Waking in a dark place, with minty breath, wet feet and a missing set of trousers is peculiar, yes. I fasten a saddle of man-made materials (feels and looks almost like real leather though) onto Sir Cheesenhiem. His squeaks of drunken inpatients drills a hole right through my prefrontal cortex, causing massive confusion about weather or not eating a rare steak using only my feet would be acceptable. I chew a handful of baby aspirin and decide that it depends on present company.
My mount lazily wades through the sewer system. We pass yard sale type mounds of assorted shoes, dearly departed hamsters and goldfish, and several 2ND and 4Th place boccie trophies, all veiled and frosted in the cities bowel emptyings. Its funny what riding a freakishly enormous sewer rat through the labyrinths of stench will do to a woman:
#1. Makes me think of a glorious pair of red stiletto heels i saw while window shopping, I thought of how erotically humorous it would be to see the old man who wet himself sitting next to me on the bus would look in those.
#2. How feta cheese is too salty for me sometimes, yet I enjoy my eyes watering from popcorn, I salt it so enthusiastically.
#3. It makes me believe I'm much much smaller than i really am because I'm riding a rat.
Forgetting this particular rat was enlarged due to eating the pituitary glands of hobo children he yanked through the sewer grates after promises of lollipops, I felt almost like a pants less tick. much larger than a tick though, I smashed my head on a low hanging pipe as we turned the corner.
I slip into a concussion induced dream where I'm dressed in a low cut Chantal Mallett 18Th century style corset gown of velvet, having high tea with a colleague of mine, who tastelessly is wearing the very same thing. we nibble cucumber sandwiches and guzzle Oolong tea sweetened with squeezy bear honey.
the discussion is intense.
My comrade firmly believes that the maker of this spinning katamari in the sky has a phallus of ever flowing honey mustard, not unlike that served at Fridays. To suckle at such an all mighty organ would be Divine, and lets not leave out the chicken finger basket.
I on the other hand have a divergent point of view. My personal savior is graced with a delicately flaky, buttery pastry brimming with a rich sweet crème pâtissière, and adorned with copious amounts of chocolaty icing. Yes, a sacrosanct eclair, that is replenished with every angelic mouthful. As a tuxedo clad slug joins us at the table, he reminds us that such a topic could be considered blasphemous. the thought hadn't crossed my mind I say, spraying easy cheese onto a triscuit cracker in the shape of a deceased smiley face. How could there be anything sacrilegious about an all powerful deity who feeds his weary followers by allowing them to suckle at his Divine manhood? One with a high caloric intake yes...but is that evil? I say nay.
The slug mutters something about a pot roast left in the oven, folds his napkin, bows to my counterpart, curtsies to me, excuses himself from the table then rolls in a salt pile, forthwith. We move our chairs and watch the kaleidoscopic sunset, a splendid back drop for the now motionless heap of formal attire fizzling in a salty heap.
Friday, January 15, 2010
It's a violent Grandpage.
I am shoulder deep in hot water over loaded with Epsom salts. I let the sea sponge find my grandmas wrinkled ass and I scrub away trying to think about pleasant things. I am on a beach. Yes. Its sunny and my feet sink into the hot sand, I start walking into the water, the small waves slosh over my feet and ankles. I float on my back and feel the sun on my face, the breeze blows over me smelling of hot shit...oh god. My grandma pushes more, making a grunting sound and the water gets thicker with her emptyings. Her head is down like she is ashamed, but I can hear her giggling.
After I wash the stink of processed tapioca and Kraft singles out of my hair and off my body I retire to my room to try and relax. Tomorrow will be better I think, knowing I am lying to myself.
A start to the new day, I yawn and stretch and manage to drag myself out of bed. The first thing to do is get the old bag dressed. She is already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed naked with a strange smirk on her face. I get a baggy dress out of the closet and tell her to put her arms up. As I pull the dress down over her emaciated skin sack I feel a bump...not A bump, THE bump. The topic of so many pleasant conversations with Gram. The boil. It is about the size of a baked potato and oozing what is not sour cream. It is a horrible mass that smells like feet and stale cheese puffs when it weeps. I want to make sure I didn't agitate the damn thing by rubbing the polyester fabric over its swollen bulk. So I lift the back of the dress and to my horror, she had somehow drawn a face on it with a sharpie. As she hears me clear my throat and attempt not to throw up she reaches around and slaps a post-it note near the small pus-filled person. All it says on it is YOU, with an arrow.
This old thing is pure evil. Now when we are stuck in the house together she walks backwards and shrugs her shoulders and mimics my voice, making the growth of doom say horrible things. Me and my crazy naked Grandma. A tumor me that says, 'My ass keeps getting fatter!'. Something must be done.
3am, the house is quiet. Or is it? What is that sound? I tip toe down the hall and find the noise is coming from in her room. She is talking. I think she is talking to her cat Reverend Meatpiddles. I put my ear to the door. World domination? I heard that wrong, didn't I?
In the past few weeks the house has been filling with stray cats. I keep throwing these scurvy things outside, and the next morning there is 4 or 5 more. I asked Grammy about them, she tells me they have no place to go and they make her happy. I know there has to be more to this, she doesn't enjoy happiness.
I have been hiding in my room, the boil has been extra mean and the cats are taking over. There are around 75 cats now, I am not sure of what she is feeding them either, because she doesn't leave the house and I refuse to buy them food.
The horror is real...I set up a baby sitter cam inside a stuffed kitty in the corner of her room. She has been grinding up dead cats and mixing it with old food from the garbage, making her own creepy sort of canned cat food. Its hard to believe, but it gets worse. Grandma started injecting the slop into the other kitties in the room. The skin under the fur bubbles up in stinky blobs smelling of rotten beef and tuna. When the new hungry cats come in from the cold, they smell the 'food' and chew through the other cats, the room is now a growing mass of cat. It is becoming one giant cat, cats under another cats skin, inside another meowing fur bastard. I am scared. I hear Gram speaking in German to her ever-growing cat mass.
One week later...
The news is reporting on a sun spotted old woman wearing a cape riding on top of a 15 foot tall drippy feline pile, hideous cat heads stick out from all over the heap, making screechy sounds, several cat asses defecate as the mutated beast slumps down the streets. Grandma peels off her baggy skin revealing a hideous half robotic face. I had noticed that my appliances were missing from the kitchen, but was too afraid to ask why. She has turned herself into a horrible smelly cyborg! My god...
4 sharp metal spider legs pop out of her back and they start ripping people out of cars. Her jaw dislocates an out pops Reverend Meatpiddles with a syringe. He injects a bluish liquid into heads left and right. As the bodies fall they start to shrivel up, backs curve and teeth fall out. Its worse than I thought, she is starting an army of old folks...stealing away all the youth she runs into.
Date unknown. How much time has passed? I have no idea. The last thing I remember is Grandma crashing through the living room, she implanted her old bionic head next to mine. I need to type quietly now...the body will wake up...I just needed to get my story out so perhaps one day I can be rescued and get this Alzheimer head off my body. Oh no, its starting to wake up. But for nowI better rest up for bowling tomorrow and a walk around the mall.
After I wash the stink of processed tapioca and Kraft singles out of my hair and off my body I retire to my room to try and relax. Tomorrow will be better I think, knowing I am lying to myself.
A start to the new day, I yawn and stretch and manage to drag myself out of bed. The first thing to do is get the old bag dressed. She is already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed naked with a strange smirk on her face. I get a baggy dress out of the closet and tell her to put her arms up. As I pull the dress down over her emaciated skin sack I feel a bump...not A bump, THE bump. The topic of so many pleasant conversations with Gram. The boil. It is about the size of a baked potato and oozing what is not sour cream. It is a horrible mass that smells like feet and stale cheese puffs when it weeps. I want to make sure I didn't agitate the damn thing by rubbing the polyester fabric over its swollen bulk. So I lift the back of the dress and to my horror, she had somehow drawn a face on it with a sharpie. As she hears me clear my throat and attempt not to throw up she reaches around and slaps a post-it note near the small pus-filled person. All it says on it is YOU, with an arrow.
This old thing is pure evil. Now when we are stuck in the house together she walks backwards and shrugs her shoulders and mimics my voice, making the growth of doom say horrible things. Me and my crazy naked Grandma. A tumor me that says, 'My ass keeps getting fatter!'. Something must be done.
3am, the house is quiet. Or is it? What is that sound? I tip toe down the hall and find the noise is coming from in her room. She is talking. I think she is talking to her cat Reverend Meatpiddles. I put my ear to the door. World domination? I heard that wrong, didn't I?
