'Why the fuck are you always so damn petty, brother ?' Cuntrell breaks the odd silence, yet Sean and him are still standing in the middle of the tour bus, exchanging heavy stares and all. This little taunt ain't enough to fire up my short tempered mr. Honda Four and get him in the mood for full range destruction ... as a matter of fact, he's still out there, doing his virtual best in order not to laugh too blatantly in the face of Cuntrell. I get it, I get it, he just wanted to clown, it wasn't really his intention to wreck some skull, when he stood up from his seat and he got a little bit too up, close, personal and intense with the pissy blondie.
And I sigh with relief. Because besides disrespecting me, a poor innocent girl who's got nothing to do with all of this shit, just in order to get a little bit under Sean's skin, Cuntrell hasn't done a bad thing to even begin with. I'm never benevolent to him, I would rather drink bleach than say a word in his favour, yet Gerry is in no wrong right now. Sean is. He started this shitshow, didn't he? By calling Gerry with names that ain't his own, teasing him over the Gossard incident of last night, and hinting to Bessie's trysts with Layne, knowing that it pisses him off like nothing else. He's been doing this since yesterday, when we bumped into Gerry in the backstage of the Oakland Coliseum, blondie asked me circa Bessie's whereabouts, and Sean told him she was shagging Layne in his dressing room. Since then, he has barely stopped harassing his bandmate. And it ain't Gerry's fault, if Sean's hellbent on pissing the living hell out of him just for fun.
I mean, Cuntrell has impaired my friend for life, she's probably gonna die with his crabs or have his son, but Sean started all of this fuss, and he's been teasing each and every one of Gerry's nerves for almost twenty four hours. For absolutely no fucking reason, besides satisfying his lust for drama.
Gerry's only got one nerve, hence it's extremely easy to get on it, but Sean is showing some real commitment to his cause... making him fume, explode and die. And I don't know why's that. I don't know a thing, besides that there's a lot of pent up anger between these two, for some reason I still ignore. Cuntrell is pissy and full of mood swings and temper tantrums. Sean is indeed a bit petty, short tempered, and a bit too belligerent. They give as good as they get, that's for sure. But judging from the stories I've heard... when a Cuntrell meets a Kinney in the battlefield, the Cuntrell is a dead man. Always.
'I'm a gentleman. I'll let you choose what limb I'm gonna break. You've got four... maybe five of 'em'. Sean answers, and when I can hear him mentioning Cuntrell's fifth limb, or third leg, however we want to call it... I just sigh with relief, because I realise that his intention has never been to punch Gerry in the face. Not even elbow him in the stomach. Not even kick him in the ass. Oddly enough, he just ate Cuntrell's inglorious pep talk to shut me up by sticking the damn hammer inside my mouth to prevent me from talking like the stoic gentleman that he is. He's clowning, definitely not ready to start world war three on the Phellus in Chains tour bus, and he's fucking laughing like the reckless idiot that he is. And man, now that I know this was just a plaything to him, not the battlefield, I can't help but let out that same laugh I've been holding inside since the moment Sean called Gerry 'Stone... Layne... mom'. Cause, like it or not, it was fucking hilarious.
Mom! Mom come here! Can I ask you something?
And in the end, he didn't even ask Gerry anything. Gotta love Sean. As a matter of fact, I think I bloody love him, and I can't help my feelings.
'Five, Kinney. He's got five'. Bessie specifies, and the fact that we're so candidly talking about Cuntrell's man sausage gives me the fucking hysterics. Everyone is laughing their lungs out, including the bus driver, and including Starr, who's taking a much deserved rest from shagging his pretty brunette. Cuntrell himself is laughing too, on top of the entitlement that comes with carrying a solid ten inches in his jeans. Ten, damn yeah, but infected as fuck. Every woman in Seattle has eaten from Cuntrell's buffet, at some point, except me ... and Chrissie, I think. And I've heard so many stories about his cock that for as much as I know, it could also be unicorn horn shaped. Or covered in glitters and gold... and crabs, perhaps.
