Humanely Slaughtered
By:
Neil Saldaña
SMASHWORDS EDITION
PUBLISHED BY:
Neil Saldaña on Smashwords
Humanely Slaughtered
Copyright © 2010 by Neil Saldaña
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
I would like to take a moment to spread some thanks:
To the makers of Bic pens, Papermate pens & pencils, Mead paper, Olde English 800, Sierra Nevada, Casadores Tequila, cheap wines, Microsoft Word, Firefox, Fios Internet, this story is dedicated to you faceless corporations that I needed to get this story & others out there to the public. Also to Smashwords for giving us aspiring writers some more exposure and another way to get people to read something they otherwise would never have. I thank you.
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Humanely Slaughtered
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Have a nice trip, Reader.
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“Man, we really need to get outta here.”
Slick ponders this thought out loud and alone in bed reflecting on his life of 39 years, still living with his parents in their 2 bedroom house located in sunny Redondo Beach, CA. 90278.
“Seriously, I woke up with a white nose hair today!”
Poor Slick...15 minutes of fame done away with in 1985, 15 years ago at a New Age Poetry slam in a highly respected underground San Pedro art café. He was 24 at the time and in his best attempt at being the ultimate pom-pom poet, he showed up wearing his ultra black, ultra tight turtleneck, neatly imitative facial hair borrowed from Dali, but it was the $200 Armani shoes that no one could take this young prodigy seriously. He got the slight leeway of being Hispanic but once he broke into clichés of rubbing his chin and “spontaneous” laughing, he was left in the silence of one hand clapping.
As he lay on his bed, staring at those same Armani shoes wearing pretty much the same outfit; clinging to his past, he arrives at yet another conclusion; Los Angeles has taken him for granted! He was born in Wichita, Kansas, to parents Juan and Maria which pretty much explains why they gave him a very non-traditional name. Juan was a self taught painter and kept a journal at his nightstand as a way to release all his frustrations of spending the days in the fields tending to fruits, vegetables, livestock, anything to keep him from ever having to worry about his family struggling. Maria was the stay at home type, caring for the neighborhood children for her income but was a natural story teller and always had a good “chupacabra” tale for the American kids.
Being a minority in Wichita made Slick stick to his own as there were an abundance of racists even if they didn’t say they were racists. That is how he became friends with Jose Logroño as a teenager. They were the same age, both into poetry and the high life, but Jose was the more “true to the art” type whereas Slick was more of the “reap your rewards for your work” variety.
When Slick was 20 his familia suddenly moved to Redondo Beach so Maria could continue to work for her prosperous client as a nanny who also provided them with a house and car. Jose said he would soon move out there to join Slick and re-invent poetry for “la raza”. It was this move that put Slick’s long subdued persona into full effect as he felt L.A. would accept his trendy chic that Wichita couldn’t handle. He always felt way ahead of everyone here and now he could test himself in the entertainment capitol of the world. It was a challenge he welcomed and took full advantage of for a short time until he became too self absorbed and into the classifying scene. Poetry for him and Jose used to be about self expression, freeform, freestyle about anything positive or negative as long as it was informative but now Slick was into the lucrative side of things. He made his dinero and then met his beautiful wife Janet Cochineal. Janet (she pronounces it “Shawn-eigh”) has always been an aspiring artist/actress/model and met Slick at an art exhibit that she had set up at Hermosa’s Bijou Theatre. What had attracted Slick to Janet wasn’t just her unbelievable figure: long legs, perfectly suntanned skin, long shoulder length electrified & died red hair, intense bright green eyes, but the fact she was already ensconced into the LA art scene (She was born in Santa Monica) and her looks could get them into anywhere.
