Basket Case Blues


Suggested Audio Candy:


[1] Annie Ross “Personality”

[2] Frank Sinatra “Mack The Knife”



Kids can be little bastards sometimes. I know as much as I have been forced to endure more mockery than should be legal growing up on account of being a little different. Maybe it’s the fault of the parents; maybe the education system; or maybe the blame lies on the doorstep of the tabloid media and, in particular, the glossy trash that goes so far as to brainwash its readership with a false idea of what the body beautiful actually is. Perhaps Naomi Campbell is Pinhead in disguise and Kate Moss and co. are her Cenobites. I just knew those skinny bitches were pure evil. Whatever the motivation, ankle-biters can be something of an unforgiving breed and that’s why it’s such a breath of fresh air when one gets obliterated during a horror movie. If you ask me, they deserve everything they get. Shit munchers.


Now that I have that off my chest, I shall introduce myself. My name is Duane Bradley and I’ve just arrived in the Big Apple from a small northern town by the name of Glen Falls. I’m from down the hall in room seven or, at least, that is my temporary address. Just passing through if I’m honest; you see I never stay in one place for too long. It may appear as though I am unsettled but it’s never intentional I assure you. Moved around a lot of late and, everywhere I end up, I hear the same question. “What’s in the basket?” Ordinarily, at that point, I make a speedy retreat and hit the road before shit gets ugly. You can blame my brother Belial as he’s the one in need of anger management. We were conjoined twins until some shady surgeons decided it was time we go our own way and separated us against our wishes. Everything was fine up until then because, even when things looked bleak, at least we had each other to lean on. Now I’ve got to lug this fucking hamper everywhere I go and I think I’m developing a hernia.


I would perform meet and greet but alas Belial is fast asleep right now and generally doesn’t wake well. Until I have filled his basket with a handful of granola and a black coffee-doused rag for him to suckle, he’s ever so cranky and who can blame him? He has feelings too; albeit those being rage and blind hatred. But nobody ever gives a damn about the psychological effect this all has on my brother; they simply point the finger, guffaw until snot streams from their eyeballs, and run before the stop-motion team can set up their equipment. I’ve seen his pent-up fury and his retribution too first hand. Nasty…very nasty. You’d think that an able-bodied quarry could defend themselves against his attacks but he sneaks up when you least expect it and evens the odds akin to the stool of Robert Ginty. Some call him The Expurgator; to me he’s just bro.


So Belial gets this crazy notion in his head about gaining one-upmanship on those who wronged him and says that it’s my problem too. I guess it is; after all, we were cut from the very same cloth. Admittedly he was cut the more haphazardly but his needs are still very much my concern. There are three doctors and each of them shall pay for their insolence with their lives, but not before I get one of them to prescribe me an ointment for my hernia. I’ll do it, whatever “it” may be, and I’ll do so because of the unbreakable bond of brothers. Our tether may have been cut but there’s still nobody else I’d rather watch Eraserhead alongside. I don’t expect you to be able to entertain the concept of kinship in that pretty little head of yours and that’s fine as I just caught you checking out my lunchbox when you thought I wasn’t looking and I know where this is headed.


I must warn you in advance that I cannot be held culpable for our group dynamic; much of the experience will depend on how Belial takes to you as he has known to be a little overbearing in the bedroom. He’s a freaky little bastard for sure; there’s more than one reason for his nickname Basket Case and it has something to do with the fact that he’s got a whole different set of boundaries and they’re tenuous at best. Maybe we could start with dinner back at our apartment and see where things lead from there. I’ll leave his basket slightly ajar so as for the scent of desire to arouse his interest and he can man the pumps accordingly. If we all get along and your performance pleases him then it could become a regular occurrence. No guarantees but a ménage à trois could really help in bringing him out of his basket. Traditionally he may not have integrated well but he has needs like any other mutated man-mould and you really seem to fit the criteria.


During our more serene moments I often discuss with Belial his dreams and aspirations. He’s as stubborn as a mule that one I tell you; can’t discern the light for the darkness half the time and only has designs on inciting misery and bloodshed. I can read him like a book and know full well of his agenda but I also see a softer side nobody else does. It invariably only happens when nobody else is present and he is cagey with good reason but deep down, beneath his lumpy oatmeal exterior, is a little boy different from the rest whose only craving is for a little empathy once in a while. Should a passing stranger ask “what’s in the basket?” and the setting be correct then a lot of what plays out depends on how they perceive him on first introduction. Thus far, not one person has had the minerals not to scream like a B-movie extra the moment they feast their eyes on his mildly uneven appearance. They’re all just asking for a can of whoop and living in a picnic hamper leaves plentiful space for a sixer at least.


