(no subject)
Date: 03.21.05
Climate: piss-on-the-Alamo humid
Watching: Murder by numbers
Listening to: the mars volta, the cure, abandoned pools.
Eating: my insides, vicodin and codeine
Drinking: water.
Its 1 pm . This is hell. I have entered hell. Hot, irritating, miserable, hell. My body is on fire, Neil Peart is playing Tom Sawyer on my temples. Atrophy has taken my legs, my arms, my testicles. This is hell. I have entered hell.
SLAM SLAM
”Room Service.”
Oh yes, this is surely hell.
”Oh, I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
”It’s perfectly fine, I’m not here. There is no spoon.”
”What? I can come back later.”
Why do people do that? They disturb you and ask coyly, “Is this a good time?” Well no, its not a fucking good time, but in fifteen minutes there might be a hell of a lot more shit for you to clean up. So do your business and be gone. And on a side note miss Ramada paycheck. Holy.Fuckingshitassbittlkjflkjfisweartofuckinggodifyouyellonemoretimeimgoingtoeatyourfirstfuckingbornlkjflkfjl DODLHKLH GO AWAY
”Not at all. Go right ahead.”
”Its just, I didn’t think there was anyone in the room…”
”Well. There is.”
”Usually, I wouldn’t...”
”No no, I insist.”
“Well, its just that…Sir, you might want to move into the other room while I mop the bathroom.”
And it was at this point I realized I was laying face down, thirteen inches from the toilet, modestly clothed (but clothed none the less), on the salmon tiles of the Austin Hilton. Vexed as I was, I imagine it was quite a site for my new companion. She stepped past me, as though modestly clothed men commonly lay sprawled and dying in her place of business. She reached across me to flush. I could smell the “Curious” by Britney Spears drenched across her floral bosom. Then I did what any respecting person would do. I rolled to the left, and emptied the contents of my stomach on her patented leather shoes, muttered something that sounded vaguely like “Alanis take me now”, sobbed, and cried very quietly for my mother. Her name was Becky, and she was very kind to me.
Now. I can go into all the lovely things Becky did for me, but I wont. I just want Becky to know that I love her, and I don’t mind that she screamed, leapt out of the containment area, and went belting off down the hall. I don’t mind at all that the noise sent me wincing into the corner of the room, where, surveying the scene, I could just make out the outline of my form in the tiles. White tiles. My stomached burned at the shame in which Becky left me. It was not her fault the scent of her chosen musk triggered my very refined gag reflex. My heart burned for her too. In fact, my arms and legs burned for her. As did my fingers, my face…but most of all, My head. That was the burniest place of all. I was so shamed that I seemed to be secreting a small amount of red liquid from under my hair. Oh Becky, I’m sorry I hurt you so.
It was time to leave my porcelain wonderland. I crawled to my stomach, and started the slow journey to the bedside table. After a brief conversation the television remote control, I picked up the actual phone, and managed to get the television stuck on Ellen Degeneres. In fluent moaning, I communicated my basic wish for help and a personal pizza to the receptionist. I was told help was ‘on the way’ so, I reached into the night stand, and pulled about the besmirched bible, and began to pray. I prayed for the burning, I prayed for Becky, but most of all, I prayed they would not put bell peppers on my pizza.
In a little over an hour, help arrived, however, I never got the pizza. On the bright side, the personnel at the Austin State Hospital, were very kind to me. They kept me for three more hours without comfort so I paid them justly in the same way I tipped Becky. Its 2 am now, I have medication for my ails. It seems on one such trip to the porcelain god, I smacked my head quite hard, and suffered a mild concussion. So lets take this brief moment to thank Becky, if it weren’t for her, I would have died like a rock star.
Naked, in a pool of my own vomit with, Ellen blaring away on the television.
The End.
Climate: piss-on-the-Alamo humid
Watching: Murder by numbers
Listening to: the mars volta, the cure, abandoned pools.
Eating: my insides, vicodin and codeine
Drinking: water.
Its 1 pm . This is hell. I have entered hell. Hot, irritating, miserable, hell. My body is on fire, Neil Peart is playing Tom Sawyer on my temples. Atrophy has taken my legs, my arms, my testicles. This is hell. I have entered hell.
SLAM SLAM
”Room Service.”
Oh yes, this is surely hell.
”Oh, I didn’t know anyone was in here.”
”It’s perfectly fine, I’m not here. There is no spoon.”
”What? I can come back later.”
Why do people do that? They disturb you and ask coyly, “Is this a good time?” Well no, its not a fucking good time, but in fifteen minutes there might be a hell of a lot more shit for you to clean up. So do your business and be gone. And on a side note miss Ramada paycheck. Holy.Fuckingshitassbittlkjflkjfisweartofuckinggodifyouyellonemoretimeimgoingtoeatyourfirstfuckingbornlkjflkfjl DODLHKLH GO AWAY
”Not at all. Go right ahead.”
”Its just, I didn’t think there was anyone in the room…”
”Well. There is.”
”Usually, I wouldn’t...”
”No no, I insist.”
“Well, its just that…Sir, you might want to move into the other room while I mop the bathroom.”
And it was at this point I realized I was laying face down, thirteen inches from the toilet, modestly clothed (but clothed none the less), on the salmon tiles of the Austin Hilton. Vexed as I was, I imagine it was quite a site for my new companion. She stepped past me, as though modestly clothed men commonly lay sprawled and dying in her place of business. She reached across me to flush. I could smell the “Curious” by Britney Spears drenched across her floral bosom. Then I did what any respecting person would do. I rolled to the left, and emptied the contents of my stomach on her patented leather shoes, muttered something that sounded vaguely like “Alanis take me now”, sobbed, and cried very quietly for my mother. Her name was Becky, and she was very kind to me.
Now. I can go into all the lovely things Becky did for me, but I wont. I just want Becky to know that I love her, and I don’t mind that she screamed, leapt out of the containment area, and went belting off down the hall. I don’t mind at all that the noise sent me wincing into the corner of the room, where, surveying the scene, I could just make out the outline of my form in the tiles. White tiles. My stomached burned at the shame in which Becky left me. It was not her fault the scent of her chosen musk triggered my very refined gag reflex. My heart burned for her too. In fact, my arms and legs burned for her. As did my fingers, my face…but most of all, My head. That was the burniest place of all. I was so shamed that I seemed to be secreting a small amount of red liquid from under my hair. Oh Becky, I’m sorry I hurt you so.
It was time to leave my porcelain wonderland. I crawled to my stomach, and started the slow journey to the bedside table. After a brief conversation the television remote control, I picked up the actual phone, and managed to get the television stuck on Ellen Degeneres. In fluent moaning, I communicated my basic wish for help and a personal pizza to the receptionist. I was told help was ‘on the way’ so, I reached into the night stand, and pulled about the besmirched bible, and began to pray. I prayed for the burning, I prayed for Becky, but most of all, I prayed they would not put bell peppers on my pizza.
In a little over an hour, help arrived, however, I never got the pizza. On the bright side, the personnel at the Austin State Hospital, were very kind to me. They kept me for three more hours without comfort so I paid them justly in the same way I tipped Becky. Its 2 am now, I have medication for my ails. It seems on one such trip to the porcelain god, I smacked my head quite hard, and suffered a mild concussion. So lets take this brief moment to thank Becky, if it weren’t for her, I would have died like a rock star.
Naked, in a pool of my own vomit with, Ellen blaring away on the television.
The End.