this is the perfect place to get jumped

Month: May, 2012

I Thought It Was Hell

I was walking down the street when a man standing at a storefront for luxury bedspreads beckoned me inside for endless wine, cheese and bread. Far from rich and always suspicious of the super polite, eagerly saccarine stranger, a random offer for free food gets me wet enough not to question intentions. I only live below my means so I can stack money, which usually means buying Devil’s Spring over Grey Goose. However, when the vice becomes free, my textbook glutton emerges.

From the wine to the cheese to the bread and butter and oil back to the wine back to the cheese over to the olives back to the wine back to the bread and (oh shit!) mini quiches and more bread and butter, then take the glass of wine over to sit on one of those $10 trillion dollar beds because after all this is a fancy opening for rich people who can afford dope ass shit.

As I set my brimming wine glass on the nightstand and settled under the sheets with chipmunk cheeks for a mini drunk nap, I startled myself with a troubling thought:  

This could be hell. That dude could have been a demon in a human suit tricking the frugal into gluttony and a eternity of torment. I could be trapped here forever, even after the limited supply of food ends. Nothing this good has ever been true, so it must not be real. And if it is real, it must be hell.

If it was hell I wasn’t waiting to find out. I finished my glass, guzzled another, and booked it with some pillow incense and a warm Italian loaf underneath my armpit.

The rich don’t care about free shit because they have so much money everything feels free. Gluttony is lost on them, and when the poor get a taste of it they mistake it for hell because it seems too good to be true.

This Morning

I poured a handle of Devil’s Spring vodka onto the naked body of a petite blond as she squirmed in my lap. Her eyes became slits as I laid her on her back and slowly penetrated her for that first fuck, before pumping away at her like a rabid dog. Of course, reality set in too soon and I found myself wondering how I knew this girl, and where exactly we were fucking. Seeing her clearly through clenched eyelids gave away the reality of the situation, and opening my eyes I met my own reflection, pumping away at my bundled comforter.

Yesterday Afternoon

The commotion in the office couldn’t stop me from nodding off at my desk; but the feeling of the keyboard on my forehead prompted me to seek a solution. There are two remedies to choose from in these situations: coffee or a toilet nap. Coffee would revitalize my spirit and make me productive for the last hour of work. But I wasn’t craving energy, so I chose toilet nap.

I pull down my pants as a precautionary measure so I look like a shitter to my fellow bathroom patrons. Normally I rest my head on my arm and my arm on the toilet paper dispenser, but yesterday afternoon I folded my arms in my lap and laid my head to rest on my makeshift crotch pillow. I was instantly asleep and recall enjoying a terrifying dream where I was plunging headfirst from a Gotham City styled skyscraper, spinning and twirling as Seal’s Kissed By A Rose played in the background. Before the dream ended I awoke, snapping my head back. That’s when the spinning began.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

My eyes could not keep still. Closing them only intensified it. I tried to steady myself and grab the stall door, but the inside of my head was spinning so fast that I couldn’t reach it. I leaned back against the cool, tile wall and tried to focus on something, but the beige stall couldn’t grab my attention. Running out of options, I gripped the gap between the divider and the wall and said out loud, ‘Stop spinnng.’ Slowly the spinning stopped. I held my head in my hands, and stared down at my crotch thinking, “Why do we have to die?’

Let the sweating commence.

First it was a few rogue drips, and then it poured down my forehead from my scalp and dripped onto my panties. It rose from my inner thighs and arms and chest, so I unbuttoned my shirt and threw it in the corner and then ripped off my undershirt and threw it in the corner and continued to drip, intermittently wiping myself down with toilet paper. I breathed deeply, waiting for the nausea to dissipate, and slowly summoned some strength to stand. I left the stall to grab some paper towels and wiped my body down. The sweat wouldn’t quit so I dabbed myself with my undershirt and limped out of the bathroom.

Marketing was going out for farewell drinks after work, so I chugged three glasses of water and sat at my desk, determined to make it to the end of the day. I slunk into my chair, leaned my head back and let my jaw slack open. I tried the simple task of copy/paste, which nearly made me vomit, so I gathered my energy and told my boss I had to leave work immediately. My dept is full of mothers, so they gave me some water, petty cash for a cab, and escorted me out of the building.

When I reached the street I collapsed in front of the subway grate as the H.R dude held his limp arm to the sky to hail from a sea of off duty cabs. I puked up the three cups of water and my stolen sushi from lunch and it felt sooo good.

I rose from the street like a hunchback when two bored paramedics materialized behind me and threw questions in my face: Do you know where you are? Were you just in McDonalds? Do you know what day it is? I looked askance and answered: Park Ave, No, Wednesday. They said I matched the description of a suspect who was just screaming and making a mess in McDonalds, and asked me to if I wanted to go to the hospital with the police. The dude from H.R rescued me, telling the nosy paramedics that we just walked onto the street from the office and to leave us alone. He finally hailed a cab, and I passed out inside.

Later that night I watched Edward Penishands with my sexy roommate in her bed and can’t ever remember being more sexually frustrated in my life.

Last Night

I’m writing a short story starring my obese ex-roommate “Meg”, and last night I dreampt that she texted me a line from the manuscript. I have no intentions of ever showing it to her, especially because the subject matter is sexually explicit, and presents her as woman so alienated and desperate for affection that she seeks the sexual companionship of a grizzly bear. Her prescience was disturbing, but the text conveyed no sign of hard feelings. In fact, she was probably flattered that I used her name and likeness. You know, maybe I will show it to her….