Archive for February 2nd, 2008

Boy Shorts

Saturday, 2 February 2008

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Fuckfield #32

Saturday, 2 February 2008

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Fuckfield #37

Saturday, 2 February 2008

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Pot, pancakes, despair

Saturday, 2 February 2008

Last night (ah, the horrors that follow those words) I reached for marijuana, just a few hits off a joint cig (stuff called “Ultra II” if that means anything) the first time I’ve touched any plants since Xmas.

Pain was (and is) eating me alive, but since that’s going to happen anyway, why not file a few teeth out of the shark’s mouth?

It worked, sort of.  I took 4 small hits.  The shit worked as promised and I waited another hour before driving.  I went to my friend Egg’s house, where he prepared homemade French bread pizzas with fresh garlic  (complimenting the half a giant candy bar I wolfed down on the way over).

Egg is up on my complaints with women.  I explained the latest delusions I was using to keep my spirits propped up.  Women are founts of life and primordial swamps of misery.  You can’t hate what you love, the rose has to be planted in manure, etc.  Egg knew all this already, his hard-working wife fully provided him CliffsNotes on the subject of female capriciousness by forever going out with fags while not fucking him as much as he would like.

While Egg left to take his drunkard older brother home, I stayed with his two young sons, the 5-year-old and me ending up watching Born on the 4th of July.  I hate Oliver Stone but don’t deny his genius, his movie worlds have their own laws of physics, morality and are beautiful to watch.

Of course, we couldn’t watch long because of the horrific nature of the film and fortunately the kid lost interest.  When Ron Kovic was lying down screaming (which as Tom Cruise as he did a lot) I told the kid “the guy was having a nightmare he was being burned with a giant popsicle”.  Maybe it was the truth.

I went from my computer to Egg’s computer and the internet was just as I’d left it at my place.  The rambunctious kid kept playfully attacking me, trying to jump on my lap.  Normally I hate children but as an honorary uncle I wrestled him a little.  It helped remove some of the despair from the air.  Despite the urchin’s cherubic looks someday he too will be going through the same hell I am now, that all men suffer, gay or straight, rich or poor.  Who knows what her name will be or even if she’s born yet.

It finally got late.  Egg returned, his wife came back from partying with the finooks and he and I went to Wal-mart and ate breakfast at an all-night chain (not ihop).

I’m going to fucking die and I’m sorry it wasn’t last night in my sleep, those pancakes were good.