FFF #20 - Mel Gibson Verses The Korean Bagel Lady

Submitted for this week's Friday Flash Fiction:

Prompt: ANYTHING GOES – Battle Royale with your favorite villians, monsters and myths.

Genre: Open
Word Count: Under 1500 words

Dedicated to Dale, who fought the Korean Bagel Lady in the original series.

It was a hot day in Tijuana, but it was a good heat, in that it was dry and several degrees higher than the current temperature in Canada. And several is a lot when you're talking Celsius. I was in the middle of my vacation, knee-deep in margaritas, burritos, and lots of direct sunlight. But it was about the time in a vacation where I started to need a taste of home. Also, there was going to be a beheading downtown in the evening and I really wanted to change into something more appropriate first.

I started the long walk back from the beach to my hotel, but there was a prostitute jam, so I had to side step it into an alleyway. I thought that if I continued in this direction then I could eventually take a right and another right and I'd be back on track towards the Casa del Suave Rico in no time.

I soon found myself wandering around and ending up in the "Real Mexico." It was tough and gritty and I was conspicuously sunburned. I kept my pace and continued in what I thought was a westward direction, hoping to at least get back to the beach, where I could be a victim of tourist traps rather than an abduction or worse.

As the sun began to set behind the buildings, a sign caught the light in a specific way, such that I was temporarily blinded. I stopped and rubbed my eyes. When the psychedelic retinal burns subsided, I was able to read the sign: La Tienda del Panecillo. There was a picture of a bagel on it. I couldn't resist heading over there. I was intoxicated by the bready aromas and the promise of some food that wasn't tortilla-based.

The bell jingled as I entered the bagel shop. I was hoping to find that they offered a cheese bagel and cup of coffee, an old favorite of mine. I hadn't stepped foot in any bagel shop since The Korean Bagel Lady closed hers down for good three years ago. She said she was retiring, but I believe she may have actually killed someone by adding bleach to his coffee and was skipping the country to head to Panama with her husband and stay one step ahead of the Mounties.

There was a small crowd around the counter. These were North Americans, if all the L.L. Bean labels and the highlighted hairdos I saw indicated anything. A man was shouting. I edged my way forward to see what was going on.

"There is something wrong with this coffee," he yelled.

"No there isn't, dumbass," came the reply.

That was all I needed to hear. It was her all right; that was what she used to call me. I could also tell by the antidulcet tones and the smirk that went with it. I was sorry I didn't already have my coffee and bagel as I settled into a chair near the fracas to take it all in.

"Yes there is something wrong with this coffee!! My tongue is numb!!!" he repeated, an edge settled on the side of his voice that made me take a good look at his face. He sounded familiar and with one good look, I knew where I knew him from: The Lethal Weapon movies they played on channel six.

"You think you famous and that mean you can yell at me, blame me for your coked-out tongue, but you can't!"

"Listen, lady," he said, wiping his face with his bandana and trying to calm himself, "I am not on coke, ok?"

"If you say so...yeah...you right, you too fat to be on coke."

Ignoring this, he pressed on, "My company hired you to provide coffee and bagels to us while we worked on our film..."

"You mean you try hire my shop but pay Mexican prices," she corrected. "I not Mexican, I Kor-e-an, deserve better. Go get some huevos rancheros from Juan if you want Mexican prices."

"But we still paid you, lady," he said keeping his calm, but I could see his hands were starting to shake, "That means we bought this coffee from you. It is bad. You need to either give us our money back or give us some new coffee, that's how it works."

"Pfft," she splurted and yelled something incomprehensible to the back room. More shouts returned.

"You know what she say about you back there?" she asked him.

"No, I don't speak Korean," he replied wearily.

"That not Korean, dumbass, that Spanish," she grinned, mocking him. "I'm bilingual, not stupid and ignorant like you."

"Fine, what did she say?" he asked. He really should have kept his mouth shut, took the coffee and headed back to work at this point. He's asking for whatever he gets now.

"She say you crazy, don't deserve good coffee."