'Yeah, the fifth limb is my favorite'. Sean answers, and I can swear that he looks at me and grins like an idiot for a second, right before he switches his full gaze on Cuntrell's... fifth limb. And gives the blondie's crotch a solid, firm, avid squeeze. Surprisingly enough, Cuntrell doesn't get pissy at the groping, he just has a good laugh at it, like just about everyone else in this bus. Except me. I get it, Sean is a comedian and a people pleaser... but he's just palmed some Hepatitis C-untrell, and I ain't a big fan of it. At least, not now that I'm slowly trying to come to terms with Bessie's terminal disease, and I'm still making a dozen different plans for her funeral day. Why did my loverboy have to get his own share of Cuntrell plague, exactly?
'Wash your hands before touching me, babe...'. I speak, shaking my head in disappointment and almost flinching in disgust, the moment the hand that Sean used to grope Cuntrell lands on my shoulder... and wanders a bit too close for my liking to my cheek. I mean, it's sweet that he wants to rub my face mid fighting Cuntrell, it really is. Makes me wanna stand up on my feet, throw my hands around his neck, kiss him, and drag him down with me so that he sits back right next to me... and we put an end to this mock (mock?) brawl already. But his hand is contaminated now, and man, I don't want him to smear Cuntrell's crabs all over my face. But he finds the spreading the disease thing funny, and as a matter of fact, he's laughing his ass off at my disgust. So are Layne, Bessie, and even Starr. Why do people in this tour bus think that STD's are stuff that gotta be taken so lightheartedly? Bessie is going to die on one, real soon, and noone's fucking paying attention to it.
'Your kinda girlfriend is annoying as hell. Get rid of her'. The pissy blonde primadonna of Phellus in Chains addresses me, Sean's non girlfriend girlfriend, and if it wasn't clear enough that he's making the whole thing about me, all over again... he points his greasy ass finger my way, and looks at me with spite in his eyes. Back in the day, he'd look at me with horniness in his eyes, so I can't help but draw a deep sigh of relief, when I realise that he's looking at me like he's tryna tell me 'I wanna throw you and your fucking parrot off the window', not like he's tryna tell me 'I wanna fuck you senseless, n make your (hooded) eyes roll to the back of your head, shawty'. Hooray. Mission being the end of Cuntrell's hatred, not of Cuntrell's hormone accomplished, Victoria. Another reason to cherish this day and believe it's indeed bound to be the best one of your life so far.
'Or ? You're personally gonna get rid of me?' I taunt Cuntrell, because you know. Gotta have a plan B, if Sean doesn't want to stick with the plan A, and get rid of me as he's just suggested him to. I don't think that Sean would get rid of me right now, definitely not because it's been Cuntrell to say so ... but it's always good to trick the blondie into believing that he can somehow make me, and perhaps, also my cockatiel, disappear. The harsh truth is that he would like to, but he can't... I am persistent, doing mighty good where I am, and I'll be hanging out with the band for the next few weeks. My only concern is that Bessie will be dead before I can even realise it. But besides that, the wind in my favour and Cuntrell can't break my stride.
'Brother, my what? I don't even know this chick'. Sean chimes in, as he takes a seat right next to me, and looks over to me... like he's never seen me before in his life. And he looks so goddamned serious, that for a second I get the vibe that we're really fucking strangers. The truth is that he's just an idiot... and he was born to be an actor. Man's in a loan to the music industry, but he belongs to the goddamned big screen.
He should've been an actor, no joke. Not only he made everyone believe that he was going to kill Cuntrell and yeet his bones on the highway, the moment he stood up in front of him with the menacing look in his little brown eyes. But he's also out there, still looking at me like he has no idea who the hell I am, what am I doing on the tour bus, and why does his bandmate even think that we're dating. 'Cause we aren't, and it's the only element of truth in this whole skit.
'Quien es esto chico?' I comment, eyebrow raised, as I pretend I don't know him. Riding the wave, baby. You don't know me? I don't know who the hell you are, but in Spanish. Just don't ask why in Spanish, because I don't even speak the language. I'm probably just trying to be funny. Or maybe, I'm just naturally funny, because everyone is cackling and my people pleaser ego gets an instant stroke from the hilarity I've triggered in my road trip mates.
