I saw blood and it freaked me out, blood on my pants, on my butt. Dark as it was, I could see it all perfectly well. It was probably a splinter from my stool, a rickety wooden stool now busted to bits on account of my substantial bulk. Yes, a splinter probably penetrated my pants, tearing my soft skin. My skin I must tell you is extraordinarily soft. It's been praised (by girlfriends, referring usually to my buttocks) for its silky texture. I believe I never suffered, ever, a pimple or a boil or any kind of pustular irritation on any part of my body. So, at least in one modest way I am blessed: I am not a pimply bastard. Joy, I remember, was especially fond of my silky-textured skin. Sometimes I would wake up flat on my belly, feeling Joy's fat paws on my buttocks. But now I was bleeding all over my pants.
A guy came to my assistance--I believe it was our doorman--and gave me a towel or rag to wipe off my blood, saying, "Take it, mister. Take it, you're bleeding." I took it. No point in arguing. "I apologize. We are getting better stools. I am sorry. My name is Woo. Do you remember me? I let you in. I will be glad to be of any assistance. My name is Woo. I am sorry."
I said, "Please stop repeating yourself."
"I beg your forgiveness," said Woo.
"I forgive you," I said.
"I am your devoted servant," said Woo. "Now try to get up."
I was beginning to suspect Woo was a robot. "I already am up," I said. "You may go now."
"I remain your devoted servant," said Woo, walking away, grinning, and adding, "Now sit back and enjoy our merry spectacle. It is a guffaw a minute, I promise you."
A robot or a lunatic. I sat down, making sure my new stool was sturdy. It was all dark again, and a faint piping tune came on, like circus music but very soft, soft at first but growing louder, louder, louder, till it became unbearable and I cupped my ears. It stopped, and I was relieved, but it came back a second later and I cupped my ears again. Again it stopped, now for good, and I saw a man in a brown and black and red uniform: a Nazi it was, goose-stepping to center-stage, followed by a fellow Nazi, followed by one more, followed by at least ten more uniformed Nazis, all singing some German-sounding song and forming a circle. Next I saw a spook, I mean someone draped in a yellow blanket, carrying a big jar, a jar containing some sort of blob floating in a piss-colored liquid. It looked like a tennis ball, no, more like a turd. It was brown. Yellow Spook was twirling and grunting, and Ironic Nazis were running in all directions like a pack of spooked geese. Well. I'd seen worse crap in my day. Joy, for example, used to take me to modern dance performances and performance art performances. Godawful. Let me tell you, if you want to be bored out of your skull, or if you need to cure your insomnia, or if you feel like you need to spit in someone's face, or if you want to feel like life is meaningless, or if you simply need to puke, go to a modern dance performance or a performance art performance.
Ironic Nazis were all supine now, twisting like worms. Yellow Spook was jumping up and down and making fart noises and Turd-in-Piss-in-Jar was bobbing like crazy.
Ironic Nazis (still floored): "All applaud our cloaked and elemental one-and-all!"
Yellow Spook (still jumping): "Rumpitty dumpitty dump! Rumpitty dumpitty dump!"
Ironic Nazis: "All extol our elemental queen, our detrimental, ornamental boogie woman!"
Yellow Spook: "Rumpitty dump! Rumpitty dump!"
Ironic Nazis (slowly rising): "All salute our one, our only, our devil-girl and autumnal pet!"
Yellow Spook (bending down, lying down): "Zappa Rappa! Rappa Zappa! Do you love me, Nazis?"
Ironic Nazis: "We! Love! You! We! Love! You!"
Yellow Spook: "But do you love me true?"
Ironic Nazis: "Love! You! True! Love! You! True!"
Yellow Spook: "But do you mean it? Can you mean it? Ever and forever?"
Ironic Nazis: "We'll love you till your eyes begin to pop! We'll love you till you bloat and blow your top!"
Yellow Spook: "O officers! O officers! O captains, colonels, generals! Plow away! I am in an orgiastic mood!"
Ironic Nazis (goose-stepping around Yellow Spook): "We love you true! We promise you prosperity and imbecility!"
Yellow Spook (rising, rising): "A nickel! A pickle!"
Ironic Nazis (squatting): "So true! Devastatingly profound!"
Yellow Spook: "O captains, O generals, O you clever, clever officers, ironic you are, and every word you utter comes out floating in a bubble of disbelief, yes, every word in scare quotes, every word as false as an ice-cold potato, as false, if you'll forgive my mixture of similes, as a turd in a jar of piss. O simple soldiers in your simple cleverness, I for one do not believe a single word you're saying!"
