Grey

Beside the SLT man sat Father’s woman. She had bright green hair and red-colored teeth. Through her transparent orange dress, I could see the phrase gender fatality scrawled across her breasts in what looked like dried blood.

By this time, the crowd had settled down. The people at the table said hello or sang lyrics at me, like the LETTT brothers did.

With their arms over their shoulders, they screamed, “One crusty bruise to remember her by!” Then they laughed triumphantly and got compliments from the others.

 The CEO of SLT man winked, and said, “You and I… we’re heart attack twins!”

The Om Om woman got up, came around, and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ve christened him with my blood!” she exclaimed in her rasping voice. “Now, we’re blood lovers.” As if giving advice, she said, “You should cut Elle and suck her wound, like they do in Crush Tone.”

“No!” said Jun of BrainBrain, “Perfect Infinity Death by DikCrakor! It’s romantic how they poke each other with those splinters.”

As they all began arguing which Ultra disaster my honeymoon should be like, I told myself this would all be over soon, and I wouldn’t have to see these creatures again.

Walter glanced at me fearfully as though afraid I was going to tell the world about his identity crimes. Frowning, he said, “I think something bad is going to happen.”

As I nodded at him, the house announcer began again. “Get in your last orders now. The show is about to start!” A moment later, the voice sped up. “Fine china, plumbing, and fireworks graciously provided by Oh!Teen. Slut cakes and taproot beverages and suppositories by Frix Corporation. Also, please take a moment to check your listening and viewing helmet—provided by Volvo-Sony ltd. We’ll let you know when you need to put it on.”

A waiter, with a RiverGroup logo scarred on his bare chest, stepped beside Father.

“More shrimp loops, love chips, and those salamander hotties,” Father said. “Oh, and a dozen bottles of the Frix Carrot-Chablis for the table.” Leaning toward me he said, “Watch this.” To the table, he hollered, “Ultra is the greatest of all time!”

Like lemmings, they all cheered back. Jun stood, beat his chest, and bellowed, “Deadly Ultra calamity in my brain pan!”

Right, I thought, as I grabbed one of the programs and began to flip through the shiny, unreadable ads, photos, and promises until I found a schedule. It read:

1. Hiro Bruce Rivers on Business.

2. Super-secret guests introduce new music from Aluminum Anus and Dark Castle of Pound.

3. Exciting super-upgrade announcements.

4. RiverGroup new product demonstration.

“When is the wedding?” I asked.

“Shush!” shout-whispered Father, as he leaned toward me. “It’s a damn surprise!”

“Everyone knows!”

“Yes, but if we pretend it’s a surprise, they can think they’re smarter than us.” He laughed and said, “That’s the trick! People love to think they’re smarter than you. And it worked,” he smiled. “They’re all here. Two days ago, they were threatening to give up on us, but the lousy, dumb bastards are here!”

Tan-colored foundation covered his skin. It had looked good from far away, but up close, it accentuated all the lines around his eyes and mouth, like a million, tiny, dry tributaries. Across his forehead were three deep valleys. The top two arched smoothly from side to side. The third dipped toward the bridge of his nose and came close to two vertical lines that rose asymmetrically between his brows. What occurred to me was that he looked more like a grandfather than a dad.

“But when is it?” I asked again.

“Can’t wait to get into her salmon-skin panties?” As he laughed, I could see how the alcohol was slowing his motor skills and making his eyelids heavy.

“The greatest Ultra band is Toxic Testicle Farm!” proclaimed green-faced Jun as he held up his arms as if in victory.

“No!” scoffed Father, whipping his sleeves at him. “Aluminum Anus is the greatest. They’re big lard! They kill those tiny Testicles in every way!”

“Testicle’s Kiss the Axe Meat,” declared Jun, throwing up his hands again, “is the greatest God damned, total, super, fucking classic of all time—forever—no argument!”

“God, no!” cried Father. “It’s butt garbage! Right, my spaceship?” He looked to his girl, but she just shrugged. “My dick can fart better than that song!”

While they swore and argued about bands, costumes, and lyrics, I watched Father. The problem was, after drinking carrot all afternoon, and now with his old rage buddies, he was happy—happier than I had seen him in a long time. I didn’t like it. He had no idea what I was going through or felt, or why I was going to destroy the both of us.

“Can you feel it?” he asked them, gesturing around the PartyHaus. “A fearful anticipation is building like a pandemic! And we’re in for real, clean-your-colon Ultra.”

“We never miss Anus,” said one of the LETTT brothers.

“Not one single performance,” agreed the other.

“I missed them only once,” said Father. “And I was unconscious!” He laughed, and then added what he thought was the final punch, “Same result, though!”

As if to derail his evening, I told him, “I saw Mother.”

Turning, he asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I saw her. I talked to her!”

“You better not!” he said, leaning in so we wouldn’t be heard. “I forbid it! I let that whore see you after the shooting, but I don’t want you talking to her or hearing any of her super-bullshit lies.”

“And now!” boomed the house voice, as the curtains parted to reveal the enormous gold, silver, chrome, ice, and black-satin decorated stage. With its three sets of curved, light-blue stairs, angular crystalline walls, and strange, intricate dark blue foliation, it resembled the collision between a glacier and a lingerie factory. On the fifteen-story-tall screen in the back spun a thousand RiverGroup logos. “It’s time to say hello to a man so visionary, he has his toilet paper laid out for next week… a man with so much brains, he has to keep most of them in his colon…  a leader so strong, even his underwear stands at attention!”

As the crowd laughed and clapped, I told Father, “They’re not lies!”

“I don’t want to hear it!” He pointed one of his thick fingers in my face.  “Shut up about that bitch freak of your God damned mother!” Grabbing one of the carrot bottles, he downed a thick gulp.

“She told me everything.” My words were swallowed up in the announcer’s.

“Join me in welcoming President, CEO, COO, CIO, CPO, Chief Programmer, and all-around Super Code Bastard, let’s tear down the PartyHaus for the biggest, loudest, and the lardest rager of all time… Ultra lover, silence hater, the screaming, howling master of the pelvic thrust, party critter numero uno, Hiro… Bruce… Rivers!”

After glaring at me once more, Father jogged to the stage and tripped up the five steps. Once he’d regained his balance, he cried, “Children of pain! Let’s rage on the stage! Let’s crack our spine and drink wine! Let’s grind our ass and make some gas.” The audience’s enthusiasm dimmed as if disappointed with what were the oldest and lamest Ultra shouts. Undaunted, he pumped his fists in the air and sent the floppy bags of his shirtsleeves in motion. “Be my Ultra baby of anguish!”

That got them going again.

“Come on up!” he said to his girl. “Before we begin, I’d like to introduce my newest cunt spaceship, Jenni Haska-Martin-Biochem, who used to work as a monkey trainer for Frix Corporation.” As she came to his side, he walloped her plastic-covered ass. “She’s great, but with this great crowd tonight, you never know, maybe I’ll meet someone new!” Jenni puffed out her cheeks and made an angry face. Many laughed as if she were funny or cute.

“All joking aside,” continued Father, “this has been a great year for us at RiverGroup. Yeah, we had a few days in fucktown, and hey, there are always critics.” He curled a lip in my direction. “We’re back, and let’s fuck the