127 Express E-Book

Alessio Chiadini Beuri

• Herausgeber: Tektime
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 248

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A collection of travel-themed stories with four really over the top protagonists: Spanky, Moobs, Fangio and Zanna. On board of a vintage blue FIAT 127, they will travel far and wide in adventures and undertakings bordering the ridiculous and grotesque in pursuit of life and laughter, the indissoluble glue of a group of friends who don't care where and how, but with who.

When the journey means evasion, but you only have a blue 127 and you are forced to review the plans. You say, okay, it won't go far but at least the company is good. After all, friends are the best witnesses of our life. Too bad that friends like Fangio, Zanna and Moobs would be enough to give you a life sentence. The best bags are those that yousomething from. Zanna, for example, has lost his trousers. Fourteen stories, one behind the other like the coaches of a train, the 127 EXPRESS, to find out what kind of traveler you are: the one who stands next to the window, the one who lengthens the legs under the front seat, the one that leaves the suitcase in the middle of the corridor, the one isolated from the world with the music in their ears.

Leseprobe

Alessio Chiadini Beuri

127 ExpressWhat counts is the journey

Transl.: Gaia Santacroce

Cover: © Alessio Chiadini Beuri

©Alessio Chiadini Beuri 2022

Introduction

Walkabout

127 Express

Millennium Fart

WAZZAPAMANI Showband & Review

Vlady Jones's Locker

Fart By Me

I'm a Queen!

One Flew Over the Cockoo's Nest

Moobs on a hot tin Roof

The Great Endurance

Carol

The snake charmer

Fangio University

Fastforward

Contacts and Greetings

Introduction

127 EXPRESS is a book about journeys.

As the journey is evasion from everyday life, each story in this collection is a breath of it is a breath of light-heartedness and absolute, crystalline freedom. Of expression, of soul, of body.

One leaves to stop thinking about problems, to put difficulties on hold, to forget someone, to find answers.

Sometimes a journey can be physical, sometimes dreaming or longing dearly for something is enough.

That’s why what matters is the journey, because it is the road, we travel that really changes us and not the final aim, that we may never see. The journey seen as a discovery of ourselves, of our limits, of what is different. Traveling to break fears, to learn silence and sing out loud as we never thought.

The journey of the flesh and the spirit.

Of low and high things.

Of virtues and shame.

The protagonists of this book are four friends that share an apartment in downtown Bologna, Italy. They enrolled in university, but saying they are students is too much. Between them, they call themselves Spanky, Zanna, Moobs and Fangio… but at the registry office they are Enrico, Martino, Alex and… Fangio.

Spanky, apart from being the main narrator, is the most rational one, the most balanced. It is his perennial undertaking to mediate the strong characters of Fangio and Moobs, resolve the depressive states of Zanna and bring balance to the Force, albeit brief.

Zanna lives in a world of his own and that’s why every incursion in the reality is for him a bizarre trip. So when he finds himself dragged by the other three on their pilgrimages full of aperitifs and poor in conscious meanings, he cannot help but gasp in amazement and not lose sight of them for a second.

Moobs is the proud link between the human being, the Terminator and a warthog. He is beautiful like a Greek god, he knows no shame and once he smells you, he can find you anywhere.

Fangio is by definition "annoying to watch", as ugly as hunger. He's got a ponytail, the bulging buzz of a hard drinker on an otherwise stunted body and a tuft of hair sticking out of his backside. He does not know the elegance in dressing and proclaims himself the Guru of Looove of the other three.

The Fiat 127 is the fifth real protagonist, an old lung inherited from Zanna’s dead uncle, Vladimiro Zanetti, which knows how to rescue you when you need it.

While in Walkabout you will start to know them, and when you think you understand them, they will go, exactly as a respectable Walkabout evening foresees. MemberKid, a historic friend of Fangio's, will make a brief appearance with news that will leave everyone speechless. You’ll hear about Virginia and Cecilia, sometimes, the two unfortunate girls who share the apartment with the four rowdy. I didn't feel like introducing them to you, however, because they deserve a bigger narrative arc. They will return, in a few months, in “Who more KING than us”.

