all the way live #9
said the Doktor, “who the fuck is mike doody?”
“doughty”
“dotty?”
“doughty”
“fucky?”
“fuck off…he used to be in soul coughing.”
“who the fuck are they?”
“i don’t know man…i got some of his new stuff and there’s these couple songs on there…and…”
“and?”
“nevermind. you wanna go or what? i mean, it’s not like you’ve got anything else goin’ on on a weeknight.”
“besides my p.o.”
“besides your p.o. but after that…”
“what kind of crowd?”
“i don’t know…hippies maybe?”
“there are two kinds of hippies, ya know,” he said.
“yeah motherfucker…and I’m the kind that will steal your weed and eat the last muffin.”
“what?”
later that night, i arrived at the Den of Iniquity and was rudely welcomed by a smell fouler than usual. i seemed to have caught the Doktor in the midst of his primping and preening for the occasion and i quickly realized he had been quite liberal with the patchouli in preparation for the evening. i tried reasoning with him that you only needed a drop or two, but it was as if he was trying to douse a fire. a very large, Gay fire. “IT’LL NEVER WORK,” i screamed and tried to wrest the bottle from his grip, but he kept me at bay with a bull whip. “FUCK YO COUCH NUKKA! FUCK YO COUCH!” i screamed and then melted into a viscous puddle on the floor.
“get up…Get Up for chrissakes…GET THE FUCK UP!”
“alright, alright, ok, ” i said. but i knew things were pretty fuckin’ far from all right.
“what’s wrong with you?”
“i don’t wanna get into it right now.”
“WHY THE HELL NOT?”
“oh man…i got a fuckin’ head full of acid.”
“what? where’s mine?”
“oh MAN! you STINK!”
the Doktor looked at me for a long, cold while. he was eyeing me like a piece of furniture, like he was admiring the shape of my skull, maybe for use as the base of a lamp. or…Something. “who’s driving?” he finally said.
“i’ll drive with my head out the window. you STINK! fuck…”
“look at you. you’re a mess. you’re more of a mess than usual. and that’s saying something.”
“saying what?”
“what?” he said.
“you said ‘that’s saying something.’ what is saying something? and what is it saying? is it the couch? huh? is the Couch saying something about me? i Knew it. i’ve always hated that fuckin’ couch!”
“?...don’t…hey…Stop it…get away from my…”
“FUCK YO COUCH NUKKA! FUCK YO COUCH!”
“stop that…put that away…awww, look what ya done…jumpin’ jesus on a pogo stick”
“that was a weird thing to say.”
“what?” the Doktor said. “how much did you take?”
“take? uh…i took all of it, of course.”
“why? why didn’t you save me any? why? a hit-and-a-half or something?”
“man…i mean…i had it, then i smoked some weed, ate some pills - some speed - so i was gettin’ all anxious and shit waitin’ for the bus to come, so i took one cuz i was all waitin’ and anxious and shit, and i got more anxious and shit, and i guess the weed - i don’t know - i guess i forgot i took a hit…so i was all anxious and shit, ya know, and so i took another one, and i guess i forgot i had already taken some, so – i mean – i didn’t know, so i just kept eatin’ the shit until it was all gone and now here i am.”
“indeed…here you are. and now what the fuck am i supposed to do with you?”
“with Me? look…i’m a grown-ass man. you ain’t gonna do a Goddamm thing with me. besides…i got some more, if ya want it…”
“i thought you said…”
“i know…i KNOW…but here’s the weird thing, it was only the ONE POCKET dude…i totally forgot to check the other side.”
“for fuck’s sake…maybe i don’t want any.”
“oh no…you Do…you do…here…take this brother, may it serve you well.”
“but what about the show?” he said.
“what show?”
“doughty.”
“Doody? who shit?”
“doughty…the dude from sold coffin.”
“soul coughing.”
“whatever…what about the show and all the hippie girls and drugs and stinky hugs and shit?” he said.
“fuck it man…i got a burned CD right here,” BAM! “go get your boombox and we can hop the fence down at the zoo and feed the bears.”
“Cool.”
“doughty”
“dotty?”
“doughty”
“fucky?”
“fuck off…he used to be in soul coughing.”
“who the fuck are they?”
“i don’t know man…i got some of his new stuff and there’s these couple songs on there…and…”
“and?”
