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Spastic Colon Spastic Colon is offline
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Join Date: Feb 2004
Old 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.

The Chronicle

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!”
P.S. This is what part of the alphabet would look like if Q and R were eliminated.
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