So Long Norma Jen Morten

I get around to some pretty weird parties from time to time. Sometimes when I’m at these pretty weird parties, I hear people talking, you know, like saying things that nobody else is supposed to hear. Sometimes, the people I hear talking are like really famous people too – famous people I never knew were famous until I listened to them talking. Like this one time, I was at this New Year’s Eve Party down at the Red Velvet Layer Cake – I know, pretty crazy name for a night club eh? Anyway, I looked up at the clock on the wall in the men’s lavatory and I saw that it’s getting pretty close to midnight, and I’m thinking that I should get back out onto the dance floor and find some real nice doll, you know, like one that I could be dancing with, real close like, when the countdown starts. You get what I’m saying right? Good! Because, I don’t want to be, like telling some story here, that nobody understands.

To further my point, while I’m relieving myself onto one of those little green crystallized soap cakes at the bottom of the urinal at which I have found myself standing, I hear something going on in one of the door-closed-tight-and-locked-up cubicles behind me. It sounded like two broads having a go at a couple of lines of the white stuff, if you get my drift.

Now, I’m thinking to myself, “Why would two dames be doing snorts in the men’s room? Maybe the ladies’ room is full or something. Or, maybe they’re like really high and they don’t know where they are. Or, maybe like they are liberated or care-free girls from the West End - in which case, I would most gladly develop an interest in the further development of their liberation and care-freeness.”

I wasn’t sure. Then, in between blows, I hear them talking to one another. It just so happens that one of them is a cousin, apparently, to a very famous guy by the name of Lee Oswalt. This guy's name was all over the News a couple of years back. Hearing his name mentioned, immediately stimulated my attention and curiosity. At that point I halted my stream of conscious relief such that I could discern exactly what was being said by these two women.

It seems that the one professing to be a cousin of Lee Oswalt was privy to some information regarding a relationship her cousin L.H. (as she referred to him) had been in with a gorgeous young blonde woman – also very famous – by the name of Norma Jen Morten. Well, knock me down and drag me around the bathroom floor! I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Just at that moment, the shitter door rattled open and the two broads inside, sort of spilled and tumbled out onto the tiled floor at my feet. I nodded at them as they slipped and slid around and finally picked themselves up in an effort to look respectable and non-chalant-like. I did my best James Dean in an attempt to perhaps lure one, or maybe both of them, into dancing with me during, and beyond, the stroke of midnight which, at that exact moment of precision, was only minutes away from occurring. I followed them, with some haste and great deliberation, out of the men’s lavatory facility and snuggled up behind the two of them at the bar. I asked them if I could possibly interest one, or both, of them in a brief but worthwhile and never-to-be-forgotten encounter with yours truly, on the dance floor. They hesitated briefly, forcing me to up my ante. Knowing now of their pension for chemical stimulation, I filled their heads with promises of favored and luminously-pigmented shooter-type drinks from the bar before we “stepped into the pit”.

After two or three rounds of straight-up tequilas, we moved to the floor. As the sparkling neon continued to streak it’s hypnotic tracks across the ceiling above us, I clung to my two darling companions and joined them in their chant, “Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year!!!”

At which point, the first broad grabbed me by the lapels of my checkered coat and threw my head back into the bosom of her friend thus proceeding to massage my tonsils with her tongue. At the completion of this somewhat invigorating pharyngeal examination, the friend, you know, the second dame, spun me around, threw me to the floor, jumped on me and swallowed my face with her own version of the Red Velvet Layer Cake. Luckily, the midnight celebratory event did not last for more than a few minutes after that. Before I could further evaluate the status of my situation at the time, the festivities in the club got back to a normal sort of state.

Wanting to hear more about the relationship between L.H. Oswalt and Norma Jen Morten, and not being sure which doll was the cousin, I felt the need to find a venue which might offer a less volumous environment, auditorily-speaking that is. I invited both of them to my apartment for a nightcap – not that any of us, needed such a thing. Both of them complied willingly and, with great enthusiasm I might add.

The three of us climbed into the back seat of a cab and started our journey across town. Part way through the trip, I mentioned that I had overheard the two of them chatting in the men’s room about one of them being a cousin of Lee Oswalt. The one on my left, lifted her head out of my crotch just long enough to reiterate that L.H. had, in fact, been her favorite cousin since they were kids growing up in Napa Valley.

On hearing this conversation, the taxi driver, looked into his rear-view mirror and screamed, “You are a cousin of Lee Oswalt? You bitch!” He slammed on his brakes and continued, “Get out of my car, you skag. I don’t want any of you in the back seat of my taxi, spreading your creepy filthy bullshit.”

I was overtaken with surprise by the outburst of the gentleman behind the wheel, like, seriously, I was in shock. So, I asked him what the problem was.

He turned and shouted directly into my face, “You are a prick too, hanging around with these bitch cousins of Lee Oswalt.”

At that point, I felt it necessary to qualify this man’s accusations, pointing out that I believed only one of my recently-acquired escorts to be directly related to Oswalt, hoping that this bit of information would somehow subdue and suppress his violent nature. My attempts at reconciliation fell short of the intended mark however, and also on deaf ears, apparently.

He went on then, in a slightly more agitated tone, “Don’t you know that Oswalt and my own father, Jacoby L. Rubenov were lovers? Papa's heart was broken when he found out, (pointing at one of my escorts), that this woman’s cousin was actually in a relationship with that tramp Norma Jen Morten at the same time. He swore that if he ever found him again, he would shoot his balls off and then, . . . er . . . kill him. Well, he found him alright. Unfortunately, the law had found him first and they were going to put him on trial and lock him up. So, my old man figured he better seek his revenge on that prick before the trial and before he was sentenced to life, because if that happened, he would never get the chance to shoot the damn bastard.” So, I determined, that was when and why Rubenov ended up shooting the Oz-meister in cold blood, right there on national television.

