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Country Dick and The Little Morsel

Country Dick Montana
is a mountain of a man
i want to climb him
my personal Everest

he's the larger than life frontman
of the Beat Farmers
cowpunk band I adore
but he likes
the little blonde morsel
sitting next to me

she's a yummy little scrap
of trailer park humanity
replete with double negatives
and lower back tramp stamp
visible from the bottom
of her tiny racerback tank top

Every Beat Farmers show
has a quiet time
Country Dick
sits in the middle of the floor
we form a circle around him

"we're in the Arizona desert" he commands
that voice
pornographic baritone

"the night is pitch black
"we're surrounded by shooting stars"
more guided imagery 
slightly slurred (he drinks a lot of beer)
everyone's transported
it's communal and beautiful
he launches into Ball of Yarn
a ballad
about venereal disease
that's the Beat Farmers for you

Halfway through the song
Country Dick is feeling amorous
wants some female company
he looks in my direction
and keeps going
not for long
for next to me
is Lolita Bambi Tanqueray
the morsel
in the racerback tank top

like an eagle
Country DIck swoops up
her twistable
bendable
fuck a thousand ways little body
she's on his lap
an astonished purring kitten

he continues to sing
in his manliest man 
deeper than deep baritone
six foot two
Wyatt Earp duster
well worn cowboy hat
it would be impossible
to design a man i'd want more

even before the show
i'm alight with anticipation
Country Dick makes me feel
pitch black
intense stirrings
the kind I try to ignore
the kind that just can't
be ignored any longer
 
the rowdy bar crowd
drinking to a fever pitch
awaits the band

the PA system blares a song
popular at the time:

You.... want it all
but you CAN"T HAVE IT

it's an exquisitely menacing message
amplified to the heavens
so immaculately foreboding
my masochistic heart lurches
it screams Hallelujah!

now the moment is here

Country Dick encircles his conquest
strong arms squeezing her dangerously tight
looking intently into her eyes
what he's thinking is clear

"I love you"
"I want to fuck you"
"I want to fuck you because I love you"
"I love you because I'm going to fuck you"

whichever one it is
i'm pushed over an edge
that leads nowhere

within 30 minutes 
i've slammed down 
four hard drinks
a swerve into the fast lane
not my usual
prissy glass of white wine

on the drive home
i lie on the backseat of Barb's car
my best friend
an obese psychologist
two qualities about her
i'm especially fond of tonight

i'm drunk
i can say what i want
and what i want to say
over and over
is why did he pick her
why why did he pick her

I know she's tiny
and divinely rapeable

but why did he have to pick her

Barb does her best:
"you're a normal-sized, adorable woman"
groan
"everyone loves your sense of humor"
whatever
"she doesn't have your intelligence"

"she's probably a neurosurgeon!" I snap

my alcohol addled brain
finds its own ego boost
i'm popular
in our under 35
Jewish singles group

all the women want Mike Lippman
who has a date with him?
me! 

for a moment i smile
reveling in my victory
Mike is darkly sexy
at least he was

after being in the presence of magnificence
he's an overgrown bar mitzvah boy
i want the manliest of the men
I need the king of the gods
i want Country Dick

"i have to throw up"
Barb swerves into a Chevron 

In the convenience store
my queasiness abates
i score a box of animal crackers
a rare and perfect gas station find

back in the car
i bite off the heads
of sweet lions tigers and seals
willing myself
to erradicate the ghost
of a tiny blonde woman
in a racerback tank top
whose night in heaven
is my living hell


Written by Pinkdreams
Published
Author's Note
I have no hatred toward tattoos or trailer parks. Just trying to depict what a jealous woman's psyche will do to diminish her enemy.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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