“What’d I Drink and Who’d I Do?”
Bay: Oh shit.
Oh my fucking shit. What is that ringing?
Sitting attentively by him is Assistant. She gave her real name away when she entered The Bay.
Assistant: Mr. Bay? Mr. Bay, are you awake?
Bay: I’m awake. I’m awake. Fuck. What happened?
Assistant: Mr. Bay, your birthday was February 17th. Eight hours ago you finally stopped screaming and dancing and punching and collapsed. Do you need anything?
Bay: Answers. First, where am I?
Assistant: You’re at the bottom of what appears to be a large impact crater in what used to be the main entrance of MGM Grand in Las Vegas.
Bay: What? My party was in Malibu.
Assistant: Yes, sir, that’s where it started. We’re all very impressed by how you made it out here in your condition.
Bay: Who took me here?
Assistant: You did, sir. Apparently you stormed LAX with an assault rifle, and everyone assumed you were there for a movie or a commercial. You forced your way onto a plane, and told everyone you were taking them to Neverland, but not before everyone got “shitfaced.”
Bay: Even the children?
Assistant: Especially the children.
Bay: Classic me.
Assistant: Yes, sir, excellent work. Many of those babies will never grow into full sized human beings.
Bay: If you can’t hold your booze, then you have no business being in LA where I can get to you. My second question: WHAT IS THAT GODDAMN RINGING?
Assistant: That’s in your own head, sir. You’re probably going through Ketamine and peyote withdrawal.
Bay: Where’d I get Ketamine and peyote?
Nic Cage enters wearing a fedora, mesh tank top, a woman’s hoodie from the University of Maryland, and no pants.
Cage: Good morrow, gentle souls.
Bay: Cage! Goddamnit, is it good to see you! What happened last night?
Cage: Where? In the material plane of existence or one of the 12 other levels of consciousness I swam in over the last five days?
Bay: All of it.
Cage: Well, I became a sound and swam through the unified soul consciousness that unites and permeates all.
Bay: Of course.
Cage: I flew through the petals of a flower, each petal revealing another truth of existence before revealing to me a grand tree, it’s mighty trunk all the deeds of man, and it’s infinite branches all that has been, will be, and could be, all occupying the same space, yet remaining weightless. I believe it was Ygdrasil, the World Tree of Viking mythology. I think you’ll find that every myth and legend hides some facet of the greater truth. *takes swig from flask*
Bay: What do you have there?
Cage: This my Shamans’ Cup. It realigns all soul chambers and allows my greater parts to separate from this, my physical shell.
Cage tosses Bay the flask.
Bay: What’s in here?
Cage: Cobra venom, mescaline, bone shavings from the Ultra Vatican’s Secret Saints, the ashes from Action Comics #1, and some Hawaiian Punch.
Bay: Yeah, yeah, yeah, you made your sale. *takes giant swig*
Cage: Later, I went to new dimension I’d never been to, a gigantic, unbelievably precise city made of moving parts inhabited by beautiful spirit energies that communicated exclusively through an ancient dance that all humans understand and warm flashes of light from their third eye. They were kind enough to unlock mine for me.
Bay: Okay. Yes. Good. A place you’d never been before. How did you get there, and did you bring me along?
Cage: If I’m remembering correctly, you brought me.
Bay: I think I’d remember an impossible city.
Cage: You would, but you didn’t smoke cactus and lick frogs inside a Native American sweat lodge, did you?
Bay: Or DID I? *looks at Assistant* Did I?
Assistant: Sir, I have no idea. Apparently I’m your emergency contact after Optimus Prime, White Knuckle Adrenaline, the Vortex roller coaster at King’s Island, and “a bunch of ninjas.” I just got to Vegas and found you here. In the bottom of a crater.
Bay: Well, shit a dick. *climbs out of a crater* It looks like Present Me is going to have to hunt down Past Me, like a dog, so Future Me has something to say to the press.
Cage: A pan-time crime scene. Exquisite.
Bay: You! Concierge! What’s with the crater?
Concierge: Ah, Mr. Bay, you’re awake. Did you sleep well?
Bay: Like a goddamned drunk baby. You’re not answering my question! Cage! Grab him!
Cage puts Concierge into a full nelson.
Concierge: Mr. Cage, still choosing not to wear pants, I see? Mr. Bay, you arrived here at about 7am the previous day with what you told us was your “unstoppable prostitute army.”
Bay: Yeah, the UPA. Did they do this?
Concierge: No, you took them upstairs where they were to “gang fuck” you until your “fucking dick came off.” At which point one of the prostitutes, who is a doctor —
Bay: Was a doctor. Big difference.
Concierge: My apologies. At which the former doctor was going to “staple a donor cock on to keep this fuck train going to the goddamn moon.” We still have the penis in cold storage if you need it.
Bay: We’re good. Their vaginas wore out long before my cock. And the crater?
Concierge: Yes, the crater. Several hours after going to your floor-sized penthouse, you emerged from the elevator holding a box. We asked you if you needed anything. You responded by laughing, grabbing someone’s Pomeranian, and punting it.
Cage: Good moves, Michael. The Pomeranian breed are largely psychic vampires that sup on your chi.
Bay: You can’t teach instinct.
Concierge: So it would appear. We suggested that perhaps you should get some sleep, and offered to take you up to your room. You screamed, “I make my own sleepies,” and then threw the box across the room where it exploded. You ran, yelled, “Pete ‘Fucking’ Rose,” and slid headfirst into the crater. By the time we got there, you had fallen asleep.
Bay: All right gang, let’s get up to the floor I rented out and get to the bottom of this.
Assistant: What floor were you on, sir?
Bay: You, Concierge, hold your hand up past your face.
Concierge does so.
Bay: The 69th! *high fives Concierge*To the 69th floor! Except the Concierge!
A short elevator ride where Cage sexually assaults a ghost later…
Bay: Okay, you’re going to see some weird shit. Remember, I was all hopped on absinthe and acid and a couple of designer drugs from Israel the Council hasn’t named yet, so I can’t be held responsible for my actions because something, something.
The door is opened to reveal a pile of sleeping women, several small fires, boxes and boxes of ammunition, guns, ninja swords hung on the walls, several functioning robots, and booze. My God, the booze.
Bay: Oh, or it’s just the same. Dodged a bullet, huh? Heads up, the floors in here are like 30% bear trap.
TO BE CONTINUED – NEXT WEEK – ONLY ON NONSTOP KARATE!