Post by TIA Promotions on Sept 27, 2023 22:49:49 GMT -5
MAKAVELI
“So… there I was, in a trashy leather bustier, seconds away from Swayze-f*cking the ghost of Tupac Shakur…” Cherry Cola leans forward, crossing one orange-clad leg over the other, fingers interlacing over the knee, while a cellmate lays on the floor, scratching feverishly at her own neck.
Cherry picks at her nails, painted a glossy black with silver accents. At one-point last night, her makeup was bold and dramatic, dark eyeliner and blood-red lipstick, but now, it’s all a smeared mess like a sad watercolor painting. She pauses, savoring the taste of each word before letting them spill out.
"Picture this – a dope *ss music festival, at some cowboy ranch in Montana! It was like Burning Man meets Yellowstone meets Back to the Future. Like Wild West meets California Love 2099. Stars above, mountains all around up, and a stage right in the middle of a sea of people.”
“Naturally, I showed up about two hours late. Because only nerds show up on time. Besides, nobody needs to see the opening act. I’ve been to shows before, but this one had a unique vibe. It was like that scene from Bob and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, the original, not that war-crime that they released during lockdown. Anyway, I was on stage watching Linkin Park, getting moister than an oyster, and just feeling myself, ya know?”
Cherry looks at the drug addict on the floor who’s been fighting off invisible bees, considers ending the story because nobody cares, then continues anyway because she can’t help herself. “So, as I was saying, before you rudely interrupted me. Linkin Park was on stage, which was blowing my mind, because the sexy guy that screams at stuff died a few years ago. He sounded pretty good, I guess, but inspiration took hold of me. So, Doctor Cherry made her move for the backstage area.”
“My boss was stupid enough to give me a VIP pass. Which is great because I would have found a way backstage anyway. I knew when I left the house that night that two things were gonna happen. I was going to steal, I mean “procure”, some extremely valuable collectibles from some important historical figures, and somebody was getting a world class squeezer. Both of those things would only happen backstage. So, I flashed the badge and was in the green room. That’s when lightning struck me.”
Cherry's voice drops to a low whisper, as if she’s revealing the darkest of confessions. "Tupac's spirit… his voice… it’s tangible, like a thunderstorm about to break. And instead of merely basking in it, I chose to dance with the forbidden."
Her cellmate rolls over, shirt pulled up over her mouth, and makes eye contact, pupils fully dilated. The perp crawls forward for a closer look.. "Is this real life?” She asks while waving a hand in front of her face.
“Pull your finger out of your ass and try to keep up with the story… Becky. I was in the presence of Tupac Shakur.”
“You can see ghosts too?”
Cherry's laughter is a wicked echo. "No, I can’t see ghosts. You dense twat. It was really him. Or at least him from another timeline. But Cherry don’t care what multiverse that ebony half-god is from. I wanted to drink him in. I gave myself over to the afterlife, with Tupac as my ethereal partner. It was like something out of a fever dream, but it was real."
"But, of course, the universe just couldn’t let a good thing happen. I made a pass at Pac and was forcefully removed, against my will, by jackboot nazi bastard cops who get rock hard by making pretty girls cry.”
Her cellmate's eyes squint in disbelief as the story she’s being told starts to register with her. "Wait. You f*cked a ghost? How does that even work?"
Cherry winked mischievously. "Well, darlin'. You see… when a boy likes a girl. He tries to… you know what?! Fuck you, Becky. Mind your business. I loved him and he loved me too. For about 30 seconds.”
“My name’s Stephanie, actually.”
“Shut up, Becky, I’m talking about true love here.” Cherry continued her tale, her voice low and sultry. "I was in the green room, and I just felt his... aura. His eyes caught mine, he smiled, then I smiled, and I may have gotten a little carried away.
Her cellmate chuckles, clearly entertained by the story. "So, what happened next?"
Cherry's grin widened. "I flirted with him a little bit, got in close and stuck my tongue in his ear. I think he liked it. But his security didn't. So, they escorted me out of the concert. Or at least they tried to. I stabbed a guy in the leg with a fork and snatched a wig off some other lady before I left. I was only there for like 45 minutes in total and only got to see one of the musical acts.”
Drug-addicted Stephanie bursts into laughter at the outrageousness of the story. Cherry considers ending her, right there, but the urge passes and just like that she forgets about Tupac Amaru Shakur and is on to the next house fire.
~~~~~~~
Cherry Cola leans in closer to her cellmate, with a conspiratorial glint in her eye. "You see, darlin', before I ended up in this, um, charming establishment, I was knee-deep in a stupid money-grab TV show called 'Last Man Standing.' I call it “Last Minge Standing’, but most people don’t get the joke. Anywho, it's a reality show competition that’ll never air on TV, and I’m on it to steal a bunch of money from a dream team of marks.”
Her cellmate raises an unplucked eyebrow, intrigued. "Last Man Standing? Isn’t that a Tim Allen show? I heard he’s a lizard person."
“Of course, you did.” Cherry smirked, her lips painted a patchy shade of red. "I wish I could say that the show is a really big deal, but the truth is that it’s kind of a joke. Just a couple months ago, people were fighting to get a ticket for the shindig, but then somebody must have grabbed someone’s crotch or punched someone in an elevator, because that thing went down faster than Jennifer Lawrence on a casting couch. After a series of fortunate turns, I got my ticket. Who cares if I had to scam it? Nobody on that show has clean hands. I lied my way onto that stupid show and there’s nothing any of those window lickers can do about it.
