"Do I have to sit on Hooker Beach all day long? The phone reception "sucks" down on the beach," I informed them. "Jag, you can set up anywhere but in my office. After all, it is a Mobile Command Center and you can move it wherever you like," Don smugly replied. He then added, "but the best sights are on Hooker Beach," just the fuck up my train of thought.
Then to fuck me up even more, Wally asked me what I was paying MBL per day. "100 bucks plus all the fillet and shrimp she can eat," I confidently replied. "How much do you pay your girl?" I asked. "1000 Reais……" was all I heard as I was rapidly running the math through my little brain. I calculate that at the current exchange rates, he is paying her a little over $400 per day. Holy shit, I was right! MBL is a real bargain just like she told me. Then Wally finished his sentence after a long pause with "for two weeks and expenses come out of the R$1000." "Say what…." was about all I could manage to mumble as my mind was swirling.
"Oh yeah, she stays with me for two weeks and I pay her R$1000 for the whole time.” “What about the expense part?” I inquired. He continued, “For example, if she wants me to buy her a pair of shoes, that comes off the top, reducing the total by the cost of the shoes," he said with a smug smile on his face. "Will you run that by me one more time Wally, I want to take some notes." Okay, if I've done my math correctly, which is a big “if”, Wally pays his girl about $400 USD for two weeks while I pay MBL $1400 for the same period of time. At that precise moment I feel the strain that Don and Wally must be under because I'm suddenly struck with a severe pounding migraine headache.
When I told them about my head throbbing, both smiled and I could have sworn they said, "How appropriate." But when I asked them to repeat what they said, it sounded like, "How unfortunate." Shit, now this God damn headache was affecting my hearing; which one of my delicate senses would be next? One sense down, only four more to go! I remember silently praying, "Please God, don't let this fucking headache kill me. Don has enough trouble handling one death already this trip; don't complicate his life by adding me to the equation." Oh shit, I forgot that I shouldn't use the word "fuck" in my prayers anymore. Forgive me God. Believe it or not He did!
Now I have to digress here and apologize in advance for bringing God into my report. Absolutely no offence is intended, but I’m sure I’ll offend someone; that’s my style. First of all, as previously stated, I’m very spiritual and not exactly the religious type. By that I mean that I only go to church for funerals and an occasional wedding. I learned a long time ago that I could cut out the middleman (the church) and go directly to God for whatever I needed. When I was eight, I first found this out that when I eliminated the middle man or “proxy” after I contracted a severe case of “Munchausen’s by proxy.” That’s a funny story; remind me to tell you about it someday. Where was I? Oh yeah, back to my story.
Don, in an attempt to clarify things asked, "Jag, how much does Bubble Lips cost you a day to feed her?" Ouch, my temple started a throb uncontrollably as I mumbled, "about R$100 plus expenses." "What other expenses are you talking about?" Wally asked. "You know things like makeup, pads, candy, beach chair rentals, manicure and pedicures," I sheepishly replied. Since my ears were starting to rapidly shut down from the fucking headache, I could've sworn Wally said, "Boy, you have great goals." But reflecting upon it further, I think he might have actually said, "Boy, you're getting raked over the coals!" As you can see, my hearing is rapidly deteriorating. That sentence makes no sense whatsoever. Nobody can see hearing, can they? Aw fuck, you know what I meant anyway, so don’t try to correct me like fucking Wolf does all the time.
Either way he said it, he had inadvertently planted the seeds for the destruction of our six-month long loving relationship. When I told them that the end was near, strangely they just smiled at me. Ah fuck, my head was pounding, so I excused myself and departed for my apartment. As I was leaving, I said to no one in particular, "If MBL stops by, tell her I'm going to the apartment and then to the beach and that I want to talk to her about something very important."