Suddenly, a violet velvet curtain fell and all was quiet, and we were dazzled by a million blinding fluorescent bulbs. About a minute passed in complete silence. A dog barked, growled, barked again, yowled, barked again, yelped. A minute of silence, followed by distant, muffled gunfire. And now it was dark again and after one more minute of silence and darkness a soft violet glow came on and Woo emerged on center-stage in a violet kimono, standing legs apart, arms akimbo, and proceeded to disrobe, sexily, like a stripteaser. Ironic Nazis, stage left, were purring. Yellow Spook was standing stock-still next to Woo.
Woo, it turned out, was also a Nazi officer.
Ironic Nazis: "O Woo, General Woo, Your Reverence, any news from Palestine? Is it liberated or liberating?"
Nazi-Woo (waving a Luger, pointing it at Ironic Nazis): "Fools! Be quiet and listen to my story about Ferdinand and Isabel, King and Queen of Spain, respectively. Once upon a time, anno domini 1492, King Ferdinand got out of bed--it was past noon--and said to Queen Isabel: 'Wife, I am starving. Bake me a potato if you please.' Queen Isabel, flabbergasted, replied: 'Fuck you, Ferdinand! Bake your own fucking potato!' 'I'm too busy,' said King Ferdinand. 'I must conquer Granada by six o'clock post meridiem.' 'Okay,' said Queen Isabel, 'I'll bake your potato, but you must promise to discover America first.' 'Consider it done,' said King Ferdinand. 'America after all is but a continent, but a potato is a potato.' "
Ironic Nazis: "Jolly good one, General! Extraordinarily funny!"
Yellow Spook: "Woof! Woof! Wow!"
And so it continued. Nazi-Woo continued babbling about Ferdinand and Isabel busy baking potatoes and conquering Granada and discovering America and expelling and converting all of Spain's Jews and Moors; and Ironic Nazis continued eating it up, and Yellow Spook continued barking and twirling. I decided, since it wasn't dark anymore, to take a look at my program, Zelda's picture especially. But before I could get a good look, someone a few rows in front of me turned around and said, "Psst, Louis, psst!" It was Bob, by Jove, Zelda's coke dealer. Or was it? But before I could reply, Bob, if it was in fact Bob--I wasn't yet sure--got up and jumped onstage. Nazi-Woo still babbling about Ferdinand and Isabel, was taken by surprise. Bob--yes, it was in fact Bob--tried to seize Nazi-Woo's Luger, but failed. Nazi-Woo would simply not let go. Ironic Nazis were in disarray, some running amuck, some trying to separate Bob from Nazi-Woo, wrestling men inextricably intertwined. Yellow Spook was oblivious to all of it and continued to bark and twirl. I decided it was time to act. I got up and jumped onstage myself, goddammit. I figured I would assist Bob, grab Nazi-Woo's gun, and get some answers. But as I was getting onstage, I tripped on a piece of stage equipment, a lamp or a projector of some sort, and I went flying, flying. I knocked down Yellow Spook. "Sorry," I said. Yellow Spook's jar went flying. It struck a fluorescent bulb and burst into a million pieces, and a ZANAZ poster at stage-left was struck by a turd and it was raining piss. Everyone froze and I said I was sorry again.
Nazi-Woo was standing over Bob and saying, finger on trigger, "Don't fucking move or I'll blast your face clean off."
"Please don't," I said. "Bob's a friend. We're all friends. We just want to find--"
"Will you be quiet?" said Nazi-Woo. "Or do you also want my Luger's lead in you?"
I turned to see if Ironic Nazis would talk Nazi-Woo out of it, and as I turned I saw Bob's friend Dan, Zelda's ex, squatting and trembling at stage-left, under an exit sign. I was trembling too. It looked like trigger-curious Nazi-Woo was going to kill Bob. I would be next of course. I looked around again. Yellow Spook was gone. Some Ironic Nazis were egging Nazi-Woo on: "Do it, General! Do it, do it, do it, do it! Kill! Kill! Kill!" Some were simply stunned. Some were asking Woo to stop, saying it wasn't funny anymore. If so, I concluded, it was for real, not just a joke. Bob was going to die, and I was next. I began to cry. Bob I must say was taking it all pretty calmly.
Nazi-Woo (pressing Luger barrel to Bob's temple): "Any last words before you die, friend?"
Bob (calm as you please): "Yes. If you kill me, friend, my friends will kill you and all your Nazi friends."
Nazi-Woo (guffawing like a madman): "Wanka wanka wanka! You ain't got no friends, friend. Now say your prayers, or crap yourself for all I care, because my Luger's trigger doesn't like not being pulled, not being squeezed, not being pulled and squeezed and tickled to tears. My Luger's trigger, if you'll forgive my analogy, is a wonderful and anxious clitoris."
