Wednesday, February 15, 2012

THE BEATEN GENERATION: The Dick Principle (Chapter 7)



by Dick & Poli Tico

NOTE: I am amused by friends asking when is the next murder. For this first novel in the "The Beaten Generation" series, there are two serial killers, Tina Ford, & History, which kills civilizations serially. Compared to the latter, Tina is a babe in the woods. This novel is mainly an anatomical dissection of what might turn out to be the latest victim of History, the real-time on-going murder of the present civilization. Tina Ford's murders are just the file covers. This is presented as fiction, true, but we can't help but feel it could be much closer to reality than to fantasy. Sketches of nipped-in-the-bud ideals?

Apparently, in the preceding chapter, some friends didn't bother reading the part where there were withheld paragraphs. Better read it, the gist of the novel was there: when Hsu asked himself that rhetorical question- Who would bother to listen to these idiots if they came from Bhutan? Well, that's their future.


Chapter 7: History Is A Serial Killer


"... Le pic de la crise est à venir et que la “bourrasque financière” pourrait même intervenir pendant la campagne électorale..."
Michel Rocard, ex-Prime Minister, France

"... Bring in the clowns"
Robert Fisk, British journalist

"Ich habe schon harte Sache durchgemacht"
Roger Federer, Swiss tennis player

"L'Italia non e la Grecia"
Giorgio Napolitano, President, Italy


January 20, 2012 Los Angeles

History is a serial killer.

Why do human beings cling to values that degrade them? Because those are what make them live. But everything came at a price, Herbert thought, those could also hasten their end. History and nature have always conspired. When predictability and boredom set in, it's time to mess up the pieces and play another game. The danger was when man started thinking he was the decisive player. The reality of just being a pawn would only dawn at the end.

Herbert knew something was very wrong. He could trace it from the youth rebellion from the conformity of the 1950's. Perhaps, the fact most of the beatniks died broken was a portent of things to come. While everybody was distracted & innocently wistful of the promise of the unknown, he believed it was at that point when the seeds of destruction were sown. It's always romantic to fight windmills but romance is not the default mode of human beings. Existentialists believe it was suffering. The dumb believe it was delusions. Lamentably, majority belong to the latter. Nobody dared to ask the obvious question how democracy could survive forever if most were dumb. Worse, if the dumb started believing they were not dumb. What if the dumb started believing that equality meant they were winners too, and that it was cool to defy, there's always drugs to numb the resolve anyway. Inequality still became worse, they say, but how long could you really dumb down a real winner? It was self-preservation that forced corporations to start defending themselves in the 1970's and form lobbies to protect their interests. Everybody had to protect his turf and nobody was expected to give in. He thought everybody was eventually so compromised by the system anyway to be able to prevail. Fifty years and he could feel the floor started caving in. He could see the resulting ideological gridlock was the lull before the storm.

They saw what were coming. He and Herman Schonberg. They had this little competition where they funded non-governmental organizations & determined at the end of a period who has helped more. Palliatives, true. A little contest between privileged gods.

The Clash of the Titans...

There were things he would have wanted to clear up with Herman. But now, he knew that was already impossible. His body has already made the decision ... Herman Schonberg was history.

Homophobia doesn't necessarily mean hating homosexuals. Herbert definitely didn't hate them. Unfortunately, he's totally physically allergic to them. Homophobia is not only a political mantra, it is also a clinical curse. Sometimes, he could alleviate the symptoms by simple medications like anti-emetics. Herman Schonberg was just too strong a phobic shock that his body defenses went berserk. Almost all his favorite actors he found having sex with Herman in that external hard drive. Who would have thought his film heroes & friend were all homosexuals? Even now, one hour after Herman hurriedly left when his suit was drenched by his vomit, the gross feeling was still unrelenting. He has washed his hands ten times. He has spent half a bottle of rubbing alcohol. He knew it was not microbial but he just wanted to do some cleansing. Anything.

He took another 500 mg. capsule of Plasil, the third in the last hour.

He still shuddered as he thought of the role assigned by history to homosexuals. Sodom. Thebes, Sparta. Rome. Los Angeles?

History is a serial killer. It kills civilizations.

He remembered what Paul told him... You want gays to be treated like everybody else but you push them to be a special case instead, inviting resistance & setting him up for possible backlash in the process. Gays could be cute but you turned them into villains...


