This is so beautiful.
What I Drank:
Amaretto and Pineapple.
A riddle of me:
I remember thinking backwards
When my stories made more sense
When lyrics came out in verse
Instead of staggered on the fence.
No words have you yet you scream in bars
What ever shall you do?
When your visions begin to dance and sway
And reality has long since left you?
Ode to a Toad
You scream hey nonnie nonnie
Repeating words like the talking butterfly
Walking around befuddled and dumb-drunkie
Tipping glasses and breaking plates
No whole in the ground you’d evict
A rightful dwarf you would make.
With less dire needs nor self crucifix
Still wondering the backwards game?
Forgotten all my rhyme?
My passion lies in things I read
Without the reason of the time.
Whats printed on the page
Or in book or tombstone head
Are things for you and I
Lest we rest upon lasts bed.
But lyrics voices and words of true
remain when best they shared.
When children sing of silly games
And legends they have heard.
For give me not my ramble scramble
and mix up of different tales
Here I am as a Kitsune
all them tied along the rails.
Nine of them for you and me,
Fine breed of readers creed
have we forgotten where I was?
Oh yes, and to speak the deed.
Manners manners forget them all,
After all this you know not me
You call to old and fiction stays
Come dance in the rain and you will see.
I am small to the eye
An inch or so
best reflected on the page
No matter what page each phrase I know
As “All the world is a stage!”
From mad scientist to sultans harem
Still no bells? My Ring-a-Ding-Ding Kid?
A libraries pet, the book worm.
You have to understand, I love my father and the things that he has done has just made him more comical, I had thought it best to include one of my own plotted out moments of revenge. I was like very few kids a very bad one when it came to five finger discounts. I admit I was then when the security tabs were first placed in to and on Cd’s. I was about when door scanners were not even installed in most places and a young teen we all had to start our bad habits somewhere. Before I was born as a Mall-rat I was a normal kid who paid for everything, with security guards who practically raised me.
I was a saint, I never wanted to steal or hurt anyone ever. But then one afternoon I had gone to the Zoo, and it changed my life forever. I had a brother who I admit was connected with on a higher level of conscious, to many times had we communicated on the same fears and aspirations each of us seemed to have. I could explain a story to someone about my brother and my brother would bring up the same story when they met that person.
He was amazing, the single best thing that I have ever known in existence. I thank the universe every day for the love we shared which was more then true unconditional but on a soul bounded kinship that words will never be able to do it justice… .
Anyway.. My saint brother had been saving up for this Safari hat, it was all he wanted when dad was going to take me and my cousin to the Zoo. It was a trip I was really excited about, but in the end it came to be something I would bring hell fire down on. I was a bit more then over protective when it came to my brother. I had no issues knocking the hell out of a lesser grader if they picked on him. Most of the time they had not but every once in a while they had, we can push it to the extent I would very much like to see you suffer over a lava pit or being given a sponge bath with sheets of broken glass. There was an -Instant Hate- literally it was like a switch it was either on or off, and trust me you never wanted it off. I can hold a grudge like a 2 year old with a cookie.
Anyway my brother goes to the zoo maybe twice ever 4 – 5 years so it was a big thing for him. Plus he got to go with Chris who he seriously loved and he was able to go with Dad as well. We got in to one of the stores and they Didn’t have the safari hats that he wanted but they had some white ones made out of cloth. We brought him in and there he was paying for something with his own money. We were all so happy, he put the hat on his head and with his heart full of light he rolled out the door.
Slightly outside this shop of hell there was a puddle and it was filled with perhaps some of the grossest things there. You have to understand we just arrived we had this idea of playing safari adventure and travel the out back and hidden jungles. We brought binoculars and were ready to document any existing creatures and study the ones we had never seen. We were set, but it was then he hit a pothole, a speed bump and off flew the hat. right directly in to the mud, granted we had purchased it just a moment before. I rushed in immediately to talk with the sales associate or the manager and they both stood there like Gandalf the White.
No, was in all the answer I remember saying.. “Its your pothole. You are really going to do that to him? ” The light switch was ON. My next comment was “I am 12 but I know you have a policy for damaged goods that you received. ” I was trying to reason with a mountain and I was failing no matter how the wind may howl the mountain will not bow. This only poured gasoline on my existing flame, the problem was I wasn’t a flame I was the Hiroshima.
