The Cigar Diaries: Grim Tidings of Adolescent Defeat
What follows is an excerpt from the life of Sir Romeo Birmshire:
I was sitting at lucky table number 13 when the bees began to dance their pollen dance. I knew I was in trouble but my associates had no idea what they were in for. Heathen dancing was all around, and I swore I would not be tempted by the goddesses for any of the slow dance orgies. Everyone was high on the ecstasy that the Hall’s robotic attendants hid in the salad. I ate some, and a little extra, but I had a senior immunity, the other hundred attendants did not. I couldn’t understand why they all dressed so inadequately for the ceremonies. This was to be our highschool graduation prom but they all treated it like a barnyard poker game. I, in my monkey suit, sat smoking my cigar to ward off any drunken kisses. Ricky McSlick was there, the only other sober mind, but he was seduced by yearlong crushes. I had lost him in the fray. It reminded me of Vietnam with less blood and more gore, if you get my meaning. The troops were bouncing to the general’s beat and the female squadron of vodka smiles were mixed with the male’s testosterone gin, making one hell of a teen cocktail. I wasn’t about to take a sip either; I was refined, strong and cold. Plus, the smell of sweat, cologne, and perfume was too pungent for my senses. The whole epidemic was dizzying, more than a bad trip on LSD and a hairy knuckled punch to the jaw. The sharks were lurking in the shadows: middle-aged vomits following the young hooligans, waiting for an illegal slip of the foot, to tear them apart authority-wise. A girl, high on oxygen, stumbled up to me. Ricky McSlick had tripped up and my cover was blown. The terrors of the war were already taking hold. She wanted into The Beast, she wanted my stash. I told her, “On nights like this, missy, you shouldn’t be barking for some bite.” Confused as I was at the words she sauntered away. “Damn that was a close one,” I yelled to one of my tablemates. A sudden gasp of fear leapt from my lungs as I saw him speaking to one from the opposite gender. The dancing fever had taken him too. I was frantic, the whole of my entourage were going to leave me for the vultures; it was only a matter of time. In the distance Ricky McSlick was being ambushed by a pack of hungry women. I didn’t know what to do. I was quite literally glued to my seat, probably the doings of the crimson eyed-waitress while I had gone to get a Shirley Temple (a drink that seemed to resemble the occasion). I screamed to him “Watch out! They are out for your blood man! Get out of their while you still can!” My cries were drowned out by the dark and moody music blaring with a techno beat. “These South American tunes must be stopped before the building collapses,” I thought, calmly sipping on my Chardonnay. The brutes were taking pictures at random. Desperate not to lose my aboriginal soul to the lens I blocked them with my hands. The heat of the flash burned and one of them got me as I pulled it back in sheer pain. Being of Latino descent I was worried, for at times like these the cinnamon skin was wildly hunted. Table 13 was at the back though, so for the moment I seemed to be okay. Suddenly the DJ (Deadly Junky) called for the ‘Last Dance’. This was the climax, the thing you trained for. Some religions believed it to be the most emotional period of the event. I, however, knew it as its vampire-like, heart devouring, ritual. What could happen? Would the vortex of future nostalgia suck me in? No. Not tonight baby. I sat as the weakening warriors all flowed into the fire pit for this dance of bitter seduction. My entire brigade became instant casualties. I began to weep inside, and for a moment my morale was so drained I felt as though I wanted to be one of the poor, shoddy dressed majority. I wanted to have an equal part in this devastating defeat. This wasn’t a night to be a hero, I thought. By the time my disintegrating willpower had reached its breaking point the melody was over, and the crowd was pushing out the door like rats at the end of a maze. I felt pride for surviving the devilish gathering and went to reviving my fallen comrades immediately. The Beast and its innocent being would help to bring these associates of mine back to life, ready for what was going to be a fun filled after party. Or so I hoped, for their sakes at least. If only they could have been warned.
