The Sun Is In My Face

The other night my Death Cab For Cutie cover band played a dumb show in a really dumb office building. I call it an office building because the ceiling was made out of those big, soft, porous tiles and there were fluorescent lights and one wall was made up entirely of stacked boxes of files. It was sort of a weed office because the fat slob working there wearing the Cookie Monster shirt was smoking weed inside as were several other people. The place was a bummer. There was a swastika drawn on a couch. It was sort of like the show The Office because that show sucks now.

The people there were quite an interesting mix. Luckily, most of them left when we played because we just blasted a wall of noise for twenty five minutes. There were several very young nerds with greasy hair, several horrendous peace punks with bug-filled dreadlocks and ripped pants, several bewildered parents of the young greasies, and many more. All of them bummed me out and embarrassed me with equal vigor. I applaud them for that. It made me never want to grow up and never want to get younger.

Zach Hill - Lil Scuzzy
The only good part about the night was that I didn,t have to carry anything heavy because I kept acting like my nards would explode if I did. That and one of my friends brought two cute girls with him that I got to glance at every so often. Also, I had a tasty dinner afterward but that doesn,t count because I was far away from the office building at that point. So I guess the highlight was me not carrying stuff. That,s a pretty bad highlight.

I tricked one of my famous friends into playing with us and he smelled like an acidic clam afterwards.

Rooms

I finally got to go to the hospital yesterday without having some bald guy tell me that I wasn't welcome there after getting my no-no place scrubbed with poison. This time a stoner doctor (I think his name was Dr. Bad Ass Cool Guy That Surfs) kept referring to my testicles as ,,nuts,, and burnt some stuff out of me. He did a good job, I think because I still have at least one penis. It was an overall great experience and I think everybody should try it at least once.

The best part of the whole experience was hearing the sound of him burning things that belong inside of what he called my ,,nutsack,,. No, the real best part was the scrub nurse telling me that a lot of people get vasectomies because they are cheating on their wives. No, the real, real best part was that the doctor had long greasy hair and kept making strange jokes while he was touching me. No, the absolutely real best part was that he had braces on his bottom teeth. That,s the thing that kept me from falling apart on the operating table. Every time I felt any pain I would just glance up and look at him until I got a good view of his shiny adult braces. That,s the sign of a true professional.

Loretta Lynn - Sings
I don,t really feel too bad, which is nice, but I sort of wanted to so I could have an excuse to be a big baby and make people carry me places. I have been using the phrase ,,I went under the knife,, to try and get people,s sympathy and use them as work beasts to bring me snacks and juice. I didn,t even go under the knife though. There was no knife. He used a needle and a soldering iron to do most of it. I think he may have used a strand of his dirty hair to sew me up because the nurses were on strike that day and they took the, I don't know what they use. They probably use normal thread to sew people up. The nurses took the thread with them to go on strike.

They really were on strike yesterday. I got an email a couple of days ago saying that they would go on strike and picket the hospital for just one day and that,s when I was having my surgery, so that was nice. I liked knowing that the good nurses were outside, trying to get a living wage for the difficult work that they do while the backup, imported nurses were there to see to my safety. The scrub nurse that scrubbed my unmentionables was cool though. I couldn,t understand anything she was saying because of her thick Peruvian accent but I sure acted like I could. I hope I signed a waiver saying that they can harvest my organs in two years.

The River Had Tires In It

The other day I went on a weird, exhausting trip. I went over eight hundred miles so I could sit outside of one bar and get peer pressured and then sit inside of another bar and drink a glass of orange juice for two hours. After that, I went home. I was only there for five or six hours. I also ate some French fries and something called ,,Cheese bread sticks,, at a restaurant that had saddles for seats and offered an item called ,,Chicken rings,,.

I normally don,t hang out in or around bars because I get called a fag enough at home, but I did while I was there because everything else was closed. It was a Tuesday at six PM when I arrived and even the quilt shop had already shut its doors. The free museum too. I was planning on staying the night at one of the many great equine-themed motels but all of them were full because of a horse convention or something. I figured I was going to have to stay up all night or sleep in a discarded mound of chicken rings, so staying warm inside of The Wild Horse Saloon until two in the morning seemed like an alright idea.

