Was The Price You Paid Worth It?

“Dying is An Art.”

What’s in a death? That which we call a death By any other name would still be a death;

Part One is “Chaws” The Beat Poet by Charles Roast; Part Two is The Performance Artist by Holly Jahangiri; Part Three is Poetic Moments in the Betrayal of “Chaws”, by Charles Roast; Part Four is Hey, Electrical Banana, Stay Down by Holly Jahangiri. Part Five is When the Bum Sings, by Charles Roast. Part Six is Voyeur by Holly Jahangiri. This is Part Seven.

Cap signaled to me they were here. I had expected Nicci to return soon after her first “stunt” of what she calls “performance art.” Knowing her and “Alice the Monkey Brains Eater” as well as I do, I knew they couldn’t stop.

I wasn’t disappointed. A few days later, Cap called me and said Nicci’s girlfriend, “Alice the Ignorant” had scheduled a performance for tonight. Another one of those trashy “performance art” acts, no doubt.

Everything I taught her about performing, poetry, art and she goes for cheap and easy thrills. Unfortunately, it works. Crowds love that type of thing. Not for the “art” like she thinks, but for the person or thing that is usually the target of said “art.”

No doubt who the target will be tonight. Pretty sure she can’t stop thinking of me. Pretty sure “Shallow Alice” and the “Dad-Bod Dudes” are working hard to take me down a peg. . . or three. Well, that’s fine by me. I’m not the love struck puppy I was years ago. I may still love her, but I know what she is capable of, especially with the “Almost Dead Crew” working with her.

I’m not the only one who has changed. I have seen some of her latest stuff, and it can be brutal. My guess is “Alice the Sociopathic Serial Killer” is behind most of the take-downs. Nicci’s conscience is too strong to initiate the destruction of an artist. But not so strong she won’t play along and enjoy it. Let her come. Payback is a bitch. I’m not so bad at performance art myself.

At 10 pm precisely, the lights go down. This is Nicci. She wouldn’t walk on stage unless the lights went down. Frantic footsteps indicate to me that Jimmy and Steve are helping her on stage and placing her on her mark. A few seconds later, lights flashed on the stage.

She was alone on stage, dressed like a, well, a cell phone. I groaned. My God, she had fallen. Her desperation was almost more than I could bear. I couldn’t keep the pained look off my face.

After a few seconds, a video started playing on the plexiglass square that served as the cell phone screen. I pretended to relax and sat back in my chair. I knew this wouldn’t take long. Nicci believed short, concise performances had the most impact. She was right, as she would soon find out.

The screen played a video of me whipping out my dick and peeing on the wall next to Willy, then handing him a few bucks. I thought I looked pretty damned good, but was mortified that she let Willy be brought into our shit show. Alice. It had to be Alice. That bitch knew exactly what would get my panties in a wad.

I looked over at “Alice the Terminator” who was leaning against the bar, nursing a Tom Collins. She was staring at me with a fierceness I haven’t seen on her before, even when we were together and she used to beat the shit outta me. That was before me and Nicci hooked up. Alice tried to kill me when I broke up with her to start seeing Nicci, who I met at one of my performance classes.

Nicci asked about the bruises. I told her I was mugged, which was almost true. In reality, when a woman is kicking your ass and you live in California, you don’t fight back.

Alice would never have told Nicci about us because Nicci wouldn’t have allowed herself to get involved with an ex of mine. I didn’t tell Nicci about Alice. She threatened to hurt Willy if did. I had to choose: my brother or my ex. I chose blood relative. And I figured Nicci would figure it out on her own soon enough and could handle Alice way better than I could.

Alice is one fucked up psycho chick even I won’t mess with. . . which is why I didn’t fight Alice over Nicci. It probably saved both our lives. Until now, that is.

I looked back up at the stage. And saw the end of Alice eating the banana, then laughing over a sleeping Nicci. Shit. Alice was starting her freaky shit with Nicci. Nicci thinks she’s strong, but she has no idea what Alice is capable of.

After Nicci’s “performance”, she runs off the stage and out the back door with Jimmy. Probably making their fast getaway in Jimmy’s 2010 Prius.

