WARNING: This story is rated OGBF (Overly-descriptive Gross Bodily Functions).
I had decided to stay in last night so was curled up on the couch in my Spiderman burka. It came complete with Captain Kangaroo pockets which I had filled with my special recipe of toasted kibbles and head lice larvae. I was snuggled up and sipping a fantastic blend of septic tank cleaner and root rot stabilizer. Wonderful concoction. Plus, it serves a dual purpose. What I don't drink, I put in a vaporizer and inhale before bedtime.
I was in the middle of a rousing episode of My Friend Flicka when the phone rang. I was surprised to find that it was my old girlfriend, Alice, whom I hadn't seen since the firestorm of '65. She was a lovely lass. I fell for her because she could whistle Dixie through her rectum. What a showoff. In addition, after a particularly spicy meal, she could hunt geese without a shotgun. They just fell out of the sky.
But, I've never had much luck with girls so everybody knew it was going to end badly at some point and that point came less than a month into our relationship. We were at the Grease and Gulp where Alice had just downed three racks of pork ribs and a triple bowl of beans when she suddenly jumped up on the table and ripped off two choruses of "Sweet Home Alabama". The room was pretty much a fog by this time but, showoff that she is, she did a double-flip off the table and started into a Rolling Stones medley. Now, THAT'S entertainment! Everything was going fine (at least for Alice) until she performed a rather unfortunate high-kick near a candle on the table.
Did you know that methane is flammable? I vaguely remember hearing, "I can't get no..........Whoom!"
She shot through the Grease and Gulp front window, made a quick right turn and headed down main street like a hopped up stink rocket. I screamed, "Dig your heels in, Alice!" But, it was too late. She had already set fire to the Piggly Wiggly, scorched the Ace Hardware and pretty much destroyed the inventory of Fred's Used Car Lot. By this time, she was hitting about 100 m.p.h. and blowing smoke rings that resembled a pulse jet engine at fifty thousand feet. I surmised that she was into her rendition of "Flight of the Bumble Bee".
Once she left town, she hit the on-ramp of the interstate so I never found out where she finally powered down. But as you might have guessed, the damage was extensive and Alice was nowhere to be found. From our phone conversation, I found that she lives out west now and works for a power company. She provides electricity for a mining operation.
Ahhh, memories. But, that was a long time ago and I've got to tell you, it's tough getting old. Especially if you're living with gas-induced brain warp. Everything I have seems to be wrinkled, drooping, bloated, falling out or a combination thereof. And besides that, the bathroom has become my best friend. I don't know why I ever allowed my mother to take me out of that diaper. I was 24 at the time. What can I say? I love my Depends.
But, it's not too bad. I work. I exercise. And as a result, I have the body of a weight lifter. I keep it in the freezer. It's right next to the rack of undocumented worker I "obtained" last year. Yummy.
On a side note, please don't open the padlock on my basement door. I'm planning a barbeque next week.
My psychiatrist, Dr. Demonic, wants desperately to cure me but during one of our recent sessions, he shared with me that if insanity had a smell, I'd be a beached whale. I'd be a Columbian morgue. I'd be an Iraqi sewer plant. At any rate, I thought the jalapeno enema was a bit much. That's why I flushed concrete down his toilet.
But, as my mother used to say, "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagghh!"
She did that a lot. At least when she was conscious. And sometimes when she wasn't. Go figure.
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