Geris on the Verge
Last night, I was told that JT was seen at the club on Saturday wearing an epileptic seizure enducing psychadelic shirt, tight pants, and....pumps. That is all about that.
I got airbrushed yesterday soas to look like I have a tan and stop being so damned pasty. Unfortunately, I got it at 2pm. You are supposed to wait 12 hours then shower. So I was going to stay up until 2am. Normally, not a problem. However, I worked all night the night before, so I was running low on fuel. I fell asleep at some point during Biker Boys, which the lesbians across the hall said was a good movie, and woke up at midnight. As I knew I would not be able to wake up again at two for the shower, I went ahead and washed myself. I have a slight orange tint.
This morning I woke up at five when my roommate, Father O'Flannigan, came in from work. We sat around for a bit until he decided that we should go and have breakfast. We decided to go to, don't laugh, Cracker Barrel as I am now addicted to their Maine blueberry pancakes. So we got there at 5:50ish. They do not open until six, so we sat in the rocking chairs that they have for sale and waited for them to open up. It was really quiet. Almost too quiet, in fact. Out of nowhere, little geriatric men started appearing like termites from the woodwork or like Munchkins from the flowerbed. You would have thought that the nursing home had just let out or something. Well, this was fine, I mean the old still need to eat, but there was one in particular that gave me a weird feeling. He was sitting across and to the right of us in another of the rocking chairs which was placed almost directly in front of the door. He was rocking like a man on the verge. Like a man on a mission. Like a man revving his engine and waiting for the light to turn green. Pawpaw Pancake needed his fix. It had been 24 hours since he had had any bacon, and he was not going to let anyone get in his way of it. He was fiendin' for some sweet lovin' from her highness Aunt Jamima. He had it bad. He eyeballed the father and myself just beggin us to get in his way. He would let no man stand between him and his little slice of heaven on earth.
5:57am...He really starts rocking now. Glaring at us. Staring thru us.
5:58am...He has started hallucinating. Eggs and grits and oatmeal all calling out to him. He cuts his eyes at us once more.
5:59am...He is preparing for lift off. For some reason, he has decided that Father O and I are plotting against him and are trying to turn his dreams sunnyside down. He cannot handle it. He must destroy us. He rocks faster. And faster. And faster. His breathing becomes shorter, quicker. Heart rate more rapid, determined. We will not stand in his way, God as his witness! He starts squeezing the armrests. Rocking. Rocking. Glare. Rocking. Glaring. Squeeze. Squeeze. Rock. Rock. Glare. He is not worried about breaking his hips, they can be replaced. Nothing can replace his slab of ham. Rock. Glare. Rock. He cannot take it much longer. One of us is going to have to die. Either he goes or we go. He hates us. Rock. Rock. We must be destroyed. Rock. Rock. Rock. Rock.
*Click*
He leaps from the chair and runs to the door. Father O'Flannigan and I look at one another and wonder, "What just happened?"
Oh yea I have a date tonight.
Later Consuela.
Last night, I was told that JT was seen at the club on Saturday wearing an epileptic seizure enducing psychadelic shirt, tight pants, and....pumps. That is all about that.
I got airbrushed yesterday soas to look like I have a tan and stop being so damned pasty. Unfortunately, I got it at 2pm. You are supposed to wait 12 hours then shower. So I was going to stay up until 2am. Normally, not a problem. However, I worked all night the night before, so I was running low on fuel. I fell asleep at some point during Biker Boys, which the lesbians across the hall said was a good movie, and woke up at midnight. As I knew I would not be able to wake up again at two for the shower, I went ahead and washed myself. I have a slight orange tint.
This morning I woke up at five when my roommate, Father O'Flannigan, came in from work. We sat around for a bit until he decided that we should go and have breakfast. We decided to go to, don't laugh, Cracker Barrel as I am now addicted to their Maine blueberry pancakes. So we got there at 5:50ish. They do not open until six, so we sat in the rocking chairs that they have for sale and waited for them to open up. It was really quiet. Almost too quiet, in fact. Out of nowhere, little geriatric men started appearing like termites from the woodwork or like Munchkins from the flowerbed. You would have thought that the nursing home had just let out or something. Well, this was fine, I mean the old still need to eat, but there was one in particular that gave me a weird feeling. He was sitting across and to the right of us in another of the rocking chairs which was placed almost directly in front of the door. He was rocking like a man on the verge. Like a man on a mission. Like a man revving his engine and waiting for the light to turn green. Pawpaw Pancake needed his fix. It had been 24 hours since he had had any bacon, and he was not going to let anyone get in his way of it. He was fiendin' for some sweet lovin' from her highness Aunt Jamima. He had it bad. He eyeballed the father and myself just beggin us to get in his way. He would let no man stand between him and his little slice of heaven on earth.
5:57am...He really starts rocking now. Glaring at us. Staring thru us.
5:58am...He has started hallucinating. Eggs and grits and oatmeal all calling out to him. He cuts his eyes at us once more.
5:59am...He is preparing for lift off. For some reason, he has decided that Father O and I are plotting against him and are trying to turn his dreams sunnyside down. He cannot handle it. He must destroy us. He rocks faster. And faster. And faster. His breathing becomes shorter, quicker. Heart rate more rapid, determined. We will not stand in his way, God as his witness! He starts squeezing the armrests. Rocking. Rocking. Glare. Rocking. Glaring. Squeeze. Squeeze. Rock. Rock. Glare. He is not worried about breaking his hips, they can be replaced. Nothing can replace his slab of ham. Rock. Glare. Rock. He cannot take it much longer. One of us is going to have to die. Either he goes or we go. He hates us. Rock. Rock. We must be destroyed. Rock. Rock. Rock. Rock.
*Click*
He leaps from the chair and runs to the door. Father O'Flannigan and I look at one another and wonder, "What just happened?"
Oh yea I have a date tonight.
Later Consuela.
posted by Preston at 4:05 PM
