The 12 Anguished Hours (or, The Sound of Dan)

           The tale told following this disclaimer is not for the faint of heart or truly even the stout of heart unless the horrible degradation of another human being brings a fevered gleeful sweat to the greasy brow of the reader. Most readers of this blog should be just fine. Although confirmation is elusive regarding the absolute accuracy of this story, it may well be true and can serve as a place holder and “Official Story” until a personage of note can offer logical rebuttal allowing the two versions to be weighed against each other and cobbled together, as cobblers are wont to do.

            Some would say that a period of 12 hours can last up to half a day. In the minds eye, under certain circumstances like that Twilight Zone where that guy had that watch that stopped time and he never even used it to grab some ass, it could be so much longer. Though it would bring me no greater pleasure to report that Thirsty was the leading man in this adventure, I cannot for it was Dan who lived the Anguished 12 hours and lived to tell it, though I’m not sure why he would. To be sure, however, neither Louis nor Aaron are exempt as the subjects of tales along the same line if they don’t get around to posting.

            Some say art imitates life and some slightly more clever people say that life imitates art, but in truth both of them occur in the same goddamn place so why wouldn’t they look like each other? By this line most of you are already imagining that this is going in the direction of the gimp scene from ‘Pulp Fiction’ or involve the ingestion of human flesh or poop mirroring the kind of movie Dan liked to bring over. Perhaps, but no, not really; you can put down the lotion and sock for now anyway. The anguish was of a less sexy and saccharine nature in a Roger’s and Hammerstein production vein.

            Dan rolled his ass out of bed one day deep into the Comstock era with no knowledge whatsoever that the worst half day he was to have would begin in precisely 3 hours and 22 minutes. It was a Saturday and his face was still caked with Rocky Horror makeup and the rubber chicken squeaked in sad protest as he tossed it aside, his desires long since quenched. The Moon Over My Hammy consumed a few hours before had not provided sufficient grease to ward off a hang over so he padded down to the kitchen to shotgun a Clamato and ipecac cocktail before schlepping off to the can with a dog eared Redbook.

            Knowing his penchant for staring at the support hose ad on page 247; a close image of varicosed legs thinly disguised by coarse nylon, his mom had taped a note that tearfully explained why she and Alberto had left the house for the day and to please forgive her. Had he seen it, he probably wouldn’t have answered the door, but instead he was sucked into the Phyllis Diller interview once again as the granny legs held less appeal after a night with the chicken. He did wonder why she wasn’t in the kitchen whipping him up some flapjacks or at least a new batch of kerosene pickles, but fuck it, there was still a box of Booberry lurking in back. His legs asleep, he finally lurched off with a haphazard wipe or two.

            The morning was frittered away as usual with some comics, cartoons, and his 56^th consecutive viewing of ‘Oh Lucky Man!’ which most reviewers classified as just all right or perhaps bearable. The impending arrival should have come as no great surprise given the dozens of warning signs. The threats and highly detailed plans laid out by his mom went unheard, the literature scattered about unread, the explanatory video tape unwatched and hijacked to tape Liquid Television, and the skywriting misinterpreted and guffawed at as something pornographic. Be that as it may, action needed to be taken or she would be left with no recourse but to banish him to the basement and rent out his room.

            The concept of ‘Nanny 911’ had not yet been refined into the media powerhouse that exists today, but nascent versions of it did sprout up in pockets about the country and it was just his luck that one of them bloomed in the annex to that East West Bookstore that has since been torn down. Mrs Mooney, in her daily walks up the road to make sure Dan wasn’t lying about the streets with broken limbs flagging down cops, caught sight of the catchy flyer beneath some Deepak Chopra crap. “Got one of these?” the picture was actually of Dan, who had coincidentally posed for it months earlier for a free tootsie pop. In it he sported hair askew, a Phish tie dye shirt, and an impressively sized doobie; no costume change was needed, he was the living poster boy au natural as seen bee-bopping down the street. Beneath it read, “For chissakes give us a call! We’ll learn ‘em right.” She snatched one of the little phone number tabs off the bottom with a feeling strange and almost forgotten. Hope.