In the past few weeks the house has been filling with stray cats. I keep throwing these scurvy things outside, and the next morning there is 4 or 5 more. I asked Grammy about them, she tells me they have no place to go and they make her happy. I know there has to be more to this, she doesn't enjoy happiness.
I have been hiding in my room, the boil has been extra mean and the cats are taking over. There are around 75 cats now, I am not sure of what she is feeding them either, because she doesn't leave the house and I refuse to buy them food.
The horror is real...I set up a baby sitter cam inside a stuffed kitty in the corner of her room. She has been grinding up dead cats and mixing it with old food from the garbage, making her own creepy sort of canned cat food. Its hard to believe, but it gets worse. Grandma started injecting the slop into the other kitties in the room. The skin under the fur bubbles up in stinky blobs smelling of rotten beef and tuna. When the new hungry cats come in from the cold, they smell the 'food' and chew through the other cats, the room is now a growing mass of cat. It is becoming one giant cat, cats under another cats skin, inside another meowing fur bastard. I am scared. I hear Gram speaking in German to her ever-growing cat mass.
One week later...
The news is reporting on a sun spotted old woman wearing a cape riding on top of a 15 foot tall drippy feline pile, hideous cat heads stick out from all over the heap, making screechy sounds, several cat asses defecate as the mutated beast slumps down the streets. Grandma peels off her baggy skin revealing a hideous half robotic face. I had noticed that my appliances were missing from the kitchen, but was too afraid to ask why. She has turned herself into a horrible smelly cyborg! My god...
4 sharp metal spider legs pop out of her back and they start ripping people out of cars. Her jaw dislocates an out pops Reverend Meatpiddles with a syringe. He injects a bluish liquid into heads left and right. As the bodies fall they start to shrivel up, backs curve and teeth fall out. Its worse than I thought, she is starting an army of old folks...stealing away all the youth she runs into.
Date unknown. How much time has passed? I have no idea. The last thing I remember is Grandma crashing through the living room, she implanted her old bionic head next to mine. I need to type quietly now...the body will wake up...I just needed to get my story out so perhaps one day I can be rescued and get this Alzheimer head off my body. Oh no, its starting to wake up. But for nowI better rest up for bowling tomorrow and a walk around the mall.
Better Days Ahead
Slither into my head.
We shrink to almost nothingness.
You and I, the size of a grain of salt melting on some stale movie theater pop corn. Take my hand. Trudging through the remnants of earwax I obviously couldn't get at with the Q tip, we move forward. There is a door, just a few more steps and we can rummage around in my thoughts.
The weary oak door reads 'Thalamus' In we go.
It's dark, a thick dark, its almost palpable. Your hand is hot and damp. There's a light just ahead.
As our eyes adjust, what is splayed out before us is dizzying.
A mountain of teddy bears, an eye missing here, tattered ear there. They were all loved hard. As we scale the hill of clumped up stuffing we smell baby powder and stale thumb sucking slumberous drool. We look at each other and smile.
Down the other side of soft infantile bliss, things are much brighter, almost an assault on our senses. A gargantuan refrigerator, enshrouded with finger paintings, crinkled construction paper daubed with glue and glitter, bright suns, dogs with far too many legs, and stick figures with smiles that stretch right off their faces.
The air is changing now.
The smell is so familiar it floods us with memories. There are wafts of peanut butter and jelly, Mr. bubble, the woods after it rains and pours, grass stained jeans, and then the wood stove; ready to warm you up after a long hard day of fighting monsters and wars. Sound fills this space, floating in the air all around us, giggles and splashes in the puddles and the tub, crying from the tumble off the new bike from Santa, and the cooing and lullaby from Mom as she sings you off to a sweet land of dreams where your loved and safe from everything.
I don't like the cold air that's filling the space ahead. You look apprehensive. We are standing side by side, but I feel alone, detached, and anxious. We are standing in a classroom filled with students, faceless and countless. One hot spotlight from above is blinding and the cacophony of laughing is thunderous. Its not laughter of joy though, on the contrary, its laughter aimed right at you. We can almost feel the fingers pointing. Its a long time passed but we are flooded with feelings of disappointment, self hate, and confusion. The bell rings after what feels like an eternity, we clasp hands and run through the weighty metal doors.