Janet now knows that she and Slick are in their late 30’s but going onto 60 at warp speeds and are losing their touch on the hip and trendy aspects of life and art. She had always gotten through her art/model life pretty much based on her looks; no one would ever question her or even think of trying to, considering who she had probably already fucked in the industry. Never known for her artistic insight, Janet, as well as the Slickster, knew her looks were indisputable for any old artsy fartsy old fart. Janet had though in the past months or so, seen the time clock ticking and suggested they do something drastic which they haven’t done since after the Slicksters’ pathetic San Pedro appearance in which they proclaimed to the art world that they would never eat any living animal again unless they killed it themselves. It started a whole new creation of “vegetarianismnists” that would only eat what they killed with their own hands but of course as with any “superior” group, there was a lot of infighting and people trying to structurize what it meant to be “vegetarianismnists” which led to more bullshitisms...
“You didn’t make that cheese on that cheeseburger!”
“No, but I fucking killed the Cow with my own hands!?”
“Yeah, but that cheese is from an animal you didn’t kill you fucking sell out! And what about the tortured cows untold story in the butter you grilled your hamburger buns in!”
Janet had confided in Slick recently of her worries of never moving out of his parents’ house and of not achieving what they both want. They then decided to have a definitive hobnob party at their house just to get back into the scene of things.
She decided just weeks before they attended Fridays Scientologist meeting on Sunset and proceeded to invite everyone and their mom that night for an after party get together…no one refused as Janet assumed.
She had already prepped most of the food before they had left for the meeting; some prosciutto wrapped shrimp, Bào yú abalone soup as well as shark fin soup, organic veal cutlets with a Chardonnay white wine sauce as well some sautéed spinach and steamed asparagus tips. All meats were humanely slaughtered of course.
Janet had figured she had outdone herself, “Wow… those two soups cost a fortune!” and could possibly get her in trouble with the law. She could care less as long as it put them into the mix of the elite again and the extra “taboo” of being thrown in jail for serving some exotic foods would also earn them some extra points.
The meeting had just about to wind up so Janet and Slick raced out quickly to their empty home (they had bought Slick’s parents tickets for a 2 week senior cruise for their anniversary.) to get everything perfectly set up. They hired a staff to serve but Janet wanted to go over exactly what was being served 1st as well as many other micromanagementisms.
The guests started to arrive soon later as most were starving for individual attentions as well as some catered foods... i.e. free. Suddenly, a black 20 something female socialite loudly exclaimed:
“Excuuuse me?! What is this? Please do not tell me this is veal.”
The whole party looks back to her and then to Janet.
A panicked Janet blurts out,
“It tastes divine! It’s to die for! Just try it!”
The woman looked amazed by Janet’s ignorance:
“I don’t think so, how could you even fathom eating these slave animals only bred for human consumption…this is something for those Reagan and Bush supporters back in the 80’s. But then again, your house looks like it hasn’t been refurbished since then!”
A chubby Mexican man in his 40’s chimes in an obnoxious, wannabe Spanish accent:
“Did I hear correctly...Veal?! Who can consciously eat veal anymore? It’s unbelievable what ignorance has been displayed here! I for one am leaving this postulant death hovel!”
A swave Cuban man exclaims,
“Such ignorance has been displayed here! I am leaving as well!” as the Mexican man turns to Janet,
“You are now about to witness the strength of elite knowledge.” He then snaps his fingers in the air flamboyantly as he proclaims,
“WE GO! You will now experience the solitude of the animals you so casually referred to as veal chops!”
The black woman claps her hands to get the party’s attention, “Everyone, let’s adjourn to my residence for an authentic vegan meal that required no sacrifice of life to feed the rotting souls of the carnivore!”
Everyone seems satisfied with this idea so they proceed to leave as Janet in tears pleads with them not to.
“It was an honest mistake! Pleeease don’t leave! I need you, please! Shit…I used to be a vegetarian!”
Slick was so embarrassed from the first guests’ remarks that he had snuck out onto the patio taking swigs of blue label Johnnie Walker. Janet met him outside swigging from a bottle of red wine, mascara running amok ala Alice Cooper as she contemplates what had just occurred.
“What the fuck were we thinking...what the fuck?!”
Slick suddenly has an air about him as if he had just solved the Zodiac killer case.
