Bee-dee-beep! Bee-dee-beep! Bee-dee-beep! Ken was barely conscious.
Was that the alarm going off? Surely it couldn’t be
time to get up already. It was far too early. There was no
way it could be time to get up and go to work, it was simply
not possible. Ken was completely exhausted and unable to lift
his head or any other extremity from the mattress. He managed
to stretch out his hand and seize the source of annoyance,
then pilot it into focal range. Good God! Indeed it was already
7am, and time to greet the fabulous Monday that awaited. “Shit!”
he said aloud, in his best Lucille Ball voice. He managed
to squeeze the lifesaving snooze button before collapsing
back onto his pillow. His head weighed at least 742 pounds
this morning, he was sure of it.
Bee-dee-beep! Bee-dee-beep! Bee-dee-beep! Five minutes later
the lunar module again touched down. Ken was unable to open
his eyes due to the excessive weight of his eyelids, but managed
once again to reach out and silence the pest.
Finally, on the third attempt, Ken lifted his head from the
drool spot on his pillow and sat up on the edge of the bed.
The evil afterburners from Vodka Land were in full throttle.
How many times had he been to Vodka Land and completely forgotten
about the consequences? Somehow he managed to alight and began
maneuvering himself. He felt a deep sense of camaraderie with
the MIR space station and Apollo 13. Through the wonders of
Lojack and AutoPilot navigational systems, he was able to
locate his towel and shaving kit, then proceed directly to
the cleansing port of Casa Lesbo. He only bumped his head
twice along the way. After showering he commenced the grooming
process. He immediately noticed that he was out of hair gel.
It was going to be a bad day.
He was still quite drowsy when he poured himself a bowl of
Cocoa Puffs a while later. As he sat down to consume the source
of 172 insignificant vitamins and minerals before him, the
floor beneath him began to tremble. Killer and Tank, the Casa
Lesbo mascots, dodged for cover. It could only mean one thing…Godzilla
had awoken. The increased force of each step and the tinkling
sound of falling scales could mean only one thing…she
was coming closer towards him. It was too late to flee…he
was within hunting range of the beast. He would just have
to remain calm and hope that her pitiful morning vision would
allow him to go unnoticed. He could feel the temperature rise
around him as Godzilla’s drew nearer. If only there
were a way to harness the energy of her vapors. Ken placed
his hands over his precious bowl of Cocoa Puffs to shield
them from paint chips as Godzilla began to pass the breakfast
room. Her massive body began to pass by before him…scale
after scale of glistening green polyester 2-ply, industrial-strength
suppleness. Ken held his breath to avoid inhaling an excessive
amount of her vapors. Unfortunately for him Godzilla was moving
quite slowly this morning, and suddenly he was forced to gasp
for air. The beast heard his gasp and reversed throttles immediately.
“Damn!” Ken cursed under his breath. “My
luck she’ll mistake me for breakfast!” He looked
up to address the massive incisors and red eyes before him.
“So! Where were you so late last night? You just blew
by Skipper and me last night when you came in. That was a
pretty tasty tidbit that escorted you to the door!”
Grumbled Godzilla. “What do you mean? I came home alone
and went right to bed. I said hello to you guys when I got
in.” “Right! Have you been to Vodka Land again,
Ken?” He wasn’t sure if it was the vodka or Godzilla’s
vapors, but either way, he was quite confused. “No,
I came home alone and went right to bed, I’m sure of
it!” “We’ll just see about that! Let me
go wake up Skipper and prove it!” She quipped in her
best Nellie Olson voice. “For God’s sake, let
her sleep! It’s bad enough that it’s Monday as
it is!” “Oh, so we’re feeling a little touchy
this morning are we? Well, I need to go wax my scales but
we’ll definitely continue this conversation later, mark
my word!” With that Godzilla tossed her snout in the
air and huffed away. Ken was truly frightened. Was there some
truth in her words? Could he possibly be suffering from yet
another case of Vodkesia? Godzilla’s lingering vapors
began to seep deep into his lungs. From there they traveled
the arterial highway to his brain, where they actually helped
clear the haze. He had a momentary flashback, and remembered
some stranger with exceptionally fine complexion in a fabulous
Summer ensemble. A veritable vision in khaki and blue. Ken
wasn’t sure why, but he remembered the name Mr. Latte.
“Who was that?” he thought to himself. He had
another flashback, this time to the troll at Vodka Land that
was so enamored with Ken. What was this? The troll and Mr.
Latte were speaking to each other? Were they somehow connected?
Ken’s head was really hurting now. He brushed aside
the paint chips that were littering the table around him and
continued his breakfast. He finished quickly, so as to avoid
any further contact with Godzilla on her return from scale
waxing. He rinsed his utensils and placed them in the dishwasher,
as any good housekeeper would. He proceeded directly to work.
He did not pass go, he did not collect 200 dollars, he simply
went to work.
