Thursday, October 10, 2002
yeah, that's what she said. right after we got off the expressway. i was like, hello, my name is eduardo, not johnny, and your name is francine muthafukin constantine and who in the name of juan gonzalez' malfunctioning donger is wendy? and if you say she's down with up with people, you're gonna get a rocket pop where the sun don't shine.
so then what does my dog do? he takes a phat dump right on my overalls, which I had left in the corner by the washing machine. all ready to go play hee haw badminton and everything. goddamm lassie fuck. that dog is gonna be the green light special at k-mart's deli cart one of these days. just fukn watch.
and another thing, what's with those shoes? who are you trying to kid? i mean, new salsa rio doritos are one thing but an onion sack in a barnacle barn is another story ALL together. if that doesn't convince you to lose those earrings, I don't think anything will. and nothing won't. and it never ever does.
so then the old drunk wino, the last one on the bus, got down to the paragraph that no one else had had the patience or time to discover, lost in the jungle of words. with wild turkey fuming out of his nostrils, he read the sentence that the author had meant for no one to see. the sole expression that could not only save humanity as he'd known it, but possibly cure him of his nagging addictions and his reliance on uncle sam's teat lo all these many years.
before he could really process it, though, he drifted off into a drunken slumber, and with that it was lost in the wind. like a song, heard by no one yet undeniably there, a tree fallen in the woods with not a lumberjack or a granola girl in sight. gone but not forgotten. because every binge has an awakening, except for that final cut, and harry the hobo was NOT going out like that. no thank you.