Then it will be the turn of the first "saga" of this collection: four stories (127 Express, Millennium Fart, Wazzapamani showband & Review, Vlady Jones's Locker) during a car trip to Verona and the delivery of a mysterious box, legacy will of Zanna's uncle. The gas stop, nighttime taverns, bar fights, tea and cookies.

In the Moobs Saga (Fart by me, I'm a queen!, One Flew Over the Cockoo's Nest, Moobs on a hot tin Roof) you will discover that camping nights can be too long and that scented candles are not always a good buy. You will learn the true purpose of rickshaws and how to set up a tent. You will have to face, along with Spanky and Fangio, a side of Moobs that will make you tremble. Free aperitifs and bodysurf on the house.

In The great Endurance you will witness a relentless fight between Moobs and Fangio that could put an end to their friendship. You will know the importance of socks and how beautiful Beach Volleyball is.

In the Fangio Saga (Carol, The Snake Charmer, Fangio University, Fastforward), our boy will have to face a truth that has been ignored for too long and will have to painfully decide which path to take on that crossroads called Life. Spanky, Zanna, Moobs and MemberKid will help him in the undertaking, in a completely new role.

And this for the moment is all, have a good trip!

Walkabout

For the reading of this episode: Land Downunder – Men At work

"What the hell are you doing here?"

What a start for a night that should have been legendary.

Friends are the only family which will never turn its back on you, if even if you are an unbearable dickhead who tries with every mean possible to sabotage the joys of others and sniff other people's girls like a hound.

A family won’t turn its back on you even if you are Moobs. And that’s exactly what we did during the night we spent at Walkabout the 8th of March, women’s day. A crazy shit, in my opinion. The day, not our night. Our nights are always shit. Everybody knows the story behind the 8th of March, so I'll spare you the lesson. I do not have anything against the female gender, this needs to be clear. In good days, I would fuck a good 40% of it. In dry periods, the percentage rises up to touch 80% of candidates. 0% instead is only for when I am in love. Who of your boyfriends can say the same? ALL OF THEM, effectively. But knowing they are lying. I am not. Think about it. Call me. I am almost certain that women in our days have h undergone a considerable mutation from the generation, let’s say, of our grandmothers. Now, I do not want to hear the feminists scream submission, male yoke, equal rights and so on. Go shave your pubis and let's talk about it again. You got equality, I’ll say, and every time that the cowardly male dares to say something, even if only "My love, you have just put out the cigarette on my scrotum" you get angry and vomit on the unfortunate two hundred years of bile that no one knows how you managed to inherit. The woman after ‘68 is like one of those loser kids, puny and insignificant that we always made fun of in high school. And then one beautiful day, they enter the class and, without saying a word, start shooting. But then we see every day how they resolve conflicts: the burning envy, the atavistic anger, the stabs in the back, the sideways words, the grim looks, the fucking of others’ boyfriends.

Men simply measure their dick and that’s it.

So, what is the night at WALKABOUT Night. Everything started with a question: why bother for hours in a place that can't offer us what we want? Why don’t we have the courage to change? Why stay 3 hours to look at a girl sitting at the bar trying to find the right words only for her to leave without you being able to say even a fucking word? There is the need to have deadlines. If your minutes are numbered, if you know you only have half an hour before leaving for another place, your mind is emptied of all fantasies, all fucking doubts to put you in front of just one thing: the PRESENT. The only rule of WALKABOUT is this one: you cannot stay in a place for more than thirty minutes. At the end of that time, you have to leave, without exceptions. It is not required to pick up a girl, order something or talking with somebody. You can just sit down and scroll on your phone. Nobody cares, the social animal that is inside each one of us will eventually wake up from hibernation. In the condition that Moobs was, we couldn’t ignore him, also ‘cause he kept on spitting in our coffee and since the house moka doesn’t make cappuccino, there is nothing to be happy about. So that’s us outside our apartment, me, Boobs, Zanna and Fangio, the head of the expedition. He knows all the hot spots of the city, the boiling points: where a fresh man risks incurring in an overdose of their own sperm: at the sight of so much feminine grace, the body responds by increasing the production of sperm troops which, ready for the battle, go to position themselves at their combat posts. The landing was in Vulvaland. Then, right at the bottom of the stairs of the building, like a ghost, an apparition, a spirit, MemberKid was waiting for us: skin cancer tan, sleeveless as if it were August in hell, the serene smile of someone who has not disappeared for two months without being heard or sending a notary to read his will.

“I came back from South America, chicos!” He replied to the question of Fangio, who was pretty pissed.

And we thought he was giving his ass off in the worst bars in Caracas, better that way. We're all single tonight. Potentially, at least.

The first stop is a small glamorous pub frequented, for the most part, by Erasmus students. Good run for our money, in short. Money, which, if necessary, becomes dinero in the Spanish evening, مال in the Arab one and denaro when there is an elven aperitif.

Everyone is very intimate here, in the sense that asses and kisses rub so frequently tha boner could be the name of the house cocktail. There is a lot of fog, I don't know why since smoking is forbidden, and the furniture in the room is left to the designer lamps and shelves full of books. I find it cool: there are a lot of ideas in books and if you are a discreet reader you can keep half of the pub's attention for at least ten minutes. Just enough to leave a mark and be remembered.

In my personal experience, Harmony are the perfect readings to do aloud: spicy topics, stereotypical dialogues you can play with and situations that are so idiotic to make you laugh even recited by David Attenborough.

Okay, maybe that’s too much.

However, the Parquet remains an excellent place for language experiences… LANGUAGE!, to taste the exotic tastes of the world, for adventurous and mononucleosis palates.

At the end of the time we went to Laser, a bedlam venue intended for an undefined customer target: ranging from diner furniture to the billiard room, from the stage for live concerts to a large wooden gazebo at the entrance. The counter is kilometers long and there are waitresses for all tastes, soft lighting, good music and counter elbows. Zanna must have been distracted for a moment as he's been playing pinball and forgetting the effect it has on him: the flashing lights, the beeping and twinkling sounds and the digital helplessness against the fucking force of gravity have the ability to bring out the beast of Satan that is in him.

Swearing and insulting a plastic and iron light box can be inconvenient if you are trying to pick up a girl. I mean, not that it's a problem for Zanna, since with his Spanish girl everything is going fine, but you must keep in mind that what you do will probably have repercussions on the whole team. None of us, therefore, could save him from the mighty slap of Moobs which overturned him.

The bathrooms are adjacent to the common entrance, which allows us to finally answer the question that has kept philosophers awake at night since the dawn of time:σκατάπουπηγαίνουνστηνπαραγωγήτουςτομουνίστομπάνιο (what the hell are girls going to do together in the bathroom)?

They complain, whimper without dignity of unrequited loves, gossip about the slut who poses as a femme fatale, they hold the bag while the other squats.

Nothing fancy, but now you know it.

In nights like this, even if when you go back home, you feel like you have not accomplished anything, they almost always grant a legacy. Whether it is considerable or not depends on how much we can make of it.

The group is our fortress, our shield, our mansion. If it were not there, we would sail on sight without tools, with the risk of running aground and breaking the hull on the rocks of shame.

For this reason, every group of friends is also an obstacle, a prison, a nest of cotton wool that keeps us warm from everything.

Who hasn't happened to meet the gaze of a beautiful girl or a mysterious-looking young man and feel blocked, not so much by ourselves, but by the people around us?

Companies are a big hindrance when you want to start a conversation: you must not only impress the person you are interested in, but you must also overcome the resistance that their group, unwittingly, moves against you.

Now listen to me carefully because what I will tell you could change the history of all ars amorosa from Casanova onwards. The Miyagi Diagram.

The Miyagi diagram is shaped like a cross-eyed breast, the result of a failed mammoplasty.

The boy from Group A and the girl from Group B have to face each other to look at each other. In this position it is almost unthinkable that they would start talking, things should be shouted from one side to the other of the crowd of people that separates them. If one of them does not get rid of their entourage, the two strangers, who could also have loved each other, will leave without even having heard the name they wanted.

Since women never stop reminding us that the cavalry is dead, I thought of a solution that takes all of this into consideration.

A word is enough, a universal code that leads to action: at the shout of SENSEI, the members of the groups should begin to turn, bringing the two young people to meet and exchange numbers, fluids and everything they owe.

I'm not saying it will be easy. But if you help me, ten years from now, the word Sensei will echo strongly in all the clubs of the world. I don't know if I deserve a prize, but if there was, at least the Nobel Prize for Pasture should bear my name.

And now here we are, the third bar of the Walkabout: the Heptagon.

The Heptagon is an alternative pub that has been in style lately. You go there if you are someone, you go there if you are nobody. It is a social stage for the entire city: sooner or later everyone passes through it.

Housed in what was once an old warehouse on the second floor of a large appliance store, it has a large alcoholic suicide terrace and a too modest parking for the comings and goings it is supposed to accommodate. The furniture is varied and slightly vintage: there is no chair, armchair or table that is the same as the other; the DJ corner is reduced to the bone and the bathroom door falls in love with your nasal septum every time you have to pee.

At Heptagon everyone is free to do and be whatever they want, the air of competition is so low as to make it a perfect test bed for all kinds of love techniques. I would not be able to explain the reason why, I think it is a question of alchemy. At the Heptagon you are not judged, we are like many white mice who have to reach the end of the maze. Audacity and madness.

Sucking into an armchair sipping kalua coke like a pro, Member * waited for 11.42 pm to tell us:

“Guys, I am getting married”.

What kind of noise does a news like that makes?

The one of a chair and an ass that fall loudly on the ground. Fangio.

We, on the other hand, had no words. Maybe the loud music played a bad joke on us.

"How much did he drink?" asks Moobs.

"That's the first drink, and it's all ice." I replied.

"What's up?" Member* asks him.

"Do you even have the courage to ask what's up?! Holy shit, did you hear yourself?! ". Fangio gets back on its feet.

"The thing that I'm getting married?"

"He said it again! I do not believe it!" Fangio yells addressing the Heptagon customers who look at us distracted without really seeing us.

"Congratulations!" compliments Zanna.

"Here he is going to cry like a pussy! Moobs, go and hold his hair while he's throwing up! " downplays Member *.

"I thought you had had enough of weddings!" I say.

“And that was true, my friend, until I met Marcela. Never turn your back on providence, Spanky..." he winks at me.

"What then buggers you!" yells Fangio seeking our approval.

“She's from Rio. She is a fantastic dancer, I met her at the carnival! "

"And does she have balls?" Moobs jokes, pretending to weigh a testicular bag with his hand.

"It's all fine".

"But is she dying? How bad is it? Did the doctors let her go anyway with the severe mental deficits she has? Does she know that you are a sex maniac? Where do you plan to park her whole family? " Fangio is a train launched at insane speed against a school.

"We are getting married at the end of April".

"Why wait so long?"

"For the bachelor party".

"Just know I will be dressed for a funeral."

"Something worse awaits you."

"It's hard for me to think what it could be."

"You will be my best man."

127 Express

For reading of this episode: Small Town– John Mellencamp

"After you’ll put it back in, right?" I asked distractedly as the traffic flowed slowly under a spring heat that smelled of Apocalypse.

"Of course, if I won’t, it’d dry up. I’ll use it, I care about it."

"But how the hell did you get cold in April when it's fifteen thousand degrees under the shade?" Moobs asked, gazing at the chapstick in Fangio's hands.

"Eh, dear", he replied, "When love takes you, it doesn't offer you wine and asks you if cleaned your ass!"

"Of course you could have left the cold room..." I objected, unleashing my eyes over the intersection.

"Did Wan Kyu set you aside between a spring roll and a frozen prawn and made love to you?"

"HUAN KYU... more or less: she took me, she grabbed my testicles firmly and served herself on me." said Fangio holding nuts that we can't see.

"And how was it? Has the nian gao been seasoned? " Moobs asked, shocked by the story. If he found a girl as infatuated as he is, the encounter would create a hormonal paradox, the result of which could cause a chain reaction that would unravel the very fabric of the boxer-thong continuum, and destroy the entire universe! I recognized that it was the most pessimistic hypothesis: the destruction could be very limited and especially limited to our apartment. Great Scott!