Ken began his usual work routine by logging on to his terminal,
checking his emails, then gently placing his head on his mouse
pad and taking a short nap. There was no way he could function
without these precious little mind refreshments. He always
worked an hour extra each day, so as to satisfy the god of
the timecards. Eight hours were eight hours, no matter how
you added them up. History repeated itself, and Ken was startled
from his morning siesta by the obnoxious ringing of his telecommunicator.
Unfortunately there was no snooze button and he was forced
to answer the call. “Huh? Wuh…uh…hello…”
This was the most complex sentence Ken was able to form. “Oh
my God! At least I know you’re still alive!” Ken
recognized Butch immediately. “After that scene last
night at Vodka Land, I was worried! You and that Latte dude
bolted outta there so fast we didn’t even get a chance
to say goodnight! Why haven’t you returned any of my
messages?” “What do you mean?” Replied Ken.
“I left the bar without incident and jettisoned straight
home.” (Navigationally speaking, of course.) “Oh,
that wicked, wicked vodka! Don’t you remember ANYTHING?!”
Ken’s head was really hurting now. “Dammit, what
do you mean? I finished my drink, you were busy with Lucidia,
so I just left and came straight home!” “We need
to talk. Your phone could be tapped, so we’ll have to
speak in person. What are you doing later tonight?”
“Not going to Vodka Land, that’s for sure!”
“Well, why don’t you meet me at the Fiesta Palace?
Leona’s having a little soirée, and we can talk.
You could use a good piñata. Plus the noise is so loud
there will be minimal risk of anything we way being leaked
to the press.” “Fine, what time?” “Say,
8:00?” “Fine, I’ll see you then.”
“Oh God!” Ken thought to himself. “I wonder
what ELSE I don’t remember about last night!”
He made a pact with himself to swear of vodka. At least for
the remainder of the day. “Hmmm. I think I’ll
check my messages from last night.” Through the wonders
of modern technology, Ken was able to access and retrieve
his messages from his home mailbox. “Hi this is Rotunda
from Weight Watchers, and I was…” Ken pressed
‘3’ to delete the message. “Ken, about that
lube I…” Ken pressed ‘3’ again. “Dude!
I’m really glad you decided to join me in Seattle next
weekend!” “What the?!” Ken paid particular
attention to this message. His keen sense of voice recognition,
aided by caller-id voice information, told him that it was
Mr. Hogeye. Mr. Hogeye! The man who chooses to live in Arkansas
by CHOICE?! “Good God! When in the HELL did I say I’d
do that?!” The next message was from Undone Airlines.
“This is Susie from Undone just calling to confirm your
reservation and seat assignment for this weekend to Seattle.
You’re confirmed on flight…” Ken was amazed.
When did he make the reservation? What WAS he thinking?!”
No further messages followed.
Ken thought the day would never end. He was caught in an
endless cycle of napping and snacking. There were only so
many times he could turn his pen upside down and watch Elvis
slide backwards and forwards across the front of Graceland.
All attempts at concentration proved nothing short of futile.
When 5:00 rolled around Ken couldn’t get out the door
fast enough. He bumped his head on the way out, but it didn’t
matter since he had run out of hair gel earlier in the day.
He quickly piloted the Dream Vet home. Barbie was waiting
with milk and cookies. “How’s your head, honey?
Are you feeling OK? Here Hon, have a cookie. I baked them
myself.” She cooed. Ken inspected the cookies for any
remnants of crab shells. They appeared to be safe. “I’ve
just had the hardest time concentrating all day.” Said
Ken as he bit into one of Barbie’s scrumptious temptations.
“It’s no wonder! All those nights you spend at
Vodka Land, they’re sure to add up.”
“There’s so much I don’t remember about
last night. It scares me! And worst of all I agreed to go
to Seattle with Mr. Hogeye! How did THAT happen?!” “I
don’t know Hon. I went through a phase like that last
year, remember? Only my memory lapses were due to excessive
inhalation of Aqua Net fumes. One I switched to the pump my
memory returned to normal. You haven’t been using spray
again, have you?” “I most certainly have not!
Everybody knows gel is safer!” “OK, no need to
get so touchy! I was just making sure! Oh, guess what! Skipper
got a deal on crabs again and we’re gonna boil another
bushel tonight! Wanna join us?” “What is it with
these women and seafood?! The smell has already penetrated
every orifice of this house!” Ken thought to himself.
“No, I’ve already got plans to go to Fiesta Land”
Ken said. “Oh, you watch out for those piñatas!
You never know WHAT’s gonna come flying out of them!”
Ken glanced at his watch. It was 6:30. “Jesus! I need
to get a move on so I won’t be here when Godzilla returns
from the trenches!” Thought Ken. “Well, I’m
gonna go get ready to go. I need to run some errands along
the way.” Said Ken. “Hey! You wouldn’t happen
to have some hair gel I could borrow, do you?” Asked
Ken. “Sure, it’s right next to the tampons and
Midol in my cabinet. Help yourself! And here! Take a cookie
for the road!” Chirped Barbie.
A few minutes later Ken departed, with a crisp new shirt
and fresh gel. He took his time, since he had over an hour
to kill. Along the way he stopped at the gas station, a produce
stand, and an all-night erotic bookstore. He arrived at the
Fiesta Palace right on time.
