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Chapter 3
May 4th — Ran a Facebook poll about whether or not I should go to Castle Vania. The results:
98% said I shouldn’t.
1% thought Castle Vania was the name of Bowie’s next album.
1% said I should, but I bet my left testicle that was my boss, Amleia Gale.
Amleia is an attractive, but conservative, brunette from Kansas. I didn’t friend my boss so I can learn about the sister she never speaks to. I friended her so I could Facebook Creep her. Not Facebook Stalk. Facebook Creep. Facebook Stalk means you’re watching someones every move. Facebook Creep means you’re friends for the sole purpose of looking at their sexy photos.
Amleia Facebook Creeps me back. She’s always poking and inviting me to take these quizzes. Thanks to her, I discovered I’m a Carrie and not a Samantha.
While Facebooking last night, my Internet cut out. The Internet has been wonky this whole trip, but it’s especially frustrating when you have a raging erection and a “Page Cannot Be Displayed” screen.
The next morning, irritated by a severe case of the blue balls, I marched downstairs to talk to the old man in obscenely tight pants. I found he had another letter from Dracula, directing him to secure a hummer limo like the ones on My Super Sweet 16. I asked if there was anything else about the trip I should know. He and his wife, Annette, the old clown lady who received me, looked at each other in fright.
“Money for Hummer limo included in letter. All I know” he said.
“That’s it? Not even directions to the place that sells vintage Victorian pornography?
“No.”
“Are you sure? Dracula seemed excited to point that out.”
“Directions on how to game American casinos.” Annette added, steering the subject far from the letter’s actual contents. “Go during day. Sit at slot machine by entrances. Cash out after winning. Longer you stay. More you lose. And, when in Vegas, gamble on old strip. Not new.”
When I asked if they could tell me about Castle Vania, they crossed themselves, mumbled about hating cats, and said they knew nothing.
“If you know nothing, why would you cross yourselves?”
No response. I got the silent treatment from a clown and an Ultimate Warrior. A site I previously thought impossible. I had no time to ask anyone else, so I had to deal with their weirdo behavior.
Before leaving, Annette came to my room and cried like a convicted murderer’s mother.
“Must you go? Oh! Young Herr, must you go?”
She was in such an excited state that she seemed to have lost her grip of what English she knew. I was able to follow her by asking many questions like the Miller family in Lassie. When I told her I had to go, she asked:
“Do you know what day it is?” I answered that it was May fourth, Star Wars Day. She shook her head as she said again:
“Yes! I know Star Wars Day! I know also Towel Day, but do you know what else today?”
Wishing I had packed my gun, the effective way to end bad conversations, I grumbled, “Will this conversation end if I say no?”
“It is eve of Festivus. Do you not know tonight, when clock strikes midnight, all evil things have sway? Do you know where you going, and what you going to?”
Annette was in such evident distress that I tried, and failed, to comfort her. I was never good at comforting people, I tend to laugh when I get uncomfortable. This once caused Grandpa Harker to sock me in the mouth after he told me about his anal cancer.
“Isn’t Festivus celebrated on December 23rd? And I could swear there’s nothing about all the evil things in the world holding sway. Just the airing of grievances and the many, many swear words that accompany it.”
Annette went down on her knees and I grew alarmed. She again implored me not to go; clutching on to my jeans as she did.
Festivus is celebrated with a pole for fucks sake, but Annette was starting to get to me. If I stayed and blew this, Amleia would fire me. Being unemployed doesn’t trip Mina’s trigger, or help in negotiating a three way with my future ex-boss. And there is no better motivation in this world than a three-way between you, your wife, and your hot boss. Nothing can stand in the way of that. Not even Jesus.
I tried to raise Annette off her knees, fearing her husband would enter and think the worst. I said, as gravely as I could, that I appreciated her concern, but there was too much at risk to not go. Annette rose and dried her eyes. Taking a crucifix from her neck, she offered it to me. I didn’t know what to do. As a liberal and an atheist, I regard such things with contempt, and yet it seemed so ungracious to refuse an old lady meaning so well and in such a state of mind.
She saw the doubt in my face, but that didn’t stop her. Annette put the rosary around my neck and said, “For your mother’s sake,” and left the room. I called after her, “My mother was Jewish!”
Our firm, Groucho, Harpo, and Zeppo has developed a high death count since the Loman Incident. Whether it is Annette’s irrational fear, the crucifix, or the site of Linda Loman sobbing, “I only know tragedy!” I don’t know. But right now, I am not feeling as easy in my mind as I was last night cranking it to my boss.
-John
FYI: Two questions not to ask people: How’s your book coming? And who’s your favorite fetish porn actor?