The crowd was on their feet, roaring, clapping, snapping fingers on both hands, and NOT looking at me. Nope. Only two people in the bar watching me. Steve and “Alice the Ass.” My coeds, though not cheering like the rest of the crowd, couldn’t look at me.

I guess now was as good a time as any. I signaled Cap, and the whole place went dark. Darker than it had ever been. Before the show tonight, I had made sure to cover any ambient light sources and had painted fluorescent dots on the floor to guide me to the stage.

Fortunately, Steve and I get along, and he knows about me and Alice, and what she is capable of. He gave me a heads up on tonight’s “performance.” He can’t stand to see Nicci with Alice any more than I can.

While people were still noisy and unsettled from the darkness, I made my way to the stage. I had exactly 15 seconds to get into place. Once there, I waited the few seconds I had left and took a deep breath, centering myself for the final moments of my Illustrious career.

One spotlight came up slowly behind me, hitting me in the back and casting my face in shadow. More lights soon came up, aimed directly at the audience, blinding them slightly.

I pulled a wireless mic headset from my pocket. I turned it on and purposely created a screeching feedback for a moment, then placed it on my head to free my hands. The audience flinched and covered their ears. I could see their faces, but they couldn’t see mine. I started,

“Cinquain Simply complex One word to express much Stabbing in the back with war words Kill me”

The crowd quieted. I don’t think they expected me to react so peacefully.

I waited in patient silence until I had the crowd back in my control. Every one watched me in their own silence. Even “Alice the T-Rex” was watching, her silly umbrella drink forgotten in her hand while she watched the man on stage whom she thought she had broken. Instead, he was mesmerizing the crowd.

I turned to “Alice the Cucaracha” and stared my most intensive stare into her eyes without looking away. Alice stared back, but couldn’t hold my gaze. She was stunned at the reversal. In glory days past, it was I who could never hold her gaze. Now, she held no coin on me.

I continued staring at her until everyone in the audience turned to see what I was looking at. Steve, my good and loyal friend, tapped “Alice the Split Tongued Demon” and pointed towards the crowd. When she saw she was the center of attention, she got fired up and threw her drink at me, striking me in the forehead and drawing blood. I had warned Ol’ Cap in advance not to react to anything “Alice the Malice” did. You could see he was barely holding back.

The crowd hushed, I turned towards them and again spoke, my deep baritone steady and filled with confidence,

“a lover turned back, into the demon she is Alice threw the glass Through the Looking Glass she went Chasing her past down the hole”

Blood dripping down my face, I reached down and unzipped my pants, reached in to the zipper, and froze,

“Tick tock tick tock, they want to see my cock-a-do: and cock they will see”

I pulled out a giant yellow cock-looking dildo as if it were my own cock. Gasps filled the crowd. I looked again at “Ugly Alice,” who was NOT happy. I was turning their “win” into a Pyrrhic victory.

I stood over the remnants of that silly cell phone costume with the fake cock sticking out of my pants like the real thing, holding it in my hand. I made sure the entire crowd could see it. Several women and a few men were holding their hands over their mouths, trying to contain their laughter. Others were just guffawing out loud. The crowd was mine once again.

Squeezing the bladder hidden in the dildo with my hand, a stream of watered down lighter fluid burst forth out of the tip. I lit the stream with a Zippo. I was now pissing fire all over the cell phone costume and, by implication, Nicci’s performance.

When the stream ended, “my” coed came over with a small extinguisher and put out the fire, then put a fire proof blanket over the remnants. Ol’ Cap had left the front and back doors open and turned on the a/c to keep the room cleared of smoke and the fire alarms from being activated.

“My” coed came to me with that hungry look in her eyes, knowing her “Chaws” had snatched victory from the jaws of defeat.

She knelt in front of me and grasped the large dildo with one hand, the upstage hand, so the audience could see what was coming next. I know what they thought was coming next, but they couldn’t have been more wrong.

With one hand holding the cock, still sticking out of my pants, she puts her other hand on my ass and squeezes. She then takes something out of my back pocket. It’s too small to see from the audience.

After a moment of activity near the tip of the fake cock, she stands, kisses me, and backs off. The crowd groans in disappointment.