He worked is way through the crowd, and found Leona in her
usual spot. She was sprawled atop the Baby Grand, Margarita
in hand. Margarita was holding a gin and tonic in her hand.
“Hello Snookems!” Gushed Ken. “Can I buy
you a drink?” “Absolute—ly! Just ice with
it though, no need to dilute!” Giggled Leona. Everyone
knew Absolut was her favorite brand. Ken turned to order.
He was tempted, but avoided the elixer—for the moment,
at least. Keeping in theme with the Fiesta Palace, he ordered
a sangria. He handed Leona her high-octane elixir and noticed
that Butch had arrived. “I’ll be back in a little
bit Leona.” “Sure, sailor…come by and drop
anchor anytime!” Leona gurgled through her vodka.
“So, Butch! What’s the urgency? Why do you think
my line’s been tapped? And what’s all this secrecy
stuff?” “God, I can’t believe that you don’t
remember anything! You started acting so strangely all of
a sudden last night, Lucidia and I were quite concerned!”
“What do you mean? You left me all alone with the troll
from Hell, you didn’t care what was happening to me!”
“No way Ken! It started out as a joke, but then every
time we tried to move back towards you we were cut off by
these secret agent dudes!” “What? Have you lost
your mind? I think you’re the one who needs to cut back
on the trips to Vodka Land!” “No dude, it’s
true! I think they were the troll’s bodyguards!”
“That doesn’t make sense! Why would…”
Ken stopped in mid-sentence. He had yet another flashback.
The troll…something about the troll. Why did he look
so familiar? And Mr. Latte. Ken had said something to Mr.
Latte. Then Mr. Latte conferred with the troll. Mr. Latte
gave the troll a drink, and the troll carried it over to Ken.
Ken remembered something funny tasting about the drink, but
figured it was just old vodka. Vodka old, vodka new…vodka
was vodka, right? “You know, last night is still such
a blur to me. I just can’t figure it out. Damn! I need
more sangria, maybe that’ll help me remember!”
Ken ordered a double sangria, with half the fruit. Leona was
singing “Memories” now. Oh God. She had just rolled
over the edge of the piano and smashed the pianist’s
fingers on the keyboard. The live performance was temporarily
halted for the evening. Mrs. Butch would have to step in and
twirl backup. Thank God she was always prepared.
Ken and Butch tried to piece together the events from the
night before. They had both consumed massive, albeit not inordinate,
amounts of vodka. They both agreed that the troll looked familiar.
Butch motioned to Lucidia, but the troll mistakenly intercepted
the transmission and moved in closer to Ken and Butch’s
airspace. Butch ditched Ken. Ken accepted the troll’s
offer for a drink.
Suddenly the pianist resumed his playing and Leona was table
dancing--kicking her legs higher and higher and…Fwee!
One of her pumps went flying through the air! The crowd cheered
as the pump rotated heel over toe through the air and…bonk!
It smacked Ken in the side of his head, hard enough to cause
momentary unconsciousness. When he came to, Butch was kneeling
over him. Mrs. Butch was fanning Ken with her emergency sequined
show-flag (it had hundreds of tiny red crosses stitched all
across it), and Butch was feeding Ken sangria through an eyedropper.
At first everything was a blur. Little by little Ken was able
to focus. He sat up. Leona cheered and shouted “Ole!”.
The party was back in full swing.
“Butch! I remember! I remember what happened last night!”
“What?! Tell me so we can hurry up and end this story!
It’s too damn long already!” “Right! Well,
you remember I kept saying how familiar the troll looked?
I remember why! I know who the troll is! I mentioned to him
how familiar he looked, and he never really gave me a straight
answer as to why. Well, I noticed that when he scratched his
head his hair moved in unison. He was wearing a wig! His face
was so familiar, and finally it clicked! He looked just like
Linda Tripp! I swear to God! I pointed this out to him, and
he just froze. He got all sweaty and nervous. Then he started
talking into his lapel. The next thing I knew, Mr. Latte shows
up with a drink. The troll gives me the drink, and I wake
up at home! Damn Butch, I think it really WAS Linda Tripp.
She was out in man-drag or something! When I spotted her she
panicked and had me drugged! Wow! Mr. Latte must’ve
taken me home—that’s who Godzilla was talking
about! He’s gotta be her personal bodyguard or something!”
“Hey!” said Butch. “That would explain why
he left with you! He was probably hypnotizing you while you
were in a drug-induced state, to make you forget everything
you had discovered! Wow! Maybe we could go to the press!”
“Right! Look where that got Monica! I think we’d
best leave Miss Tripp alone. I’ve got bigger problems!
The drug must’ve lingered, because sometime last night
I agreed to meet Mr. Hogeye for a long weekend in Seattle!”
“Oh no!” Said Butch. “Oh yes!” Said
Ken. Ken also had some vague recollection about revenge, but
it quickly faded. Indeed he had bigger problems to worry about.
Not only had he agreed to meet Mr. Hogeye in Seattle, he had
forgotten to stop by the drug store and buy more hair gel.
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