Humanely Slaughtered
By:
Neil Saldaña
Smashwords Edition
Published by:
Neil Saldaña on Smashwords
Humanely Slaughtered
Copyright © 2010 by Neil Saldaña
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
I would like to take a moment to spread some thanks:
To the makers of Bic pens, Papermate pens & pencils, Mead paper, Olde English 800, Sierra Nevada, Patron & Casadores Tequilas, cheap wines, Microsoft Word, Firefox, Fios Internet, etc. this story is dedicated to you faceless corporations that I needed to get this story & others out there to the public. Also to Smashwords for giving us aspiring writers some more exposure and another way to get people to read something they otherwise would never have. I thank you.
* * * * *
Humanely Slaughtered
* * * * *
Have a nice trip, Reader.
* * * * *
Chapter 1
“Man, we need to really get out of here.”
Slick ponders this thought out loud and alone in bed reflecting on his life of thirty-nine years, still living with his parents in their two bedroom house located in sunny Redondo Beach, Ca. 90278
“Seriously…I woke up with a grey nose hair today!”
Poor Slick...fifteen minutes of fame done away with in 1985, fifteen years ago at a “New Age Poetry Slam” in a highly respected underground San Pedro art café. He was twenty-four at the time and in his best attempt at being the ultimate pom-pom poet, he showed up wearing his ultra black, ultra tight turtleneck, neatly imitative facial hair borrowed from Dalí, but it was the $200 Armani shoes that no one could take this young prodigy seriously. He got the slight leeway of being Hispanic but once he broke into clichés of rubbing his chin and “spontaneous” laughing, he was left in the silence of one hand clapping.
As he lay on his bed, staring at those same Armani shoes wearing pretty much the same outfit; clinging to his past, he arrives at yet another conclusion…Los Angeles has taken him for granted. He was born in Wichita, Kansas, to parents Juan and Maria which pretty much explains why they gave him a very non-traditional name. Juan was a self taught painter and kept a journal at his nightstand as a way to release all his frustrations of spending the days in the fields tending to fruits, vegetables, livestock, anything to keep him from ever having to worry about his family struggling. Maria was the stay at home type, caring for the neighborhood children for her income but was a natural story teller and always had a good
“chupacabra” tale for the American kids.
Being a minority in Wichita made Slick stick to his own as there were an abundance of racists even if they didn’t say they were racists. That is how he became friends with José Logroño as a teenager. They were the same age, both into poetry and the high life but José was the more “true to the art” type whereas Slick was more of the “reap your rewards for your work” variety.
When Slick was twenty, his familia suddenly moved to Redondo Beach so Maria could continue to work for her prosperous client as a nanny who also provided them with a house and car. José said he would soon move out there to join Slick and re-invent poetry for la raza. It was this move that put Slick’s long subdued persona into full effect as he felt L.A. would accept his trendy chic that Wichita couldn’t handle. He always felt way ahead of everyone here and now he could test himself in the entertainment capitol of the world. It was a challenge he welcomed and took full advantage of for a short time until he became too self absorbed and into the classifying scene.
Poetry for him and José used to be about self expression, freeform, freestyle about anything positive or negative as long as it was informative but now Slick was into the lucrative side of things. He made his dinero and then met his beautiful wife Janet Cochineal. Janet (she pronounces it “Shawn-eigh”) has always been an aspiring artist/actress/model and met Slick at an art exhibit that she had set up at Hermosa’s Bijou Theatre. What had attracted Slick to Janet wasn’t just her unbelievable figure: long legs, perfectly suntanned skin, long shoulder length electrified & died red hair, intense bright green eyes, but the fact she was already ensconced into the LA art scene (She was born in Santa Monica) and her looks could get them into anywhere.
Janet now understands that she and Slick are in their late thirties but going onto their sixties at warp speeds and are losing their touch on the hip and trendy aspects of life and art. She had always gotten through her art/model life pretty much based on her looks and no one would ever question her or even think of trying to considering who she had probably already fucked in the industry.
Never known for her artistic insight, Janet, as well as the Slickster knew her looks were indisputable for any old artsy fartsy old fart. Janet had though in the past months or so seen the time clock ticking and suggested they do something drastic which they haven’t done since after the Slicksters’ pathetic San Pedro appearance in which they proclaimed to the art world that they would never eat any living animal again unless they killed it themselves. It started a whole new creation of “vegetarianismnists” that would only eat what they killed with their own hands but of course as with any “superior” group, there was a lot of infighting and people trying to structurize what it meant to be “vegetarianismnists” which led to more bullshitisms:
“You didn’t make the cheese on that cheeseburger!”
“No, but I fucking killed the Cow with my own hands!?”
“Yeah, but that cheese is from an animal you didn’t kill you fucking sell out!
“And what about the tortured cows untold story in the butter you grilled your
hamburger buns in!”
Janet had confided in Slick recently of her worries of never moving out of his parents’ house and of not achieving what they both want in life. They then decided to have a definitive hobnob party at their house just to get back into the scene of things. She decided just weeks before they attended Fridays Scientologist meeting on Sunset and proceeded to invite everyone and their mom that night for an after party get together…no one refused as Janet assumed. She had already prepped most of the food before they had left for the meeting such as: prosciutto wrapped shrimp, Bào yú abalone soup as well as shark fin soup, organic veal cutlets with a Chardonnay white wine sauce, sautéed spinach and steamed asparagus tips. All meats were humanely slaughtered of course. Janet had figured she had outdone herself, “Wow… those two soups cost a fortune!” and could possibly get her in trouble with the law. She could care less as long as it put them into the mix of the elite again and the extra “taboo” of being thrown in jail for serving some exotic foods would also earn them some extra points.
