Only six bucks? Really? Wow, because the world is a vampire, then I go downstairs, learn O’Toole took charge from his coffin, and find out that the shows cost nothing. Who handled the blunder?
I can’t get my mind off of it. Inflation ruined the “Buck Rogers Show” a long time ago in a galaxy here on earth. A Mars bar costs twenty bucks online for its chocolatey goodness. WOW Radio tried to pay the bills.
Buck Rogers In The 25th Century staring O’Toole in the face. Issue number eleven of the comic book was neatly folded back and placed on the edge of a messy coffee table in an ugly, sick, disgusting room resembling a war room after a bomb attack. Mike loaned some of his comic books to Ottis, but wasn’t happy about the deal. Ottis created a fine studio for himself. Only wearing a green speedo, like a drooling baby in the radio universe. Freshly tattooed skin hurt, especially the tattoo of the San Diego State Aztecs. He was rocking a new hardcore metal Mohawk haircut, busy writing one of the Halloween specials, but he was distracted. Fruit flies swarmed near a cooler beside the fridge and started spreading out. He had violently taken a swatter to them. The apartment was worth the price of making the comic book, but it was a studio home, and there was no place like home, no place like his own coffin. An empty bag of Doritos in the middle of a stained Indian rug, beside the professional headphones and an almost empty pizza box. A small pile of dry vomit from the rotten week. Dirty laundry piled up in the corner. A shriveled hot dog under socks. Sometimes, he pretended to be the master of indigenous sock puppets.
Ottis ogled a muted HDTV interrupted by the shit fruit flies and naked images on the Hustler business channel. His heart racing, Ottis wondered how much he needed to save to buy premium porn, pay bills, and professionally clean stained underwear. In to self-loathing; he wanted better porn, and Hawaiian pizza. Sometimes, a philosopher when he wasn’t a radio star. A pepperoni slice was a metaphor for the world, and he hunched over the pizza box thinking about lies and truth. He loved pizza. After devouring the last slice of last week’s pizza, the gas churning inside his stomach needed somewhere to go, so he let it rip. The lion fart smelled like true Lionheart art. Even more flies swarmed. His virtual friendship with Mike and all the unproductive online memories.
Comic Books, for a long time, have been created as art. Sometimes, a book reaches out.
Ottis didn’t really know Mike Rogers that well and never trusted the bastard. Mike was short, a stocky dude with a clean haircut. Always on time, but he preferred meetings online. Most of his time was at the computer, but he didn’t want anything to do with Ottis. The guy hated him. He wanted his comic books back. The son of a filthy rich banker, Mike rented out a small space in his father’s house. He burned money online and had to borrow from his super-nice sister. A mustard connoisseur and a really big burger enthusiast. A COVID survivor, a tough guy, avidly following Republican party politics in the United States on RTTV. Mike had a stubborn loose cough and the world’s biggest boner. Wow, was he ever a vengeful, horny bastard. Ottis was hornier, more vengeful. Mike was a golfer, saving up to buy better clubs, an actor breaking the fourth wall with a fifth of vodka, but he really wanted to enroll back in school and try a degree in business. His ex-wife took up most of his free time. He coughed and muttered, “I could kill you.”
Ottis was secretly listening to Mike from a monitor in his studio. He giggled, almost like he was eleven years old, back at his first concert. “Whoopsie,” he said.
I never bought into any of it. I’d just listen. I can find my six favourite shows on earth, worth metal balloon love, really metallic love that starts out slow, and then Buck takes a turn for the worse. There’s seriously heavy glam, a metal funk and metal reggae outburst. Seriously retarded; I put a stop to it all. I had to do it. I really had no choice: budget cuts. The Dow was dropping freakishly low. Wally was working at Esso, fixing gas prices super high. It had to end, but Buck enjoyed whiskey for the last show.