The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince

My leering, lecherous, and literate listeners,

How go your small and dreary lives today? I couldn’t be better! I won half of Russia in a poker game last night! My evening started out normal enough, I came home from work, showered, shaved, and received my daily paid beating from a redheaded schoolgirl. It’s a pleasant arrangement really, she gets to go to college, I get to stay out of prison, and the latex clothing companies of America get a healthy boost in sales. Everyone’s happy, and the economy gets a boost! But that is just another benefaction from myself, red-blooded true American!

Sometime after the outer three layers of my epidermis were scrubbed off via my brush made of mummified cat’s tongues, and I was then soaked in a bath of gin, and then patted down in a fine powder coating of saltpeter, I felt grand, and wanted to go out. I ripped the latex baby mask from upon my face and dressed in my finest green and purple suit, I was in a mood for fun! I tossed my usual payment of nonsequential, untraceable slightly-irradiated rubles to carrot-topped employee, grabbed my cane, and headed out the door, Bobo the Virgin Chimp in tow, himself decked out in a monocle, and an absolute minimum of ape-feces (the fur noticeably cut off or bald where the mess had been too much). Out into the bright sunlight we walked, I humming a fugue of which I’ve heard the music’s din afore, and Bobo grunting along to the tune of the song in his head, which, from the sound of it, I assume must have been “Feeling on your booty”.

Along the length of our suburban neighborhood we walked, I spinning my pocket-watch along its length of chain in one hand, leaning lightly on my cane in the other. I’m very careful to be fairly delicate in the handling of my cane, the top of which features an exquisite carved rendering of Don Knotts in his peak years, roughly around the time of Three’s Company. Bobo, by contrast, chooses only to walk with a modest black umbrella, comfortable that he’ll be prepared to deal with any weather, be it a drenching rain, or a heavy downpour of sunshine.

Bluebirds flew around me, whistling their songs, as if to narrate my life with rock-anthems, and squirrels held their nuts and danced as Bobo and I walked along, out of the residential area and into the part of town where the shops start to pop up. We passed by a Sikh ice cream vendor that appeared to be selling some children oregano from the back of his truck. From the looks of things, the spice was pricey too, the children were paying large amount for just small bags.

“How does ice cream sound, old chum?” I asked my ape companion. He grunted in delight.

I can’t figure why people would want to top their ice cream with oregano, I figure it to be an ethnic thing, but to me, oregano and ice cream sounds nasty, even if it is twenty-dollar oregano. Still, I’ve always been one to try new things, thus, I shelled out a hefty amount for two cones, vanilla for me, and strawberry for Bobo. The ice cream man eyed me suspiciously as I asked him for the special topping, I figure ice cream and oregano must have been a well-guarded secret. Still, my large sum of cash far outweighed his concern over a secret family recipe. We thanked him and were off.

Down the block we walked, a scruffy young lad stopped me to request some change.

“There you go, good sir,” I said as I tossed a coin to the boy, “a nickel for when you greet Charon.”

We continued walking and I tried a bite of my ice cream. I gulped hard.

“Yech! There’s stems and seeds in this oregano! This is horrid!”

Bobo, who had just taken a large bite, swiftly coughed it back up. The half-melted mess was projected from his massive mouth and splattered against my chest.

“Ack! My new tie! This looks like a job for the dry-cleaner! To the mini-mall!”

We dropped our cones and off we ran, down to Lenin’s Dry-cleaning, “where unpleasant elements are disposed of”. Across the street, in the laundromat, Spiderman was clearly visible waiting for his wash, sitting in his mask and boxer shorts. Again. We stepped inside Lenin’s and were greeted by the man at the counter. I yanked my necktie from around my neck and threw it down on the counter.

“I need this cleaned, post-haste.”

“Quickest we can clean this is tomorrow.” The dry-cleaner told me.

I pulled out a dollar, “I need it in an hour,” I told him as I handed it to him.

“Ah. The mighty American dollar. Your wish is my command. Thank you, generous benefactor!”

He hustled off to work on cleaning my tie. Bobo and I sat down and waited for the job to be done. I hate appearing in public without a proper necktie. Within 15 minutes we’d both become quite bored. Bobo had finished thumbing through an issue of Highlights he’d managed to find, and I had no fingernails left to bite off. In the back of the shop, my heightened senses could barely hear the sound of a card game being played.

“You there!” I yelled at the clerk, “might I join in the card game to kill some time?”

“Oh. That is a family game. Only myself and my cousins from the old country may play. Family only.”

I handed him a crisp dollar.

“Good to see you brother!” he cried.

Bobo and I were lead through the building to a small, dimly lit room in the back, filled with a thick cloud of cigarette smoke. We were sat down at a small card table with three men that were introduced to us as Yuri, Nikita, and Victor. It wasn’t long before we were all involved in a fast-paced game of poker, placing bets in between swigs of vodka and bites of fish tacos. Bobo was quickly disqualified, as he kept eating the chips. Victor, in particular, was a real card-shark. He’d quickly taken all our cash.

“Alright, comrades,” the smiling Russian said to us, “shall I end the game, or have you more to bet?”

“My other pinky!” Yuri cried.

“This vial of plutonium!” shouted Nikita.

“My ape!” I yelled in strong declaration. Bobo grunted in disgust.

The game was on. Cards were dealt.

“I’m out!” cried Nikita, tossing the vial on the table.

“Me too!” shouted Yuri, lifting a cleaver in his left hand.

“My hand is quite good. I’ll raise you this deed to half of Russia which I bribed a politician $50 for.” Victor said, suppressing a large smile.

“Never count the Virgin Prince out,” I told my poker-buddies, “I’ll put up these, my mystical flying Vice-shoes!” I told them as I placed my shoes on the table.

“It would appear you are beaten. I have a straight flush, the 9 through king of hearts!” The grinning Victor told me in quiet, but content, voice.

“Durn. All I have is this royal flush, all spades.” I told him, laying down my cards.

“Ha! You’ve played a good game!” the old Russian told me as he pushed the pile of winnings towards me, “perhaps I can have a chance to win my deed back? Say, with the gamble of my missile silo in Belorus?”

“Thanks, but my tie should be clean now, and I really should get going. I don’t have much use in missiles anyway. It was fun though. Perhaps we’ll play again. Until then, I suggest you pick up a lucky ape. Good fortune has always seemed to follow me since he’s been around.” I told him as I picked up the incredibly lucky hand I’d been dealt and admired it. I noticed upon closer inspection that the ace of spades I’d been dealt, actually resembled an ace of hearts, the large heart in the center obscured underneath a large spade painted on with ape feces. I recognized one of Bobo’s smudged fingerprints in the upper corner. I quickly stacked the cards and placed them face down on the table.

“I will consider your advice. I look forward to playing with you again.” Victor said, shaking my hand.

“Yes, well I’ve really got to go,” I told them all as I grabbed my winnings, “Yuri, you can keep your pinky, I don’t really have much use for another one. You might want to get that reattached.”

“Spasiba!” the grateful Russian told me as he grabbed his finger from the middle of the table.

With that, I grabbed Bobo by the hand and dragged him out of the room with me. We went back to the front of the store where I reclaimed my tie. As I went to pay my bill, I realized I’d spent more money than I’d planned on, due to that unfortunate oregano-topped ice cream. I asked the man at the counter if he could make change for a vial of plutonium. Shortly thereafter, I found myself running down the street, away from angry men with guns screaming at me in Russian. Spiderman just stood at the bus stop and watched.

Pussy.

Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince