Beginning
The room was a mess from the night before, beer bottles litter his floor, the new vomit stains are remembered. His head pounds as he looks over to the quarter of Jack Daniels left in the bottle still within his grasp. Morning wood kicks in, no one is around. Might as well complete the rite in the shower as usual he thought. His skin pulls free from the grimy embrace of sweat adhearing to the plastic matress of his waterbed. Snoring. He sits up. Snoring. Someone else is in the other room, no doubt the regulars. He takes a swig of the bottle in hand and places it on the floor then rises to close his open window blowing in the morning breeze. Winter still here, Golfers are still on the move. An evil smile cracks across his face as something rather devious crosses his mind,
"Oh yeah, motherfuckers, just you wait."
To the bathroom, stepping over a casulty of booz who is half-naked in the fetal position. A stirring in the kitchen. It's mother. Oh yes, mother will not be happy yet again today; must hook her up with my good buddy. A body comes alive in the adjacent room, a short pudgy human of no consequence. Close the door.
"Okay, where is that Irish Spring.."
He searches the room in his hidden spot. The mildew has not gotten to
his prize posession and never will in his degenerative mind. Clothes off.
"Don't want to make a mess now, be good poopoo! Come out of the hole and don't bother anything else alright?"
He muses to himself and cautiously holds his nut up as the first spear enters it's victum, another.. and another. SQUEEZE. A pebble, but done.
"OOOoooooohhhhh YEAh.."
Must wipe, wipe wipe wipe. Again for good measure he thinks. He beguns to look at himself in the mirror amazed at what he sees. He has seen this face a million times over, has fixed his hair a million times over.. Yet it never is done enough in his perceptions. It must be done over and over till perfection is met. A perfectionist in his own right, he smiles brightly as he combs his greasy hair back. Get a towel. Shower on.
"What? No hot water?"
To hell with it, lubing up the most intimate parts and finishes his long now gone wood in a sick twenty minute binge.
Clean, now clothes.
"what to wear, what to wear?"
Picking up last nights apparel, he dons it as if he has not been wearing it for the past three weeks without a wash. To the mirror. Fix self. Smile. Fix self. Repeat until mother walks in.
"Clean your room today, ok?" She pleads.
"Ok." A blatant lie.
Fix self until brother needs bathroom.
Seek computer. Ultima matters. Ultima. Ultima.. Ultima... Ultima.... Ultima..... People wake up.
"They are going to just bother me while i'm trying to have fun and do something new, what is wrong with them? Can't they just see what i'm doing is going to matter?" He sighs inwardly.
The friends call next on the computer. He hates it.
"Alright, sure man." He hates it.
His mind goes back to what he thought of for the old golfers..
"Yeah, they deserve it too."
His mind is draining of all but Ultima.
Time passes.
Day becomes Night.
Friends have arrived.
Alcohol.
Alcohol.
Drugs.
Alcohol.
Blacking out.
Find spot to...
Pass out.
Blackness.
Dream.
.
.
.
See Beginning
By Gary Esposito
AKA the italian stallion
DWO FOREVER
Visit Kahnadex Systems Website (Inventor of the Golden Chair)