"You realize how ridiculous this is"—Adam declared and wrote.
"Stranger things have chanced in this strange world. I will admit frankly, as you know I am honest, it is not often that a man and a literary character, separated two-fold, as a double-slice of a double chocolate cake, by time and anatomy, meet and chat and greet. This is the great joy of the immortal Word, of heroic verse and song: a mystical portal, breathed into fruition by god knows who, strawberry-arched and grape-vined, elevating the brave adventurer, who dares wags his curious kop through its beaming mouth, onto another realm. So you and I have met here, wherever here is. And so we shall remain til Kingdom come, and even after, say some scholarly angels.
But I tire of purity, and oe'r-saintly good, and long slavishly to hear the faults and vices of my old brethren, frail flesh-bags and blood-martinis all. Tell me, and hold nothing back if you love me and immortality, how goes the numb-juice these days, the sprinting spirits, the devil's dandy drinky? And what ghoulish stupidity and reckless upsy-bottomy does Earth's rotty syrup instill in our friends and enemies, bums and bankers both?
"As chained inmates seek to escape dreary cages, do our drinkers crave the teachings of spiritual sages. Prisoner boredom sips shallow a gin and tonic. Prisoner come-hither punts back whiskey shot after shot. Prisoner night-time, who wouldn't dare his roguish ways in daylight, drinks scotch behind a cloak. And by these means do the prisoners bat warden conscience into a dizzy and inoperable pulp.
"Tush, tush enough of morals and riddles pastor. Save that for your pulpit. Tell me stories."
" A university man drank 'nough to kill two elder oxen. He returns to his dorm room, tired and needing the sweet release of his bladder. This simple sober task turned out a mighty drunk dilemma. To sleep, or to piss that was the question. Our not-all-there hero of the grapevine shrewdly decides to do both. But mistaking the toilet for his couch, and his couch for his toilet, he pisses on the couch and sleeps on the bathroom floor. Beware, the numb-juice makes a clown of our machines."
" Lovely, lovely. Ah, what I would have paid to see his face in the morning. More, more. Come on, lighten up Adam"
" Christmas is a beautiful time of the year. The family gathers, friends cheer, the streets themselves are alive. And when a fraternity hosts a party, to get smashed and trashed, in honor of a martyr, how could I refuse an invitation? There I was, in the midst of a clamorous throng, playing and winning beer pong, women dancing and eyeing my shlong, when Hack Shmeizer, friend to my heart and knave outright, dressed fully in Santa garb, red to his head, asks me along a journey, to replenish our corona-bellies. And so we marched bravely and unevenly through the darkened city of New Haven. But Hack, devious and hilarious, when met with well-wishers of the night, who loved this parading Santa, calling out his name and his fame, crushed their dreams of a pleasant and amiable Santa. "Hey Santa, where's my gift?" was met with "fuck off" and such short shrift. We made excellent haste, and arrived at the place, hungry as hungry can be. Lo and behold, stood there a disgruntled youth, drunk and tired and probably high, his luck run out. "Hey Santa, why didn't you get me a puppy as a child?" He angrily, and viciously called out. Hack calculated for a second his plan of engagement: should I spare this fool, or crush him, he thunked hard. And seeing the intolerable arrogance of this fellow-drunk, he impulsively knew to destroy the fool, and mete out justice of the cosmic sort: " My friend, don't be too hard on Santa. He fucked your mom and made you." The half-thinking beast was enraged and let out his cage, as Santa tried to calm him down by the vending-machine.
"Excellent. I think Elijah might have mentioned something of his role. You are a playful thing after all.
Adam calmed down and asked, "Now dear dead-but-alive Hamlet give me Aphrodite's apple and let me write my name in glory with a kiss and a smile.
Hamlet reached into the seraphim-sewn bag and threw it into the air. The sparkling apple shone forth, blinding the room with a crystalline flash, and landed in Adam's shaking hands. He looked down once more, and unafraid of the consequences, smacked his juiciest, sloppiest kiss on that divine apple.
The apple beginning to shake tremendously, exploded. Blinded, confused, Adam stumbled around the abandoned lobby as an ethereal prophetic voice lilted in the air " David, Oh King David on a donkey rode into Jerusalem." Adam felt his body morphing from the stale, sloppy body he had failed to maintain through his years of continuous reading, into a Herculean masterpiece of semi-divine beauty. The curves and contours fell into place majestically like a carefully-planned jigsaw puzzle completed. " David and Adamo over a beauty shall wage flirtatious war; one empire shall rise as another falls. His body completed, the sun rising now, Adam passed out, falling into a dream where he was an arrow desperately searching for his long-last quiver.
YOU ARE READING
The Fantastical Adventures of Adamo and David
MaceraHow did Adamo, a brazen tourist and Yale senior, with less wits than the vanishing numbers in his bank account, find himself spread butt-naked on the rocky floor of a half-decent sushi restaurant, his mind spinning faster than a self-conscious white...
