Add Intensity, Subtract Limpness
November 6th, 2009by Richard Cox
SAN FRANCISCO, CA-
The other day I was walking down Market Street, enjoying a rare day of calm winds and clear, sunny skies, when a stranger approached me. His hair was brown and coarse, like horsehair, which he clearly hadn’t washed in weeks. Maybe months. He was short and swarthy and wore a thick, bushy moustache and a black trench coat that was too big for him. I tried to walk around him, delete him from my life, but he swerved to intercept me. This is what always happens. You can’t get away from these guys.
The man ripped open his trench coat to reveal an array of silver and gold-colored watches. A few on fake leather straps, even. Above them was a hastily scribbled sign that said:
“56% off Replica Rolex - Cheap Prices”
“My name is Gino Cuevas,” the man said. “I sell you watch.”
I pointed to my left wrist, where a Swiss watch clearly occupied the space reserved for timepieces.
“I already have a watch. See?”
“I see,” the swarthy man replied. “One watch is good, but a couple of them are better.”
“I’m not interested,” I said, and pushed past him, not turning to look at him again. Deleting him.
But not ten steps later, another, similar fellow approached me, this one a bit taller and heavier. Inside his trench coat was a sign that read:
“76% off Replica Rolex - Cheap Prices”
And I wondered, does the fellow down the street know the prices of his fake Rolexes are being undercut not twenty yards away? Or are they working together? Probably the latter.
Eventually I made a right on Van Ness and headed north. It was a beautiful day for walking. Or so I thought. I didn’t make it ten steps before another dude, this one tall and lanky, with a greasy face and a blonde mop for hair, reached out and grabbed my arm.
“Hey, dude,” I said. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
He let go and I kept walking, but this guy wasn’t done. He walked beside me step for step, muttering under his breath:
“I have solutions for hot humping.”
“Get lost.”
“You don’t understand,” he said. “The magic blue pills is yours. Free. You only pay shipping.”
“Shipping?” I asked, incredulous.
“Quit paying your doctor to write a prescription,” he added. “Order anything you need from us instead.”
“Who is ‘us?’”
Rather than answer my question, he asked his own.
“You need more blood to make your penis bigger? Your tiny dimensions make you feel an incomplete man?”
This is when I stopped walking. The lanky fellow stopped as well, and when he did, I sent him to the ground with a solid punch to his left cheek. I’d never hit someone so hard before, and pain flared like fire in my wrist. But the dude scurried off, deleting himself from my life, and at last I was free.
Or so I thought.
Because as I looked ahead of me, I saw the sidewalk was dense with these men in dark trench coats. As far as I could see they were standing there, loitering, staring at nothing. But I knew, as I approached, that every one of them would be ready with another sales pitch. And they were.
“Your male friend will look great even in loose jeans.”
“Make it happen in the bedroom.”
“Once you see our watches you will dispose your old ones.”
“Want Cialis for free?”
“Degree in any field.”
“Brad Listi also commented on his status.”
Even though all these men spoke individually, sequentially, their voices somehow seemed to drown out the more pleasing sounds of birds chirping and cars motoring by and even the wail of police sirens. But though I tried many different ways of avoiding these men, by taking different streets, by running, by hiding in an alley, they found me anyway.
And I thought, what on Earth ever gave anyone the idea that my dimensions are small? I’m tall. I have big feet and hands…surely I must at the very least be average. And anyway if I’m so small, why would I have trouble getting it up?
Who says I need another watch? Another degree?
Finally, I reached the water and turned right again, headed toward the Wharf. I thought I might be able to hide among the tourist crowds. I found Pier 39 and listened to the sea lions bark, the sun warm on my skin. The smell of saltwater mixed with the aromas of fried food and fudge and I thought maybe the day would turn out well after all.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a guy painted gold, standing as still as a statue. I didn’t remember him being there when I walked by before. There was a basket in front of him, into which onlookers were encouraged to toss coins and dollar bills. So far the basket was empty. I reached into my pocket, feeling for any money I might have, and the statue guy saw me searching. He smiled.
They aren’t supposed to smile.
I looked at him closely and he looked back. I waited for him to blink first.
But instead of blinking, he simply said,
“The longer your love instrument is, the longer the pleasure lasts.”
So I ran.
But I will never get away.
Tags: Assholes, cialis, email, junk mail, Rolex, san francisco, scumbags, Viagra
gold painted statue guys are never supposed to smile.
please tell me you just described a nightmare and this wasn’t a for-real.
there, there, now, now
i hate when i typo. i typo’d up there.
ess. i do love the tags from this blog:
>> Assholes, cialis, email, junk mail, Rolex, san francisco, scumbags, Viagra <<
What did you typo?
