Big Sister

“So how ya feeling, sister?”

“Oh you know, Kathy, I’ve been better. I gotta have my titties twisted tomorrow and there’s a sink full of dirty dishes staring at me as I ponder whether it’s even worth trying to eat when I know the food is likely gonna be coming back up at some point in the very near future. Meanwhile, my asshole husband is over at his moronic friend’s stoner pad, playing video games and jerking each other off or whatever the fuck it is those two butt buddies do together. . .”

“Speaking of butt buddies, guess what?”

“You didn’t?”

“I did.”

“No fucking shit! You were able to pull it off?”

“Lest you forget, I am a professional actress.”

“So he fell for it?”

“Hook, line, and motherfucking sinker. Just like any man with sex on his mind. Which is to say all of them.”

“Oh my God, Kathy, I so wish I was there! Just so that I could see with my own eyes how pathetic that fat fucker really is. I bet you he begged. Please tell me that he begged. After all these years of him cocking up my marriage. . .”

“Well, sister, you’re gonna love this shit then.”

“Don’t tell me that you . . .”

“I most definitely did.”

“How?”

“You know that cute guy who runs the pub quiz over at that lame bar on Piedmont?”

“You mean Kurt?”

“Yeah, well, remember that kick-ass band he used to be in? The one that went on tour way back when.”

“Actually, I don’t think they made it very far.”

“Do any of us?”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth, K. I was just looking at my portfolio and I honestly can’t remember the last time I even tried to send it out for a show or anything.”

“Tell me about it, I haven’t had a single audition in over two months. Fucking economy! But don’t you dare be getting down on yourself. You’re going through some heavy shit. So you just keep taking care of yourself. The art will come later.”

“I sure as shit hope so. Cause I feel pretty worthless lately.”

“Which is why I called to cheer you up.”

“Which is why I love you.”

“Hey sister, you know what I always say, we gotta watch out for each other. Cause no one else is gonna.”

“So you were talking about Kurt’s band. . .”

“Holy shit, what’s that godawful noise?”

“Sorry about that. This fucking phone kills my neck and – for some strange reason – we’re running low on my pain pills. So I got you on the speaker. Is that cool?”

“Sure, whatever, just get the hell away from the microwave or whatever’s causing that feedback.”

“My bad. I was making some soup. But it’s done now. So about Kurt’s band. . .”

“Okay, so here’s the 411. You know the guitarist that played with him in that group?”

“You mean Blake?”

“Yeah, him. Well, he’s in my yoga class and we got to talking. . .”

“That’s funny cause my one doctor totally reminds me of him.”

“Ooh, girl, I wish he was a doctor. Cause that male is hella fine. Not to mention funny and smart and, so far, he seems pretty sweet too.”

“So what’s he up to these days?”

“I dunno, he told me he was in between things right now. Like I said, fucking economy! But it turns out that one of his housemates works for some private investigator in Emeryville.”

“Really? That seems like an odd place for a private investigator.”

“Yeah, I didn’t know they had anything over there besides shopping malls and pastel condos. But his story checks out. Cause the guy was like able too hook me up with some fancy-ass recording equipment I could wear under my shirt without nobody noticing.”

“You mean like on The Wire?”

“Pretty much.”

“And you wore this stuff the other night to the party?”

“That was the general idea.”

“Which means you had it on when that fucking slob made his move.”

“Most definitely.”

“So I really can hear the prick beg?”

“All you gotta do is listen closely.”

Please, please, please, please, I’m fucking begging ya. I swear, I’ve like waited my entire adult life to do this shit. I promise I’ll be quick. Please? It’ll like totally help you get revenge on that dickhead ex of yours. In fact, if you want, we could videotape it and send him a copy. That way, he’ll know exactly what he’s missing. So what do you say? Why don’t you go ahead and take a quick shower and I’ll get everything ready. . .

“Jesus Christ, I don’t fucking believe it! So that shit with the shower’s true?”

“Apparently. The crazy motherfucker was like adamant about that whole thing. He took one first and then practically shit himself when I told him that I wasn’t gonna take one.”

“So what’s this about your ex?”

“Oh, that was just some BS line I fed him when we got back to his place and he started going on and on about how much he enjoyed anal.”

“What do you mean enjoyed? I thought the point was that he’s never even done it.”

“He hasn’t. As the audio evidence makes clear.”

C’mon, baby, you so fine, I just wanna be all inside you and shit. And, well, I’m gonna be fucking honest with ya. I ain’t never done that shit before. But I’ve always kinda dreamed about it. So when you said that maybe you’d be down. . .

“Gross! How did you not fucking puke?”

“Actually, I did. You see, we’d been smoking a shit-ton of weed and he tried to get me to do a few lines too, but there was no way I was going there. Not with him all over my ass. I wanted to stay in control, you know what I mean? Still, we did get pretty stoned, which just made the whole thing even more hilarious.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Anyway, when the porker stumbled out of the shower with his jellyrolls jiggling, I kinda lost my shit.”

