Tricks And Treats

Sloping into the downtown campus of the University of Fag Bar (pending accreditation), FuelMix was greeted with a seasonal profusion of plastic evergreens, coloured blinking lights, shadowy figurines and swathes of misty taffeta. 

Clearly the decorator had lost his way somewhere between Pagan and Gothic, choosing instead to surrender to Bad Acid Trip Meets Overtime. 

Ordering his usual, FuelMix sat directly under an angel fellating a trumpet, and waited for the entertainment. 

It wasn’t long in coming............ 

The door flung open and an odious Fat White Queen shrieked her arrival. She was surrounded by a gaggle of recently-fucked-still-dripping boy chinks to whom free libations had been promised in consideration of repeated anal violations. 

Dazed, chronically adjusting their trousers and their grins, they hobbled to a holding area that she barked out for them. They sat and twitched uneasily, mongrels at a pure bred Kennel Club exhibition. Unsure of their pedigree and linguistic skills, they pawed and licked each other instead. 

Meanwhile, the Fat White Queen schmoozed her way to the bar, a peck on the cheek here, a squeeze there, a squeal of recognition and a grope for good measure. She was all grins and camaraderie as she rolled by. Her acquaintances rolled their eyes – but instead of moving away from her, moved closer and stood around expectantly. FuelMix leaned forward to get a better view. Clearly something was going down. 

Whirling around with a flourish to face the bar, Fat White Queen surveyed her acquaintances and with a royal wave of her hand, ordered drinks for them. A small cheer went up. Reaching into her hip pocket, she fished out a wad of thousand dollar bills, accidentally on purpose, so everybody could see. 

In a place like Very Rich Megacity, where money talks and bullshit walks, the scent of unfurling thousand dollar bills was like pheromones. The puppy-boy chinks pricked up their ears and turned their heads. A hush descended on her acquaintances. 

As drinks were distributed, her coterie drank to her health and she beamed contentedly. With the bar tenders otherwise engaged, she looked around slyly, grinned and put her bejewelled hand into her other hip pockets. FuelMix caught a flash of white tablets. The crowd moved in, fished out their wallets and hundred dollar bills were quickly passed.

Some popped them into their mouths and gulped it down with their subsidized drinks.  Then the crowd melted.  Fat White Queen was left alone, gazing at her twitching puppy-boy chinks.

Originally published 22 December 2007

Republished 15 September 2013 | 22 December 2015 | 24 December 2017

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