Why do I do this? Oh yeah-fucking money. Blood pooled in his warming fingertips.
A man barely in his 30’s approached, the smell of stale judgment kicked up in each step, looking at him like the asshole that knows the twist-ending to the movie. He sat down across the table from him, wrapping his hands around each other like spooning lovers who’d lost it years ago.
“So you’re a bartender, eh? What’s the difference between a Merlot and a Cabernet?” he asked, barely masking his sarcasm.
“Well, Cabernet is actually a good wine, while Merlot is merely a gateway to better ones,” the old man answered. Hot worms burrowed and made their way down his fingers.
Riley wasn’t amused. He knew the old man was just gonna waste his time and from the looks of him, he had applied the same horseshit technique to his own worthless existence.
What’s the difference between a lager and an ale?”
The question hung in the air like stale cigarette smoke. The old man had heard enough. His hands were on fire. With little thought he thrust his right arm out with his index and pinkie fingers extended, throwing the horns like some rocker kid at a metal show. His digits went deep into Riley’s eye sockets and he was surprised at what little resistance the eyeballs fought back with. What appeared as a mixture of blood and semen ran down his face where a look of disdain and loathing had laid earlier. It was a vast improvement.
The waitress, still bored.
He reached under the table with his left arm and got a strong grip on Riley’s equally worthless cock and balls. As he yanked off Riley’s manhood, he realized it was probably the most action they’d seen in years. He held the bleeding cock over the table and in a circular motion began drawing a pentagram with blood. As he put the finishing touches on his masterpiece, two small demons arose from the middle, grinning big yellow with rotten teeth. Without so much as a thought, the old man handed Riley’s bone-wand over like a baton to the knowing demons. They shared the booty in one hand, held their free hands in each others, and began doing a ring-around-the-rosy before diving back into the pentagram and straight into hell.
By the time they reached Satan, he was in mid-stroke. He grabbed Riley’s cock with his free hand and pulled it over his own like a condom and climaxed, filling and expanding Riley’s four times larger and into the shape of a baseball bat. “Now get lost, ya crazy fucks!” Satan winked. “The devil’s work is never done but goddamned if I’m not enjoying it!”
The demons arose again from the table and began beating what was left of Riley’s head like a pinata with his herculean cock that was now eternally hard with the devil’s seed. The scene played out like a child’s joyous birthday celebration except for the fact that the pinata was Riley’s stupid head. And the stick was his cock filled with Satan’s load. And the kids were demons. And so on.
The old man almost felt regret.
The waitress, still bored.
“What’s the difference between a lager and an ale?”
Riley’s voice was much louder this time, the question posed with contempt.
“Who gives a solid fuck?” the old man cried. “Whiskey is all a man needs, you fucking pussy!”
He was up and out the door before Riley could respond. The wind was cold and ambivalent as he made his way down the street. His disgust with himself was in fierce competition with his disgust for Riley, as if locked in a thunder dome death match. Two men enter, one man leave, he laughed to himself. The sign up ahead was more inviting. “Happy Hour-6 til close!” it called like a sweet siren. He sat down at the bar and ordered a whiskey. “The devil’s work is never done but goddamned if I’m not enjoying it!” This time he laughed out loud.