I turn to Sean's side, to see that he's looking at me with brows furrowed, an idiotic grin on his lips... and one hand on the peepee. Here we go again, the infamous hands on the peepee, but this time, declined in singular. His other hand grips my neck, all of a sudden, firm but still somewhat gentle and playful. And before I can even realise it, his lips are on mine and we're kissing. Much of a step up in the game, 'cause we were pretending we didn't know eachother until ten seconds ago. But I won't ask questions, I'll just keep kissing him until my jaw is sore.
'Whatever the fuck that means, I'm hard. As Stone'. He speaks, as he briefly parts from my lips, for exactly what it takes to utter Gossard's name all over again, and piss Cuntrell off some more. Cuntrell is fuming, of course he is, but he's also looking at us like he's quite exasperated... and perplexed. I can very rarely relate to Gerry, but I gotta admit I am quite perplexed too, right now. But I'm having it a hundred more times better than he is: I don't mind the feeling of confusion that comes with having Sean's tongue into my mouth, while he's making a fool of his bandmate... and letting everyone know that I've gotten him up by uttering three, maybe four words in a language I can't even speak. I don't even know if it's true, that he's gotten the stiffie over something so trivial. But I won't check it out, at least not while everyone's still out there looking at us as we make out. I have slightly more decency than Starr's brunette, who's bunching up her skirt so that she can start to bounce on the bass player of Phellus in Chains again.
'Gossard ! Squawk !' My cockatiel blurts out, to inform us that he knows that Stone is Gossard... and that he clearly ain't the same guy as Cuntrell. Everyone laughs at the awkwardness of this situation, because it sure is awkward that a parrot is stirring all of that drama with zero malice, and that's what makes it funny... but Cuntrell isn't having fun nor feeling awkward, he's just downright pissed. Thick clouds of smoke streaming off his ears, as he hears the name of Pearl Jam's rhythm guitarist being called for the umpteenth time since this road trip began. A part of me is sorry, I'd like to shut my parrot up because this whole Gossard thing is getting out of control, because I can tell Gerry's discomfort with this, and because I know that a fucking parrot enables Sean's idiocy even more. Everyone's laughing, yes, but he's flat out bent down in half, laughing his ass off with his head between my thighs. Cock Soup is on his shoulder, squawking out loud when he doesn't nibble his ear. And I'm biting my lower lip, in order not to laugh too hard myself, because this sudden cockatiel cabaret and the fact that my two boys are bonding is fucking hilarious.
'No seriously, who's this guy and what does he want from me? He's creepy'. I joke, pointing at my silly loverboy, still laughing his heart out with his head between my thighs. He's having the time of his life, I can tell, while I'm just trying to change the topic being discussed. I've had enough of that Gossard drama. I've had enough of the smell of the steam coming off Cuntrell's ears. I've had enough of my cockatiel doing the enabler. I've had enough of Sean trying to put up a fight by blowing the most insignificant thing ever out of proportion. So, I'll make this about him now, he won't mind it. I mean, he was the one to start the 'I don't know this chick!' skit, it's natural that I want to keep it going, now that he's doing the idiot with his head on my lap.
As I so correctly guessed, he welcomes the slander with a bunch of heartfelt laughs. Surprisingly enough, though, he doesn't try to slander me back. And it isn't long, until he gets himself back up, looks down on me with brows furrowed ... grips my neck, and kisses me all over again. Just a few, innocent smacks, as he lets his hand loose around my neck, and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. Yes, guy's got a few swings, he's never really predictable, and it's just another one of the many, many reasons I keep falling for him.
We're doing the lovebirds for the umpteenth time within just hours, and it feels mighty fine. Cock Soup is digging his seat on Sean's shoulder. Cuntrell looks like he's eager to get something off his chest, scratching his head with a cheeky grin all over his lips. Bessie, despite pregnant and plagued, is looking at us with a chuffed smile on her lips. And Layne is laughing, shrugging, as a bunch of 'I told you he's a creep, creep creep creep' addressed at me escape his mouth. He once told me to blink twice, if stuff with Sean is ever going to get particularly creepy. Typical Layne/Sean slander. And no, I think I will never have to. Guy's a treasure, even if he's got a way of his own to convey it.