I glance at “Apoplectic Alice” who right now is losing her shit over by the bar and struggling with Steve and Ol’ Cap. Unsurprisingly, Steve and Ol’ Cap seem to be getting the worst of it.

I ignore the ruckus and focus back on the crowd.

Time, now, for the “artist statement” Nicci loves so well. It’s too bad she’s not here to see her future destroyed on the very same day my status is forever deified. Long after I’m gone, people will be saying my name when they think of Great Performances at the Jail Bar. Hell, Ol’ Cap even promised to name a drink after me if I pulled this off.

But I was ready to leave this place. I was taking Willy back home so Mom and I could take care of him and, hopefully, bring him back to life. Today was as good of a day as any. And what an exit!

I glance over at Willy, whom I cleaned up and dressed in black, so he could see my final, glorious moment on stage. No one recognized a cleaned up Little Willy. He smiled his gorgeous, innocent, child-like smile at me. Even over the noise of the crowd, I could hear his little cackling laugh.

Now was the time. Raising the lighter in my left hand, the crowd quieted, eager for more. I lit the flame and lowered it until it was near the tip of the co-star of my show, the giant yellow cock-shaped dildo. The men involuntarily flinched. The women leaned forward.

I lit the fuse of the tiny lady-finger firecracker my beautiful young coed had placed in the tip. I had practiced the timing several times before tonight.

As the fuse lit, I dropped the lighter, held up my left hand, and used my right hand to make a cranking motion. Slowly, the middle finger of my left hand raised until it was sticking straight up at the crowd. I turned slowly until I was facing “Alice the Loser,” who was now just standing there. Steve and Cap laying on the floor nearby, slowly trying to get up.

I had to time this perfectly. This was the end.

It was the end of my time here at the Jail; it was the end of my misplaced love for Nicci; it was the end of living in fear of Alice; it was the end of my little brother living on the streets; and, most importantly, it was the end of “Chaws.”

It was time. I shouted, “Fuck performance art!”

I closed my eyes. The firecracker blew right on cue, sending yellow shards of rubber cock all over the audience.

But something was wrong. I felt a searing pain in my chest, just to the left of my sternum. Was I having a heart attack? Did a piece of rubber yellow cock-dildo embed in my chest? Was I going to die from an exploding dildo?

I look down and move my hand away from where it automatically grasped at the pain. I notice blood soaking my shirt at an alarming rate. The audience, at first stunned, began to cheer even louder, thinking this was part of the show.

As I crumbled to my knees, I looked over at Willy, who was fighting the crowd to get to me. I looked over at Alice, who was pointing a gun at me. Steve was getting off the floor and racing towards Alice, who fired once more before being tackled by Steve and hit over the head by Ol’ Cap holding “Lucille” his Louisville Slugger. He hit her again.

All I could think of was, “What a way to go! On stage, my final performance, with half of a blown up yellow cock dildo hanging out of my pants. What’ll Mom think?”

All of this came to me clearly as the pain and blood loss washed over me, and just before Alice’s second shot struck me in the head and killed me.

My many and heartfelt thanks to Holly Jahangiri, without who’s suggestion of collaboration this event would not have happened. Through her work, I have learned what great writing and creativity look like, and how far I have to go, and how far I have come. I hope you have enjoyed our repartee and back and forth. I took this opportunity to write outside my comfort zone as the good Doc suggested, and it was fun and worth it. Holly made it look easy, and I worked my ass off to try and keep up. However, it is with great sadness that the saga of “Chaws the Beat Poet” must end. Due to time constraints, I can no longer keep up with this story. My apologies to Holly Jahangiri, because I just KNOW she would have kicked my ass in her next part. Sylvia Plath gets the credit for the title. Oh, and my apologies to my friend, Bill Shakespeare, for massacring his line from Romeo and Juliet.

Chuck Roast is a humorist (“humourist” for those of you who like the “incorrect” spelling)for the publication Illumination, a Top Writer in Satire and Humor, and owner/editor/writer of his own Publication, Dad-Bods, which is currently sitting idle while he develops his social media skills and gains more exposure through manipulation of said social media. Here are the links to his accounts, LinkedIn, Twitter. Comments are always appreciated. Thanks for reading. Write On!