January 20, 2012 Beverly Hills

Tina felt nothing. Not even numb. She must have died. There simply was no justice in this world. One second, love was overpowering, the next second... Oh, Armageddon? How could she have fooled herself?She was as delusional as that pompous bitch friend of hers, Patricia, who must be having another facelift that very moment. Patricia's face sagged when she sobbed a while ago. She was sure the sutures behind the ears just gave way. Christ, Patricia sobbed like a pig, how she would have loved to skewer her & make a kebab. She wondered how Patricia would have tasted with all that silicone & Botox. But wait, forget Patricia. She almost got distracted there, she's in despair, dammit! She's desperate... What could have she done to deserve such a fate? But wait, wasn't that some lyrics from a Beatles song? Mr. Moonlight. She just lost his Mr. Moonlight! Oh... How she wished she was back in Liverpool, away from this terrible fate!

Tony called up this morning while she was on her way to Malibu. That he received an urgent call from his mom in Vallejo and he had to drive there immediately. She might have been born in a small cottage in Hoylake on the wrong side of the Mersey in Cheshire but she has been in America for thirty years. She was sure that dreary Sweet Dreams Motel was nowhere near Vallejo.

Was she younger? She bit her lower lip, feeling the gloom constrict again her chest as she got down from her car. But, heartache or not, she still made sure she maintained her regal bearing- straight back, chest out, chin up, butt out, with an automatic come-hit-her look into her eyes as she scanned the other parked cars in front of the mansion. She counted four. Her spirits lifted a bit, she was sure she'll have her dramatic entrance. She needed that. She shook her butt once, twice, then swayed her hips a la Marilyn Monroe as she strode towards the ornate front door of the mansion. She imagined all the guests were peeping from cracks somewhere marveling how beautiful she walked in her 3-inch red stilleto heels. But was she as beautiful as her? Did she walk like a fashion model like her? Did she love 3-inch stiletto heels like her?

Her spirits lifted some more when the door was opened by a liveried Negro as she reached the top step. She smiled sweetly to herself, they were obviously waiting for her. She took a deep breath once, checked her posture, tossed langourously her hair to one side thinking that was how Kim Basinger did it, deep breath once more, then sashayed her hips forward, all the while imagining she was entering a stage before a multitude waiting for her all night long. Miss England is the new Miss Universe! She vaguely wanted to pinch herself, did she hear the thunderous applause? She actually raised her hand as she entered the doorway & did that small beauty queen wave to the five people seated among the faux French provincial chairs in the living room.

The schmucks just briefly glanced at her then resumed their conversations. Stella came forward to greet her, she always wanted to do the "air-kisses" she always saw being done in Europe. She felt sophisticated that way. Stella, her hicky friend from Oklahoma, was the owner of the mansion. There were benefits to being a beard, she thought as Stella introduced her to the guests.

A French advertising executive from Paris who looked like a Beirut carpet dealer, a poof designer who looked like an emaciated cadaver, a fat black woman who looked like a Santeria high priestess instead of a respected Law professor at UCLA, then another poof, a closet variety notwithstanding, the husband of Stella who looked like a Mexican cartel dealer (which he probably was, she suspected). Some crowd, she thought, feeling too beautiful already to waste her time. Stella told her the guests "control the world's taste" & "will change the world". She wondered what world, Lilliput? But she should show her high breeding, she told herself. Stella had her flights of fancy, prone to exaggerate to compensate for her hickiness. These riffraff had human rights too, they should be treated with "compassion". Her high-minded sacrifices for tonight will contribute to a "caring society" in the end, she consoled herself self-importantly.

"It's good you didn't miss this one," said Stella as she returned to her seat on the left of her husband who was obviously uneasy sitting beside the cadaverous designer on his right side. Like poles repel each other, Tina thought."We're really having these absolutely interesting & really intelligent conversations. It's from gatherings such as this where ideas that will shortly shape the world are hatched. Only the chosen ones could be here. It takes intelligence to understand the unknown & I am sure my guests are the fearless ones who will unlock it for a modern world."

"Oui, I'm so privileged to have been invited, Stella," the French executive quipped, graciously smiling. She had bad teeth, thought Tina. "Your intimate parties are only for the select, I'm sure. I've become wiser a million times just for being here ce soir. Not to mention the aroma which is tiltillating my nose now. Steak par excellance it will be, n'est-ce pas?"