I was in all moments… Katie… Kaboom.
I had decided right then and there not to give a shit, I had made one of the most adult decisions ever. Which was, what was the worst they could do? They couldn’t send me to Jail, the worst would be Juvie but I would have to steal like 500 dollars worth of items just for Juvie. I would also have to get caught. My obsession with puppetry and magic tricks to good use. I walked out at first with the a few things to see if anything had worked if an alarm would get set off and one was in plain sight, next thing i knew it was on. There wasn’t an alarm and what ever genes were on went crazy, my brother had an electric wheel chair and i am certain I ended up shoving about 300 to 500 dollars worth of items in to that chair, and my pockets when we got out it was only then anyone had seen what I had done.. My dads mouth was open, my cousin as well, same with my brother. I should of been more impressed with the fact the both of them were walking next to me the whole time. Or the fact that I was shoving things in Irl’s chair, still none were the wiser. Not a clue of them knew the kind of Cat Burglar I could of been.
A normal dad would of been Shocked. Mine was… A normal father would of scolded me.. Mine started to… it was then he looked to me as I pulled out the New and totally awesome 75 dollar safari hat that I handed it to my brother and my brother smiled. He had been depressed that whole day, he came back with more Zoo merchandise then he could ever imagine. I had at least five hand fulls of Zoo pens, I had rolled up t-shirt, animal tracks music CD, movies documentaries posters toys beanie babies that were way over priced. I had astronaut candy and various of their types of candy, I had small games and if you think I couldn’t find room I did. My dad was in horrible Awe when he saw it and more and more my brothers face was lighting up.. I felt like Robin Hood, but with an awesome cape. We paid 30 dollars for a cloth hat that was really about 4 dollars.
My brother had been crying before, down right upset at the oil and everything that was soaked in to the hat. But when he had seen my one and only Robin hood moment he gave loose a big precious moments smile. Those giant green and large pupil eyes stared deeper in to me. I could see him looking at me while I posed like Peter Pan, a common criminal. Here I am standing with my gift to you. Joy. I would honestly go a little over board when my brother cried.
I watched him light up like it was Christmas, he was the only one who said anything.. “You shouldn’t of done that… But thank you… ” My dad was like… “See this.. if they treat you like shit… Fuck ’em..” We all laughed. But me I look back on it, and out of all things the one piece that survived the years of being a kid was none of it. Except the memory, that in itself is worth it.
TO comment: Since then any time I have gone to the Zoo I have donated money, I have paid it in full but I still donate. A stain on my soul I guess. I suppose its me trying to pay them back. But in other words, its an amazing place and I was just a kid.
I am a horrible human being.
Knowing what I am about to confess is something that will haunt many in the mind and possibly in the heart as well. What I am about to confess is something much worse than I have imagined it should be. Now that I think back on my obsessions with joining the FBI and being a profiler on serial killers and kidnappers, it was all I wanted to be. I see this as an obsession. I know my weird actions in the days of old had lead me astray but I want you to know. It was me. I am sure I was spotted I am sure something was said or maybe something wasn’t said, you can reflect and yell at your classmates for what had been seen and not reported. Perhaps though.. I am that good. I could have been my own.
I secretly waited for the near end of first semester to end. I knew my targets; I watched what went on during freshmen year. With that it leads me to one tradition. I would out do them all. As a teen I had the five finger discount down to an art. But that road leads me to this. I was the prime person for the job and what was worse, was I knew it was coming. The grin could barely escape me and I was smiling. I apologize for all of you who failed Child Development. When your egg or Flour baby went missing… That is right… It was me.
I was the one writing threats and making ransom notes on your children you never took care to. You want to know why you are so paranoid about your children missing today. You are right it was me. You took the time to make a little bed for that precious egg. You took the time to make a bed for it a home for it to be sure it would not get cracked or broken. You decorated it with the best little fuzz and happy smiling little face that you could possibly make. This was your pride and joy to you. This was your Egg Baby.