Where are you? I dont want to be alone. Im scared.
Dropped onto a bustling street, I scan the faces of the strangers moving by me like a strong current. None look familar, none make me unclench my fists and relax. My fingernails dig into my sweaty palms. Im on my own. I begin to realize this is a normal feeling, I need to get used to this. And I do, mournfully. I spend overlapping eternities here, in my own head. I flip the switch to auto pilot, pull my face out of the jar on the dusty shelf, the one with the smile. The face that tells the world, 'I relish in every breath, every tick of the clock!' I wear that mask so well.
Down a long spiral slide. Its a lonely and painful decent, isnt it?
In a dark corner is an exhausted trunk, faded stars decorate all sides. A light is oozing from the cracks. I lift the heavy lid. Tears writhe down my hot cheeks. This is the place in my mind I always wanted to be. I throw one leg over, then the other and sink in. Its warm, and smells like fresh baked cookies and hot pavement after a storm. Im barefoot and standing on soft grass. in the middle of a green field, is You.
Ill hide here forever. Let my body wither away. Ill stay with you inside my mind.
Happy at last.
We shrink to almost nothingness.
You and I, the size of a grain of salt melting on some stale movie theater pop corn. Take my hand. Trudging through the remnants of earwax I obviously couldn't get at with the Q tip, we move forward. There is a door, just a few more steps and we can rummage around in my thoughts.
The weary oak door reads 'Thalamus' In we go.
It's dark, a thick dark, its almost palpable. Your hand is hot and damp. There's a light just ahead.
As our eyes adjust, what is splayed out before us is dizzying.
A mountain of teddy bears, an eye missing here, tattered ear there. They were all loved hard. As we scale the hill of clumped up stuffing we smell baby powder and stale thumb sucking slumberous drool. We look at each other and smile.
Down the other side of soft infantile bliss, things are much brighter, almost an assault on our senses. A gargantuan refrigerator, enshrouded with finger paintings, crinkled construction paper daubed with glue and glitter, bright suns, dogs with far too many legs, and stick figures with smiles that stretch right off their faces.
The air is changing now.
The smell is so familiar it floods us with memories. There are wafts of peanut butter and jelly, Mr. bubble, the woods after it rains and pours, grass stained jeans, and then the wood stove; ready to warm you up after a long hard day of fighting monsters and wars. Sound fills this space, floating in the air all around us, giggles and splashes in the puddles and the tub, crying from the tumble off the new bike from Santa, and the cooing and lullaby from Mom as she sings you off to a sweet land of dreams where your loved and safe from everything.
I don't like the cold air that's filling the space ahead. You look apprehensive. We are standing side by side, but I feel alone, detached, and anxious. We are standing in a classroom filled with students, faceless and countless. One hot spotlight from above is blinding and the cacophony of laughing is thunderous. Its not laughter of joy though, on the contrary, its laughter aimed right at you. We can almost feel the fingers pointing. Its a long time passed but we are flooded with feelings of disappointment, self hate, and confusion. The bell rings after what feels like an eternity, we clasp hands and run through the weighty metal doors.
Where are you? I dont want to be alone. Im scared.
Dropped onto a bustling street, I scan the faces of the strangers moving by me like a strong current. None look familar, none make me unclench my fists and relax. My fingernails dig into my sweaty palms. Im on my own. I begin to realize this is a normal feeling, I need to get used to this. And I do, mournfully. I spend overlapping eternities here, in my own head. I flip the switch to auto pilot, pull my face out of the jar on the dusty shelf, the one with the smile. The face that tells the world, 'I relish in every breath, every tick of the clock!' I wear that mask so well.
Down a long spiral slide. Its a lonely and painful decent, isnt it?
In a dark corner is an exhausted trunk, faded stars decorate all sides. A light is oozing from the cracks. I lift the heavy lid. Tears writhe down my hot cheeks. This is the place in my mind I always wanted to be. I throw one leg over, then the other and sink in. Its warm, and smells like fresh baked cookies and hot pavement after a storm. Im barefoot and standing on soft grass. in the middle of a green field, is You.
Ill hide here forever. Let my body wither away. Ill stay with you inside my mind.
Happy at last.
