Tuesday April 18, 2006
	The house party.
	It's an after Easter party and it's around two-thirty in the morning Sunday night (4/16) and the house (the party is being held in) is small but there's maybe 70 people dancing and laughing and talking and kissing while Ch-Check It Out by the Beastie Boys comes from the speakers. "Hi," says a woman.  She's wearing a denim miniskirt and as she passes me she stops and stands on her toes (spilling her drink) kisses me and then moves on.  I don't know her but I'm thin, tall and an American so I can understand her wanting to kiss me. "I appreciate that," I say. It's difficult to move but I've made my way to the kitchen. "Write something in it you'd never tell anyone and pass it on," says a good to look at woman then handing me a bottled beer and a spiral notebook (and pen). "Something personal," she says. The music is loud so I ask her twice what it is she's trying to tell me and when I do she moves her mouth close to my ear and when she talks I can feel her girl lips touching my ear and I can smell her perfume and I'm thinking: I'm in a f-ckin' Budweiser commercial.  There's women and beer and music.  Chicks are everywhere and they're undulating their hips to the Beastie Boys.  Her lips are warm.  She's an angel.  I'll bet there isn't a filling in her mouth.  Not one cavity.  An angel.  I'd like to climb inside her when her mouth is open.  Her lip gloss would lubricate me as I descend into her.  I'd be inside her and I'd be safe there.  I'd be warm and safe like when I was a baby. I could be a baby again.  "Write something in the notebook that you'd never tell anyone," she says.  "Don't put your name on it." "My deepest secret," I say then smiling. "We got some blunts for later," she says then kissing me on the cheek. (Blunts: Cigars slit opened using a razor blade.  The tobacco is taken out and pot is put in.  They burn slow and the user gets twice as high.  Dutch Masters cigar is a popular choice). "Can't wait," I say.  "My mother loves blunts." She says: "We'll read aloud from the notebook in a couple of hours and there's a prize for the best entry." I say: "I'm gonna win."              The spiral notebook is wet and when I open it I read some of the entries: I ran over an old lady when I lived in Detroit.  I slowed down and looked back and the woman wasn't on the road so I figured maybe I didn't run her over after all.  Later on I went to White Castle 'cause I usually take home a dozen every Saturday.  I always back my Jeep into parking spots and I did this time too.  When I got my food I walked to my car and that's when I noticed someone sticking out of the grill of my Jeep (between the electric wench motor and snowplow attachment).  Her purse was blocking the headlight on the drivers side.  I thought a headlight was burned out.  Lucky for me it was nighttime.  I worked her body out of the grill (I think she was wearing a diaper, too) and pushed her into a pile of snow in the White Castle parking lot. I was never questioned or anything.  I killed someone.  This is a kick-ass party! Another entry in the notebook: When  I was around fifteen I cut a toad in half with an axe.  My sister told on me and my mother said I'd be grounded for a month if I did indeed cut a toad in half.  To get out of being grounded I held both halves of the toad together as I screwed a large galvanized wood screw through the toads mouth and into his hind section (his ass and back legs).  I showed it to my mother and it worked.  The toad looked whole and unharmed.  I wasn't grounded and I kept the toad and it got rock hard  and eventually I couldn't even see where I had cut him in half. Another entry: Our family always enters the 4-H cow competition at our annual state fair.  During a break in judging I lay down in the stall where our champion cow stood and began experimenting with an enormous dildo I had just won on the midway at the fair.  Well, I experienced a massive hip bucking orgasm and let out a moan like a wounded Sasquatch.  My mother heard it and came running.  She thought I had been trampled or accosted.  I was in a stupor and still reeling from the afterglow of the 'gasm and my hips were still kinda making a jerking motion and while all this was going on I had to calmly say to my pitchfork yielding mom, "I stubbed my toe, mother.  I'm okay."  Boy was I okay. I drink down the beer, find a blank page in the wet spiral notebook and proceed to write something I'd never, ever tell anyone and when I'm done I pass the book on.  Sabotage by the Beastie Boys is coming from the speakers at the packed house party. It's like a Budweiser commercial. Really. PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT