Part 3 Index Part 5

Subject:      CODY: MY STRUGGLE  Part 4, The Tzar's Lovely Daughters
From: (Mithryl)
Date:         1996/11/01
Message-Id:   <55dc68$>
Newsgroups:   rec.arts.prose,

                          MY STRUGGLE

                      by CODY ANN MICHAELS
                     c. All Rights Reserved

                             PART 4

                   THE TZAR'S LOVELY DAUGHTERS

                           Chapter 11

                           12 Steppes

	When Kelly and her friends were done beating up Cody, the sixteen
year old sex pig lay huddled on the floor.  Just to make sure she had
learned her lesson, Kelly took a bottle of alcohol and poured it in the
supermodel's battered face.  Cody screamed and Kelly kicked her hard in
the belly.  Then she grabbed the pretty Penthouse pet by her giant juggs
and hauled her to her feet.  Leaning Cody against a table, she hit her
again and again.  The incipient internet columnist collapsed back on the

	"What else can we do to her?" Kelly asked.  "I need some new

	Cody was crying and retching.

	It was the worse beating she had ever had.  "How many times do I
have to tell you, no more stories?" Kelly screamed at her. 

	"I should have killed you when I had a chance," Cody spat back

	That got her another beating.  Wayne held her under the arms while
Bruce smacked her in the stomach with a baseball bat.  Cody nearly passed
out.  The next thing she knew, Wayne was running her straight into the
edge of a door.  Cody went down, blood spu rting from her face. 

	They talked about other things to do to the rebellious teenager. 
They had already burned her with cigarettes.  One idea was to put her in
the bathtub with scalding hot water.  While they were deciding, Cody's
date for the evening, Kenneth, arrived. 

	He had brought her flowers and a box of candy.  He sat patiently
on the sofa, waiting while Wayne and Bruce took turns raping Cody on the

	Eventually, however, they were done, and the adorable society
hooker was allowed to leave.  Kelly warned her though that this had been
just the beginning.  She shouldn't expect to get off so easily. 

	Cody, still snuffling, pulled her torn blouse around her swollen
boobs, and nodded.  As extra punishment, Kelly decided she would not be
allowed to wear a skirt, only the dirty white silk panties into which she
tucked her black shirt and a wide leather b elt that dramatically cinched
in her narrow waist. 

	Cody was totally embarassed, especially since Kenneth was taking
her to Maxim's, one of the poshest restaurants in town.  The panties were
torn, too, and filthy with dirt.  And her sheer black stockings were
laddered with rips from being dragged roughly around the apartment. 

	Kenneth didn't seem to mind, though.  He was totally in love with
Cody and accepted her for what she was.  Cody was also in love with him,
even if he seemed a bit passive.  He always treated her kindly, and acted
as if he either hadn't noticed or didn't mind what a sex-crazed, drugged
out, slut she was.  He was also sympathetic.  "I don't know how you can
put up with that," he said in the cab.  "I think it's terrible the way
they treat you." 

	Cody was shaking uncontrolably.  The maitre'd led them to a table
in the center of the restaurant, one of the most prominent spots where
they could see everything, and be seen.  Even with heavy makeup, Cody
could not conceal the cuts and bruises on her s wollen face.  The girl,
who had often appeared in High Society, Playboy, Juggs, and 40 Plus, sat
hunched up, clutching her broken ribs.  Her huge boobs had almost fallen
out again. 

	"I just wanted to write," she said.  "Is that so bad?"

	"What did you write about?"

	Another thing about Kenneth was he was very supportive.  He always
encouraged Cody to express herself.  Like, he had suggested the article
about Guiliani that got Kelly busted for prostitution.  Cody valued his

	"You total fucking pig," Kelly had snarled.  Kenneth watched as she
shoved the knife up her teenage companion's cunt.  Kelly was so different
from Cody.  The two redheads were like day and night.  Write from your own
experience, he had told her.  An olde r man, Cody clung to him like a
second father.  He lit a cigarette and waited as the demented girl was
dragged into the bathroom.  He could hear the sound of running water.  And
then a scream.  When Cody stumbled out, she was dripping wet and red as a
lob ster.  "What are you having?" 

	"I could use a spare pair of ribs," Cody said, looking at the menu. 
She also appreciated it that Kenneth never made her eat off the floor.  In
fact, he did nothing to humiliate her.  Cody's tangled hair fell in her
face, still wet. 

	She had wanted it to be so different.  To please him.  Kenneth
behaved as if nothing was wrong.  Blood trickled out of her mouth.  She
was hemmoraghing inside.  He said he liked her essay.  It was time someone
spoke up for unwed mothers.  He was no bleed ing heart liberal, but enough
was enough.  "Kenneth."  "What?"  He began to analyze the current
political situation.  Clinton was far ahead.  Dole was behind.  Cody fell
out of her chair.  Morris had just signed a book deal.  "I hear he got two
point five million.  Are you alright?  How's your book coming?"

	Cody said she was bogged down.  Something was missing.  She
ordered a salad and prawn appetizer.  Kenneth examined her tear stained
face.  "Something bothering you?" 

	Cody started to talk about Kelly.  Kenneth looked bored.  They had
been through all that.  Why was she bringing it up again?  He wanted to
talk about himself.  "Did your father ever hit you?"  Maybe that was it. 
Girls often idolized their fathers. 

	Kelly had asked to have Cody back by twelve.  He didn't mind.  At
the door, he kissed her.  Her slim body clung to his, almost begging him
not to leave her.  Kelly opened the door and Cody slipped inside.  He
caught an appealing backward glance as the do or shut.  Going down the
steps, he heard a scream. 

	Kenneth was such a nice guy, but he didn't know how to assert
himself.  Like, the only time he ever stuck up for Cody was when he was
defending her to herself.  When she called herself a slut and a pig and
said she wasn't good enough for him.  He always urged her to fight for
herself.  No one else could do it for her.  It was her responsibility. 
But he never stuck around to see the results. 

	Kelly smashed Cody's head against the wall.  Or when she
systematically starved the little whore.  Cody was an emaciated skeleton
except for the two basketball size globes on her chest.  Sometimes she was
so hungry she could hardly stand up.  In the rest aurant, she ate like a
horse.  She ordered a huge sirloin steak.  Rare.  Some men would have had
it served to her in a dog dish, but not Kenneth.  He asked how it was,
savoring his prime.  Cody said swell through dripping lips.  Could she
have another?  S he could have eaten a cow.  The banana dacquiris were
cool, too. 

	Kelly made her throw up in the bathtub, and now she was lying in
it.  Kenneth was gone.  She couldn't depend on him to save her.  He had
said only she could save herself.  But when she tried to get out of the
tub, Bruce kicked her in the face.  She fell back in the scalding water
and tried desperately to get up.  Again, Kelly took her by the hair and
rammed her face into the wall.  Cody went totally unconscious. 

	"Did you have a good time?"

	"Oh yes.  We went to Maxim's."

	Kelly had never been to Maxim's.  She was more like back alley

	Angel Diaz died for your sins.

	They had to kill him.

	Her biography of Stalin got her some attention.

	What else are you writing about?

	The serfs.

	I didn't know you were interested in Russian history.

	I'm not.  I mean us.  We're the new serfs.  We're losing our
identity.  It's being taken away from us.  Gradually.  So we don't notice. 
Every day, we're losing some of it.  Or giving it away.  Americans are
betraying themselves faster than they're destr oying the environment.  I
feel like Paul Rivere, screaming the British are coming.  But really it's
only Clinton.  The British were freedom fighters compared to Clinton. 

	What are you talking about?

	You know how in the Republic, Socrates goes down to Pireaus to see
the games, or something, someone being castrated, I forget, and ends up
talking for days about what is a good and perfect state?  Sort of slipping
it in between the hor d'euvres when one of his friends invites him to
lunch and makes the mistake of asking so, Soc, what do you know?  Well,
that's what I'm trying to do, sort of.  Like you asked me out because you
get off on watching me squirm after my roommate trashes me, and I'm giving
you a lesson in Civics 101. 

	Kenneth nodded.  He liked brainy women.  In his late thirties, he
loved to hear women talk like men.  Especially pretty ones like Cody.  He
got a kind of cheap thrill, watching her face as she tried to formulate
the thoughts behind whatever she was going to say next.

	Someone on the internet said it was dangerous to mix politics and
sex.  They might have added, especially if you're a woman.  Cody felt she
was taking a big risk, telling him what she knew.  Suppose he was a double
agent and he reported her?  What did yo u mean, the British are coming? 

	Cody looked confused.  There was this guy, Paul Rivere...

	I know about Paul Rivere.  What did you mean?

	He hoped she would say something subversive.  It always gave him a
rush, knowing how dangerous she was.  He told himself he was doing
research.  Studying her.  He wondered if she asked him to set a bomb,
would he turn her in?  They talked about the revol ution. 

	He also liked to imagine returning her to Kelly and what would
happen after they said goodnight.  It was almost the same. 

	She told him all sorts of wild stories.  "Why do you let her treat
you like that?"  She said she had to. 

	People watched as she crossed and uncrossed her long legs.

	Writing was a discipline.

