My Name Is Not William, Part 6 by David Kendall, Jr.

Behold, the return of MNINW with part 6. Not to be confused with Leonard Part 6. It would be really helpful if you read parts 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5. Or read it by itself. You'll probably get the gist without the other parts. NOTE: This one is rated XXX because it is celebrating its thirtieth birthday in Rome. The words 'boob,' 'cooch,' and 'bass music' are used so tread lightly.

“You want Circus or you want Sideshow?”

Don’t you wish life was that simple? Circus or Sideshow?

“Wait,” Enrico murmured while thumbing through his loose bills retrieved from his pocket just as haphazardly as they were shoved in there. “What’s the difference?”

“Circus is topless. Sideshow is all nude.” This carnival barker happens to be Corky. I have no idea if his name is Corky or not, but he looks like the retarded kid who played Corky on Life Goes On. Except taller. And maybe his tongue isn’t as thick considering I can understand him. He’s been giving me the eyeball since we walked in this joint. I have no idea what part of town we’re in, but I can hear trains.

“Your friend looks rough,” Corky giggles, “I think you need Sideshow.” He points a finger at me and starts laughing.

“Hey, Chunk,” snapped Enrico, “if I give you a Baby Ruth will you quit pointing your fat, mongoloid finger at my friend. He’s had a rough day.”

Corky continued to laugh as Enrico slapped a wayward mess of bills in his hand and jerked me through a set of faux velvet curtains. Stepping through the attempt at luxurious drapes, a large neon sign screamed, “Welcome to the SIDESHOW.” Silhouettes of buxom women made in neon flashed on and off as to look as if they were bending over, except they flickered out every time they stood up. I guess they disappeared once they had what they wanted. We are stopped by a beefy man squeezed tight in a ribbed black t-shirt.

“OK, gentlemen, thank you for choosing the Circus and the Sideshow for all your entertainment,” barked the man in a monotone staccato, “May I remind you, no touching the dancers at anytime, and the Bud Light specials in the Circus last until 11pm. You cannot buy alcohol in the Sideshow, but you are allowed to bring it in. Enjoy, my name is Todd.”

As soon as Todd is done laying the ground rules, a large breasted woman in what I can only guess is packing tape steps up to us. “Would you like a table or the stage, boys?”

Enrico wants to be an informed consumer, “Where will I get more cooch shoved in my face?”

“Follow me to the stage.” The large breasted woman glides and guides us to two chairs next to the U-shaped stage. “My name is Candy, if you want more attention let me know.” She disappears into the dark with a wink.

“Thank you. You have nice boobs,” screams Enrico.

Here’s the thing: I’ve never been to a strip club. Enrico claims to have been to tons of them but he is acting a little ticky for someone who is not a first timer. If I didn’t have head trauma, I probably would be more nervous too. As I sit back in a chair that is frighteningly made of vinyl (for quick clean-ups, I guess), a sonic boom bellows from the stage.


As soon as Desire was called out on stage, the most frightening wave of bass music washed over the crowd. No discernible music as much as waves of sound punctuated by bass thumps that made my clothes jump. A thick, dark-skinned woman beelines right for me and starts grinding her pelvis hard on the stage. At first, I’m taken aback by this. I’ve never had any person, let alone a woman, be this forward to me. Considering I’m the only person with a tie around their neck in this place, I must have a neon sign of my own that says “money.” Enrico is so happy he is slapping the stage. He turns to the person next to him and screams, “Isn’t that hot irony mustache! Woo!” The man lifts his hand and covers his upper lip.

Desire leans down, pulls me forward with my tie, and says something in my ear. I guess she is whispering to be sexy but when the entire Luke catalog is blaring out of what can only be subwoofers, whispering doesn’t work. I yell, “I can’t hear you and I only have seven dollars in my pocket.” I point to Enrico, “Talk to him. Plus, my head hurts.”

Desire uses some dramatic magician motion to make the removal of her top seem more amazing. Her oddly and perfectly round breasts smash right into my face. “Mmm, how do you like this, William. Does this make Mr. William feel all better?”

“What did you call me?” I knew exactly what she said but I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going loopy.

“I said ‘you like that William’,” coos Desire, “I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are.” She shoves her crotch right in my face. Enrico, feeling completely left out, shoves his head right in her crotch as well. Todd, our friend at the door, took his meaty hand and used it to shove Enrico back in his seat. I can see Enrico mouthing the word “what” over and over.

Between my head hurting and the visceral shock of a strange naked woman grinding her stubbly groin in my face, I gather this might make a lesser man get confused. I am that lesser man. Desire picks her body off of the stage and moves to another man.

I scream at Enrico, “What is my name?”

Enrico is gripping his crotch, “What?”

“What is my name?!”


“Is my name William?”

“Umm, no. Should it?”

The anonymous DJ turns down the music since Desire has picked up her last dollar off the stage without her hands. Her outfit lies in various places around the stage. The DJ screams, “IF YOU WANT TO SPEND MORE TIME WITH DESIRE, SHE IS NOW AVAILABLE FOR YOU IN A PRIVATE ROOM!”

“Give me money.”

Enrico giggles, “Easy tiger, I’ll get you a lap dance if you want.”

“Now, money. I have to see her now.”

1 Comment

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Desire sounds like a classy broad. She must be pretty important -- she only has one name, just like Sting and Madonna.

Honestly, though, it's great to see this series return to life after a three-year hibernation. I like that the character is either losing or lost his own name and the ending is great. Suspense!

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