I’m telling you this as I think we may have something here worth exploring and don’t wish any harm to befall you. Try to act indifferent; maybe offer him half a Twinkie or a slurp on your ice-cream soda float. Then perhaps a comment about how dashing he looks would be an astute next move but don’t go reaching in or you’ll likely draw back a deep red cauliflower. Take your time; seduce him with your eyes and hold unflinching contact to set him at ease. His favorite song by Frank Sinatra is Mack The Knife and I own it on vinyl so I’ll set the tone accordingly and leave a trail of peanut butter jelly to a gelatine treat which I shall rest on your bare buttocks. I know it’s a risky endeavor; trust me, I know what I’m doing here. I may not know much being a country lad and all but I do know my brother. He adores peanut butter jelly and it gets his metabolism working the right way. If you have any open wounds then now would be a good time to share as we can easily reschedule. I’ll also need to be fully aware of your cycle; I apologize for any formalities. So what say you? Are you up for this? Great, I’ll go dim the lights, grab the vinyl, and pour us a drink. Wait right there.


You can kiss me, it’s alright. Remember, no sudden moves, and let the mood take you wherever that may be. That feels really nice, I have to admit that you’re getting me all het up. Don’t be shy, I won’t bite. Would you mind if I have a feel around beneath your blouse? Get acquainted and see where the land lies? Thank you, I promise to be a most attentive lover. Feel free to slide your hand down my pants and don’t be alarmed if you come across a rolled-up gym sock. Belial received certain endowments while I was left wanting I’m afraid. I feel as though we are really forging a connection here. Would you have any objection to me unfastening your bra? There we go, that underwiring must’ve been uncomfortable. As my dear old grandmother said on her death-bed “better out than in.” I know that the gelatine must feel cold right now against your bare buttocks but it is crucial to our plan. Try and remain focused at all times, I can see your eyes deviating from our rendezvous and he’ll never come out with an audience.


Don’t look now but I think he is stirring inside his basket. I can discern movement and faint growling; try to ignore the latter as he hasn’t snacked since lunchtime and that’s probably just his tummy making its point. Just continue exactly as you are and we should be guaranteed of a good time. I’ll continue to provide the running commentary and, I have to say, so far it’s thumbs up. There he is, hello brother, how art thou? That’s a shame Belial. He didn’t sleep well apparently. It was the bus journey; the driver found a couple of pot holes in the road and it woke him from a particularly lurid dream. He’ll be fine, the peanut butter jelly is going down a treat and he’s taking the bait just as I thought. Told you I would make this work didn’t I?


Whatever you do, don’t act alarmed. It’s nothing catastrophic, just a blip I’m sure. You just keep nuzzling and I shall inquire about what has him ruffled. It’s probably something minor; maybe the room temperature isn’t to his liking. No, that can’t be right, I set it to twenty-three degrees just as he likes it. Bear with me sweet cheeks, we share a psychic bond so I’ll just relay whatever he says back to keep you directly in the loop. Oh dear! It would appear that brother has taken umbrage with your hair color. He prefers redheads you see. I meticulously planned the whole seduction to the letter but forgot the one crucial factor which could make or break our experiment. Brunettes make him furious. It’s okay though, he assures me that he can have that off in no time and I’m assured it’ll grow back to its lustrous former glory in about six weeks.


You’re putting up too much resistance; try not to wriggle so much as it is making him grow more frustrated and that’s the one thing we don’t want right now. There you go, that wasn’t so bad was it? Trust me, it’s a good look for August. Okay, I don’t wish to blow smoke up that nectarinal little ass of yours so I’m just going to get this out there. Your areolae are uneven and that’s a bit of a bugbear with Belial. Actually it’s a deal breaker. He also objects to that ankle tattoo. Grab your clutch bag, wait until I give the word and…RUN! Okay, change of plan…HOP! Here, I’ll throw you your nipples. Good catch. Now bounce your child-bearing hips out of here before he notices that your asshole is bleached. Did I say that out loud? Looks like I did. Belial…NO!


You! Back in the basket…NOW! I’m very disappointed in you brother. Do you have any idea of the effort I put in for you? That gelatine was for you, ya know. I don’t care if it tasted like bleach, that’s your problem now. You just think about that when I shut that lid. You know what that means don’t you? That’s right, we shall have to leave town post-haste. You of all people should be more accepting of folks’ idiosyncrasies. She was actually a rather agreeable young lady and now it is I who am left to clean up your mess once again. What would you do without me Belial? Now get back in your basket, I don’t want to hear another peep from you until we arrive in the next town. I’m taking the Greyhound and will purposely take a seat as close as I can to the rear wheels as punishment. Maybe then you’ll learn how to keep those emotions in check. Yes I will throw her cadaver in for you to masticate on the journey. How else am I suppose to dispose of the body? But consider yourself lucky buddy boy. Goodnight. Of course I’m aware that you didn’t mean to cock block me. Yes Belial, I love you too.


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