"Now I understand why the Chinese are conquering the world," he replies, dreaming.

Fangio no longer worked at the Indian pizzeria. After having gone into hiding for two months he has never been renewed his contract.

That's right, we live in dark times. He now works at a Chinese rotisserie. And he just got banged by La-Ming's daughter, the boss’ daughter, Huan Kyu. Huan Kyu Da-Dong.

"The only thing that bothers me a bit is my butt..." he admited.

"Did she use chopsticks?" asked Moobs.

"No, I leaned against the door without underwear and you know... skin and frozen metal don't go well together..."

"You mean that…"

"I couldn't pull myself away anymore, …. yes."

"And how did you do it, with a jellybean between your legs?" I asked sarcastically while the horizon continued to disappoint expectations.

“Eh, no, Huan Kyu helped me. She propped herself up against the door with her foot, she took my hands and she... she pulled..."

"Uhhhhhhhhh ……" I shared the pain.

"Oh yeah!" he confirmed.

"I mean, do you mean that now, in that rotisserie there is a shape of your ass made of skin?" Moobs, doubled over with laughter, slapping the buttocks of Fangio who reared up shooting a curse.

Ten steps away is Sahid who, hoping to be included in our circle of friendship, smiled at the scene with his hands crossed over an apron full of his big belly and stains that someone who sells fruit and canned foods shouldn't have. Blood, pee, shit.

From here it seems, at least.

We are under the porch, in front of the entrance to our building, it is Saturday, it is so hot that we cannot even sweat because the liquids evaporate instantly and instead of going looking for some fountain, pond, puddle to wallow, we wait for Zanna, of whom there is not sight.

"Where are we going?" Fangio remembers of not knowing. Basically he doesn't care. When he smells revelry, revelry or the possibility of making a healthy mess, he pushes himself into it with his head down. Reckless and brash.

"Don’t worry! What matters is the journey! " Moobs says, even if he doesn’t know as well.

"TONANT bullshit !!!" he rebelled."You wanna tell me that you aim for a girl, you sand off your ass to conquer her, you convince her that you are a boy deserving to hear how she screams the name of the Lord and when you are finally about to lie down together, you let her get knocked by someone who came out of nowhere? No thanks. You did not understand shit! I’ll make him shit out of fear! " Yes, of colitis, not of fright. I remind you that the Fangio does not inspire fear, it’s awful to watch.

"There he is!" I yelled pointing to a car parked at the traffic light down the street.

"But where did he go parking? in Mexico?"

There he is Zanna inside that car, a blue Fiat 127 that coughs and spits smoke.

Zanna, pompous, leaned out of the window and, smiling, looked for signs of appreciation in our gestures and expressions: I had my hands in my pockets and a small frown on my forehead; Fangio scratched the drinker's buzz peeking out from the Panter's shirt; Moobs' was chasing a butterfly.

"So?!" asks Zanna, not at all defeated in enthusiasm as he came to stand on the sidewalk in front of us.

The bodywork was not that bad considering that it belonged to his late uncle and that the last time it left the house, the Berlin Wall was still a fence. Something is wrong with the engine: either Zanna has a spastic foot or his clutch - gas coordination is shit. The 127 was frightening sobbing and venting like a gaping sphincter. It seemed to look at someone who tries eat while they are about to vomit. Today colorful metaphors, I know. It's just that I didn't digest well last night.

"And where do you plan to go with this?" Moobs was amazed while the engine in neutral gasped in retching.

"To the landfill." I presume.

"If all goes well, in a ditch." Fangio.

"Did you get it at an Al-Qaeda sale?"

"Oh, don't worry guys! Look, this car is a jewel! "

"Bowel, Zanna, it's pronounced bowel…!" Moobs corrects him.

"Come on fools, get on!" he cheered

"But wasn't there something else, I don't know, a better stuff? A camel, some skates, a walker? " Fangio asked, unhinging the passenger seat to slip behind him while the Saiyan tail sticking out of his low-waisted pants took away some of my joy for life."

