“Look at fucking Bernice. You’re a fucking wizard at video games, aren’t you, Bernice?”
Mickey stood next to Bernie as he played a video game and nervously stared straight ahead at the screen. One of the rockets got hit by fire and ended the game. Bernie and his friend Saul tried to step away from the group that surrounded them but was unable to move. Judas Priest blared through out the game room, which was full of teenage boys playing video games. Mickey flicked Bernie behind the ear and then poked the Chicago Cubs logo on his baseball shirt.
“Bernice… It’s fucking winter. Don’t wear fucking white painter’s pants and a Cubs shirt when it’s snowing outside. You know what? You and your fucking girlfriend come outside for a moment.”
“We’re not leaving, Mickey,” said Bernie.
Martha, who was hanging on Mickey’s shoulder, laughed and weakly tried to persuade Mickey to just leave the two smaller boys alone. She was enjoying the hazing. Bullying is always a bit more funny when one is high and in a group of three or more. Mickey and Martha were there with two friends Mathew and Mark. In fact Mathew and Mark were sort of disciples of Mickey. Mickey was the captain of the hockey team and his father was the coach. Mickey’s father had a job lined up for Mickey, driving a beer truck just as soon as he graduated from high school.
Mickey, Martha and the disciples had just come from Mark’s basement where they took turns toking on a bong, listening to Rush. They all became famished and went to eat hot dogs and cheese fries at a Greek fast food restaurant. Mickey noticed Bernie and Saul through the window of the game room next door and decided that they would torment the two Jewish boys because they were Jewish, nerdy, small, timid and rich.
“Them fucking Jews run the world. It’s a conspiracy. You show me one poor Jew. Bankers, lawyers, doctors, jewelers. The name Jew is in Jewelry. The old Jew who owns the liquor distribution company my old man works for, never leaves Miami. He gets a big fat check each month and guys like my old man, run around making him rich.”
Mickey heard his father’s anti-Semitic rants over the years from his recliner, wearing a tank top, holding a beer after work from the time he could retain what he was hearing until he grew up and moved out of the house. Mickey grew up believing kids like Bernie and Saul were privileged and for that reason, teasing, bullying and terrorizing Jewish kids, was warranted.
“You two kikes strip down to your fucking underwear. Leave that Cubs shirt over here next to those pants and you two Woody Allen looking motherfuckers… Now get the fuck out of my site or I’ll tell the Nazis you were here.”
Bernie and Saul stripped down to their underwear and ran across the parking lot in their boots and white underwear and disappeared into the night. Mickey went back to Martha’s house and had sex with her three times after getting high again while her parents obliviously slept. Life in 1982 was great for Mickey and Martha.
Oh, Mickey, what a pity You don’t understand You take me by the heart When you take me by the hand Oh, Mickey, you’re so pretty Can’t you understand It’s guys like you, Mickey Oh, what you do, Mickey, do, Mickey Don’t break my heart, Mickey
Hey, Mickey
Bernard showed up at the door of a dilapidated home with weeds knee high in the front yard. He pounded loudly on the door of the home with his bodyguard standing beside him. Mickey answered the door in a stained white T-shirt that read Pabst Blue Ribbon. He came to the door in a pair of underwear with rust stains near the side to where his cock pulled towards. Mickey strained to adjust his eyes to the sunlight as he looked at two unfamiliar men who stood with suits on at the front steps.
“Hiya, Mick… you mind if I come in? You really shouldn’t mind because I just purchased this fucking palace for back taxes. It’s my home now and you and your family are now squatters.”
Mickey, who had been hounded by creditors regularly, tried to slam the door on Bernard and his large bald man. Bernard’s bodyguard stopped the door from closing. The two men forced their way into the living room and sat down on the couch.
“Let see, Mick. You got laid off as an assistant deliveryman due to the fact that you lost your license for drunk driving, correct? Look at this fucking hillbilly palace… you probably got live coons living under the couches here, feeding on pizza crust that fell between the cushions. Let me guess… You married the beautiful Martha and spawned these inbred looking monsters I see wandering from room to room here. They’re probably smoking your weed and watching goats fuck blond chicks on the internet while jacking off while you catch up on sleep on this here couch that smells like something the cat wouldn’t dare piss on. It has been many years, Mick. I’m in the driver’s seat now, you pathetic piece of shit… You probably never knew this back in high school but karma has no expiration date. Now, I need to know when you’re moving or paying me rent. I don’t care if you don’t have a job. I own a Subway franchise. You will work arm and arm with the Indians I have making more sandwiches in a day than you could shake a fucking stick at… Practice asking if they want mustard on their sandwich. You will fucking pay me rent or my associate here who is a war criminal from the Yugoslav War, will make your life less worth living than it currently is. Now, if you decide you will not carry your end of the bargain, life will get a whole lot worse for you than it is now… Oh and the rent just went up. You can thank the president for that one. Yes we can raise the rent. Yes we can put your ass on the street. Yes we can force you outside in your nut stained underwear if you’re not really fucking careful. You thought you hated Jews back in the day? Well now you really got a reason, my friend.”
Martha came into the room smoking a cigarette, with a T-shirt that said, “I’m sexy and I know it.” Her breasts were at half-mast and it appeared as though her ass had deflated. In a husky smoker’s voice, she smiled, cleared her throat and calmly posed a question to Bernard.
“Bernice… Can’t we somehow work this whole thing out?”
At a well to-do nightclub in downtown Chicago near the large hotels that house conventioneers and businessman, Mickey dressed in black pants, white shirt and bow tie. Mickey’s job was to hand paper towels to patrons in the men’s bathroom that had just relieved themselves before returning back to dance and drink. A large patron among some very large people in these United States sat with his pants around his ankles in a stall and called out for help, unable to help himself up as he gasped for air and sweated profusely. Mickey caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror helping the morbidly obese Jewish man with a yarmulke on his head, pull up his pants. Mickey was nauseated by the fresh scent of shit that had not been flushed away into the abyss. Mickey could almost taste the breath of the large man who was sweating and panting as they both struggled to pull the man’s pants up and help him to his feet. The winded man asked Mickey his name as he stuffed a one-dollar bill into his shirt pocket condescendingly.
The obese man then recalled the old 1980′s syrupy; bubble gum hit by a woman named Toni Basil and began to serenade Mickey.
Hey, Mickey
Now when you take me by the hooves Who’s ever gonna know And every time you move I let a little more show, There’s something you can use so don’t say no, Mickey