Not three steps away from Don's shop, I hear TheRightWay (TRW) shout at me as he's coming out of the barbershop. He runs across the street, grabs my right hand and start shaking it. "I hope you write with your right hand," he shouts at me. "Why?" "Because, I'm going to break it off for sending me to that fucking barber. Look at what he did to me." Now you have to understand that we're standing right in front of the Lava Kilo, the laundromat where I took the shirt that MBL spilled wine on last June. As you remember, she’s the girl behind the counter who thinks I'm gay and MBL's a transvestite. Don't ask me where she got that crazy idea from, but trust me, she got it from somewhere. Brazilians jump to the strangest conclusions, don't they?
Now picture this; I'm standing there wearing a number 24 jersey, holding hands with TRW and he's yelling at me just like one queer yells at another when he finds out he's being cheated on. "Look at me," TRW shouts again. I say, “it looks great" and touch his right cheek with the back of my left hand and exclaim, "That’s a nice smooth shave." The girl comes out of the Lava Kilo, walks up to me and says, "Nuevo namorado, senor?" Oh shit, now she thinks TRW is my new “pitcher boyfriend” and suddenly bile rises up to the back my throat. The next thing you know, I'm down on my knees, which only added to her confusion, hacking and gagging my guts out just like Felix did only hours before. TRW squeezes my right hand tighter and that brings me back to reality.
As I slowly get up, I manage to give the laundromat girl a kind smile because her place is the only one in Copacabana that will still wash my clothes and I don't want to fuck that up. One harder squeeze of my hand and I'm practically down on my knees again as TRW shouts, "not my fucking cheek, look at my neck." Actually, his neck was the first thing I noticed because it was a bloody mass; I just pretended not to see it. Since TRW is big, about 6'5" tall and 275 pounds one of the first things you notice about him is the absence of any neck at all. His head comes out of his shoulders, just like a linebacker’s. Nevertheless, the skin just below his chin looked like one big mat burn.
He lifted his chin and said, "Look at what your fucking barber did to me." Sure enough an entire layer of skin was scraped off with little droplets of blood forming everywhere. But it certainly wasn't my fault, was it? Of course not, so I decided to give him a piece of my mind. I stopped trembling, looked him square in the eye and said, "It’s your fault. You were stupid enough to take my advice and everyone knows that's a dumb move, so don't try to blame me. Take some responsibility for your own actions," I scolded him.
This sudden and complete turn of events caught him by surprise. He relaxed his grip a little and I quickly removed my hand from his vise-like grasp as he stood there completely dumbfounded for what seemed like a minute. His reply absolutely stunned me as he said, "Yeah, you're right Jag. I thought all that crazy stuff in your reports was just sheer fantasy, but now I know everything is true.” Of course it is,” I replied. Then to add insult to injury, he said, “You are a fucking idiot!"
What did he mean by that last remark, I wondered as I regained my composure? Oh well, at least I got myself out of that jam as I spied MBL walking down the sidewalk to greet me. She immediately asked me what kind of trouble I got myself into while she was gone, but I cut her off in mid sentence by saying, "We have to talk about finances today." Oddly, she just smiled, grabbed my throbbing right hand and said, "You give me a raise?" When Don heard her say that, he snorted iced tea through his nose, Wally rolled his eyes and fucking Ken just stood there with a shit eating grin on his face. In an effort to regain control, I said in a loud voice, “Just wait till I get you home.” Unfortunately, that comment only elicited more laughter. It’s a great support group I have, isn’t it?
On our way back to the apartment, I gently and casually brought up what Wally told me. “Do you know what Wally pays his girlfriend?” MBL just shrugged her shoulders like she could give a shit. “Well, how about R$1000 for two weeks,” I said as I looked her square in the eyes. “Wally get good deal,” was all she said as she gave me a “so what” look. You guys all know what that look is like, especially if you’re married. Shit, I used to get that look several times daily from the Bitch. Shortly after we were separated, I actually missed getting that look until my little girls picked up right where their Mom left off. Fortunately, MBL is a little better in that department, except for today.