"I...don't...I'm crazy?!?"

"Yes, and I agree. Get lost, fatty," she said, waving the back of her hand at him.

"That's it," he said, his eyes bulging, "You cannot tell me that I don't deserve good coffee!"

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!" he retorted. "I have Oscars! I have money! I am the most feared man in Hollywood! I am beholden to no studio and I don't have to kowtow to anyone. I produce my own work and I say what I want, I drink what I want and I interpret history how I want! How would you like it, lady, if my next movie was an expose on how shitty Korea is? Huh?!? How about I tell everyone what a jerk you people are?!?"

"You think you can tell the world how shitty Korea is? What, you think you surprise them? Why you think I not in Korea? I'm smart, that's why...unlike some other people in this room like you," she snotted and pointed into his face.

He jumped over the counter and grabbed her finger and twisted with all of his might. The Lady screamed and fell backwards toward the dual coffee machine. She reached for the decaf pot and pitched the contents into his face and then slammed the empty pot onto the edge of the countertop, shattering it.

"You want a piece of me?!?" she yelled, waving the shredded remains of the pot in his face.

"Aaargh!" he screamed as he toppled backwards, his face sizzling.

"Come on, fatty dumbass!" she taunted, "Show Lady Gin what you're made of!"

His assistant caught him and handed him a can of Red Bull. He hefted it in his hand and hurled it at her head with all of his strenghth. She ducked in plenty of time, then leapt onto the counter, weilding the jagged coffee pot.

"You leave now," she yelled.

"Not without my coffee!" he screamed and bounded toward her.

She shrieked and swung her leg around and nearly caught his jaw with her shin. He grabbed her by the ankle and gave her the crazy eyes and pushed her backwards.

She staggered and nearly dropped off the counter, but caught her balance. They locked eyes and began to circle one another. She dropped down from the counter and they squared off, grabbing each others shoulders and slamming each other into things.

My need for a bagel and a cup of coffee started to wear off. I thought I'd better leave before I was noticed and dragged into this affair.  I got up from my seat and sidled over to one of the members of the production team.

"Psst," I hissed to one of the ladies. She appeared to be holding the movie star's keys.

"Huh?" She said, turning to me, slowly tearing her eyes from the dannybrook.

"Jessica?" I asked, recognizing my former co-worker.

"Dale?!?" She squealed.

"Shhh..." I hushed her and signled for her to join me outside this little Casa de Loco.

We slipped out of the front door as a table crashed through the front window.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "I thought you were working for the Ministry of Labour not Mel Gibson."

"I am working for the Ministry of Labour," she expained, "I'm just undercover right now. Come on, I'll take you back to your hotel and tell you all about it."

"Won't they miss you?"

"Nah," she waved her hand in dismissal, "That prick can find his own way home. Here, jump in the HumVee."

I hoisted myself in and plopped down on the luxurious leather front seat of the paramilitary monstrosity. She climbed in to the driver's seat and got situated. She turned the keys in the ignition. The engine roared in the way that only eighty thousand dollar engines can and I was immediately chilled to the bone by a  fierce blast from the air conditioning and the Adam Lambert CD in the stereo. I hoped the windows were bullet-proof.

"Yeah, we almost had her in Toronto, but she figured out how to get to Panama on a loophole in the immigration policy. We had to let her go, but I followed her."

"Seriously?" I asked, "I mean, seriously? Why?"

"Violation of minimum wage laws. And attempted murder. I'm working with the Mounties on this one."

"How did you get in with Mel Gibson's crew?"

"Well, you'd never know it, but all of his productions are covers for covert investigations. It's a win-win. We clear the way for him to film his crack-pot histories and we slip in while the local government is temporarily blinded by Hollywood glamor."

"Wow," I said, stunned.

"Yeah," she replied, "But he might be at the end of his usefullness. I'm not sure he'll be able to take the Korean Bagel Lady down."

"Shouldn't you stick around and make sure?"