Though, when I looked at it I didn’t see a baby, I saw an omelet. I could see that cracked thing with broken shell and the yolk slipping in to the pan. I can’t help but curl a grin. I grew up on the Incredible Edible egg commercials and overall it is one of my favorite foods so versatile and used in nearly everything. My mouth watered, I was nice… if you really worked hard on your basket it was left, with an equally small ransom note. I was taking an Egg every few days. I should of sought out counseling but when I had it only fed my ambition.
You would talk a little too long to the crush you so badly wanted to get with while leaving your child 3 inches from you at your desk. One single bathroom break and the flour baby was gone. I watched your face in shock, and how you asked. No one would answer, no one would say what was to happen.
Your baby was taken to a closed dark locker where it sat with the other imaginary children I had been stealing. Don’t worry, yours was not the only one. There was plenty in that dark school locker where I had tons of VHS stacked up next to it. I would demand something horrible, something that might shock you. Cookies and candy bars were a normal ransom, but if the ransom was not paid…
I baked your flour baby the next day. That right, the abundance of chocolate chip cookies that I would bring in. Amazing banana cake, I would cook you your own flour baby…. and let you eat it the next day. The sweet offering like some twisted mishap, you never knew it was coming like this. the smile when you were given the rest of the platter. Knowing your baby and some others babies were mixed together.Baked to golden perfection and served to you and your friends.
Why you say?
Because Hannibal Lecter is my Idol, and I am really good at baking.
Alright I have my reason for hating birds and chickens but that is not a case of being afraid. I have an Dr. Jones fear of Snakes and Possums. Snakes though I freeze up I can’t really handle along with silverfish. Silverfish has always creep me out as well. But nothing like Snakes. In the summer of Missouri it will get hot, intense heat of 120. When you are growing up on the farm there is not much you are not allowed to explore. I was allowed the whole back yard, and any fence I could hop over so long as we did not deal with the road in front of our house that caused the death of so many pets and animals.
It was brought to my attention that there was a number of baby chicks missing. I was in charge of counting them and 8 was the number I had to count to every morning. At this time I saw something move beneath the leaves in the yard and ran to get my father. My father was still in his days of He-Man and Conan the Barbarian. I ran up to the house faster then Sweet Brown.
After about ten minutes of convincing my dad what me and Dr. Jones knew to be true that, there were snakes and they were in our back yard and worse then that was they were near the house and chicken coop. Now this was not a small population. what so ever, then again it may had been after all I am personally taking a step back in to my mind of a 5 year old girl. A very frightened five year old. It seemed our house was amazing it was a little of a hill not much butt the incline kept rain water washing away, we had a crawlspace under the house that was dry and heated. The fire place heated both the above and some of the crawlspace in the winter.
It came to our attention later on how bad the set up was for snakes. We had a constant incubator going. Cast iron stove to cook on and a fire place, the fireplace alone set everything up for the snakes to live and breed and snag what ever baby pets were about. This is the main reason the bunny population never went anywhere. We had a snake problem and we knew it wqas close we went hunting out by the trash area, the barn under the chicken coop and nothing. My dad and Whiskey, our amazing dog who was an alcoholic and would not drink any water unless you placed a shot of whiskey in it, decided to go out and try and find the snake whiskey had chased the snake through the leaves towards our long driveway.
By this time our whole family was out there to see what the hell was going on. This snake must have been living under the house for years said the Missouri Conservation at Mermac State park. The snake had a home underneath the crawlspace of our home and not just him several others of his kin lived there as well. My dad took it upon himself with his no fear of the wild to go and grab this snake. He finally caught up with it and grabbed it from the tail and lifted the tail end up in the air. Dad had said you can swing a snake like a whip and pop the head off. and I think that was going to be his attempt however he was helicoptering it. from the tail he was swinging the snake high above in the air.
Our dog was jumping with joy at the thought of the play toy that was going about in circles.
Our whole family ran out to see what was going on and we were in shock at the size of this snake let alone Conan the Daddian was out there defending the property off like any other Caveman possibly could. Whiskey had jumped up and finally clamped down on the head of the snake. The snake popped in half. It broke in half dad was painting the air with a small bit of blood and then there was Whiskey who was treating the snake like a pair of shoes out to destroy. Out popped three suffocated baby chicks.
As a child I was mortified. I never wanted to be wrapped in a blanket, I didn’t want to step foot outside, we had to get under the house evacuated because of all the snakes. My mother and father came up with a brilliant idea. they were going to make a snake cake, I loved sweets so if maybe I ate the snake cake then it would be OK, I wouldn’t be afraid of snakes.