	The girl's seven inch boot heel plunged into Cody's mouth, and
ground down. 

	Have other men beaten you?  She nodded.  Often?  Yes.  I'm so
sorry.  It's not your fault.  Of course not.  But I can sympathize, can't
I?  In a way, that just made it harder.  Knowing what she was going back
to.  The beatings.  The rapes.  The starvatio n.  What got you interested
in that?  The Tzar's daughters.  What happened to them.  They were so

	It was almost too much to bear.  The way they were murdered.  She
wanted to ...  what?  Not cry.  Not be angry.  Something else.  Much more
personal.  Identify.  Yes.  That was it.  She wanted to be there.  Be one
of them.  Olga.  Tatiana.  Maria.  Anast asia.  In that cellar.  Being
shot down.  Screaming.  The bullets bouncing off her chest.  Because she
was wearing a corset made out of the crown jewels.  And then being
clubbed.  Raped.  Taken out and dropped in a well and burned with
gasoline.  It sound ed wonderful.  She wondered what it would be like. 
Maybe Boris Yelsin's grandfather had been one of them.  Being a grand
duchess.  What was it like to shoot a grand duchess in the face? 

	He lit a cigarette.


	No thank you.

	She hung on the fence, talking to the young guard.  Trying to find
out information.  Like where was the White Army now?  On the other side of
the ridge.  If only we could get to Moscow.  What was St. Petersburg like? 
Oh, it was nice.  We lived in the Wi nter Palace.  There was a museum next
door.  Her father was the Tzar.  Now he was retired.  Maybe I was one of
them in another life.  That might explain why I was always getting
trashed.  I was trying to remember my past life.  That night.  We thought
we were going to Moscow.  Everyone had been very excited.  They told us to
get up and dress quickly.  If we got to Moscow, we could get a train for
St. Petersburg.  My father had a pass.  This place sucked.  The first
thing I was going to do was have a hot b ath.  Someone said to go
downstairs and wait.  I couldn't understand why they wanted us in the
basement.  There was an outside door.  My father said it would be okay. 
Everyone was very excited.  Then they shot us. 

	You want to know about bloody?  He nodded.  Go on.  She shook her
head.  It's just a fantasy. 

	How old were you at the time?


	Olga was the oldest.  The most beautiful.  Totally trusting.  She
had a thousand years of Russian history in her veins.  Peter the Great had
been her zillionth great grandfather.  If Alexey died, she would be come
tzarina.  (There was a technical difficu lty because Paul I had degreed
that from then on, only men could be ruler.  But that was because he hated
his mother, Catherine, and besides, he was crazy.) She might be another
Catherine.  She would have been forty one or two when the Germans invaded. 
I could picture Olga at the battle of Stalingrad, commanding her troops. 
In black leather.  And a whip.  On a white horse.  It made a much more
appealing picture than Stalin cowering in the Kremlin. 

	On the other hand, she might have been captured.  That would have
been even better.  Olga in the hands of the Germans made an appealing
picture, especially if I was Tatiana.  I, too, had learned from my
forebears what it meant to betray my siblings.  You could do anything you
wanted as long as you did it in the name of Mother Russia. 

	Which, of course, is why they shot us.

	National security or something.

	The same reason you're supposed to show a picture i.d. at the
airport.  I'm telling you, one day soon, we'll all be wearing bar codes. 
They'll tattoo it on our bodies at birth.  With special ink.  So they can
keep track of us electronically.  You think the internet is a toy they
gave us to play with?  Fuck head.  It's to get you used to the idea of
universal surveillance.  Did you know that until the early fourteen
hundreds, the serfs were free?  If you were a peasant, you had the same
rights as anyone else.  At least as far as movement was concerned.  But
then the government began to tighten the screws.  Make it harder to leave
the big estates.  Some of those farms were as big as Kansas.  Imagine
being stuck in Kansas for all your life.  But it took tw o hundred years. 
It wasn't until 1649 that Tzar Alexei something or other proclaimed the
law that the serfs were permanently bound to the land, along with all
their descendants. 


	So it's happening all over.  And this time they're going to do it
with computers.  A hundred years from now, we'll all be bound to our
websites, and the people who own us, will be farming us out the way they
did the serfs.  I'm telling you, we're going b ack to the middle ages. 

	What do you propose to do about it? she heard him ask.

	Nothing.  She slumped back in her chair, staring into the brandy
snifter.  It's going to happen.  Nothing can stop it.  The very people
pushing hardest are the Democrats.  Feinstein.  Gore.  Gore's wife was
behind the arrest of rock musicians for their l yrics.  Clinton's
terrorism bill makes it legal to round up aliens and throw them out of the
country without even a trial.  The government doesn't even have to show
them the evidence.  But that's just the beginning.  Clinton is obsessed
with terrorism.  E ven though most of what he calls terrorism are American
nut cases and murderers.  I'm convinced whoever blew up Flight 800 was
somebody, a survivor, who put a bomb in his wife's suitcase.  If things
had gone as planned, that plane would have gone down in the Atlantic
trench.  They would never have found it.  But they held the plane an hour
at Kennedy.  Fifteen minutes more, and there would have been evidence all
over the place.  Terrorism is just an excuse.  What Clinton and his people
are really afraid o f is people like us being free and spontaneous.  They
probably told the serfs it was for their own good.  Just like the Soviets
did when they recollectivized the country.  Everytime I see some schmuck
saying he doesn't mind them searching his luggage as l ong as he's safe, I
want to vomit.  Or letting the police search you for drugs.  They love to
feel me up.  Especially the lezzie dicks.  Or stand in a line at the post
office to mail a package that weighs more than one pound.  I mean, come
on, how many Te d Koszinskis are there?  If you've ever been in the post
office in my neighborhood, you'd know how successful the terrorists really

	Clinton says the country won't give in to terrorism.  But he's
wrong.  We've totally capitulated.  If you think terrorism doesn't work,
here's just one example.  In 1980, the United States was the largest
creditor nation in the world; it had a credit bal ance of $400 billion
dollars.  That was the year of the Iranian hostage crisis.  Khomeni made
Carter look so bad Reagan won.  And then proceeded to bankrupt the
country.  Today, America is $800 billion in the hole.  And you think
terrorism doesn't work?  Wait until they implant a microchip in your

	They'll be able to control your every movement.  You'll wander
around bumping into furniture, and it will be like, wow, why'd I do that. 
Because you'll think that you're still free.  That this is the way it's
supposed to be.  Like God and the Tzar made me this way.  So I'd better
appreciate it and give the man a nice blowjob.  And then they'll pick you
up and smack you against the wall again.  You'll have to show your card
wherever you go.  And if you don't have it, you'll be taken to a
reprogramming ce nter and given a new i.d.  I mean, really.  A whole new
identity.  Or you'll have to wear a collar.  Like a dog.  With an
electronic leash.  You know the way a dog doesn't know it's on a leash. 
It thinks it's free and can go anywhere, but it goes where t he leash
takes it.  And does what the leash tells it to do.  Everyone will have a
leash.  That will be a title.  Like supervisor.  Only a leash will be more
subtle.  It will make you think you want to do what it's making you.  Even
though it totally hurts and you don't want to.  You're afraid or bored or
hate it.  Like we could leave tomorrow.  We don't have to stay here.  But
father says, what's the hurry?  Let's relax.  Why don't we play a game?>
He would talk to the superintendent.  Maybe we could go to the zoo.  They
have a new exhibit in the Kunsthaus.  Would we like to see that?  We said
we would.  Oh let's.  Could we papa?  Why not?  I'm the tzar, aren't I? 
Or was.  Romance has it's priveleges.  But when he came back, he wasn't
carrying any orang es.  I knew then, we were in trouble.  Some day my
prince will come.  But I'll be dead.  At the bottom of a well.  It's me,
Schatzi.  History overlapped itself.  I stood at the crossroads.  A
revolver in one hand, and a whip in the other. 

	But she knew it was too late.  She could only state the case, not
stem the tide.  They were in Delmonicos, and all around them, the crowned
heads of Europe were falling into the soup.  Over her bare shoulders, Cody
wore a short cape.  Kenneth lifted his glass.  To us, he said. 

	As she climbed the stairs, terror filled her heart, and she took
hold of his hand.  He steadied her.  Just another step, Olga.  Go on down. 
What is this?  I'm here.  Why?  Because you're beautiful That's why.  I
want to hurt you.  She looked at him.  Okay. 

	They danced the night away in eckkratingburg
the name changed, the scenary shifted.  Now he was back.  Get away from
her.  Her father took the charge full in the face.  His blood spattered
her.  She could hardly believe her eyes.  Then a bullet ricchochetted off
her chest.  Cody hit the floor.  Turn
 up the Leash.  She was going down.  Bruno covered her.  She hit the
floor.  And crawled towards the exit.  The bullets were tearing her dress
away.  Soon she would be naked. 
He peeled her off.  Go on ducks, do it.
Afterwards, they went down to the docks and cast off.  Headed classified

it was over.
no one dies in mother russia.  You just get taken back to the soil.

let her alone
or on a table
they declared that those were the bones of the grand duchess olga
prince phillip even gave a blood sample
so they could do it
he was reputedly a blood relative of the king
the dna proved it
What am I doing here/
That one belongs over here.
Bring her over
he dropped a bone
it went into a screaming nightmare.  I'm lying here on a fucking slab with
my legs wide open
you could drive a pick down there
I think you dropped one.
That belongs to Maria.
Marie is missing.
What happened to her?