            The morning waned and finally departed for a dreary looking afternoon. Dan contemplated whether to rewind and begin again, or to move on to “Britannia Hospital”, which had the added bonus of a full frontal nude scene of that guy from “Clockwork Orange”. The door bell rang and hoping his battered flannel robe would hide his flagging erection, went to answer it. He was startled to see that it was a chipper looking young woman with short blond hair, a long frock and a guitar case. She looked down at the door handle expectantly as if Dan should open it and having no other thought to do otherwise, did. Thor let out a few half hearted barks followed by a whimper and retired for the remainder of the day. That cat with the fucked up eye growled ominously. The 12 anguished hours were about to begin.

            “Ahem, you must be Daniel then. Hm. Smaller than I would have pictured.” Dan noted she was glancing down and that his robe did a piss poor job of hiding his entrancement with her somewhat androgynous features. “You shant, however, be requiring this any time soon I’m afraid”, and unexpectedly swung the neck of her guitar case square on to the offending protuberance.

            “Ahhhh! What the fuck did you do that for you fucking bitch?” With a smile she stepped over his supine form and glided into the living room, beckoning him to follow once his composure was regained. “Hey, I’m not supposed to go in there unless Mom is home! You’re going to get me fucking bitched at.” She paid no heed and continued to beckon until full compliance was reached. “All right, but it’s your ass if she notices I sat on the furniture without putting a towel down first.”

            “Daniel, I am an employee of Sha-Nanny-Guns and was hired for my impeccable likeness to the Baroness Maria Von Trapp with just a twinkle (emphasized by a prissy motion of her fingers) of Henry Higgins thrown in.”

            “Who?”

            “The important thing, Daniel, is that I was hired by your mother because you have been a naughty young man and certainly need some straightening out.”

            This was getting more interesting. “What are you going to spank me or something? Did Jeff Death hire you? You got a leather outfit or something under that fucking dress or something? All right, I can get into this. I have been a bad boy!”

            “No Daniel, we shall not be engaging in activities that you enjoy today. There shall be no further physical punishment, restraints, verbal abuse, strap-ons, face sitting, or Andy Kaufman impersonations. You shall, however, learn to dress as a smart young man, learn manners, good vocabulary, and act as though you were plucked fresh from a ‘Leave it to Beaver’ episode with some cabaret thrown in for good measure. Now, you shall shower yourself up, brush your teeth, shave, and comb your hair straight with pomade whilst I lay out your clothes.”

            “What? Are you out of your fucking mind? I’m not doing none of that stuff.”

            “Daniel, you leave me then no choice” He closed his eyes and craned forward, already relishing the thought of her petite hand smacking across his grizzled mouth. Instead, she opened the guitar case which held a guitar instead of the expected Tommy gun. “I shant stop until you are in the shower!” Rain drops on roses and whiskers on kittens… “Wait, I think 20% more cute should do it,” … Wain dwops on woses an whiskas on kittenses…

            Dan’s senses had not been assaulted by anything so horrendously syrupy since Sue the Boot had called him her “widdle snuggle munch”, prompting him to mastermind her reconciliation with Matt. Panicked, he ran for the bathroom; anything to make it stop before he went postal bananas. Her off key yodeling carried though the door as he struggled to get the water on. “I want to hear scrubbing!”, she said in a sing-song voice, rolling the ‘r’ in scrub to his immaculate distaste.

            “Fuck!”

            “Any more profanity Daniel and I’ll come right in and sing of your wee willy winky.”

            “Er.. Drat!” This was one stone cold bitch on his hands. How could his ma have done this? A Xena type he could have handled but this ‘Mary Poppins’ freak show was wigging him out.  He experienced a momentary high at seeing the phone installed next to the toilet; his mom having grown tired of continuously telling his friends he was taking a dump and couldn’t come to the phone.

            He dialed Louis first, figuring a brainy solution might be the ticket. He picked up annoyed, “What do you want? My calculator broke and Excel hasn’t been invented yet so I’m doing complicated math in my head.” Before he could speak, the warbling tones of Maria singing ‘The Rain in Spain’ infected the line. “Ugh! I’m going to have that song stuck in my head now all day! Thanks. You are on your own douche bag!” Great, just what he fucking needed.

