Cake Pt. 3 (rough draft)

Purple Pumps smiles at something I say. I’m not really sure what though- nothing seems to be making much sense right now. Words seem to tumble one over the other fighting to get past my lips, entire sentences spooning themselves into misconstrued meanings that still somehow manage to elicit if not a full out laugh then at least a halfhearted one. Though to be honest, I suspect that she’s laughing more at how stupid I’m making myself look rather than at what I’m actually saying.

But whatever gets the job done right?

“You’re funny.” She says. I think. I can’t really hear what’s she’s saying with all the muffleness that’s going on with my ears but I do try my best to read her lips. A skill I picked up quite sometime ago. I’ve been partying for a pretty long time now you see. Tools of the trade and all of that. But even that is an up hill battle with all the funny shit that’s going on with my eyes.

Would someone please turn off those fucking strobe lights? What is this? A techno club…?

Shit, I must have said that out loud. Purple Pumps is looking at me funny.

“What do you mean you’re glad you didn’t shit on me?”

Wait, that’s what I said? Wait…what?

“No, no, no. I said ‘I’m glad I didn’t spit on you.’”

From her expression I can tell that doesn’t make much of a difference. Both are the expelling of a not so nice bodily fluid after all. Or rather bodily fluid and semi-fluid. “Semi” being most of the time anyway. There are those bombs that you drop sometimes that feel like you’re trying to force a fuckin’ bowling ball out of your ass. And don’t play dumb; you know the ones I’m talking about it.

I can tell that I’m losing her. I need to say something quick. Think, think, think…

“The cake, have you tried any?”

Purple Pumps shakes her head.

“No. I don’t do drugs.”

Oh…so she was one of those…wait for it…snootynosedjudgmentalbitches.

“Excuse me?”

Shit…I have to stop doing that. I rub my forehead with the index, middle and ring fingers of my left hand. My thumb massaging my temple.

I should let it go, I really should but…

“I said ‘you’re one of those snooty nosed judgmental bitches who pretends to be all holy and uppity and shit but sucks dick whenever she thinks no one is looking.’ Well guess what honey, people are always watching so FUCK YOU!”

I turn to walk away but think of something. Pulling at the front of her top I pour my drink down it, throw the empty cup over her shoulder and then walk away.

I know I’m going to pay for that, boy am I ever but the only thing on my mind is “BITCH. I. AM. BOSSSS.” That and, “I sure hope there’s still some cake left.”

And with that I make my way towards the drinks, the cake and what I’m sure is a shit load of trouble.

Cake Pt.2 (Rough Draft)

I pour myself another drink. Two fingers of Gilbey’s. No lime. No ice. Straight up. Down it in one gulp. Pour myself another. This time though, my hand hovers above the one and a half liter bottle of Coke. I consider adding a little mixer. That would be the wise thing to do, I tell myself. The prudent thing to do. And so I do. Not a lot but just enough blunten the bite.

Taking a sip I glance in the direction of the cake. Roselyn is still keeping guard. She corners my gaze before I can turn away. Raises her cup. “Salut.” She mouths. She’s joshing me. I can tell. I Play along however and raise mine in reply. “Salut.” I mouth back. I take a sip. Turn away. Head towards the ledge over looking the parking lot.

The party is on the roof of a shopping cum office cum residential complex. The floor just below the roof housing the offices of Transmission Magazine, a local independent publication. The True Voice of the Nation. Or so they claim. With so many “voices” out there, who can tell?

The first wave hits me just as I’m peering over the edge wondering whether if I spat straight down just as someone was passing whether I would be able to hit them right on the head.

I smile at the thought and decide to give a try. What did I have to lose? Leaning over the edge, I wait for someone to pass. Collect as much spit as I can so that when someone did pass I would be more than ready.

I wait. And Wait. And Wait. I pull out my phone. It’s been more than fifteen minutes. I’m about to give up and go and make a pass at the cake pan when I see a couple heading in my direction. The girl in purple pumps, black jeans and a purple top speckled with silver sequins that hung off one shoulder revealing the strap of a bright turquoise bra. The guy; moccasins, jeans and a blue and white striped button down. The guy has an arm around the girl’s waist as if to say, “Back up homies, this one is mine.”

10 feet.

