The day was hardly over for most people, and for William the day had barely begun. Yet, the stress of nearly burning himself on the smooth side of the toasted bagel and almost using a dirty knife, that was mistakenly placed back into the silverware drawer, to spread his cream cheese, was enough to justify taking a bath with a couple of Coors Originals. The tub filled as William set the two beers on the edge of rug next to the tub.
- that water looks a little dirtier than last time, when did I clean my bathroom last? Oh, yeah, but I didn’t wash the tub, It didn’t need it, every other time is good enough, I just have to make sure the water doesn’t get too dirty, Every time I take a bath is the time when I wipe my ass the best, That is a given, the artistic element comes from the simplicity of that statement.
William flushes the toilet and submerges his right foot first.
- that is warm, you’ll get used to it, better than being cold, oh shit, reading material
William grabs the first magazine on top of the toilet and drops it next to the beers. He proceeds to fully enter the tub.
- bubbles are for girls, I’ve locked the door, it doesn’t have one, but it’s closed at least, only a crack would be needed, they’d see, I’d tell, beer in the bathtub, nothing better, reading or drinking first, drinking, that wasn’t as hard as I though it would be, it might have been harder if I had bubbles or soapy hands, but it came right off just like it was dry, that is cold beer, I bet the difference in temperature will get me fucked up faster, there is a lot of condensation on this bottle, next to the rug is still good, I need to dry my hands to read, I don’t want a water damaged magazine, every college dorm has a water damaged one, table of contents, SHIT!
The magazine fell right out of William’s dry hands and into the tub. He quickly slides back and grabs the soaked pages.
- it doesn’t look that bad, it is, I can’t even turn the pages, fuck, oh well, I’ll just drink and bathe, where will it dry? I guess the floor will have to do, I wish I had a bigger tub, entirely under water, the chills even in a warm bath, what do the chills mean, I can gage how great an episode of Twin Peaks is by how many times I get chills during the episode, I used to just ignore them, and when people said “it gave, there might be something to the chills, the sound of the water leaking through the excess drain is ten times louder, I hate that, it kills the mood.
William again sits up in the tube. He leans towards his feet and grabs a washcloth. He dips it under water, until it is thoroughly soaked through. He takes the wet rag and tries to plug the excess drain. He leans back down into the water and places his left foot on the blue washcloth.
- I need to fix that, it would be easy, flip it upside down (umop episdn), I might have a screw driver, before my next bath, more, this is still cold, so great, I’ll try to read again, its already wet, better still dry hands, is there a fiction piece in this magazine, that is good tub reading, that book was read in the tub, I’d do it to with a library book too, not my own, I don’t even crease the covers or bend the pages, finding a bookmark is half the fun, only use it for one book and then it gets retired to the last page of the book, when they look through my stuff they’ll find all my receipts and to-do lists, no fiction, this pages are ruined, the middle ones are ok in the middle, the edges are soaked, I’ll toss this one, but I like the pictures, I’ll let it dry.
William once again returns the magazine to the floor. He gently spreads the pages in the middle of the magazine. He grabs his half empty beer and lies back with just his head above the water.
- look at the condensation, if it tilt it it drips, I bet that condensation is cold, I can’t feel it though, if I put my hand, nothing, there is a ton of, can I get one more drop, not without spilling, I’m like michael bay before making the island, but I knew when to stop, blaming Scarlett Johansson, no wonder he said it was hell to work with him, that has to be hard, blamed for a box office flop, I’d drink, or I’d drink more, she’s in that magazine, another reason to keep it, tub is the last place you want to do that, worse than not wiping.
William places the empty beer bottle next to the full one, and then brings the unopened beer into the tub.
- could I use the bar of soap as a bottle opener, I mean if I jammed it into it the top, nope, I can’t get it deep enough, I’ll rinse it before I try again, now its all soapy, I don’t want it to get too warm under water, THE TOWEL, so so so so cold, half the bottle in one gulp, I should have brought three, would it float, maybe another drink, there, remember for the future that the bottle floats when it is a quarter inch past the label, but they have different ones, I won’t drink different ones, straight up (dn thgiarts), like a buoy in a lake, ding-splash-splash-ding, no condensation on that one, is the beer warm, still cold, but not as.
William picks up the beer and studies the label. He picks at one edge and easily peels the whole label off the beer.
- that was cake, never has it been easier, it was the water, not the tension, the top little label, what is that called, neck lable, this bottle is empty, will it float empty, for a second, and then bubbles, I’ll stick this on the wall tile, every time I’ll remember this time, if I kept doing it until the whole wall, the other bottle, isn’t that ironic, ironic? maybe, I began the bath with accidentally having paper in the water, now I’m purposely putting paper under water, that would be nice book ends if this was a story, one of those happy accidents they talk about, those make geniuses, or make them look better, they look smart when they’re just lucky, do people think I’m, naw, I’m not smart enough to act smart.