We've got to find her.

She's my little sister.  She got out.

The bolsheviks combed the surrounding countryside, looking for her.
it drove them nuts,
trying to keep track of the tzar's daughters
I think that one's Anastasia.

Tatie, where are yoou?

Come to Uncle Lenin.

They have such funny namnes.
Are you sick?
Cody's head was lying on the table.

Across the room was her underwear.

how'd i get here
Some nights I come down here with the bones and I can almost imagine what
she looked like. 
It's as if she's still alive
and can talk to me.

	My grandfather said she was the most beautiful woman he had ever
seen.  So he killed her. 

	There's a lot of blood on Yelsin's hands.

	Already they call him the Tzar.  Later, they'll tell us how
horrible it was, and how many died, but today, let's forget that and get
down to business.  Okay?  Deal. 

	He hated playing with them.  He loved it.  They were playing for
high stakes.  Cody's ass.  You should be so good.  Fuck her.  She's a pig. 
And she was.  Carod wen.  The white gooddess.  Two jacks.  Fold.  Pair of
spades.  A can of benzedrene.  Deuces w ild.  How about if I throw in the
Urals?  Jackie Gleason played him in the movie.  Behind him hovered the
four grand duchesses, waiting to be served. 

	You lose, Comrade.

	He loved saying that.  Comrade.  What a nice word.  We were all
comrades together, out in the garage, in the basement.  Out by the pool. 
With the welfare mothers.  We'll all be hooked up together. 

	So what's wrong with that?

	You can't have everything your own way, can you?

	Someone has to give.  It just depends how you handle them.  Tata
had his way.  I have mine. 

	Kenneth laughed. Cody always kept him in stitches.  Maybe it's for
the best.  They'll cable right to our minds.  It'll be like a movie. 
Everything is happening.  And nothing is.  A cacoon of webwork, binding us
all where we want to be.  Back to the land .  Except this time, it'll be
in a computer.  You'll have your own webpage.  And people can write to
you.  And you can tell them everything you've always wanted to say.  How
your father fucked you.  How there's no more privacy.  Like they know
everything.  It'll control your whole life.  You can indulge any fantasy
and it will be real.  As real as you want it.  If you want to look at Bill
Gates' art collection, you can.  Or go anywhere in the world.  Or pretend
to be the tzar.  Or fuck a five year old gir l.  Anything you want,
because it won't matter.  Nothing will be there.  Except your tired,
twisted fantasy.  Maybe it's already happened.  You don't know, do you? 
How could you tell the difference?  Suppose I started going on and off
like a light bulb.  Would you know it then?  Or would the program
accomodate for that?  A displacement of space-time.  Because that's all it
is, an extension of Mr. Edison's light bulb hooked up in the brain.  Along
with tubes to suck in nourishment from other lifeforms.  E ventually,
you'll be hooked up bio-chemically, too, so you don't even have to cook. 
Food will be pumped in -- or withheld, depending on where you are, I don't
like to call it a dream, that's too trite; it's what's real to you, like
now.  And you'll screa m and scream and scream and everyone will hear you. 
And treat you like you always wanted to be treated, you dick licking
filthy whore.  Like a cunt slave.  Once you were the Tzar's lovely
daughter, and now you're a dick licking piece of garbage.  And you 'll
crawl, Tatiana.  You'll fucking crawl to eat me.  Won't you?  Say yes, you
little pimp.  Dog.  Beg to fuck me.  We laughed.  Lexy was never going to
be tzar.  Olga was.  And she'd be so wicked.  You could almost envision
world history with Olga in com mand.  Beg, you slut.  Beg for the honor
and privilege of being in the presence of the exhalted Romanova.  And
she'd die laughing.  We visualized what we'd do to her when we got her in
our power.  How she'd pay.  It would be so much fun, making Olga crawl . 
She'd have to fuck a whole regiment.  And then we'd make her do their
horses.  Wouldn't we, Olga.  Wouldn't we?  I was the stronger one and
could get anything out of Olga I wanted.  I could make her walk jay naked
through the front yard in front of the troops, like she was reviewing the
guard.  And she'd be so embarassed.  No, Tatie, don't make me.  We stood
in the doorway, talking about it.  I made her kneel and grovel in front of
me, and then I kicked her out the door.  She fell in the mud and tried to
get up.  I could hear her scratching at the door and begging to be let in. 
She huddled up there like a whipped dog, trying to cover herself.  The
only other door was around the other side of the house.  I made her walk
all the way there to get back in side. 

	Her face was burning with shame.  Kelly opened the door.  She
clung to him a moment longer before going inside.  Those bastards treat
her like hell.  It's a shame.  We ought to rescue her.  Russian men are
taught to honor women.  It's not right.  We will get her out.  Even if we
have to blow up the house. 

	The fact is, they're making new rules for the game, and you don't
have to be a rocket scientist to know that this thing is bigger then two
little people who don't mean a hill of beans in the greater scheme of
things.  Yelsin is totally out of it.  He mak es a wonderful TzaR. 
Websites will rise and fall along the Don.  Rurik will be welcomed in. 
And seven hundred years of history will begin again. 

	The key to the whole thing is Rurik.  What is there about him that
makes him a logical candidate for someone to take over your whole life? 
The boss of all bosses.  Is he strong?  Is he witty?  Can he fulfil the
contract?  What kind of programming does h e have?  How bad can things get
between the Ruriks and the Romanovs that this time in history is referred
to as "the time of troubles."  What kind of troubles?  I mean, Russian
imperial history is an on-going thousand year rampage of pathological
murder.  Ivan the Terrible had just spent forty years killing everybody in
sight.  How much worse could it have been?  Well, for one thing, the Poles
sacked Moscow.  Talk about sick Polish jokes.  Even today, it's hard to
talk about.  Hitler yes.  Napoleon.  Okay .  But 1610 is totally off
limits.  The first Romanov Tzar, Mikhail, was born the year after
Caravaggio painted The Lute Player.  The painting hangs in the Hermitage. 
I used to go there with my nurse before the war and look at it; before
they took it awa y to keep it safe from the Germans.  And I would think,
no matter what happens, something has always happened before.  There is
never a first. 

	Even today the Ruriks hate our guts.  You know, a lot went on in
old Russia that people don't know about.  I do.  I'm a vast repository of
memory.  I know everything that ever happened to Uncle Vanya.  And Aunt
Drina.  Those names.  I'll have to look the m up.  I don't know the
American spelling.  In Cyrilic, it's something like KJKGV%JhDFL0GDSGl. 
There are other linguistic differences.  There is no Rurik blood in our
veins.  The two families live scrupulously apart.  Never is it allowed for
the blood li nes to merge.  A Romanov princess once ran off with a Rurk. 
The punishment meted out to her is terrible to relate.  They brought the
two lovers back.  He had to watch while they cut out her cunt. 

	Then what?

	Nothing.  They handed her back to him, and told him to get out. 
He led her out of town on his horse.  The blood stayed pure.  To this day. 
It was like she let them through.  Into the house.  Everyone knew the
Ruiks were behind it.  She had never seen o ne, but there were many
stories from people who had.  It wasn't until after the war that the two
old families met in Paris and settled old scores in a civilized way,
something that society could relate to.  He gave her the cards, and she
dealt.  Take it up the rear, Tatie.  Oh no.  I couldn't.  Fuck you.  Do

	The cards were turned face up, and she saw the look on his face
when he saw that he had won.  Then he turned over the ace.  Bad luck,
Tatie.  Olga's deal.  A pretty little whorehouse in Montparnasse. 
Information was exchanged over the webwork of brassy salons and old
pictures.  What was it about her I missed?  Was it the moral decay>?  The
sense of humor.  It wasn't me at all.  I was just typing.  Getting it out. 
Hi.  By this time, you know the answer.  Ekaterine berg, my Ekaterine. 
She was my ever so many greats grandmama.  It was a period of peace and
prosperity.  What the hell does that mean?  Nothing.  It means absolutely
nothing.  By who's standards?  I was just living.  She died.  How was I to
know she was hungry>?  Everyone has their story.  Wh at's your's?  Don't
tell me.  I can guess.  I'm zeroing in now on the truth.  The Ruriks are
coming to meet us.  I can tell.  Soon they'll be here and we'll all go to
Moscow together. 

	We will, won't we?

                           Chapter 12 
          For Layla al-Attar, an artist and mother, who survived the
dictatorship of Saddam Hussein only to be die in her home during the 1993
bombing of Baghdad.  The American admiral in charge termed the loss of her
life, together with those of 7 other civilians, "insignificant." 

	I guess you could say I'm a dreamer.  But I'm not the only one. 
Whales dream.  Bears dream.  Ice dreams. 
	I think Susan MacDougal was a dreamer.  Is one.  Whatever.  I got
that impression, watching her being taken away in chains because she
wouldn't rat on Bill Clinton. 
	There's something about her large eyes and the wide, placid face. 
She had enough chains on her, you would have thought she was Joan of Arc. 
You remember the story of St. Joan, don't you?  She got involved with an
idiot who became King of France.  Same story, different country. 
	If you think times have changed, all you had to do was watch Susan
MacDougal trying to walk with chains hobbling her ankles.  And hold her
head up at the same time.  Like this is still me.  I'm still a real
person.  She was a bondage fanatic's dream.  I mean, what did the cops
think the woman was going to do?  Make a break for it?  America, the
	The story, in case you're interested, is complicated.  I don't
want to bore you.  Joan heard voices.  They told her she would save
France.  They didn't tell her about the bonfire.  In Shaw's play, Joan
tells the daulphin (sort of like the Prince of Wales ), who she calls
Charlie, that he will be king of France.  This is a hard sell, because
Charlie is a weak, empty, spineless creep who is so desperate for approval
he would betray his closest friend, which in this case, happens to be
	Clinton, on the other hand, is not so selective.  He will betray
anyone.  People on welfare, for instance.  That's for starters.  Half the
population of Arkansas.  The Clintons seem to have wandered through Little
Rock like Typhoid Mary, infecting everyo ne they touched with low grade
	While I, personally, would have loved to have seen Susan MacDougal
sing her head off in the adante to a Clinton family indictment, I can
understand why she didn't.  Voices, not in her head, but the mouths of her
lawyers explained that if she talked and s omething in her story didn't
match those of her ex-husband and Jim Guy Tucker, Kenneth Starr would
probably go after her for perjury.  Susan's story apparently is she
doesn't know anything about the Clintons.  Which is not what Kenneth Starr
wants to hear anymore than the English wanted to hear Joan claim she
wasn't a witch.  Susan's X and Jim Guy Tucker have both been convicted of
a number of crimes for which they are about to go to jail.  Susan has,
too.  The difference is that Jim Guy and MacDougal are reportedly willing
to lick Kenneth Starr's dick to cut a deal that will reduce their
sentences, and Susan isn't. 
	Hence the chains. 
	There's something rather beguiling about a beautiful woman
positively dripping with hardware.  Handcuffed.  The cuffs locked to a
leather ring belt.  Ankle chains.  I wonder if the cops sent away for that
stuff.  I thought she looked a little like me, ex cept I have red hair. 
And, of course, I would have been wearing a shorter skirt.  Or maybe just
panties.  And a corset.  And a collar.  I forgot to notice if she had on a
collar.  I'll have to go back and check the tape.  I get wet just watching
it.  Thi nking what it would be like, locked up in the Arkansas state
prison.  Here, too, my story differs slightly, because I assume wherever
they were taking Susan to incarcerate her, it was a facility for women. 
Not men.  But I was not.  Although Kelly says if I think a woman's prison
is any picnic, I should try it some time.  She ought to know, because she
spent three years in one.  I'll tell you about that some other time. 
	At about the same time Susan MacDougal was being led away, Clinton
was telling reporters that we, meaning his government, would "take the
battle to the terrorists", while announcing a whole new list of procedures
to make life miserable for Americans.  I don't like to write about Clinton
because, like nature, I abhor a vacuum.  Did you know that the number of
people killed as a result of international terrorism in 1994 and 1995
combined is less than approximately 57 people killed by lightning in the
U.S.  in 1993?  I have to say it that way because I lost the clipping from
the N.Y. Times with the exact figure.  Something in the high thirties.  It
was considerably lower than the number of people killed in the creaky old
Valujet airliner that crashed in the Everglades last spring because the
American government no longer regulates repair work on airplanes. 
Allegedly.  I'm supposed to say allegedly.  Like, there may have been some
other excuse.  But the point is, if you think being sprayed by x-rays and
snif fed by dogs is going to keep you safe in the sky, you are probably
even more of a dreamer than Susan MacDougal was when she let herself be
sucked into a partnership with the Clintons. 
	It must have been a little like going down in the Everglades.  Or
maybe the Amazon jungle.  The great swamp of South Carolina.  The Ozarks. 
Green Mansions it wasn't.  You remember, Hemingway starts out The Sun Also
Rises with a character who believes Gr een Mansions is social realism. 
And wants to go there.  Jake Barnes makes fun of him.  But then both men
become entrapped by Brett Ashley.  As Joan is entrapped by the English
into renouncing her voices.  But without them she is nothing.  So
eventually s he recants.  What Starr wants to know is whether Clinton
testified truthfully at the MacDougals trial along with Jim Guy Tucker. 
Susan is already facing two and a half years in the slammer from that one. 
Starr has basically told her -- allegedly -- tell me what I want to hear
about Bill and Hill, and you can walk.  But it had better be good.  Bitch. 
Or witch.  What have you.  The procedure is the same.  Words count.  Yours
had better rhyme with your ex-husband's, or you'll spend the rest of your
life making license plates. 
	If it was me, I'd sell Hillary up the river in a second (even
though I don't think she'd look half as appealing in chains as Susan. 
Susan is to Mrs. Clinton what Flipper is to Jaws).  But then, I might not. 
I mean, there are other possibilities.  I mea n, suppose I was a
terrorist?  What better way to destroy America than having a president you
can control to make do the most heinious things imaginable?  I could pull
Bill's chain any time I wanted.  Think of the power.  I can destroy you,
Charlie.  That 's why they had to burn her.  They knew she was dangerous. 
They dragged the screaming teenager into the courtyard.  I know the story. 
This is what happened.  Joan was no longer human.  Or a virgin.  But she
was still alive.  And she fought like a demon.  Which is what they wanted. 
Because it was boring being a soldier.  So when someone said, "Will no one
rid me of this meddlesome priest?" another constant of history, it gave
you something to do to kill him.  Or her.  Or whoever it was. 
	And if it happened to be a young and pretty woman, well, so much
the better.  One of life's fringe benefits. 
	It is better to something than to burn.  Have sex?  Testify? 
Destroy welfare?  I can't remember.  According to the story, Joan is
actually burning to save France.  Not Charlie.  Her voices have told her
that she must drive out the English and make Charl ie the Daulphin king. 
They also tell her they are angels.  Why two angels would think France
would benefit from having a king like Charlie is a little shadowy, though
probably not much different from say, why a significant majority of the
electorate beli eves having Clinton president for another four years is
the lesser of two evils.  Like, you have to ask, just how bad could it
get?  We're already on our knees.  The only consolation I can tell is
after Clinton, the Democratic party will be finished.  It will be history. 
Because, for one thing, just about the time Clinton is about ready to
collect his pension and his wife is getting out of jail, an army of
welfare veterans will be turned into the streets like a wave of new
immigrants with nothing to do a nd nowhere to go except prison.  And guess
who'll get the blame? 
	But maybe not.  It won't be Clinton who's gored.  (Sorry.) They
don't call him slick for nothing.  It's the Democrats who are hopeless. 
People who think the Democrats are looking out for us little people are
not dreamers.  They are stupid.  Believing t he cowards in the Democratic
Party will somehow protect you is like buying a ticket on a Valujet. 
According to the passengers who got off the plane in Miami, it was so
delapidated that the stewardesses had to use bullhorns to give air safety
instructions on the way down from Georgia.  Remember that the next time
they ask you for a picture i.d. at the check-in counter.  It's for your
own safety.  Be grateful your government is watching out for you.  By
watching you.  Wherever you go.  And whatever you do.  If you don't do
anything, you'll be okay.  Just don't breathe.  Or make faces.  And say
sir.  And no ma'am.  And be glad you're in America.  Because in some
countries people are not free.  But we are.  Ja wohl.  What's that? 
Nichts.  Nothing.  Sig Heil .  I get so mixed up.  You want me to use the
cattle prod?  Ya.  Ya.  No.  Don't.  I'll tell you anything you want to
	The Starr Chamber proceedings will continue.  I'm sure I'll find
out what I want to know.  You needn't think you can fool me.  I like it
when they resist.  It gives me an added incentive to... 
	Break her.  You were going to say "break her."  Weren't you? 
You'd love to see her strung up and tortured, wouldn't you?  Well, this
isn't some medieval prison where you can do anything to a woman that you
want.  This is America, and we have laws that r egulate just what you can
do to a person and under what circumstances.  It makes it more
interesting.  I mean, we've come a long way from that old sword and
sorcery stuff.  Very crude.  But effective.  Now we use acid.  And the
threat of endless boredom.  Much more corrosive.  Inside.  Where it really
hurts.  You're very pretty my dear.  But eventually, you'll talk.  It's up
to you, whether it's now or sooner.  He stroked her cheek.  Why don't we
have dinner?  I could show you my stamp collection.  This i s an upside
down Zebra from Tanzania.  They only made ten million of them.  Very rare. 
Let me get you another.  I'm not a bad man.  I like your spirit.  This
isn't Nazi Germany.  We've learned a lot since then.  Like, why were you
in Kansas?  I suppose y ou heard voices.  What did they tell you?  Were
you friends with Bill Clinton?  Did you even know him?  Do you think I
care?  Clinton means nothing to me.  It's his wife I'm after.  And ... 
	He broke off.  Yes.  Go on.  Who else? 
	Never mind. 
	Kelly?  It's Kelly you're interested in, isn't it? 
	I knew it instantly. 
	I could see it in his eyes.  He wanted her so bad.  What, exactly,
do you want to know? 
	I turn him off because he's boring.  Next to him, Dole is Gregory
Peck.  I think he thinks he's Paul Newman.  I know.  It cracks you up. 
But what can I say?  He's just totally boring. 
	So you don't know what he said? 
	I fell asleep. 
	While you were having sex? 
	I...  I don't want to answer that. 
	He let it pass. 
	Did you ever call him Pookie? 
	Do you know what a pookie is?  I mean, in Arkansas? 
	She told him. 
	It was the first time she had ever seen him laugh.  I mean,
really.  In fact, it took him fifteen minutes to calm down.  And stop
crying.  The tears just poured out of his eyes. 
	I never knew. 
	It's in the state constitution. 
	What else can you tell me? 
	I don't know much about Susan.  Where she's from.  Whether it was
Arkansas originally.  What her background might be.  I didn't pay much
attention to the trials.  I don't know anything about her.  For all I
know, she may have been the mastermind behind the whole setup.  I only
noticed her in the last couple of days; first how gorgeous she was, and
then when I clicked on and saw the images of her in chains, I really sat
up.  The look in her eyes before and after they put on the leg irons was
what got me.  And the wrist restraints. 
	Joan must have had that look when she knew she was no longer free. 
People who play around with bondage ought to try it.  If they're really
serious.  It's not the same as having a safeword.  Or some other escape
hatch.  This time, it's real.  The knots a ren't going to come out.  The
plane is really going to crash.  No one on a white horse is going to save
you.  Every dominatrix labors to distill that look in the eyes of her
submissive.  It is not obsequious.  But a knowledge that some kind of
invisible l ine has been crossed, and nothing will ever be the same as
	She was going to go to jail anyway.  This only meant she would go
earlier.  And more visibly, detached in the spotlight of public
humilitation from the grey detrius of an old husband and a political hack. 
Here, she would be center stage, and few would b e asking, how could a
woman of such beauty marry him?  It is a question, she, herself, probably
wondered.  But again, I don't know.  Why are you asking? 
	I want to put the Clintons in jail. 
	So do I.  But I can't help.  I don't know anything about them. 
	The only thing I have on them is the crime bill.  The welfare
bill.  The terrorist bill.  Firing Dr. Elders.  Hiring Dickie Morris. 
Waco.  The first bombing of Baghdad.  The second bombing of Baghdad.  What
else?  None of it's illegal.  It's sort of lik e Nixon.  He should have
been tried for war crimes, but instead, all they could get him on was a
second rate burglary.  Clinton's the same.  The only way you'll get him is
like Al Capone.  For tax evasion, or something stupid like that. 
	You're pretty smart, aren't you? 
	My voices tell me everything. 
	Some times a girl has to take care of herslf 
Like.  What's in it for me? 
How about a prisoner exchange along the border between Cyprus and Mexico. 
The girl stays. 
Give her back, Paris. 
I'm holding on to my last porker chip 
they left us 
and went to another planet./ 
there it was all taken care oif 
and they came back 
from where 
the land of the tzars 
how many of them 
it might be a critical overload. 
the tzars are back 
you think you have troubles 
keep him out of there 
get down 
it must be her 
i'm telling you 
give me a grenade 
ka\lauch her 
it was a good morning for a takeoff 
he walked down to the loading ramp 
and mailed the package 
which exploded in midair 
so they didn't get to paris 
which is a planet in the halycon cluster 
out past goder desk 
where the owlhoots hoot 
and howl 
come on slut get back in the carrieage 
i'm tallking to you 
get in 
what are you saying. 
iti's her 
turn her a little tot he right 
that's right 
now hit her 
you only saw the body flying backwards 
into the roller blades 
everything is made real 
every special effects you can ever think of 
was her falling into those bvlades 
it was worse than your old lady 
that was her 
i'm telling yoou 
get her up 
now get out 
bvoth of you 
we was only trying to help 
what happened 
id dont dont 
]Susan had fallen 
I had seen that look in so many midnight hookers 
that it was a long way down 
and she was still getting used to it 
I said I'd get you 
tghat's what he calls a defense? 
that's supposed to keep us safe? 
a dog sticking his nose up my twat to see if I'm stuffed with exploives
and ready to go off any time anyone sticks a finger up there?  I can't
tell you how many times Kennedy has missed it by an inch
12 minutes. 
What a joke. 
his dog licking my twat while he watched from the sofa 
or the chaise lounge 
only by manipulating certain muscles in my stomach have I been able to
keep the eastern end of Long Island from going nuclear
So you'd better thank me, bill. 
You'd better be thankful I don't go off like a bomb in your smirking face 
now kneel 

