Chapter Two: American Exemptionalism
In my hubris I deigned to pull that bag behind me for hours, until the city had well and truly disappeared over the horizon- and with it my fear of being recaptured. When I could take no more I emptied it out on the ground and had myself a post-feast feast- my favorite kind! The noodles were as slimy as the day they had been cooked for way too fucking long, which was yesterday. After a post-post-feast feast nap I packed up the remaining leftovers and some of my favorite commemorative Nixon plates and continued on my journey.
It wasn't until that evening that I stumbled upon my first trace of human life since Bite Town. There in the distance, seeming for all the world to be no more than an idyllic scene painted against an infinite flat canvas of blue sky, rested a farmhouse and a barn belonging to Bryan the Wise.
He greeted me with the friendly fervor of an aging Hunter S. Thompson- yes, that's right, he let loose a volley of buckshot from his rifle.
"Dance, monkey!" he cried out from the porch of his farmhouse.
After jiggling erotically for a few tense minutes the old man yelled for me to follow him and retreated into his home. Once I was inside and surrounded by the intoxicating musk of rotting wood and delicious pig shit, I found him in the corner by an old gramophone, listening to a song on wax cylinder which I recognized as being one of George Butterworth's, cheating liar of a man that he was.
"Shorty had those Apple Bottom Jeans, Boots with the fur..." he sang along with Bastard Butterworth, and I couldn't help but snap my fingers to the tune he carried with such solemn reverence.
"What the hell?" he cried, turning around, "What are you doing here? You're the monkey that can't twerk, aren't you?" I drew my breath to answer but he pressed a wrinkled finger to my lips. "No, hush- don't answer that. Since you're here, I suppose I might as well make the necessary introductions: my name is old man, and these are my daughters: Cosby, Stills, and Nash."
With this three women in their mid-to-late thirties descended the staircase behind me. I spun around to meet each of their gazes. Stills had the presence and demeanor of an ethereal bisexual who I was sure I'd have to read many more volumes of Foucault and Woolf to impress. Nash, meanwhile, with her quiff haircut and piercing eyes, seemed to hint that she wouldn't mind strapping me into the hip lifter they use on fallen cows and going to town on me with a prod, though that may have just been my hopeful imagination going a bit wild. I didn't meet Cosby's gaze, however, as I thought her name a rather tasteless joke I'd rather her father hadn't made. I was soon after introduced to a fourth daughter named Young, who was nineteen. Before finding her attractive I tried to figure out whether it would be appropriate, but realized I had forgotten my own age. Anyway all the women were all quite handsome, including Cosby I would assume.
After a dinner of beef I was cast out of Bryan's delightfully musky farmhouse and shown to a bed of hay in the barn. I kept waiting for Bryan to leave as I prefer to sleep in the nude, but he kept coming back in to tell me about that episode of Family Guy where Brian the dog died and how much he related to that character and how sad he was when he learned their names were spelled differently.
"Get out of here old man!" I yelled in a raspy voice, "I am very tired and I am trying to sleep naked on your pile of hay now! I don't want you to see my butt so please stop talking about Brian the dog from Family Guy and leave!"
At this Bryan the Wise seemed crestfallen, and he apologized profusely as he left, shutting the heavy barn doors behind him. I took off my shirt and skirt but left my underwear on so as not to be scratched there by the hay. I lay down and took my rest as it came, which was surprisingly quickly. It was cut short, however, by the muffled sound of low whispered tones and the bang of the heavy barn doors as Nash kicked them open.
There, dressed like a soft butch lingerie ad, were Stills, Nash, and Cosby. After pausing for a second, I laid back against the hay and turned my back to them, muttering something about how I was getting too straight for this shit. Stills wouldn't let me return to my slumber, though. She shook me by the shoulder and my eyes fluttered open lazily. There I saw her standing above me, in her sports bra and her boyshort underwear, with her curly hair cascading down toward me, coming within inches of my face. Her lip quivered slightly as she noticed my shifted attention and affectionless gaze. She pulled her arm back, tensing up, and bit her lip as she prepared to ask something of me.
"Uh, Riese? My sisters and I were wondering... uh..."
"Yeah?" I asked curiously.
"...Would you wanna play Mario Party 3 with us? Young doesn't wanna play and we don't wanna play with CPU Donkey Kong because he cheats like a motherfucker."
I resisted the urge to tell her that CPU Donkey Kong is actually really easy and I could totally beat him because I've played Mario Party a whole bunch of times and I'm really good at video games, I mean REALLY good at video games, like better than Dream and that's not just a joke or something I'm making up because it makes for a good story I actually really am incredibly good at video games for real and this is real life, and instead followed her and her sisters to the playroom. Nash won by three stars but I won the Mini-Game star.
The next morning I thanked Bryan the Wise for his hospitality and waved goodbye as I walked off. Once I was a dozen yards away I yelled, "MINI-GAME STAR BITCH!" and ran away, laughing deliriously like a child until I collapsed in the grass and threw up on myself a little.