Peacing Outta Veags AKA Chapter 2 of Blue Goose Steak and Moose

Ben Olenick has to wake up exceptionally early on the morning of April 1st, 2001. He and his friend Charlie Bob Charleston are going to the Las Vegas Outlaws game at four, which would have given him ample time to sleep in, but his newly acquired girlfriend insisted that they spend the morning together. So instead of sleeping in, on the first Sunday that he has had off since May of 1997, he is dragging his ass out of bed at 6:00 AM. He has an hour before he was supposed to meet her at Trumbo’s Sports Bar on the corner of Flamingo and Maryland Parkway. She insisted that they have a Bloody Mary before they went to the Champagne brunch at the Dunes. He steps into the shower at five past six and thoroughly cleaned himself under the nozzle for the next eight minutes. From eight past to ten past six he shaves his ass, followed by a thorough tooth brushing. By 6:20 AM he’s dressing, trying to find something both appropriate for a Sunday morning date, which he was still unsure if it involved church services, and an XFL football game. The answer’s right there all along, he’ll were his spandex skull and bones body suit, completed by a full faced mask that he would stash in his pocket, with something causally dressy over it. Loosing the preppy gear just before the opening scramble for the ball.

As he is lacing up his knee high black combat boots, the phone rings. “Hello” He says, as he props the phone between his head and shoulder.

“Ben, where are you? I’ve been here since six.” Manuela’s voice pierces through his ears from the other end of the phone.

“I told you I’d be there at seven, now hang up so I can get out the door.” He responds as he hangs up the phone, collects his keys, cell phone, and wallet, and exits his condo.

He hears his phone ringing again as he locks his front door. He ignores it and walks to his car. As he approaches his fully restored 1957 Beema sedan his cell phone begins its chime. “Hello.” He responds in frustration, as he turns off his car alarm.

“I’m glad you got your phone man, I just called the condo.” A voice whimpers from the other end of the phone.”

“Charlie Bob, is that you?” Ben asks as he backs his car out.

“Yeah, man I can’t make the game today, I’m in Chile`, for services. You have the tickets, don’t you?”

Ben pops his glove compartment open as he waits at a red light to cross over Tropicana Ave. “Here they are. Who died in Chile`, that you know anyway?”

“A goat.”

“You’re shitting me, right?”

“No, afraid not. I’ll explain when I get back. Have fun at the game. Sorry I can’t make it, Ben.”

“Not a problem, Charlie Bob. Just glad the tix aint in Chile` at a goat’s funeral.” Ben quips as he ends the phone call.

The whole rest of the short drive to the bar where he’s meeting Manuela, he shakes his head in disbelief. Completely dumbfounded that his friend called him from Chile` canceling the plans they had made weeks ago. They were both in the service industry so it was difficult to get Sundays off. They both manage to get a game day off and in typical Charlie Bob fashion, he cancels at the last minute. As upset about this as Ben was, he was still anxious to hear this story. He quickly forgets all about that when he passes the Crescent Hill Diner and Manuela is standing on the side of the street flagging him down with an XFL flag. He pulls into the eatery and parks his car.

“Ben, Ben, guess what?” Manuela is yelling as she awkwardly runs to his car.”

“Shouldn’t run in heels, gonna fuck up your ankle.” He says to her as he sets his alarm.

“You oughta` know, aint that why Tark cut ya`, an ankle injury.” She comments as she kisses him on the cheek.

“How’d you know that? I didn’t tell ya. And what’s this news anyway?” Ben says, having to quip at someone for the second time today.

“Take it easy baby, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Manuela senses he’s a little upset by her remark and tries to atone for her verbal diarrhea. “My brother told me, sweetie, he was at Northern North Dakota College with you, never missed one of your games. You’ll meet him soon he’s inside with Jella, Nikki, and Jella’s man, Tyger, his wrestling name tha…”

“What’s the news?” Ben interrupts.

“I was fucking getting to it. We have tickets to the game today, except for Herb, my brother, he don’t have a ticket.”

“I have an extra, Charlie Bob called from Chile` to cancel.”

“What the fuck’s he doing in Chile`?” Manuela asks.

“Some shit about a goat’s funeral. Why don’t we go inside, don’t want to keep everyone waiting.” Ben suggests.

“Good idea.” Manuela agrees and they enter the diner.

“What the hell took ya so long?” Herb asks his sister, in the straightest sounding voice he could muster.

“Shut up bitch.” Manuela, simply replies. “Everybody, this is Ben. Ben, this is everybody.”

“Hello, Everybody.” Ben says politely.

