Dirk Benedict rolled off the couch onto the ground. His mouth tasted like shit. Memories of the previous night began to flood back. Shame filled his cheeks, had he really fallen so far? Letting an underage asian hooker shit into his mouth while people watched and laughed. They told him they’d give him two hundred dollars if he did it, but then they only gave him fifty… out of pity. Dirk felt tears begin to well up behind his eyes. He was Starbuck, god dammit. He was Face. This stuff didn’t happen to him… but it just had. He looked around the apartment, it was a one box room crammed full of trinkets and rubbish.
The phone rang from under a pile of old magazines. Dirk leapt over to grab it, then stopped. It was probably his accountant. “But what if it’s a job?” he mused. He reached over to pick it up, but it had stopped ringing.
His last job had been opening a local radio commercial for a small convenience store. They had paid him in money-off vouchers for the store. He looked at the pile of vouchers and cursed. He punched at them and sent them flying out the window. Later he went out to pick them up. He rubbed at his neck, raw and sore – he had stolen a rope from a tramp two days previous. His hanging attempt went very wrong though as he TV bracket he tried to hang himself from came crashing down upon his head.
He was about to walk out when he noticed an unopened letter beneath his door. “God, not that saddo Ian again. Doesn’t he know I’m not the real Starbuck?” The letter wasn’t from Ian though. It was from “The Nashunol Lottery” and it contained a letter telling Dirk that he was the “guaranteed winner of $25,000.” All he had to do was call a number, and press 1 when he heard the reference number of his letter to receive the money.
Desperate he spent two days on the phone listening to reference numbers. In the end his phone connection died. His bill had run up to $25,000. He was at his lowest ebb, but just when everything seemed like it couldn’t get any worse, he suffered a stroke. Dirk was left with only parts of his body working. He couldn’t call for help, and he had just shit himself. It took him two weeks to die as a leaking roof ensured he received fresh water every day.
Dirk Benedict: The Real Starbuck.