“Wow, I’m so sorry, K. I never thought we could really pull this whole thing off. . .”

“No sweat, it was worth it. For this tape. You wanna hear another taste?”

“Please, please, please, please.”

It’s like, to me, anal is the most sensual of the sexes. I mean, any asshole can eat someone out. And vanilla vag, that’s like so 1952. But to stick your cock in someone’s poopchute, that’s like totally fucking deep. As a matter of fact, if you really think about it, people do some weird stuff when they’re doing the wild thing. Like if I was walking down the street and some bitch started slobbering all over my arm, I’d be like: ‘Fuck that!’ Yet, if you decided to start sucking my cock – which, by the way, I have no objections to, though I bet you’d probably feel more comfortable if you did that shit first – anyway if you did decide to start sucking my cock right now, I wouldn’t even give a shit if you slobbered all over my knob. In fact, if you didn’t leave some spit down there, I’d be kinda like what the fuck?

“The best part was during this lovely little monologue, the fucking prick actually pulled down his sweatpants. As if that would get me hot!”

“Man, aren’t those wretched things disgusting?”

“Fucking-A! Fortunately, he had such killer weed or I would’ve puked a lot earlier. Honestly, sister, what the hell does your husband see in that class clown?”

“I have no clue. They’ve been having some sort of fucked-up bromance since they were kids or something. Which is why we have to be careful with what we do with this tape. I’d never want to hurt him.”

“You mean your husband?”

“Well, I clearly don’t give a shit about our chunky friend with the ass fetish.”

“Alright then, so here’s the best part. The porker kept bragging about how he was starting this new record label so I was thinking that. . .”

“We’d take the tape and maybe put some phat beats behind it and then send it off to him as a demo?”

“Precisely! Maybe that’ll teach him a thing or two about thinking he can just stick his dick wherever he wants.”

“I highly doubt it. In case you haven’t noticed, Kathy, this numbnuts ain’t so fucking bright. I don’t know if he’s even capable of learning.”

“Well, somebody obviously taught him how to smoke dope. Cause, damn girl, the pudgy asshole was inhaling that shit like Tommy Chong on 4/20.”

“I kinda miss smoking weed.”

“I thought your doctor recommended that shit for the nausea and everything.”

“He did. But we can’t afford it and the insurance doesn’t really cover. . .”

“What about this douche on a stick? He seems to have an endless supply.”

“Oh, man, that’s one of the many fucking reasons this asswipe pisses me off so much. We actually asked him if he could maybe hook us up with a little taste here and there. You know, in case of emergency. And the dick for brains actually told us he’d have to charge us. Full price!”

“Are you motherfucking serious?”

“Yeah, that dingleberry looked me right in the eye and said that he had to pay for it too.”

“At the rate he smokes, I’m surprised he can even keep track of how much he’s got in his stash.”

“That’s what I thought, but no! The fucking fat-ass prick. . .”

“Hey, what the heck was that?”

“What was what?”

“That noise. It sounded like something breaking.”

“I dunno, I think it was someone outside. Probably just homeless dudes going through the garbage looking for cans and shit.”

“Well, in that case, let me give you one last sample of our pathetic hero working his mighty mojo.”

I’m sorry, babe, I don’t mean to get all emotional on ya. It’s just that I really, really, really want to do this shit with ya. Like so fucking bad! How about this? What if I wear a rubber after all? That way, you won’t have to shit out my splooge or nothing. Whaddya say? I left the water on. So why don’t you just take a quick run through the shower and make sure there ain’t no lingering logs? Then we can finally get down to business. . .

“Wow, it almost sounds like he’s crying. Please tell me that he shed some tears.”

“It sure as shit seemed like it. In fact, I think our little demo tape should utilize that tearful ode to practicing safe sex when you ass-fuck someone. Cause I mean who really wants to shit out splooge? Much less the splooge of some lard-ass misogynist who rocks dank sweatpants. I mean, is he for fucking real or is this all just some sort of sick twisted joke. . .”

“Wait a second, how’d the fat bastard know about Condomgate?”

“Whatchya talking about, sister?”

“How did he know that you made Neil wear condoms even though. . .”

“He didn’t. Nobody knows that. Except you.”

“Oh shit, Kathy! I gotta go.”

“Why? What’s wrong? Everything cool over there?”

“Yeah, I just gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Well, good luck with all that mammogram bullshit tomorrow.”

“Hey, honeypot, how’s it going?”

“Oh, just fucking wonderful.”

“So how long have you been standing there?”

“A while.”

“Were you listening to my conversation?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”

“So what exactly did you hear then?”

“Enough to know that my wife’s got a pretty fucked-up sense of humor.”

“And where are you going now?”

“To bed. We’ve got an early appointment and, to be perfectly honest with you, sweetness, I don’t even want to think about any of this shit. Like ever. I’ve got enough on my mind already.”

“Well, what about the dishes?”

“I’ll do them later.”

“Don’t you want to talk at all?”

“Later.”