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Hands immersed innocently in a sink engorged with eighteen pounds of Scotch Bonnet peppers, hours ago... now they throb with the burning glow of evil, toxic caspsacin. Will it spread ever upward through the extremities, stopping only when enslaving my mind in delusions of caribbean lust and the taste for... jerk chicken and rice and peas? Will scantily-clad starlets run screaming in terror, only to trip and fall before my skanking onslaught? So it begins. Life imitates bad 50's SciFi movies. So, yeah, I'm boinin'. The river now resembles a stone quarry, but the plants are bursting with vegetation. Like nature's take on a firey spice explosion. Organic fireworks. Future gallons of hot sauce in the making. There'll be sore buttholes a comin', I predict. At this point, if I touch any tender regions on my body, I reap in tears what I have sown. Big Time. Back in the day... like, Monday, when I had time to add entries... I was gonna document those who I was sharing a roof. Like it's been said, "it takes all kinds to make a world." And it goes like this: Doofus Jock Senior from PA: My freshman year of college. Male airhead. Fancied himself God's gift to women. Referred to wine as "vino." Had one of those Fu Manchu facial hair things that made him look like he'd been huffing on a dijiridoo dipped in dog poop. Perhaps the lamest roommate, ever. Ruined me on Pennsylvania. Fuzzy: Another senior, my sophomore year. Pharmacy major, doing independent study with chemicals, both over-the-counter and not. Possessing some pretty foul personal habits, but a big improvement. Except for the used tissues all over his side of the room. You don't want to know.... Psycho and Whitebread: First place away from home. Psycho dabbled in cars, substances, ponitificating with "authority" at length, and making booze with raisins saved from dinner while in jail for two pages worth of driving violations. Whitebread sang music from "Grease" all the time. Freaked and scampered away when the situation became a redneck commune horror show. Which ended in the suicide of a German tagalong. That got ugly. The Little General: Friend who lived in the same dorm in school. Five-six, bald, guitarist, Civil War historian... scared senseless by the power of women. Still is. Uptight, outtasite. Comes with the territory if you live in the country and don't fit the gene pool... or swamp, I should say. Gaylord: Don't know if he was or not... photographer with no visible means of support. Lived off of daddy's stock inheritance, I think. Eventually paid rent. Adios, cheapass bitch. The Tattooed Lady: It started off as nmyphomania... on both our parts. "like a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout." I went sleeping in a station wagon, homeless when the fire went out. Hyacinth/Miss Jane: She was a semi-punky looking nurse's aide, transformed into my grandmother reincarnate. Except for the Jehovah's Witnesses thing. The cast of suspects. To be continued? This is where the film says "The End"... Followed by a blank screen, then with a big pulsating "Question Mark!" |
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