Just plain… NO.
I refused to eat that cake, they could of dolled it up with Caramellos and truffles and I was still not going to touch that cake. It was going to rot, they were kind enough to CUT OFF THE HEAD, and place it on my own plate. It was bad, but what was worse was Whiskey our beloved alcoholic. Decided he was going to chew and EAT the damn thing. So while father thought this was the perfect idea on how to get me over my fears I ran for my life. No shoes or nothing.
I took off through the kitchen went to my room and ducked under covers. Mother made me a sandwich while the rest of the family had spaghetti, thankfully I didn’t come to dinner, Cause I love Spaghetti.
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If there’s one topic that writers can be counted on to tackle at least once in their working lives, it’s writing itself. A good thing too, especially for all those aspiring writers out there looking for a little bit of guidance. For some winter inspiration and honing of your craft, here you’ll find ten great essays on writing, from the classic to the contemporary, from the specific to the all-encompassing. Note: there are many, many, many great essays on writing. Bias has been extended here to personal favorites and those available to read online. Also of note but not included: full books on the subject like Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, Stephen King’s On Writing, and Ron Carlson’s Ron Carlson Writes a Story, or, in a somewhat different sense, David Shields’ Reality Hunger, for those looking for a longer commitment. Read on, and add your own…
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More me then I could ever be.
I have had the privilege of raising my daughter Lazera, she is a handful, she likes to do what you tell her not to and she is four so she is a monkey that knows no bounds. I owe a lot of grey strands to her and her sister Alex. But for now this one is just on my daughter Laz.
Lazera is an interesting child, but to view her from the outside I must look like a horrible parent. My daughter loves new words and tries her best to use new words constantly. So when I explained to her the different between the dogs and people we brought in to a species discussion about humans and canines. I wonder at times what the neighbors are thinking and I cannot help but laugh.
Like most young children Lazera has her imaginary friend. From years of Girl scouts and activities with little ones imaginary friends comes in all kinds of shapes ans sizes. Lazera however has, Sam Riccardo. Sam Riccardo is not your normal grade Imaginary friend, I noticed most imaginary friends were usually ambitions to get something you wanted without actually asking, or to place the blame on someone who was never there.
Sam Riccardo, would never do a thing like that, instead he was high-caliber Imaginary Friend. He was a secret agent, a spy if you will who was out on missions across the world. Doing what? Killing the bad-guys. Can you fathom what this means in any matter? My daughter picks a guy a bad guy that is some where in the world. Sam Riccardo goes and leaves on business and doesn’t return for months. But when he does, she gets told of the bad-guys end.
She also has a habit of leading the children around her, and my 11 year-old cannot stand up to her even when she is twice her size and three times her mass. There is something sinister about my four-year old certain things are beyond her comprehension but she gathered quickly. For instance, she once came in asking what a tampon was. I told her during a little while of the week women have some abdominal pains which can lead to stress and short-tempered actions. It is best to take care of the problem with these and bananas. She asked me if they helped and I said yes, yes they do.
A month or two later I am having a very heated discussion on what it takes to sweep the floor and the result of a fully swept floor with my 11 year old. It was the 34,602nd time that I needed to explain the fundamentals of sweeping. I think Lazera caught on to how upset I was. With that she understood the problems it may had been, she returned a moment later with a sealed tampon in hand. “Here you are mommy you need one of these so you Must be on your period. ”
I should have died laughing but I could not get the bottom of my jaw off the floor.
One of the things I like to do as a parent is teach my kids words that they are not used to. Longer scientific words, Homo sapien sapien. Which there is still debate in the house whether or not that term is correct. But this tale embarks on a very vivid child with dimples and curls in the seat of her shopping cart as she held on with both hands.
“Mommy what is that?” She said as she was eyeing the odd-looking squash.
“That is an Acorn Squash.”
“Oh alright then and what are you?”
As if I was going to answer another form of squash I looked to her and said. “I am a human being, we are considered to be Homo Sapien Sapien.”
She looked to me and said the words several times differently. “You are a human, I’m a human… ” Later on it would occur to me just how much we sounded like Aliens from another planet to people on the street. My daughter would gracefully stand at the fence just as happy as she could be and speak to the people walking by.