"Nah, policy says Canadians first and you are that, so I'm getting you out of this hellhole and taking you to the Mexican opera. We'll leave them to it and let the best asshole win."

Celebrities Who Appeared in my Dreams: Dale

I was getting ready for some folks to come over for my birthday when Doc popped his head in the bathroom and told me that Dale from Passion of the Dale was here.

"Really?!?" I asked, stunned.

"Yeah," Doc said, "He came all the way from Canada for your bithday."

"Huh," I said and started to put on makeup.

Once I was ready, I tried to decide how to best make my entrance. I went through a couple of ideas in my head before stepping into the garage and declaring, "Wilkommen, bien venue, welcome!"

Dale was sitting on the couch in our garage talking to my Uncle Charlie. He looked up and tipped his beer at me and went back to his conversation. I began to look around the garage and wonder what Dale's impression was. I knew he was judging and that he had an opinion. I was very curious. But this curousity hampered me. I couldn't think of anything to say to him or anyone else in the room. And I felt bad that he had driven all this way to be so underwhelmed. Until, of course the zombies arrived.

Interview Granted!

After I completed all the paperwork in triplicate, Grant Miller, of Grant Miller Media, kindly granted my request for an interview. As you will notice he's truly insightful...


1. You were an English major. Kill, fuck or marry - Grendel, John Milton's Satan or Theodore Dreiser.

Sigh. I was not an English major, though I do speak English. But, since I was a well-rounded classicist, I think I can tackle your question with some authority.

Kill: Theodre Dreiser. I would need to off this poor, depressed little midwestern man before he beats me to it. He would totally not be my type as he would bore me to tears, never getting to the point.

Fuck: Grendel. He's the original bad boy. 'Nuff said.

Marry: John Milton's Satan. He just needs the love of a good woman to turn things around and I am that woman.

2. How is it fair that record and entertainment companies reap huge fortunes from "American Idol" while the amatuer performers, often lacking agents or industry knowledge, get only a fraction?

It's not fair at all because life is not fair, sweetie. Anyone who thinks they can stand up to the powers that be in the music industry and maintain their "integrity" will find themselves playing for coins on a street corner and/or hanging out with Constantine Maroulis. However, if they play the game for a while, they can break away and produce their own work. It's called paying your dues. Everyone must do it and since most American Idol winners kind of skip that stage, it is only just that they pay the piper in some way, i.e. working for peanuts.

3. Was David Sedaris shorter than you expected? I didn't expect him to be tall, but never imagined I'd look down at him.

No, he was as short as I imagined him to be. Though he was bulkier than I expected.

4. You're from Cleveland. Recite the lyrics to Huey Lewis and the News' "Heart of Rock and Roll" without looking.

New York, New York
Isn't everything you think
It's nothing like a Baton Rouge

LA, Kansas City, Detroit
That's not where
I want to be

Then I hear the music,
the sweet sweet music
And then I realize
It's the same old
Back beat rhythm and
The heart of rock and roll
Is still beating...
IN CLEVELAND!

How was that?

5. Why should people read your blog?

I'll give you ten good reasons:

1. It's important that people keep tabs on Mel Gibson and they can do so by coming here and getting all their Mel Gibson alerts free of charge and in a convenient package.



2. My blog can sometimes be the "poor man's Grant Miller Media" because I find it hard not to rip off your bits from time to time. (See: Tags below) People seem to like your blog.



3. Well, Dale reads it. That ought to be good enough for most people.



4. My grammar is exemplary.



5. No pictures of cats. Edited to add...OK one picture of a cat.



6. I try to change the look every now and then, to keep it lively.



7. I am loyal; if you read me regularly and comment often, I'll read you. And I link.



8. It's a blog free of emoticons, abbreviations, and footnotes.



9. I never call anyone a "sick, deviant fuck."



10. I'm married to John Milton's Satan.

Thank you so much, Grant Miller, for being a regular reader and for taking time away from your busy schedule to interview me. I'd love to have the opportunity to return the favor. I'm a huge fan of yours and I appreciate very much that you have kindly pointed your readers in my direction. You are the Blogfather.

