May 10th, 2004, 02:49 AM
Could be a series?
I know I'm not that great a writer, but I'm trying to get there, so be gentle. For fucks sake I'm only 16!
I know I probably stole a couple of ideas from people on the boards, and if you notice some, then I apologize and please understand that it was (for the most part) unintentional.
It was the typical fifteen minutes after my mother had always told me to wake up that I actually did. If it’s one thing she always does to awaken me, it’s this: she turns on the radio and just subconsciously tunes in to the most irritating, poop-inducing bass-filled song she can find. God hates me. Today’s anthem was some shit by Boy George. “And I wake in the morning and I step outside…” Sure my teeth were grinding to the nerve, and sure my pants were full of what I hoped were leeches; but I couldn’t help but let out a “grumble” of hate for my mother and her ‘obsessions.’
I rolled out of bed and, apparently, I had shifted in my sleep because now the floor was my wake up call. It took me another good five minutes of my morning to pry myself from the oh-so-comfortable floor and turn off the radio. “If you’re just joining us, we’re in the middle of our 'Top 111 Most Irritating, Poop-inducing Bass-filled Countdown of The Century.' Coming in at number 51 is ‘Ring of Fire’ by . . .” And with that click, I had insured the firebombing of that station by myself and several colleagues whom we will simply refer to as “Go-Team Vaginaminus.”
My dog had definitely slept on my face again, and with a hearty cough, I was liberated of my dog’s winter coat. That coat had been nesting there all night growing ticks and fleas and bacteria. I probably had a colony of worms scooping out Spastic Colon Canyon to make a summer home, but I wouldn’t let that ruin my already chipper day.
I jaunted myself into a walking slumber, as that was all I could muster, and crept toward the door. “No, that’s what they would expect.” Turning around, I felt a sickening ping in my stomach and groin, which was nothing short of usual but I had to obey it. “Those damn gnomes are just waiting for me to come out so they can give me a hysterectomy.” In case you don’t know me as well as the lady who changed me when I was younger, I like to play these games with myself. With the prospect of my man-ovaries in jeopardy, I decided to take the path less traveled and go out my window and crawl through the bathroom window. Damn I was on a roll. I quickly backed up to gain running speed, then I leapt into my window like a trout upstream. I lied on the ground remembering how lucky I was one day when a really hard Algebra test was postponed because my teacher was having some baby-chucking “schizophrenic” issues, and I just couldn’t understand why luck had to strike then and not now. The window was closed.
“Alright, let’s try this again.” Yeah, I’m cool; I can do anything but open a window. There’s nothing wrong with that one problem except a misaligned spine. Anyway, I opened the window after another verbal assault from my mother. “Why if you’re blessed grandfather were still alive, he’d stick his bible somewhere in you where a bible should never go.” That premonition had always struck a cord with me ever since I was three years old. Had to make this quick. After lubing up for speed, I thrust myself through my window and into the morning sunshine. Sunshine should’ve sent Neosporin, because, in my fear of hysteretic incarceration, I had forgotten all about the thorn bush outside my window. And that’s the story of how I became the biggest nudist Cabbage Patch Kid in all of Corporate America.
I wiped the slugs off my skin and slithered through my bathroom window, but the shame was still there and it stung like when I pee. My mother still hadn’t given up on me, like she should have an hour ago. “If you don’t get in here, I will take a steamy shit in your cereal. Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, send a lighting bolt to free me from this bondage.” The hostility of my mother was growing steadily more serious so I thought I should at least acknowledge her threats. “Mom, I’m up, Grandpa’s dead, and I don’t need you pooping anywhere that might get you kicked out of Rhode Island, again.” Shower time.
Now, the last three times I took a shower, I’ve woken up several hours later being resuscitated by paramedics. This time was no different. You see I’m one of those children with 911 right below ‘Grandma’ on the speed dial. I can sleep anywhere, and I can prove it at will. Why, I once slept in a friend’s ferret cage on a bet; I won, but the scars are still there to remind me to keep my hand out of the bad-bet cookie jar.
So I waved goodbye to Jesus and came to. “Hey Mr. Paramedic, working hard, or hardly working? Haha, that one always gets me, but seriously you’re a good sport. Next show at 10 pm.” He packed up his gear and left as I sat down to a halfheartedly prepared meal. There was a delicious bounty of ‘Great Grains’ with, yes, a big steamy poop in it sitting right before me. Possibilities. I looked at my mother and she looked at me with the same choler in her eyes. “Sorry it’s not gift wrapped sweetie.” Although I really wanted to beat her with a hose full of bee bees, I had to settle with a “Great Grains, yum, this’ll be good for getting me out of 2nd period for at least an hour today, thanks Mom.”
Of course I didn’t eat that shit, but I did swallow my pride to pick it up and pelt her car before I left for school in my own vehicle. “The mower needs gas, Mom!”