"Steak?" growled the high priestess. Too loud. She probably thought she was haggling in a market in Burundi, thought Tina. "Did you make sure that was halal, Stella? We definitely can't eat just about anything without making sure we're not offending the sensibility of anybody. Did you make sure they electrocuted the animal before slaughtering her?"

"We're all civilized, dears," smiled Stella widely. Her dress was violet, so were her gums, Tina thought."Trust me, we made sure. The salt was even kosher though I couldn't see a Jew here."

"Oh no, you know, I'm vegetarian, my dear," squeaked the designer. The first time I came face to face to a poof who obviously had a facelift, thought Tina.

"Oh, Twinkle dear, of course, I did a special salad just for you." When Stella tries to act sophisticated, she comes out looking like a gym receptionist, Tina thought. "How could I forget your delicate tastes?"

The cadaver called Twinkle sighed self-importantly. Tina noted half the face was less taut than the other. Probably not fully-paid, she decided. The surgeon will pull tighter the other side on a later date after clearing the check.

"That reminds me, I don't like your shirt, honey," Stella said to Twinkle, grimacing as she looked at his multi-colored shirt."It makes you look darker."

"And what's wrong with being dark, may I ask?" The high priestess no longer sounded like haggling in an African hinterland flea market but picking a brawl in a bikers bar instead."Please, somebody may just have ears around here you know & could hear your crude disrespect to a civilized human sensibility here. Do you mean I have no right to be here just because I am dark & worse, definitely black?"

Stella was stunned for a second but she immediately recovered & assumed post-haste her sophisticated smile which made her look like a chastened gym receptionist, Tina thought. "Honey, you know I won't ever think anything bad about you. I apologize if you heard it dark. I said Twinkle looked like a park because of the prints."

"Park?" The fat woman still tried to look incredulous but Tina could see her ears erect & almost clapping with glee. She was obviously fishing for the mother lode: apology. She knew an apology for whatever was the modern key to what pass as civilization in the twilight days of Western civilization.

"I'm offended, Stella," The cadaver wasn't about to be eclipsed by the fat high priestess."I'm a designer of note & you mean I can't distinguish a park from a shirt? Is that because I'm just a fag? I never thought I still could be a victim of homophobia in liberal Beverly Hills."

Tina looked at Stella. Stella always tried to look calm, & the usual sign she was ever agitated was when her false eyelashes started quivering & detaching themselves from the edges. "Homophobia? I apologize, Twinkle dear. You know how a good champagne gives me a buzz sometimes"

Her famous false eyelash now was askew.

"Park, not dark? I thought it was fart," the husband suddenly barked. Tina could see the closet queen was drunk. He must have lost patience maintaining a straight face, she thought. She was late for an hour so he must have been suffering silently for an hour already.

"You mean, I smell like a fart, you moron? Apologize or I'll report you're violating my human rights."

"Shut up, you ugly cow. You not only smell but you look like a fart." He started standing to attack the black woman but Stella immediately pulled his husband back to his seat.

"Come on now, silence everybody. Let's toss to Low Carbon Emission! Long live, Low Carbon Emission "

That did the trick. They automatically assumed a serious look & all raised their glasses. " Long live, Low Carbon Emission!" they chorused before sipping their glasses.

"But you've lit so many chandeliers, Stella." the Frenchwonan chirped." Your carbon is shooting through the roof."

Without a word, Stella ran to put out all the lights except for a ceiling droplight in a corner.

"Wow, we have orgy now?" The Frenchwoman giddily gasped. "Any actor coming?"

"What you need actors for? You from the Alps? Girl to girl is hot right now, baby," the fat black woman sidled beside the Frenchwoman who promptly pushed her away then ran to sit besides Tina.

"You, racist French fries. You mean you reject me just because of my skin color? I can't believe racism still rears its head in the 21st century."

"It's too dark, I can't see her. Where is she?" asked the cadaver who was nearsighted. He was groping haphazardly & he jumped when the closet husband slapped his hand.

"I thought so, you dimmed all the lights so you won't have to see me, you racist pigs! You will all go to hell for being bigots!"

Stella didn't waste a second, she ran like an automaton & all the lights returned. Then she approached the fat woman and whispered almost conspiratorially: "Hell? I thought you're atheist."