Dale Interviews Flannery

I couldn't resist the lovely Dale's offer to interview me...

You're clearly a woman of many talents Flannery Alden. Among your educational pursuits and raising adorable children, I see on your sidebar that you're writing a novel. Pretend I'm secretly in publishing and this is your big pitch meeting. What's the damned thing about?

It's about this guy, you know? He's got it all together and everything begins to unravel, starting in his subconscious. There's death, intrigue, some drama, and perhaps, for flavor, a little bit of comic miscommunication and slapstick ala Three's Company. It's kind of a saucy, psychic mystery-caper with a car chase.

...Wait...are you secretly in publishing?

2. In scouring your blog, I jealously read of your encounter with one of my favourite authors David Sedaris and the lovely anniversary present he gave you. Do you have a wish list for other authors you'd like to meet and could it in any way be as good as your time with David as I call him?

I'm not sure anything could surpass my meeting with David Sedaris unless it was a longer meeting with David Sedaris. But the following authors would probably come pretty close:

• John Irving
• Bill Bryson
• Tyra Banks (she's written a book, right?)
• J.K. Rowling

3. If you were on American Idol tonight with Barry Gibb (is he the dead one?), which of his songs or any other disco song would you perform? Would you wear the white suit or go out on your own?

Just to clarify, I believe Barry Gibb is still living. Brothers Andy and Maurice have walked on. I don't know if I could choose one song of his...I loathe most of them. But I would probably go with "Jive Talking." If it could be any disco song, it would of course be "I Will Survive." I've had lots of practice singing this song; it's on my SingStar game.

4. You and Big Orange seem to have each other's backs. Who is this big fruit and why do you like him?

Where do I begin with Big Orange? How about at the beginning...When I was a freshman in college I stayed in a dorm, like many other college students have done. During the first week of classes, our RA held a "meet and greet" for all the people on the 11th floor. I was bored. There were many lame-o's and poseurs. The introductions made their way around the room until it was BO's turn. When he began to speak, I was totally engulfed in picking the fuzz off of the arm of the cheap-o dorm furniture. As I listened to his lovely voice I was compelled to pause in my efforts of snatching the old plaid couch bald. I lifted my eyes to behold a long-haired, bedimpled young rogue who caught my heart when he mentioned casually that he played the bagpipes. Suddenly, the skies opened up and a beam of heavenly sunlight struck him as angels sang. Yes it was love.

We dated for a little over a year and then we broke up amicably. That was over 20 years ago and we're still friends. We parted ways because I was much too much of a prude to carry on with such an anarchic free spirit as himself. But he is very intellectually stimulating and hilarious. It's also extreme fun to induce a fit of giggles in him, what he calls a "pineapple upside down moment."

What do I like about him? He's smart. Very smart. Sometimes I can't keep up with him. He's probably the only person I know who can stump me in a conversation. He also finds me funny, a very important qualificiation for my friends to have. BO is a very sweet and quirky man; totally my type, if a little too much on the fringe.

Sadly, he lives a million miles away, so we only get to talk on the phone (thank God for free long distance/minutes) and through the blogs. We're both too broke to zip around the earth hanging out with each other these days. But when I run the world, you can bet he'll hold a cabinet post.

5. You seem to enjoy lists. Can you name a few things you'd like to try while you're on Earth and which you think you'll actually get to?

Hmm...OK. I'll bold the ones I think I'll get to:

1. Write and publish a book
2. Have my own talk show
3. Dance the tango
4. See Europe (the continent and the band)
5. Complete a checklist
6. Live in the mountains
7. Summer somewhere
8. Have grandchildren
9. Glass blowing
10. Make a dramatic egress without forgetting my purse

Thank you so much, Dale, for your questions. I adore you even more now.

Linka Dinka Do

New links are up to Dale and Barbara. Dale is a man who fears
my Welshish magic and pretends not to love me. Barbara is a lovely lady who makes me realize that Canada really is a foriegn country.

XOXOX