They just mumble pleasantries and go back to their conversation about who was going to win today’s game. Nobody seems to be all that into the conversation and Ben was fully regretting the skull and bones body suit he’s concealing under his clothes. “Fucking Charlie Bob”, he begins thinking to himself as he goes through the motions of ordering his breakfast, “Now I have to go to the game with these schmucks. The more I look at Manuela’s Brother, the more he reminds me of a guy that cupped my balls at my fist NNDC party. No it couldn’t be.”

“Ben, Ben. Did you fucking hearTyger’s question?” Manuela shouts at Ben, startling him back into the conversation.

“Sorry, a little lost in thought. What was the question again?” Ben politely asks.

“Do you think the XFL will last?” Tyger re-asks.

“Most likely not, every time they try a new league to compete with the big leagues they go under. Look at the Extreme Water Polo League of New England of the late 70’s early 80’s, it went under like a lead weight. Excuse the pun.” Ben replies.

“What the fuck you talking about niggah? Water polo, what’s that shit about?” Jella pipes out.

Impeccably timed, the waitress delivers their breakfast. The conversation is stifled by chewing.

“What section are your two tix in, Ben?” Nikki asks, finally breaking the silence.

“225, I think, somewhere around there anyway.” Ben answers.

“Damn, ours are in 118, looks like you and Herb will have a little time to get to know each other.” Manuela says, as she puts her hand on Ben’s knee. Feeling the spandex underneath the khakis, but not saying anything. “The three of us will ride together to the game.”

“What are we going to do till the game? We’ve got like eight hours to kill.” Herb whines out, he’s a bit of a bitch when he isn’t being entertained.

“I was thinking we could just pack up a cooler and tail gate.” Tyger suggests.

Nobody else comes up with an alternate idea so the group proceeds in paying the bill. As the waitress is taking care of it they decide they will split up so that Tyger can get his cooler in his apartment on West Sahara and Ben can get his. They would stock them full and meet in the north parking lot of The Slammer. The whole process took about an hour and forty-five minutes, giving them from 10 AM all the way to 4 PM to get incoherent in the parking lot with the rest of the XFL fans. Ben, however, didn’t really appreciate drinking like the rest of his group, or the rest of the city for that matter, so while he was getting the cooler he slipped away just long enough to role himself a blunt. The conversation had never presented itself to date, so he was still unsure if Manuela was cool with his relationship with Mary Jane. Not that he even gave a shit at this point.

“Ben, you alright? You haven’t said but two words since we got here.” Manuela says, as she grabs another wine cooler from one of the coolers.

“I’m fine.” He responds, adjusting the way he is leaning against Tyger’s vintage tiger striped van. “Tyger, this fucking bus rocks, who did the work?” Ben adds.

“Buddy of mine.” Tyger answers as he turns from his conversation with Jella and Nikki. “He’s got a shop on Decatur. Thinking of doing a new look on your car?”

“Me, no. I like my standard black.” Ben responds, still nursing his first drink.

Jella walks over to the cooler to grab herself another drink. “Man I wish I had a J, you got any weed Tyger?” She bitches, as she pops the lid off her malt beverage.

“Me, no, my guy got busted last week bringing shit over the Mexican border.” He answers, in a dejected tone.

“I got a blunt in my glove compartment, ya’ll wanna blaze in the back of the van?”

“Hell ya`” They both answer.

Whilst Ben goes to his car to fetch the contraband, Jella and Tyger reveal the plan to the other three. Ben returns with it and they all climb into the back of the van, Tyger pulls the doors shut behind them, leaving the coolers on the ground behind the van. The six of them sit wherever they can find room and Ben lights the massive Jamaican style blunt, that his cousin from New York taught him how to roll. He takes the first hit and passes it to Nikki on his right.

“How bout some tunes?” Tyger asks, as he rifles through his carrying case of CDs.

“Yeah, you got any Backstretch Bolas?” Herb blurts out, fully revealing his queerness.

“I was thinking more along the lines of Cast Iron Stove.” Tyger says, looking at Manuela’s brother with utter disgust.

“Now your talking, bro.” Ben exclaims, as he exhales his second.

“I love them, put in the first album.” Nikki remarks, as she takes the spliff from Ben.

“Never heard of em`” Manuela admits, as she takes her turn.

“The singer is a hottie.” Jella adds, as she takes the blunt.”

Tyger pulls the CD from it’s case and spins it in a portable stereo. “Pass me that spliff.”

“Let me see the case, I want to see this hottie.” Manuela requests.

