Haddock On Pollack
by Cap'n Haddock (damon@instoremag.com)
Under the bright lights, pussy-smoke-cigarette show, razorblade-in-pussy show and even man-woman-fuck-on-Harley-descend-from-rafters show take a backseat to pussy-shoot-dart-at-balloon show. An old standard, true, but sometimes they are the best. It is the element of danger, mused Pollack as he sat in SuperPussyGlamSlam, the famous yet genuinely seedy upstairs vixenagerie . top draw in the Holy See's popular "red light" district.
Indeed, it was one time when an eye being put out was not the stuff of ham-fisted in-crowd yuks, a la "running with scissors". Pollack had run with running with scissors and poked fun with pokes-an-eye-out in his time. And when those grew old, he'd laughed at the expense at those who still did. But, in its roundabout way, it was nearing the time to either start ridiculing the people ridiculing the people ridiculing the expressions, or else to start using them again in all seriousness.
A dart flew out of the cardboard tube inserted in the vagina of the woman on stage to the left of the fourth pole from the right, powered by the flexing of her vaginal muscles (or so Pollack assumed, as would anyone not familiar with strongside - leftside! - nuclear force string theory), whistling by dangerously close to his head. It landed noirishly in the softish cheek of the author James Ellroy, who was sitting behind Pollack, in, but not quite "in", a lapdance-cum-confession booth.
James Ellroy stood up. James Ellroy pulled the dart out of his cheek. James flicked the dart onto the floor. James Ellroy pulled out his cock. James Ellroy pissed on the floor. James Ellroy spritzed piss on petrified passersby. James Ellroy shot Martin Luther Coon, Jr. James Ellroy got off a headshot. James Ellroy watched brains explode. James Ellroy got the shakes ... BIG TIME.
Pollack viewed all this with faint amusement. It was neither his bonhomie nor his executrix deus locus to find it within a purview. Poop.
-- Blood and treasure, dammit! he shouted to no one in particular. - My blood . and your treasure . His voice reduced to a whisper.
Later, facts excessively salient to his mission came to bear. The Pope crouched on all fours on the stage, ass akimbo, barebackee to a particularly well-hung John Holmes. Pollack knew better, and was not particularly surprised to see that the pentagram-shaped lesion on the papal cock was a full centimetre further up the shaft than it should have been. An imposter, or more likely a stand-in for a Pontiff who had good reason to fear assassination.
Milquetoasts and Jacobites be damned, trundled Pollack to no one in particular as he brought to bear in a rounding crescendo. Then it was over,swiftly, his machinations in no small way leading to the inevitable firingand re-hiring soap opera involving Mets manager Abner Doubleday's recently exhumed left tibia.
-- That's Neal Pollack for you, chortled his attractive personal assistant Harry the Fluffy Octopus, one-time star of the children's porn series, Harrythe Fluffy Octopus Finds a Friend, parts I-VI, and fluffer on the set of Barney's 1-2-3 Adventure. -- Resplendent as always in his faux Nehru jacket, and as likely to react to good friends and wine with the subtle lifting of a single eyebrow as with a hearty slap on the back and a raucous laugh so typical of his Westphalian-slash-Armorican roots.
But Pollack had already left, some say to assist in a secret war in the hidden valleys of the False Korea.
