Book #2: Chapter 12 - Meat Sauce

I live at 515 Magnet Missile Lane. My name was John George Stevenson. This is not a change of tense. I'm just talking about the past and the present at once.

It was about month three of my coma when they dumped me into a bathtub full of macaroni. The psychic healer deemed it necessary to replace my essential starches. My spirit guide thought it was a terrible idea. "No man will recover through such actions," he said. "You cannot awaken because of a large amount of pasta. No matter what kind of pasta, little one."

I was on a train. It had been painted bright lime green, and we were heading north toward the hills of Massachusetts. I was carrying a purse full of enemas and the head of a sad clown named Benito Radiatore. We were twenty five miles outside of Baltimore when the cheddar began to take hold. "I AM THE TRUE KING OF ALL MEDIA!" I shouted. But no could hear me because I was in a coma.

The world didn't exist. I was in a lime green boxcar, and the world simply no longer existed. The universe was a railroad car wide. By proxy, two horses put together. The width of the universe was two horses' asses.

A bum in the opposite end of the boxcar looked at me. He smiled a three tooth smile. He wasn't crazy or anything. He just had bad hygiene. Also he was homeless. He said something about my being in a coma, and how it related to an inner struggle for my immortal soul between demons and Newtonian physics. Possibly something about letting go. And everything happening for a reason. I didn't really understand. The math was too complicated for me.

Sometimes I wonder if power line towers get lonely at night and cry. I bet if they did they'd electrocute themselves. Then again, maybe electricity can't really kill them. But maybe it hurts. Maybe they're in constant agony with no way to die. Kind of like coma patients.

I was reading a book. It was called "How to Win People and Influence Friends". I didn't agree with the methods it espoused. Five years later, it would be covered in urine. But I didn't know that yet. How could I? I couldn't predict the future. Even after the coma. I kept reading the book though, because I wanted to take my mind off the chemo.

"Hmmm, yessss, his starch count is rising. Rising! RIIISSIIIIING!" Shelley looked at the psychic in a questioning way. Which is to be expected. Anyone not questioning such a person might get themselves arrested. In a just world, at least.

I still have to blame her, however. It was her idea to hire such a moron. I guess she was desperate to wake me up though. Whatever. I wouldn't have done it. Rule 60. Do not dip an unconscious person in pasta.

I was being assaulted from one direction by particle physics, and another by starch-icle nonsense. That was the end. I couldn't stand this. I stuck bananas in my ears.

My spirit guide nodded his solemn approval. Then, he grabbed his blue duffel bag, took out an orange, and peeled it. The orange was a symbol of death.

I guess having bananas in my ears increased my potassium, which solved the problem putting me in a coma in the first place. Lack of potassium, and pancreatic cancer.

I don't remember but I'm told I woke up and punched the psychic in the face. Then I started yelling at everyone that "the demons are stealing my centrifugal force". Which everyone knew wasn't possible, because demons only eat kinetic energy.

Anyway, when the psychic woke up, everyone told her she slipped and fell. She sued the hospital for millions.

I'll never forget when I finally woke up. I went and changed my name. Then I ate some waffles. Then, I went to see Shelley. She was wearing the most beautiful dress I'd ever seen, in the brightest shade of orange that ever existed. In the kitchen was her new boyfriend. She introduced us. They looked pretty happy together.

I'm not sure why she left me for him, especially when I was in a coma. A coma that was induced by the doctors to save me the pain of the severe chemo, by the way. It didn't work, and I still felt it all. I just couldn't move. I guess they tried their best.

I guess she figured I'd never wake up. Or maybe she just thought I wouldn't live through it. Or, maybe, she was just a bitch.

Then again, that wasn't the last of her and me. No way. Not by a long shot. That was just the beginning.

By the way, the waffles were fantastic. I was going to order an orange juice, but I decided against it.