Saturday Morning Ted Bundy Sightseeing Tour.

by Serge Bielanko

Tomorrow morning me and Monica have to get up early to go up into the mountains. Early morning hikes in alpine mist are our salvation. Virgin dews. Elk calves in dark pine. We become one with nature, with God. With one another. Naked in a spring fed creek...we are married to the hawk and the wind.


No, we ARE going up into the mountains, but it's just because we have our first marriage counseling thingy and that's where it is. At 7:30am on a Saturday morning. I'm guessing that out of the three of us sitting in our little triangle at least one of us is bound to still be drunk from Friday night.

On the way up to the place we pass one of the places where Ted Bundy once dumped one of his bodies. See?...ride around with me and you learn shit. Interesting shit. I plan on laying that one on Monica just as we're passing it; I suspect it will throw her off her game a little and give me a slight advantage in those first few critical moments when the therapist is chit-chattingly sizing us up, figuring which one of us she'd rather have sex with, and which one of us is wrong about everything.

I should wear cologne, huh? Throw off the therapist too. Start the serious morning with a bang. Cologne fucks shit up BigTime...especially if you only wear it once, a lot of it. And with that there isn't a university bonded professional shrink in the world who won't immediately forget all of that intense studying in favor of the very simple yet elegant human reaction that this guy is wearing so much Wrangler Windfarm that he is without a doubt: fucking scary nuts.

Anyway. I'm just kidding. I kid. Truth is, I'm happy we're going. I'm not embarrassed or ashamed. Just like I'm not metro-sexually effervescent or high on some dangerous intellectual smugness. The damn thing is simple...we could use an ear, maybe some advice. Hopefully not discussion exercises that she hands out on a piece of lime green heavy duty paper; I feel ripped off when I get handed your dumb-ass exercise sheets. It's unoriginal and very 1970's.

Let us talk. Let me and Monica do what we do best but haven't been doing all that great lately. Let us rant and rave...we are magnificent at it. Dare I say, the best you'll ever have? Once we begin, with that A train of Maxwell House tearing through our individual tunnels, there is nothing that remains impossible. We could break through some previously unknown therapeutic wall...crashing through in an explosive blast of confessional rubble and dust! We could end up the SuperHeros of Marital Bliss, the ones who figured it out one historical Saturday morning by out-gabbing each other with passionate intensity! We could be famous. We could be rich.

Or we could end up being Violet's cool Mom and Dad, still in love after all these years. God, it would be so cool if we could knock all that out in one session. Not to mention the cost thing. Maybe two sessions, if you wanna be all "these things take time/stick with it" and shit.

I cannot wait to pop off that Ted Bundy thing.