Johnny America


Bad Hang­over


I woke up next to a hung-over camel.

The camel mashed her lips and said who the hell are you?

I said who the hell are you?

I said you’re not the hootchie-cootchie ma­ma with black cher­ry eyes whom I brought home from The Gibral­tar Straight.

She said you’re not the hand­some sheik who took me home from The Per­sian Rug.

But if I close my eyes, she said, you might look like a Berber with the eyes of a prince.

A burg­er? I said.

Berber, she said, just ask any camel.

She closed her eyes and puck­ered her lips.

She start kiss­ing me all over.

I had camel slob­ber run­ning down my face.

I pushed her away.

I said stay on your own side of the bed.

She said this bed is so small it would­n’t fit a jackass.

The camel and I stared out straight in­to space.

We did­n’t talk to each other.

Fi­nal­ly, the camel broke down and asked if I had any water.

I said my wa­ter is re­served for in­vit­ed guests.

She said she need­ed to take a shower.

I said she’ll clog the sink with camel hairs.

She asked if she could make her face up in the bathroom.

I told her that no mat­ter what she did she would still be ugly.

She said you are such an ass.

I said I’m sor­ry you feel that way.

A re­al horse’s ass.

At least hors­es know their place, I said.

A re­al don­key’s ass.

Don­keys don’t swing in dis­cos, I said.

Do you treat all camels this way, she asked.

I haven’t met many in this part of town, I said.

I guess this part of town is dried up, she said.

It was­n’t last night, I said.

Just what do you have against camels, she said.

Noth­ing, I said, I just hate wak­ing up next to one.

I bet you love all those dou­ble-hump jokes, she said.

Now that you men­tion it, I said.

You’re about as much fun as a no­mad in gas­tric dis­tress, she said.

At that point, it seemed all com­mu­ni­ca­tion broke down.

Fi­nal­ly the camel said let’s go back to the bar.

At the bar the camel plowed me with Straight ups and Boo­gie Woogies.

I matched her drink for drink.

Every­one start­ed to pet the camel.

I felt possessive.

I felt a lost connection.

The room was spinning.

She whis­pered in my ear.

She said you’re be­gin­ning to look good.

I was about to pass out.

The camel gave me a lift home.

Filed under Fiction on January 30th, 2009

Care to Share?

Reader Comments

ravi wrote:

great stuff

Consider posting a note of comment on this item:


Previous Post


Next Post


Join our Irregular Mailing List

For very occasional ramblings, word about new print ephemera, and of course exciting investment opportunities.