'He's a fucking simp. Such a simp that he bought four hundred bucks worth of cocaine to a stripper once ... and she didn't even spread 'em legs to say thank you'. Cuntrell takes the word, kindly answers my question, and lets me know that the guy I'm handling myself with is ... a simp. He was eager to get something off his chest, I knew it, and don't ask me why... but I had this feeling that he was sooner or later going to give Sean as good as he got from him, all over the last solid twenty four hours. I'll call this the Cuntrell deterrence, because again, this slander seems to be more about me, than it seems to be about Sean himself.
Cuntrell is bright, when there's no pussy to fuck at stake, and he's making everything he says about me on purpose. He knows I take no offence, he knows Sean doesn't mind the slander, so he's using another strategy with us : making deterrence on me by bringing up stories of the past, to disturb my peace and piss me off... and piss Sean off x2.
Sean deserved his attitude fix, he's been harassing Cuntrell for an entire fucking day, but why did the cunt have to make me feel like I'm worth less than that stripper chick, just because Sean has never gone as far as buying four hundred bucks worth of cocaine to chase me? Why are his fucking taunts working so well on me, that I have to push Sean off, if I want to be able to finish a whole breath ?
Man looks over to me, shyly twiddling my thumbs to dissipate the awkwardness that I'm feeling inside. He understands my discomfort, he shrugs, and kisses my forehead. I don't move, I don't say a word, and I just keep twiddling my thumbs until they're near damn sore. And I finally give in to the temptation to stand up, when I can hear a bunch of laughs in the background ... and I catch a glimpse of Sean giving the guillotine sign to each and every one of his bandmates. When he's done giving them the Marie Antoinette warning, he looks at me almost like he's humbled. But at this point, I don't care. I'm too busy lighting myself another cigarette, too far getting a beer from the mini fridge.
He smiles a bit, and I frown. He frowns, and I give him a half smile. But he's still where he was before Cuntrell decided to make me feel like I'm nothing, and I'm three rows of seats away from him. Slipping into my new seat, with a cigarette between my lips and a beer held right in hand. À la Gossard, no pun intended.
Illogical. That's what I am. And stupid, because I'm letting a cunt's accounts of the past affect my mood. The only thing that can affect my mood are accounts of the last few weeks... but does Cuntrell have any? I don't think so, or he would've brought them up already. Right ?
It's just that I think I've got feelings for Sean, and I don't know how I should receive this story about him buying cocaine to a stripper chick. To later bed her, I suppose. Or even worse, because he was a lil infatuated with her. I don't have to close my eyes to imagine that he'd have the physical guts to chase a scantily clad chick with a bag containing four hundred bucks worth of cocaine in hand, to show her that he ain't like other guys. Sean ain't like other guys, he's fair better, he's a little bit of a kindhearted romantic, but always in his own terms. He's a simp, it didn't take a Cuntrell to realise it, and I've been knowing it since the very first time I exchanged words with him. If he wasn't a simp, he would've fucked me at his first chance to, he wouldn't have talked to me all night, offered me weed and bought me breakfast by the early hours of the morning after. He's nice, he's kind, he's smooth, he's generous, and he's thoughtful to excess. Ladies love a simp, and a simp loves and admires the ladies.
I am the lucky one to be in this simp's graces right now, but a few chick have been there before me, probably more of 'em than I could even imagine. I have gathered enough information about Sean, mostly from his good buddy Thayil, and I know he used to have a steady girlfriend until last year or so. They broke up for undisclosed reasons, and he disappeared from just about everyone's sight for months to follow. He only reappeared just in time before Phellus started to record their latest album. He used to be with Chrissie for a while, he never did her dirty judging by my bestie's account, yet she dumped him because he was 'too much of a sarcastic freak' for someone as grounded as her. Besides that, I haven't heard a story about Sean and his antics with ladies that doesn't involve him dragging them to exhaustion just for fun. A man after my heart, 'cause I do the same with all men, except him.
But now, what's that story about the stripper ? Was he really that mad fucking crazy head over heels for her, that he spent an inconsiderate amount of money to fuel her sniffing vice and make an impression on her ? And what if there's a hundred stories like this one, and Cuntrell hates me so much that hell de-dust all of them and bring them up just to piss me off for the whole length of this tour ?
