This is exactly what it claims to be. A fragment from something of much larger in scope and depravity. These are just some fun notes that I discovered while going through unlabeled CD-Rs this afternoon.
I issue a warning about spelling and diction. I looked it over for about five minutes and it is has a couple of decent juicy parts and I thought I would share. I think that it has a charm in its present state.
Thanks. Any feedback is appreciated...
C2K
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
fragment from Satyricus
"Remote Control"
"There is nothing that you can say," Miranda said. "I have heard enough of your lies, and I have found a new man anyway, one that truly appreciates me."
"You mean Cleveland?" K asked, dumbfounded, "The guy is a joke. I thought that he was handicapped the first time I met him."
All that came back from the receiver ear piece was a final click and the sharp monotone of the dial tone. That was the third time Miranda had hung up on him that evening and K figured that he would call it a night. He had prostrated me enough for one evening; he needed to preserve enough intestinal fortitude to put up with another day of groveling to the whims of customers and middle management at his job at Record Barn. K switched on the television and quickly grew bored with the three channels he picked up since they turned off his cable.
K hadn't paid rent on his box in the sky yet either. When Miranda broke up with K and starting fucking the hulking, dull-witted Cleveland McDaniels, K was understandably devastated, unable to even leave his tiny apartment near the highway. K was lucky to even have a job, his semi-hot manager Annabel told him, her tits looking very nice in her black Record Barn polo shirt, when K again swallowed his pride and asked her for an advance. He was fresh out of ideas for producing capital. He had no real friends in Portland; they were all part of Miranda's circle and now that they had broken up, K would be shunned by the good-looking artist types.
K clicked off the television and looked around his apartment. CDs and tapes that the pawnshop wouldn't buy lay strewn in a frustrated pile on the floor, the second-hand furniture that had come with the apartment was in poor repair and covered with trash and porn magazines. Piles of pizza boxes sat near the door, next to a couple trash bags of old garbage. He wished that his ulcer allowed him the luxury of getting drugs or getting a hooker to take his mind off of Miranda.
It had taken months to convince Miranda to go out with him and even then, she only gave of herself reluctantly. To put her at ease, K landed a job at Record Barn and saved his wages to buy her presents. When she mentioned it, K upped his hours and rented a small studio downtown in the Pearl District so that she and her wanna-be friends would have a place drink and smoke weed.
On several previous occasions, K suspected the beautiful Miranda of fucking around on him. There was that blonde haired sculptor named Harold or Arnold or something, and that black guy, Clifton, and the guy that worked at KBOO, the local alternative radio station. He could never prove anything because he was too busy alphabetizing the Gospel section at Record Barn. Miranda developed an enormous sexual appetite since they moved to Portland together. They were having sex thirty or forty times a week. They were like chimpanzees, mounting each other at whim. They still somehow had sex when they were in bed together, between his shifts at record barn, but K wondered deep inside where she was filling the other 80% of her appetite.
There could be no doubting when he walked in on Miranda and Cleveland McDaniels, a local club owner and general moron with deep pockets. She was taking it up the ass grunting so furiously as he pummeled her rectum with his penis K could hardly hear the Everclear album blasting on Miranda's stereo. She started laughing when she saw K standing in the threshold of the doorway. "Don't stop!" she grunted at Cleveland, who stared at K dumbfounded. K went to his room and packed his things. He rented his evil little room on 14th the next day from a sexy older woman named Bernice Dover. His window looked out on the constant stream of traffic down I405.
He tossed his possessions in a pile on the floor and went into mourning. He called into work and crawled into bed. He played hours of the playstation game Metal Gear Solid and would cry uncontrollably when the female character would flirt with the main character of the game, Solid Snake. Overtly soon joined his nest of ills and he was forced back to Record Barn, only to be looked upon now as a slacker and a weakling. He was put on the inventory and freight team and his life soon approached hellish parameters. He had no means to dig himself out of the credit hell he had dug himself into except to unload boxes of KISS boxed sets and Pink Floyd anthologies. The constant parade of teenage shoppers did nothing but frustrate him more. Miranda had been a fluke, he realized, a fluke that wised up and dumped him for someone richer and dumber. God, he had loved fucking her lithe little body. It almost physically pained him to remember the joy he got from there coupling. The total lack of interest from every desirable female that went anywhere near the Jansen Beach Mall only confirmed his fears.
There seemed to be no hope that afternoon in July when he sat in the food court over his thirty minute lunch break watching the carousel, empty turning in the middle of the malls center. It was the largest carousel in the world, but no one longer cared. He unwrapped his Philly Steak sandwich and salted his Cajun fries. Mindlessly he scanned the usual contents of his lunch at the mall. He then noticed that the piece of paper that they had lined the tray with was unusual, for it had a list of advertisements, most of them for bizarre sexual arrangements with a tendency toward body sculpture. Yet, one was somewhat different. It read:
Down on your LUCK? Other people holding you back? Do men and women refuse your sexual advances? Do you crave respect and power? If so, send $35 to XJ-1189 remote company, 1136 SE Broad St. Seattle WA, and we will mail you your solution today. Supplies Very Limited, act NOW. All orders shipped next day air."