Paste eating horror
My head grows heavy with thinky-goo. This is a sickly sweet mix of screams, soft kisses, degrading spoonfuls of what was, and my fucked up idea of hope.
Well, i payed a hobo down the street to suck out all the troublesome mind-waste from my brain loaf. I had one of those super cool swirly straws, and he eagerly sucked the pain out and did this great thing for only 6 Mc.Nuggets and the lint between my toes. to each their own. H mentioned that he has a collection. Like 45 Mc.Nuggets thus far. One even kinda looks like elvis playing ping-pong, or a bloated Oprah...i guess its all about the lighting.
The flashbacks have begun again. Dirt, no no.....mud, trenches, I hear them 'sposions. "Get down!!!" "Fucking trench foot." I mutter. "I got a nasty case of got trench elbow, I don't wanna hear it kiddo." Sarge hates me. I feel scared, none of us talk about it, we aint pussies, ya know?. Dammit...I know we is all thinking it though. We aint gettin out of here alive. I'm delirious, the heat, the sand, its everywhere, I swear I hear laughing off in the distance. "Sarge....I'm making a go for it!!!" "Your crazy go-nuts soldier!, you'll take a hit!" "Its a fucking chance I gotta take" I said under my breath as I wiped the sweat from my brow.
Slow motion......sun in my eyes, dirt under my nails, in my shoes. I start to slip. I run, blinded...my knees scraped up, dress is filthy, like always. And then just like that....Ka-PloWieeEEEeeeEEee! " AaaAAaRrrrRGGGggg! I had been hit!" Right on the cheek, sloppy, drool and dirt mixed with peanut butter and jelly. My troops flooded around my lil broken body. I had been kissed. I would remember this incident and be ready next time. My god, I'll never forget the horror.
KINDERGARTEN: Mission 761. Get a jump on the enemy.
First day of kindergarten, undercover as normal student. Bouncy curls? Check. Osh Gosh b Gosh overalls? Check. Giant paper name tag and bus number? Check. Ughh....how degrading!
Lets proceed.
Looking around the room, I looked for a safe place to set up my base of operations. Ah, a table of girls, possible new recruits. I sat down then realized my jacket was still on, you fool!....Fit in! I went to the coat room and hung my jacket on a purple bunny. When I returned, I was stunned to find the enemy sitting in my fucking base! A boy. Now or never I told myself. I waited for my chance, he turned his head with a goofy smile, but all I saw was red. Perfect. I punched him in the head.
Ummmm, after that some data seems to have been lost. I blame the system. After that punch I do remember sitting on the enemies lap at story time and sharing his space during nap time. I didn't give up!! I was just....keeping a close watch on his pure evil. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer!
Ahhhh young love, a time when holding hands and a punch in the face really meant something.
Over n out human noise blobs.
Well, i payed a hobo down the street to suck out all the troublesome mind-waste from my brain loaf. I had one of those super cool swirly straws, and he eagerly sucked the pain out and did this great thing for only 6 Mc.Nuggets and the lint between my toes. to each their own. H mentioned that he has a collection. Like 45 Mc.Nuggets thus far. One even kinda looks like elvis playing ping-pong, or a bloated Oprah...i guess its all about the lighting.
The flashbacks have begun again. Dirt, no no.....mud, trenches, I hear them 'sposions. "Get down!!!" "Fucking trench foot." I mutter. "I got a nasty case of got trench elbow, I don't wanna hear it kiddo." Sarge hates me. I feel scared, none of us talk about it, we aint pussies, ya know?. Dammit...I know we is all thinking it though. We aint gettin out of here alive. I'm delirious, the heat, the sand, its everywhere, I swear I hear laughing off in the distance. "Sarge....I'm making a go for it!!!" "Your crazy go-nuts soldier!, you'll take a hit!" "Its a fucking chance I gotta take" I said under my breath as I wiped the sweat from my brow.
Slow motion......sun in my eyes, dirt under my nails, in my shoes. I start to slip. I run, blinded...my knees scraped up, dress is filthy, like always. And then just like that....Ka-PloWieeEEEeeeEEee! " AaaAAaRrrrRGGGggg! I had been hit!" Right on the cheek, sloppy, drool and dirt mixed with peanut butter and jelly. My troops flooded around my lil broken body. I had been kissed. I would remember this incident and be ready next time. My god, I'll never forget the horror.
