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3 Stories (wb05_03) (adult)

“Can I have a cup of coffee?” I inquired. I hoped that this time the waitron would bring us more potatoes with extra butter, catsup and sour cream. Scooped out by the gallon and left in the grave of my cat overnight, you see it was the only way I could. Well actually, I couldn’t do it very well. And I was extremely ashamed of myself. But, being a good little boy I simply zipped up my pants and grinned. “Was it good for you?” I asked stupidly. “‘Cause, man that was all time rock-poppin’ for me!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. I beat my chest rhythmically, bounced uncontrollably. No one could figure out why her breasts moved even when standing still. The doctors accidentally implanted frogs in her breasts instead of silicone, which was fine by me, ‘cus I can always use an addition to my condiments I use on my Farmer’s John sausage link but who will call me on it? Not you! Because you - my dear friend, are an asshole - and you couldn’t tell a sausage link from a sausage patty. What if there was no difference? Could the whole sausage presentation thing be meaningless?

Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid - who said that? I said that just a second ago. It exploded all over his face and turned into the blood of may men, oh yeah! It must have felt amazing. Well at least pretty cool. “Stop your invasive policies Emperor Blarg!” I yelled through my spacesuits external speakers. After several failed attempts to rewire the hardware, I attempted a cliché move that we ALL learned from TV’s most beloved “bad boy” - The Fonz! I drew back with my fist and gave the piece of crap the biggest whack I could manage. All I succeedded in doing was fucking up my wrist pretty bad so I made a decision to stop eating out of my dog’s bowl and started using a fork again - you pig - you must not make that mistake again - for you shall be penalized and brought before a jury of your peers, you pig, you fucking pig you gonna die! Gonna eat some hot death. Revenge-o-rama baby. Sweet as corpse candy. Personally, I never believed that corpse’s needed any candy! I mean, it’s not like there is anyway for them to enjoy it. But, who’s to argue with traditions? Not me, that’s for damn sure. I’m going home to watch DVD’s Hasta.

Kid Creole and the Mush Bugs played their 1st gig to a sold out audience, a hush grew over the crowd, spreading as fast as one of those things that goes really fast. Jets, bullets, race cars, people with diarrhea running to the toilet, you know fast stuff I’d rather be fly fishing the weirdest thing about it is that I always forgot what it is. I think I convinced myself that it’s a magical adventure through the air-catching fish-birds. And it never is...but I keep doing it. And I am always convinced that it will be that magical journey. But, maybe that is the definition of optimism. Good drugs can always be helpful to make anyone have a more optimistic life view, true desires, smiles and smiles...No-all bullshit, the only reason involvement had become necessary because confidence had been jeopardized. The device must be malfunctioning! It was supposed to never let this happen. That’s what the guys down at the lab said. Pretty much all my courage leaked out, filling the colostomy bag that is my life. Randy kept knocking on the door outside the place, but we could ignore him pretty well. Just staring at each other and sort of into space at the same time - two totally different people doing the same thing at the same time at the same time, the same exact thing was happening on the other side of the country. What a strange fucking world we live in.



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