“Hello Human! Are you enjoying Earth, I love Earth my favorite planet.”
I could just stand there and laugh to my self some times at the cuteness but then she gets this odd look when I ask her what she is doing. She turns her head side ways and scrunches up her hands as if she has some muscular compulsive action to curl her body.
So after this course of action I decided in the grocery store it was time to teach her the next word that would ruin me in public. Homo Sapien Sapien. This was my worst mistake ever. She was going through the store being super cute and I was being ultra proud. There was nothing holding her back from being happy. We get in to the line with a large cart full of groceries.
And then it began, the stars suddenly aligned and the signs of the Omen were upon me. Lazera was bouncing in her seat, and the beautiful words her mother had taught her spewed from her lip in a ray and ocean of racism.
“Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo !”
There was no way I could escape the stares, with luck I began tossing what I could of the groceries on to the conveyor belt. It was not like she was being silent, oh no, this wasn’t in talking tone either she was practically singing this as aloud and strong as she could without screaming it. Her voice echoed and here I am poking my finger… “shhh stop that it’s not nice, shhhh don’t say that.. ”
My daughter the proud. To proud to hide that brand new word of hers. To proud to let the shh of her mother stop her from showing the world the new word she was taught. ” Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo Homo !”
The woman in the line was now staring, so much that one customer had left and the manager came over to bag the bags. The looks were horrid and I begin trying to bribe. “Shh if your be quiet mommy will give you candy.”
Muwahahahah sit vile woman! you taught this child these words and now you must suffer the wrath of everyone around you.
At this point, I was wishing that I had only tried purchasing two items. But no, I am an Extreme Coupon-er want-a-be. We are in this line for the long haul, the embarrassing long haul.
In all my wisdom I can feel myself getting possessed by Captain Picard. Shut Up Wesley was rolling in my mind while I can completely envision his epic face palming picture. My belief in the education in this one were failing.
“You’re a homo I’m a homo we are all a homo!”
My daughter sang about homo’s till the point I was about to cry and very much more red than the tomatoes that I was purchasing. I was at a loss. There was no hope for me. I was going to be forever banned as a LTBG Hater who was teaching her children the same. This was my devastation. Then suddenly in the symphony of song she ended her tune…
I breathed out and some people calmed another few laughed. I was relieved. She moved in the seat grinning.
“Did you like my song momma?”
Red faced I looked at her and pushed the candy bar in her mouth. My Little Laz.
Lazera has this way of making things funny without meaning to but her comedic timing has had me dying enough times they should have had some tombstones made for me by now. On this past New Years Day Lazera came in to the living room where Travis and I were passed out. When we woke she wanted something answered.
“Mother did you an Daddy stay up all night.”
To which the response was.
“Yes yes we did.”
Lazera looked over the both of us and rolled her eyes with a sigh as she crossed her arms.
“(Sigh) Waste of humans… ”
A few years ago I went to the hospital with a 104.5 degree fever and was suffering under a kidney infection (UTI that went in to the Kidneys.) I was horribly Ill. I was vomiting a lot and my body was weak and in truth I felt poisoned. I couldn’t move or bring together a thought I laid in bed suffering through the agonizing pain that came with it. Since then I have had many issues so when I get sick my immune system is shot low as it is, so adding this on top of that just makes me worse something as simple as an upset stomach turns in to violent vomiting.
I can deal with pain, more about 4 years ago then ever before. But there has been a headache I cannot really shake away. I have an issues with noise now. Simple sounds that are relaxing to some I cannot really stand any more. Background noise causes more tension than I am able to deal with. But what is hurting the most is the attempt of memory. I still have my mental clock. Where I look at it pick the time I have to be up by and mentally count it down in my head. There is a lot of tension behind my right eye. The nerves around it keep twitching. The pain has been nearly non stop for about 2 almost 3 years now.
About 3 months ago the pains began to gradually worsen. Breaking away from concentration, my spine was in a complete twist and with pain comes anger that isn’t always the best combination. When I would talk to people sometimes I was over joyed cause the pain had stopped. Other times I was pushing my nails in to my fist. Over the last 3 years I have watched my memory slip. This is coming from the woman who could memorize everything and have it stored for years. Quote book, or a show and give a brief explanation or even highly detailed explanation of what it was.. Now I have to actually rack my brain for current information, and there is nothing more terrifying then not remembering.
