Posted 2:37 PM by Alfred

So anyway, it all started innocently enough. I was reading a little DC Pierson and listening to Iron Maiden's Number of the Beast. I was getting to feel a little antisocial and demonic from the bumping rythms of Children of the Damned. There was a small trickle of goat's blood dripping from the left side of my lips, as I'd stirred some in with my coffee (one of those mornings, indeed.)

The recipe was set for some violent hijinks. The kicker was Mr. Pierson's interesting description of his new attitude towards life. He doesn't give a fuck, he's flipping off old Grandma's with leukemia or something like that. I thought, well fuck, if he's doing that, I should kill the head janitor here at the skunkworks! I mean I've hated that fucker for a long time, him and his combover and swashbuckling attitude, thinking he's the shit with that newfangled mop and his fancy chair.

So I grabbed the plastic flyswatter that hangs from the corkboard on my office wall. I had my keys with the bottle opener attachment that I had modified while sitting on the throne the night before into a very sharp little knife. Funny how you do little things, harmless hobbies really, while you're dropping the kids off at the pool.

Anyhoo, I walked into the head janitor's office. He's sitting behind his desk, surfing the internet, that smug fukn bastard. There's a plaque on the ceiling that says, "Janitor of the Year award, 1977." Who the fuck puts a plaque on their ceiling, Gus? So I start up on his face with the flyswatter. He's like, whut the fuk main? And I'm like payback is a bitch Mr. Oh I'm so cool, and I start stabbing him through his gabardine lined aloha shirt and his plastic pocket protector. He's squirming and flailing around and like grabbing me and shit, but I'm like, hasta luega janitor-joe, it's time to swim with the fishies, and Julio says "hello" and I can feel this crazy grin spreading across my face.

After it's done, I decide to hang his bloody body up from the skunk desmellifier we've got out in the shop, then I start like throwing darts at it. It's pretty fun. 20 points for a nostril, 10 points for his mouth, 5 points for his forehead. Damn this is the life! All I need is a fukn Atari and it would be like something out of a Toys R Us commercial. That fukn Giraffe, though, ya know what, NO. fuck that giraffe. That giraffe is not of this earth and not of the grain of alcohol that I need to ingest at this time. Goddam FUCK that jeffrie giraffe son of a bitch. Wait, where was I, oh yeah, playing darts on a janitor's hanging corpse.

Pretty soon, one of the fukn skunk inspectors had to bust in and ruin all my good times. Fukn prick. I guess I should have planned this out a little better, like with a getaway route and everything. But fuck, I mean, all that MTV and Street Fighter had me off my rocker. Long story short I'm writing this from Jail. From Jail, that's right, and all I wanted was a goddamm Pepsi. One fukn goddam pepsi, and he wouldn't give it to me. I'm not crazy, you're the one that's crazy, I went to your schools, your institutions, and now you're gonna tell me that I'M crazy? Just cuz I slaughtered some dude and skinned his foot and used the skeleton foot for a tribal hat and did a rain dance and drank Snapple Rasberry Ice Tea. I didn't WANT snapple, I wanted a FUKN PEPSI, but YOU wouldn't give it to me, you fukn corporate bigwig in your $80 necktie, now WOULD you?

The sucky thing is just as the title track was coming on, "I left alone, my mind was blank, I needed time to think to get the memories from my mind, what did I see? Could I believe? That what I saw that night was real and not just fantasy?" JUST, as the banging guitars were gonna kick in, my fellow employee who I THOUGHT was my friend knocked me over the head with a golf club and it was light's out.

Jail's not so bad. Once they found out I killed someone, especially a maintenance technician, the other guys in here give me a pretty wide berth. Apparently the janitorial arts are HIGHLY respected in the slammer, and if you've bested someone of that caliber, well, let's just say I've got all the cigarettes I could possibly smoke. It'll probably suck a lot worse once I get shipped off to some mainland jail, I mean I'm chilling in the HPD lockup right now. That's assuming I lose my case, I mean, I was under severe mental anguish, and I'm pretty sure that I can sue Iron Maiden, I mean, that wasn't me, that was NOT ME. It was Eddie. It was fukn Eddie.

Oh well, I'm almost out of room on this roll of toilet paper that I'm writing this on. Gotta seal it up in a piece of mattress fabric, toss it out the window, and hope my buddy G-Dog remembers to come by, pick it up, and throw it up on my blog.

Hopefully I'll be out of jail pretty soon and back entertaining all of you. It's been a fun ride.

PS: then I woke up and it was all a dream and everything was OK and Mrs. Cleaver brought me milk and cookies with spiders crawling on them and she had on devo sunglasses and an axe coming out of her head but she was OK. She was very very OK. And wally and the Beav were OK too. But Eddie Haskell. Eddie, he was FUCKED up, I mean, he has seen much much better days. Eddie, if you get out of the emergency room, we'll play that game of 5-card monty, playa, we will play, playa dog, and you know this, cuz I SHOW this, and it's no BOGUS it's on the rizeal.

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