Well, I lost my pants. They weren't the ones I was wearing the last time that I put on pants, so at least there's that. Still, it's breaking news to me and I still can't quite get it off my mind. I guess this is what happens when one staggers down the highway with a Gatorade bottle full of vodka in one's pocket. Well, one has to drink the fuckin vodka too. You don't just lose your pants by sticking booze in your coat. Reminds me of a couple I read about in News of the Weird once who went to the doctor cos they couldn't get knocked up and it turns out they just thought they had to sleep in the same bed together.
Anyway, I was startled to realize that I was pantlsless. Except for the 2 filthy pairs that I already knew I had. Back in the day I only had one pair of pants, so in comparison 2 pairs makes me one pantsful motherfucker. But I've grown. Times have changed. It's no longer 1995. I should have more than 2 pairs of jeans.
And now I do! I also have a Chromebook, which I never knew existed until now. It's like a laptop only it sucks worse than one. But it's a thousand times better than having no computer. I'm typing on it now and my ass hurts cos I'm sitting on the floor that I refinished in exchange for the computer and some pants. And I'm drinking Hurricane malt liquor in a goofy skull glass. I'm kinda hungry and I don't care. Life couldn't be finer. Well, it could certainly be worse.
And it was! In fact, right around this time last week it was totally worse. I was in a Greyhound station. I'm not gonna say where cos it's none of your goddam business, but I had hitchiked there through single digit temperatures over the course of a few days. It was the first time I had ever hitched with enough money to get motel rooms, which I did cos it was fuckin freezing out. But I was drunk the whole time so I kept saying ¨fuck it¨ and getting drunk in a motel room at like 3 in the afternoon and then staying til 11 the next morning just to get the most bang for my buck.
And I don't remember taking my psyche meds very often. The combination of drinking excess amounts of straight vodka and rum and not taking the prozac that I'm now hooked on took its' toll, and when I finally stumbled into the bus station last Saturday evening I fit right in with the other Greyhound patrons. Or at least I filled out one of the roles that every bus needs. I was the smelly drunk bum who you should probably get the fuck away from but you can't cos youŕe stuck on a goddam bus with him. Screw it. At least I was that character. Better than being a fat moron or a young woman that everybody wants a blowjob from. Or not even young woman. Just female individual. That's good enough for most of the assholes on the bus.
Ok, well I still haven't said anything about this goddam bus experience but we have all the time in the world. Just keeping you folks posted on the status of the level of discomfort in my buttocks and the fact that they are now covered with pants. And now that I have this stupid little computing machine Iĺl be certain to follow up on what I'm sure will be a joy and a pleasure for all of you to ignore. If for some reason I die before I can finish this epic tale, I'll give you a spoiler and tell you that the bus totally fuckin sucks.
1 comment:
nice!
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