This isn’t something you normally share with people, the suffering of the unseen battle that you do. I know I have plenty of friends who cringe in the pain they go through so often. I normally just say I am sick and I will leave it at that. I have been waiting quite some time for my medical papers to return I already know my spine is ruined, I had a brother and I was his legs most of my life, being busty has never been a help for the spine. I could have the kids just touch my back and I would weep.
So, if you have asked me something and I forgot you asked me, what else is there? It seems that there has been a lot of moments I’m unclear on and the thought of going in for the type of examination they want me to do next has never been more scary in all my years. I remember knowing nothing of my mother, and her cancers that she had dealt with and when we were told it was only two months before she was gone forever.
My eyes are filled with tears to the cowardice I display with the lines. Still even now I can’t even begin to write my results, I haven’t even found the strength to read the letter anywhere passed the corridor of my brain. I wish I had my friends Jacob’s look on life he was so positive even with his diagnosis and hes been working so hard. With a family filled with Diabetics and Cancer failures and heart disease and strokes, I am in tears to the thought of what the kids will be placed through. I don’t even know where to begin, I have been dreading this moment of opening the papers, I have been dreading going back to hear what all is to be said.
More tests and weighing the options. The start of the new years has left me with bills on the counter and the look of desperation to them. I know many are scared for what is to come to them. And I’m going to need a few weeks to get everything settled in my mind together. This isn’t a cry for help or a plea for attention this is my first step in attempting to admit this is something wrong. This will affect my life.. this will change my life. I would like to hope that this is only something that needs one treatment and its done but with all the issues I am not thinking it will be. But I have a family I love dearly, I know what it is like to be thought of as a burden so I never tried to ask for anything.
My brother hated to ask and he had no choice.
“Hold on to Me.”
Hold on to me.
Bottles of empty scripts
I cannot seem to shake this
No matter how hard I try there is no pill that will change inside.
Have you ever tried not being… I fake smile all the time.
You know that its just you, who is breaking inside.
The world is not so bad, so why are you so blue?
Is there anything you want me to do?
Hold on to me
Let me feel the warmth of a caring heart like the one I try to hide
Hold on to me
No words need to be said I just need someone at my side
Through all the worlds pain it isn’t the same
when you hold on to me.
5 years and 14 diagnosis battering between the broken and insane
A wondering mind of the breaking inside and I am still the one to blame.
No amount of pills can set it right
the blade falls deeper from the past and I cannot see the light
So when you ask me to sing
and I cant bare to bring its the whispers of now that I share this with you.
Hold on to me.
I can’t seem to shake free from all the pain that I had
Your thing that brings the smile back from when I was sad.
Hold on to me.
I can’t thank you enough for the trials you had
but I can promise one thing
The world will be right,
when you hold on to me.
It is bad enough that there are some issue with me and poultry, on the lower scale it has been one of my main sources of meat throughout my whole life. I have been a huge fan of the cooked winged species; it’s something deep inside me, a dark corner of my existence that revels in the pleasure of watching my fallen enemy battered in his young and then lowered down in to a large vat of oil and fried to my delight. For a moment , I feel like a supreme villain, finally getting my revenge on Bond.
It is my understanding that there was nothing more pleasing then the demise of all of Tyson’s army. I can pick up a fried chicken between my fingers and mentally tell it to run. When I am at Six Flags there is nothing that curls my lips more to smile then the smoked turkey legs. Part of me will always smile when it comes to the destruction of the fowl.
Little did I know, the Zombie Rooster was going to take care of us once more. It’s plan was so cunning that even his adventure of destruction in my childhood could not be compared to this one single moment. Ulysses S. Grant, you would have been proud of this Roosters tactics, straight out explicit chemical warfare. Though this does not take place until years later.
My father and the rest of us were unsuspecting of this plot against us. It was a war that could of gone off at any one of us, given any free amount of time. But the time bomb was set, and my father was the unsuspecting victim. The rest of us were forced to follow and witness this in a horror that would forever make us hate certain items sold. There is no doubt in my heart that the rooster was responsible for this perfection set up. I am sure if I looked up the exact date and time this would have been close to the anniversary of its death.