In an effort to get things back on track, I launched my verbal offensive with, "You know, I pay you 100 US dollars a day, which is considerably more than Wally pays his girlfriend for the same service," I said smugly. Her reply was shocking, "Wally get good deal, so do I, but if you want to pay more -- I take it." I felt as if TRW sucker punched me, which I'm sure he debated about. Suddenly I was left standing outside the apartment building all by myself as Bubble Lips went in and pushed the button on the elevator. She looked back at me with another one of those "so what" looks, so I decided to stand outside and wait for her to go up to the apartment before I entered the building. That would certainly show her who was boss, wouldn't it?
As I was standing there trying to figure out what to do next, the blue shirted idiots from the laundromat next door came outside and started yelling at me in Portuguese. Oh shit, now I have these jerks giving me grief so I decided to join MBL. She was the lesser of two evils, but not by much. Since the elevator hadn't come, MBL heard their diatribe and just stood there laughing at what they said. Rather than ask her to translate their verbal assault, I was rapidly formulating my next moves.
In the elevator I counterattacked. "Do you realize it costs me over R$100 a day to feed you, not to mention everything else I buy for you," I said as convincingly as possible. Once again, all she uttered was, "like I say, I have good deal but I want a raise." "You what?" I replied. Then she launched her own well rehearsed argument which included interpersonal relationships, love and sex, economics and, finally, fucking foreign exchange rates. Clearly, she was much better prepared than I was!
Essentially her argument centered and on the fact that she loved me very much (I expected that part), prices were rising in Brazil (another no-brainer), but the last part completely stumped me. "When we first meet in March, cambio give me R$300 for $100 US dollars. Now, I get R$240 for same $100 US dollars, so I lose money. You need to pay me at least $130 US dollars to get me back to R$300," she said as confidently as if she had a doctorate in Economics. “But Honey, you still cost me $100 regardless,” I back peddled. “Dollar no good now,” was her succinct reply. Fucking politicians!
Oh shit, this argument was going south quickly, so I decided to change tactics. "What if I take you out to the best restaurant in Rio for dinner tomorrow night?" I asked. "Why not tonight?" "Because we have to go to Felix’s to help him finish off the soup tonight," I replied. "Okay, tomorrow night good, but I want cameroons." "Whatever you want My Love, but I'm only going to pay you $100 a day from now on," I replied.
"What about my raise?" We'll talk about it later Honey," I said as I put on my bathing suit and started to leave the apartment for the beach to man my Mobile Command Center as she grabbed the remote and turned on cartoons. For a millisecond, I thought about sticking around to let the cartoons work their magic, but figured that too would blow up in my face eventually as MBL would undoubtedly work the conversation around to foreign exchange rates again and I'd get fucked somehow. "Hey Honey, give me your phone so I can take it to the beach to call Don. The fucking chairs mess up my reception," I asked as she handed me her phone with a disgusted look on her face.
Strangely, the usual flock of beach chairs guys was absent as I approached the beach. For some reason as they usually flock around me, I feel like Wiley Coyote at a Road-Runner convention. Oh well, whatever the reason I’m thankful that they’re leaving me alone today. That is until Fernando sees me, starts towards me like a spider stalking a moth caught in its web, stops, points at me and starts laughing. What the fuck is so funny, I wondered? As I got closer he starts laughing louder and points at my chest. Oh shit, I forgot to change my jersey and now Fernando thinks I’m gay.
Fernando starts jabbering away in Portuguese and I’m starting to get a little sick of all the attention. “Shut up Fernanado,” I shout at him as he immediately quiets down. Luckily Felix comes down to the beach and starts giving me shit about what I told Don, Wally and Ken. “What did you tell them?” he asked. “Nothing, absolutely nothing,” I replied. “Well, you told them something because they all laughed at me when I showed up at Don’s shop.” “What else did they say?” I asked. They asked me if it was true, did I play baseball?” What did you tell them?” I asked. “I told them that I was a “catcher” in the semi-pros for a couple of years,” he replied. “What did they say?” I once again asked. “I don’t know; I couldn’t understand them because they were laughing too hard.”
