EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK:

MOST PEOPLE TALK BULLSHIT - One Primate's Search For Intelligent Life

Shortage of Women – A Recipe For Violence

      Son of a bitch but I am drunk.

I must be drunk, because I am confused as to how and when I got here. Being this inebriated is not confusing in of itself. I have a sense that these days I am drinking more than usual. I have been stressed I’m sure, though at the moment, I can’t seem to recall what has been stressing me.

Nonetheless, I am here and I am drunk and I have another pitcher of beer in front of me and it is half empty.

My thoughts are clouded as I try hard to think.

“Yes, I am one drunk motherfucker.”

Shit, I don’t recall ordering this pitcher or drinking any of it.

I lick my lips and there is the familiar taste and feel of wet beer all around my mouth.

I notice a few other beer glasses on the little round bar table I am sitting at. They are mostly empty.

“Where am I?”

I look around to get my bearings. The room is a jumble of faded red and blue neon and twilight.

There are mostly men and a few women rambling about the room. Some of them are dancing on or near the dance floor. The jukebox is playing a Lynyrd Skynyrd song. I think it is ‘Free Bird’, although I am not certain.

My head hurts. I have trouble breathing. It is smoky as hell throughout the bar.

A waitress comes over with another pitcher of beer and places it on the table.

She is beautiful. She looks like a stripper dressed to serve beer on the open floor. She has long dark hair, long sleek legs and glasses perched over a strong slim nose. Her luminous brown eyes appraise me over her librarian glasses. Her smile is white and bright. It is a look that slays me.

My head hurts.

My chest hurts.

I am stinking drunk and now, thanks to her, I have one hell of an erection.

She seems to notice this. She smiles, but doesn’t say anything. Something about her is familiar, though I am sure I have never seen her here before.

“Don’t I know her?”

I notice that she has a green and red tattoo on her upper arm. It looks like a poppy flower, but I am not certain.

Normally tattoos on women turn me off, but on her I find it sexy.

“Strange.”

“Hey cutie, here is some more Coors for you and your friends.”

I am surprised to know that I have been drinking with friends.

“Friends? What friends? Where are they?”

I am obviously confused as my head and eyes dart around searching for people I cannot recall being with. The effort causes my head to hurt more. I am starting to feel cold.

She looks at me with concern.

“I imagine they wandered off looking to find a girl to dance with, although it’s pretty tough on you poor marines to find a woman in these parts. Cherry Point is not known for it’s large population of woman. Bad for you, but then I make good tips.”

“Cherry Point? Yes, that’s right, I’m in the marines.”

I look around frantically to find the friends that I had come here with. Friends whose faces and names I cannot recall. My head hurts worse. I have trouble breathing. For the first time I notice the military uniforms sprinkled about people wearing civilian clothes.  I am surprised.

How did I miss them the first time I looked around?

Most of the men have military haircuts, and there is a smattering of longhaired civilians. I see that there are five women for every twenty-five marines. Many men would say that most of the women are very fat and very ugly.

“Camp followers… Military Hogs, yes, yes, I remember.”

Yet none of these women had a shortage of marines competing for their attentions.

I notice that only one in five of the women would be considered attractive and the goddess serving me beer was one of the best looking women in the bar; her and two other dancers that is.

“This is not good. This is a formula for violence.”

I am feeling anxious and I am confused as to why I think as I do.

She is looking at me with concern once again.

“Are you alright? You don’t look well.”

“What? Oh, yes, I’m fine. Really.”

I don’t feel fine, but my erection is more insistent and I want to make love to her. I want to show her that I am interested and capable. I don’t want to put myself out too much though, in case she rejects me.

“You are beautiful! I feel like I know you from somewhere?”

She laughs.

“My, my, I have never heard that one before. I think that is the beer talking.”

“You’re still beautiful.”

“And you are a cutie. Look Vinny, I got to go do a few sets up on stage.

My muddled mind barely acknowledges that she has called me Vinny. I am struggling to think how she knows my name.

“Did I introduce myself? I don’t recall doing that. Maybe she does know me from somewhere else and she is just fucking with me.”

My grasp of reality and the beer makes me feel as if I am swooning and about to pass out.

She speaks up, interrupting my thoughts, bringing me back to point.

Why don’t you come up and watch me? Maybe you and I can share a beer after I get off work.”

My heart and my erection are hammering from excitement and anticipation.

“Oh my fucking God, I must be dreaming.”

She turns to walk away.

I have a variety of sexual visions, many of which have a sense of déjà vu’.

As she is walking away, I see something on her back that makes me pause.

She has a large tattoo of a moon centered on her upper back. It is about the size of a small melon and drawn realistically, with hundreds of craters a few of the dead seas.

“Where the fuck have I seen that before? Where do I know her from? How does she know my name?”

As if reading my mind, she looks over her shoulder and smiles her sexy librarian smile and her hips are swaying with invitation.

I want her even more.

