Chapter 15 – David Tells Me to Do Things
When I showed up in Beijing after getting Kim Jong “ill wit’ it” for a little less than a week up in North Korea, I’d made plans with my buddy O’Shaughnessy and his girlfriend to meet up, do some touristy shit and then go out to dinner together.
After checking out the Temple of Heaven and the Forbidden City, we wandered into some local restaurant and, since she’d had basic knowledge of the language, let Tim’s girlfriend do the ordering for our group. As per usual, we began pounding drinks while awaiting our food. Once I’d put away my third big-ass bottle of Tsingtao in about twenty minutes, I suddenly had to take a piss and excused myself from the table.
The main dining room of the restaurant was average-sized and had about fifteen to twenty tables in it – most of which had been occupied, all by locals. Of course, in China, smoking is still allowed in restaurants and a lot of the smokers will ash, throw their butts and spit on the floor like it ain’t no thang. Since this wasn’t no hoity-toity place filled with well-to-do people from the upper-echelon, smoking and spitting seemed to be the norm.
In between the aforementioned rectangular-shaped dining room and the kitchen had been a narrow-ass, three-foot-wide, ten-foot-long hallway where, on one side, the unisex bathroom had been located and, mounted on the wall directly across from the facilities, had been a sink that looked like it didn’t get used very often. When I got to the john and found it to be occupied or just plain old locked for no good reason, I without hesitation spun around to the sink, pulled out my dick and started going right there in plain view of both some customers in the dining room as well as anyone in the kitchen. I’m not sure whether or not I’d been seen, but if I had been, nobody had a problem with it. Once dripped and shaken dry, I thereafter returned to our table.
“Yo, where’s the bathroom,” O’Shaughnessy asked.
“It’s over there in the hallway,” I pointed, “but someone’s in there. I just pissed in some sink across from it.”
“You what?”
“Yeah, I just pissed in the sink.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t feel like waiting.”
“Dude, you’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah, I know,” I didn’t try to fight it, “but it’s nothing new. You remember that time at Buck Bradley’s back in college when I didn’t wanna lose my seat at that table when watching the ND-Marquette basketball game? It was a day game during our senior year and I had to piss but then noticed that the window that’d been like two feet behind my seat had giant curtains on each side of it and I just stepped behind one of those and pissed real quick on the inside of the window so whoever was outside could clearly see me standing there with my little dong in hand whizzing on the inside of the glass. And the bar was crowded as hell and the piss was all pooling up at my feet and shit and I was like the scumbag version of The Wizard of Oz – like, ‘pay no attention to the man behind the curtain’ – ya know? Then I reclaimed my seat right away and kept boozin’ all afternoon. Remember that?”
This had been the first time that I’d met Tim’s girlfriend who he’d been dating for quite some time down in Singapore. She didn’t share my sense of humor. So, I don’t know if Tim actually hadn’t remembered that stealthy urinary unburdening I’d pulled off or if he was trying to act somewhat mature and grown up for his new woman.
“Nah man,” he passively imparted, “I don’t remember that.”
“Fair enough. So, you gonna go piss in the sink or what?”
“Nah, I think I’ll wait.”
“C’mon man, pissin’ in the sink’s not even that bad. When I was a kid growin’ up, my buddy Mickey used to whip out his dick under the table and just piss all over whoever’d been sittin’ across from him at the time. You should be grateful I had the courtesy to piss in that sink and didn’t do it all over your legs.”
“If you pissed on my legs, I’da punched you in the face.”
“That’s what I always said I’d do too – then it happened to me. My friends and I were eating dinner in Wendy’s when we were about fourteen and, without anyone noticing, Mickey had pulled his dick out with one hand and started pissing while continuing to eat his burger with the other. I was right across from him. He pissed all over me. In principle, I wanted to punch him in the face but just couldn’t fuckin’ do it.”
“Why didn’t you jack him? Is he bigger than you?”
“Nah, I mean, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t happy at all about getting pissed on and I’m pretty sure I could take him, but it just wouldn’t have solved anything. Mickey was crazy, man. Me punching him in the face would’ve done good for absolutely nobody. Black eye or not, he’d be right back to pissin’ on people the very next day. Years later, he pissed on me again under a picnic table we were all drinkin’ at by the railroad tracks. He does whatever he wants. Well, I shouldn’t say that. He does whatever his ‘control panel’ David tells him to do.”
“Wait, what? Who tells him to do this stuff?”
“David tells him to do things. When we were kids, my friends and I referred to moles and big ugly birthmarks as ‘control panels.’ And on the outside of his bicep, Mickey has this baseball-sized control panel. It’s so gross. It’s black and it sticks out off his skin and has weird clumps of pubes growing out of it. And he’d always wear extra-long sleeves to conceal David from the public eye. But no matter how hard Mickey tried to keep David from rising to power, he’d always rear his ugly head and tell Mickey to do exactly what he’d wanted.”
“Is this guy a psycho or something?”
“No, Mickey’s not a psycho…but David is. When David would start acting up, Mickey would get visibly flustered. Using the hand from his opposite arm, he’d roll up his sleeve and start rubbing David very fast up and down. ‘Ahhhhhhhhhh!’ he’d cry out as he became possessed under the spell of his control panel, ‘David tells me to do things!’ And this is when the threshold of Mickey’s moral restrictions would be breached by David’s depravity.
“Over the years, David had directed Mickey to get naked and wrestle with his two dogs. David made Mickey pick up a piece of dog shit and use it to write the name “JEFF” on a window of a random apartment near our houses. David taught Mickey how to piss off the side of his bike while riding along and smoking a cigarette at the same time. David told Mickey to tell random strangers to, ‘Give the president a blow job so he can keep his day job!’ Before class freshman year of high school, David told Mickey to print up a pornographic picture off his computer, jack off and jizz all over it then toss it on the ground by the teacher’s desk for the old woman to find and pick up with the ink all running off it and shit. And one time during grade school, someone killed a Mexican hooker in my neighborhood, tossed her dead body in the garbage can directly behind Mickey’s house and set it on fire. Although the police caught the guy that they think had done it, I’ve always had my suspicions that David played a bigger role than suspected in the murder.”
“Wow dude, this guy sounds like he’s pretty far out there.”
“Yeah dude, he is. But my favorite was back in grade school during a sleepover at the house of this kid everyone used to call ‘The Big CK’ where David told Mickey to kill all the fish in the fish tank and then snip all their heads off with scissors once they were all dead.”
“Holy shit. Are you serious?”
“Yeah man. I, uh, I actually wrote the story down for creative writing class back during my junior year of high school. The teacher liked it so much, she had me read it to the class but I don’t think she thought it was real. I mean, for dramatic effect, I exaggerated the aura of The Big CK to make him seem like an even bigger and more intimidating bully than he really was, but the events that took place at the sleepover itself are all true – especially the decapitation of CK’s fish. The story’s called ‘The Super Sleepover.’ I’ll email it to you tonight and you can check it out whenever you get a chance and lemme know what you think.”