reX.'s
raMbles! . . .
moN.daY.
deC.. 3rd 2001
G
R E E T I N G S Sagittarius
You
are like one of those Wonder Woman dolls of years
gone by. You exhibit beauty, divine powers and a connection
between the mundane and the sublime as you are stretched
in numerous directions simultaneously. While the position
may not be all that comfortable, the good news is
that the rough part will not last all that long, and
it will put you in a position to control several matters
simultaneously. If you can bear with the way things
are for the next few days, your tenacity and flexibility
will pay off.
(
sounds like a wonder woman doll cRossed with pLastic
mann... mann.. like a few dates i have had.. heh!
ouch!.. i really didnt know i whas that flexible!
)
---------------------------------
- Make it
a habit to approach each day with the attitude, "Things
are going to go my way today!"
tHe marK allen oDDysssey
conTinues ...
7:22 am
Mark
Allen's Oddysssey (part 2)
as told and
wRitten by daN-0
When last we saw our unscrupulous duo, they had planted
the bomb that would destroy our hero as we know him.
Dan-o and Brendan now headed to the plausible alibi
for their whereabouts. Where else would they be except
a much celebrated and often unsatisfying Hollywood film
premiere? From the never inspired but frequently fluffed
collaborative minds of the creative departments of the
studios, robbing the cliché redundancy of Broadway
music scores came what would always be known as "the
most abominable mistake to music": CHARLES MANSON,
the musical. It was produced by the "Stick It To
The Man" independent film production company, a
former producer of gay porn that was attempting to become
truly legitimate and showcase its talents to a greater
receptive audience. As if to add insult to injury, the
trepidation of the studio heads only allowed a "B"
scale budget for a production that was already riddled
with over-costs and "C" scaled talent. Enter:
Dan-o.
Dan-o's agent/manager/psychic-hotline-friend
had managed to score him a walk-on to this career-ending
film. The premiere's celebration party was to be held
exclusively by invitation-only at the newest of new
hotspots in L.A.: Macabre. As far as nightclubs went,
Macabre was as firmly entrenched in the cityscape as
the urine stains on the Third street bridge. In the
rented space of an old airport hanger which had once
served as a showroom and storage lot of mortuary chain,
it had been in existence as a business for almost twelve
years (a record for any business in Los Angeles, and
certainly a pride to this establishment.) Although not
meant to be an exclusively homosexual club, its proximity
to West Hollywood and a notorious bathhouse did dominate
the clientele. However, long endurance and careful press
agent public relations did mastermind a better number
of easily fooled straight people into the idea that
the club was in vogue.
Money, Esthetic
Prominence, and Elegance made Macabre synonymous with
Hollywood's elite, in spite of the fact that the owners,
management, promoters, and employees did not possess
any one of these qualities. The place had become a venerated
institution and happily the unfortunate drug-overdose-suicide-murder
that took place there in 1991 had been completely forgotten
by its current aficionados. The reasons for this amnesia
could only be divulged by the people themselves. A greater
number of tables were occupied by all male May-December
couplings. There were fun-loving old gentlemen in their
sixties boyishly cavorting with chemical blond Abercrombie
knock-offs who could easily have been their grandchildren.
The boys with their soft salon-permed curls and harsh
calculating eyes all looked enough alike to be from
the same gay fraternity should one specialize in the
study of mixing cocktails, sleeping their way to higher
status, flirting at Crunch, and learning nothing at
the local city college of enrollment. They were all
of a genre usually described on tabloid television shows
as "actor/models".
Some of the
older gentlemen were of a more serious nature and although
they were less frequent in number, they had only come
to Macabre to get a really decent meal, not to show-off
their newest male companion. Grateful for the generous
flattery of dim lighting that concealed an excess of
lines and folds of flesh, these retirees were eager
-but not obviously so- to return to the privacy of their
indirectly-lit dens at home for "just one more
drink, a nightcap really" with their polite, resigned
and rather bored youthful escorts. Shrewd and sharp
with their ex-wives, children, and house servants, these
men were like putty in the long, lean hands of the handsome
boys who offered their services in exchange for tailor-made
suits, photographed model composites, half a dozen gaudily
designed ties, and, possibly, a two-week all expenses
paid trip to the fashionable resort of the season before
the Big Scene would take place. The Big Scene would
take place once the young gentleman had made an acquaintance
with one of the old gentleman's older and wealthier
friends.
