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mustafio



Last Updated: 11/19/2009

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Status: Single
City: No Fixed Residence
Country: BG
Signup Date: 11/10/2005

Blog Archive
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April 26, 2009 - Sunday 
Mustafio wishes to thank his readers, both vocal and silent, who've accompanied him on this recent journey.


There will be a break.


Stay well, stay tuned...
Currently listening:
Bruckner: Symphony No. 3 (1873 Original Version, ed. Nowak)
Release date: 2000-02-22
5:30 PM 
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November 7, 2008 - Friday 
The sensory overload from the bleating, screaming, and smells, both
vegetal and animal inside the confined space of the supermarket
caused in me the spontaneous notion of flight that so many times in
the past had been misconstrued as aloofness. It so happens it's more
like a gag reflex, this sudden need to flee, for I cannot control it. I saw
Helga in a corner, breathing rapidly into a paper bag and laughing hys-
terically as he pulled it from his face, and felt my anxiety ratchet up ano-
ther notch. I had been still for quite some time, observing the action
from a solitary vantage point, unaware that Jack fell fast asleep on
my shoulder. I carefully slipped him into my shirt pocket, lest his slum-
ber be disturbed by a sudden goundward plunge, for after all he'd been
through, he surely deserved his rest. I inconspicuously made my way
out of the back room, and felt a huge weight lift as I strolled the brightly
lit, empty aisles. There were no customers, just a young man restocking
large bottles of soda, who upon noticing me, rose up and said, "Mr. Feo,
you might not have been here, but you were, and that's something I can-
not change." Then he sat back down on his milk crate and continued his
work as if he'd never seen me. I walked past the register where Marisol
was laughing at a magazine with two other girls, but they fell silent as
their eyes followed me through the automatic doors, out into the twilight.
10:57 PM 
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November 6, 2008 - Thursday 
The phone's loud ring instantly soared above the unwatched television
where an obese, crying woman confessed that her addiction to pep-
permint-flavored marshmallows had torn away at the very fabric of
her home life, and that her self-loathing had forced her into a life of
binge-eating solitude. The ring first awakened Jules' roommate, who
spun his head from side to side, screaming, "Winston, I'm-a knock yo'
ass clear into next week. Where you runnin', chickenshit?" before fall-
ing back down into a dead sleep. On the fourth ring, Jules picked it up
and weakly said, "Hello?" On the other end, Marvin spoke from a dil-
apidated hotel room as he sat on a bare mattress. The old woman lay
sleeping on another mattress separated by a night table. Weeds had
grown up through the floorboards and poked through the moldy carpet.
"Dad", Marvin said, "Our plane was diverted and I'm here in Monticello.
They put us in the Grossinger's Hotel. The conditions here are terrible,
but they promised us a nice dinner later. I'm staying in a room with an el-
derly woman I met on the plane. They tattooed our arms and I have no
idea what happened to our luggage. I'm disoriented. I don't know what's
going on, Dad, but it doesn't look good." Jules pounded his bed once
with a clenched fist, blinked his eyes three times in rapid succession
and said, "Marvin, you schmuck, can't you ever do anything right?"
11:57 PM 
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November 5, 2008 - Wednesday 
Blackstone announced that the eggs were ready, but there were only
five of them used in the demonstration, and the pilgrims, who were
now feeling the after-effects of the marijuana, looked on hungrily as
Blackstone removed the orbs from their shells and began slicing them
with a plastic knife on a paper plate. He instructed each person to take
a small piece and pass it on, all the while explaining the finer points of
his creation. In truth, it tasted like any other hard-boiled egg. I was re-
minded of my Uncle Mucosa, who used to catch carp and catfish in the
Danube and cook them in a giant pot with all the rotting vegetables in
our root cellar. He would then set up a stall with the other merchants in
town with a sign that read, 'Mermaid Stew', and would go into a long ex-
planation about it's secret aphrodisiac properties. All day long, He would
dole it out in little cups for five stotinki each, and the men, upon gesta-
tion, would pound their chests and run after the first women that passed
them. He lived on this money made from the mermaid stew for years, un-