Felix, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I can tell you this for a fact. Don’s under a lot of strain with trying to tie up all the loose ends surrounding Bob’s death and, to complicate matters, I think he’s been in Brazil too long.” “What the fuck do you mean by that?” he asked. “Well, we both know how crazy these Brazilians are, don’t we,” I added. “Yeah, I’ve had my troubles with a few of them, especially Bimbo,” he replied. “Of course you have, so have I.
Just think back a few hours ago to those two cops following us--that was strange, wasn’t it? What about all those locals who thought you were gay?” I prodded him. “Yeah, you have a good point there Jag.” “You see if you spend too much time in Brazil, you become as wacky as the locals and I think Don’s at that point right now. Look at how he laughed at you only minutes ago. That’s bizarre behavior, isn’t it?” I gently concluded my little “white lie” by saying, “Whatever you do, don’t talk about baseball with him.” Also, I suggest you tell everyone that you were a “pitcher” in the semi-pros, not a “catcher,” if you catch my drift. “Okay.”
“Good, now Felix give me your phone for my Mobile Command Center—I need multiple backups to maintain constant communications.” “Oh and by the way, let me hang my jersey on the back of your chair, it fucks up the phones so I can’t put it on my chair, otherwise I would,” I asked him kindly. As I was hanging it on his chair with the number 24 in plain sight, Fernando saw what I was doing and tried to warn Felix. I gave him a harsh look and then the universal sign for “keep quiet” as I held my index finger up to my lips. At first he was confused, but then started laughing uncontrollably as I said and gestured, “Felix, you’re a real Prince, but would you mind moving your chair over there, you’re sitting too close to me.” Like a robot, he moved one meter further away. “No, you’re still too close, about a foot more. That’s good there.”
As I sat down in my chair, I heard a cracking noise and wondered what made that sound. I checked my chair, but then remembered that my new Casio camera was in my back pocket when I sat down. As I gently pulled it out, I could see that the large 2.5” LCD screen was completely cracked. God damn it! Now I have to think up some creative story to tell Casio about how the fucking screen got cracked so that they will fix it for free.
Since the LCD screen was out of operation, I couldn’t tell if any of my photos came out. Consequently, on this trip I only took a few shots. That’s why this report doesn’t have any award winning photos accompanying it. Not that any of my other reports have great photos in them, I just wanted to let you know why this report had so few. Oh, you might wonder what I told Casio to get them to fix it for free. I just told them that I loaned my camera to a homosexual friend and some rednecks beat him up and broke the camera. I know you don’t really care what story I told them, but it worked.
Felix proceeded to tell me in great detail about his romantic evening with Timex. By the way, he was now calling her Timex. It was difficult following his ramblings because of all the beautiful distracting women on the beach. Shit, I didn’t want to listen to him anyway because that fucking migraine was still interfering with my hearing, but he kept going on and on endlessly. Yeah, that’s right, kind of like my reports. Where was I?
Oh yeah, Felix was babbling on about how Timex was with him every evening and that he longed for more variety. “Felix, we’re on Hooker Beach; that can be easily arranged.” As soon as I said that, he started getting all worried that MBL would see him with another woman and blab to Timex. “Felix, just because you can’t keep you mouth shut, that doesn’t mean MBL will tell on you. Not everyone’s a blabber mouth like you. She’s a professional, don’t worry,” I admonished him.
Knowing Felix as well as I do, as soon as he realized Bubble Lips was out of the way, he sat there and worked out a complete schedule for the entire day. Fortunately, all the permutations took place in his brain. However, after he had calculated the perfect schedule, he verbalized his plan. Wouldn’t you know it, at the exact same time my hearing started to improve, but conversely, my migraine got worse. “Oh no Felix, I don’t want to hear your fucking schedule,” I said as I silently prayed that something would happen to shut him up. God came to the rescue!