Sadly for
the producers of Charles Manson: the musical (CMM),
the allotment of left over cash left only enough money
to reserve not the entire club for the celebration party,
but about ten tables cordoned off in the center area.
Interestingly, not everyone wanted to go to the premiere
or the party following it. This created a dramatic contrast
between a centerpiece of empty tables and the crush
and clamor of patrons surrounding the velvet cordoned
island. Yet, the uninvited saw the area as a private
secluded elite refuge and attempted desperately to name-drop
and bribe their way into its exclusive domain. Dan-o
and Brendan produced their valid authenticated invitation,
were blinded by the exploding flashes of the paparazzi
cameras, and swiftly ushered to a prominent table that
showed their importance and engaging good-looks.
"It's
my first real party!" gleamed Dan-o, impressed
with his own imagined importance.
"I can't
believe that this is our only option for explaining
our whereabouts" snorted Brendan. "How the
hell did you get this part?"
"Cleo
-that's my agent- she said that they were looking for
someone who looked convincing and dead. Of course there
was supposed to be an audition, but the casting director
took one look at my proofs and felt that I would look
better dead" said Dan.
"We'll
have to remember to thank her for you're being dead.
And speaking of dead, we can only stay here long enough
to be seen. We've got to get back to the amusement part
and be sure that Mark Allen is blown-up."
On a barren
stretch of Interstate 5 freeway, Rex Booth was sitting
in the passenger seat in the rented car of the infamous
Mark Allen. At least it seemed like Mark Allen. This
wasn't the Mark Allen that he had expected. There was
a peculiar silence about this Mark that made the drive
seem uncomfortable and tense. "Perhaps he had a
very long ride," thought Rex, "he's probably
just tired." Still the long pauses in their strained
conversation on the road made Rex uneasy. It was like
hitching a ride with someone you found out was dangerous
only too late.
"So
Mark, man, I am soo glad you're here! This will be so
awesome to show you parts of L.A. I mean, the parts
you don't already know."
Mark just
glared ahead at the empty highway. He was sweating profoundly,
but he didn't seem to have blinked for any of the seventy-three
minutes they had been on the road. Rex had intended
to take Mark to Six Flags Magic Mountain for a quickie
tour of the park. Mark had mentioned something about
liking rollercoasters, right? At least, Rex thought
Mark had said something to that effect. Or maybe it
was the pics on his Road Trip Journal that made him
think that. Man, if only Mark would say something. It
occurred to Rex that he couldn't remember seeing Mark
saying anything. In fact, most of the time that he thought
he heard Mark talking, he would look to Mark and the
speaking would be finished. "If he talks any more"
thought Rex, "I'll have to watch to see if his
lips move. I don't wanna bug him, but man, this is getting'
creepy." Rex noticed the Magic Mountain Parkway
exit sign approaching. "Dude," said Rex, "this
is it. You wanna get off here. Heh, 'get off' …you
know what I mean. Heh!"
Mark merged
off the freeway and drove perfectly to the parking lot
of the park, parked the car and exited the car. He stared
wide eyed with a fixed gaze at the colossal main rollercoaster.
"You
like that one?" Rex asked. "Then that's the
one we'll hit first."
"Dang!"
thought Rex, "I didn't let him answer. Shit, he's
not sayin' anything! Was it me?" Slowly they progressed
to the park entrance, Rex leading the way, Mark following
but still keeping his stare at the big coaster. The
beauty of getting to the park early was Rex's idea.
The earlier they got there, the faster they could get
through to the main attractions or even linger longer
on the rides they liked best. But if Mark was going
to be sulking all day, what fun was that? As luck would
have it, it was the unofficial "gay day" at
the amusement park, and the area was loaded with a bevy
of handsome beauties.
They got
in line and Mark's silence seemed less of an irritation
as Rex scanned the crowd for potential boyfriends. As
they got to the front of the line, a group of rambunctious
and shirtless twenty-year-olds line-cut to the front
and tried to make their way onto the coaster.
"Hey!"
yelled a beefy park attendant, "That's not allowed,
you have to go to the back of the line!"