til the Danube became so polluted that people became sick from the stew.
They'd return days later with a green pallor, weakly demanding their
money back, at which point Uncle Mucosa would become indignant and
accuse them of engaging in incest or bestiality. Soon, the customers
came no more, and he went to selling turnip vodka as a hair restorative.
10:06 PM 
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November 4, 2008 - Tuesday 
Blackstone stirred the eggs slowly with a pencil and noted that while
personally not a proponent of the slow food movement, a slow move
forward bested haste in the kitchen every time, and that all steps from
egg to chicken, from chicken to plate, had to be carefully measured
and contemplated. The pilgrims nodded silently under Blackstone's
tutelage as Jack stood perched on my shoulder and whispered into
my ear, "Why are we wasting our time educating hillbillies? If they want
to keep their hats in the past and have a quick breakfast, it doesn't pick
my pocket. Let's get the hell out of here!" I waved my hand in placation
and simply told him to watch, for I had already noticed familiar tell-tale
signs beginning to emerge. First, a woman at the front of the throng
openly breast-fed a baby, and I saw one of the men develop a purple
headband that now peeked below the brim of his hat. They bobbed gen-
tly back and forth in hypnotic unison to Blackstone's soothing words,
which not only calmed the pilgrims, but the beasts, who gingerly moved
in closer to allow their coats to be smoothed by the pilgrims' comforting
hands. The familiar smell of marijuana began to mix with the barnyard
odors, and a woman started to pass out tiny fists from a paper bag that
everyone affixed to their noses. I now recognized the faces and winked
at Blackstone who still appeared to speak, but made no audible sound.    
10:37 PM 
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November 3, 2008 - Monday 
There had been a capitulation of sorts hastened by a feeling of mutual
self-preservation that superseded the petty ego-driven battle. There was
no clear point at which the fighting between Mingo and Helga stopped,
but as everyone's attention was collectively diverted to the mad, aimless
dash of livestock, the two perpetrators felt their anger dissipate in the
ensuing chaos. Indeed, it was Helga who tackled a goat about to step on
Mingo's head, though from my vantage point, it seemed less an interven-
tion to save his life and more an indulgence in the playful affection be-
tween man and beast. There was a small coffee maker off to the side
apparently meant to service the workers in this section of the store, and
it was quickly commandeered by a pair of pilgrim women who refilled it
with plain water to boil eggs retrieved from the abandoned nests in the
toppled chicken coop. Some casual discussion relative to the exact time
a perfectly boiled egg needs quickly escalated into shouts, and hus-
bands coming to the defense of their spouses were held back from atta-
cking one another. But it was Blackstone who, peppering his diplomacy
with obscure French references lifted from the nouvelle cuisine school
of cooking and opining that a perfectly cooked egg is actually best ach-
ieved at a low simmer over a much longer period of time, lulled the pil-
grims into an anticipatory quietude with his promised demonstration.  
10:47 PM 
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November 3, 2008 - Monday 
In the midst of the commotion and confusion, Marvin was able to walk
unnoticed over to the line where the old woman was standing with oth-
er people her age listening to Shummy the Bear tell a long story about
a street merchant in Venice who lost his pushcart inside a prostitute's
vagina. The women all blushed and turned away as Shummy would
extend a paw, laugh and say, "Hey, lady, you a-see my pushcart?" in a
bad fake Italian accent. One of the old men turned to another and said,
"That's disgusting, especially in front of women. Back in our day, com-
ics didn't have to work blue. Milton Berle, Red Skelton, even that black
guy, what's his name?" The man he was talking to nodded and offered,
"Cosby?" and the first one smiled and jabbed the air with his forefinger.
"Right! I forgot his name. Cosby never worked blue. This is Buddy Hac-
kett humor. It's cheap, not my thing." Meanwhile, Shummy's entire rou-
tine derailed as he noticed Marvin hovering near the old woman. He was
asking an embarrassed blue-haired lady named Stella if she'd seen his
pushcart, telling her to look deep into his paw, but when Marvin caught
his eye, he turned serious and broke character. "Hey, kid", he said, "I
think you made a wrong turn over by Weehauken. Why don't you be a
