Sex and the Suburbs: Klub Pineapple

I am doing this column at the behest of the MRHP editor (who may or may not dress as an owl to hide his identity) who shuffles for shiny coins in his grubby pockets, smirks his back breaking smirk and tells me, ‘go on, get me some words boy! Fucking hell didn’t know it was 17^th century Russia today, you fucking Kulak, get yourself some clothes before you head out!’ he leads me away from his quarters and then the killer blow ‘I want a Sex and the City column but you know from a males perspective’ and why on earth did he pick me as that particular male, what do I know about a male’s perspective, what the fuck does that even mean anymore? I don’t know, but anyway my column starts at a trendy sushi bar (It has a Russian roulette menu that chooses for you). I needed male versions of Samantha, Charlotte, Miranda and the horse face one that makes men want to throw up and I am in luck, the table next to me has all that and more, they are intoxicated on a towering two litre bottle of Saki. They invite me over when they see me looking at their table; I was suspicious that it was the Saki and not them that was welcoming me, either way I was on course for my assignment.

Going to the nightclub one of them confronted a homeless man ‘Do you take card mate? Don’t have any change like...’ then there was a violent wrestle for the homeless man’s wine which at this point he was using as a pillow, when a buggered bile coming into the vagrant’s eyes, green snot rising into his black pupils, and the venom of a thousand misplaced pythons steaming from the white follicles of his face, we knew it was time to leg it with the wino’s wine.

We finally arrive at the nightclub at around ten; let’s just call it Klub Pineapple for legal purposes. This Pineapple was a fine place to meet a certain class of girls. Trapped under their fingernails you will find the residue of chemicals from freshly imported manicures begotten on Paris shopping trips. To taste under their nails is to taste their panties, is to know their anatomy, is to pick their fruit in scent and be at one with a divine erectile dysfunction, as the chemicals impale the midway section.

So the night got started and I got acquainted with their peculiar vernacular:

Fucking slut, I give her money for a taxi home after riding her and tell her to fuck off...is that what you really told her? I heard you went home and wanked to ‘Main Street Mom’ while using your tears to lub up your anus for your brother’s slippery cock...One of them turned to me ‘it’s good to see you poeming it?’ ‘Huh no that is actually how I talk...why what is wrong with the way I talk?’ ‘Oh look at me fancy boy, with me truffle in one arm and my boudoir in my other arm’ ‘do you know what either of them mean?’ ‘No cos that would make me a fancy boy like you...’ ‘what the fuck is a fancy boy...‘

To ease my irritation at their jibes I had a few beers in quick succession, and then I hear, ‘Buttonhole the horny bitch!’ ‘ I threw my rowies (a pill that induces amnesia) onto the ground in fright. The medication I took earlier was catching up, big elephant killing painkillers and some birth pills too from my sister because I was feeling mischief and I know how girls love when you experience what they are going through. At the bar on my fifth pitcher the wind of the nightclub’s air conditioners quickly blew their words my direction ‘quick a slut southwest...which way is southwest you fuckwit? Just turn around, I am not going to turn around, she’ll see me... Then majestically the song ‘What is Love’ plays.

I have always been a romantic, so this song speaks deeply about the philosophical questions of love to me. ‘I’d give her juicebox some meat!’ I didn’t want to look out of place so I pretended to know what this meant and followed it up with ‘ I’d snip her turnip up alright’ which everyone nodded their head with in agreement. I had winged it, those fuckers took my bluff, I am king I can do anything, I can fuck any girl here without conscience. ‘Get yourself a Katy French white dog poop would you’, and he ruffled the white stuff petulantly on his pig face, splaying his tongue in mock French tongue, ham, sausage, pig cake, I thought, I will fuck you, I will swirl a knife into your back and scatter your skin across the dance floor as confetti for others to stamp and frolic in, you fuck!’

I thought I was in love when I first lay my eyes on a pretty blonde who looked lost. I shoved her into the bar and then brushed off dust from her shoulder pretending to be her hero ‘I don’t know who did that, but if I catch them, I swear...do you want a drink to alleviate the pain?’ she obliged dazed, then I kicked her in the heel, she toppled from her high heels like King Kong from the Empire States building. I didn’t want to ruin spending all my money, so I ordered her a water...’This vodka tastes funny’, ‘yeah the crap they give you in here like’, she then asked me my name at which point I felt an uncontrollable anger, from where I don’t know, the volcanic concoction of drugs maybe. I licked my own cheeks for no apparent reason other than it felt good , I grabbed her by the throat pushed the pills down her little flailing throat, I was gasping, the movement was exhausting, stupid bitch making me sweat I said to myself, I then congratulated myself on my subtlety, anyone who could see was too drunk to presume anything other than we were a couple, doing secret couple things. The barman, let a sneer out her way as if to say ‘if I was out tonight I’d be doing that to you, slut!’

‘Poor girl, I thought, I love her so much, I wonder how she looks naked? Wonder what her clitoris looks like drenched in cum. I imagined slamming the pigs head down and exclaiming ‘one drink for one pig’s head good sir?’ I was wearing a top hat with a cane in this fantasy...anyway yeah I don’t remember the rest because the rowies kicked in. I woke up in an empty house, somewhere I’ve never seen. I decided to help myself to the cereal. There was a nice animal puzzle on the back, I aced it!