William sits up and pulls the chain on the drain cover with his toe. His sits still until the empty beer bottle clanks and spills out on the empty tub. William gets up and dries himself off.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Christopher C. Gilmore has entered a Mental Institution
I regret to inform you that my dear brother has gone on to a better place, a safe place where he will no longer be able to hurt himself or those around him. Due to the incidents last Thursday (the 28th), my brother is now abiding in the Sunny Fields Mental Center, in Spring Falls, Virginia. I knew how much Chris enjoyed writing blogs and all of his virtual friends, so, I as his sister feel obligated to inform everyone of the ill-fated tale surrounding my brother’s mysterious mental demise.
The tragic events began on the evening of the 26th. It was this evening that I curse with every once of my existence. As you know my brother was a sucker for movies, so much so that he rarely minded seeing the same movie twice. And with the lack of original and creative content being produced by Hollywood, he is now more able than ever to view the same premise/film over and over again. This was very much true of the last lucent moments he had. The evening began with his attending a free screening of “Live Free or Die Hard.” The number of sequels or remakes that he had seen this year alone was near twenty, with nearly half being sequels to sequels, or three-quels. And after watching a sequel to a sequel of a sequel, his friends that attended the screener with him said he was, “acting a little strange” and “kept saying the same thing over and over again, then saying if Hollywood can do it so can I.”
When he finally returned to his home, he checked this very myspace account. And according to his History he read a bulletin posted by his friend Taylor. I do not have the courage, nor want to take the responsibility of sharing the exact contents of the bulletin, I will say the post was concerning the very real threat of insanity or death for not reposting the bulletin. Apparently, my brother found the entire charade to be humorous at best and sent this message to his friend:
I just read your bulletin, and I don't believe in the "curse" and I'm not going to repost the silliness, but just in case I end up dead, You'll know why. But we really do need to hang out in the near future, that is if I don't accidentally fall down a sewer and break my neck after hearing laughter in the shower. whaaa ha haa! whaaa ha haa! whaaa ha haa!
Christopher
The threat for not continuing the chain of the bulletin was an individual would lose there sanity after hearing a laughing voice in the shower or being attacked while in the sewer. From the nearly incoherent ramblings Chris spouted in the short time I saw him before we shipped him away, I can only gather that the reason for his not reposting the bulletin were that he was never in the sewers and that he had just become particularly fond of taking relaxing baths over having the stress of standing on two feet while showering.
The story of the next twenty-four hours may be a lost chapter of the life of Christopher. All we know is that at noon the next day he was found by the police after multiple reports from a strip mall in North Denver of hearing screams and imitation explosions coming from pipe of there stores. Chris was found running through the sewer system yelling and covered in blood. The officer’s report claims that he was yelling “Style with out substance” and “Why repost when it will be remade?”
Our family and our doctors have been asking, did Christopher go insane because of the lack of creativity in American movies or is it related to a curse place on a myspace bulletin? Either way, the Gilmore family is asking everyone to please be careful this summer and hopefully avoiding further mental danger.
The tragic events began on the evening of the 26th. It was this evening that I curse with every once of my existence. As you know my brother was a sucker for movies, so much so that he rarely minded seeing the same movie twice. And with the lack of original and creative content being produced by Hollywood, he is now more able than ever to view the same premise/film over and over again. This was very much true of the last lucent moments he had. The evening began with his attending a free screening of “Live Free or Die Hard.” The number of sequels or remakes that he had seen this year alone was near twenty, with nearly half being sequels to sequels, or three-quels. And after watching a sequel to a sequel of a sequel, his friends that attended the screener with him said he was, “acting a little strange” and “kept saying the same thing over and over again, then saying if Hollywood can do it so can I.”
When he finally returned to his home, he checked this very myspace account. And according to his History he read a bulletin posted by his friend Taylor. I do not have the courage, nor want to take the responsibility of sharing the exact contents of the bulletin, I will say the post was concerning the very real threat of insanity or death for not reposting the bulletin. Apparently, my brother found the entire charade to be humorous at best and sent this message to his friend:
I just read your bulletin, and I don't believe in the "curse" and I'm not going to repost the silliness, but just in case I end up dead, You'll know why. But we really do need to hang out in the near future, that is if I don't accidentally fall down a sewer and break my neck after hearing laughter in the shower. whaaa ha haa! whaaa ha haa! whaaa ha haa!