You see, I told you He forgave me for using the word “Fuck” in my prayers and what happened next proves it. Thank God He’s not like these crazy Brazilian who hold grudges forever. He’s very forgiving, especially of me. Now what happened next wasn’t on the epic scale of the “Parting of the Red Sea,” but as you correctly surmised, it had something to do with water.
Suddenly and totally unexpectedly, a huge wave surged up the beach towards us. I start screaming, yelling and grabbing my three cell phones and camera as Felix just sat there and continued with his soliloquy, totally oblivious to the wave of tsunami proportions rapidly approaching his fucking chair. As I run past him, I grabbed my shirt off the back of his chair because I don’t want to lose it and I shout to him, “Felix you’re on your own,” as I passed by. He turns and looks at me like I’m nuts. Then the wave hits, he falls over and looses his train of thought. Good, at least that way when he starts reciting his schedule all over again, I’ll just tell him, “You already told me that.” Thank you God!
As we moved our chairs and my parasol up the beach about one hundred feet to where there was dry sand, God helped me torture Felix in a more devious way. Because I had a parasol, I put my shoes up in the umbrella mechanism to keep them out of the sand. Felix wasn’t smart enough to follow my lead and that caused him one major ass ache. You see, as the wave came in it swept about 300 pairs of sandals into one big heap on the beach. For the next 45 minutes Felix was sifting through the pile trying to find his sandals or at least something close to what he was wearing. That gave me 45 minutes of peace and quiet! Once again, thank you God.
When he finally came back to the chair that I had decorated with the number 24 jersey, he proudly showed me his sandals. “Are you sure both are yours?” I asked. “I think so, they look identical to what I was wearing,” he gleefully replied. “Well, they better be yours otherwise you could get some form of tropical foot disease if you wear them and it turns out they really belong to some local.” I could see the wheels turning in his head as he dropped them onto the beach and took two steps backward. “By the way Felix, you didn’t touch any of the other sandals as you were looking for yours, did you? Those things are loaded with all sorts of vicious bacteria.”
He immediately went down to the ocean and plunged his hands into the surf and started scrubbing. When he came back I asked him, “Hey Felix, do you know where all the dog shit in Copacabana ends up?” As he looked at me with a blank expression on his face, I knew I had him. “Everyone throws their dog shit into the storm sewers and when it rains the shit flows out into the ocean over there,” I said as I pointed down the beach to where the storm sewers dump out about a hundred meters from where we were sitting. I couldn’t resist adding, “Didn’t it rain this morning?” I love messing with his phobias.
As he ran off to Meia Pataca to decontaminate himself, I enjoyed the next fifteen minutes of relative silence. Since there was hardly any beach left, we turned our chairs around and faced Av. Atlantico to look at the hot girls walking along the sidewalk. Felix suddenly spotted the girl who was signaling him on the beach the other day. That made him happy, but it caused my migraine to return with a fucking vengeance. You’re probably wondering why; well, listen up.
As soon as she sat down near us, Felix started recalculating his schedule and he did it verbally this time rather than in his head. “It’s now 1:15 PM and if I take her for two hours starting at two, I’ll be finished by 4:00 PM and have enough time to get ready for Timex. On the other hand, if I take her at 1:30 PM we’ll be done by…..” “Shut the fuck up Felix, you’re giving me a headache. I’m not Brazilian which means I completely understand the concept of time, so you don’t need to go into every minute detail,” I shouted at him as he sat there with the fairy shirt on his chair.
Oops, I better put that shirt away or she’ll think he’s putting his dick where he shouldn’t, and she won’t want to have anything to do with him. We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we? After all, my goal is to Felix away from me, then peace and quite returns. “Hey Felix, give me the shirt so I can put it up in the parasol.” Fortunately he gave it to me without an argument like usual because he was focused on the hot babe sitting about thirty feet away.
Suddenly Felix stands up, reaches into his pocket and says, “I better take this now to let it work for a few minutes.” “What the fuck is that?” After he popped it in his mouth and swallowed, he exclaimed, “It’s Cialis.” “You idiot, don’t you know that Bob was taking that stuff when he met his end? Shit, what do you want--to be the next one in the morgue?” I screeched at him. “She’s worth the risk. Anyway, I left instruction with my family that you will handle everything if I meet my end in Brazil,” he informed me. I immediately silently said a prayer, “Oh God, please take care of Felix because if you take him, he’ll soon be floating in the bay with all the dog shit.”
Rather than keep that piece of information between me and God, I decided to share it with Felix. “Hey buddy, you know I’m not real good with details, don’t you?” He nodded his head in the affirmative. “Good, we agree on that. Now why in God’s name would you place the care of your earthly remains in my hands? Are you nuts or something?” He just stared at me with a blank look on his face. That’s when I feared that the Cialis was going to kill him. “Okay buddy, this is what’s going to happen to you if you die on my watch. Remember that dog shit floating in the bay? Well, you’re going to be floating right along side of it if you die on me. Imagine the diseases you’ll pick up out there,” was my coup de gras that snapped him back to reality. Quickly the blank look disappeared from his face as he was calculating how many bacteria would invade his body. He’s crazy isn’t he? Just think about it for a minute; he’s now worried about the potential diseases his “dead body” can catch. In response to the old saw, “They broke the mold when they made Felix,” I can only say, “Thank you God for small favors”.
Within minutes the hot babe was sending signals to Felix. As the signals intensified, he got a little excited and that bulge reappeared in his bathing suit. “Hey Felix, calm down you’re sprouting wood if you know what I mean. My comments had no affect upon him as he started to verbalize his desires. “Christ Felix, you don’t even know how much she wants and you’re all excited,” I whispered to him. “I know what she wants; she gave me two fingers and that means two hundred reais. I think I’ll take her,” he told me as if I were a newbie.
“Are you sure she means reais?” I asked. “Of course she does, we’re in Brazil for Christ’s sake.” “Hey Felix, if I were you, I wouldn’t take the Lords name in vain; that’s not right.” “Jag, what the fuck are you talking about? You put the words God and Fuck together when you say prayers, so don’t throw stones at me.” “How do you know about that?” “Because you put it in one of your stupid reports,” he replied. “I did?” “Jag, you’re a real piece of work.” “Where were we? Oh yeah, but I got an in with the Big Guy and have total dispensation for all my actions,” I confidently replied. “Oh you do; tell me about it,” Felix said in a taunting tone of voice.
“You have to look at it this way; I’ve had several horrible accidents that normally kill people, right?” “Yeah.” “I’ve also gotten myself into many situations that are so life threatening people rarely survive them, right?” “Yep.” “And the bottom line is I’m still here, so He must want to keep me around for entertainment purposes,” was my cogent argument. “In other words, does that mean you’re God’s clown?” he said with a shit eating grin on his face. “Felix, you know how much I hate clowns. That was a cruel remark and God’s going to make you pay for it.” “Yeah, I’d like to see that happen,” Felix replied. “Don’t worry you will.”
Rather than being concerned about what God would do to him, Felix went right back to signaling the hot babe. As he was distracted, I silently said a prayer: “Dear God, please don’t hurt Felix, but figure out some way to fuck-up his day. Will you do that for me? PS—Whatever you do, don’t take him while he’s here in Rio. It would fuck-up my vacation. Oops, sorry about the bad language”
Several minutes later the hot babe walked over to Felix and they started talking. At the exact same time, MBL strolled onto the beach and caught Felix chatting with the hot babe. She gave him a harsh look then sat down in the chair Fernando had reserved for her. When she saw the three cell phones lined up on a conga, she burst out laughing. “What this for? She asked. “It’s my communications center,” I proudly replied. Fernando heard her laugh so he came over to get some entertainment. When MBL told him about Bob’s death, Fernando showed sincere concern. That is until she erroneously told him that I was exiled to the beach to run a fictitious Mobile Command Center. When he heard that he busted a gut.