Every submissive is an incipient dom.  You just have to know your man. 
And what brings it out of you.  Like, Dobermanns don't make it.  I need a
real snauzer to get me primed.  Wrapping his tongue around my clit,
getting it up in there.  Along with his n ose.  I want your whole face up
inside me.  Jakc.  Bill.  What ever your name is.  The name behind Jack's
desk is an empty shell.  Nothing will fill it.  Take down the facade. 
	The masque is over. 
	The black death stalks our corridors.  Bringing down everything it
touches.  Like Bill and Hillary.  A real virus.  How do you protect
yourself?  How can you isolate yourself from the damage of a kind they
seem to provoke?  Just being there.  It's like t he living death.  Soon
we'll all be zombies.  They will have infected us all by their eternal
surveillance and nosy looking in.  Like I know they do it.  Watching me. 
I can't take it anymore.  I've got to bust out.  But I can't.  No matter
where I go, it is like always stumbling over the same old thing.  We're
going round in circles.  We've got to do something.  Is anybody listening? 
But of course they are.  That's the trouble.  They know everything I say. 
I'm always on display.  Smile for the camera.  Bug off.  I want to be
alone.  They would have nailed Garbo to a wall.  Noone will ever be alone
again.  Someone will always be watching.  Get out of my face, shithead.  I
don't have an i.d.  I'm no one.  Fuck you.  Get that camera away from me. 
I'll ki ck you in the fucking balls if you take my picture again.  You
stand there at the fucking checkout counter.  And you're always on
display.  They look at you like you're some kind of disease.  See that
one.  She fits the profile.  Search her.  Strip search .  Right there in
the terminal.  They don't call it terminal for nothing.  You think you're
going to Atlanta?  Boy are you in for a big surprise.  You don't have to
tell me anything.  The camera in your cell will pick it all up.  Soon
you'll be babbling i nanities like this one.  She's possessed.  Thinks she
hears voices when all it is is Bill and Hillary.  Telling her what to do. 
And she's screaming, fuck you, Bill Clinton, I'm a real person.  Get lost. 
And let me alone! 
	Her name's Cody but she thinks she's Joan.  Or Evita.  It changes. 
First she's a knight in shining armor and then she's a puddle of spit Juan
Peron scraped off the streets of Sao Paulo after a knife fight between her
and La Caliente.  It was not a prett y sight.  He shipped her back to
Buenas Aires in a trunk and hung her up on the palace balcony with a loud
speaker in her lungs It gave her that throaty quality so beloved by
halfwits in search of authenticity. 
	A b;a mndlaegadrdf 
okay.  What do you want? 
	I want a truce.  Until after the election. 
	I can arrange that. 
	Kenneth Starr has said he will do nothing to influence the
re-election.  There will be no October surprises. 
	"All the federales say, they could have had them any day. 
	 They only let them go so long 
		 out of kindness, I suppose." 
	Something something, Susan fell.  Billy's living in the Grand
Here the story ends, we're told When the boats come in, the young men walk
down to meet them.  Each man hoists a turtle onto his back and carries it
up the beach to the warehouse, hurling it onto the pile that is already
there.  The turtles are carried on their backs with their long necks
hanging backward and their great flippers beating the uncomprehending air,
as if trying to find a rhythm in a sea until now unknown.  In the
warehouse, surrounded by their companions who are now barely recognizeable
in their clumbersome movement, they exhibit a final defiance until men
with pistols shoot them in the head.  The turtles are then removed from
their shells.  I don't know if you've ever had a fingernail pulled off. 
You might try it to get some idea of what a turtle must feel losing a
shell.  So hopefully, they're dead.  They kill thousands this way.  The
shells are sold for aphrodisiacs.  And after that, they're as poor as
	When I looked at the big sea turtles waving their arms, I thought
how much alike we are.  We think the sea is forever.  And now, here we
are, flopping around on our backs or making fuck you gestures at a mirror. 
Fuck you, John Lennon.  I'm glad you're d ead. 
	There.  I've admitted it.  So sue me. 
	I don't want to live as one.  Fuck you.  I'm out of here.  Nada. 
Ziltch.  I don't have one. 
	That stopped him.  You don't have a national security code? 
	Then you can't go anywhere. 
	That's what you think. 
	Actually, having a national i.d. might not be such a bad idea. 
You could play games with them.  Slip between the cracks.  Explore a new
kind of space that those with numbers could never access. 
	On the other hand, I have a legal right to kill you if you don't
have a number.  Which creates a whole new substrata of classification,
those who are hunted and those who are not.  You would get her in your
sights, like a television camera, and you could track her through the
woods and up into the timberline, the way animals who are tagged are
always open to public scrutiny and never have a complete set of privacy,
even when they're out in the open and no one's around.  Like someone is
always looking.  W atching.  As she examines her breasts.  As she takes a
shit.  Watching her fuck.  I mean, come on, this isn't a porno movie.  I
like doing it with goats.  And just at the moment of total climax, you let
her have it.  And she comes down.  Hard.  Like a sea turtle cracking it's
shell on the concrete floor.  It could be like a game.  Not with her.  But
with your own sense of worth and self-reliance, to be able to kill like
this, and no rules to govern it.  In some barrels they collected the
irredescent eggs.  These were also good for folk medicines.  And good
health.  The sea turtles had come there to lay their eggs.  Thousands came
each year.  But not as many as before.  Something seemed to be killing
them.  It was hard to tell what.  Probably air pollution. 
	Air pollution causes a great deal of deaths each year among the
sea turtle population.  We are working to control it.  But in the
meantime, the sea turtles die.  We only collect the dead ones.  Most of
these are women.  The turtles lunge at the men with the pistols and it is
like a thing of beauty, the way they die.  We call it El Tornamento des
los la Big Stupid Women Turtles.  The pistelloros walk up to the turtles
and shoot them point blank in the face.  Wouldn't want one of those babies
to give you a blowjob.  He stuck his dick in a dead turtle's mouth and
made the gesture of manhood.  Ole. 
	These were innocent folk who destroyed the environment wantonly
and with total abandon as is practiced by indigenous species throughout
the world.  In the presence of death, life was once again reaffirmed in
the symbolism of the sea turtles eggs which ma ke a good soup and can also
be used to control blisters.  At night, prayers were said in the small
fishing village's candlelit church, begging for the turtles return the
next year.  And you know, it works.  The turtles do return, although no
one knows why .  You'd think they'd learn.  It is one of the enduring
mysteries of nature.  In it, they seem sooooo human. 
	She had never had leg irons before.  It was a whole new

