Sometimes I cannot remember if I have lived certain things, or if I have seen them on Cheers.

The town I grew up in was disgusting but it had a filth-covered charm that I sometimes think about when I am naked, in the bath tub, standing up letting water drip over me. I still live in that town but my mind is so far from it that even when I walk down its streets and go to Harding’s Friendly Produce and eat abstract black filthy nothings out of a brown paper sack with a blue Little Hug crayon-flavored juice drink on the side, I am not living there at all. I am not living any place at all, really.

And no one knows my god damn name.

I started in the fur business, then I moved to the plush business. I stuff off-model Winnie-the-Poohs and Tiggers down on Commercial St. I smoke long, brown cigars during my breaks. I pee in front of the workers and they don’t care. We have seen each other’s penises and pussies and it’s like looking at a river or the sun. It just doesn’t matter at this point.

At 9 o'clock every night I go home and sit in my disgusting chair and stare at the blank yellow wall. At 1 am I go to bed and try to get an erection while staring at my glow-in-the-dark Kit Kat Felix the Cat wall clock ensemble. I never get one.

In the mornings I eat a danish with peanut butter in a tiny bowl, and half a two-liter of Sunkist. I spend all morning looking at Peanuts paperbacks and trying to get an erection. I never get one.

The town is covered in soot and all my clothes are covered in soot. I had a cat back in the seventies but it got too much soot on it and I had to give it to one of the farmers out on US-31. They were grateful but I know they didn’t really want a soot cat.

Sometimes when I fill Piglet with plush and nylon, squeezing the little brass tubes, I pray to the lord. But sometimes I think about Jessica, that little daytime dock whore with those fresh flesh circles and smooth, pink plastic doll legs, oozing that sexual grace that can only be found in tree stumps and daytime dock whores like Jessica.

But it is better just to pray, and I do that usually.

There are three things in this world for us mommy-coddled world-fuckers:

Jesus Christ, money, and big tubes of butter you put on your gums to feel OK.

10:53 am  •  25 May 2011  •  11 notes