"I'm my Mother's daughter, you ho. She's a pastor. Studies showed that in moments of extreme agitation all the imprints lefts by our parents would resurface even if you've all but civilized yourself to the max. I grew up hearing about hell & brimstone, you see."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, I presented a paper on that in the last International Lawyers' League Conference in Belarus. They gave me a standing ovation for ten minutes. I brought my mother, she cried & told me it was good she didn't abort me."

Tina overheard that. She was now bored on top of being depressed, she wanted to be naughty. "Let's toss to Abortion. Long live, Abortion!"

"I'm offended." The cadaver suddenly stood up looking deeply offended that he looked decomposed, Tina thought."Why should you toss about abortion when you know I can never have one. Just because I'm a fag? My God, I never thought I can still be a victim of heartless homophobia in liberal Beverly Hills."

"Don't worry, baby, you should be thankful you don't worry about pregnancy," the Frenchwoman cooed.

The cadaver calmed down. "Really?" But then changed his mind: "I'm offended even more, you menopausal baguette. You're insulting me just because I could never have pregnancy. Is it my fault if I was born without a uterus? My God, I never thought I could still be a victim of criminal homophobia in liberal Beverly Hills." Then screamed. Like a butchered pig, Tina thought.

Stella immediately hugged him."Poor Twinkle. I apologize if you were offended. We know you're just a sweet soul, we won't hurt you, dear."

The eyes of Twinkle twinkled like stars as if nothing happened.

"Magnifique!" Amused, the Frenchwoman raised her glass still half-filled with champagne. Her armpits were dark, Tina thought." Now everybody is happy & gay!"

"My dear, don't use that... word!" Immediately, the eyes of the poof were glaring. His facial skin were so stretched Tina feared it would rip. "That's a big no-no in civilized society. All men are equal."

The Frenchwoman was confused. "What word? Not everybody happy?"

"The other one." Twinkle growled. Like a cat, Tina thought.

The Frenchwoman finally got it & she smiled."Ok, we don't use that word. Everything clear, white as snow, nothing is black."

"Hey, French fries, don't use that word in polite society," tweeted the black woman.

"What?" Now, the Frenchwoman started showing signs of confusion. There were beads of sweat in her forehead & her thick pancake were excavating, Tina saw.

"They don't teach you intelligence in France? All people are equal... why emphasize white? Why emphasize b-b-b...?"

Tina was naughty when she's not happy. She just lost the love of her life tonight and she had to put up with all these immigrants from the Republic of Dumpster. She intoned as if in a nursery rhyme: "I can see it but I don't. I can smell it but I don't. I can hear it, but I don't. I can say it but I won't"

"Well, at least, it's not the government that's telling you not to use your senses, dear." Stella knew the naughty streak of Tina.

"Well, at least, I elected them?" Tina downed her glass. She had no interest for any theoretical hairpulling tonight. Does it matter?

"But they don't have class, honey," Stella loved discussions like this, though. Her ultimate compensatory self-affirmation, Tina always thought. " We are higher level... above it all. Greek gods in the clouds, if I may say so. People are suckers anyway. Fashion arbiters come from slums so you wonder where did their taste come from. Does it matter? Because we claim they have good taste anyway. It's their fault they were not us. Because we can! We can!"

Then as if a belated coda came the shriek. "I definitely didn't come from the slums, you vulva," Twinkle suddenly stood with arms akimbo, glaring at Stella. "For your information, we had our own trailer. My God, just because I'm a fag of fashion, you're belittling me as if I didn't know you were a cowhand..."

He never finished. Suddenly, the closet husband stood up & roughly grasped the collar of his printed shirt. Without a word, he pulled the shrieking queen all the way to the front door & told the black doorman to throw him outside. Then he turned back & looked gravely at the remaining four women. He was trying to look menacing like a Mafia boss, thought Tina, but he's not fooling her, she knew he was a closet queen. He didn't have to say a word, the Frenchwoman & the black woman promptly got out silently, Stella climbed up the stairs but Tina remained cool, silently debating if she'd invite him instead to teach him how to manicure properly his dead fingernails. She was having her naughty moments after putting up with those low-lifes. Fate just snatched her love, then she let her suffer listening to this garbage. Very unfair...