"Relax,
dude!" said Rex. "They're with us." A
gym-worked hottie shot a knowing glance and a smile
that could make you melt over to Rex. "Dude,"
murmured Rex to Mark, "I'm gonna work this. You
climb in the front car with some of the others and I'll
sit back there with the studmuffin." Mark lurched
forward to the car while Rex clamored over to the back
cars with the hunk.
The ride
clinked uphill to the highest peak of the wood and welded
steal edifice. Rex could see the back of Mark's head
three cars ahead sitting alone. Well, Mark hadn't protested
or said a dang word really, so I guess he's cool. As
it rushed downward, Rex lifted his arms to the sky to
get the full rushing effect of the ride. It seemed like
only a second went by when suddenly there was a terrific
explosion -BOOOM!- that rocked all the carriages and
sent a spray of what looked like radiator coolant and
chunky ham and pea soup showering over the riders. When
Rex wiped his eyes he saw that all of the forward cars
had vanished! Rex screamed, "AAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!"
a high pitched screech really that surprised not only
him but the stud next to him and frantically clung with
both arms to the man. The poor man was terrified with
the explosion on the ride, frightened by Rex's scream,
and completely confused as to what was happening.
The coaster
rocked and pitched and swerved as it continued on its
course through turns and loop-the-loops. All the riders
panicked when the coaster passed by the section of track
they had just completed and saw the smoldering, gaping
area that was no longer a continuation of the ride.
The emergency breaks where thrown, but the ride had
almost come to completion. The missing carriages where
gone, as were the occupants, as was Mark. The emergency
team from the park raced to assist the riders from the
stopped coaster. Rex's potential man friend struggled
to release himself from Rex's terrified clutch. Any
thoughts of coupling with this man were as quickly extinguished
as the explosion, the missing riders, and any cohesive
thinking. What had happened?!
Dan-o and Brendan were on the same Interstate freeway
that Rex and Mark had been on with the exception that
they were coming from Los Angeles instead of headed
to it. It was during their race to the suburban amusement
park that they heard the announcement on the radio:
"Northbound5freewayisbackedupthismorning"
raced the traffic reporter's voice, trying to squeeze
all her news into a five second time bit, "astragedyseemstohavetakenatollatSixFlagsAmusement
Park."
"Wait
a minute," interrupted the news radio announcer,
"that's news, not traffic! You're reading my prompts!"
"SorryBob,"
continued the speedy voice, "butIjustread'masIsee'em.
Meanwhileoveronthe 14atruckstalledintherighthandlanehasseveralcarsslowingdowntoavoidanyaccidents.CHPsareon
theirwaytoclearupanaccidentoverontheHollywoodFreeway.
More traffic in minutes here on STAR."
Bob the announcer
continued reluctantly as a man with the wind taken out
of his sails, "Yea,… A rollercoaster ride
at Six Flags Magic Mountain seems to have met with a
tragic accident this morning as a small explosion disrupted
the ride. Park officials deny the possibility of the
accident being part of the night time pyrotechnic show,
as none of the rollercoasters are part of the show,
and all the technicians are non-union. The names of
the injured have not been released while officials search
for the names of families. More news about the dead
people, and the weather right after this-''
Brendan grinned
devilishly as he looked to Dan in the passenger seat.
As they raced northward, his grin settled into a smug
smile. Dan-o looked out the window and counted out of
state license plates.
Newsman Bob
returned. "Update on the horrible coaster accident
at Tragic Mountain -er… MAGIC Mountain: we switch
live now to our reporter on the spot, Terry." Brendan
turned up the sound.
Rex was petrified.
Everything had happened so quickly: the ride, the explosion,
the man slapping him and submitting him to a drug test
-wait, did that really happen? Yes, yes it had. And
now some foolish reporter was asking him about all the
events. "It was HORRIBLE!" sobbed Rex. "They're
gone!"
"Yes,
we know" sympathized Terry "Tell us more."
"I can't."
gasped Rex. "It's all just so horrible. -And Mark!
Oh, Mark what happened to you?!" At that very moment
Rex's cellular phone rang. "Mind if I take this?"
he asked, "I'm expecting a call."
"Hello?" he began, "WHAT?! WHAT?!! MARK
IS THAT YOU?! YOU HAVE CELLULAR?!"
to be conTinued...
