"Have you ever been in a live studio audience?"
"Well, here's your chance man! Don't give me any bullshit.You've been moping around lovesick and broken right? Yes, you have and if you try to tell me otherwise you can fuck off back to your reflecting pond or wherever you sit to write those god awful poems.
'I was there.
She was there.
We were there.
Get real man. Where do you even come up with that shit? You've got talent but you're not getting anywhere with shit like that. And another thing."
"Jesus Christ man! I'll go."
And that's why I'm here, sitting next to my jerkoff friend in his jerkoff poncho. He thought we had tickets in the splash zone but I guess the health department has shut down that attraction. As disappointed as Dipshit is, it's probably a good thing. His nose ring is starting to look infected. His name is really Dipshit. It has been since he was 7 and he tried hanging himself with a Fruit by the Foot™. Before that he was Stinkfoot. Most people go through 6 or 7 names in a life but I don't know if Dipshit will ever be anything other than Dipshit.
I'm Purple. The adjective, not the noun. Two weeks ago I was Schmaltz, but some people called me Poor Thing even though I am undeniably middle class. I didn't understand why until I became Purple. You see, there was this girl. There's always this girl. Alma. She was Cruel, but I called her Misunderstood until we read a book about love and I named her Alma. It's illegal to have a special name the way Alma did. A name only two people know enough about to use. Hell, I didn't care. I was Schmaltz.
"Fucking A man. FFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNN AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Look at this face mother fucker. You ever been this happy? Hellz nah you aint. Yous a little bitch and you aint never been this happy. And I'll tell you something else." And there is Dipshit's face, inches from mine. Eyes glassy, breath bad, smile large and genuine. Nobody is as happy as Dipshit.
"Jesus Christ Dipshit! SHUT UP!"
And there is Dipshit chasing a fat man up the concrete stairs. Fatty should be more scared of the stairs killing him and his shitty heart than he is of Dipshit. Dipshit has that murderous glow in his eyes but when he catches him he'll dry hump him and make maybe stick his tongue in his ear. Grab a big old handful of that big old ass. Classic Dipshit.
A drumroll, a cymbal crash, LLLLLAAAAAADDEEEEEEZ and GEEEEENTLEMEN.......the show. Studio lights off, stage lights on. Heavy breathing? It's too early for that. Oh, Dipshit is back. Didn't want to miss a second I guess. The curtains open and there in the middle of the stage is a girl. Black leather is covering all of her best bits. A mask, a bra, a thong, and butch looking boots that come up to her knees. All leather, shining back the stage lights beautifully, She's spread eagle, her extremities tied to a wooden frame. Me and Dipshit are so close to the stage we can see the bumps her razor left in her armpits and around her thong.
The cheers, oh how the crowd cheers and whistles and hoots. Someone is taking all the ponchos out of the splash zone and is replacing them with Neosporin. Tonight, it will be the lash zone. A man walks out on stage. A big son of a bitch. "Oooooooooooh..." says the crowd.
"Ok, folks, we're taking suggestions! What should Sadist do first?" the loudspeakers ask.
"Get a whip!"
"Pop one of them titties out right quick!"
"Kill her! Kill the whore!" This man was escorted out, his children were allowed to stay if his wife promised to keep them well behaved.
He got his whip and his clamps, the whole shebang but the crowd was really only into it for the first five minutes. Sadist was doing everything they wanted (within reason) but they were getting bored. "What more could these people want?" I thought. Then it hit me. And it smarted. And then I had an idea! "Take off the mask! We can't tell what she likes and what she hates! You gotta take off the mask!"
"YEAH TAKE THE FUCKIN MASK OFF!" Dipshit gives me a kiss on the cheek, "You're a fuckin genius Purple."
Off went the mask. The crowd roared! I screamed. Dipshit stopped masturbating. "That's Alma! That's Alma! That's Alma!" I flew up those stairs and Dipshit flew right up after me. It was bright outside. The sun was working hard and the sky has never been so blue nor the grass so green. "That's Alma, Dipshit. That's fucking Alma." I was sobbing, I was weak, I was Purple. And then Dipshit said the most profound thing I ever heard him say.
He said, "No motherfucker, that's Showbiz."
I don't know if it was profound enough to earn him a new name. I found the fastest moving car and jumped in front of it. People still call me Purple. People are calling Showbiz Cruel again. Her manager, who is also her lover, calls her Misunderstood. But everyone here in Hell calls her Alma.