“Here’s the part where things get complicated. They were dumb enough to put me on a team… with other people. And then they expected me to play nice, but I’m just not equipped to be a nice person. So, I’m just waiting for my time to punch someone in the groin and run away with their wallet and their dog. Here’s the part that really stirs my Kool-Aid. Cherry Cola, with red hair, red nails, and a murder boner for competition, was drafted to the… BLUE team. You can’t make this sh*t up."
Her cellmate, finally lucid, isn’t as amused as Cherry had hoped. " What's wrong with the Blue Team?"
Cherry rolls her eyes, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Where do I even begin? First of all, blue is a stupid color. I don’t like it. I don’t like people with blue hair. I don’t like blue clothes. I don’t like blue eyes. I don't like the Blue Man Group, Bluey, or Pepsi Blue either. As far as the team goes. They’re all egomaniacs, posers, and rejects... The self-appointed leader, Jacoby Spencer, a goth dressed like he's auditioning for a sparkling vampire movie, talks too much, wears too much makeup, and exudes big beta energy. He's a walking joke, but I pretend to be his friend because every time he opens his mouth, he says something cringe and it takes the spotlight off me. If I can get stuck in a dryer somewhere on set, I’m sure I can talk him into murdering someone for me." Inmate Stephanie doesn’t get the joke. Neither do you, because you’re a good person and Cherry is not.
Cherry leans in closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Now, let me tell you about the rest. My favorites are Penelope Plimmswood and Eli Buchanan. They've got criminal histories, questionable morals, and they are freaky-naughty dangerous. People after my own heart. Something about them just... well, it makes me wanna bust a grape if you know what I mean. I’m currently working on a twelve-step plan that traps them in a kinky three-way love affair with me over the course of several whirlwind months. I’m pretty sure they are blood relatives, so that’s a plus for me. I’ve been meaning to give incestual Ménage à trois another try since the last one didn’t work out. Obviously, the long-term plan is to split them up, bankrupt them, and leave them worse than I found them, but I’m a go-with-the-flow kind of gal and we will just have to see where the tide takes us."
Cherry continues her slam poetry demolition of a world class wrestling team. "Next up is pretty little Zara Ivory. oh, she's so soft and lovely. Like a cashmere sweater that I want to bury farts into. It's almost painful to watch her be so pure. You just want to squeeze her tight until her eyeballs pop out of her goddamn head. She has this look that just tugs at your heart, like she’s just inches away from crying her way back home at all times. But I know better. I was a hairdresser for 3 long years, and I know these ratchet hoes that dye their hair neon green. They’re all self-centered koozies who smell bad and tip shitty. They are not to be trusted.”
Stephanie, the cellmate, retreats. Finally bored with the conversation. She raises a fair question while scratching her neck raw. “Is there anyone you like?”
“Well… there is girlboss named Candice Page. She’s a strip club owner, a pro-wrestling hall-of-famer, and she has all the right connections. To be honest, I think she missed a real opportunity not going by the name ‘Candy’. It’s a much better stripper name in my humble opinion. Anyway, she’s great and I hate her guts. But there is some part of me, deep down in my spaghetti house, that admires her. If you tell her, I’ll boil your head. So shhh… Candy Page is a hustler, a grifter, and a pimp. And I respect all of that. So, that's why I need to... well, eject her from the show."
"Our whole team is TRASH, but hey, they don’t possess close to a fraction of the loathing I reserve for the red team.” Cherry's voice turns even more venomous as she mentions the red team. ”I should be on that team. It should have been called the CHERRY RED Team. And I should have been the leader the whole time. It’s obvious. And the fact that I’m not there is a cruel joke by bad men. Their entire starting lineup is complete subhuman garbage. Made up of broken toys and spare parts. I don't even know their names. There is this one girl though, who was originally on our team, but we kicked her ass to the curb because she microwaved fish or something… I forgot already. We voted her off and I’m pretty sure she cried. So, now she’s on the red team.”
“It’s hilarious to think about now. My team, as smooth-brained as they are, just won a challenge, and now the host asks us if we want to switch teams. How f*cking stupid would any of us be to jump teams now, when we’re on a winning streak? We have a vampire, a witch, a dom-daddy, a nymph, a pimp, and a cherry bomb. How can we lose? The red team is woefully bad at competition. Even though I don’t like any of these blue team scum buckets, I do like winning, and there’s no way I’m going to team red. I don’t care how cherry-red their uniforms are. I can just rub their face blood on my jersey and make it red too.
The cellmate is completely lost at this point, wondering what possessed Cherry Cola to just go on a thousand-word rant about nothing like she is prone to do. So, she just says exactly what she’s thinking. “I don’t understand any of the words you’re saying. I need a nap and a cigarette.”
Cherry leans back against the concrete wall, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You and me both. But I’m planning and just staying right here where I am. Keeping a low profile. And betraying everyone I know, later on, when there’s the most to gain. And then maybe, Tupac will want me.”
~~~~~~~
"Never take advice from anyone, especially me."
- CHERRY COLA