“I’ll call the D.I.P. crew...I believe it is time. We’re losing a grip on all these new compassionate trends....goddamn sissies! WE HAVE TO BE IN THE NOW!” Slick takes a huge swill immediately followed by an uncomfortable burp as he puts his arm around Janet to reassure her as she winces noticeably inhaling Slicks internal fumes.
“The 80’s were what we thrived in. It was all about coke, exotic meats and money, money...MONEY! If we’ve learned anything about recent history it’s that it always repeats itself. So let’s see...the 70’s took about 25 years to come back so the way I figure it, we only have to wait 5 more years for the true 80’s way of life to reappear, and I’m not just talking about the music!”
Janet pushes him away not caring for his sarcasm about waiting 5 years. By then she figures she’ll be an old hag without a child and Slick would probably leave her for some new, tighter vaginal cavity.
“Wait...what is the D.I.P. crew? You’ve never mentioned that before.”
Slick serious yet excitedly explains,
“First of all, TELL NO ONE! The D.I.P. is the ticket into the spotlight. They’re cutting edge yet no one knows about them, completely underground...secretive. My good friend Jose recommends them for an ultra-boost into the future trends of the elite. They’re a bit eccentric...a little odd, but they will get us back into the game! Jose used them for just one of his parties and jumped from the B-minus list to the A+ list in under a month!”
Still confused and now much drunker, Janet doesn’t know if he’s just bullshiting her or serious.
“I thought Jose moved back to Spain last year? How are you going to get a hold of the D.I.P.? How do you even contact them if they’re so guarded?”
Slick expected these questions and can’t wait to answer in his know it all fashion,
“Under the attorneys section in the yellow pages, dear.” He laughs pompously.
Janet is ultra confused,
“What? Why under the attorneys?”
Slick is still laughing arrogantly,
“How many of the social elite look up their attorneys in the urine pages?! Ha! Anyone who is no one is immediately turned away without even realizing who they were really speaking with. You must leave a message because they won’t answer their phone and they can usually tell if you’re important...I guess, from that. See how good they are?”
Janet is still unsure.
“I guess...but how do they make money if...”
Slick cutting her off,
“They are STINKING rich! It’s old money...generations of power since the Americas where born. Oil, stock, energy, politics, you name it...they got a hand in EVERYTHING. The family unit is so tight and self reliant that they basically they just do it for karma, although Jose isn’t sure if they’re religious exactly or just harmonious in life. He says that they do it just to keep their hands in everything and to keep the younger family members up on the business.”
Janet is rubbing her temples as she grabs Slicks bottle and takes a swill.
“This just seems a little crazy, doesn’t it? I don’t believe it, but then again...fuck it! I’m sick of sucking up to people less talented than me, let’s do it!”
Slick lights up a cigarette and places one hand on Janet’s shoulder, slightly massaging it,
“If we do this Janet...we have to trust in them 100%, no questioning of their methods. If we don’t...not only will we be publicly humiliated, but we will need to find new careers as they have contacts with everyone who’s anyone in the art and entertainment industry across the world. I asked Jose what they did for him exactly but he isn’t allowed to share anything but how to contact them, THAT”S ALL.”
“But how do they operate if no one knows who they are? Couldn’t Jose tell you anything?”
“He said to trust them 100% even if they tar your walls then feather them with your pet cockatiel and a rolling pin.”
Janet says nothing out loud but stares into Slicks eyes perplexed for a minute, smiles, then goes inside and grabs the yellow pages,
“Well, fuck it...I’m sold! Let’s get back on top baby! It’s all or nothing!”
Slick walks towards her, chin afloat as he strokes hers looking deep into her eyes while reciting a piece of one of his less than popular poems,
“Today is the last day of the flightless, hungry sparrow
Condemned to be the bow, yet now is free as the arrow.”
Janet notices Slick is holding the bottle of scotch while drastically flicking his pinky finger which has a miniature plastic hand on the end of it as if he waving to her.
Laughing,
“Oh Slick, I’m calling first thing in the morning.”
“Let’s go to bed, dear...For the moon is our protector of the unpredictable night
Sharing the brightest of lights and sending the demons into heavens insight.”