I won't let him do this to me. To us, I mean. Sean has had a rather exclusive affair with one of my two best friends, for months in a row, and I've never let it affect the vibes I get from him. I knew that the mysterious Sean with the Honda Four had fucked Chrissie even before I saw him in the face, and I began to chase him when Chriss gave me the pass to. I'm still here chasing him, even if the thought that he's seen one of my two best friends naked sometimes crosses my mind. Why would I be bothered about this stripper story? I mean, I am not particularly fond of knowing that the man I have all the hots for was that level of crazy about another chick ... but can I help it? No I can't.
'It was... last year. And I was just doing charity'. Sean chimes in, totally unbothered by his pissy guitar player's comment, a shrug and a condescending grin on his lips as he looks his way. A part of me thinks that he's grinning because he wants to challenge Cuntrell, so that the blondie blurts out something else blandly incriminating on his account. Sean ? Goes from being ready for war to being hundred percent chill in the literal blink of an eye. And don't ask me why, but his unproblematic, unapologetic and daring reaction to the taunt makes me feel slightly better about the surfacing of this stripper incident. He's being much calmer than I usually am, when Inez is around. Because he has no secrets. But apparently, I have a few of 'em. Inez, Shepherd, my job in the porn industry... ahem.
But he's doing the glib now, ain't he? I highly doubt that he was doing charity, when he spent four hundred bucks for a woman's cocaine. I'm way more convinced that he was just tryna chase the girlie because he was interested in her, besides panties value. But does it even matter ? It's stuff of last year anyways, isn't it ? And at the end of the day, yes ... he was perhaps a lil bit infatuated with the stripper, but the girlie was probably so high in her stripping boots and on white powder to give him the time of her day. Because, according to Gerry's account, Sean and her didn't even fuck after the expensive present. What a dumb female.
'What a dumb female'. I speak my thoughts exactly, and I don't ask me why, but everyone laughs at my comment. Probably because they were expecting me to be either pissed off or a little bit delusional after Gerry's revelation. I am just... a tad bit confused now. I don't know what was going on with that stripper chick, she was probably high out of her mind when she turned Sean down... cause I, Victoria, reasonable woman with reasonable taste in men, would never turn him down. Even if he chased me with a bag of Doritos, not a bag of cocaine bought specifically for me.
I stand up from my seat, and go join the guys where they are. But before I do, I grab another beer from the mini fridge, just in case my beau wants to take a 7.7% alcoholic pull on this ridiculous skit.
'Yeah, he has a type. Dumb, sexually promiscuous, drug addict, skinny, exotic looking female. You tick all of his boxes'. Cuntrell speaks, picking up my words à la Cock Soup, but with that hint of spiteful that make Cuntrell ... Cuntrell. He's basically telling me that I'm a dumb ass, that he's seen my porn movies and knows I'm bisexual and, therefore, sexually promiscuous. Probably even more promiscuous that Sean's stripper with four hundred bucks worth of cocaine on herself. I like my cocaine just as much as her. But I've apparently got more in common with her, it's in my appearance, and he really wants me to know it.
Well, this is cringe, sure it is, but it's okay to have a type. And how could I take offence from a guy whose type is everything that moves, breathes from the nostrils and has a coochie ?
'Well, a compliment, isn't it? You just told me I'm skinny'. I answer, showing Cuntrell that I couldn't be any less bothered by his weak taunts. I nonchalantly resume my seat on my no less beloved's lap, and he instantly surrounds my waist with his free arm. His free hand is gripping the beer that I've kindly just handed over to him. Cock Soup is on his shoulder, biting the fabric of the shirt he's wearing. We're back as unproblematic as we were before, he's smooching my lips when he ain't taking a pull on his beer, and hey... Cuntrell's just told me that I'm skinny. Life is beautiful, and I know it.