                           Chapter 13


	My girl friend, Kelly, says we're going to get married as soon as
Clinton signs the bill outlawing same sex marriages.  It's not that Kelly
is all that political, but like most teenage girls, she doesn't like
assholes telling her what to do.  We're plann ing a big ceremony.  We
haven't decided whether to hold it in Georgia or Oklahoma.  Kelly wants
some place totally homophobic in order to ensure maximum fuck you coverage
in the media.  We'd also like to have Newt Gingrich's sister perform the
ceremony, t he way she did in Friends, you know, the episode they wouldn't
show in Texas?  But we're not sure if it would be legal because I don't
think she's a real clergyman.  Or woman.  She just played one on tv.  So
we might have to get someone else. 

	Religion's no problem since both Kelly and I are Baptists. 
However, one thing we still haven't been able to agree on is which one of
us is going to be the husband.  Kelly says it should be me, and I said,
fuck you.  Not this time, honey. 

	Because, let's face it, there is nothing more hopeless than a man. 
Right?  Kelly and I have both been around enough to know that.  And
neither of us wants a lifetime role as male provider and bellhop.  And
resident wimp.  So we're still fighting over it .  I can't tell you what
it's like.  I don't know whether we're going to make it to November 2. 
That's when we're having it.  The Saturday before the election.  So it
doesn't interfere with the World Series.  Other than that, the weekend
should be totall y dead, newswise.  Everyone will be there.  At least
every supermodel in New York.  Sabrina.  Kathy Kups.  Tabiatha Two-Lips. 
Wendy Whoppers.  Linda Echevarria is going to be my maid of honor.  Don't
worry.  There'll be plenty of guys, too.  Robert.  Fle tch.  Danny
Goldenthighs.  Harry Hothips.  Billy Blyth.  And the Hudson Twins.  Mark
and Slade.  In fact, they're going to be Kelly's best men.  They'll hold
her up.  And give her the ring.  And make her put it on my finger. 
Kelly's going to be wearing a morning coat with long tails, and a ruffled
shirtfront tucked into black panties, and black stockings and high heeled
boots.  Aren't you, Kel?  You're going to look like a fucking Rockefeller
Rockette, aren't you babe?  WHAMMMMMM./

	And a top hat.  I almost forgot.  Putting on your top hat,
polishing your nails.... 


	And gloves.

	No jewelry.  Except a watch.  What else do men wear?  Shirt studs? 
Cuff links.  Try to look nice. 

	The mirror shattered.

	Kelly was not playing games.  Neither was Perry.  Explaining why
America was spending 775 million dollars a day to make Iraqis miserable. 
Saddam was playing some kind of game.  And I was having a pretty good
time, teasing Kelly about being a man. 

	She didn't like it.  Kelly always likes to get her own way, but
this time she wasn't going to.  I was going to be the bride.  I already
knew just what I was going to wear.  I was having it designed by a woman
on St. Marks Place.  I was going to look ravi shing.  For the first time,
I was going to be wearing something Kelly hadn't been involved in.  A
fantasy in lace and silk.  With a long train.  And several bridesmaids. 
Tiffany, Linda, Courtney, Robin Byrd, Rupaul, the Pendergraf quintuplets
and you, da rling.  I wouldn't forget you.  You simply must.  I'm having
all of you flown to Paris for the fittings.  It will be such fun. 
Everyone will be there.  Except the Clintons.  And Dole.  And Newt's
family.  They don't approve.  And B.B.G.  He's still tryin g to toady up
to the Clinton's, hoping they'll change their minds and let him keep his
job as secretary general. 

	You know, I hate this.

	I absolutely hate writing this bullshit.  It is so ... so
transient.  I mean, a month from now, nobody's going to know who Clinton
and Guiliani are.  Or Dole.  Sure.  They may remember some odd fact, like
William Howard Taft was the only president to als o be chief justice, but
face it, none of these guys is Godot or Murphy.  Even if I changed the
names, say, made Clinton Godot and Dole Murphy, would it mean anything? 
Would that give them some kind of timeless quality necessary to great
literature?  Let me make sure I have this straight, Godot is Clinton and
Dole is Murphy, right?  No.  The other way around.  Murphy is Dole and
Godot is Clinton?  No.  The other other way.  Clinton is Dole and Godot is
Murphy?  I think you're getting confused.  Well then, what is it>?  It's
Clinton is Gotto.  And Dole is a stranger.  Named Murray.  Got it.  Good. 

	Murray is traveling through a flat, wide land, which he identifies
as Kansas, but actually it isn't.  As far as he knows, he could be in the
steppes of Asia, perhaps looking for dinosaurs./

	There he meets a woman, who tells him his fortune.

	God, is this a good cigar.

	I forgot to mention, he's in his pajamas.  Light blue polyester. 
With purple cording. 

	Murray is being set up.  He knows it.  But he's not sure by who. 
Possibly someone close to him.  He's on guard.  A tyrannasaurus rex is
sticking out of the sandstone.  Dole talks to it. 

	He tells it about teenage drug addiction.  The tyrannasaurus
wrecks has been dead for 200 million years.  But to Dole it's like an old
friend.  A familiar face in the wilderness.  How're doing?> They shake
hands.  The tyno asks what happened.  Murray sa ys he lost it in the war. 
T rex commiserates.  He was at Anselmo beachhead.  Getting a tan.  The
Japanese were running all over the place, waiting on us.  Couldn't do
enough.  Met a spectacular Eurasia chick there.  I'm telling you. 
Knockers out to ... 

	In the meantime, back at the Grand Hotel, Bill Goddu is getting
ready to take over the world.  On the border between Texas and Iraq, the
Kurds had become popularized and were making up signs against one another
in one of those periodic outtakes of coloni al badness we hear so much
about nowadays from reading it in the papers or watching it peek from
between the commercials on the evening news.  When we come back, we'll
tell you about something else. 

	Kurdish viruses were among the most deadly in the world, and could
infect large areas of the internet almost indiscrimately.  Saddam had to
act.  In so doing, he might have saved the world.  And what does he get? 
Billions.  Saddam controls the U.S. arms industry.  He keeps them in
business.  In office shrines all over America there are little statues of
Saddam with food offerings and prayers that he live a million years. 

	He also gets a cut off the top.

	And calls the shots.  Jersey crude is about to go up.  Sky rocket. 
The deal's off.  I want ten percent.  Americans.  I love em.  Come on,
baby.  Hit me again.  Make my day.  You'll never get me to back down. 
This time, I'm sticking to my guns.  WHAMM.. 
  She had my arms tied up and back, so that my shoulders were practically
poopping, and she was punching my face as I tried to duck away. 
AAAGGgGGGGGAGAGR. It was starting to get serious.  I didn't want to walk
down the aisle like this.  I was going to be totally disfigured.  NO Kel,
DOHT! no no ononnon she brought the sodering iron over closer to my mouth
I tried to pull my lips back aaaaahhhhhhhhh

i e de shirk ta
she kneed me in the tits
and slapped me across the face with hot iron
branding me

now, she said, tell me
rubbing it under my tits
tell me which one of us is going to wear the ring?