The next morning, Janet is awake at 7:55am, no alarm. She told herself she would call exactly at 8am and had already entered the number on the phones speed dial. She pushes the speed dial button while Slick snores ruthlessly. The answering machine picks up but the voice sounds like a 33 record being played at 45.
“D.I.P. Hello hello! Busy busy busy! Does it please? Do it pervert! Domination is power! ‘Da in persons! Doin’ it personally! Don’t interfere people! Deadly instincts prevail! Deadly instincts perish! Dorks imitating pork! Do I please?! Don’t imitate people! Don’t imitate people! Do imitate pork! Doin’ it perfect!” (Beep)
Janet, confused yet acts professionally,
“Hi. My name is Shawn-eigh Cochineal and I am inquiring of your services for a make over of my house as well as some fashionable catering and culinary expertise for an upscale party in the near future. My husband Slick Masse was recommended by Jose Logroño who informed us of your services. You may reach us at our residence any hour of the day as I we are taking some time off for personal reasons. Our number is 310-123-4567. I do hope this is the D.I.P. number as I was really perplexed by the message on your machine. Thank you again...and yes... (Whispering) we know how to keep a secret! (Fake laugh) Goodbye!”
As Janet goes to lean over Slick to hang up the phone, she sees how peaceful he is sleeping, probably hung-over as well but she has the strange urge to slam the phone down as hard as possible, and does,
SLAM!
Slick disoriented.
“What the fucking was...WHAT THE FUCK?!”
Janet can’t hold her fiendish laugh inside,
“You bitch!”
Janet still laughing
“Fuck you!”
Slick hung, dry mouthed, tired and annoyed,
“What? You fucked up so late in the day yesterday that now you want to fuck up today right off the bat?”
Janet’s laugh has disappeared as hate and anger manifest,
“Look here you mother fucker, I...”
The phone rings. It’s a Saturday and they both lost all there supposed friends yesterday that it must be the D.I.P. crew. Janet lunges for the phone over Slick,
“Hello, this is Jan...Shaw-neigh.”
A robotic voice responds.
“D.I.P. arrives at you’re residence at exactly 5:48pm tonight, Saturnsday. Synchronize all clocks, watches, watchers of time, time-keepers, etc. to the second as 8:04am strikes. Call 853-1212 to keep in synch every hour.”
Phone hangs up.
Slick rubbing his head looks confused,
“Who’s that calling this early on a Saturday?”
Janet is smiling from ear to ear.
“We’re going back to the top honey! This time...We’re doing it perfect!”
Later that evening while Slick is out renting a designer car to park into the driveway before the D.I.P. arrives, Janet has been furiously cleaning the nooks and crannies of the nooks and crannies. She is so desperate to make a positive impression on the D.I.P. crew, that she has already fired the hired maid they sent her as is their protocol with every assignment. It just made Janet more paranoid and angry.
“I can’t believe they would send over an incompetent like you?! You didn’t even have the tools to reupholster my frayed cushions!”
The middle aged Hispanic woman shows no signs of hate as she just continues about her business ignoring the beautiful, withered wench in front of her which of course infuriates the wine infused Shaw-neigh.
“You give your people a bad name...you know that?! And they already have one! Ha! We give you your healthcare, schooling, jobs, welfare but it seems you Mexicans just don’t care about those providing your hand outs...DO YOU!”
The maid now starts to pack up her items and prepares to leave which further infuriates Janet,
“They sent you here to do EXACTLY what I say and damn YOU WILL LISTEN! You just want to act like you don’t speak English and leave...IS THAT IT?! You fat, lazy, illegal...”
Maid interrupts quietly yet calculated, “Your husband is a 2nd generation Mexican from Mexico City so please show some respect, at least for him and your in laws. You’re Grandfather was also Mexican...Janet, from Guadalajara, despite the family lie of southern Italian heritage.”
