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A day in the life of a weirdo

Updated on April 13, 2011

Not even worth it

The TV blares and flashes blue light in the dark of Mackie’s basement, smoke curling around every head in the room and refracting the light off every wall.

“Two men were found cut in half and stitched to eachother hanging from a power line last night. Police suspect foul play…”

I push my head back into the sofa and exhale a cloud of weed smoke upward, geyser-like.
I realize at this very moment that I want to go upstairs and search this kids medicine cabinets for Valium or maybe some pain pills. “Hey,” I say standing up slowly. “Where’s your bathroom Mackie?”

“Upstairs and to the right.” he says, but I don’t hear him as I roll backwards out of the sofa, nearly kicking Laurie in the face. “Thanks dude.” I say.

Upstairs I look around the kitchen, taking in the tasteful wallpaper pattern and meticulous décor. A picture of Jesus Christ sipping a cool refreshing diet coke out of a golden chalice hangs over the sink and I admire the brush stroke technique and deep symbolism of the piece as I rifle through the drawers for some kind of controlled substance. I find a bottle but its just lipitor so I poor the contents down the sink.

“Fuck,” I say under my breath. “What kinds of freaks don’t keep drugs in the kitchen?”

Disappointed I head to the bathroom to take a quick piss. I’m briefly excited to see a medicine cabinet over the toilet but I open it and it’s just filled with beauty products and aspirin and shit. I can still hear the TV downstairs blaring away in that happy monotone newscasters voice, “…-even figure out how the turkey got in there, a spokesman for the company said. Police say that they have better things to…”

I shake my head quickly, drowning out the TV by humming Jack and Diane. Suddenly, on an impulse, I whip out my cell phone and look through the numbers on it. Settling on the number I overheard this pretty girl giving out to her friend, I press send and a female voice answers. “Hello?”

“Hey, is this Sabrina?” I ask, doing a passable Marlin Brando impression.

“Umm…” She says, pausing. “Who is this?”

“I’m going to find you and whip drill bits at you.” I say.  

“What?” She asks, her voice sounding vaguely frightened. “Who is this?”

“This is your worst nightmare mother fucker.” I say, inspecting my hair in the mirror. “Actually this is the …cable company.” I add. “I meant to say that this is the cable guy. I misspoke before.”

I spend a minute making animal noises into the phone and then I hang up. As I’m about to leave the bathroom I spot a bottle of Xanax behind the faucet of the sink and I pour a handful into my mouth, swallowing them without water.

I can hear the TV again as I descend the staircase back down to the basement but it’s not the news anymore. It sounds like a Tom and Jerry cartoon but I find out its just a test pattern when I flop down on the sofa, this time connecting directly with my foot to Laurie’s forehead. “I’m really not sorry about that at all.” I say, pulling a joint from my pocket and sparking it with my New England Patriots lighter.

“That’s ok.” She says smiling.

“It was… no accident.” I add, shrugging. “I took no steps to prevent that kick whatsoever. I can’t be any clearer about that.”

All eyes are on the TV and nobody reacts when I say, loudly, pronouncing each word as clearly as I can, “I would like to individually punch all of you into oncoming traffic.”

I fall asleep on the couch, but wake up a few hours later. Everyone’s asleep so I go upstairs and put the salt in the sugar bowl and vice versa. I leave and, though I’m still groggy from the Xanax I make it home safely, driving way over the speed limit all the way to my house.

Walking into Burger King I look around at the other customers and I’m hit by a pang of nausea that almost knocks me off my feet and for a moment I think I’m going to lose it completely but I manage to set myself straight and I study the menu above the counter. I could get a Large Fry and a Whopper, but is this what I really want? Am I prepared to…go for that?

A man standing in front of me, talking to a fat black girl with a red weave says, “We should have gone to Red Lobster.” And this sets me off hard. Clenching my teeth so tightly that it feels like I’m going to shatter my jaw, I start to fantasize about dressing up in a bear costume and shooting this dickhead through the heart with a harpoon gun. I realize that coming inside this establishment was a mistake, and I stumble towards the bathroom where I throw up into the sink and since I haven’t eaten all day its mostly dry heaves with a dash of yellowish bile; possibly the lining of my stomache.

“Oh my god,” I find myself saying, after I rinse out my mouth.

Now I’m outside and this guy that I know from somewhere is staring right at me and walking towards where I am. His eyes are red, his nose is running and he’s wearing a yellow shirt with a picture of a skull on it.

“Hey, dude, what’s goin’ on?” He asks me when he gets closer. He’s actually uncomfortably close and his nose is about an inch away from mine.
“Nothing.” I say. “I’m just…” I trail off, noticing a blue stain on his forehead in the shape of a dandelion.  “I’m …late for a…movie.”

“Oh yeah?” He answers, nodding his head, bobbing it really, a goofy smile plastered across his face. “What movie?”

“The umm…The Blue Stain.” I say. “It’s supposed to be really… great.”

“Oh man, I haven’t heard of that.”

“Yeah,” I answer looking away from him. “It’s from Belgium. Subtitles; whole things in…Belgish. I’ll see you later dude.” I say, and I walk away.

From around the house I’ve collected the various articles of clothing and props that I need to effectively carry out a fantastic plan; A black cowboy hat from my closet, a pair of black leather boots, which are actually my moms, a simple checkered shirt from Marshals, and my father’s Mexican poncho. I put these on and look at myself in the mirror but something is missing and after sucking down half a Doctor Pepper, some Funions, two Coconut donuts and a handful of roasted peanuts I realize what it is. Down at the store I buy a pack of cigarillos and the effect is complete. I look just like Clint Eastwood from A Fist Full of Dollars. I spend the day trolling the park with eyes like cold slits, glaring at people and strolling very slowly. I make sure people see me, by sending out that vibe and it works, is a complete success, fills me with a feeling that might be joy or possibly just relief, but whatever it is it washes over me like cool water.
I go home satisfied and after drinking most of what’s left of the Stoli Vodka I’d put in a Poland Spring sparkling water bottle, I turn on Edward Scissorhands and I watch it three times before sun rise.

Accomplishment for today: Found a black overcoat, a top hat from what looks like pre 17th century England, some pleated black trousers and a fake mustache. I grab some rope from my garage and hang around the train tracks, making sure to throw my head back and laugh loudly every time a car goes by. I think I might be losing it, and it only confirmed my suspicions that something might be wrong when I began to hallucinate that my arm had turned into a bottle of Clonazapam. Note to self: Remember to pick up a Blu-ray DVD player so as not to fall behind the times.


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    • DanielBing1 profile image

      DanielBing1 7 years ago from New Hampshire

      I've written two novels but I've been unable to get them published. Probably because I find it difficult to make sense for more than ten minutes out of any given day.

    • Kimme Owens profile image

      Kimme Owens 7 years ago from California

      I LOVE your point of view! I will keep an eye out for a novel of yours someday, if you're so inclined to write one. You've got some pretty interesting stuff!


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