I still wouldn't give in.
she pulled my head down by the hair and kneed me in the face
blood poured out
she pulled my head up
I could see the fist coming
but I couldn't do anything to duck it

then she let me be
think about it
she cut me down
I fell on the floor
and lay there
my hands were still be hind my back
Kelly kicked me
in the gut
and walked away
the woman came over and hurt her
she didn't like going back
she kissed me on the lips, forcingmy tongue around hers
I couldn't remember anymore what it meant or why I was out here.  It was
getting dangerous.  Why did I keep doing this?  Running for president. 
What is it?  I'm beginning to wonder.  He looked out the window of the
plane.  Then he noticed it wasn't a win dow.  He was looking out of the
plane.  As if it wasn't there.  As if it had just exploded.  Hey, what is

	Key West said it was the Gobi Desert.  Well, words were changing. 
They didn't mean what they used to.  Protect used to mean protect.  Not
sell out.  And honor once meant you told the truth.  But now it's the
opposite way around.  Truth means nothing.  A nd the dinosaurs are dead. 

	Come in, Carolina.  Do you read me?

	Hurricane Karma bearing down on you.  12 o'cl''pocl hloiid  hi
we talked like that in the core.

righty o, big boy.

loud and cheerr

true or false.

Mexico or Zebras.


You lose.

	No one could understand us.  Then they said we had to talk
English.  Is that a bore.  If you only knew the sensuality of language. 
But you have to be attuned to it.  That's what we're here for.  To get
your inner organs working.  They began.  Cody passed out. 

	It was an inner shriek that sliced through her consciousness like
a knife in a bordello.  Whisk.  Blood poured out of her mouth. 

	Getting closer.

	She was trying to remember something.  About drugs.  About teenage
drugs.  Tell your father, if he can't control your congressman, why the
hell does he think he can control me? 

	By the time kids are old enough to smoke, 9, 10, they've already
compiled enough evidence on their parents to control them for years. 
Like, sure, Dad, call the cops.  Bust up my teenage call girl ring, and
I'll recover my memories of all those times you put your hand down my
pants.  And then Mom might have to go to work, and maybe even sell the
split level and go on welfare, but now there's no safety net, is there;
they make you work, so she'll be out there sweeping the streets.  So
either dial or get o ff the phone.  Parents aren't stupid.  I could also
have told Ma about Betsy.  His girl friend down at the Elks.  Everything a
kid does is an evasion. 

	Like one hand washes the other.  Americans have just watched two
week-long trade shows in which their national leaders whored themselves
out to the highest bidder.  Some got a pretty good deal.  Others got
shafted.  And you wonder why two thirds of the American public didn't
vote in the last congressional election?  And that was just the
electorate.  It didn't include the majority of the people who aren't
allowed to vote.  Like I say, if you can't control congress, how in hell
are you going to control a healthy teenager? 

	Well, for one thing, you can cripple him.

	Or her.

	Like, shoot him in the head.

	Take away his toys.

	Make him go to work.

	Make him stop thinking.

	Make him think he's nothing but a dick.

	Make her think she's a cunt.

	Put em together, and you have a nice little package.  Now change
it.  Make her positive and him negative.  What happens?  She gets a

	Now reverse the circuit.

	What shall we ccall that?



	And this?

	Same sex.

	Wait a minute.

	He examined the charges.

	There seems to be something wrong here.

	Got a problem?

	No, Stella.  Don't.

	He lost his teeth.

	Clergy from five states stood outside the church door with their
congregations, waiting to tear the two young women to bits.  The place was
surrounded by police, their big fat Georgia highway patrol bellies hanging
over their belt buckles.  There was a cross burning on the lawn.  Kelly

	She loved spectacles.

	This was going to be good.

	I wasn't so sure.


	Uh, Kel....

	She took my arm.  Trustingly.  I knew she was the loveliest thing
I had ever set eyes on.  How could I resist a look like that? 

	I nodded to Tiffany and Andrew, who opened the doors, flooding the
cathedral interior with sunlight. 

	I saw Kelly go pale as she realized what was out there.  She took
a step backward, but I caught her.  This was your idea, slut.  And we
walked down the steps of the church. 

	What am I saying?

	What does any of itmean to  me. 
Wosome things stay and some don't
are you with me, Cicktor
how do we communicate
I wonder if you'd like to come over and see me sometime
he was an old man with a prick
I knelt in fun of him, giving he m a blow
now, little slut, let's see what this does
don't vote for him
please don't 
send him back to Arkansas where we can have him
do it for me
pass this on.  I'm a little girl who wants to play ball with Bill.

Am IO coming in, steve?
anesaggaga agr gaoga
Okay.  Like what does that mean?
it means, shut up and brush your teeth
everyone talks in ano\grams around here
it[s'ag galikga 
energy back
from a buffal'
dance to the music
coming in loud and clear, Cincinnati
and we'
d talk while the music played
then something cured her and she remembered the nights in the cellar with
the rope. 
Can I have the car, tonight, Dad?

Her father said yes.
Even though he knew she didn't have a license
so he got her one
so she can caruse on an island in june, my honey moon, 
the bends are the fens
check it out.

Dame Gilda, do you have anything to say?  Wasn't it a lovely wedding? 
We're still trying to descipher it.  Making the cursor dance to the music
Now, figure it out.  It means something. 

They had no idea what it meant.  Even though it looked like the next
pyramid, it was different. The stones were put in differently.  They
learned something between the second and the first, didn't they? 

They sure did.

They made women do it.

Which is why the first took a year and the second took sixty centuries. 

	Women know how to take their time.

	Not twelve minutes and it's over.

	It's her.  It's got to be her.  What is it?  

	A desk drawer <

it was out
she hit it with her thigh
and tripped over the dog
and fell on the floor
and then got up and spilled her drink
where nice people congregate.m  It's defi9nite on me
just do it.

Don't worry.

Soon he was having fun.

Then a fight broke out.

Then there were shots.
And everybody scattered and tupac grabbed hiws crotch.
did anybody see anything
not me, babe.  I was in the john.

It must have been tight in there
I'll say
everybody was into it
Tupac fell on the floor
They trampled him trying to get to the bathroom
saving their asses
nobody pulled a gun
except the guy who was shooting
and he got away
Cody crawled over to the minister and kissed his feet
Just because you're a woman doesn't mean you're not a submissive
That all has relevance to the investigation.

You mean you got all this with green stamps?

I'm telling you.  You're quite a saver.  He said it like that.  As if he
had said something and it came out queer.  Which is what this wedding was
all about.  Whether or not you're gay.  Well, Kelly isn't.  And neither am
I.  We just love each other.  Lik e we're totally in love.  That's all
that's necessary.  And we'll always be together.  No matter what the
government or the state of Georgia do to us.  Like, you go first.  No. 
Why don't you?  We were discussing this like civilized adults.  Trying to
be polite.  We didn't want it to be our first fight after the ceremony. 
We wanted to save it.  For it to be a private, intimate moment.  Complete
with brass knuckles.  Kelly slipped her hand into her pocket.  I opened my
purse.  It was going to be a real sh ootout, right there on the church
steps.  Just her and me, and five thousand Christian rednecks lusting for
our blood. 

	This is her body which is broken for thee.  A real eucharist and
celebration of the spilling of Christ's blood.  She had been gay, you
know?  Yes.  It's in the Wanamaker Apookrapha.  And Mary had beaten her. 
Just tormented the child to death.  About bei ng God.  And not looking up
to him.  But being him through me I could become as I am and not the manyp

Now a new signal arose for period.  Once it had been dot.  Now it was dis. 
Make a dsk.  [] You hit both at the same time.  The computer chhoses. 
Which is best.  Which is fastes\t.  And above all, who lose.  Avoid all
tothers.  Dot had become inextricab ly associated with the period.  But
dot's not what happened.  Wha happened was he hit her and she's been
making him pay ever since kneel dog.  That's one thing the groom has to
do.  Kneel.  She puts hher foot on his head.  And presses down with her
heel.  Instant lobotomy.  Neither of us wanted to go through that. 

	On the other hand, I didn't want to go through another beating. 
So I held her hand, and made faces][ Good.  You failed.  Now do it again. 
And again.  And again.  And each time tell yourself "I've failed."  Really
say.  Really believe it Make it real in your heart.  I've failed.  Now get
up.  All I could see was me in that dress.  Me walking down the aisle. 
I'm going to get married.  I'm so excited.  Give a drag.  I'm so stoned. 
I don't know what is happening.  The ladies in waiting are late.  Can't
anyone be here on time?  I daren't let Kelly see me.  It's bad luck.  Oh,
I'm so beautiful.  I wonder if I'll ever be so beautiful again. 

Oh yeah, I was crawling on the floor in front of the Archbishop, licking
his feet.  Now I remember.  Oh no.  It hurts.  Get it away from me.  Kelly
attached the leash to my collar and pulled me away.  Sit, Cody, sit. 

	I was so excited, I wet myself.  Wagging my little puppy ass.  I
was also starting to shit. 
o god no
that hurt her
he backed off
and rammed it in
Nancy screamed
And she wasn't even there.
Nancy's my myth.  She knows everything.

