Devilcountry Read Online Free Page A

other like entwined lovers never to
be uncoiled.  Spinning a web of love, tenderness and transistor wire,
unhindered by life.  
    I bought it while working at Jerry’s Famous Deli
in Studio City.   The one where all the out of work TV actors hung
out.  They were all TV people.  There were never movie people in
there.  I guess they hung out somewhere else.
                  “Excuse me? Are you in possession of any
sitcom that has gone south?  Just answer the question…TV movies? Starring
Lynda Carter, Bess Armstrong, Sela Ward?  Well, that’s a bit dated, don’t
you think?  You had two lines in The Kid with the 200 I.Q. starring
Gary Coleman? WOW! Look at you over here!  Commercials?   Dog food, deodorant or douchebag?  If you would kindly
step over to the right, place your hands over your head, empty out your
syndication rights and try not to loiter too much in the parking lot.
 Jerry’s…home of the
half-way-there-but-I-just-need-one-more-season-out-of-this-pile-of-shit-that-I’m-on-so-it-can-be-syndicated-and-I’m-in-the-green-for-a-long-long-time-but-its-not-about-the-money-its-about-the-art-man-you-know
- ?- Cool!
    THIS IS THY HANGOUT
    YOUR PATRONED SAINT IS MICHAEL LANDON.  HE
WATCHES OVER YOU AND BLESSES YOU WITH HAIR DYE PURCHASED AT COST AND DECENT
CALL TIMES…
    WELCOME.
    Jerry’s was the only place I delivered where I
filled out a timecard.  After my time at Mariano’s and the agency I
decided to go corporate.  I was on the books.  It was my brief stint
as a legitimate money earner.   My descent into the
swirling, plummeting coalmine known as legitimacy.  The only shot I
had at bringing my nose up out of the depths of backdoor living and it rose
against me and struck me down with its poison.  It left me alone, afraid,
angst-ridden, angry, and those are just the A’s.  By my departure I was fully-disillusioned by the seductive world of corporate-backed,
family style, unkosher Jewish deli food dispensation.
                  I bought the TV at
Circuit City after a particularly horrible shift that had resulted in my
rightful termination.  It was the only soothing grace I could offer
myself. I was assisted in the purchase by a politically correct minority, who
had gone sober after having a rock and roll journey as a stand-in for an A-List
celebrity during the shooting of an unsuccessful action-adventure vehicle that
was geared toward the twenty and thirty-something crowd.  His tale was tall
and tragic and fell upon my sympathetic lobes.  He’d hung out with a
pre-Jesusy Stephen Baldwin, orgies with Vern Troyer, a rap album with Claire
Danes.  Only now it was all gone.
                  “This fucken Magnavox is the shit, G.
 I’ll throw in a two-year warranty and some shots of Yasmine Bleeth’s
snatch, just take it off my hands, G.”  The TV cost two hundred and twenty
bucks, tax included.  Bleeth’s quim was stunning.
                  When I was a kid I used to call it Stereo
Time.  My parents would come home from their respective jobs, yell at me
and go off to their separate rooms and watch the same channel.  I would be
in the middle room between them, trying so hard just to exist, and Mary Hart
would storm into my room and sodomize my ears about Connie Selleca’s wedding
plans with John Tesh.  Like I give a fuck they would
 honeymoon in Aruba.  What’s Aruba?  I’m twelve.  I
want to discover myself, clean up and fall asleep.
                  Fourteen years later, still at home, I
entered the same ring of fire.   TV under my arm.  Feeling good. Feeling dirty.  Most important, I felt legitimate.
  Like one of them.  Legitimacy.
 There’s a concept.  We all want it.  That blue chip stamp of
approval from those we love.  I love my mommy and daddy so much.
 Their approval means everything.  Without it I am lost.  But
it’s a fleeting feeling.  A drug the worker bee gets hooked on through
every netted paycheck.