The other day three of my characters were having a mass orgy, when my coworker looked up and smiled at me. "What?", I asked.
"Nothing.
I read your story."
"Which one?"
"The one with the trannies at the bus stop. It was messed up!"
"I know. I'm messed up. Also it was a train station."
"Oh whatever, you know what I mean!"
I was typing away furiously, locked in my closet, when there was a knock at the door. I opened the door. There wasn't anyone there. Then I realized they were knocking on my apartment door because no one would be able to get into my locked apartment. I didn't answer. I didn't want anything weird to happen. I wasn't in the mood for it.
Suddenly, they kicked the door in. "FREEZE, FUN POLICE!" That was it. They were finally here to arrest me. I'd done it this time. Wait, no I hadn't. I never do it. What am I talking about. I don't have fun. I hate fun.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. I answered it. It was the pizza guy. He looked like he'd just eaten a dozen bananas, and was going to night school to learn how to be an amateur dog nail clipper. "Hey, here's your pizza. Thanks for ordering." He left like it was a zombie apocalypse. It wasn't though. It totally wasn't a zombie apocalypse. I had, however, forgotten to put on my pants. Whatever. I'm sure he's seen it before. It bein a dong.
I decided to eat the pizza right away. I burned myself. That's when I swore I would not rest, I would not sit by another day and let pizza burn me. So I drank some water really fast, then I let it cool for a few minutes, then I ate the rest of the pizza. I thought about nothing but late 80s sitcoms, and the actors who made their careers being befuddled on said sitcoms. It was breathtaking. I was sitting in my living room, on the floor, in my underwear, eating pizza, with my balls hanging out all over the place. It was so beautiful; so beautiful it made me want to weep. But I don't weep. Except when I do, but those are the exceptions.
The other day, four of my characters were murdering each other in the middle of a subway ride to Acapulco, when I realized I needed help. I wasn't going to be able to paint my aluminum siding by myself. I took immediate action. I grabbed the phone with a curious abandon usually reserved for terminally ill migrant workers. "Hey dad, can you help me paint my siding this weekend?"
"Sure thing son. We'll get it done early, then order some pizza."
"Sounds good. Hey, do you know any Korean call girls?"
"What? You into orientals now?"
"That's not the preferred nomenclature, dad."
"You watch your tone young man, you know what I told you about setting your characters up just to quote The Big Lebowski."
*incredibly audible sigh* "Only do it when it's not racist."
"There you go. That's the boy I abandoned when he was seven!"
"Eight, dad. I was eight."
"Eight year olds, dude."
"Touche. Hey dad, do you enjoy intercourse?"
*click*
Once upon a time, I lived in frog heaven. In frog heaven, the sewage tastes like orange juice. The orange juice tastes like cough syrup. And cough syrup tastes like a British queen's warmed over diarrhea. Frog heaven is really weird.
Rule 65: Never eat in the bathroom.
One time, I was eating a granola bar. I carried it with me in the bathroom. I realized I was eating something in the bathroom. I thought about that lazy, no-talent fat fuck Henry. I thought about how I would love to beat his stupid, ugly fat face in with a tire iron. I finished my granola bar. I went to my car.
I drove to Henry's house. I sat outside for a while. Henry came home. He didn't notice me. I went to grab a tire iron from my trunk. I didn't have one. I only had the four way kind. I grabbed it. I grabbed it and started laughing. Not too hard. But just enough. I thought about myself trying to beat Henry to death with it. I wondered if he would try to run away when he saw me coming. I pictured myself throwing at his stupid ugly fat face like a throwing star. I realized I'd probably miss and hit his aluminum siding. It looked like it needed a fresh coat of paint. Or break a window. I'd have to pay to fix his window.
Then the police would come and take me to jail. "What are you in for?"
"I threw one of those four sided tire iron spinners at a guy."
It probably wouldn't matter that he was the last straw; that he was the reason my friend finally decided to kill himself. That he saw this fat fuck, and how said useless fucker always succeeded in life while he failed, and he couldn't take it anymore. I didn't think my fellow prisoners would see it my way. They'd probably all laugh at me. They wouldn't be on my side. Nobody ever sided with me.
So I put the stupid thing back in the trunk and drove away.
Later that night, I bought a regular tire iron.
