:: Article

I Wanna Both His Balls

By Matthew Coleman.

Joe Slow, the mob boss of a small Brooklyn family, is sitting in Alfredo’s slurping away on a bulging bowl of meatballs. Sitting opposite him is a wig-wearing rotund half-wit of embarrassingly small stature named Terry the Toupee, who is Joe Slow’s right-hand man. It’s a stereotypical scene with all the usual trimmings.

Joe Slow pulls his glance downwards, after considerable concentration on the ceiling fan, and bangs his fat fist on the red and white chequered tablecloth: “Manny, that fuckin’ Tranny, is gonna feel my fuckin’ wrath..” The blue-tipped matchstick, which is clamped between Terry’s teeth, trembles as he replies: “That’s right boss, he should boss, he should feel your fuckin’ wrath, you’re completely right boss, but, but, if we’re gonna be technical here then, well, I gotta say, well, he’s really an ex-tranny.”

Joe Slow’s nostrils flare up like a twitching arsehole as his face flashes to a bright shade of red. Terry the Toupee’s eyes drop down quicker than a cocksucker to unzipped trousers as he mutters: “Sorry boss..” Joe Slow shoots Terry the Toupee a look like he’s gonna whack him. Terry’s shoulders spasm; he knows when to shut the fuck up. Joe slow scratches his chin with his fat fingers before continuing: “This Manny is going round eating up all the business and I want that fuckin’ fairy stopped. No, I want that fuckin’ fairy to give me a cut, a fat fuckin’ cut… Yeah, that’s right, he owes me a cut. Everyone owes me a cut. I am the fuckin’ cut. I’ll tell you what I want, I want him and his fake fuckin’ tits to bow the fuck down and realise that there’s rules, that there’s a certain fuckin’ way we do things around here and that this ain’t gonna change one fuckin’ bit. Certainly not when I’m alive. That’s right, not when Joe fuckin’ Slow is alive.” Joe Slow takes a mouthful of his spaghetti and ponders this shit kicking situation before he opens his mouthful to begin talking again: “That fuckin’ fairy needs to be taught a lesson. He needs to be told that it’s my way around here and that I will tear apart any fuckin’ fairy with the fuckin’ balls to prove me otherwise. There is etiquette, fuckin’ etiquette, and Manny the Ex-Tranny is gonna fuckin’ show it to me…” Joe slow looks at the meatball on the end of his folk and says: “I wanna both his balls…” Joe Slow shoves the whole meatball into the black hole of his mouth and begins tearing it apart with his teeth.

“What?” Terry the Toupee spits, not sure of what he just heard. Joe Slow swallows the meatball and, with a schizophrenic glint in his eyes, retorts sternly: “I said I wanna both his fuckin’ balls. I wanna hear that fairy fuck singing like a fuckin’ castrato.” A pan is dropped in the kitchen and with a knee jerk reaction Terry the Toupee has his piece out and pointing at where the noise came from. The chef suddenly slides out on greasy shoes apologising profusely. Joe Slow nods his head and Terry puts the piece away whilst thinking of the word Castrato, before: “Whatta fuck is a castrato Boss?”

Joe Slow’s eyes pop open wide: “You stupid fuck, you stupid fuckin’ fuck I tell you what a castrato is you fuckin’ embarrassment to Italian heritage. It’s a choirboy Terry, a fuckin’ choirboy who was castrated before puberty to keep his voice high. And I’m talkin’ real fuckin’ high. That’s what a fuckin’ castrato is.”

Terry the Toupee shrugs his shoulders and says, with an air of certainty: “But Manny ain’t no boy Boss…”

“That son of a bitch has a brain size the size of a fuckin’ boy if he thinks he can fuck with me, so in my eyes he’s a fuckin’ boy. But you and I aren’t here to talk technical Terry my dear old dear friend, you’re here to follow my orders. I’m here to fuckin’ give ‘em and I want that fairy fuck castrated and I wanna both his fuckin’ balls.”

“Jesus boss… Both his balls… Jesus Boss. “

“Yeah, ya’ hear me right, I wanna both his balls.”

“Christ.”

“Whatta ya’ mean Christ?”

“I mean it’s another man’s balls . . . “

“And what the fuck ya’ mean — it’s another man’s balls?!”

Terry’s face scrunches up with disgust: “What I mean is that it’s another man’s balls and if ya’ want ‘em then I’m gonna have to touch this man’s balls to get ‘em for ya’, and I ain’t never touched another pair of balls before but my own. Frankly I think touching another man’s balls is sick. It’s sick, it really is sick boss..”