Tyger hands her the jewel case, and she begins to flip through the liner notes. They continue to smoke out the back of the van listening to the CD. After a few minutes of going around the blunt is sufficiently spent, as well as the six people who smoked it. After melting into his surroundings, Ben picks up a pamphlet of the floor and thumbs through it. After reading up on what The Las Vegas Wrestling Academy has to offer it’s students, Ben breaks the silence.

“Did you go here?”

“Graduated top of my class.” Tyger proudly responds.

“How do I open the doors, I need to get back to the coolers.” Jella asks.

“I’ll do it.” Tyger answers, getting up to open up the back of his van. “I could use another beer anyway.”

They all hop out of the van with the stagnant cloud of reefer smoke preceding them. To their surprise, two men that they don’t know are standing around the two coolers drinking beers.

“We put our beers in your cooler. Shouldn’t leave two fully stocked coolers unattended like this, somebody come along and gank them.” One of the men says.

“Well then, thanks for watching them. There’s nothing I like more then when two guys take care of my shit at ounce.” Nikki says.

“Really, I’m Vince.” The shorter of the two men responds.

“And I’m Rick.” The other guy adds, as he reaches out and gives Nikki’s tit a squeeze.

Ben starts drinking at an excessice rate. They spend the rest of the time before the partying with the rest of the Outlaws fans. Fans so desperate for a professional team that they have fully embraced the XFL in Las Vegas. At about 3:30 PM the tailgaters start the descent upon their stadium, now referred to as the Slammer, to root their team on in their quest to enter the ridiculous playoff scheme of the XFL. Ben was more then a bit perturbed when Manuela stuck him with her queer brother, causing him to drink excessively before and after he entered the arena. It was right before the opening scramble when he excuses himself from Herb to discard his yuppie outfit in a rubbish receptacle. Reentering the stands from the troth style restroom, he puts on the mask to complete his skeleton costume. Herb gave him a long stare when he reclaimed his seat, a stare that got under Ben’s skin. The game starts off slow, until the Outlaws scored a touchdown. It is then that the place erupts in cheers, it is then that Herb cups Ben’s balls, and it is then that Ben brakes Herb’s nose.

“I thought I recognized you, fag.” Ben, screams at him as Metro drags them both out of the Sam Boyd Slammer.

“What’d ya hit him for?” The cop asks Ben, as he puts the handcuffs on him.

“The queer cupped my nuts.”

“He what?” The cop that was cuffing Herb exclaims.

“Well, looks like we have a couple options here.” Ben’s personal escort remarks as they exit the arena. “You can both press charges and we can drag you downtown or you can both go home just missing the rest of the game.”

“If the fag presses charges, I will too.” Ben snipes.

“As you should.” Herb’s escort pipes out.

“I’ll drop it, but I doubt my sister will see you again.” Herb whimpers.

“You can tell that cunt, I don’t want to see her ass again anyway. Sticking me at the game with you, shit.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, she doesn’t have one.” Herb yells as he runs off still wearing the handcuffs.

“Wonder what that was about?” The officer that belonged to the pair of handcuffs remarks. “I would have hit him too buddy. Probably should find him and take the cuffs off for him.” Wondering in the direction that Herb ran in.

Ben made his way to his car and sat there for about an hour before driving home and going to bed. He was lucky enough to have the next day off as well so he was still in bed at 11 AM, when Charlie Bob starts banging on his condo door. He staggers his way across the floor to open the door.

“Back from Chile` already?” He remarks in a groggy voice.

“Late last night, how was the game?”

“Don’t know, got ejected in the first half.” Ben says, as he starts brewing some coffee. “How were the services?”

“Interesting, to say the least. Why’d you get kicked out of the game?”

“I hit Manuela’s queer brother, same one that cupped my balls at that frat party in college.”

“No shit, what are the odds?”

“Want a cup of java?”


“Sugar, cream, anything like that?”

“No, black. You working today?”

“No, you?”

“Nope, brought something back with me, wanna try it?

“Is it a chemical?”

“Sort of, a local herb, a very rare hallucinogenic one.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Ben agrees, as he brings the two cups of coffee to the living room. “Have you tried it yet?”

“No, watched a couple of guys do it though, they seemed to have a fabulous time.” Charlie Bob puts a folder he has been carrying on the coffee table, and pulls the vile of liquid from his jacket pocket. “We’ll just split it up in the coffee.”

“It aint gonna kill us, is it?”

“Hope not.” He replies, as he divides up the vile in the two mugs. “Bottoms up.”

The two men drink their coffee while Ben flips through the channels supplied to him through the local cable provider. Deciding to stop on the ever reliable cartoon channel. Three plus hours went by before Ben broke the silence.


