Waiting To Do Something

I have eaten nothing but beans for the past two weeks. I was hoping that my body would have been able to adjust by now, but it certainly has not. I spend all day at work holding in farts and after I get home, I spend the rest of the day slinging gnarly turds into the bowl like my colon was one of those water balloon launchers. It,s extremely violent and there is a lot of splash back.

I don,t know why I thought that my body would be able to handle a change like this. I have spent my entire adult life eating nothing but bread and potatoes and out of nowhere I threw a ton of beans into the mix. What was I expecting to happen? My innards are in the middle of a riot and I am the dictator that they are trying to overthrow. I don,t blame them at all.

Rich Gang - Tha Tour Part 1 I,m stupid and don,t learn so I tried to make another severe change involving my body yesterday. I have used the same deodorant for fifty years because pretty people regularly tell me that I smell good. I think some of it comes from being so pretty that other people,s brains aren,t able to process it all visually so their brain moves some of that information to the sniff center of their think machine so it seems like I smell better than I actually do because I,m so good looking. Still, I have been weary of changing anything about the way I smell.

Like the dope that I am, I bought a cube made out of salt and started rubbing it on my armpits. So far, the results aren,t great. I haven,t broken out in any terrifying rashes just yet, but I don,t think I smell as good as I did a few days ago. My body is so mad at me. I am being so mean to it. I would,t be surprised if it killed me soon.

Stomach Ache

I went to a weird thing the other night. People kept saying it was a techno party. I don,t know what that means, and it does,t really seem like an appropriate term for the event, but whatever. I guess there was techno blaring, but it certainly was not a party. Parties are supposed to be fun and visible. This was bizarre and it was almost impossible to see.

It was at a Mexican restaurant that I had never been to before. All of the lights were off except for industrial strength lasers that were aimed directly at eye level. Also, the entire building was filled with a thick, noxious smoke. I don,t know if that is normal for that particular restaurant, maybe that,s part of their deal - you eat tamales while shrouded in mysterious gas, but it made seeing anything other than the dangerous lasers extremely difficult.

New Edition - New Edition Occasionally, I would see a bewildered, sweating form emerge from the churning sea of smoke and struggle for breath before quickly disappearing back into the abyss. It was terrifying. I have no idea how many people were in there with me. I have no idea how many of them died.

I didn,t stay at the techno party very long. It was all a bit too loud and disorienting for me. I groped around for a little while and found a broken piano that I tried to play to steady my nerves, but that proved to be ineffective. In the distance, I saw the faint outline of an open door and I rushed to it. Outside, the air was wet and clean. I am still coughing up worryingly colored phlegm.

Making Things Up

I used to think that I liked flying, but that was during a very long period of my life when I didn,t fly. I probably went ten years without being on a plane and for some reason I got it into my ugly brain that being on a plane was cool. I mean, I bet it,s pretty cool if you,re the only person on there. I still want to fly on a private jet and pretend that I,m not poor someday, but flying on a normal plane surrounded by hideous, yelling dopes is not enjoyable at all.

I was just on a plane the other day. Actually, I was on two planes. The first was sort of small and the man sitting directly in front of me had a head that was sweating like a cold glass of milk that was left out on a kitchen table in August. It was gross. Salty beads ran down the sides of his glistening, bald skull like a greasy waterfall. Luckily, the flight was absurdly short. I think I was in the air for less than thirty minutes. It may have only been five minutes. I don,t know. Time does weird things when you,re mesmerized by somebody else,s head sweat.

Oceaán - The Grip EP The next flight was better, but it was very full and took much longer and there were people all around me coughing and chewing and probably farting. Some farts are quiet and airplanes are loud so it,s pretty easy to sneak out a fart without anybody hearing it. Trust me. That,s what I spent most of my time doing.

The highlight of my day spent in the air was when I was getting on the second plane. I was waiting in line and I had just crossed the threshold into the iron beast when a flight attendant looked me up and down and handed me a banana. Shocked and bewildered, I took the curled fruit from his shiny palm and thanked him quietly. I didn,t know what to do. I didn,t know if this was some sort of aviator,s code for something lascivious. Lord knows I didn,t eat the thing. I have never eaten a banana and I wasn,t about to break my lifelong tradition just because I was a few miles about the screaming earth. I guess I,m just going to have to plant it and see what happens.

Ignore

I get to work at seven AM each morning. That,s not really true. I almost always get to work before seven. I like to clock in five minutes before I should, but clock out at exactly three so I steal five minutes worth of pay each day. That means that I get paid for about an extra hour every two weeks.

I am the only person in the building for at least an hour every morning. I work alone for about ninety minutes. Sometimes I can hear people walking around in hallways and offices that aren,t mine after a while. When I,m working by myself, I get a lot done. The first hour is always my most productive. Often, it is my only productive hour of the day.

Kartell - Tender Games I generally feel the need to move my bowels in the morning, but I almost never do. I wait until I get home to rip a gnarly turd. I usually get the urge after eight AM and that,s when people are about. The building is quiet and the act of painting the bowl brown can sometimes be cacophonous. I like to keep my rectal symphonies to myself. I like to keep the music of my soul private. What I mean is that I generally don,t poop at work because I don,t want people to hear it splattering as if I were blasting a fire extinguisher into the toilet. That would embarrass me.