Key West author Reef Perkins shares more of his hilarious book,

Screwed, Blu’d

and Tattooed

by

Reef Perkins

It’s Been a Pleasure

(Click here for previous chapter)

I was in the reception room reading and overheard.

“It has been a pleasure speaking with you this afternoon, Mrs. Weiner-Wood. You made distinct, if not noticeable progress during our session.” Dr. Silo Cornhull tilted his zero- gravity chair upright. “I’m afraid our time, our precious time, my dear Mrs. Weiner-Wood, is up for now… for today…Ah, Mrs. Weiner-Wood, Mrs. Weiner-Wood? Shit.” The doctor opened the door and yelled toward the front office, “Will SOMEONE please wake up Weiner and drag her ass out of here, godammit!”

Moments later Dr. Cornhull took a series of deep yogish breaths and patiently held the door for Mrs. Ethyl-Smythe-Weiner-Wood who, at age ninety-seven, was gently frog-marched toward the portal by two burly nurses.

A brief scuffle ensued at the threshold when Mrs. Weiner-Wood discovered she slept through her entire session. “My goodness! Well, for land’s sake! It seemed such a short period of time,” she recalled, for an instant.

After a few moments of reasonable counseling, Cornhull tired of old Weiner’s whining and hypnotized her with his middle finger. Back and forth, back and forth with the finger as he glanced around the room for a sign. He saw me and the pile of magazines on the floor at my feet. Gently, Cornhull turned and told Mrs. Weiner-Wood that she was, “An elegant Victorian end table and should act like one in order to be happy.” He forgot to tell her he had set her watch ahead by forty-five minutes while she napped. He loved the old ones.

Mrs. Wiener-Wood drifted further into the waiting room and got down on her hands and knees next to me. I pretended not to notice Weiner-Woods’ sudden reconfiguration. I finished reading tattered pieces from a Pent Up House magazine that, according to the cover, was thirty years old. The centerfold was long gone, the yellowed pages brittle with age. “Wind is moody. Waves never tire. Horizons are everywhere. Sex comes down to friction.” Those were the only words I had time to read before the magazine fell apart and slipped to the floor. Without warning Wiener-Wood stuck her tongue in the wall socket and went bacon flat. I heard her plaintiff cries but didn’t want to pry and put the magazine down on Wiener’s wrinkled, but completely serviceable ass.

I waited. Finally my name was called, “Mr. Gamble, please.”

“Present.” I responded. It was time for my appointment.

Amidst the stench of toasted wrinkles, I was introduced to my new psychiatrist, Dr. Silo Cornhull, BFD. “Poor Mrs. Weiner-Wood,” he said without passion and fanned the air in front of him.

Cornhull put an arm around my shoulder and, before I could speak, moved us swiftly toward his Zero Gravity chair. “I do hope you’ll excuse my use of that particularly convenient and time-tested technique but I do, I must admit, take a rather cavalier view of my patient’s problems. I find it helps me not to become too… too deeply involved with situations that, let’s face it, in, at or near the end, are probably irreparable anyway. Why chase a water buffalo into the bush if you’re not going to shoot it? Am I right?” He fended off and landed in his chair, leaving me adrift in the room.

“Right, I guess.”

“Would you care to sit?” He pointed at a beige beanbag chair in the corner.

“Thank you.”

“Anyway, I understand you have an appointment.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Very well, I’m quite clear.”

“Queer?”

“No. Clear.”

“Oh dear!” I pretended to dig wax out of my ear and slid into the comforting folds of the beanbag. No wonder old Weiner -Wood nodded out.

“What’s the problem?” Cornhull inquired.

“I, its, well, its, I just don’t give a fuck, anymore, I think.”

“Ahh. I see.”

“See what?”

“I see that you don’t give a fuck.”

“About what?”

“About anything, anymore.”

I was dealing with a big brain here.

“Uh, that was a quick summation of a complicated problem.”

“It’s what we call a Sabaki.” Cornhull skillfully countered.

“Sabaki?”

“ A Sabaki, Mr. Gamble, is a mode in which the objective is to deal effectively with the local situation, avoiding longer-term problems, a quick and efficient solution to a complex and difficult problem, perhaps. It’s Japanese, you know. Plus, you only paid for 15 minutes.”

“You’re working without a net, Doc.”

“I know. “

“Hey wait a minute! It’s a fucking Sabaki, right?”

“Right! We should be happy indeed Mr. Gamble!” Doctor Cornhull applauded and reached for an ergonomic armpit flask. I, in turn, pulled out a resinous and well-rolled bone of contention.

After our enhanced session, which Cornhull considered a success, I gave the doctor ten singles that I’d been saving for my titty bar therapy session and headed for the door. Cornhull was still counting when I left, just another brain destined to dry and wither in the blaze of earth’s flaming orb …

I left Cornhull’s office and walked slowly toward my work place. I had hoped my meeting with Dr. Cornhull would produce more than a good buzz but the session was ultimately successful, I guess, because I took away a fresh concept. “I think, therefore I am… probably wrong.” I’ll have to remember that one. But for now, it’s back to business.

My name is Willie Gamble I am the assistant manager at Earl’s Sock Barn just off Route 8 in Ligonier, Noble County, Indiana. Ligonier is the Marshmallow Capital of the World and a town where anything can happen, but doesn’t.

***********

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Click here to get your own copy of Screwed, Blu’d and Tattooed [and other stories] by Reef Perkins…

About the Author

Captain Mark T. “Reef” Perkins is a marine surveyor with a colorful past. From commanding a 150-foot 300 DWT US Army diving ship off Vietnam to smuggling in the Caribbean, Reef Perkins has become a living legend. A graduate of both the US Army Engineer Officer Candidate School and the US Navy Salvage Officers School, he’s a man comfortable in or out of the water. Raised in rural Michigan, Reef now lives in Key West where he can get his feet wet. He is the author of the bestselling memoir, Sex, Salvage & Secrets.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. While the author has made every effort to provide accurate information at the time of publication, neither the publisher nor the author assumes any responsibility for errors, or for changes that occur after publication. Further, the publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their contents.

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Screwed, Blu’d and Tattooed by Reef Perkins…continues…