Hot Mess


Let’s see how many it will take to knock my ass on the floor. “Gimme another,” I shouted, unflinching. “You know what? Just leave the goddamn bottle.”

The bartender, a twenty-something freckle-faced ginger whose preferred sources of entertainment was Reddit and shoving his dick into a warm watermelon, coolly passed me a half-empty bottle of Patron Silver. “Enjoy, sir,” he piped before trotting over to appease another depressing sap.

Depressing sap. How did I let myself stoop so low? I was once the cherished first-born who had grown into the CEO of my father’s profitable Fortune 500, natural resource company. I had a smoking-hot trophy bitch of a wife and two shit-faced numbskulls for sons, and we all lived happily and amused in a three story mansion hidden within a 128-acre yellow birch woodland. It really was the picture-perfect, American dream of a life. But suddenly the kids became born-again Presbyterians, the wife started hosting orgies with the entire Michigan Bucks soccer team, and I ran the company into the ground – ladies and gentlemen, the life of an aspiring CEO-turned unemployed regular at Bebe Frank’s Downtown Pub.

Before I knew it, I was out of tequila and the world was still a dismal shitstorm, so I figured I would inform the crowd. “Everytion, attenryone,” I slurred, perched on top of the barstool. How I managed to get my fat ass up on the chair is a question for the booze. However, before I could continue the speech that would top all other speeches, an intense flame formed in the pit of my stomach. Then I blew.

A shower of searing clumps of golden bile rained on my audience, and suddenly they all started screaming. If the cries of horror were not from the boiling puke dissolving their skin, I swear one would mistake them for shouts of excitement and ovation. I imagined standing in front of a podium giving a kick-ass presentation to the board and shareholders; that drowning degree of elation I got after those conferences is something I will never forget.

In one corner we have Mrs. Taryn Greenfield, one of the corporation’s largest shareholders, who’s jumping and waving sporadically out the pub’s window, except there is no one who can rescue her from another round of my blissful, sweltering sprays of excellence.

Don’t worry, there’s enough to go around, Co-Chair Brandon Huckabee. And those better not be tears of sorrow that you’re ripping off with those caustic, cosmetically sculpted cheeks of yours.

Everyone is on the floor bellowing with praises for my final, corrosive vomit shower speech. I chuckled at the sight of Lucinda Harman and her girlfriend Sasha nearly spraining their ankles as they try to dodge the glorious holes the vomit ate in the floor. “Don’t slip on your way out!” I shouted. They probably didn’t hear me.

That’s when Agent Meredith showed up, beautifully clad in a chic leather gumdrop dress and silver-plated shoes. She had a charm bracelet fastened around her front left hoof, and spiraled around the opposite a bedazzled strip of baling wire. Her mane sparkled under the pub’s warm light – she must have used the glitter spray I gifted to her for her fifth birthday.

“Damn, you are one fine mare, Mere,” I stated, giggling at my cheesy cleverness.
Meredith shoved past the vomiting fashionistas, stepped over the deceased wannabes, and nibbled my ear. “Oh, Harvey, you always knew how to throw a spectacular party. But why didn’t you invite me?” She batted her eyes, her lips puckered tight and her hoof exploring my thigh.

“This was a surprise party, darling. I would tell you to blame Frenchson for neglecting to send you an invitation, but he’s too busy gasping for air and clutching his whore’s severed flesh over by the jukebox!” I snickered.

The horse whinnied. “He always was a romantic, wasn’t he? And speaking of shameless lust, Harvey, I’d say you are a little excited yourself!” She cackled. “Why don’t you accompany me to the stable?”

I didn’t have to glance down to notice my embarrassingly hardening crotch tenting my jeans. My faced turned pink and I caressed Meredith’s soft snout. “After you, babe.”
The two of us abandoned Bebe Frank’s Downtown Pub and all its decaying customers, and I rode her to her home, where she invited me to sit and wait for her to freshen up a bit. I lost my shirt and pants somewhere along 3rd Avenue. But Meredith, the dazzling, sexy pony never returned. Even worse, she locked the stables.

“Fuckin’ phony ponies,” I griped, “Next time I see that bitch, I’m putting her down.”
Thoughts of Meredith and hatred for the backstabbing horse faded from my mind as I vomited two-three-four times in the itchy hay bed. I spat and retched until I collapsed, the world and its calamities circling around me like an endlessly rotating, soundless vulture baby mobile.


A splash of cold water and muffled noises pulled me from my alcoholic slumber.
“Good to see you’re awake, Mr. Fenton.” A blonde police officer tossed me a towel.
My head throbbed. “What the hell happened? Why am I here?”

“We got a few reports last night that you were drunk and disorderly at the pub downtown. One witness said that after you vomited on the floor, you started acting erratically, spitting and cursing towards everyone in the bar. After several failed attempts of trying to calm you down, they called us.”

I was not one to act erratically. I was once a functioning CEO, for god’s sake. But I knew how to stay composed despite the fact that the whole complaint was more or less blown out of proportion, if not totally fabricated. “So are you charging me with anything?”
She nodded. “Public disturbance. But the good news is – we ran your file – this is your first offense, so you’ll likely avoid any jail time. You’ll need to fill out some forms and more than likely will pay a fine, though.”

Public disturbance my ass. Couldn’t a normal guy enjoy a simple night out? Apparently not, but I bit my tongue. “Thank you, officer – what did you tell me your name was?” She looked awfully familiar.

She turned as she was leaving the cell. “I didn’t, but I’m Officer Meredith Buckly. We went to the senior prom together, or don’t you remember? After I refused your advances, you started the horse rumor.” She grinned. “Karma’s a bitch, eh?”

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