MBL then told me that she was hungry and wanted something to eat. “God damn it, you just got to the beach and now you want lunch?” I asked her. “Si,” was her one word response. “If you want lunch, here’s R$20.Go to Meia Pataca and grab a sandwich,” was all I needed to say to get her moving. As soon as she left, Fernando came over again to console us because of Bob’s passing. He was deeply touched. Felix was still talking to the hot babe so I had to handle Fernando all alone. Outsmarting him should be “a piece of cake,” after all, what could possibly go wrong?
Fernando explained with hand signals (he really needs to learn English) that he planned to go to church later in the day and would say some prayers for Bob and light some candles. How nice! “How much is this going to cost me?” I asked as I rubbed my fingers together in that universal sign for money. Both hands went up with fingers extended signifying R$10 would cover everything.
That sounded reasonable to me till Fernando explained that he needed another R$10 for taxi fare to church. “Okay Fernando, here’s R$20, but make sure you spend it at the church.” “Si,” was his one word response as he disappeared down the beach. A half hour later when Bubble Lips returned, I asked if she saw anyone we knew over at Meia Patacas. “Only Fernando, eating a big lunch!”
When I got a stupid look on my face, she knew something was up so she asked, “James, you talk with Fernando after I leave? I tell you no talk with Fernando.” “Of course not,” I replied. “You lie. How much money you give him?” “I think I gave him R$20.” I replied as I waited for her to unleash her verbal fury upon me. “What tax this time, chuva?” No, this wasn’t a “chuva tax” or his usual “Arrival and Departure tax” for that matter. This was for Fernando to go to church to pray for Bob,” was my honest reply. “Oh yeah, he was going to light some candles too,” I added. She just shook her head and mumbled something under her breath and then said, “I keep my eye on you.” She leaned closer to me and whispered, “Once you pay Fernando a “Sun tax,” you know that?” “I did?” “I keep my eye on you real good.” So that’s what the “Sol” tax meant! Thank God I only paid that twice.
Suddenly an argument breaks out between Felix and a hot babe. She gets up and leaves in a huff and Felix just sits there all pissed off. Only because I have a deep concern for Felix's fragile feelings do I ask, "How in God's name did you fuck-up that deal?" He glared at me and mumbled, "She wanted $200 for one hour." "Dollars?" "Yeah, dollars." Thank you God!
Hot Babe
You have to understand that Felix is sitting next to me fully medicated, pouting like a little school kid and rapidly slipping into a mini depression. Yup, that's the kind of a depression that goes best with beer. I shout out, "Hey Fernando, bring me three skols," but then I realized that the bastard is still eating lunch. We walk up to the kiosk on the sidewalk and I splurge for the three beers. "Here Felix, drink this down quickly so I can buy you another one." "Why?" "Because you've got a two beer depression and you’re sporting wood in your bathing suit; two beers should do the trick," I say as confidently as a doctor writing a prescription.
After Felix has consumed his first beer, I hand him the second and we walk back to our chairs only to find Fernando chatting with Miss Bubble Lips. The bastards lounging in my chair and suddenly he's sporting a huge gut. I have MBL ask him in Portuguese, "When is the baby due," as I point to his stomach. He launches into a long-winded explanation that seemed much longer because it was in Portuguese, which MBL thankfully edited down to two sentences. It sort of went like this: Fernando was upset about Bob's death and went for a long walk on the beach. He found some Reais as he was walking and bought some lunch before he went to church later today. She then added, "Fernando feel bad for person who lose money." Strangely, she was looking right at me when she said that; I wonder why?
"Get out of my fucking chair, Fernando, and get back to work," I shouted at him as I plopped down on my lousy fucking aluminum chair. "Oh God, I miss those crappy white plastic chaise lounges. Can you get me one?" I silently muttered to myself, knowing full well that the Rio Othon hotel had banned them from the beach and it was an impossible task. Oh well, I can dream can't I!
