visit. they were busy with rich men, sitting at tables, earning their silly incomes with false smiles, and even phonier eye make ups -billy smirked to himself as one of the goth skinny coke head looking strippers caught his eye- he looked away in disgust. she smiled at him, he stared down at his drink, wondering why he was even here. he was beyond her soul, beyond all of these fuckers! other lonely tables reeked of men alone…..parole prison type truckers and fbi's most wanted types, drug dealers, losers, shithead lonely scum bags, mexicans, blacks with cell phones, creepy white professors with glasses and wedding rings removed, twitchy crank pedophiles, construction loners, all sorts of single drunken men sitting alone at tables just like billy's, but billy hated everyone, sort of, at this point in his life anyway, even the people that resembled himself. for he was always alone inside, lack of friends, lack of anything, lack of caring, who cares. billy had no friends, and never was good at making new ones.

the world was false, he himself was a false prophet -had sought gold, came up with fool's gold, and a faulty respirator attached to snorkel fin shoe slarve-

tonight billy had money, tonight billy could play god in shady off the free way out of city limit strip joints- the power of liquid fuel running straight up his depressed spine- the false comfort of money- billy always had to spend money when ever he had it, it had to be spent quickly, cause even billy knew, in his crazy state, that money mattered not- money never lasted- just as love never did- just as everyone dies trying to earn money- it sickened him even more, the thoughts, any thought, just the thought of thinking made him more mad in another thought- he lit a cig, billy was the best looking guy in that shit hole strip club. a small part of billy knew this. But his self esteem was so low, it was like trying to save edgar allen poe from a drunken ocean raft going down in the middle of a meta physical dream called nightmare-- but even that didn't matter, as he pissed in ice-cubed urinals, staring at his new haircut in the mirror, talking to himself somewhat out loud while slicking his hair back with water from sink that shot out too strong.

billy walked over to all sorts of tables, staring at the lonely crazy men sitting alone, introducing himself quickly, asking if he could sit with them, some would say yes, some would say get lost, billy was just as lonely as them, but most men have to be macho, don't like to show any sort of loneliness, most men think they are god's gift to all women, even at strip clubs along texas highways- i think most of them thought billy was a narc, cause even if they let him sit down, billy's mind would quickly ask if they could get any drugs, not a good move, most drug dealers don't trust people- billy had been around a lot of drug dealers in his youth, he knew he was going about it all the wrong way, but he didn't even care about that anymore, he was so honest, that he didn't even know himself anymore, billy just wanted to have a lil drama in his life, other then staring at the paint splattered walls alone with cat….

toothless men started getting frustrated with his drug questions, men not from this town, other dudes with cell phones began to ignore his requests for higher consciousness, the money had to be spent, one way or another- billy moved from table to table, only half way attempting to be smooth anymore, none of it really mattered anymore, the outcome that is- and that's what mattered most, that and maybe some violence- push people's fucking buttons- see how they react- see if they attack- each table said they didn't know where to get any drugs for billy, billy had barely noticed the naked beautiful women dancing to songs on stage, slowly stripping for all the sickos, billy decided to just sit by himself, after almost getting his ass kicked, or thrown out several times, he got another drink, and tipped the big bad boy bartender more then he deserved, who cares, he thought, gotta get rid of this money, one way or another..

a sexy african amerikan came and sat with billy

-so what's your fucking story honey?- he said, lighting another smoke.

-just trying to earn a livin'- she said, somewhat giving billy a nervous smile.

-yeah, ain't everyone, some people give their fucking souls, their fucking hearts, their fucking memories of anything that mattered just for an extra buck- billy said, slurping on his drink… eyes spinning like characters from unseen cartoon dreams, yet seen in moments of belligerent forecomings…

there was about a three minute period of silence, billy drank more, the black woman college student hot girl stripper half naked fidgeted with her legs, trying to figure some way to get into billy's wallet.