My revenge… oh the carnage.
It may have been a coincidence, it may have been just a special moment but there was a something strange about that evening. The omnibus glow about the moon should have been a key sign. The rolling of the single plastic bag in the parking lot like a tumbleweed could have given us a fair warning that a show down was about to begin. It all began when my father had come to pick us up in the 1957 Chevy that had been spray painted with a very dull cheap spray paint so it looked like the car was running on ice cream. The car looked fake, as if someone had made it from cotton white; there was no sheen to it what so ever. The car had two seat belts but was a box of strong steel anything that touched it was going to crush against the good old American Muscle; the ‘57 could be used as missile if someone really wanted to. That someone was not my father, he drives like me five miles below the speed limit. Good driving citizens we have no reason to want to be pulled over ever.
We were to head to his house; normally we have this tradition we drive in to Sullivan and we hit Flying Jays, this is a key clue to knowing if dad was paid by the people who hire him for taxidermy. This was one of the moments he was not paid that much and work was slow. Wal-Mart HO! Super Center awaits us, upon the back of battle Chevy we drive the long distance and get in to the parking lot, my brother and I immediately know it’s another weekend of dad singing behind a deer head and me and him on a couch with the filled cabinets of VHS movies and head cleaner mileage.
This time however there was something dark, and mysterious there were crows out and I’m sure pigeons too were gathering about murder Tyson. The rumor was spread among the rest of the fowl nation and they had come to a decision. It seemed there was more than normal, or maybe it is just my imagination but they were gathering like the weird beginning of a Hitchcock Film.
Brian, a pen pal and long distant friend had a radar when I was in town, but actually he was probably my longest known friend that I spent the least amount of time with. I saw him for maybe 30 seconds before my father would weird out about whatever offspring’s he could picture us having, he was a nice guy who went at his own pace and he was always sweet, the part that worried my father was the massive amounts of hair on his arms and legs. To me it was normal and thankfully for hair you could treat that, but this was beyond the comprehension of my father. Dad was mean… very mean to Brian.
You are still my friend Brian and I am sorry…
So if you can ignore the odd insane way my dad was about Brian we can get along with the story. We traveled to the back left of the super Wal-Mart where all your dreams of ICEE, hot dogs and Rotisserie Chicken was located. We went through getting the thing we traditionally bought: two chickens, some chips, two ICEEs along with one Pepsi. We sat and began the family feast of and discussed what we had done since the last time we were here. Dad went to eating his chicken and this is where things went dark. It’s odd but I don’t remember anything being said, the graphics and mental play back was nothing in comparison to what was going on. By the time we had all finished little did we know there was a battle waging war in the stomach of my father. Where I love my peppers, black pepper, green, jalapeno, white pepper, wasabe and so on, my was the opposite. I am not sure what it was within him, whether it was an allergy, or perhaps it was an ulcer but the man could not handle pepper, even to the lowest of grades of simple black pepper. He was from a world of Lawry’s Garlic Salt with Parsley which is still today the world’s best Garlic Salt. (Trust me it is amazing.)
This must have been compared to the Battle of the Roses, where every time you turned around there was another over throw of a monarch and it goes on and on.
We had just gone down one of the isle, looking over the movies that we needed to buy. The last of the VHS that were still in the large tubs that you might want to swim through if you had the intangibility of Scrooge McDuck.There was plenty of labels to go through, names that Wal*Mart had to offer. And much like the DVD bins they have today it was about twelve movies just dozens of copies of them scattered in the bowl. Even though you can clearly see them displayed about the outside you have this Idea that something amazing might be down in there.
My brother and I picked up VHS’s and held them up to each other debating what one we were about to watch. It was close, like death had breathed against the back of our necks, at that point we had turned to see our father looking much like the Walking Dead, his face had gone pale and it began to produce oils that I seriously did not think he was capable of producing.His body twitched as it hung over and the life was being sapped from him. It was strange watching this being in my fathers flesh, he moved in a staggering way, his limbs hung down like sacks of tubed bologna and he still had no clue what to do with them. Those eyes were soulless, rolling in the back of his head, one could only imagine the sheer pain he must of been going through.
