Mandela

Lots of shit happened during the escape from the zoo. But let’s keep it short. There was a tunnel. A tunnel of shit that I was dreamin’ to get out of the moment I stepped into the fucking thing. Nothing to see. Pitch-dark, and hot. Never did I want a glass of fucking water more than when I was in that hole. And to make things even more of a pain in the fucking nuts, while I’m all hot, sweaty, and thirsty, one of the Nazis—not sure who—kept pinching my ass. How do you tell an Adolf to stop cupping your cheeks while you’re scrambling to freedom in a fucking shit tube? You don’t! Eventually me and the Reich split up. Then there was lots of running. Dirty alleys. Dogs bitin’ at my sprained ankles. Blah blah blah after that, until I made the fucking phone call. “Hello?” “Hey, baby.” “Baby? Who the fuck is this?” “It’s Toupee, baby.” “Toupee?! You’ve got a lot nerve calling me baby, you piece of shit. You got a lot of nerve calling me at all.” “Come on, baby. I know you don’t mean that. How could you, with what we’ve been through together? What I’ve done for you. What you’ve done for me. What we’ve done for each other, baby. Remember when we went to Frisco, baby? Remember when we got juiced on the Golden Gate, baby? Remember getting all juiced with your baby on the GGB, baby?” “Stop calling me baby, you bald fuck! You want to eat me out over the phone to trick me into doing some stupid bullshit, at least call me by my name.” “All right. I’m sorry, Tracy.” “My name’s not Tracy anymore, fuckhead! I changed that shit!” “You did?” “Yeah. I got bored with it so I changed it. That’s what I do.” “Well, what’s your new name?” “Mandela.” “Mandela? As in Nelson Mandela?” “Yeah, just like Nelson Mandela but without the Nelson. I stumbled on some shit about him online, and I liked the sound of it. What do you think?” “I don’t know.” “What do you mean you don’t know?” “I just think it’s a little strange.” “Oh, so I’m strange, huh? And what does that make you? Normal? You Mr. Normal Guy now? Gimme a break! You wouldn’t know normal if it crept up behind you and fucked you in the ass!” “You’re not worried it might offend some people?” “What do I care what people think? I don’t go out.” “Yeah, but…” “Hey, I don’t like this judgmental tone. You better change it, or the next tone you hear is going to be a fucking dial tone.” “Fine! Don’t hang up! Congrats. Congrats on your new name… Mandela.” “Yeah, thanks for nothing, sleep-dick. So what the fuck do you want?” “I just busted out of the zoo. I need a place to lie low for a while.” “Holy shit! You got a lot of nerve calling me with this bullshit! Let me get this straight: You knock me up, shit on my floor, and steal my microwave, and two years later I’m supposed to give you a fucking hiding place?” “Look! I’ll make it worth your while. I got some big deals going down that I hooked up with some filth on the inside.” “Bullshit! You didn’t make no deals with no filth!” “I did! I swear! Big deals! Like Deal or No Deal types of deals. I’m gonna make everything right, Mandela. I’ll right all my wrongs I did yuh.” “You take the kid.” “What?” “You take this fucking kid when you leave. I can’t stand looking at him. He’s got a shit-face just like you. A dirty shit-face just like his no good papa. You take him with you when you scram, and it’s a deal.” “Fine, I’ll take the kid. What’s his name again?” “Artichoke.” “Artichoke? What’s with you and names?” “I told you I don’t like him, didn’t I? Guess what else I don’t like. ARTICHOKES! I hate ’em. Almost as much as I hate you. So is it a deal or not?” “Sure. I’ll take Artichoke.” “Great. When can I expect your stupid ass? I’ll make sure not to tidy up.” “I should be there tonight. I’ll come in through the back. Oh, and Tracy—” “MANDELA!” “Sorry! Mandela! Mandela…” “What?” “You still got my back-up toupee?” For those just tuning in, the above excerpt is from an unpublished manuscript entitled Toupee by Brett Gelman. A few months back, VICE discovered it and a cache of corresponding Polaroids inside the cistern of a toilet in an empty Joshua Tree apartment. Brett is still MIA, but we recently received word that someone spotted him collecting dirty needles from the gutters of San Francisco’s Tenderloin district. Read previous installments of Toupee here.