Post by Gurgen Hovhanissian on Apr 18, 2016 0:58:13 GMT -5
We hear the usual murmur of your average drinking hole that relief for its revenue on the repeat business of drunk and people who have yet to embrace that label, rather than being a hip endroit the cool kids like to frequent. On the plus side, the cooler of those kids eventually, after their third divorce, do tend to end up here after all.
The bar is rather busy, yet, several of the bar’s stools remain empty. Curiously enough these just happen to be in the immediate vicinity of the human Yeti known as The Armenian Beast.
Beast has a glass and a bottle of Jim Beam in front of him, not his usual poison, but then again, decent wodka is hard to come by, this side of the Bering Strait. Though, truth be told, Beast usually picks quantity over quality when it comes to gut rot.
The barkeep stands aside to let Frank (presumably) pass with the camera. We focus on The Beast.
Whether he noticed us isn’t immediately apparent. He downs a measure and a half of Jim and pours himself another copious helping.
Not actually looking at the camera, The Beast begins to speak, in Armenian. Happy white letters at the bottom of the screen inform us of his intent.
“La Diva … I get it you know. You didn’t know I was admiring you, from afar, or, from inside the air ducts. People tell me that sort of thing is called ‘stalking’. I don’t really know what that means. But from what people tell me, it means that you really, really like someone. So, yeah, La Diva, I like you. And you didn’t know. And you didn’t expect my offer for marriage. So, you said no.”
Another drink disappears down the Beastly gullet. Even with a booze chute as trained as Beast’s he winces at the passing of the burning liquid.
“But, it’s been weeks now and you still haven’t accepted. I mean, I’ve seen you. I’ve seen all the men that flutter around you like butterflies to a pile of shit. No … moths to a pile of … no, birds to a flame. Yeah, that’s it. You’re a flame, not a pile of shit. And all these men flutter around you. You can’t set foot outside of your locker room without half a dozen of them latching on to you. Still, I see in your eyes that same feeling I have when people just don’t understand. I talk with words and gestures, but people just don’t understand. So I run and I hide from them. … in the wood … in the sewers … in the basement. Anywhere where there are no people. And you … you talk with words and with your body and your boobs. And people don’t understand either. So, you run and you hide, in your locker room, in your hotel, anywhere where the half a dozen fluttering men aren’t.”
The Beastly paw grabs a handful of peanuts and shoves them in his maw.
He noisily grinds them into a mushy pulp. His need to get things off his hairy chest is greater, however, than his need for sustenance. So flinging chunks of half masticated nuts all over the place, including at the camera, he utters, “You and me, La Diva, we would be great together. We could roam the sewers together! But you’re playing hard to get.”
He pauses long enough to swallow those nuts that yet remain inside his mouth.
“I’ll get you though. Don’t you worry. At Spring Breakdown … I have you all to myself. It’ll just be you and me in the ring. No running, no hiding. You didn’t want my loving? … Get ready for my hating! I’ll show you. I’ll show you exactly how much I care for you. It’s true, I don’t have much of a mind. But what mind I have, you’d be surprised what I can do when I focus it on something.”
“And one last thing. No, I’m not worried that you’ll hurt me. What pain can you inflict on my body that you haven’t already inflicted on my heart?”
“Now, piss off, and let me find the bottom of this bottle in peace.”
To underscore his intent, he flings a handful of nuts at the camera. Frank backs away. To the sight of Beast pouring himself another double, the screen fades to black.
The bar is rather busy, yet, several of the bar’s stools remain empty. Curiously enough these just happen to be in the immediate vicinity of the human Yeti known as The Armenian Beast.
Beast has a glass and a bottle of Jim Beam in front of him, not his usual poison, but then again, decent wodka is hard to come by, this side of the Bering Strait. Though, truth be told, Beast usually picks quantity over quality when it comes to gut rot.
The barkeep stands aside to let Frank (presumably) pass with the camera. We focus on The Beast.
Whether he noticed us isn’t immediately apparent. He downs a measure and a half of Jim and pours himself another copious helping.
Not actually looking at the camera, The Beast begins to speak, in Armenian. Happy white letters at the bottom of the screen inform us of his intent.
“La Diva … I get it you know. You didn’t know I was admiring you, from afar, or, from inside the air ducts. People tell me that sort of thing is called ‘stalking’. I don’t really know what that means. But from what people tell me, it means that you really, really like someone. So, yeah, La Diva, I like you. And you didn’t know. And you didn’t expect my offer for marriage. So, you said no.”
Another drink disappears down the Beastly gullet. Even with a booze chute as trained as Beast’s he winces at the passing of the burning liquid.
“But, it’s been weeks now and you still haven’t accepted. I mean, I’ve seen you. I’ve seen all the men that flutter around you like butterflies to a pile of shit. No … moths to a pile of … no, birds to a flame. Yeah, that’s it. You’re a flame, not a pile of shit. And all these men flutter around you. You can’t set foot outside of your locker room without half a dozen of them latching on to you. Still, I see in your eyes that same feeling I have when people just don’t understand. I talk with words and gestures, but people just don’t understand. So I run and I hide from them. … in the wood … in the sewers … in the basement. Anywhere where there are no people. And you … you talk with words and with your body and your boobs. And people don’t understand either. So, you run and you hide, in your locker room, in your hotel, anywhere where the half a dozen fluttering men aren’t.”
The Beastly paw grabs a handful of peanuts and shoves them in his maw.
He noisily grinds them into a mushy pulp. His need to get things off his hairy chest is greater, however, than his need for sustenance. So flinging chunks of half masticated nuts all over the place, including at the camera, he utters, “You and me, La Diva, we would be great together. We could roam the sewers together! But you’re playing hard to get.”
He pauses long enough to swallow those nuts that yet remain inside his mouth.
“I’ll get you though. Don’t you worry. At Spring Breakdown … I have you all to myself. It’ll just be you and me in the ring. No running, no hiding. You didn’t want my loving? … Get ready for my hating! I’ll show you. I’ll show you exactly how much I care for you. It’s true, I don’t have much of a mind. But what mind I have, you’d be surprised what I can do when I focus it on something.”
“And one last thing. No, I’m not worried that you’ll hurt me. What pain can you inflict on my body that you haven’t already inflicted on my heart?”
“Now, piss off, and let me find the bottom of this bottle in peace.”
To underscore his intent, he flings a handful of nuts at the camera. Frank backs away. To the sight of Beast pouring himself another double, the screen fades to black.