He took off like a blaze to the medical isle and we rushed behind him following. Irl was pushed in his wheel chair just about as fast as life would take him. There was the screech of the winds around us and as we turned the corner Dad had opened the bottle of Pepto-Bismol and began to drink the whole thing…chug… after disgusting chug. It was not just one bottle.. Oh no, that would be too easy, but this was two.
Before we get in to this, you might want to walk away from this story, I will let you know I am a person who hates pink. No it wasn’t because I was a Tomboy, or because I preferred solid colors to pastels, it was because of the next horrific moments of this tale. We had thought my father was doing better, in fact we had gathered one more bottle sealed just in case that there would be something to help him with the burn he was experiencing. What would it to have been like in the war going on in his stomach. There was parts of fowl that were commanding their ships of pepper through the canals of acid and Pepto, stirring and swaying enough to give his liver a harsh case of sea sickness.
There was light in this tunnel for a moment we managed to make it to the cereal aisle where my brother had taken his hand towards the box of Lucky Charms. My dad had reached his hand up and all I could think of was the expression on his face. I didn’t know if he was about to bust out in a Micheal Jackson solo or if he thought he was Kirby and about to suck in the entire shelf.
Both options were wrong though, he instead would turn his mouth up ward and the sea of Pepto was released. Lucky charms boxes and the isle of the cereal were getting sprayed by the most amount of liquid I have ever seen shoot out of someone. It was like he was drinking from the fire hose. This had to be the worst case I had ever seen. I am still scared to this day, the smell of Pepto-Bismol makes me nauseated. The idea of taking it immediately makes me want to vomit and this is with all knowing making my stomach do Yippy the dog back flips as I write this. This was hell, its a hell known by the staff of any hospital, its the horror known by the janitors of any school. The pink vomit, this is not something that is easy to clean up. Remember, this vile drink is suppose to coat your stomach, no matter how hard you try you will be swashing it about the floor for hours. Everything it touches needs to be placed in Hazardous Wastes. There was only one kind of horror for what was done. There is only one scene ever made in history that could compare his actions to it, Stand By Me and the Lard-Ass Scene.
It was there that chunks of undigested chicken and chips began to fly out with seas of pink and brown oil. The amount of product that was damaged was just too much to claim. He didn’t stand in one spot to have this Vomit-tron fest to continue, no instead he moved running down the aisle as the ground and merchandise were getting sprayed.Too much yet? Yeah I am not even half way done.
My brother and I stood there with our mouths hanging inches over the sea of disgust, we turned and looked to the Box of cereal we were about to get. The happy leprechaun looked like something out of a TromaVille movie, its face was distorted as bits and chunks began to fall down the front of it and drizzle down the sides. We could of gone to the next isle backed out the way we came and followed through but no we were 12 and 10, we rushed after him, my brother and I slid through the hallway only in comparison to Micheal J. Fox and his one walking through in Teen Wolf. Most graceful slide ever.
We rushed down the hall where he had not choice but to follow the pink trail of pink fluffy unicorn bits. Dad had taken off and despite our sliding efforts he had ran so far ahead of us we were lost. We had nothing to go by but the staggering feet prints through out the pink ooze. Isle of food and clothing had been sprayed it was something out of a true Wax-museum horror. My brother and I stood dumbfounded wondering why in the world did we not get sick, why it was just dad? I opened the cart of things we had bought and looked to check the receipt.. LP. Lemon Pepper.
There was a look to the other people of Wal*Mart part of me now wondered if they gave 95 percent off on Partially vomited Items, or was this just a loss for the whole store. That was the moment when the loving kind heated staff and over the counter Pharmacists came to meet my dad in the bathroom. I turned my head my heart was beating so fast a woman came up to the side wiping the vomit off my coat and helping with the wheels of my brothers chair. I looked at the face of Brian… in his hand was a mop and bucket. I say this again. I am so… sorry Brian.
My dad turned out to be fine, he was sick though his wolf shirt was stained pink and was tossed out. I was completely disgusted and asked dad if we could never go there to eat again. He solemnly agreed. That weekend dad wasn’t behind the deer. He was in bed and we watched the main bits of merchandise that was vomit free was playing in the VHS.
I declare you the victor Rooster. Least of that battle.