“nevermind. you wanna go or what? i mean, it’s not like you’ve got anything else goin’ on on a weeknight.”
“besides my p.o.”
“besides your p.o. but after that…”
“what kind of crowd?”
“i don’t know…hippies maybe?”
“there are two kinds of hippies, ya know,” he said.
“yeah motherfucker…and I’m the kind that will steal your weed and eat the last muffin.”
“what?”
later that night, i arrived at the Den of Iniquity and was rudely welcomed by a smell fouler than usual. i seemed to have caught the Doktor in the midst of his primping and preening for the occasion and i quickly realized he had been quite liberal with the patchouli in preparation for the evening. i tried reasoning with him that you only needed a drop or two, but it was as if he was trying to douse a fire. a very large, Gay fire. “IT’LL NEVER WORK,” i screamed and tried to wrest the bottle from his grip, but he kept me at bay with a bull whip. “FUCK YO COUCH NUKKA! FUCK YO COUCH!” i screamed and then melted into a viscous puddle on the floor.
“get up…Get Up for chrissakes…GET THE FUCK UP!”
“alright, alright, ok, ” i said. but i knew things were pretty fuckin’ far from all right.
“what’s wrong with you?”
“i don’t wanna get into it right now.”
“WHY THE HELL NOT?”
“oh man…i got a fuckin’ head full of acid.”
“what? where’s mine?”
“oh MAN! you STINK!”
the Doktor looked at me for a long, cold while. he was eyeing me like a piece of furniture, like he was admiring the shape of my skull, maybe for use as the base of a lamp. or…Something. “who’s driving?” he finally said.
“i’ll drive with my head out the window. you STINK! fuck…”
“look at you. you’re a mess. you’re more of a mess than usual. and that’s saying something.”
“saying what?”
“what?” he said.
“you said ‘that’s saying something.’ what is saying something? and what is it saying? is it the couch? huh? is the Couch saying something about me? i Knew it. i’ve always hated that fuckin’ couch!”
“?...don’t…hey…Stop it…get away from my…”
“FUCK YO COUCH NUKKA! FUCK YO COUCH!”
“stop that…put that away…awww, look what ya done…jumpin’ jesus on a pogo stick”
“that was a weird thing to say.”
“what?” the Doktor said. “how much did you take?”
“take? uh…i took all of it, of course.”
“why? why didn’t you save me any? why? a hit-and-a-half or something?”
“man…i mean…i had it, then i smoked some weed, ate some pills - some speed - so i was gettin’ all anxious and shit waitin’ for the bus to come, so i took one cuz i was all waitin’ and anxious and shit, and i got more anxious and shit, and i guess the weed - i don’t know - i guess i forgot i took a hit…so i was all anxious and shit, ya know, and so i took another one, and i guess i forgot i had already taken some, so – i mean – i didn’t know, so i just kept eatin’ the shit until it was all gone and now here i am.”
“indeed…here you are. and now what the fuck am i supposed to do with you?”
“with Me? look…i’m a grown-ass man. you ain’t gonna do a Goddamm thing with me. besides…i got some more, if ya want it…”
“i thought you said…”
“i know…i KNOW…but here’s the weird thing, it was only the ONE POCKET dude…i totally forgot to check the other side.”
“for fuck’s sake…maybe i don’t want any.”
“oh no…you Do…you do…here…take this brother, may it serve you well.”
“but what about the show?” he said.
“what show?”
“doughty.”
“Doody? who shit?”
“doughty…the dude from sold coffin.”
“soul coughing.”
“whatever…what about the show and all the hippie girls and drugs and stinky hugs and shit?” he said.
“fuck it man…i got a burned CD right here,” BAM! “go get your boombox and we can hop the fence down at the zoo and feed the bears.”
“Cool.”
Johnny St. Clair wuz here at 11:58 PM
6 Comments:
As the seasons change, and one year melts into another, your knack for capturing the essence of the truth becomes... like... better n shit.
gee...
thanks
i'm gettin' all weepy an' shit...
is someone burning vaseline?
oh...
nevermind
I don't know about burning.
But something sure as fuck is flamin.
Fags.
Yes. I'm back. After checking out several of the previous posts, I have decided that the title should now be: (After reading this) We're All Going To Be A Lot Gayer
george takei dappled my wang!
...in latex.
Esticals.
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