The Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifle is a selective fire, gas operated weapon that’s been in production since the end of World War II and its design has undergone almost no major adjustment since 1945. There is a good reason for this: the AK-47 looks scary, like bats and King Cobras look scary. Its complex stock design, its use by the Russian military, its signature “banana” ammo-clip: all conspire to make the AK the weapon of choice for many a bad guy both in movies, and in real life. The thing is an intimidating motherfucker, and as such, the AK might be (unexpected anatomy notwithstanding) the most unpleasant and dread-inducing thing that one human being can point at another. “Cross me” - it seems to say - “and your closest relatives will identify you from DNA smears.”
And so - because Charlie’s coke-shakey hands were pointing an AK-47 at him, and because this particular AK was actually an AK-47S, (an even more intimidating version with a crazy Miami Vice - style folding shoulder stock)- the man in the back of the limo found himself terrified to the point of shocked, wide-eyed silence. His whole body was shaking like Sheen’s hands, and this strange synchronicity was even more terrifying. He found himself using every shred of composure simply to keep from pissing his pants.
Charlie said: “Alright Toucan Sam, soups on”
The man said nothing. Toucan Sam?
“He’s gone away” said Keith Richards from 1972. “No room at the inn…” It came out: “eesgahway. Now roo theenn”
“Is that true you little tit-grab weasel fuck? You scared?” Then something unintelligible and the word “UP!” Motioning all over the place with that scary fucking AK.
Somewhere along the line in this most awful of nights, the man remembered that Sheen had mentioned that he’d been “eating acid and leaning into gaggers for the better part of a week”. The words, unnerving enough at the time, became almost physically debilitating as he watched the muzzle of the AK dance and vibrate around like cinema verite. He got up.
OK Maverick, close the door, let’s take a power walk.
***
Los Angeles, like most major cities in the America, has a big aquarium downtown. It’s called, oddly enough, The Los Angeles Aquarium. Everyday fish-viewers and their noisy, excitable progeny make use of the facility by the tens of thousands. The Los Angeles Aquarium, like most major aquariums in America, houses one big tank around which several smaller tanks sit in orbit. While it stands to reason that this main tank (official name: Tank 26 or simply: “The two-six” ) would have to be sizable, even the most juvenile and ham-fisted daisy-chain of adjectives could never hope to capture the reality of it’s largeness. Stretching 50 feet up and 150 feet across, tank 26 holds, in addition to the 12 metric tons of gravel, rocks, and coral that the aquarium staff laid in for effect, between 7,500 and 10,000 pounds of live, hungry fish.
And they’ve got a whole shitload of flavors: 27 different varieties of baitfish providing eco-system baseline for hundreds of game fish and shell fish. They’ve got teaming Grouper as big and heavy as manhole covers. They've got lobsters, clams, giant lobsters, and giant clams, and 9 different types of hard-shell crab. It’s fabricated “reef” is home to urchin, anemones and eels of every description. There are 8 sea turtles - each the size of a Volkswagon Beetle - only two of which have ever laid eyes on one-another. There are two giant Manta patrolling like twin millennium falcons oozing in tandem through the gigantic pod.
And there are sharks. Blue sharks, grey sharks, dogfish and hammerheads. They have no less than TEN tiger sharks. Just recently Tank 26 had become home to a 14 foot 8000 pound great white shark that the snarky, superlib LAA suits had dubbed Sarah Palin. Every Wednesday, after dark when all the customers had gone, the entire aquarium staff gathered to watch Sarah Palin take down three whole adult deer. They threw them in live and drowsy from medicated darts. It took minutes.
***
Alright sexy lissen up ‘cause I’m in a sporting mood. Both of your legs are fastened at the ankles to a concrete block that weighs 80 pounds. Your hands are bound as well, but don’t worry, I’m going to unbind them when I throw you into the pool. Also, I’m going to give you this.
Charlie held up his right hand, displaying what appeared to be a hacksaw.
It’s old and very dull. Have you seen Mad Max?
The man said: The movie?
No dicklick the physicist. Yes the movie.
Yes.
Ok. Then you get the picture. If you’re an outdoorsman - and we know you are - then you will know what to do with this.
Now, in his left hand, Sheen held up what looked like a mini-fire extinguisher with a rubber mouthpiece attached to the top. The fake Keith Richards made a “you’re in trouble now” sort of ooooh noise.