Joe Slow looks at Terry the Toupee with an incredulous sneer before he points his salami-like forefinger right between Terry the Toupee’s eyes and snarls: “YA’ STUPID FUCK. Ya’ stupid fuck… Ya’ stupid shit for brains fuck. I ain’t asking ya’ to touch him up. I ain’t asking ya’ to give him a fuckin’ hand job, and I definitely ain’t asking ya’ to suck that fuckin’ fairy off… What I is asking ya’ to do is to cut that fairy fucks balls right off and bring ‘em back here on a silver fuckin’ platter…”

Terry the Toupee pulls out a cigarette and places it between his lips as Joe Slow leans down to lick the remainder of his bowl. After Joe Slow has taken the final lick Terry the Toupee replaces the matchstick with a cigarette before striking and lighting the match across the stubble of his chin. He softly exhales the fumes as he scratches his face. Joe Slow wipes the sauce from his mouth and begins: “OK, OK, I’m calm now, I’m calm now, I’ve had my fill and I can think straight now… Here’s what ya’ do Terry, here’s what ya’ fuckin’ do… Ya’ tell that Manny to take a hold of his own sack, between his finger and thumb, therefore taking out of the equation you having to touch this other man’s balls.”

Terry nods in approval: “Yeah, I didn’t thinka’ that.”

“Well, that’s cause ya’ gotta thick skull, but I ain’t about to get into that now. Right, so you tell that fairy fuck to take a very firm hold of the bottom of his sack and then ya’ gotta demand him to pull it downwards. Here, in this position, with his sack stretched, you can apply the blades of the garden clippers either side of the skin and…snip…his fuckin’ fairy balls are off. .”

A quiet silence ripples between the two as this newfound concept slowly solidifies within their minds eye. “Boss, do ya’ think he’d just hand ‘em over like that after I cut his balls off?”

“If he doesn’t then stick your fuckin’ gun to his temple and you fuckin’ make him hand ‘em over!”

“Yeah, I’m seeing what ya’ meaning boss, but then I still gotta take a hold of another man’s balls and that’s the whole, well, that’s my argument boss, that I’d still technically have to touch another mans balls and technically that’ll make me a fag…”

Joe Slow leaps up from his desk suddenly and shoves his hands down hard upon the table: “Why I outta fuckin’ whack you, ya’ fuck.”

Terry the Toupee leans back in his chair flapping his hands from side to side protesting his innocence: “Whoo, whoo, whoo… There must be another way to this is all I’m saying boss. It’s all I’m innocently saying here. What I’m not saying is that I’m not gonna get this fuckin’ man’s balls…”

How many fuckin’ times I gotta tell ya’, he ain’t a fuckin’ man?”

“Whaddya mean he ain’t a fuckin’ man?”

Joe Slow straightens his tie up and sits back down before saying: “Well, he’s a little of this and a little of that.” “Yeah, well, I know what ya’ mean about the tits and all boss, but ya’ still thinkin’ he has his, you know, ya’ still thinkin’ he has the bits between his legs?”

“Oh Christ!”

“Yeah, ya’ never know in this day and age that we are part of boss. Ya’ never know with all these crazy fucks out there running about and maybe this crazy fuck went that extra step and had his balls cut off.”

“Well whaddya fuckin’ say? I didn’t think about that. You know it’s the first smart play ya’ made in a long time Terry, you know that, a long fuckin’ time and it gets me thinkin’ that I finally cracked that thick fuckin’ skull of yours and a brain is finally leaking outta ya!”

“Haw, haw, haw…Yeah boss…Haw, haw, haw”

“Haw, haw, haw…”

“Haw, haw, haw…”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

A very long and drawn out silence descends.

Joe Slow is the first to break the silence: “It seems this Manny the Ex-Tranny issue is a complicated one, and in all my years I’ve never had a problem so fucked up as the one we have here at hand. In the past it’s always been a clear-cut equation where one can break a man in two, but what the hell am I supposed to do with a fuckin’ fairy who is a little a this and a little of that?”

“Whack him.”

“What?”

“Why don’t I just whack him boss.”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah, I just fuckin’ whack him, and boom, the fuckin’ ball problem we have is solved.”

“Well fuck me, you’re on a wise idea fuckin’ role. Whack him, haw haw haw, yeah, that’s good with me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Ok boss, I’ll whack him and then I’ll be seeing ya’ later.”

“Whoo, whoo, whoo, but bring me the head.”

“Now we’re fuckin’ talkin’ boss, no problem, I’ll bring ya’ the head of that fairy fuck Manny.”

“Ok.”

“Ok.”

Terry the Toupee walks out of the restaurant. Joe Slow pulls a cigar from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, places it between his large lips, lights it, and exhales. The smoke climbs up towards the ceiling fan where it is dispersed around the room. Joe Slow suddenly becomes aware that someone is standing behind him. There is a “click”. Joe Slow then feels the cold tip of a gun being pressed against the back of his head . . . He opens his fat mouth for the last time and says: “Why you fairy fuck, I’m gonna …”

253956796_126c41d119_m.jpgABOUT THE AUTHOR
If you are a fan of love and sentiment do not read Matthew Coleman. He is the Henry Miller, Sade and D.H. Lawrence of dismantling intimacy in search of its truths. His works read like Joyce’s unfettered letters to Nora… Microscopically observing, examining each vivisection. He takes a hammer, smashing concupiscence into its every fetid and perfidious shard… shattering it into a thousand little razor edged pieces for the reader to reasemble. Read him, but read him at your risk; with the caveat that you wear safety glasses. (Pic by Andrew Gallix.)

First published in 3:AM Magazine: Saturday, July 7th, 2007.