K took a drink of his Diet Pepsi and wondered what kind of device this XJ-whatever was and how any company could get away with actually promising those kind of results. But Steak Hut was a national chain, in malls all around the US and Canada. Surely, they would not allow a disreputable firm to advertise on their tray liners. But then again, what about the personals?
Could it be that someone wanted K to see this advertisement page? K thought of no one who could have possessed a motive. He surveyed the gangly troupe of employee at Steak Hut, each one a worse case scenario than the next, total losers. Retail would always be better than food service. That was the mall hierarchy, but he could think of no reason why that group of under-achievers would want to turn him on to human body sculpture. K wasn't even very sure what that was...
K wiped off the ketchup from the paper as best he could with napkins, and folded it neatly and put it in his pocket. That night as he was writing out checks to pay bills he chose the XJ-1189, instead of USWest. He wasn't really counting on getting anything thing in the mail in return. He was probably just being framed, that was his luck... But there was something strange about it. That afternoon he looked at the tray liners of the other mall diners, and hung out over his second ten by Steak Hut, watching tray liners. They were all the standard issue, nothing like the weird ad page that was on his early in the day. Something was strange about it. He found the check and placed it in the envelope addressing it in red pen.
The box arrived on Tuesday with no return address. K tore off the brown paper wrapping and pulled the small contraption out of the box. It was a metal remote control with what looked like a lens on one side. On the opposing side of the machine was a dial, which could be turned to any of four settings, labeled in black lettering "1. Off 2. Fear 3. Suggestion 4. Amnesia. The small remote was uncommonly heavy, but felt comfortable and powerful in his hand. He carefully set it down on the bed and looked further into the box. Wrapped inside the brown paper wrapper was a folded piece of paper with the following statement typed by a dot matrix printer, barely legible.
The XJ-1189 limited series was crafted with the utmost care and is highly useful tool in the acquisition of the worldly possession. Yet, while operating the XJ-1189 there are several rules one should never forget. A) Holding the remote itself on ones person proves that individual completely immune to the effects of the remote. B) Never attempt to adjust or repair the XJ-1189, with proper care it should last fifty years C) With each usage your subject becomes more and more comfortable in the XJ-1189 energy zone you have chosen for them, permanent personality changes are a likelihood, use the XJ-1189 with responsibility and honor D) Never allow others than yourself to operate the XJ-1189, and for the sake of this company discretion at every opportunity would be greatly appreciated.
K picked up the remote and clicked the dial to fear. A faint blue light emitted from the lens contraption. He switched it to suggestion and the blue light grew a bit brighter and perhaps a few shades more green and the amnesia setting was a shade more purple but the least intense in terms of brightness.
K almost laughed at his gullibility. He sighed and tossed the remote back on the bed. He then noticed that the address label on the box could be unglued and then unfolded. The effort produced two pieces of paper in the same script as the note inside. Warily K read the contents.
Conditions and Directions for use. Model XJ-1189
Our company has long believed in bringing quality product to our select clientele. Ours is a charity, where we find those that live in a low state and at no real fault of their own unless stupidity and weakness are something that we can call faults. We leave the moral judgments to you, holding to our time honored focus, the needs of our clientele.
We are very permissive in our allowances to our customers desires, and in return demand only that they do not let themselves get out of hand. Madmen and other manner of maniac will not be tolerated. If you venture into these forbidden areas, you will be removed from our customer file, a very unpleasant experience and usually a final one. The XJ-1189 is a wonderful gift to our customers, and it is to be used as one, to provide you with plenty of the worldly enjoyments.
Directions for use:
A) Hold in hand and get within 10 to 15 feet of your intended target. Remote will work within a coat pocket or purse, etc. This is the best way to keep the devise out of sight as much as possible. It is important to let your targets think the emotions that the XJ-1189 is projecting into them are their own, it will make the behavior you wish to promote in them last longer and become part of their normal personality.
B) A normal healthy person can be permanently altered with no more than a 20-minute exposure. Choose your targets carefully and conduct operation of the XJ-1189 in private settings as much as is possible. Be responsible. Good luck.
K laughed. It was all terribly hokey. He couldn't believe he had spent thirty dollars on such a piece of garbage. He looked at it for a moment more and then dropped it into his coat pocket and headed to work.
The first person that he saw was the kid that lived down the hall. He was dirty and doing some kind of drug or another all the time. K acted like he was looking for his keys, not really believing that he was actually testing this piece of shit remote. When the kid, the music from his headphones blaring got pretty close, K turned the handle.
The kid startled so bad that he almost fell over. He looked up at K, shaking, turning a dull shade of white. "Don't hurt me, don't- don't-" He tried to back up, but his muscles weren't working. K stood there looking down at the punk with disbelief. He watched as the kid shit in his pants and then passed out. K locked the door to his apartment and pushed the call button for the elevator. He clicked the remote off and told himself that it was going to be a good day at work.