“What a minute, what is your name.”

She laughs as she keeps walking, “My name is Matilija.”

“What the hell kind of name is that?”

I go up to the stage to sit so I could get a closer look at her as she dances.

Once on stage, Matilija moves about like an exotic cat. Her dancing tugs at the corners of my memory of other times and places that elude my grasp of when and where. Flitting images of people, of women I have been with, of her and the times and sex we have shared?

“How is that possible? I have never known anyone named Matilija.”

My grasp on time and reality is slipping again.

As she is dancing, she keeps eye contact with me. During the dance her clothes are artistically and mysteriously stripped away. I notice that now she is not wearing anything.

“Shit! She’s not allowed to be bottomless. Or is she?”

The marines all about me are hooting their ‘hoo rahs’, and I sense potential violence thick in the air.

Suddenly, She is right in front of me and her clean-shaven pussy is inches from my face.

I am startled to see a shaven pussy. I have never seen one shaven before.

Have I?

I am disturbed by this and excited.

She is staring at me with feral eyes, inviting eyes as she is rubbing her pussy with her free hand and I can see that her pussy is very wet.

My God, she’s certainly not allowed to do that!

I am wondering why management hasn’t pulled her off stage.

I am feeling growing anxiety. I am feeling fear. I am feeling excited and horny as hell.

For some reason I am again having trouble breathing.

Matilija grabs my hand with her warm hand. It is wet and warm. She places my hand on her pussy and rubs my hand all over it. She somehow manages to take my index and forefinger and slides it up her pussy. Her pussy is hot and wet and it feels like heaven. What we are doing feels wrong. Somehow I know it is where my hand belongs.

She is moaning. She looks over at a man to my left. I sense she is making inviting eye contact with him as she is sliding my fingers in and out of her pussy.

I look over to see who she is staring at. It’s Tom my friend and for some reason he is wearing a Postal uniform.

“Did I come here with him?”

Tom has cancer and he is smiling at me.

The marines around us are angry because Matilija is paying us this special attention.

They grab us and throw us to the floor. They are threatening to kick our ass.

I hear Matilija laughing.

I am very afraid and I am crawling on my hands and knees trying to find a way out of the bar. I feel pain all over. I feel cold. I feel my erection. I feel the need to stay and fuck Matilija competing with my desire to get the fuck out of the bar.

I look up towards the stage hoping that will help me with my dilemma as to what I should do.

Matilija is smiling and still rubbing her pussy and it is still wet and her wetness makes me think of the nectar on a Venus flytrap.

She laughs.

“I love you Vinny.”

I forgot about Tom.

All I want at the moment is to be in the comfort of her arms. In the cozy cosset of comfort of her pussy and I want her love and to love her back.

Suddenly I hear Tom crying out to me.

I look over in the direction of his voice.

A group of marines and civilians have Tom helpless on his back.

Tom has cancer and they are kicking him mercilessly.

He is screaming, “Vinny, please help me! Don’t leave! Help me, please!”

My world is whirling. I am very afraid and I hurt all over.

I want to run away and forget about Tom. I want to save myself.

Tom has cancer and as much as I want to leave him, I can’t; so I scuttle over to him as fast as I can.

I fucking hurt and I have to get Tom and me out of this place.

“Where the fuck are the other friends I came here with? Why aren’t they helping us?”

With these questions I feel betrayed and deserted and angry and vengeful.

Then I feel intense pain in my chest and my legs and my head as the crowd is kicking the fuck out of me.

Some of them have sticks and bats with which they are hitting me over and over. Now I can only hear Tom. I can only see the faces of the people over me as I am helpless to protect myself.

I piss my pants.

The faces above me do not look human.

“Why are they killing us? Just because a dancer lets me rub her pussy?”

I look again at the faces. I think I recognize two people in the mob. Two names of recognition rush into my mind. Janus Jarvis and James Sutherland. Janus and Sutherland are wearing Postal uniforms like the one Tom is wearing.

“Shit, this is wrong. What are they doing here? Doesn’t Sutherland work for the Justice Department? Why is he wearing a Postal uniform?”

Both of them are smiling as they continue to beat on my helpless body.

“For Christ sake! Why won’t the fucking pain stop?

I hear Matilija laughing even louder.

I can barely move. My world is spinning and I am losing consciousness.

I look over and she is still playing with her pussy and now she is convulsing with multiple orgasms and her entire arm and the floor around her is sopping wet with her cum.

She laughs and she moans and she never takes her eyes off me.

She is getting off watching us being beaten into a bloody mess, watching us die.

I feel unspeakable betrayal and I hate her.

“You fucking deceitful cunt!”

I hurt. I can’t breathe and I am dying.

I can’t see anything, just swirling darkness.

I hear her voice echoing thru the darkness, through eternity.

“I love you Vinny. You’re the man for me.”

She laughs her musical laugh and I hate her even more.

“Fucking Christ I am dying….

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