I’m glad you liked the tags. I hate those asshole scumbags. Did you know every one of those quotes were taken verbatim from email subject lines. WTF??
I should add: Email subject lines in my own inbox over just the past three days. I had the idea on Tuesday so I let them stack up in my inbox instead of deleting them, and chose the best as I wrote the piece this morning. Hahaha.
Ha!
Nicely done, Rob Lowe.
And you’re right - we’re stuck with these junk mail assholes.
This morning as I lay in bed ignoring the radio alarm, a commercial came on for a Lifetime original movie starring–you guessed it–Rob Lowe.
My, how the mighty have fallen.
Well, lucky you are the new torch bearer, I say.
That particular mighty fell a long time ago.
Also, having heard an ad for a Rob Lowe movie within hours of being addressed by Zara as Rob Lowe surely amounts to more than coincidence. Simon Smithson, move over. It’s the dawn of the Richard Cox Effect.
I tried to think of a good Rob Lowe quote as a comeback, but, alas, I couldn’t.
That shows CLASS.
What a MASQUERADE.
hey, ABOUT LAST NIGHT….
Last night? Did you guys make a SEX TAPE?
Hahaha. Poor Rob Lowe.
No, we were THE OUTSIDERS.
Fuck you both. I’m out of here. I’m staying at THE HOTEL NEW HAMPSHIRE.
God. You are such a BAD INFLUENCE.
Plenty of good Rob Lowe quotes from The West Wing, easily the best work he’s done.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!
Nicely done!
And for a second there I thought you were going to break into a little Flock of Seagulls.
I should really change the ending to that. I mean, I am right there on the ocean. Hahahahaha.
I couldn’t get awayyyy.
Apparently I have a small penis that I can’t get up either.
Weird.
You should try Viagra and see what happens. Well, after the baby, I mean.
I cheated by reading your remark about e-mail, otherwise I’d probably have taken this piece literally.
But to do so for an instant: are you really in San Francisco?
I put those tags in there for just that reason. I never know when I’m being clever or just obtuse.
I wish I were in San Francisco. I’m not. But it seemed like a good place to set the story.
A very reasonable choice. I was in San Francisco two weeks ago, and I was pretty shocked at how much North Beach, where I stayed, had changed since I was there last. Jack Kerouac must be turning in his grave — for the 10,000th time.
Also, I have to admit that I took a start at the mention of hands and feet. I’m tall with big feet but small hands, and I was hoping the last was no longer the measure of folklore.
Six of my seven sisters agree there’s nothing wrong with having a small or average penis as long as you’re not a huge dick about it. One of the seven chose to remain silent.
You’re funny, Sheree.
The silent sister is a gentle Baptist woman. The rest of us are heathens who read Vogue. The size of a mans heart and soul will always be way more important to most women than the size of their surprise package.
if you were here and hadn’t called me there would be a rather high level of drama for you to contend with, BB.
I was hoping you’d read this before that point was clarified. I was looking forward to your reaction.
Hi, SS. xo
suckerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Why are there so many women named Susan and Dorothy who want to sell me penis-enhancing drugs?
Are Susan and Dorothy among your many exploits?
You can always tells if a woman’s among my exploits or not. They’re the ones buying Cialis ‘for a friend who’s too embarrassed to come to the pharmacy himself.’
Ha. We’re all so modest here.
Hello Barnacle Boy.
So nice to see you again, in werdz, if not in person.
It sounds like the spam gang have been having their wicked way with you. Fear not my friend, just get a gmail account and let them vanish into the inter-ether.
miss you. x
I do have a gmail account, but I only give that out to friends. I still have to check the richardcox.net one for everything else, UF.
Miss you, too. How’s the yoga treating you?
The yoga is terrifying and relaxing, bendy and stiff. All is everything at the moment. you dig???
me neither.
Terrifying and relaxing? Bendy and stiff? Are you talking about yoga or barnacles?
oi! when did we get permission to write fiction!?????? I’m telling on you.
What is fiction here? Well, other than the part about me being in SF and having tiny dimensions?
you being here and having small dimensions is more like poetry, methinks.
Wait…SF is both San Fran and sci-fi…ah, very clever.
The layers of reality are deep like snow drifts here, Greg.
I ran into a bunch of Nigerians just the other day. And though I really can’t talk about it, it appears I’m about to become a very rich woman.
