Mountain Hooker

R. walked by the front of the taxi with a bag in his hand and a troubling smirk on his face, but he wasn’t running, so I didn’t panic; instead, I took a cigarette out and lit it up as he opened the door and farted loud enough for the sound to reverberate down the street, and then he spanked his ass a few times, did a surprisingly graceful pirouette, and reinstated himself in the passenger’s seat while informing me that he and I were now officially fartners in crime.

“Fart if you must, but no more crime, and no more scaring the children,” I said, blowing smoke in his general direction.

“You should feel blessed, because the dance of the sacred fart exorcises the stink from the pants, which prevents it from entering the sanctum of the taxi.”

“You say that like it’s described in hieroglyphics on the inside of Akhenaten’s tomb.”

“If it isn’t, it should be,” he said as he handed me a phone card and I started going through the motions of getting it applied, oblivious to what was being laid out on the seat beside me: one box of Fundies, the underwear for two; one box of vibrating condoms; one tube of Lust Lotion, the anal lube for consummate professionals; one X-rated comic book titled, Please Fuck Me In The Ass Before The Universe Folds Back On Itself And Genitals Become Irrelevant; one pouch of chewing tobacco; one hookah pipe.

“So what do you think?” he asked blithely.

I took another drag off my cigarette and blew the smoke in the direction of his purchases, “I think the border guards are gonna have a lot of fun with this stuff after they give us our digital rectal prostate exams.”

“No, no, no, this is all for Glenda. They’re tokens of my appreciation for the fact that she’s gonna help us get to Wichita…Except for the comic book, that’s mine.”

“Chewing tobacco?” I said, holding it up. “Vibrating condoms? Lust Lotion? She’s not a mountain hooker.”

“What’s a mountain hooker?”

“A hooker who works the mountains…Now did you get me a shirt, or not?”

“I was saving that for last,” he said, holding it up.

“What does it say above the arrow?”

He gave me a toothy grin, “I’m With Stupid.”

“You got me a Chinese I’m with stupid t-shirt?”

“Yes, of course, and I defy you to find anything cooler on planet Earth.”

I considered turning it inside out, but he paid for it, so I put it on properly and dialed Glenda’s number.


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