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| My Triumphant Return to Cabaret Voltron by mrs. johnson 05/01/2003, 8:49pm PDT | ||||
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| I'd like to thank all the little people I had to brutually kill to get where I am today. And to all the naysayers: Go fuck a cloud.
An exercise in... something. I woke up this morning because a gigantic ray of sunshine had decided to build a three story mansion on my face. Probably for ten minutes it sat there, causing horrible nightmares. Why didn’t I wake up immediately, you ask? Well, it is very difficult to wake up when you are dreaming about your normal daily activities. You see, I thought I was awake. Awake in a terrible world of pain. My dream self, however, didn’t ask any questions, and so the terrifying sunshine kept on abusing my face. It’s my favorite face. That’s not the point. The point is, I didn’t wake up in my house. I woke up in a large friendly forest. I say that it was friendly because there was no bird or animal shit on my body. This leads me to conclude that the animals shit into toilets because it’s just too ridiculous to assume that I, the man whose car never fails to have splattered bird droppings on it in the morning, did not get shat on last night. My mouth tasted what garbage water would taste like if it contained a lot more whiskey This must be because I’ve been drinking a lot of whiskey. How did I know this? There was a bottle of whiskey in my hand. I was beginning to feel like Sherlock Holmes. Conclusions were being made about last night. By me. I didn’t remember much. In fact, I don’t think New York even has a forest. Especially one as sewage free as this one seems to be. I began to survey my surroundings with more care. I was lying on blisteringly green moss. It was slightly moist and was thick enough to have the consistency of a slightly decomposed vagina, but colder. The trees around me had gloriously Roman trunks and Gregorian arches. But these things were not actually there, I was just really hung over and overly dramatic. There are three types of men in the world. I wish I knew what they were. Anyway, the trees were so incredibly monstrous and their leaves so thick, that sunshine was coming in spurts. I looked onto the ground and noticed the slice of sunshine that happened to mount a full frontal attack on my face and mind. It was slowly trying to get away, but I would have none of it. I blocked it with my hand for a couple of seconds and, satisfied that I had killed its most internal soul, I removed my hand and smiled smugly. My clothes were slightly torn in various uncomfortable places, and the crust in my eyes had developed into semi-sentient colonies. Somebody was responsible for this and it couldn’t have been me. Why? Because I wouldn’t know how to get to any fucking forests from a Southern Manhattan bar. Ah the bar. They called it the Poached Rooster. Why? I think it has something to do with the large amount of attractive women that regularly attend it. I am overweight, but I happen to be overweight in all the places that are impossible to see with the naked eye. For example, my kidneys weigh about three pounds more than they should. My long intestine is thicker, my short intestine is longer and my liver takes up a lot more space than most. The doctor’s are stumped. I don’t care. Anyway, I was standing in a forest looking at the wondrously sublime scene of nature before me, but all I could think about was urinating on it. And so I did. After desecrating the holy panorama, I began to walk in a direction. I don’t know which one it was because I forgot that rays of sunshine also indicate where the sun is. After forty five minutes of aimless wondering, I stumbled onto a lake. It was shaped like a breast, and even had a small island where the nipple should be. Suspecting treasure, I swam out to the island.. Instead, the island had nothing but a note card. It said “Welcome to the Hunt, Mr. James. I shall see you in a few hours.†The card made sense except for the capitalization of the word hunt and the fact that none of my names were James. This bothered me. Images of ancient stories of the macabre didn’t enter my mind because I have never read any. But what did enter my mind was a picture of me, shot in the face. This greatly upset me because, as I had mentioned, this is my favorite face. I could, however, finally see the sky. It looked wrong. Sure it was a hazy azure color, with clouds that looked like god’s soft billowy vomit, but it also had a tiny red dot of light darting around in seemingly random directions. This upset me, because I remembered that I hadn’t paid my credit card bill yet and the interest rates were piling up at this very moment. The anxiety finally bested my consciousness and I collapsed. I woke up in my house. The only proof that any of this happened is the note card, but I could have made it myself. In fact, I did. the mrs. |
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My Triumphant Return to Cabaret Voltron by 05/01/2003, 8:49pm PDT  Re: My Triumphant Return to Cabaret Voltron by 05/02/2003, 3:01pm PDT |