I take a sip of my drink. Give my saliva a bit more volume. Swirl it around my mouth. Lean over and take aim.

Five.

I’m just about to fire my projectile when there’s a hand on my shoulder. It grips me and pulls me back from my unwittingly precarious position.

It’s Richie. One of the dudes I came with. Builds websites, plays tennis and is built like a rugby player. He spins me around.

“Dude, What are you doing? I know we said it would be funny if one of us fell over but Homie!”
“I was fine.” I say shrugging off his hand. Glance back over the ledge but the couple are already gone.

Shit.

For a second I want to blame Richie but he didn’t know. He thought I was going to throw myself over. I couldn’t blame him for thinking that he was saving me from an untimely demise, could I now?

“Dude maybe you should slow down.”

That was Richie for you. No matter how wasted he got, no matter how high, no matter the situation, you could always rely on him being the sober brother. The brother that took care of all the other brothers. The brother that made sure that all the other brothers got home alright and didn’t end up lying unconscious in some ditch somewhere.

I pretend as if I didn’t hear him.

“More cake. Get me some? Roselyn is guarding that thing like a lady spider guards her young.”

“I thought spiders eat their young.”

‘”Ah. Whatever. You know what I mean. Just get me some cake.”

Richie smiles. It is brief and is gone as quickly as it appears.

“As much as I think I shouldn’t, I’ll try…but I’m not making promises.”

Richie is already mid turn when he stops.

“And dude, get away from the ledge.”

I take two big steps back.

“Better?”

“Not really but whatever.”

Richie walks off. Hopefully, in search of cake.

Cake Pt. 1 (Happy New Year & all of that)

I woke up on the floor. A few feet away from the quickly growing pile of garbage. My head resting on an empty box of red wine. A half empty bottle of White Mischief Vodka nestled between my thighs. For safekeeping I guess.

Someone was standing over me, shaking me. Saying something over and over again. Something that may or may not have been my name. He could have been shouting though. I don’t know. Whatever the case he somehow managed to get my attention. Or was it a she? I vaguely remember thinking that she had really nice boobs.

Squeeze, squeeze, suck, suck. Hehe.

I giggled.

“Brian!”

My head snapped in the direction from which my name had come.

My forehead wrinkled in confusion. That was a dude’s voice. But that didn’t make any sense. Wait. I tried my best to concentrate really hard…and after a second, it may have even been thirty, I got it.

There were two of them. Butch and boobs. Balls and bras. Brawn and well…you get it.

“Dude, you need to get up.”

That was Balls.

“But I like it here. It’s nice and warm.”

“Come on.”

Balls grabbed my arm and tried to lug me to my feet but no matter how hard he tried I just wouldn’t budge.

And so he let go.

“I give up. The guy will get up when he wants.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

That was Boobs. I think. I was already starting to drift off again.

“He’ll be fine.”

“Have you ever heard of someone overdosing on weed before?”

That was a pretty good question. Had he?

I was unconscious before Balls could answer.




“Just one piece.” Said the pretty girl with the pretty curls as I bent over the pan.

“Why just one?” I asked. It’s not like I didn’t know what was in it. I mean, the mission after all, was to get as fucked up as possible. And I was pretty certain that meant taking more than just one piece of the “Special Cake” or “Batch of Brownies” or whatever the hell it was.

I intended to take seven.

“One is more than enough,” Roselyn insisted, “Trust me.”

I looked from her back down at the pan. The cake was neatly cut into small bite size rectangles about 3 inches by 2. Shrugging, I took a piece. It was soft and spongy to the touch and started crumbling almost immediately. Not wasting any time I took a bite. Chowed down on the shit like my life depended on it.

Fuck it was good.

Soft and chocolaty with just a hint of it’s special ingredient. If I had any doubts about the rumors before, after that first bite, they were all laid to rest.

It would have been even better with a glass of milk but having to make do with what was available, I took a sip of my Vodka Tonic.

“Salut.” I said holding up my half eaten piece of cake as if for a toast.

“Salut.” Roselyn repeated, holding up her small disposable cup.

“You’re not going to take one with me?”

Roselyn shook her head.

“I’ve already had my one…I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” I shrugged.

And the rest of the cake went down the hatch.

Hash Tag, Slice Number One.