Death threats n stuff
I Accidentally Offended a Criminal at a Party
Now I’m living a life of fear
We were both named Frank.
I saw him from across the room. He was wearing a t-shirt and braces — not teeth braces but braces to hold up your pants. His hair was bright orange like a futuristic Ned Kelly. He was wearing an Al Capone trilby hat while smoking a cigarette and helping himself to the dried out curried egg sandwiches one encounters when arriving four hours late to a party.
I only noticed him because he stood out from the others. He had an air of dark confidence about him that high-level criminals often have.
For some reason, our eyes kept meeting. That’s okay for the first couple of times. By the third, he must have been thinking that I either fancied him or I wanted to fight him.
Neither was true.
I had enquired about Frank from our host Ciro, an expressive drunk who had this habit of flirting with everyone regardless of the situation.
Ciro would flirt with homeless people when giving them change. He would flirt with the doctor during his prostate exam. Once, he flirted with the paramedics that came to take away his dead father after he fell down the stairs.
Ciro told me that Frank was an ‘organised criminal’.
At the time, I took that to mean that he had a flair for the administrative side of crime.
I assumed he would carry a Filofax and use an excel spreadsheet to track when a job was complete.
‘No, you idiot,’ Ciro said. ‘He is involved in organised crime. I think he might be a hitman or something.
My heart dropped a beat when I heard this, and my whole body started to rush with excitement. It was one of those strange cosmic moments where you see someone and feel very curious about them. Then when you hear about who they are, it gives you such an intense dopamine rush that you feel uncontrollable physical bliss in your body.
It reminded me of the time I involuntarily ejaculated on a roller coaster. Sometimes, that can happen when you have a sensitive prostate reflex (SPR) like me.
This was one of those times.
There is nothing sexual about that feeling, but somehow it invokes a physical, sexual reaction. I got it more as a young kid.
I looked down at the floor and thought of my dead granny wetting her knickers. This is key when trying to control sexual feelings. One must think of something unsexual.
Unfortunately, it backfired, and I found myself being turned on by Granny’s soaked panties.
I excused myself and went into the garden to get some fresh air.
A few people were talking out there around a pit fire.
I walked up and slid into their circle.
‘Hi, I’m Frank,’ I said, interrupting their conversation.
Two of them creased their eyebrows. The third made a face like he was getting rammed by a horse.
‘Okay,’ he said.
I stood there awkwardly with my beer. This man had successfully removed my erection and any subsequent chance of involuntary ejaculation and I was grateful for that.
‘Thank you’. I said to him, nodding and turning around to leave the unpleasant situation.
As I spun around, I slammed straight into someone, and their drink fell from their hand, smashing on the floor. I stared down at the fizzing liquid spreading its wet mass on the concrete.
Then I looked up.
It was Frank.
Now I was getting buggered by the horse.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, my heart racing.
‘Fack it,’ he said in a cockney accent like Ray Winstone.
I felt the dopamine rush growing again. All the pieces of this character were building. It must have been the writers rush — an almost sexual thrill at seeing a real-life character.
I looked up at him and my nostrils flared.
‘Alright, Pal? I’m Frank’. For some reason, I had developed a strong cockney accent.
‘What’s that?’ he said. ‘Are you taking the facking piss?’
‘No, seriously, my name is Frank’. I couldn’t shake the accent, and now my arms were also outstretched with my fingers pointing in like Eminem. I felt the urge to rap.
‘I’m tellin’ ya. The financial system is in ruin. We’re gonna all die one day, and I don’t feel like chewin’…’
Ciro interrupted me.
‘Sorry about that, Frank. He’s a little disabled, I’m afraid.
‘That's alright,’ both of us Franks said simultaneously. We looked at each other in confusion.
‘He doesn’t look disabled to me,’ Frank growled.
I felt like I was in a Guy Ritchie film.
‘Sorry, I rap when I’m nervous,’ I said.
‘It affects him across all the senses. It’s a general handicap’. Ciro said.
‘GENERAL HANDICAP,’ I said, standing up straight and saluting like a soldier.
‘You what?’ Said Frank.
Ciro laughed nervously. He turned the music up from his phone and said
‘I think we should all dance’.
I leaned into Frank to get above the music.
‘It’s just a joke,’ I said. ‘It’s from the TV show How I Met Your Mother. Anything with corporal or general they salute and…’
‘What the fak did you say about my Mother?’
Frank pulled his braces down and took off his hat.
I wondered why he was pulling his braces down. Surely he didn’t want his pants falling down during a fight.
Ciro grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me through the party and back to the front door.
‘You need to go,’ he said.
‘Go home, pack up all your stuff and book a flight somewhere. If you wanna go to Italy, I can have someone put you up for a while till you get it together.’
I thought he was joking, but I had never seen him so severe.
‘I’m not fucking leaving the country. I can’t, I have a cat to feed’.
I had an unexplainable erection.
‘Just go okay. I’ll be in touch.’
Ciro slammed the door, and I was left standing outside in the frosty air.
In a state of sheer terror, I ran home and started to pack. After about ten minutes there was a knock at the door.
This is why I am currently sitting in my basement surrounded by cans of refried beans, writing this note.
That’s right. This happened TONIGHT.
Can someone please send help to franktbird@protonmail.com?
I don’t have much time.
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