            He tried Knaus next figuring if anyone, he’d know how to shut her up. Knaus uncharacteristically answered, but Dan forgot to muffle the headset and the catchy rhyming tune hit Knaus like holy water shot from the nose of a priest at a vampire. “I’m going to get you for this Dan. Oh, how I’m going to get you. As soon as I finish my hair I’m getting my keys and pliers and coming over.” This wasn’t good. Last time Paul held him down and individually tied every single one of his armpit hairs to a pubic one, leaving him afraid to move for almost a week before remembering that scissors cut hair. By his reckoning, he had 3 days before Paul made it over, but the way things were going, he’d surely be dead.

            Subsequent calls were equally useless. Aaron rudely hung up on him and was under the impression that he was the butt of one of Dan’s trademark prank calls. Wolf had a prior engagement sculpting Nair into his chest hair in the shape of the Superman symbol. Brian simply wanted to rub one out listening to her singing. Jeff Death felt she was not hirsute or husky enough to interest him into coming over. With a shudder he dialed Pretentious Ben who jumped at the chance to come to his rescue. Before hanging up he could hear Ben shouting, “He called! He finally called! Yaaaaaay! Mom, will you drive me over?” Ugh, it could only get better from here.

            “Oh Daniel! I heard you calling your little chums instead of bathing, so in I come!” Though he was sure he had locked it, she came bursting in, guitar across her chest and dressed in 1920’s style bathing attire with goggles and cap. She pushed him into the shower and followed, making for the least comfortable coed bathing experience since his great aunt Clara got hammered on schnapps and joined him in the tub. It was hard enough to reach all the parts she pointed out as dirty without constantly banging his torso into the business end of the guitar. She began to play when he slowed. Oh Danny’s wee willy winky a floppin’ through the town; upstairs, downstairs and into the brown!

            After an uncomfortable dry off he was dismayed to find she had made him play clothes out of the curtains and it was such his luck that his mother had settled on a flowered pattern. She revealed that his normal duds were safely locked away in the trunk of her Subaru and he would receive them back only after earning the privilege and learning how to have some clean wholesome fun as if he had been living under the oppressive regime of a grouchy retired admiral. He reluctantly donned them and the accompanying saddle shoes when she threatened to belt out some Aqua/ Hanson fusion. Already he’d do anything to shut her the fuck up, but how long could a man take the agony?

            In the living room she had assembled a puppet theater and it was revealed that he was expected to master the whole “lonely goatherd” schtick for an afternoon performance that would be attended by very special guests. His disgust and immanent profane outburst was halted by a sudden rapping on the door. Looking up he could see the top of Ben’s head bouncing up and down, unable to physically contain his glee at being there. It was becoming clear to Dan that he had made a mistake. “Perfect! A little friend to help Daniel with his puppet show. Why come in young man.”

            Ben burst into the room and immediately looked crestfallen at seeing Dan. “I… I didn’t know we were going to play dress up…I…” His eyes welled with tears.

            “Not to worry Benjamin! I knew you were coming and made you one as well.”

            “Goody!” He clapped his hands and stripped right there to change.

            “Jesus Christ, this is too fucking much!” How he got into this mess he couldn’t fathom. This crazy Julie Andrews witch punking his whole damn day and now fucking Pretentious Ben over for a play date? A goddam puppet show and dressing up in lederhosen made of curtains for chissakes? Why couldn’t Knaus shellac his hair faster and come end his misery with some good old fashioned torture? Shit, even that ankle banging wench from ‘Misery’ would be better than this.

            “Daniel! Language! One more outburst like that young man and you shall wear Benjamin’s undies on your face.” A truly revolting prospect given the greatly unwashed and well tracked condition of said tighty whities. “This time, however, it shall just be a sing along. Join hands boys!” Mmmmbop shoobie doobie dooo bop yeaah yeah! Oh we’re all Barbie girls, in a Barbie world…

            An hour later, puppet practice was fully underway. Ben was a natural making the marionettes skip and dance across the little stage while Dan lent his gravely voice to the effeminate song. Oh, I kind of smell like a lowly goatherd, ley he ho a ley he ho, a ley he hooo! Maria kept time on her guitar, though it sounded worse by the moment having swelled and split from the foray into the shower. His learning of the song however was more impressive than his learning of the rules and by practice end he was breathing in the sweaty stench of Ben’s unwashed ass.