The first bar I went to was called the Green Gander Bar. I didn,t actually go inside because I was driven away by one man,s repeated attempts to buy me a beer or mixed drink. He got mad when I politely declined and said, ,,Man, you need to start drinkin,. It makes it go a lot faster,,. He then told me a bunch of incorrect information about the area and then told me he used to work in a mine before he went to jail. Whoops. He said he was working now but didn,t tell me what he did so I,m guessing that means he,s a professional boxer of women that he is currently dating. I finally left the plastic bench in front of the Green Gander after he and two of his friends yelled incomprehensibly in my face after I turned down their friendly offer to ,,smoke a bowl,,.

Matmos - For Alan Turing
I then headed over the the beautiful Wild Horse Saloon. I like to think of it as more of a salon though. Not the hair kind of salon but the French philosopher kind. It was just a really great gathering of open minded people who were willing to exchange ideas about life, literature, art, and culture. When I arrived, three women were getting out of a truck, each with a beer in hand. I heard one of them say to another, ,,Bloody Marys won,t make you sick, they,ll just mess you up,, as they walked into the bar. The bartender was wearing a big black wig, very short denim shorts, and a big black hooded sweatshirt. Her body resembled a Fudgesicle. She kept calling me sweetie because she liked that I bought a one dollar glass of orange juice and didn,t tip her anything because I watched her put her ugly sausage fingers on my mouth,s end of the straw.

The patrons were all great. There was a man and a woman kissing passionately and it was everybody else,s job to watch them intently so as to make sure the image was burned into their brains for them to later recall when they were masturbating in their kids, bedrooms. There were a few people playing pool - a man and what I at first thought was a man but ended up being a woman. The man that wasn,t trying to trick me about being a man kept playing Marilyn Manson songs on the jukebox. Actually, it went from new country songs in which women sang about being one of the boys and drinking beer and having unprotected sex with strangers to club anthem rap songs to goth industrial mall metal. It was a very strange mix but I enjoyed all of my time there.

Eventually I had to leave because I was getting suicidal so I went to sit out in the cold. They had speakers outside to make sure I could hear what was playing inside. That was nice of them. I,m sad to be gone and I will miss all of it very much.

My Voice Sounds Bad

There are a ton of Hispanic-seeming girls at my work right now. I specifically chose the word ,,ton,, because most of them are kind of fat and once of them looks like three tractor tires stacked on top of each other covered in irregular clothes that Target tried to send back to the manufacturer. There are a lot of black Capri pants here. Her face looks a pumpkin that scared itself with black earthworms hot glued above its heavy, meat-filled eyelids. She,s the heftiest sow. Her neck looks like a decorating bag filled just beyond capacity with raw ground chicken. What if I wrote this entire thing describing how one person looks?

Dorian Concept - Her Tears Taste Like Pears
Her lips look like used tampons. That,s it. It,s a simple but fitting description. I have very little experience with menstruation and the type of things that fall from a woman,s body during the process but I am willing to bet that much of it is dark red in color. Maybe it fluctuates, but I think it would be between dark crimson and black on the blood-spectrum. Her lips are like swollen, wet cotton tubes filled with black and red blood speckled with endometrial lining chunks. The ghastly off-white color of her skin just makes the severity of her lips more apparent and nauseating. I want to kiss her because I want to puke in a girl,s mouth while kissing and I would no other option in that scenario.

Her face has a permanent, bewildered scowl on it. I don,t really think that,s all her fault. The bewilderment is probably her fault but the scowl is surely due to the weight of her jowls pulling down on her greasy mouth. God, her throat is so fat. Her arms look like mashed potatoes that were made with some of the skins still left on. She has pockmarks and spots of discoloration all over every inch of skin I have seen oo her. She is like a big grub. A big, hungry, confused, angry, scared, hungry, lonely, sad, hungry, swollen, hungry larva. I just want to feed her leaves and watch her pupate.