he ignored her, stared out at the tables full of sickos, stared up at the goth girl dancing to some nine inch nails remix, then billy had a hallucination, it was of flesh and love and his family, and his fucked up life, it was things a man gets to see at certain times of his life, after drinking one after one, after one, after one too many, the thoughts that come after this, are only vomit, only headspins, unless one learns to control body and mind… then he studied not caring again, one emotion to the next, like some manic see saw of just wanting to get rid of the damn money that was still burning a hole in his b.o. smelling ripped jeans, billy wore ripped levis, but had a nice shirt on, with a collar, you can wear ripped jeans he thought, but at least make up for it, with a brand new shirt from sears, he was thinking too much again, billy that is, he didn't want to think, he wanted the numbness of a good narcotic buzz, but only had a head full of dirt weed, cheap whiskey, and now too-sweet margaritas chiseling through that barrier in his sad songed brain..

his mind went back to violence, billy's mind, wanted to have none of this, he thought of the word love- images of sexual frustration flashed before his eyes, mutilated corpses, tears, lips, pain, happiness, with his dead relatives' faces hanging from string cheesed shimmers, flashed quickly, billy's mind flashed one zillion different images all at once, faces, friends, folks, strange books, poetry, novels, names- sex, lust love, loss- disgust, all he felt was disgust for even thinking. doctors tried many times to prescribe antidepressants, but billy was convinced that the doctors were actually aliens, who were told to try and kill him off, cause he was convinced the cia had a record of his activities throughout his life, throughout his life, things kept making him more alone, just an observer, observing how silly the human condition begins to become after so many let downs, and start ups- why he was still breathing, only the people he would never meet knew for sure, and even they weren't sure what to say…

-so, let me guess, you're a college student, who had a bad life in a bad part of town, your father raped u, your mother was an alcoholic, and you are trying to get herself -yourself- on track for her only child, trying to work her way through college the only way she knows how, gonna be a go-getter, gonna make something of herself?- billy asked the stripper who was still sitting next to him…

-do you want a couch dance or not?- she asked, grabbing billy's leg.

-sure, why not, nothing like flesh in your face that you're not allowed to touch-

she shook her black ass in front of his spinning eyes, rubbed almost close enough finest perfection big swollen nipples in billy's face, after one minute and a half, the song was over, he handed her 20 dollars , plus a 5 dollar tip, she came and sat next to him again at the table, he ordered more drinks, the owner mafia doorman looking dude, was sitting in the back of the place at some table, filled with half naked slut whores, his wife counting their profits, billy felt sicker-

-you are the best looking I think nicest man in here- the girl next to billy said, staring at him.

-that's real sweet, but I'm probably the biggest pig to ever walk foot in these doors, looks are deceiving- billy, grinned at her, lighting another smoke, ignoring her again-

she said thanks for the money, gave billy another strange look, getting up.

-I paint things- he said to her.

-Oh really?-

she left, billy stared at her hooker like shorts that crawled up her perfect black ass, as she walked into the secret back room, billy pictured hot strippers back there, talking shit about stupid men, snorting lines off each others' tits, laughing at all their money they threw in the air, pills passing around, lipstick put on, cunts and boobs jingling like Christmas carols in scenes that may not have been

violence, fight, money, kill, sex, love, lost, found, gone , hear? Ummm, billy's thoughts thought, he squiggled his wormy hand in his smelly pocket , touching his money, like it had some sorta power beyond his own self destruction.

the goth looking girl came and sat with billy now
-what did you say to shola love? she told a few girls in the back, that you were a big spender, but creepy, she was almost in tears-

-do I know you?- billy said, chain smoking, eyes spinning.

-not really, I gave you a couch dance last time you were here-

-oh yeah, the girl that couldn't look me in the eyes-

-it was my third day on the job, you know, you're the best-looking dude in here-

-what about that dude over there, the mexican looking trucker guy who has the nervous coke twitch weirdo shiver thing going on with his head, he looks like a big tipper, go bother him- billy said, staring at her false green contact eyes…

-is this how you try and pick up on all girls- she asked, with a somewhat hurt look in her stripper eyes…

-who said I'm trying to pick up on you or anyone, I want drugs or violence, I'm only here because I died along time ago-

the stripper goth girl named ophelia, from some shakespeare play, stared at billy, billy tried to show no emotions, he stared at her, then stared at his drink.

-what happened to you along the way? you are a good looking man, you could be a happy person, I can see a happy boy buried somewhere in all that tuff guy hurt talk-

billy stared over at her, thinking what the fuck would she know about anything, then realized, nobody knows anything about anything to begin with nothing.

-drugs- billy mumbled to her.

-what?- she asked.

-drugs- he said again -pain, anything, cures, can u get anything?-

-like what- she asked, amazed by the freak.

-anything- he spouted.

-I can get u hydrocodiene- she said.

-yeah right- billy said, his pants getting hard.

she took his money, he grabbed her arm, -look me in the eyes, you do not want to rip me off- do you understand that? you do not want to rip me off, you got that!- billy wouldn't trust his own grandmother, let alone some stripper with a fake name, and past he didn't even want to hear about

-I wont-

she said, giving him lovey dovey eyes he had seen from all the women who left him in the gutter of life's lessons…

she came back, and asked if those were billy's smokes, dropped eight pills of pleasure into empty cig pack…

-thanks doll- billy smiled at her, almost telling her she wasn't so bad after all.

Billy ate 5 of them, swallowed them down with 4 more double margaritas, and waited, while he waited, ophelia gave him a couch dance, and this time looked him in the eyes, as her young skinny white ass, rubbed just inches from his ripped jeans (but the violence couldn't escape him after the 2-minute 30-dollar can't touch thing was over)

he sat back down at his table, now both ophelia and the african amerkan were on both sides of him, staring at him, he felt closed in, what were these people, these flesh filled dreams doing to him, had the aliens told them to watch him, maybe they were part of the cia conspiracy against him- the narcotics kicked into his drunken head for a split moment, and he prayed for a quick death, instead of hugging ice cubes urinals,

billy stumbling out of bathroom, barf trickling down his shirt, a zillion weird faces in some club he shouldn't have gone to, staring back at him, the bouncer made a move to grab billy, bad move, billy don't like to be touched

billy socked him in the face, sending the 400 pound man into the owners wife's facial reconstruction face, billy tipped over tables, kicking the bouncer in the face, the old man mafia looking doorman tried to intervene, billy was god, billy was satan, billy was a man who didn't care about consequences, billy flipped the old man over his skinny back, as the pills rushed through his drunken blood, strippers screamed, the bartender tried to join in, but was quickly greeted with a karate chop to the head, strippers screamed, billy wanted violence, billy wanted something, something other then staring at the paint splattered walls of lost lovers above a hundred degree texas garage apartment, billy found it, billy ran for it, ran for his car, leaving a mess of tipped over tables, and broken glasses, and men with knocked out shivering concussions, it turned into chaos, billy was used to chaos, he thrived on it now, -all you fucking cia space ship watching me mother fucking stripper creepy fucks are gonna die some day! Just like me! and what did you ever leave behind! Besides a bad smell and shattered lips made from naked flesh!- he yelled, punching another man in the face…

billy lived in his own movie that no one would ever believe-----thrived on death wishes to most- most people weren't used to any of it- little safe space ships of love and dinner, and knowing what's gonna come next- the goth like stripper ran after him, yelling…

-you fucking crazy asshole! you are going to go to jail motherfucker! Just wait and see!-

-thanks for the pills, thanks for looking me in the eyes!- he screamed back at her.

billy, the biggest asshole of all time. speeding off down another backwoods road, wondering if someone had saw his own lil private movie, or if this was just the voices on the broken radio, white dribbles of pills, and puke flavored drinks, slurping down billy's red eyes..he cared about so little, that not caring became billy's only concern.. sure the cops would find him maybe, maybe not, nobody really new him, fake id's, fake hair, fake lips, fake money, he was only a stripper, just like them, stripping his soul down to the essentials of his own twisted art---- trying to pay bills--- that didn't matter at this point...trying to have a night out - billy was happy to get home, to stare at the walls again, blank canvas sat splattered along the floors, empty beer cans, and expensive air conditioners he has yet to hook up..he wondered about what had happened, he had thoughts.. and billy hated having too many thoughts clouding up the bigger picture-

a man always weeps alone- but whoever said billy was a man?

my mother fuckin' name is still billy, and my ripped up levis still hold almost all the corrupt money that was in my pocket less pockets to begin with……

billy found trouble, and even a little more…sucking on his bloody knuckles, trying not to think too much…

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