If you’re not then you’ll appreciate me telling you that this is an emergency scuba tank similar to the one used by the Coast Guard to backup their deep-dive guys. Officially it’s got 10 minutes of air at full capacity but I’ve seen guys get almost double that by maintaining calm, breathing slow. It’s going to be hard for you to breath slow. I’m going to put this in your mouth (held up the tank again) and throw your ass into this tank, and I’m going to film what happens. I know I know, I said I’d be sporting. Here’s the sporting part: If you can make it out of the tank I won’t shoot you in the face. In fact, I’ll give you this gun and let you shoot me in the face capiche? Oh one other thing…
With this Sheen picked up one of two large buckets by his feet and dumped it’s contents over the mans head, jumping back to get clear of the splatter.
I’m going to douse you with these fish guts before you go in.
Again the “Oooooh” noise from Keith.
***
The surface of Tank 26 was slightly rippled because Keith Richards from 1972 had been pissing in it for what seemed like five whole minutes. Nobody spoke during this and the pee sound echo through the empty facility was in quad-stereo. Charlie wasn’t speaking because he honestly thought the moment was bigger than that, and that his words would never be equal to it‘s considerable measure. Keith wasn’t speaking because to do so and urinate at the same time was beyond his dulled cognitive abilities. The man wasn’t speaking because the drugs that he’d been secretly given were beginning to take hold. The surfaces around him swaying and breathing. When Charlie and Keith finally got around to hefting the concrete slab up and over the low wall surrounding the tank, the man had a smile on his face. As his legs were yanked from the floor, he found himself with a few moments to spare before he went in. He was still trying to think of something clever to say to them when he hit the icy brine of the two-six.
Charlie and his companion ran down some fire exit stairs so they could observe from a better vantage.
***
So why you waste all this acid on the jobs? It came out: “Soowhyyy…uhve”
Well mainly because I know neither one of these toads has ever tripped before and I wanted to provide that before they draw that final curtain; so to speak.
Mm hm.
And then, only slightly less important, because as terrible as these jobs have been, I think experiencing it with a brain-full of ridiculously strong acid might just push it towards something even scarier. I mean the most I ever ate at once was like a thimble full, and believe me: a thimbleful is enough to make a bull elephant meow like a kitten for three days. I gave vanilla sky there like a coke can full. I’m surprised his head didn’t just spin off his shoulders and take flight like a helicopter.
Mm Hm
That answers your question?
Yah. Hey look he’s hit bottom. Would you look at that. It came out: “Ayelueeitbomb, wooyalooatha”
And he had. You had to hand it to the guy he was trying to make a go of it. He sank all fucked up because the concrete weight was awkward, but it looked as if even before he landed he was already sawing away at his left leg. The drugs were messing with his spatial judgment though and he was cutting up around the outside of his thigh where the leg was thickest. He was further unmanned by actually touching down. A cloud of silt was wrought up by the impact and for a minute the two psychopaths outside the two-six could only make out a vague motion and a growing red cloud where the guy was. Slowly the cloud settled though, and when they could once again make him out he’d switched to the other leg and was sawing closer to his ankle.
That ‘a boy, said Charlie. Work smarter, not harder.
But by now things were pretty well out of hand. The dude was sawing but he kept messing it up and having to regroup, wasting valuable seconds. He was hyperventilating and making all sorts of bubbles. The wound he’d created on his other leg was bleeding like a thing that bleeds a lot by this time, and the fish were beginning to take notice. Odd little critters started flitting in and out of the silt-mist trying to see what all the fuss was about. Then, after about 5 minutes of flitting three things happened at once.
The first thing that happened was all the baitfish investigating the scene bolted in 40 different directions. It was like watching an huge explosion from a safe distance. Phht! And just like that they left. The next thing that happened was that a 7-foot Tiger shark appeared out of nowhere and bumped the man hard in the back, spilling the hacksaw and arching the dude into an uncomfortable back-bend. The last thing that happened was that the dudes feet suddenly came free from his handcuffs. It was as if the big beasts chop-block had applied just the right pressure to the whole works and in an instant the man was free. The impact must have crushed his foot-bones to powder but free he was. He himself didn’t realize this at first but when he did he turned toward Charlie and Keith and flipped them off with two fingers. He pushed off the bottom on his ruined leg and ankle and made for the surface like an ICBM.
Halfway up, he’s bleeding and smiling like Christmas morning, and Sarah Palin bites him lengthwise. It takes three quick chomps to bisect him along the sagittal plane. His head, drifting and falling down through the muck, is still smiling, filled with the belief that the insane fellow who dropped him in the tank would keep his word and not shoot him in the face.
Small-ankled little bastard
said Charlie Sheen, and started making slowly for the rear fire exit of the Los Angeles Aquarium.
Oh fuck!!
Wha?
I forgot to film it.
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