Slob fed Mr. Smiley
Today: he woke up, ate about 11 pounds of pizza, began drinking diet coke with Mr. Jim Beam, something went wrong in his over weight tummy, he power puked his bathroom a new paint job, like the possessed girl from the exorcist movie, only his puke wasn't green, it was an art piece of eloquent colors, even some unknown ones, those black flying spot like bantam circles began buzzing around the gathering over his head, he cleaned up the mess with a two week old shower towel that he had jacked off on the night before, dug through an ashtray for Mr. Nicotine, back to bed bug slumber, with Ms. Invisible, and started his day.
Staring at walls for no reason, sleeping all day long, collecting rejection slips, pretending he's a blind retarded midget, dreaming of naked women, not paying bills, going to college every few years, then dropping out, talking to his cat about the end of the world, hmmm, lets see, what else….
Driving his car 100 mph, while sticking both hands out the window drunk, smoking enough cigs a day to feel ill all the time, bad spellers, drunk editors, asking cops for directions, while winking at them as they explain,
Passing out in bars, swimming at 2 a.m. during lightning storms, staring directly at the sun, dreaming while He's awake, not going out in public,
Drawing stick figures and sending them to well known art critics, playing his acoustic geeetar till his fingers bleed, watching his friend shoot heroin into his neck, asking his Mom for money, driving around on new-sprung freeways without a map, getting lost, dirt weed and jolly ranchers,
Checking his pulse every few minutes, laughing in the mirror, having long conversations with himself, building 400 pound love dolls, barfing around his room naked, avoiding old landlords,
Going on roller-coasters while vomiting all over the person sitting behind him, scratching his head, locking his bedroom door, biting the tips of his fingers, calling old bosses from restaurants he worked at and complaining about the food, gobbling acid, as his hands speak to one another all night, fart stinking apartment for a month.
Just a few of his favorite things.
He opened his eyes again at about 4 p.m., while turning his phone ringer back on.
His phone rang, a voice,
"You gonna come to my party tonight? Tons of hot bitches dude!"
He lit up a smoke, with no reply, and hung up the phone.
His phone rang again, a new voice.
"Hello, I'm trying to reach Mr. Smiley, we have an offer he can't refuse."
He hung up the phone again, with no response.
His phone rang a third voice,
"Lady Lumps here, I'm so dam horny, come over and fuck me again."
He thought about it for a minute, and hung up the phone.
"Ring! Ring!"
"This is Billy, I met you through Sammy, who knows Lori, and I got your number from Freddie, I wanted to ask if…"
He hung up the phone, and scratched the back of his zitty neck.
Another call,
"Hey fucker, you want to go play some darts over at Harvey's? He rented some new porno's."
He hung up, with no response, staring at foul pair of underwear on his floor.
The phone rang,
"I should kick your ass! How dare you say that about me and my friends!"
He laughed, and hung up the phone.
More phone rings,
"You son of a bitch! You're a pathetic ….."
He hung up the phone, and picked his red vein strung nose.
Another ring,
"Hey brother, I think I found you an agent, she said your writing was like a bad case of herpes, and that it sort of grew on her, but I think she likes it, all you got to do is clean it up a bit and she said…'
He burped into the phone, and hung up.
The dam phone rang again,
"What up loser? Stacy said you have been losing it lately, I just wanted to tell you, I'm always here for you and that…."
He hiccuped into the phone, and hung up.
"Ring, Ring!"
"Hello Mr. Smiley, this is your probation officer, Mr. Tie and suit guy, you missed our last scheduled appointment, and you need to understand that if you keep this up, you will be in jail again, understand?"
He mumbled a grunt, and hung up the phone.
"I hate being so popular," he said to his hungry cat, which was dripping saliva on to his bed sheets, with a purr.
He went to his bathroom to take piss. The toilet had overflowed and there was water engulfing his bathroom floor, with floating barf chunks and turds, like swimming fish, filling the stink hole, like an exotic fish tank.
He tromped back to his room, getting his wetly soaked soggy socks all over his wino stained carpet.
He sat down on his bed, and stared at the phone.
It rang, of course,
"Hi honey, this is Mom, I didn't appreciate that story you wrote about me, and we need to discuss your ethics and moral debt to society, hello? Are you there?"
He put the phone up to his ass, and let out a bellowing fart, then hung up.
Shit, he thought, I must start writing more, before I'm another un- known casualty.
His tiresome useless phone rang again,
"Your going to end up dead, with no friends if you keep this up, why do you have to be such an asshole, you have so much potential, maybe if you checked in to some sort of rehab, then you could sober up and really make something of your self, not to mention I …"
He mumbled "Fuck off," and hung up the phone.
His phone rang again,
He just sat on his smelly bed and stared at it, after about 8 rings, it stopped.
He smiled, as his mind thought about trying to sell some of his used fiction books to the local book dealer in town.
He didn't want to get a job; all he needed was booze and smokes, some cat food, and some cheap noodles for his belly.
He sat down at his 1970 typewriter, and took a deep breath, waiting for inspiration.
The phone rang again. He got a inexplicable feeling that he should answer it one last time, before unplugging it.
Another voice,
"Dude, I been trying to call you for almost an hour, what the fuck? I got that welfare check, and spent most of it on heroin, but I got an eight-ball of cocaine on the way, and was looking for some good company to share it with, you should come over, you hermit scum."
"I'm on my way 'write' now, I'll be there in 5 minutes," Mr. Smiley said, hanging up the phone for the last time.
Copyright 1999
