Just the File, Man.

Originating Thread

Mary is her usual mouthy bossed up self. Hardly do the words leave anyone’s mouth, making a statement or comment about ANYTHING that she again afflicts the entire van with the fruits of her verbal dysentery, spewing crap all over everyone opinions and lambasting them with all manner of idiocy. It’s amazing how some people believe that the good lord saw fit to ill them with the right answer for every single one of life’s questions. I wonder, with all that wonderful information and the jet propellant she needs to fuel her turpitude, if there is room in her mouth for a monkey wrench or my fist. It would increase her IQ by at least 50%… especially if it was a shiny wrench.

I have spent the day reading and posting the occasional comment to Devotedtosmallville.com for lack of any focus to speak of. Downloading and uploading mental anesthesia like an old doctor hitting the ether a little too hard, without really seeing or hearing any of it, just floating along in a haze.

Mary opened her car door into the side of my car this morning…. Licking her hand and rubbing the car like a magic lamp, as if this legerdemain would stop me from noticing the crease in my wheel well. There are some acts that can be visited up one ones person, that in that simple instant of interaction, a beautiful or terrible truth comes crashing out of the sky like a meteor shower. In what happened next I was privileged to see the core of this snaggletooth old woman’s black soul. This bitch who just Kicked her door into the side of my car like she was Jackie Chan (they look similar) stares me straight in the eye and says, “I didn’t do that. It looks like a shopping cart.� Oh yes! Dear God what was I thinking! It must have happened when I tried to crash through the Evil Alien Shopping Cart roadblock trying to keep me from making it to work! Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! Crash Bang Boff “Take that you fucking CART! You’ll never stop me with your evil grocery laborer ways, you alien basket sonofabitch!! Wolveriiiiiiiines!!!� Yeah, how could I forget? The E.A.S.C.’s did it.

I peruse my evenings schedule on the ride back into town, wondering how I can get everything done before show time. First, I need to take care of laundry before it takes care of me, Corleone style. I have a rather large laundry hamper because I am male. Being male, I can stem the flow of laundry somewhat by wearing the same clothing a few days in a row, showering in them to keep them smelling right, which helps. However, being male, I am also an instant amnesiac when It comes to ANY household chores; doing laundry included. Given the steady stream of visitors and my erstwhile roommate, showering in my clothes has note been an option for a couple of months. This means that unless I am staring directly at the 20 foot tall of clothing, it rarely enters my mind.

I’m not sure how many people watched Fraggle Rock when they were younger, probably a few. Still fewer may remember a character called the trash heap. It was a pile of refuse, roughly ten times the size of the fraggles, composed of trash of all kinds and in varying states of decay, a daunting thing to imagine in my mind, and most people can only imagine the Herculean effort it must take to retain consciousness in the presence of a gigantic talking, reeking pile of cast off items. The resemblance of my laundry after a long enough stint of disregard on my part to this monster of puppet ages past is undeniable. Such are the uncanny similarities between the two heaps, after a long night out, I come home and prostrate myself to the mound and beg answers to life’s questions like, “Who am I?�, “What is my purpose?�. And “Whose underwear am I wearing?�

Ok. Off to Smallville.