Make sure you provide them the full account number and your Social Security Number as well. DOB wouldn’t hurt, either.
Right, so I DID take this piece quite literally at first. It reminds me of the first time I red Marquez, the guy who wrote Hundred Years of Solitude. Unless someone warns you, it can really throw you to have a perfectly reasonable narrative about the settling of a villiage mixed in with ghosts and crazy spirits. I wasn’t properly warned, so now I’ll take you through my own confusion as a sort of payback so you, too, can feel MY journy:
So I’m in San Francisco, and I thought, ‘great, fellow San Franciscan. Ahh, something about Market street.’ Instantly relatable, right? It got to the watch guys. Okay, I know the guys you mean. They’re down by 5th street, just by the Powell station. According to your journey, this lasted for like eight blocks, when you turned right on Van Ness. Bit of a walk, but okay. You’re having a stroll.
Nobody sells anything on Van Ness anymore, not even the shops that are there. And just punching a guy in the street? Well, frankly I was amazed that a man who would take such a quick punch also had the sensitivity to write so well. Either way, all very confusing. And the Brad Listi comment: an inside joke? Really though, I was totally amazed that people were selling prescription drugs on the street. I mean, the good stuff, you oxy, etc. sure, but cialis, really?
The real trouble was your reaching the water and making a casual turn to the right, towards the warf. You’ve easily been walking for like an hour and a half now, with no particular goal mentioned. Since I figured you for a local, I just can’t imagine such a roundabout stroll. The other, mainly confusing part, locals don’t end up at the Wharf, not unless they are meeting a tourist they know there (just to be friendly and all). In fact, I”m not even sure there are any locals who work there. Far as I can tell, people from San Jose drive up to work in the Wharf so that the entire area is filled with people who don’t live there.
Anyway, you were right on the gold man smiling thing: that shouldn’t be. Of course it’s also highly unlikely that any local is still apt to give any money to a man painted in gold, but then again you are clearly the sort to go to the Wharf in the first place, so anything is possible.
Finally, dear god, finally, in the comments: it’s spam, set creatively on a fictitious walk.
Fortunately, the whole thing was very entertaining, but you’ve given Marquez a run on his money for confusing Mr. Wood.
hahahahahhaha. who needs Google Maps? just use the Thomas Guide.
Wanna know something really weird? My new book is all about mixing up reality, inserting the extraordinary into the ordinary world.
The working title? ThomasWorld. Haha.
First of all, man, comparing me to Marquez in any way means this piece was in some way a success. Thanks for that. You made my day.
And I loved reading the logic by which you digested the piece. Obviously I picked Market St because, as you said, even people not from San Francisco could relate. But then I had the problem of getting the character to the oceanfront, near the Wharf, and I didn’t want to put him in a cab. So I played with reality there a bit.
That you even for a moment considered he might be a local is also great. I’ve been to the Bay Area several times but even so I can’t claim to be anything other than a tourist.
Thanks for reading and the great comment. I think it’s no coincidence your name is Thomas, as you can read about below.
The Brad Listi line was great, for so many reasons. Great piece, man.
G
It struck me also.
But to be literal again: Richard, I hope your book really is called ThomasWorld, because then it would help to confirm the start of RCE.
I’ve read with interest about the SSE and have wanted to comment about it before, but I didn’t want to seem as if I were trying to piggyback on Simon’s ideas and experiences.
However, yes, the name of the novel is ThomasWorld. The story is about the apparent paradoxes and effects what could be called the SSE/RCE.
In fact, here are the first few lines of chapter one:
“You ever notice how life is full of coincidence? I do. Strange little things happen to me all the time, events that must surely be random but don’t feel random.”
Odd, no?
Ack!
Does that sound strangely like a line from your own forthcoming book, Simon?
Thanks, Greg. I hoped that line might elicit a laugh or two.
Is it my own narcissism or has this entire post become focused around me? Indeed, were you to take some of the comments I’ve read on a few TNB postings I have, in the matter of a day, inspired a novel and an entire T-shirt line. For my next trick, I shall convince everyone I am actually a Duke, of something (no offence, D.R.) and that TNB ought to adopt a system akin to feudalism. To whom shall I grant vassalage?
Right, well, jeeze, there goes my own little fantasy world. I think my could use a touch more work. The Marquez likeness was sincere. My only suggestion would be to, next time, make sure the trench coat fellows chase you. It would make the dreadful stroll down Van Ness more bareable.
Maybe you’re actually the character my book and you don’t know it. The funny thing is, as I said earlier, the story is about blurred reality. The protagonist might be a character in a story of his own design. And the writer of the novel (me) might also be a character.