By this time the taxi had halted and we had no choice but to collect some scattered items of clothing and disembark from the vehicle.

As we stood shivering in the cold winter air offered by that first night of the new year, I couldn’t help but think, “Jesus H. Christ, who the hell, have I got myself mixed up with here?” We caught another cab eventually, and it took the three of us the rest of the way to my apartment. When we arrived, I poured the two dames a stiff drink. Oswalt’s cousin seemed talkative and wide awake, which was quite surprising, considering the tub of cocaine she had put into her system and the tank of tequila she had washed it down with. Her friend was not as spry, however, and soon succumbed to the effects of her libations. Which was just as well, because ‘cousin’ was the dame I really had an interest in. I continued our somewhat incoherent conversation about the relationship that existed between Norma Jen Morten and Lee Oswalt and, subsequently, between Lee Oswalt and Jacoby Rubenov.

It seems that L.H. Oswalt was, at least partly, interested in men, sexually-speaking that is. His cousin told me that he used to turn tricks for guys down on the pier when he was younger. His ‘tricking’ days ended when he met the apparent ‘love of his life’ – one J.L. Rubenov. Both were quite smitten it seems, with the other, and their love affair blossomed and grew for a few years after that. Although Rubenov continued to love Oswalt, this love became unrequited and did not proceed in a reciprocal direction, if you know what I mean. Oswalt had now seemingly become interested in the fairer sex as well. He apparently was at a bar one night when he was introduced to one of the entertainers for the evening. The entertainer’s name was Norma Jen Morten. There was a spark there, according to Oswalt’s cousin – a spark that eventually turned into a flame, a hot burning passionate flame. The love affair between Oswalt and Morten became so torrid, that news of it spread all over town, and all over the entire state, in fact. It wasn’t long before Rubenov got wind of his boyfriend’s new relationship and he became furiously blinded with jealous rage. Then came the part, which the taxi driver told us about, where he bought a gun and shot the balls off of that lying, cheating ‘brass monkey’.

She went on to tell me that, while all of this was going on, Morten, who was apparently not satisfied with only a single lover like Oswalt, started seeing other men – one of whom was a very famous politician at the time. This particular famous politician was a very powerful and charismatic world leader in fact. Oswalt’s cousin would not further divulge just who that very powerful and charismatic world leader might be, so I was left to speculate for myself as to his identity. And I did have some theories, I might add.

Anyway, Oswalt, latently and typically jealous himself, came across Norma Morten in bed with this man of politics one night. Oswalt had stumbled home late and maybe-not-mistakenly into her apartment, with the idea of perhaps surprising her with a little 'late-night nooky'. Jealous personality now exposed, he then, like his own jilted partner, Rubenov, swore he would put an end to “that son-of-a-bitch” if it was the last thing he ever did. However, he wanted to give Norma Jen one last chance to explain herself and perhaps shed some additional light on the situation. Before he was able to confront her though, she was found dead in her home. The cause of death / murder was explained to the press as “an overdose of sleeping pills” which apparently may have been forced down her throat by someone other than herself, or possibly pumped into her veins by way of a hypodermic syringe, operated also, by someone other than herself – all perhaps in an effort to cover up a not-to-be-mentioned relationship with a very powerful and charismatic individual.

"Ahem," I thought to myself.

So, I guess it really pissed L.H. off that, not only would he not be able to question his girlfriend with the ultimate goal of possibly forgiving her, but she was also now very dead on top of it all. One thing lead to another and Oswalt found out that his lover’s powerful and charismatic second boyfriend would be travelling by bus, to a constituency meeting, in Milwaukee later that same week. He found the exact bus that the politician would be travelling on and broke into it one night and Macgyvered the guy's seat with a turbo-charged, jet-powered ejector mechanism. He controlled the ejector mechanism with a remote, radio-frequency, hand-held system which would allow him to ‘eject’ the occupant(s) of the seat in question through the front window of the bus at an approximate warp speed of 1.5. My friend for the evening went on to tell me that her cousin triggered the button on his remote at about 3:15 pm one sunny afternoon while the bus made its way along I-94, somewhere between Madison and Milwaukee. Witnesses described the results of that button-push as, “almost meteoric and breathtakingly nuclear-like”. Apparently, the body of this now 'ex-politician', was still rising as it caromed off of the large green freeway sign on one of the bridges of Madison County.

So, there it was. By the end of that early January morning on the first day of the New Year, I had heard, almost first-hand, the details surrounding the much-publicized death / suicide / murder of Norma Jen Morten, the assassination / ejection / ejaculation(s) of a famous, charismatic and powerful politician, and the shot-in-the-balls murder of one infamous L.H. Oswalt. The only survivor of that violent and jealousy-riddled love quadrilateral was the much-less-famous J.L. Rubenov and, perhaps because of his lack of famousness, heaven only knew where he was. Anyway, that didn’t matter. I called a taxi for the two broads who had spent the first day of the year with me in my apartment. When they had finally been whisked away, I laid back on the couch and turned on the television. Biography Channel was airing a documentary on the life of Marilyn Monroe.

“Happy New Year,” I thought to myself.

It goes without saying, of course, that the accounts, and characterizations depicted in this story are completely fictitious. Any similarities to real persons and events, past or present, are clearly coincidental. In addition, if questioned further on the content of this document, I will disavow any knowledge of ever having had a part in the writing of said story, unless of course, there’s a chance of getting some money out of the deal.