Janet is momentarily stunned that the lowly maid knew anything about their lives especially the truth about her Grandfather Lou, whom had told her that in confidence one drunken night when she was allowed her first sip of patron as they bonded with that family secret.
“I am...uh...so sorry I cannot help you with everything. I will let my employers know that I was not to your...liking?”
Janet snaps back to bitch mode and tries to regain the power she has temporarily lost to the lesser being,
“Don’t you worry about that...ME-HA! I am definitely going to let them know how slow and lazy you have been. Thank God you don’t smile much with that fucking silver shit in your teeth...makes you look as bad a meth head but at least they have an excuse!
Janet heads over to the fridge to get a bottle of wine out and notices the interior of the refrigerator door.
“Goddamn it! You didn’t even get the mold out of the molding!...FUCKING USELESS!”
The Maid has finally had enough although is still very polite.
“That is because it is stained Mrs. Cochineal, it needs to be replaced.”
Janet can’t take the feedback screaming from this out of tune subordinate.
“You don’t tell me shit! NEVER! Don’t you look into my eyes...bitch old lady...silver fish mouth...silver surfer dried up cum face...Answer me! Apologize to me!”
Janet is appalled as the Maid opens the door, wave’s goodbye unemotionally and leaves.
“Get out! I swear I’ll kill you! Get out!”
Janet crashes to the ground exhausted, eyes tearing, breathing heavily then glances over at the clock and springs up to her feet.
”Oh...It’s
time to get ready.”
5:35pm and Janet is sitting still on the couch in her ultra red retro dress, low cut bust line and mini mini mini skirt to make any gay man or straight woman question their sexuality. Slick has just returned a few minutes ago in a Bugatti Veyron 16.4 and seems to have had an orgasm from the ride as he looks way too relaxed, almost aloof. He bought and is now wearing trendy, anarchist attire; all tight, all black, trying to play the role of the underground rebel to please the D.I.P. of course. The band “Crass” logo button on his chest was a last second touch he felt could add spark to the conversation if the D.I.P. should happen to notice.
Janet and Slick look each other over and both want make love badly but their egos are more important than sex at the moment and they continue to wait side by side on the couch even though their insides are an upset stomach waiting to exhale its precious butterflies.
DING-DONG!
They both immediately look at the clock...its 5:48pm. It’s the D.I.P. It’s time.
They both do a quick once over in the mirror as Slick guides Janet over to the door knowing the D.I.P. will be taken aback with her insanely hot body. Janet takes a deep breath as she quickly grabs the door handle and wildly swings it open only to see three somewhat downtrodden Spanish...or in her eyes, Mexican young men in their early to mid twenties, all swaying their heads in unison like Stevie Wonder, all wearing cut off black Dickies, white tank tops, striped orange socks pulled up to their knees and standard Mexican issue Nike Cortez. In Janet’s surprise thinking it’s a bunch of magazine subscription hustlers she blurts out,
“And you three? Didn’t you see the “no soliciting” sign?”
The smallest one of the three, about 5ft. tall, responds nicely yet curtly in a robotic accent.
“We are the Druids Into Praying. Your husband needs us to conform yourself against your will. As you will soon find out, we will and can impose our thoughts and beliefs unto anyone or being we anticipate, although we tend to lay off the animals, plants and trees since the human race are the only organism on this planet that take away from the earth rather than give back to it.”
Slick, observing, is grinning and nodding his head in agreement, hands cuffed under his devilish goatee, looking much like the devil in fact with his Exxon Valdeez oil slicked back hairdo and sharp facial features. Janet turns to slick more appalled than frightened and exclaims matter of factly.
“You’re shitting me...right, Slick?
Janet is confident this is one of Slick’s wannabe eccentric jokes and they’ll soon get to business when the real D.I.P. crew arrives.
Slick is chewing the inside of his of his cheek in a frowning manner then tells her,
”Just
let them do what they please and it’ll be over very soon.”
Suddenly, the 2nd tallest crew member blurts out,
“We’re on a schedule here. Now we get down to it with no resistance at all or we will force ourselves into you.”
He pauses,
“How do you want it?”