“I Hear ya`.” Charlie Bob responds, and begins rummaging through his folder on the table. “Read this.” He demands, as he shoves the papers at Ben.

“Something you wrote?”

“Before last night, but not before yesterday.”

“I see.” Ben begins to read.

Fabulous Marmalade
In the early morning hours before sunrise last Tuesday I stopped by the grocery store in the general vicinity of Tropicana and Topaz to pick up some everyday supplies. It was after a long day of work, and I didn’t have a list to go by. I started picking up some essentials like pasta, sauce, bread, and the such, which took all of five minutes. The next forty minutes or so I wondered around aimlessly dropping interesting things into my cart. I came across some exotic roots that look like they may be quite tasty, an interesting foo foo type blended fruit drink mix, and a black Las Vegas Outlaws t-shirt were some of the things I decided I needed. As I was making my way to the register I realized that I had forgotten peanut butter so I swung by its respective isle to add it to my shopping trolley. It was there, amongst the fruit spreads, that I came across the fabulous marmalade. Lemon-Lime, I had never seen that particular flavor. It was the second to last thing that I added to my cart. The last being the new edition of The Weekly World News, I started wallpapering a room in my house with it about a year ago and haven’t been able to quit. Something in me just told me that the likes of Bat Boy would make an interesting décor.

It was just before sun rise by the time I finished putting the shit away and climbed into bed. I had planned to get up about at about one or so to try some of the marmalade on toast but that all changed at eleven when my girlfriend called pleading with me to fly to Chile with her to attend her Mother’s Cousin’s Goat’s funeral. She was paying for my ticket and I had more then enough sick days to cover my emergent departure, at least that was the impression I gave my boss when I called him to tell him I needed to attend my fiancées sister’s funeral. I layered it on thick, telling him how upset she was that her sister had been killed and how she was supposed to be her maid of honor, I even shed a few tears and sobs to collaborate my story. He fell for it hook line and sinker and granted me seven days leave.

Our flight left at twelve forty-five Tuesday afternoon, so as soon as I was off the phone with my boss I was packed and out the door. To my dismay I didn’t get a chance to try my new marmalade. I grabbed a breakfast sandwich on the way to the airport, where my girlfriend was waiting for me.
That all happened about five days ago. It is Sunday now, only been home from the airport for about five minutes. The short trip to South America has taken me to the brink of exhaustion so I think I’ll take a nap for a few hours before I try my new fruit spread.
I slept for about six hours before I awoke. I was starving, so after my nap I made my way to the kitchen and that is where I’m at now. Frantically searching high and low for something to spread my marmalade on. I swear I had bought two loaves of bread before I went but they are nowhere to be found. I know that I had a box of crackers but that too is gone, as well as all my cereal, a bag of bagels, and all my fruits and vegetables. Where the hell did it all go? I now stand here with my thumb planted firmly in my ass and ask: “Why God have I nothing to spread my fabulous marmalade on?”

“Dude, I’m out of here.” Ben exclaims, as he finishes.

“No shit, where you going?”

“New Hampshire, maybe write my memoirs.”

“New Hampshire? Do they even have stores and cable and shit?”

“Of coarse, man you’ve been in Vegas too long.”

“Dude, I use to live in Sparks. Besides that, I was just in Chile`.”

“That trip did wonders for your neurosis.”

“What about you’re new gig at the Satin Lunchbox?”

“I got plenty of savings, I’ve been bar tending too long. I’m out.”



“Shit, sorry I missed it. Did I drive you to the airport?”

“No, I don’t think you did, ya` fuck. I took the fucking CAT bus with all my worldly possessions.”

“Man, I’m an ass. Next time you fly out I’ll give ya a lift.”

“No thanks, I drive out Tuesday.”

Peacing Outta Veags AKA Chapter 2 of Blue Goose Steak and Moose

Jason Lee Jodoin

Joined August 2007

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

This is definatley crude, both in content and writing. I haven’t touched this piece of work in many years, the XFL was playing their first season when it was written. I am not gay or anti-gay, the character of Ben was created based on a guy I knew in Vegas. I never described the characters looks, Ben is African American, Manuella and hers/his brother are Latino, Jella is African American, I never really attached a race to Tyger, and Charlie Bob is White. It’s weird, offensive, politically incorrect, and in dier need of an editor. Some of you may recognize Fabulous Marmalade, that piece also is connected to a piece I was working on about a group of pigeons that stole the guys food while he was in Chile` before leaving Las Vegas for London in search of Pigeon utopia.

Artwork Comments

  • Jason Lee Jodoin
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  • Jason Lee Jodoin
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