The meeting had just about to wind up so Janet and Slick raced out quickly to their empty home (they had bought Slick’s parents tickets for a two week senior cruise for their anniversary) to get everything perfectly set up. They had hired a staff to serve but Janet wanted to go over exactly what was being served first as well as many other micromanagementisms. The guests started to arrive soon later as most were starving for individual attention as well as some catered foods... i.e. free. Suddenly, a black twenty something female socialite loudly exclaimed:
“Excuuuse me?! What is this? Please do not tell me this is veal.”
The whole party looks back to her and then to Janet. A panicked Janet blurts out,
“It tastes divine! It’s to die for! Just try it!”
The woman looked amazed by Janet’s ignorance:
“I don’t think so, how could you even fathom eating these slave animals only bred for human consumption…this is something for those Reagan and Bush supporters back in the eighties but then again, your house looks like it hasn’t been refurbished since then!”
A chubby Mexican man in his forties chimes in an obnoxious, wannabe French accent:
“Did I hear correctly...Veal?! Who can consciously eat veal anymore? It is unbelievable what ignorance has been displayed here! I for one am leaving this postulant death hovel!”
A swave Cuban man exclaims:
“Such ignorance has been displayed here! I am leaving as well!” as the Mexican man turns to Janet:
“You are now about to witness the strength of elite knowledge.” He then snaps his fingers in the air flamboyantly as he proclaims,
“We go! You will now experience the solitude of the animals you so casually referred to as veal chops!”
The black woman claps her hands to get the party’s attention:
“Everyone, let’s adjourn to my residence for an authentic vegan meal that required no sacrifice of life to feed the rotting souls of the carnivore!”
Everyone seems satisfied with this idea so they proceed to leave as Janet in tears pleads with them not to:
“It was an honest mistake! Pleeease don’t leave! I need you, please! Shit…I used to be a vegetarian!”
Slick was so embarrassed from the first guests’ remarks that he had snuck out onto the patio taking swigs of green label Johnnie Walker. Janet joined him outside swigging from a bottle of red wine, mascara running amok ala Alice Cooper as she contemplates what had just occurred:
“What the fuck were we thinking...what the fuck?!”
Slick suddenly has an air about him as if he had just solved the Zodiac killer case:
“I’ll call the D.I.P. crew...I believe it is time. We’re losing a grip on all these new compassionate trends....goddamn sissies! We have to be in the now!” Slick takes a huge swill immediately followed by an uncomfortable burp as he puts his arm around Janet to reassure her as she winces noticeably inhaling Slicks internal fumes.
“The eighties were what we thrived in! It was all about coke, exotic meats and money, money...MONEY! If we’ve learned anything about recent history, it’s that it always repeats itself. So let’s see...the seventies took about twenty-five years to make a real come back so the way I figure it, we only have to wait five more years for the true eighties way of life to reappear…and I’m not just talking about the music!”
Janet pushes him away not caring for his sarcasm about waiting five more years. By then she figures she’ll be an old hag without a child and Slick would probably leave her for some new, tighter vaginal cavity.
“Wait...what is the D.I.P. crew? You’ve never mentioned that before.”
Slick serious yet excitedly explains:
“First of all, TELL NO ONE! The D.I.P. is the ticket into the spotlight. They’re cutting edge yet no one knows about them, completely underground...secretive. My good friend José recommends them for an ultra-boost into the future trends of the elite. They’re a bit eccentric...a little odd, but they will get us back into the game! José used them for just one of his parties and jumped from the B-minus list to the A+ list in under a month!”
Still confused and now much drunker, Janet doesn’t know if he’s just bullshiting her or if he’s serious.
“I thought José moved back to Spain last year? How are you going to get a hold of the D.I.P.? How do you even contact them if they’re so guarded?”
Slick expected these questions and can’t wait to answer in his know it all fashion:
“Under the attorneys section in the yellow pages, dear.” He laughs pompously.
Janet is ultra confused,
“What? Why under the attorneys?”
Slick is still laughing arrogantly as he explains:
“How many of the social elite look up their attorneys in the urine pages?! Ha! Anyone who is no one is immediately turned away without even realizing who they were really speaking with. You must leave a message because they won’t answer their phone and they can usually tell if you’re important...I guess, from that. See how good they are?”
Janet is still unsure.
“I guess...but how do they make money if...”
Slick cutting her off,
“They are STINKING rich! It’s old money...generations of power since the Americas where born. Oil, stock, energy, politics, you name it...they got a hand in EVERYTHING. The family unit is so tight and self reliant that they basically just do it for karma, although José isn’t sure if they are religious exactly or just harmonious in life. He says that they do it just to keep their hands in everything and to keep the younger family members up on the business.”
Janet is rubbing her temples as she grabs Slicks bottle and takes a swill.
“This just seems a little crazy, doesn’t it? I don’t believe it, but then again...fuck it! I’m sick of sucking up to people less talented than me, let’s do it!”
Slick lights up a cigarette and places one hand on Janet’s shoulder, slightly massaging it.
“If we do this Janet...we have to trust in them 100%, no questioning of their methods. If we don’t...not only will we be publicly humiliated, but we will need to find new careers as they have contacts with everyone who is anyone in the art and entertainment industry across the world. I asked José what they did for him exactly but he isn’t allowed to share anything but how to contact them…that’s all!”
“But how do they operate if no one knows who they are? Couldn’t José tell you anything?”
“He said to trust them 100% even if they tar your walls then feather them with your pet cockatiel and a rolling pin.”
Janet says nothing out loud but stares into Slicks eyes perplexed for a minute, smiles, then goes inside and grabs the yellow pages,
“Well, fuck it...I’m sold! Let’s get back on top baby! It’s all or nothing!”
Slick walks towards her, chin afloat as he strokes hers looking deep into her eyes while reciting a piece of one of his less than popular poems,