The Fan Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

have a lot of stuff here.”
    “It is a lifetime’s work. If only I could get a frame around that splash of colored grease on the wall, mixed with old tomato paste. Do you think I should knock the whole wall down and take it to the Museum of Modern Art in my school bus?”
    “I think you should shut off the water.”
    “You’re right, baby, there is no point in drinking this New York City water when we have in our hands a bottle each of piña-colada, the Puerto Rican soft drink to make your teeth fall out. And maybe we can find something to eat on the floor… WAIT A SECOND, MAN ! I’VE GOT IT!” In my satchel, man, waiting there for me, synchronistically planned by my unconscious mind to coordinate with my meeting this Chinese chick is a long-forgotten but perfectly intact two containers of …
    “Fried rice, baby, dig, and some chopsticks.”
    I have scored, man, I have wigged the chick with fried rice. We were meant for each other, man, she knows it, I know it, we’re happy with fried rice, if only we had a juicy steak to go with it.
    And now, man, that we have eaten and drunk, there is the undeniable presence in my pants of a Horse Badorties hard-on. It has been such a long time, man, since I had time to fuck a chick, and here she is, man, smiling at me, giving me the fifteen-year-old power-wave of just awakened sexuality. I am going to her, going slowly over to where she is sitting on the arm of my stuffed chair, and I run my fingers through her jet-black hair and she turns her head up to me, man, her lips, eyes, the moment, man, has come, to make just one telephone call which I cannot postpone a moment longer.
    “Just a second, baby, while we digest our rice I have just remembered to call my printer, who is working the night shift turning out thousands of sheets of publicity for the Love Concert.”
    Here is the telephone, man, right by her foot, her little delicate oriental foot, which I caress with my sensitized dialing finger, dial … dial …
    “Hello, man, this is Horse Badorties, how’s it going … great, man, run through another 5000 sheets … I’ll be in tomorrow with a school bus to pick it all up … right, man, and listen, there’s just one more thing, man … hold on a moment, man… hold … I …” Have to touch this chick, man, run my hand up her legs, man, lift her skirt up to her black Chinese underwear with red dragons on it. Man, I must get a shipload of this underwear to give out with fans to the entire CHORUS!
    “Where can I lay my skirt, I don’t want to get it all greasy.”
    “There must be a spot around here somewhere, baby … I don’t know … you better keep it under your arm.”
    “Take that scratchy old jacket off,” she says, playfully removing my jacket.
    “Be careful where you lay that jacket down, baby. I might not be able to find it again.”
    We struggle around in the junk, man, trying to find a place to lie down, but it is not safe on the floor, even the roaches are going around in little paper boats. “We’ll have to do it standing up, baby.”
    She reaches for my Horse Badorties pants, man, and I am knocked off balance, and we topple, down into the unknown impossible-to-describe trash pile. We are rolling around in the dark contents–old loaf of bread, bicycle tire, bunch of string in peanut oil, bumping weird greasy things and slimey feelings and sand and water, lid of a tin can floating by on a sponge. There’s my book on telepathy with a roach on page twelve reading about the Dalai Lama. I cannot get my prick into the chick yet, man, as I have just remembered another phone call which I must make, man. It should be made now, man, because one thing I don’t dig is
coitus interruptus
, so I’d better make the call before we officially begin balling.
    “This will just take a minute, baby, I have to call a junkyard in New Jersey, the owner is waiting for me to confirm a school bus, just relax, baby, while I dial.”
    Direct dialing, man, straight to the