            By evening it was time for the grand performance. “So who’s coming to this thing anyway? Uh, ma’am” He would see when they came to the door she said and he grimaced inwardly at the idea of friends or family, or really anyone witnessing this revolting situation. The doorbell rang and she instructed them to hide upstairs and come down when called. By then Ben had changed into a Little Bo Peep outfit and Dan was to carry him in for the grand entrance. Maria, aware of Dan’s inherent desire to inflict grievous harm on Ben, set a condition where they would swap roles if one hair on Ben’s head was harmed. He had not felt so powerless since cowed by Jason that time.

            As they came in and took their seats, Dan could discern soft and vaguely familiar voices coming up though the floor boards. Filled with trepidation, he carried the giggling Ben into the living room and was confronted by a sight that would haunt his days forevermore. It was every ex-girlfriend who had ever dumped him. Plus his current girlfriend Mary. The number was considerable and the laughter deafening. It was bad enough the gaggle was no doubt filling Mary’s head with tale upon tale of his deficiencies, but appearing like some gay German boy cradling a too comfortably cross-dressed Ben to do a fancy little marionette song and dance was just the worst.

            “What the fuck Dan? What the fuck are you doing? Are you going out with her… him now? This is bullshit!” Mary was not as bemused as the rest of them. His every instinct was to rip off the tattered curtains, burn down the puppet theater and drag her to his bunk bed to show her what a man he really was. If he did though, he would no doubt face more of the hellacious singing, a much worse costume change in front of all these ex’s who dumped him in a room with a cold draft, plus fucking Maria would stay that much longer.

            “Why um, gosh Mary, whatever do you mean? … I am happy to see you here that my friend and I may entertain you with some fine puppet theater. Uh, Ben is not my fu…. gosh darn bi… significant other, but simply a talented thespian who took a page from Benny Hill.” By end of the longest polite and profanity free spiel uttered by Dan since midway though his third grade production of ‘Which Witch is Which?’, he was drenched in sweat over the effort.

            “Very good Daniel! For that you shall have a posy” Maria affixed the jaunty little flower to his lapel and gave his cheek a squeeze. “Everyone, isn’t Daniel a polite little gentleman? We should all encourage him.” Encourage they did while immortalizing the event with countless pictures and video. They gave the puppet show with most taking great delight with the exception of Mary who sat crossed armed and legged, glaring at the production and making little ‘snip snip’ emasculation gestures at Dan whenever she caught his eye.

            “Bravo! Bravo!” cried Maria. “Now as a treat for everyone, we shall make s’mores!” The response was deafening. Not so much from the gleeful squeals of the ladies and Ben, but Dan’s barbaric yawlp of fury. You could whip him and filet him, but by the living God that made him, he’d never eat a graham, that gunga Dan. Much was that the dude could abide, but tasty treats of melted chocolate and marshmallow sandwiched between graham crackers was well outside his breaking point. Part of it was the knowledge that the inventor named cracker were invented to prevent masturbation; a skill Dan presumably would be relying on for some time until Mary opened the honey pot again. Mostly though it was vitriolic anger at what marshmallows had taken from him that could never be replaced.

            In a destructive bender of pure rage he laid waste to the theater, destroyed what remained of the guitar, slapped duct tape over Maria’s mouth and herded the lot of them out of the house, locking the door behind them. He really wasn’t sure why the fuck he didn’t do that to begin with. In any case, the telling was already running 6 pages ‘Times New Roman’ and over 7 ‘Arial’ which everyone could agree is just about long enough. He looked at the clock and saw it was midnight; 12 anguished hours had passed since fucking ‘problem with’ Maria darkened his door and destroyed any misperception of dignity he might have had. Dammit, his clothes!

            He raced out to see Maria’s Subaru pulling out with his gear still in the trunk. “Sorry Daniel! You lose! Enjoy shopping as you are, and you mom doesn’t get her money back either!” She pulled away singing. Yeaah I’m gonna knock you out. Whut? Mama say knock you out! Trippin’!

            Well, we’ll just leave it all at that then for now. As you all know, the great experiment failed to turn him into a gentleman and Mom Mooney was finally forced to relegate him to the basement. His room was rented to a Russian immigrant who used to sell Lenin shaped creamsicles a few blocks from Red Square before the winds of change blew unfavorably.

 

* Again, I would like to note that this is an approximation of events that occurred somewhat in this timeframe. The rebuttal version may or may not contain differences such as the name of the singing nanny; Maria having been made up by the author as sounding appropriate. All the rest should be gold though.