Bubble Lips is sitting on my left side doing one of her fucking crossword puzzles and Felix is to my right rescheduling his whole afternoon because of his recent debacle. Once again, Felix is telling me all of the possibilities right down to the very minute. Suddenly out of nowhere, that fucking vicious clown comes strolling down the sidewalk strumming his guitar. He stops points at me and smiles. It's one of those horrible clown smiles! Bubble Lips does the unthinkable -- she waves at him. He immediately runs towards me and I take off like a "bat out of Hell." As I'm flying down the beach, I turn and see Felix standing there toe to toe with the clown. This doesn't look good! After all, Felix is fully medicated with cialis and I'm afraid he might try to fuck the clown.
As I'm standing there somebody asks me, "What’s the problem?" "Nothing, I just don't like clowns," I tell him as he starts to laugh. "Did you know that's the second most common phobia?" he informs me. "How'd you know that? Are you a professional or something like that?" I ask. "Yeah, I'm a psychiatrist." "Okay, if being afraid of clowns is the second, what's the most common phobia?" Without missing a beat he said, "Fear of flying." "If that's the case, do you laugh at people who are afraid to fly?" "No, of course not." "Do you laugh the people who are afraid of clowns like me?" "Yep!" "Why?" "Because it's funny!" "Fuck you Doc."
Apparently, I was missing a lot of drama by talking to the crazy shrink. When I looked over, I saw Felix kicking sand on the clown like a Major-League Manager does to an Umpire. The clowns black-and-white striped long stockings were so full of sand that they were down around his ankles. That must have him really pissed off because he took off his orange wig and started making gestures across his throat. At first I didn't understand what he was signaling, and then I remembered that Tigger gave me the same gesture as he shouted out my nickname "Morte."
Sure enough, within seconds the clown gave Felix the exact same nickname -- Morte. Bubble Lips is standing there laughing uncontrollably while Fernando is interceding on our behalf. After all, we represent a majority of his daily revenue stream, so he doesn't want to watch that opportunity go down the drain too fast. The only way this scene could have been more comical was if Felix was wearing the number 24 jersey. Somehow I'll have to remedy that.
After a few more minutes, Fernando was able to escort the ferocious clown over to a group of favella rats lounging around under the palm trees. As I cautiously approach the chairs, keeping my eye on the clown the whole time, I hear Felix screaming at someone, but whom? Oh no, now he's turned his wrath on Bubble Lips and from the way she's acting and standing, Felix might lose this fight. Never in my life have I seen such a brutal verbal battle between two people. If only Cops had been there to film it, their ratings would have gone through the roof.
Calmly, I sat down on my chair and tried to call Don again only to hear that ubiquitous "click," which means that there's too much interference. MBL and Felix were still going at it till Felix said, "I'm never going to talk to you again." Bubble Lips gave him the finger and sat down brooding over what just happened. Felix turned and started to retell the entire clown fight, going into infinitesimal detail.
Coincidentally, as I looked over at the clown standing with the favella rats, he was doing the exact same thing -- reliving his fight with the crazy gringo. Maybe I shouldn't be afraid of this clown; he appears to be Felix's identical twin brother. MBL grabs me and tells me not to talk with Felix. I tell her, "that's impossible, Felix never shuts up." "I no talk to him anymore," she proudly states. You know what? Neither of them talked to each other for the next two hours and I had a wonderful time. Thank you God.
At around four o'clock, Felix decided to leave the beach. "Hey Felix, you've got quite a sunburn there. Why don't you wear my jersey to protect your arms," I suggested. "Okay." As he was putting on the fairy shirt, I added, "Why don't you stop by Don's office to let them know I'm still at the beach. One more thing, stop at the pastry shop to buy some dessert. We're still on for dinner, aren't we? Oh God, thank you again!