"You will change your mind!" Zanna clapped his hand on the dashboard, as to pet that old friend of hers. A cloud of dust surrounded everything.

“They made these cars out of asbestos, right? Thank goodness, so I die and I don't think about it." I got up to give him a pat on his shoulder.

Moobs seemed the only positive about it. His eyes look like the ones of a child during Christmas morning sparkling out of nowhere.

We were waiting for him, Zanna had his hand on the gearbox, I straightened the seat that slams me happily on my knees and Fangio was already exploring that automobile heirloom in search of fetishes and so on.

Moobs, however, did not get in, not yet. Zanna beckoned him to move, he raised his hand asking for a moment. Then he took a couple of steps back and suddenly throws himself inside the car.

"LIKE STARSKY & HUTCH !!!!!" he yelled as he throws himself on the hood.

Before we knew it, he already did it. We could just stand by and watch. Looking back at the momentum, the powerful athletic gesture, the ass that, instead of sliding to the other side as one would expect, sank into the hood. Now, apart from four wheels and a steering wheel, I saw only one other feature in common with the legendary car of the San Francisco Crusaders: FIAT is from Turin and FORD has the Gran Torino. STOP.

Ah! We have the Great CRETIN.

Zanna, incredulous, threw up his hands. Also Moobs was in the same mood, but for a completely different reason. Fangio, on the other hand, chuckled. I was covering my eyes.

Moobs got out slowly, while car sheet complained (To-TONK!) But it is unable to return to its original shape: the basin remains there. A bird trough. Like Mia Khalifa’s.

"Hey, the dimples on the back of a girl are hot! See it like this! " Fangio stops the laughter to say this bullshit. Zanna was disconsolate, that's all. In response he just gave a listless grunt.

Moobs finally decided to get it. He does it as if he were invisible, as if, in order not to be caught by his parent, he had to get into bed as quietly as possible and didn't even lift the sheets to keep them from rustling.

"Good!" he then exclaimed, clapping both hands on his knees."Snack?"

Everything has a starting point.

It was also for us: just the beginning.

Millennium Fart

For the reading of this episode, we recommend: This way to happiness - Glenn Frey

To be forgiven, Moobs bought breakfast to Zanna.

The trouble with him was not having been able to resist the charm of my and Fangio's eyes. So he opened his heart and bought breakfast for us too.

What a breakfast!!!

This month the barista will be able to get a pizza and a movie. When we left, he wanted to go ahead to throw CIPS petals at our feet.

Once the driving orders and the main rules were established (“Fart Free, I'd say!”), we set off in earnest.

God, it's not that we could fly, but at least we could catch the wake of the three-wheelers to overtake them. Before, on the ring road, a tractor pulled us out.

Memberkid could not come. He was overwhelmed with the preparations for his wedding. He is terrified.

Fangio, who will be the best man, had promised that he will not ridicule any of the bride's relatives, himself or the priest. In the meantime, by the way: Moobs was studying to be able to officiate. Nobody asked him, by the way, and I don't think Member will ever marry in international waters aboard a ship.

"What does it take to become a ship captain?! I already have the rudder! ", that’s what he answered, one day, to Cecilia's perplexities regarding the delirious intentions of bridesmaids in bikini, bow ties and boxers for the guests and a symbolic funeral, with a burning raft at sunset, of our partner's deceased single life. All this, conspicuously rubbing his pack from the pocket of his pants.

All of us, however, have tried to make Member reason. In vain: he is really convinced. Most of the time it feels like we’re talking to a wall. When he is in love, it’s like this, we already know. No matter what the voice of reason says, your friends (who have known you since you were just a dickhead and have seen you become a jerk) who can't understand how you feel because you've never felt before like you do right now. You have already loved, sure, but not like today. You fear nothing.

The first time you saw her, you felt reborn.

Now you just want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

When we love, we forgive everything. Generally speaking, no man is inclined to think that the woman he is dating is a slut. For the women’s part, however, it is well established that we are all irrecoverable whoremongers.