'He has a type, Cherry. Pretty, intelligent, fiery, sweet, self assured ... skinny, and exotic looking'. Layne speaks from his seat, chill and unproblematic as his usual. And if he's riding the same wave as Cuntrell, meaning 'Tori' when he says 'Sean's type' he's ... complimenting me? Telling me that I'm pretty? I don't think very highly of my appearance, so such a compliment always warms my cockles. Intelligent? Yes I am, when I ain't busy doing the dumb ass. Fiery? Always, it's my biggest strength and my biggest weakness at the same time. Sweet? My middle name is Candy, when I'm in the mood for it. Self assured? Always have been, forever will be. Skinny? Don't know, but if two men stressed it out loud, maybe there's an element of truth in this. Exotic looking? Yes, and proud of my heritage. If I weren't exotic looking, I wouldn't get casted for porn movies, I wouldn't book any modelling job, and men wouldn't even look my way.
'Now you're making it sound like I'm a fucking simp. I preferred Jerry's take on this shit'. Sean chimes in, doing his best impression of the deadpan while he's being the talk of all of his bandmates. Except Starr, who's back at fucking his brunette in the back of the tour bus. Well, guy understands irony, and I'm surprised that he ain't throwing hands at this sudden escalation of bullshit on his account. If there's two things Sean hates ... it's flat out bullshit and being nagged for being a latent softie. Because yes, his type does, indeed, scream big softie. We all know it, we all know he's as soft as spreadable butter, under that tough as nails façade of his, and he can't save it in front of us. Not even now that he wants us to believe that the description of his type of woman crafted by Gerry appealed to him more than the one crafted by Layne.
What can I do, I think I love him. I love him, the way he doesn't give a fuck, the way he gets away with everything, the way he doesn't let anything affect him, the way he's adorable without coming across as it, the way he brats the living hell out of everyone to later take a pull on it and have a good laugh. He's literally, literally a man after my heart. I am his type, thank goodness I am, and it's beautiful. But we ain't even dating here, so does it even count ?
'Jerry forgot to say that he fucked the stripper and sniffed from her cocaine after all of this'. Layne gets in charge of the ultimate stripper incident punchline, and everyone bursts out laughing at his comment. Bessie and I are looking at eachother like we aren't very surprised by this plot twist, getting all the hysterics from Gerry's usual antics. Gerry is doing the Gerry raspy laugh, and it couldn't be any other way, because he fucked the exotic looking stripper and sniffed some cocaine paid with Sean's money with her, post deed. Sean is howling with his head on my shoulder, near damn choking whenever Cock Soup blurts out a 'Jerry fucked the stripper! Squawk!' or a 'Four hundred bucks of cocaine! Squawk!' Having a sense of humour, in a world full of shit and in a tour bus full of pricks, is the best fucking thing in the world.
'Mom... I mean brother, serious stuff now. Is it true that Bess called you Stone while y'all were sweating?' Sean takes the word, and he makes this whole slander session about Gerry all over again, like it was meant to be since the beginning, no matter the turn it took not so long ago. This is most likely the question that he wanted to ask Gerry, before guy started to do the spiteful asshole with me for absolutely no reason. And man, that one question really fucking slaps, and instantly makes the air in this tour bus smell like the steam coming off Cuntrell's ears again. Gerry's going to be mad at me and fucking yeet me off the window, because it's obvious that I've been the one to provide Sean with this very saucy piece of gossip. Before we stopped to get our lunch fix at the service station, Sean nonchalantly asked Bessie if she really called Gerry 'Stone' during intercourse. She cursed me because I've talked a bit too much about her business, but she swallowed it down and said 'yes' because at the end of the day, it was Sean asking. Sean doesn't judge, he just uses everything in his knowledge to push people's buttons and to be a nuisance.
'Eliminator, shut that fucking big mouth'. Bessie speaks, as she tosses the bag of chips that she was munching on at Sean. Sean, or Eliminator, 'cause Bessie still thinks that it's the nickname for his peepee. And man has a good laugh at Bessie's taunt, catching the bag of chips mid air and munching on some of 'em, because why the fuck not. He's so benevolent that at some point, he even offers me to eat from the buffet, and I do because I could never say no to chips. They're no popcorn, sure, but I really do need to munch on something while some shit gets aired.
I've said it once, I'll say it again. Days on the road with Phellus in Chains can get pretty... heavy. Especially heavy when we've all got the hysterics because we're sleep deprived, tested and teased, and under the influence of something.