Harry Guakomoli had spent the last few days holed up in his room at The Resplendent Auberge. He rather enjoyed drinking all day and sleeping all night. Going to bed before four in the morning was a weird feeling, but it was a good weird. He only left his room to obtain the essentials: food, liquor, and toiletries. He made no attempt to trade pleasantries or make friends with the other residents of the flophouse, except for the time his next door neighbor, a transsexual prostitute named Roxy, introduced herself. She seemed nice enough, though sometimes the noises and words exchanged he overheard from her room were downright terrifying.
On the fourth day of staying at the hotel our hero finally decided to venture into the outside world. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a vibrant blue. The sun shone brightly. The clouds, what few there were, hovered in the azure firmament like little puffy balls of cotton.
The Guak wandered for hours without a care in the world. He didn't want to think about his parents or his rebirth or The Death Matriarch or Oslo or Miss Yvonne. He didn't even think about Dinah, which was strange because he had been thinking of her a great deal while in the room eating take-out, mostly Chinese, drinking St. Ides, and watching syndicated television.
He found his way to the boardwalk, the two mile-long walkway that stretched along the beach. The Guak noticed that even the sand looked better today. It was more pure, almost white, and there was not a trace of garbage to be found anywhere. And it was deserted. He found that odd Our hero continued along the boardwalk until he finally came across someone. A woman, and he was drawn to her.
The woman leaned against a metal rail and stared off into the ocean. She seemed of average height, and her long wavy platinum hair cascaded down nearly to the small of her back. A form-fitting dark red dress, its white polka dots providing a stark contrast, had a hem that ended just above the knees and seemed to barely contain her plump buttocks. The woman's white pumps seemed out of place at the beach.
"Sie sind endlich da, meine Liebe," she said with her back still facing him.
"Huh?" The Guak replied.
"Sie befinden sich hier," she said once more in the foreign tongue. "Können wir endlich eins sein."
"What is that, German? I don't speak German, honey."
"Yes, you do," the blonde contended.
"No, I don't," our hero asserted.
Well, to him it sounded like "no, I don't," but really it was the words "nein, ich glaube nicht" that emanated from his mouth.
"You're speaking German right now, Daddy," she said as she giggled. "And now finally Daddy and Ingrid can be as one and make cyborg babies for eternity."
"Wait, what?!" The Guak replied once he realized who this woman was.
"The Amazon?! You seem shorter and," his eyes wandered and fixated on her large posterior. "...Curvier."
"And not to mention that I...um...er...killed you. Rather gruesomely I might add."
"No, you didn't, Daddy," said The Amazon. "I was able to crawl to Doktor Maschinemensch's workshop and repair myself. I'm all better now, Daddy."
"Please don't call me 'Daddy.' It's creepy and makes me feel creepy."
"But is it creepy that I still want to be with you, my beloved? That I want the Tijuana knife fight? For you to pump me all the time, and for me to pump out Guak Juniors and Guakettes? That I want to be your happy horny housewife? That's why I'm wearing this dress and these heels. Do you like them?"
Yes it is, The Guak thought to himself. This is all really fucking creepy. A woman I killed is back from the dead and wants to be the mother of my children. Sure, I also had recently risen from the dead, but I, if Dinah and that dick bag Triangle are to be believed, am special. And a conversation in German? I don't know any German. I'm confused. Really confused.
"Please talk to me, Dad - Guak, darling. Now I'm afraid I have displeased you."
It is then the The Guak realized that her voice didn't sound right. It was canned and artificial. Automated like the voice on a GPS.
"What's wrong with your voice?"
Finally The Amazon turned around to face him. The Guak was immediately drawn to her plunging neckline which stopped just short of her navel. But as he looked up he noticed the buxom bombshell's face was not as he had remembered it. Now it was just smooth dark metal. No eyes. No nose. No mouth. No chin. The only break in the surface was a small speaker located toward the bottom. Memories of the night of their first encounter flooded our hero's head. Thoughts of him bludgeoning her face with his fists; slitting her throat with a piece of glass; ripping out the cybernetic implants that had replaced her eyes; and tearing off her lower jaw and most of the front part of the neck. The Guak felt cold and nauseated by his past actions.
"I..." he said softly. "I'm sorry what I did to you."
"Damn, baby," another woman's voice, albeit a natural-sounding one, came from behind our hero. "I am constantly blown away by how fucked up your sex dreams are."
The Guak spun around to face the owner of the voice. Standing before him was Fantasia, a comely and buxom woman of mixed African and East Asian descent. She was dressed in the tiniest of pink bikinis. And roller skates. Her hair, which changed color and length nearly every time he saw her, was blood red, straight, and in two braids. A large pair of headphones was wrapped around her neck and connected to a vintage Walkman that was clipped to her bikini bottom. Her right hand clenched a wet red lollipop.
Fantasia was also our hero's guide and lover when he was in The Pink, the domain and playground of Filthy O'Possum, the patron saint of dirty dreams and The Guak's (alleged) ancestor. This was proof that our hero was asleep, and that none of this was real.
"Why?" The Guak asked, annoyed and a bit disgusted. "Why are you here?"
"Because I missed you, baby," the "Blasian" purred.
"What? It's been five days."
"I know," she replied. "But after seeing you all day every day for months those few days felt like an eternity. Let's have some fun."
"No. I'm done with that."
"Party pooper," Fantasia said with a pout. "C'mon, you can yell nasty things to me in German."
"Ich kann nicht sprechen Deutsch!" our hero snapped.
"Come again?" she said as she smirked. "Can you say that in English? I'm afraid I don't speak German."
"Fuck you."
"Yes, please."
The scenery around The Guak and Fantasia began to warp and shift and everything began to fade. For a few seconds all The Guak could see was an aura of bright pink before his surroundings became in focus once more. He was no longer at the beach, but in the mossy fuchsia-colored cavern that served as the throne room of Filthy O'Possum. The lord of the manor, dressed in silk green boxers and an open gold smoking jacket (also of silk), was seated upon his throne fashioned in the image of human sex organs. One of his handmaidens, a red-headed beauty with alabaster skin, was giving her sister servant girl, as sexy as her counterpart but of dark complexion, a sensual massage.
"Fuck," said The Guak as he looked over to the man claiming to be his ancestor. "Can't you all leave me alone?"
"Don't be like that, Harry," answered Filthy. "Nothing's more important than family."
Our hero sighed.
"But I do get a little suspicious," he continued. "When the last of my line and my right hand girl get together without my knowledge. No one keeps a secret from me in The Pink."
"I did not mean to keep anything from you, sir," answered Fantasia. "I just missed your descendant. And it turns out he knows German. All of a sudden."
"Is that so?" O'Possum asked with one eyebrow raised.
"Yeah, I guess," stated our hero with little assurance. "I think I was understanding it and speaking it."
"Well, that's fucking weird," responded The Guak's (alleged) ancestor. "I hope you don't turn out like your uncle, Gus."
"What? I have an Uncle Gus?"
"Not anymore," Filthy answered before starting to tell a tale. "Details are fuzzy since my knowledge is limited to what transpires here in The Pink, and Gus was not particularly chatty when he was here. I do know he was your father's older brother and studied in Berlin. He was still in Berlin when Hitler came to power. There was something about that little Austrian with the stupid mustache that appealed to Gus. So much that he changed his name from 'Gus McGillicuddy' to 'Gustaf Irischsohn.' He was an officer, but how powerful he was in the ranks I have no idea."
"His dreams were interesting too," Fantasia interjected. "His fantasy partners were women of color, Jewesses, gypsies. Homosexuals. He liked to be tied up and whipped. I can't remember how many times he dreamt of cleaning my heeled jackboots with his tongue."
"Did he die in the war?" The Guak asked, finding himself wanting more and more answers. "Or captured?"
"Neither," responded the patron saint of sexy fantasies. "I am not sure when he died, time is hard to gauge here, or how, but I suspect he may have fled to South America. His dreams suddenly were filled with Latin men and women. And then his dreams stopped."
"Wow," said The Guak. "Can you piece together anything about my dad or mom? And if you speak ill of her I swear I will --"
"We doin,' big pimpin,' we spendin' G's," Jay-Z began to rap over some phat beats. "Check 'em out now, big pimpin,' on B-L-A-D's/ We doin' big pimpin' up in N-Y-C/ It's just that Jigga Man, Pimp C, and B-U-N-B."
Over and over the refrain from the man born Shawn Carter blasted throughout The Pink. And then The Guak found himself back in his bed at The Resplendent Auberge. He was groggy and confused.
"Big pimpin, spending G's."
Our hero looked over at the nightstand. His phone's display screen was glowing. Had he been more with it he would have realized that his new phone's ringtone was the same as his old burner's. That someone had programmed Jay-Z's "Big Pimpin'" into his mobile device. That person was Dinah.
The Guak picked up the phone and looked to identify the caller. The caller was Yvette.
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