Pot, trannies and pizza - oh my

I had a glass of wine on the nightstand next to the bed. The room smelled vaguely of pot and cigarettes. I laid back, the heat enveloping me like an unwanted body condom.

The phone rang.

I could almost sense it was Houdini, my old friend, a person who knows everything there is to know about me, but never pays attention to the details.

“You will never guess where I am.”

“OK.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously.”

“On a plane.”

“That would not have been my guess.”

“I know, right? So, about your room.”

“What about my room?”

“I was there earlier, you were not, we stayed for a bit, then we left.”

“You were here? In my room?”
“You said it smelled of pot and cigarettes.”

“I wrote that, yes, but it does. Then again, strangely enough, this entire house has taken on the allure of a cheap bordello.”

“You make that sound so, I don’t know, dirty.”

“Not at all. Lived in, I guess. Why were you here.”

“Horny.”

“What?”

“We were in the neighborhood.”

“When you say we.”

“Well, I mean we. I’ve been seeing someone.”

“I could page back in my own blog, a month or so ago, you thought you may have impregnated a transsexual.”

“That’s not exactly true. Transvestite, not transsexual.”

“Oh, right, I forgot the details. You were actually admitting at the time that not only had you not bothered to notice your love making partners male pieces, but you were actually stupid enough to think that having sex with anything looking vaguely like a woman could indeed lead to pregnancy.”

“And I stand by that belief.”

“Amazing.”

“Thank you. And to clear things up, I was not with that train wreck today.”

“Oh I would imagine you have found yourself a whole new sort of train wreck to get all sexy time with. In my bed, yes?”

“Well, we were in your house. By the way, what happened to the weight room?”

“I’m painting, I needed the space.”

“Painting, my lord, I thought the dog got sick. Seriously. No, I think the dog got sick, while we were there. She threw up.”

“Did you clean it?”

“God no. We were wrecking your bed.”

“Seriously?”

“No, I mean, I don’t think we damaged anything.”

“The room reeks of pot and cigarettes.”

“I know, right.”

“So why’re you in a plane?”

“Oh, not just any plane, a fighter jet.”

“Seriously? On a clandestine mission of some sort.”

“Of some sort. Sure.”

“Seriously?”
“Fuck no, last time the general sent me out for pizza.”

“No way. A general can send a fighter jet out for pizza?”

“A general asks for something, general gets what he asks for.”

“I really should have stayed in the air force.”

“I did not know you when you were in the air force.”

“Long time ago.”

“I’d imagine.”

“So, who’s the girl?”
“The one in your bed?”
“Well, she’s not in my bed now, right?”
“No, I would not do that to you. I get what your thing is.”

“No clue what that means. So, let’s start with basics, under the hood, she got a factory installed vagina?”

“Hey, that’s funny.”

“I see, no answer. She have a name?”
“Yeah, Beth.”

“Dude, that’s fucked up. My dead dog is named Beth. She’s a lesbian.”

“OK. Well, clearly, I am not dating your dead lesbian dog. I mean, what does she look like, just so I can be clear.”

“That’s not even funny.”

“In your opinion.”

“So, there must be a reason we are having a conversation.”

“I thought you would be interested in my newer relationship.”

“Why? Have you ever taken an interest in mine? You did not even go to my wedding.”

“You were married?”

“You did not know that?”

“Man or woman?”

“Seriously?”
“One never knows.”

“I was married before the gays were getting married.”

“So maybe you were a trailblazer. What was his name?”

“He was a woman. You were at the wedding.”

“When was this?”

“Long time ago.”

“Well then, who the fuck cares.”

“I agree.”

“You still married?”

“Are you high?”

“Little bit, but I am also prepping to fly.”

“Right. No, I am engaged.”

“Man or woman?”

“Seriously, same joke, still not funny.”

“I note for the readers you did not answer.”

“Point taken.”

“So tell me about the floozy.”

“Beth? Well, a huge step up from the non-pregnant tranny, that much is a given.”

“Of course, I mean, nothing against trannies, you know me, but still, hard to imagine a pregnant tranny.”

“Imagine my shock and awe. But no, Beth is all woman, all as far as I can tell.”

“And I am guessing you did some sort of inspection.”

“That I did.”

“Good, because after the pregnant tranny scare, one would think you might want to check who you are sexual with.”

“One would think.”

“Did you say you were getting married?”

“I did.”

“Weird. Why?”

“I’m the marrying type. The big question is, why aren’t you married?”

“I am.”

“Are not.”

“Am too. Got married, what is it? About 15 years ago, some chick in Florida, I think her name is Linda, or Carol.”

“What does Linda/Carol think about Beth, who’s most certainly not my dead lesbian dog, but has no problem smoking pot in my bedroom and having sex with a deranged pilot.”

“Not sure, we have not talked since the wedding night.”

“Probably a smart move. Heck, I’d probably still be married if I’d done that.”

“Most people would be happier this way.”

“Sure enough.”

“Hang on. Hey I have to fly to Atlanta to pick up some pizza, you need anything?”

“From Atlanta? No.”

Then the phone went dead.