So it’s not outside the realm of possibility that you are a fictional Thomas.
Or maybe we’re all fiction.
Huh. I see that my status as the Duke of TNB is under siege.
I’ll have to look in that matter. Allergic to mint, are you, Thomas? Hmmmmmm.
“Your male friend will look great even in loose jeans” was where I realized this post was trickery & then I started daydreaming about a big bulge in some hot guy’s loose jeans…
Has anyone ever seen that? In loose jeans? That would have been elephantic.
Really? That line didn’t seem realistic to you? Come on, Megan. Lower your expectations for humanity.
Somehow my email address turned into a penis cream slash broke dick adversement storage center. I don’t have a broken dick that needs a cream or pills. Just once I’d like to check my email and find something magical and useful for a perfectly healthy vagina.
Cheers!
But not just any vagina. For the next two hours you have the opportunity to have the prettiest, sexiest, most talked about vagina in town! 20% off!
Ahahahaha! Or how about:
Tired of the grey showing thru your sexy lacey thong? try our 100% safe never tested on animals vegan dye. Money back guaranteed if you’re not completely satisfied. Free shipping for the first one hundred orders. Offer only good til the end of today. Hurry while supplies last. Purchases limited to one per household due to high demand.
Heh…..
Well it’s not just the vagina that needs to be pretty. What about the exterior parts??
Don’t they have bags for that? I’ve heard talk that they do. At least according to my six brothers anyway.
Bags? I feel ignorant. Please explain.
Yes, I’m ignorant as well — in that way and others.
Bags of tricks. Sorry guys my husband distracted me when I was typing. Bags of tricks= cosmetics, push up bra’s, sheer stockings and garters, hair dyes and extensions and lee press on nails.
Some guys like ala natural, thank god because I cannot stand the feeling of cosmetics on my face. Strange as this sounds it makes me feel like I’ve been tared and feathered.
Hahahaha…
I love this write, Richard.
A change of pace for you, no?
Are you in San Francisco now?
No, I only chose to set this semi fictional story there. Maybe later…
I just keep getting spam about foot stench… should I be concerned that THEY are showing no interest in my junk?
THEY clearly have no concerns about your size or rigidity. You should be relieved.
Ahhhh….SF.
Science fiction? San Francisco? Super Fantastic?
You should feel lucky that these people remain in your inbox. I’m a magnet for people hawking for charities. For GreenPeace and AIDS research. I have, on various occasions, been persuaded to sponsor a Filipino child and give $5/month to the Human Rights Campaign.
Hey, at least you’re giving to good causes. I don’t think hawking fake ED pills is a very good cause.
And, I am not kidding, but as I type this, a Cialis commercial is on the television. This very moment.
I TOTALLY knew this was fiction when I got to the part of you punching someone lol1111lol12jw22!!!
RC, how do I make myself have a picture with my comment? I don’t feel cool
I get backgammon spam. I think that makes me an official geek.
What did you say, hooker? You doubt my manly aggression??
To get a picture, go to http://www.gravatar.com and sign up for a free account. It just takes a moment.
Make sure you use the same email that you’ll use when you leaving a comment here. Upload your photo and click confirm. Then when you come back here and leave a comment using that email address, the picture will show up. Some other sites use Gravatar and it will work there, too.
Backgammon spam. Nice.
oooooh, and ahhhhhh I did it!
Loved your style through this. Dark and menacing and… funny. Kinda made me think of a Paul Auster novel.
Thank you. That means a lot because I’m a big fan of Auster. Come to think of it this does make me think vaguely of Travels in the Scriptorium, the way characters and elements from other works converge in that novel.
This was great, Richard. It took me two “delete” mentions to realize you were humanizing spam emails into a story. How hilarious (and somewhat unnerving) to contemplate actual humans trying to sell to us in person the things unwanted solicitors try to sell us via junk emails. Nicely done, pal. xoxo.
Haha. Thank you, Tawni. That is a very nice comment I guilted you into leaving.
There is nothing I respond to faster than guilt. Great psychological profiling, buddy.
That is some bad ass fiction based on email spam! ahahaaaa!
Thank you for spelling out that nightmare for me.
Well done you~!
Grazie, Patti.
We can only be friendly to each other for a few more days and then you will be my sworn enemy. Cowboys - Packers this weekend!
Richard,
You had a random vagrant talk about Brad Listi to you?
That is beyond weird.
I know! How did he even know Brad Listi had posted a status? And who goes around verbally updating people about other people’s statuses anyway?? Haha.