Like she could feel it when I screamed.  And she let it on out.  I woke up
in her bed, shivering.  What happened? 

You had sort of a rough trip.  Here.  Drink this.

Is this Atlanta?

Honey, You at Charming Nancy's shack in the back of the outback.  Open
your mouth. 

Over the next six weeks she nursed me back to recovery, and then some.  I
remembered everything.  I knew just what I had to do.  I booked a ticket
on the first jet to Paris, and it happened to be TWA-801.  I just missed

L:ike that.  
That small>?
Overset.  Means etecetera.
Use the Overset Keys.
I'm out of here.
Lay still.
No one will hurt you.

Who are you?  Yoda?

You should wish.

What are you doing here?
Hiding out.
From what?
From the voters.
What did you do?

I voted for Clinton.

That ought to do it,

It's a long way down.
On old pulleys on old ropes.  They had to stop and untie the knots and let
themselves through and then tie the knots again on the other side.  So the
knots had to be good.  You wouldn't want an amateur to do it.  Like, you'd
watch him very closely.  It's got to be a square knot.  Her luggage went
on to Paris, where it was rerouted to Bangla desh.  Food package.  Let her
through.  Who's castle is it? 

	Not sure and counting.
	stop the music
q	what didn't get pressed gets dumped.  We start again.

he took out his lung.
a study shows that black people get poorer health care than whites no
matter what their income and social position was released today by the
Department of Labor's publishing office. 

oh yeah.  He couldn't even speak English.  Well, Tupac too, but that
didn't stop them from communicating.  Tupac was saying no man, that's my
main lung, and he sawed it out. Tupac said let it rest. 
He was insatiable. 

Not the nuts. Please man, not the nuts.  At least leave me one.  They were
a delicacy.  Folk medicine.  Black men's balls were a wild aphrodisac
among traditional people.  Oriental gangs fannned out through middle
American cities, gathering herbal remedie s and other materials needed for
their recipes on the home show.  Bat droppings al a mode.  Here, taste
this.  They hung out in the kitchen and drank beer and fucked on the floor
and made something for supper.  that's the way it is
you just don't do that.
The two young women glistened in the sunlight
like two southern peaches
waiting to be split
and then the crowd closed in.

Cody held onto Kelly for as long as she could before the devils took her
and I could hear her screams I could hear both of us as they tore us apart
it took all afternoon
I watched what they did to Kelly
and then she watched what they did to me
I saw her arm being torn off
and being beaten with it
and what they had put up her cunt
my revolver was useless

the old civil war colt refused to fire
I was going nuts
he worked me higher
the come down was hard too
right on the concrete
The police just watched them
I begged themn to prot3ect her but they ust stared through me
like I wasn't there
I was nothing to them
I went for a cop's gun, and she kneed me in the groin
then held me as her partner whipped me over
with his knight stick
Everyone took pictures
There must have been half a zillion news media out there.
If this didn't make the six-thirty news, nothing would.
Helicopters hovered overhead with a skycam.
One crashed on the highway and burned.
Other skycams zeroed in.

	Murray's people immediately put out a statement.  Couched in
political terms.  Like maybe And times w.  Indicating a rollback.  In the
script.  I'm scrolling backwards.  Put it in there.  Close it up.  Make
nice.  No one will notice.  You took out one o f my sentences.  Fuck you. 
Who cares?  Just so you remember your name.  Now get moving.  We don't
want the likes of you round here.  Cody walked down Main Street.  Shaking
her ass.  In that dress, she sure stuck out.  Like we hadn't seen anything
that go od around here in a long time.  Like, come here, baby.  Sugar
lips.  Pass her along to the next guy.  Don't bogart that joint, my
friend.  Pass it down.  A communal thing. 

	Under the bridge.  How'd I get here?  The helicopter fell on you
and your friend. 


	Don't worry.  She's alive.  The ambulance took her.  It's you they
sent to the morgue.  That's why you're here.  I dug you up from the
cemetery.  Where they buried you.  Now you're a zombie.  Oh.  I sank back. 
So that was it?  I was a zombie.  I wanted Kelly.  I will never give in to
a same sex marriage in which I am not the same sex.  Kelly practically
pulled me through the door.  No, Kelllllliiiiiiiii
tjhey parted us with a shovel
beating and striking
i don't remember after that
by the time he got back to his office, he realized he had been had
he did it again.
it always happens.
He began to wear sprigs of garlic to ward off vampires
that's why they hate him.  Not because he talks too much.
it took weeks to fumigate the plane.
Dole's mother passed out.  She was 102.

His great grand father was a Carruth and his cousin lives in Hays.  Who is

You could tie up the internet for days with questions like that.

Finally, it came up with 704 possibilities.  Then we asked it to sort
through those.  This took two weeks.  And narrowed the search to 3 men and
4 women.  The women were out because we had stated the question to exclude
them.  But suppose we had asked, a person who has a great grandfather
named F. also has a cousin living in Hays, Kansas.  Who would this be? 
Now women would be permitted, too.  By this time, the net was completely
scrambled.  Finally, we asked it, what is the secret of the universe?  It
said 42. 

	Dole's tense, wiry body faced them.  This was his last chance. 
Tomorrow, the channel crossing would be closed, and no one would be able
to get out for a week.  What would Ike have done?> Ike said, let's wait. 
I have a heavy date Saturday.  Sean said h e did too.  Murray wanted to
hold back and not tell anybody what he wanted until they asked.  But they
had to make a statement.  It was very important.  The language just seemed
to dissolve as they thrashed out their problems.  In the end, it was a
zoo, w ith braying noises coming from the balcony.  Alphonse always caused
a scene.  He had probably found another jackass to hump.  Everybody's name
was changed.  Even Newtie had a new name.  All clap hands and turn around. 
Afterwards, they hugged.  And cried.  It had been a moving experience. 
Support groups are so good for things like that.  The life blood of
America was at stake.  Foreign oil.  Keep it up, Saddam.  Keep it up.  The
Saudis made a bundle, and passed over his cut.  It was like having them by
t he balls.  He loved the Stealth Bombers.  A gift from the President. 
All eight of them.  His sons would each fly one. 

	And he, himself, might give it a try.  Just as a thank you
gesture.  Just as soon as my men dissemble the bomb under the cockpit. 
Efendi.  Robert Redberg played him in the film. 

	I want to be a terrorist of the mind.  And destroy your civilized
way of thinking.  Set off nuclear warheads inside your brain.  The x-rays
are to zap our brains.  Make us stupid.  Every time you go to an airport,
you get a massive dose of Runtgens to keep you safe.  Just like they
preserve fruit.  It kills anything living.  Then you won't make bombs.  Or
waves.  You'll just fly. 

	Man, you think crack is bad, you should try flying.

	When you come down, you aren't anywhere close to where you started
out.  And maybe you aren't even in one piece. 

	You could have body parts all over Paris.

	dole dole dole   dole dodadoledole.  trying to hold onto things
keep things together
planning the invasion
they were running for cover like Tupac's men
selling out to save their own skins
leaving us holding the stick
what you mean us? kemo pale face
Even his old dog, toto, had deserted him.

This sucked.
every time I fly, I'm like, wow, what happened?

this doesn't look like Kansas.

It's not.  It's Arkansas.

Ar is a corruption of the suffix, ur, so we have Ur or old Kansas.

So it was a choice between old Kansas and new Kansas.  Just as Zeus slew
Uranious.  The god of Time.  His ammunition was gone. 

	Time does that to people.

	All he had left was his rifle, to use as a club, and a Bowie
knife.  And his good right arm.  And his left leg above the knee.  And his
pancreas.  And half his brain.  And one eye.  The rest was useless. 

	Half a kidney worked overtime to clean his blood and make urine.

	It went in a jar.

	He passed them out.

	I could use your vote.

	But he didn't beg.  And he wouldn't put on a show.  Homespun
wisdom dictated against it.  We were coming down to the wire.  A delusion
had to be made.  I said she would look great in top hat and tails. 

	Eventually, she gave in.

	Ugh.  Moldy bread and water.  That's what she feeds me on.  To
slim me down and blow me up for the ceremony.  Just cause you're a woman,
don't think you're not a submissive, she warned me.  I didn't mind.  All I
wanted was to be a cute cuddly little teen age bride.  Kelly took an
active role deciding what I would wear and how I would look.  She wanted
me cinched in and thrust out to the max.  With a little English riding
saddle to ride round the church.  Showing how trained I was and how she
controlled me .  Then I had to do dressage.  She controlled me just with
her knees, putting me through my paces.  Then riding me back up to the
altar for the applause.  Following that, she dismounted and I took her
elbow, as she led me up the center aisle. 

	The doors opened and the waves of the sea rushed in and engulfed

	A characteristic of life is that it doesn't keep members of the
species around after they stop doing anything.  It gets rid of them so the
young can grow.  And when they get old, it gets rid of them, too.  Lions. 
Tigers.  People.  Sea Lions.  Social Security perverts nature.  Now that
we've fixed welfare, maybe we can work on that.  Just as soon as the
re-election's over. 

	Hear it not, Dunston?  It tolls for thee.


Part 3 Index Part 5