Saturday, December 03, 2005
Alternate Title: Mutiny On The Gravy
"C'mon man, give it over."
"No. I'm... I'm drunk. I need this keyboard. I'm gonna type now."
"Okay. Dumb idea, though. You can barely talk drunk. Typin ain't gonna improve your eloquence. You're a bottle deep. Ten High ain't Kool-Aid."
"Yeah, you heard me. Don't play dumb."
"Oh shut up."
"Your funeral, Steve. Have at it."
I'm a clean person. Shower daily, fond of bathing, Mom works for a dentist, etc. I wouldn't label myself groomed, although I shave with frequency. My clothes are shoddy. I'm fashion impaired. But I'm clean.
Ever live in a place with no dishwasher? No big deal, I know. I have. However, when the kitchen sink plastic pipes plug up with so much sludgy fuck the pipes explode and the kitchen is out of commision, a person is left in a whole nother realm of culinary decency. Or lack thereof. Allow me to expound.
I know I whined about children a week or two ago. Shame on me. That's not a good reason to bitch. I should have a seriously capital point of hell to raise on a flagpole and flap in the breeze before I raise my voice. Got one this time. Promise.
No kitchen sink and no DW (that's short for dishwasher) means I'm scrubbing out pots and pans in other receptacles. Either in the bathroom sink, the toilet, or the tub. What would you pick?
I try to be practical. Big un, goes in the tub. Little un, goes in the sink. Rotting uneaten muck gets scooped out by a Minnie Mouse spoon into the toilet, where I flush it little by little, not quite thrilled to be feeding sewer rats with the finest quality gourmet turkey stew.
One day, a couple days ago, specifically, I made a critical mistake. It was the big yellow pan. I washed it out, giblets and all, down the bathtub drain. It didn't go: I repeat: it didn't go. It stayed. Turkey chunk and carrot pulp and celery flesh and more. A puddle of vitamin rich swamp congealed over the drainhole.
The next morning, dumb and blind, I cranked the shower up to full heat and stepped into the searing steamy pelting hot water assault. It was glorious. That glory was short-lived.
I realized my feet were stepping in imaginary giant nostrils. I was showering with hot rain above, turkey soup below. Restless marrow tickled those gentle little nerves between my toes. Clots of fat burbled beneath my toenails. My feet were socially mingling with carrots. Finally, truly, a new all time low. I was ashamed to be a bipedal.
At least I didn't lather in gravy. Like a sick pervert. I have some dignity. Just a little.
Welcome to my life. Glad you're here. 2:46 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm
Addiction Fiction Part Four
Fetus Juggling 101
Mugger Anna & The Liquid Pumpkin
Addiction Fiction Part Three
Addiction Fiction Part Two
Addiction Fiction Part One
Black And Silver Swoop Part Three