NOTE: This story originally appeared in Putsch #23 (Shoebox's Soapbox #14) and was re-released in Imagine #7

Hammered

So I'm sitting here drinking a beer and there's this guy who looks like John Travolta and he's staring at me. I'm looking around the bar and I'm sipping on my beer...just sipping cuz I have to go to work in the morning...and there's this beautiful pair of thighs over there and they're rubbing together and it's driving me fucking insane. The jukebox is playing one of the few Rolling Stones songs I can't stand and she's rubbing her thighs to the rhythm of the song and I can't take my eyes off her except to look over at that guy I swear he looks just like John Travolta and he's still staring at me. So I look away from him and look back over at the thighs. They're right under this leather mini and what's above it isn't particularly nothing special but shit...those thighs...I'm getting cramps in my pants like you wouldn't believe. The CD skips but she's still rubbing and I can't help but think what else is rubbing underneath that skirt. But then I look over and this guy who looks more like John Travolta than anyone I've ever seen in my life is still staring at me. I start wondering if he's some kinda fag or something when I hear the sound of old gum cracking behind me and turn around and have to really work to keep myself from gagging. There's this old waitress and she's got moles and facial hair and I think that's a glass eye and she's chewing on that fucking gum like a cow. And she says, "Can I get ya another beer, hon?" and I don't know where the fuck that accent's from but I hope I never end up there cuz it turns my stomach. And I'm like "Yeah," and I order something cheap cuz I'm gettin' low on cash. She turns away and the sound of the old gum takes like a minute to stop echoing in my head. I start playing with my ashtray and I look over to the Jukebox and that chick with the thighs is bending over the jukebox and that skirt is tight to her ass and creeping up those thighs and she's still rubbing 'em and shaking 'em back and forth and I'm trying like hell not to drool in my almost-empty beer. The old waitress comes back and this time I guess there's less smoke or something cuz I notice the smell. She fucking reaks and she's like "Here ya go, hon, that'll be another buck fifty" and I wanna reach out and rip that fucking gum out of her mouth. I pay her and look over at that John Travolta lookalike again and he's still staring. Shit...he's a fag. He's got the fucking earring and everything. I hope to hell he doesn't think I'm staring back...I mean shit...I was only lookin' cuz he was starin' at me and cuz he looks so much like John Travolta. So I turn back to the thighs. She picks a song and stands back up and I watch the skirt inch its way back down...she tugs on it a bit and the Stones song finally ends and some alternative song starts playing...Pearl Jam or Stoned Temple Pirates or some shit...who gives a fuck, it all sounds the same. I look over at Travolta's table out of the corner of my eye and the guy isn't there. So I look around and ...shit... he's coming over here. So I'm staring up at this fag and he comes over to the table and he's like "I couldn't help but notice you were staring" and he doesn't talk anything like John Travolta and I feel really fucking weird. So I take another gulp for support and I say "No, man...I wasn't staring at anybody." And he's like "Yes you were, I saw you" and I'm starting to get pissed and I'm like "Look, man, just go back to your table, I ain't like that" and he's like "Don't give me that shit, you were staring like a dog looking at a fucking piece of meat" and I fucking lose it and I stand up and knock the fucking table over and I'm holding my bottle like a club and the beer spills out of it all over my pants and I'm screaming "Just get the fuck away from me, you fucking queer" and he draws back and I come down with the bottle but I guess sperm makes you fast cuz he hits me first and knocks me down and I don't know what the hell I hit my head on before I hit the floor but it was hard as hell. I get up and I must've dropped my bottle and I'm tasting blood and my whole fucking face is throbbing and I'll be damned if I'm gonna get beat by a fag so I charge toward him and hit him good in the stomach and go for his face but he does something and I don't know what the fuck it was but I'm down again and everything's starting to sting and I'm like "You fucking fag..." and talking is starting to hurt like hell and I'm gargling my own fucking blood and he's like "Come on, motherfucker" and suddenly the chick with the thighs is standing there and she sounds all worried and shit and she's like "Joe! Come on! You're gonna kill him!" And he looks at her like he's pissed and points down at me and he's like "If I ever catch you looking at my girlfriend again, I'll fucking kill you!" and she's pulling on his arm and they walk away. So I'm lying there and somebody's yelling "Shit! Call the cops!" and somebody else is yelling "He looks hurt bad! Call an ambulance!" and I think about it and I'm thinking maybe that guy didn't look so much like John Travolta...

-=ShoEboX=-

WHAT WAS GOING THROUGH MY MIND WHEN I WROTE THIS STORY:
I was thinking about homophobia and sexism...the idea of treating women as objects and the idea of treating homosexuals as "untouchables..." and wondering if they were related.