"Oh, Vejita, look, flying chicken legs..."
I did not mean for it to happen.
It was an accident! I swear on my warrior's honor. Dead, maimed and tortured, at one point in my existence and even now, I have fancied Kakarotto to be all these things.
But I really did not spray him with insecticide on purpose. My hand slipped. Happens to everyone. And why the hell am I trying to justify myself?
Little did I know that just a little sniff would send him reeling as if he'd gulped down ten combos of Vodka+Red Bourbon+Coke+aspirin (a very unhealthy mix, may I add).
Oh well. Let him flit around if he feels like making a fool out of himself. Which, in his case, might not be too difficult to achieve even standing still. I'll just sit there at the bar and have a piñacolada. With NO ICE, thankyouverymuch.
The Coconut Lounge.
Figure yourself a high-ceilinged room with black walls spotted with hundreds of tiny lightbulbs, and giant fake palm trees sprouting out of the floor.
Figure yourself an extremely crowded room, flooded with clouds of -Cuban?- cigar smoke and waves of mind altering music. I mean, noise.
Now figure yourself me, sitting there at the bar, in the middle of the high ceilinged and crowded room, engulfed in the afore mentioned clouds of smoke, my ears ringing with "Rrrrrrico, sssssuave....". Waiting, waiting and waiting, until dust settles on my shoulders.
What the hell is taking her so long? I thought she was only supposed to get dressed and then come down. Obviously, I thought wrong again.
I'll wait longer then, maybe until my hair turns grey. But by no means will I wait idly. May not be much of a pastime, but during the last few hours, I've acquainted myself with the people around me.
Ok, "acquainted" may be too big a word, I'll give you that. "Eavesdropping on their inane conversations " is more like it. But hasn't observation always been the best way to study the life habits of unknown species? Look at what they do on Discovery Channel...
"Piñacolada, señor."
"Gra..." Wait a second. This glass has got more ice in it than the actual drink itself. Te dije "NO ICE". ¿Qué palabra en "NO ICE" no comprendes? Crook.
Anyway, most of the people here, I discovered to my greatest chagrin, are guests at the hotel. Newly arrived guests, which means I'll possibly have to endure them for the rest of my -Bulma's- vacation.
At my right are Betty and Sue. Middle aged, bleached to the epidermis, siliconed from head to toe, tanned like overcooked lobsters, they seem to be greedily scanning the room in search of prcys. I mean, males of reasonable means and looks.
Huddled at the other end of the bar are four rather scrawny individuals I've come to call the Chalk Squad. White -pallid seems like a better choice of words here-, dressed as if they were still back home somewhere in Iceland, it seems like they took the wrong plane and landed in Mexico by mistake. Rumor has it that the Chalk Squad had all their luggage stolen at the airport and are now doomed to walk around in heavy parkas and snow boots.They're shamelessly ogling at Betty and Sue, whose radarlike eyes stubbornly sweep over everything in the area except their spot.
But the Chalk Squad members are presently looking at me with a very displeased expression on their faces, for it appears that the two lifesize Malibu Barbies are trying to make conversation with me.
What can I say? I've always been a lucky man.
Up until this bloody vacation anyhow.
"So, where are you from?" Betty cooes, batting her eyelids.
Do I really want to get into this?...Might as well. I'm so bored I think I could start talking to a wall.
"West Capital, Japan."
"How wonderful!" The other fake blonde squeals, hurting my ears. "We went there last summer!"
"Sue, darling, don't forget to mention our trip in Africa..."
"Oh, we had the most fabulous trip! No phone, no TV, no car -can you believe it???__"
Um...Might come as a shock to ya, but, yes, I can.
"__For two straight weeks! It was almost like going back to nature?"
Oh yeah? You hunted too??
Betty suddenly leans forward. She's still furiously batting her eyelashes, which makes me wonder if she doesn't actually have something stuck in her eyes. Who knows, with so much mascara on. And Kami, what kind of a perfume is she wearing? Reek number five?
"And I have got to tell about this one show we saw on our way back in Northern Africa. Moroccan puppets, for five hours straight, all spoken in Arabic! We didn't understand anything, but it was fa-bu-lous!"
Oh, then I'll just HAVE to tell you about the trip I did some time ago. I went to this place called Namec and I didn't understand anything either because they were ALL speaking Namec. How's that for cultural immersion? I had no shelter, barely any food, all that for a week straight! I even got hunted down, mugged, beaten up and killed! The law of the jungle, nature at its best! Really, it was FA-BU-LOUS.
"And...Ooooh...." Betty stops dead in her tracks. Her eyelashes have ceased all activity and she's wide-eyed, as if she's just seen Elvis just walk in the building.
"Would you look at him..."Sue whispers, breathless.
Huh? Curious, I turn around, trying to follow the two women's infra-red vision.
Over there, Kakarotto, who's in an even friendlier mood than usual, is coaxing the Chalk Squad onto the dancefloor. Nope, not the dancefloor. Kakarotto has decided to move to the rhythm of the Macarena standing up on a table...
But Betty and Sue aren't that desperate yet. It's not him they've set their sights on. It's...
"Cuuute face!!"
"Purple hair!!"
WHAT?!?
You stay away from my son, you fortune hunting, collagen injected freaks!! How old is Trunks again? Eighteen? Can I still sue them for child abuse?