Rominger's Manservant

Sometimes I don't shower for days on end. The last time I showered was Sunday before dinner; although I intended to bathe last night, I didn't get home until 8 and then it was too frigid for showering and too late to care and I passed out on the futon in a pile of books and prostitutes—at 11:30!

But nobody wants to be scurvy. You know how you just feel greasy after a couple days? I can't wait to get clean. I feel like I just made out with a squid—slime all over, tentacles enwrapping my body. And all these hickeys—tens of thousands of hickeys where the little suction cups held the skin of my face, my tongue, my cornea.

But the crust of moral filth is the hardest to scrub away . . .

Have you ever had market pantry cola? It's the generic target cola. And with apologies to Morgan, it is delicious. I prefer it to Pepsi, Coke, and that weird syrupy stuff imported from the mole people, Schnuxxor. Maybe it's just that I'm marketing's bitch, and can't resist the crisp lines of those white ice cubes against the red can. Or maybe I'm just cheap. But I used to mix huge vats of this stuff with rum and leave reality for weeks at a time.

Here's a question for anyone familiar with Dave's and my old church: if you had to make out with one church member over age 50, which one would you pick?

I'm thinking Don Eilander.

Not really.

But you get the idea.

Last night I dreamt that we bought the Scieszinski manor. Andy was high as hell, wandering around the place. There was a room with a giant punch bowl and an oversized Life game twisty wheel. There was John S. with 15 mutated eyes encircling his head. There was cooked human mixed in with pasta. It was a jacked up dream.

I am leaving this world next year. And by "this world," I mean Iowa. Failing acceptance at U. of Iowa, I'm either leaving for grad school in another state or leaving for pizza delivery in San Francisco. Or New York. Or, you know, something like that. I'm going to buy a suit and a limo and be Sarah's manservant. Or Rominger's manservant. I could do that too. This his child would grow up with a weird butler/chauffeur/bodyguard.

I guess I just found my life destiny.