what have i eaten tonight that would cause me to draw blood from my own tongue?
some rotten kind of drug psychosis…it came on hard man…i’d been feeling it well-up the last few times i had gotten high, but i was able to get out in front of it, or at least on top of it once it came on. but not this time. this was mean and fast and strong. no turning back from this one. i remember thinking that it would pass with the high – what was twisting in my head – but something was telling me it wouldn’t, that there was no way i was ever gonna make it back from this trip i was own. rats were scratching at my ceiling. i was doomed.
the phone was ringing.
get a hold of yourself, man…“yeah?”
“douchebag?”
“hmmm? where are you?”
“denver international.”
“do you need a ride?”
“no.”
“i’ll be right there.”
“what are you on?”
i dropped the receiver and ran to the window, flung open the curtains…how did he know? was he watching? could he hear? was this place bugged?...i thought i heard something like white-noise coming from the phone, and i placed it to my ear again after a careful examination.
“what the fuck happened?” he said.
“who is this?”
“it’s the Doktor.”
“PROVE IT!” i yelled and banged the phone off of the table three, maybe four times. when i felt the coast was clear, i put it to my ear once again.
“what the fuck was that?” he said.
“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“uh ok…listen, i didn’t wake you did i?”
“sleep? what’s that?”
“look…we need to put some serious loot down on this super bowl. the money is moving pittsburgh's way like mad. the line was 3 when the game was over. it was 3 ½ when i got into the limo, and it's at 4 already."
"alright fine...do whatever...but don't take my word for it."
"we about to be some r-r-r-r-r, r-r-r-r-r, r-r-rich n..."
"don't say it, you filthy pigfucker."
"i'm serious."
"i'll bet on anything that moves. the fuckin' coin flip. first penalty. first fist-fight in the stands. first score, first injury, first pass play, first..."
"that's more like it."
"what's that noise in the bushes?"
"..."
"it's the fuckin' Federalés...godDammit...i know why they're here. is the president a clone? is my car going to explode?"
"listen man, as your attorney, i advise you to..."
"YOU'LL DO NOTHING AND LIKE IT!!! an attorney...HA!!! YOU'RE A GODDAMM NARCOTICS AGENT!!!"
"calm the fuck down...listen, one last thing before i go...there is this guy here wandering around and blubbering about Reverend Johnny, and how he fucked it all up. said he knew it was a bad sign after the taser and body cavity search on his flight out of pittsburgh. he said he has to find you and make amends."
"hmmm?"
"yeah man...said he was pulling for the broncos, but had to sit by Bettis's parents at the game. i think they might have had him ejected. do you know this cat?"
"where did this tattoo come from?"
"that's what i thought."
the phone was ringing.
get a hold of yourself, man…“yeah?”
“douchebag?”
“hmmm? where are you?”
“denver international.”
“do you need a ride?”
“no.”
“i’ll be right there.”
“what are you on?”
i dropped the receiver and ran to the window, flung open the curtains…how did he know? was he watching? could he hear? was this place bugged?...i thought i heard something like white-noise coming from the phone, and i placed it to my ear again after a careful examination.
“what the fuck happened?” he said.
“who is this?”
“it’s the Doktor.”
“PROVE IT!” i yelled and banged the phone off of the table three, maybe four times. when i felt the coast was clear, i put it to my ear once again.
“what the fuck was that?” he said.
“i don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“uh ok…listen, i didn’t wake you did i?”
“sleep? what’s that?”
“look…we need to put some serious loot down on this super bowl. the money is moving pittsburgh's way like mad. the line was 3 when the game was over. it was 3 ½ when i got into the limo, and it's at 4 already."
"alright fine...do whatever...but don't take my word for it."
"we about to be some r-r-r-r-r, r-r-r-r-r, r-r-rich n..."
"don't say it, you filthy pigfucker."
"i'm serious."
"i'll bet on anything that moves. the fuckin' coin flip. first penalty. first fist-fight in the stands. first score, first injury, first pass play, first..."
"that's more like it."
"what's that noise in the bushes?"
"..."
"it's the fuckin' Federalés...godDammit...i know why they're here. is the president a clone? is my car going to explode?"
"listen man, as your attorney, i advise you to..."
"YOU'LL DO NOTHING AND LIKE IT!!! an attorney...HA!!! YOU'RE A GODDAMM NARCOTICS AGENT!!!"
"calm the fuck down...listen, one last thing before i go...there is this guy here wandering around and blubbering about Reverend Johnny, and how he fucked it all up. said he knew it was a bad sign after the taser and body cavity search on his flight out of pittsburgh. he said he has to find you and make amends."
"hmmm?"
"yeah man...said he was pulling for the broncos, but had to sit by Bettis's parents at the game. i think they might have had him ejected. do you know this cat?"
"where did this tattoo come from?"
"that's what i thought."
Johnny St. Clair wuz here at 11:58 PM
5 Comments:
i dont know but chicken always makes me do strange things with my tongue
I know you. And i know what chicken does to your tounge.
Get over here immediately!
Way to spit on a reverend, there!
Where the f is Marsha Monroe?!!! Tell her after the Pens leave, I'll be ready to move to California.
you retarded fuckers make this shit too easy. i'll leave the spit/swallow jokes for someone else.
maybe your mom, i don't know.
the reverend deserved getting nailed by the fire hose. "boo hoo, i'm wet, i'm wet"
why should i give a shit?
i've said that to you plenty of times and you didnt do a goddamn thing about it
BEOTCH
tootles!
wet.
wet?
wet.
Post a Comment
<< Home