Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Puddle Jumping Bogglerama.

Infinite. The funk was unreal. A lingering scent that can only be described as medicinal. That puddle jumping, tweekers suck, 3am, juvenile prostitute, mixed with Debbie Gibson's "Electric Youth" stank. A custom finish I might add. What the fuck was I doing in the midst of these people?

On occasion, I land in some uncompromising locations in my travels. I watch as the glass penis is passed back and forth. I watch. I notice this foursome trying their best not to look soo anxious for another puff on the transparent cock. This circle jerk of sweaty, boggled, bandits are amusing as they sit around a single burning candle. Currently they're not in the mood to alert the shadow people who are waiting outside to pounce. The blinds are closed and a solitary guard inserts two fingers in them and peruses the empty street out front.

Paranoia. Nocturnal carpet pirating. I'm lame. I ask. "Why are you sifting through the Berber?" They all look perplexed. "There may be more." I am reminded. I am a creature of habit, so I whip out the Peach Optimo filled with Crom's holy herb and inhale. I puff puff pass. No takers. "What the fuck?" I say. "It'll ruin my high." says the rotten toothed chap with tight jeans and green Doc Martens. The fact that I noticed his green Docs was a sign. A sign that my people had turned into these people. Where'd MY people go?

I'm "That Fucker" at this party. The slightly drunk and stoned one. The only one who could care less about tryna  get a word in edgewise. "That Fucker". The one who doesn't care for scratch tickets and what tweekfest 1 said about tweekfest 2's boyfriend. "That Fucker" The one who decided to say "yes" to an after party full of meth heads. I'd offer these urchins a drink, but at this point it'll do no good. My trusty flask full of Dewar's is no match for what they are searching for in that carpet. I shake my head and exit the scene. I glance over my shoulder and the two finger soldier watches me leave. I really need to hire a new chauffeur. I can't be trusted to get myself home.  Tweekers Suck.

2 comments:

Come At Me Bro on November 3, 2010 at 5:52 PM said...

I should try this!

Asha on November 6, 2010 at 10:48 AM said...

Agreed. Bring on the pot anyday. My anxiety level is way to high to be tweeking out of my mind.
http://www.ashafullife.blogspot.com

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