(no subject)
Alchoholics hate to run out of booze this far from payday, it gives us displaced energy, or rather a more awake mental state in a lethargic body. Fortunately I have a small amount of some kind herbal elixor, guaranteed to cure all that ails thee. Mix that psychosis together and you get a rambling incoherent letter from your brother in the sun.
So, today is Monday and I took the day off cause I'm in the eye of the storm of a nasty cold. Laundry had been piling up in my house like garbage at Alice's Restaurant so after indulging in a few mid morning bongs, I decided to venture on down to the loathsome laundry mat. My logic was that it being Monday and all, the place would be dead and I could just chill and play some pinball and read some of my book. Ho, ho. No. When I get there the place is jam packed, filled to the brim with what looks like slightly off deadheads. I take my sunglasses off and look around. Slowly through my muddled brain it finally came to me. The Renaissances Festival is in town. That was a mind fuck that I was wholly unprepared for.
After finally getting my 6 big ass tubs of laundry going I decided to relax and put my stoned reflexes to work. At this dive they have an old school sit down Ms. Pacman machine. Fuck yeah. Just one joystick, none of this playstaion VIIII moves like press Left 1 , Square, Down Circle at once. Booyahh. In a few minutes I am the Minesota Fatts of pacman. I'm in the zone, past the pretzel yo. Until a man, about 40 or so, balding with the remaining hair being the remnants of a red mullet, sits down at the other end of the Ms. pacman game.
"I got high score" He says in an unententional dead on Sling Blade voice.
My wrists go on autopilot while I quickly lock eyes on the man who rudely broke my concentration. But he doesn't look at me long, he's transfixed looking back and forth between my score and the High Score. At that point I was only 5 thousand behind him and I had two Ms. Pacmans in the wings.....It was clear, he was fucked. It was also clear to me that this guy was a bit fucked up himself, he had the vibe of a special ed kid, not the sweet nice ones, but the overy violent ones....As I got closer to his high scoore he started rocking back and forth. I was scanning his pockets with my eyes looking for the bulge of a gun or a club of some sort, when my first Ms. Pacman bit the dust. He got a chesire cat grin on his face and just started rocking faster and faster. He rocked so hard that he came off the seat and dam near went ass over tea kettle. I thought when he was slipping that&nbs! p;the fucker was coming at me and I lost another pac going into my tiger fighting stance. He just looked at me with fear and hate. I had one shot left. I sat down and started playing, rounding corners and going through the tunnels with the percision of a balarina. He started rocking again, faster and faster, saying quietly to himslef "I got high score" over and over again. As the points got closer and closer he started to take on the look of a southern baptist that was about to speak in toungs. Right when it got down to the last ten points, I jumped up and Yelled
"Hey buddy finsih this for me, my clothes are done."
I'm not certain, but I think his mind snapped. He looked defused and beaten when I walked by him. I pushed my way through the sea of sureal carnies, jealous as hell of the nomadic lifestyle they get to exist in. I threw my clothes in the baskets. I'd fold them at home. I had to flee. The laundrymat was just a mindfuck today.
So, today is Monday and I took the day off cause I'm in the eye of the storm of a nasty cold. Laundry had been piling up in my house like garbage at Alice's Restaurant so after indulging in a few mid morning bongs, I decided to venture on down to the loathsome laundry mat. My logic was that it being Monday and all, the place would be dead and I could just chill and play some pinball and read some of my book. Ho, ho. No. When I get there the place is jam packed, filled to the brim with what looks like slightly off deadheads. I take my sunglasses off and look around. Slowly through my muddled brain it finally came to me. The Renaissances Festival is in town. That was a mind fuck that I was wholly unprepared for.
After finally getting my 6 big ass tubs of laundry going I decided to relax and put my stoned reflexes to work. At this dive they have an old school sit down Ms. Pacman machine. Fuck yeah. Just one joystick, none of this playstaion VIIII moves like press Left 1 , Square, Down Circle at once. Booyahh. In a few minutes I am the Minesota Fatts of pacman. I'm in the zone, past the pretzel yo. Until a man, about 40 or so, balding with the remaining hair being the remnants of a red mullet, sits down at the other end of the Ms. pacman game.
"I got high score" He says in an unententional dead on Sling Blade voice.
My wrists go on autopilot while I quickly lock eyes on the man who rudely broke my concentration. But he doesn't look at me long, he's transfixed looking back and forth between my score and the High Score. At that point I was only 5 thousand behind him and I had two Ms. Pacmans in the wings.....It was clear, he was fucked. It was also clear to me that this guy was a bit fucked up himself, he had the vibe of a special ed kid, not the sweet nice ones, but the overy violent ones....As I got closer to his high scoore he started rocking back and forth. I was scanning his pockets with my eyes looking for the bulge of a gun or a club of some sort, when my first Ms. Pacman bit the dust. He got a chesire cat grin on his face and just started rocking faster and faster. He rocked so hard that he came off the seat and dam near went ass over tea kettle. I thought when he was slipping that&nbs! p;the fucker was coming at me and I lost another pac going into my tiger fighting stance. He just looked at me with fear and hate. I had one shot left. I sat down and started playing, rounding corners and going through the tunnels with the percision of a balarina. He started rocking again, faster and faster, saying quietly to himslef "I got high score" over and over again. As the points got closer and closer he started to take on the look of a southern baptist that was about to speak in toungs. Right when it got down to the last ten points, I jumped up and Yelled
"Hey buddy finsih this for me, my clothes are done."
I'm not certain, but I think his mind snapped. He looked defused and beaten when I walked by him. I pushed my way through the sea of sureal carnies, jealous as hell of the nomadic lifestyle they get to exist in. I threw my clothes in the baskets. I'd fold them at home. I had to flee. The laundrymat was just a mindfuck today.