She hummed a tune as she gyrated her hips while she looked seductively at the closet queen with the Mafia look. Living without you, I couldn't live! Wasn't that a song by those Irish poofs U2? Why were all these songs popping all over her head? Were they angels singing? Angels? Will she die now? What's that sound?

Her cellphone was ringing. The caller ID told her it was Tony.

"H-hello..."

"Honey, my parents will sleep in the house tonight, theirs got burned down. They're waiting for you."

Of course, she was wrong, he was not in the motel! That was not his car. And he was waiting for her in their house all along! And her parents-in-law (aherm!) were there waiting for her.

Now she was sure it was an angel she heard singing.


January 20, 2012 Paris

Hsu looked at his caller ID. It was his godfather from Hongkong.

"Buy as much shorts against French debt that you can. If you want to be really rich, that is."

Hsu was not a professional economist but he knew enough just so he could grow and safeguard his portfolio. He knew right from the start that the Greek economy was too small to really destroy the Eurozone. The French economy has been a concern even in the early part of the crisis but everybody was reluctant to dither with its rating for fear of spooking further the markets. The bloodbath could be massive. However, if you were accurate with the timing, really great fortunes could be made from somebody else's misery.

"Not after the elections?"

"It would be too late, do it now!"


January 20, 2012 Malibu

Of course, Herman Schonberg understood what happened. The external hard drive was offered to him for $2 billion but they wanted cash. He just instructed his accountant in Zurich to launder the amount when he learned somebody from Hongkong bought it for twice the amount. He knew Herbert's phobia. Herbert loved to talk about the time when his puke all went straight into the mouth of a closet classmate who tried to French kiss him after a drinking spree in college. "Bang shot!" Herbert would say.

He knew he has lost the guy as a friend. But he calculated Herbert would keep his secret in LA. He didn't bother ruminating about what the Hongkong guy intended to do, he knew he'll know soon enough.

Of course, he had other secrets. He didn't get to where he was by being prudent with an immaculate closet. Far, far too many secrets. Now it's out, he's gay, but things were not as simple as that. The last people he would hang out with were gays. Like Herbert, he also got clinical homophobia. Like Herbert, he developed nausea, even vomiting, in the mere presence of other gays.



January 21, 2012 9:55 AM, Hong Kong- Beijing Time, South China Sea

Commander Albert Hageman was contented with life. As a commanding officer of a destroyer that ensured American power was felt in the narrow seas between continental Asia & the rim archipelagos, he was glad he was instrumental in the dominant might of his country. All the right things were going for him. He's always away from his wife. The repeal of the recent "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" crap really unleashed his full potential as a military man. Only two years left before his retirement so he better make the most out of it. There were so many handsome personnel in his ship and he felt less and less inhibited to turn it into his own floating pleasure palace.

He moaned freely as the blonde, 6'4" enlisted man drilled ever deeper. He could feel alive in his veins the boiling testosterone of the warriors of the Sacred Band of Thebes of long ago.

"Yes, harder! More!"

Suddenly the impertinent shriek of an alarm ripped thru the pleasure moans in his quarters. Code red.

Damn! Wrong timing!He tapped caressingly the enlisted man on the shoulders to stop.

"I- I can't..."

He smiled & roughened up sweetly the boy's hair. "What do you mean you can't? We'll continue later on, silly boy!"

There was alarm in the boy's face."It's stuck!"

Then he finally caught on. He's heard of vaginismus before but, to his growing alarm, apparently his spastic anal sphincter also knew the trick.

The door suddenly swung open & his deputy rushed in panicking.

"Sir, a Chinese warship..." Then he saw his officer straddled by the nude enlisted boy. His palm immediately went up to his agape mouth while the widened white of his eyes almost made him look like an owl.Should he laugh? Should he cry?

Commander Hageman had no choice. He was joined to the boy & so be it. He was a professional. So the Chinese commander expertly watching the American destroyer's bridge thru his binoculars was beside himself at what he saw: a nude boy carrying a nude old man, both facing & embracing each other but joined at the waist, the older man's legs crossed and hooked around the boy's naked buttocks. He could see half of the boy's organ was still stuck in the old man's asshole.

The impaled old man, from his lofty perch, started shouting orders to the soldiers who were obviously struggling to keep a straight face. He was the American commander.


Next: Chapter 8


Mountains - Biffy Clyro (acoustic)