good boy and go back to the other line. I don't think you wanna be hang-
in' around here if you wanna be hangin' around, if you catch my drift."
12:14 AM 
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October 31, 2008 - Friday 
As Mingo and Helga circled each other in a sickly dance of pre-attack,
I felt a general disdain for humanity overtake me as my gaze fell upon
the unwashed faces of the bloodthirsty pilgrims who apparently were
still not satiated after witnessing the novel spectacle of Jack's re-birth,
and now hovered expectantly with a blood lust of an entirely different
kind, a thirst for a feral spill that would ooze forth and splatter onto them
the warm liquid fear of another creature's imminent doom. I saw the
menfolk draping arms over their young sons, while women in bonnets
made rough sandwiches from foodstuffs pillaged from the outer aisles,
tearing at the pre-packaged meats with gnashing teeth, spitting plastic
onto the floor as they stuffed smoked salami into soft rolls and garn-
ished them with a flourish of random herbs ripped from the carefully
stacked produce displays behind them. The men ate these sandwich-
es from the hands of their women who were thanked with lusty kisses
and commands that grog was needed to wash down their provisions,
and were summarily dispatched to retrieve cans of beer which were
hastily opened and spilled down the aisles, creating foaming tributar-
ies that settled into a puddle beneath a revolving display of apples coat-
ed with caramel and hardened jelly, reminding me of a tooth I cracked
the one and only time I endeavored to eat one of those monstrosities.    
9:23 PM 
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October 30, 2008 - Thursday 
Though Jack's resurrection had an unforeseen outcome, I believed it to
be a net gain for all concerned, for, after all, it was he who saw the la-
tent warrior residing in Helga, undoubtedly saving us from certain death,
even though poor Iris couldn't be spared a fatal mauling from Diego's
maniacal bears. Jack's keen insight and ability to spot and utilize talent,
was an asset in any light, and I felt a surge of confidence with him back
in the fold, albeit in a truncated form. I told Blackstone it was time to re-
turn to Brother Loose's house to retrieve the Mercedes and continue our
westward journey towards London, but screams coming from the other
end of the supermarket interrupted our conversation. Jack jumped up
on my shoulder and we ran down the produce isle to find a group of
screaming pilgrims encircling Helga and Mingo, who were respectively
 brandishing a pair of chopsticks and a switchblade. I had an inking of
the petty offense that may have sparked the altercation, as I saw Mingo
wearing Helga's wig and taunting him with assumptive jibes over his
manhood. Helga, who I'd pick as an easy winner, appeared to be flus-
tered by Mingo's taunts, and though my first instinct was to intercede, I
stopped myself upon realizing that without a formal rank and chain of
command, a pecking order had to be established sooner or later, and
all the better to let it play out in a clean, well-lit, and safe environment.      
9:27 PM 
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October 29, 2008 - Wednesday 
I leaned down to Jack who was standing on the conveyor belt, and
immediately felt a prick as a toothpick-like spear bounced off my chin.
I cursed myself for having to hold back laughter at the pathetic spec-
tacle before me, and was thankfully able to summon up a measure of
seriousness the situation required. Curiously, the wrath I incurred had
nothing to do with Jack's shrunken size, as his anger seemed to stem
solely from allowing the Nazi to tear his picture into so many pieces
back at the alligator swamp. "Do you have any idea the pain I endured
because of your negligence? I have vertical and horizontal scars run-
ning across my stomach and back. When I get back to LA, I'm going to
the best plastic surgeon money can buy and I'm sending the bill to you,
you Bulgarian bastard!" I tried to apologize and countered that the perp-
etrator, for all his troubles, was left quite dead, and gently suggested
that, no pun intended, there were bigger fish to fry at the present time.
But apparently the trauma of being reanimated had left Jack with a pe-
culiarly skewed spatial perspective that deluded him into thinking that
all was exactly as it had been, save for a few scars, and whether it was
denial or otherwise, I found it impossible to broach the subject, decid-
ing it best to allow him to come upon the realization himself and trusting
that his usual level-headeness would help point us towards a solution.    
9:54 PM 
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