KINDERGARTEN: Mission 761. Get a jump on the enemy.
First day of kindergarten, undercover as normal student. Bouncy curls? Check. Osh Gosh b Gosh overalls? Check. Giant paper name tag and bus number? Check. Ughh....how degrading!
Lets proceed.
Looking around the room, I looked for a safe place to set up my base of operations. Ah, a table of girls, possible new recruits. I sat down then realized my jacket was still on, you fool!....Fit in! I went to the coat room and hung my jacket on a purple bunny. When I returned, I was stunned to find the enemy sitting in my fucking base! A boy. Now or never I told myself. I waited for my chance, he turned his head with a goofy smile, but all I saw was red. Perfect. I punched him in the head.
Ummmm, after that some data seems to have been lost. I blame the system. After that punch I do remember sitting on the enemies lap at story time and sharing his space during nap time. I didn't give up!! I was just....keeping a close watch on his pure evil. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer!
Ahhhh young love, a time when holding hands and a punch in the face really meant something.
Over n out human noise blobs.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Take me to the carnival
Where are all the ferris wheels of doom? I like them. They are not at all safe, and you know when you sit on that dirty metal seat covered in rain water or urine, there's a fine chance a bolt will come loose and you will fall and die a horrible death.
As the happy ride goes around n around, the bulbs that still work dazzle us with faded colors. The music from other rides are in the air and we listen as it blends with the snapping and creaking of the very ride we sit upon. It's wholesome fun, mixed with a growing sense of your own mortality, and how quickly life can snuff you out in a second. Good times. Good times.
The carnies are an excellent species to examine. I find that I like to play "find the dirtiest carnie", it's kinda tough sometimes. It could easily come down to just a few extra teeth missing, or maybe just a bit more of a particular smell. (booze and shit in pants?)
But this enjoyment is hiding from me and frankly I don't like it. Not one bit.
I like to get yelled at by crazy game booth people who want you to spend lots of cash to throw crap so you can win a Kermit the Frog doll that looks more like a ferret on speed, and smells like a foot. The basketball man yells to me repeatedly, 'take a shot! take a shot!'....I tell him sadly, 'I cant...I have no arms'. I see him look upset for a moment or two as he ponders this while watching me walk away, both arms swinging at my sides. Poor bastard, I believe at some point his brain was kicked clear out of his skull during a donkey show gone horribly wrong and they replaced it with a half eaten candy apple.
So this is where he belongs. Shuffled in amongst the morbidly obese children with dirty faces breathing in a bag of cotton candy and the big strong men trying to look tough while they deep throat a foot long corn dog.
So one day if your driving around and above it all you see the ferris wheels lights glowing, and you smell burnt popcorn and vomit, come pick me up. Cause I know where I wanna go. Fuck yeah.
As the happy ride goes around n around, the bulbs that still work dazzle us with faded colors. The music from other rides are in the air and we listen as it blends with the snapping and creaking of the very ride we sit upon. It's wholesome fun, mixed with a growing sense of your own mortality, and how quickly life can snuff you out in a second. Good times. Good times.
The carnies are an excellent species to examine. I find that I like to play "find the dirtiest carnie", it's kinda tough sometimes. It could easily come down to just a few extra teeth missing, or maybe just a bit more of a particular smell. (booze and shit in pants?)
But this enjoyment is hiding from me and frankly I don't like it. Not one bit.
I like to get yelled at by crazy game booth people who want you to spend lots of cash to throw crap so you can win a Kermit the Frog doll that looks more like a ferret on speed, and smells like a foot. The basketball man yells to me repeatedly, 'take a shot! take a shot!'....I tell him sadly, 'I cant...I have no arms'. I see him look upset for a moment or two as he ponders this while watching me walk away, both arms swinging at my sides. Poor bastard, I believe at some point his brain was kicked clear out of his skull during a donkey show gone horribly wrong and they replaced it with a half eaten candy apple.
So this is where he belongs. Shuffled in amongst the morbidly obese children with dirty faces breathing in a bag of cotton candy and the big strong men trying to look tough while they deep throat a foot long corn dog.
So one day if your driving around and above it all you see the ferris wheels lights glowing, and you smell burnt popcorn and vomit, come pick me up. Cause I know where I wanna go. Fuck yeah.
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