Christopher
The threat for not continuing the chain of the bulletin was an individual would lose there sanity after hearing a laughing voice in the shower or being attacked while in the sewer. From the nearly incoherent ramblings Chris spouted in the short time I saw him before we shipped him away, I can only gather that the reason for his not reposting the bulletin were that he was never in the sewers and that he had just become particularly fond of taking relaxing baths over having the stress of standing on two feet while showering.
The story of the next twenty-four hours may be a lost chapter of the life of Christopher. All we know is that at noon the next day he was found by the police after multiple reports from a strip mall in North Denver of hearing screams and imitation explosions coming from pipe of there stores. Chris was found running through the sewer system yelling and covered in blood. The officer’s report claims that he was yelling “Style with out substance” and “Why repost when it will be remade?”
Our family and our doctors have been asking, did Christopher go insane because of the lack of creativity in American movies or is it related to a curse place on a myspace bulletin? Either way, the Gilmore family is asking everyone to please be careful this summer and hopefully avoiding further mental danger.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Mrs. Pac-Man and the Male Libido (excerpt from a short story)
Bella and myself make our way to the Mrs. Pac-Man/Galaga machine. After asking a hipster cliché to move, we realize the game costs a buck to play. Mrs. Pac-man would be rolling in her grave if she knew this establishment was charging a dollar to play her namesake game.
We agree that we’ll play lives and levels, just like I used to do with my brother on our SNES. I am excited for Mrs. Pac-Man. I had just found a website that I could play Mrs. Pac-Man on for free. I set a couple personal records and vowed I’d never follow Paul’s footsteps of playing Mrs. Pac-Man for eight hours in one day. But this would be my first arcade experience with the lovely lady Pac.
Since it was Bella’s dollar I allow her to go first, which I realize was a mistake when I see how fast this Mrs. Pac-Man moves and watch her get eaten by a ghost after three dots. I take over hoping the beers will make me extremely confident mode and not effect my hand-eye coordination. I take the stick and begin guiding the yellow pie chart with a pink ribbon around the screen.
Dot-dot-dot-dot-dot-dot-dot-Superdot-dot-dot-dot-ghost-dot-ghost-ghost-dot-dot-dot.
I take a sense of pride getting to the next level, I hope girls find that an attractive quality. I hand the joystick back to her, I remember reading somewhere that girls that play video games get laid more than girls that don’t. After reading that I thought of course, because girls that like video games only like video games because their boyfriends like video games. And sleeping with a gamer is about as challenging as level one of Tetris. Anyone can do it. These guys are sexually stimulated and socially crippled. If the game isn’t sold on sex and violence it had better be a pretty fun game. The video game industry is built on providing extreme and unobtainable sexual conquests only a button away from the guy who still receives fashion advice from his mother.
Even Mrs. Pac-Man feeds the male fantasies. Pac-Man find the perfect mate, some one just like himself only sexy and a little bit smaller. That is a gamers dream, those selfish fucks only thinking about themselves, the girls have to be the most selfless people to sleep with them, that or they are just as selfish and are using sex to keep the guys around. Which doesn’t sound like a bad deal, I might sign up for a girl like that.
Bella’s second turn was a lot better than her first, but I was still needed to get us to the next level. I decide that it might be a nice thing on my part to let her finish the level. We have one life left. I eat all but three dots before I let Blinky eat me. She steps up to the plate, but strikes out before the three dots can be eaten. I check my pockets as “Game Over” flashes on the screen. Bella hands me a dollar and tells me to get change. I rush to the bar hoping that I the count down won’t expire before I can feed the machine four more quarters.
The bar was still busy, but the bartenders weren’t and I was able to get change in a flash. I raced back to the machine and entered enough coins to go another round. I let Bella take the first turn, and she is a quick learner and nearly completes the level on her first try, but by this time we are both a little bored with the a game that already cost as much as a quarter of a pitcher and are intimidated by the seven digit high score that stairs at us from the upper corner of the screen. She was looking away when the final Mrs. Pac-man came and went.
We agree that we’ll play lives and levels, just like I used to do with my brother on our SNES. I am excited for Mrs. Pac-Man. I had just found a website that I could play Mrs. Pac-Man on for free. I set a couple personal records and vowed I’d never follow Paul’s footsteps of playing Mrs. Pac-Man for eight hours in one day. But this would be my first arcade experience with the lovely lady Pac.
Since it was Bella’s dollar I allow her to go first, which I realize was a mistake when I see how fast this Mrs. Pac-Man moves and watch her get eaten by a ghost after three dots. I take over hoping the beers will make me extremely confident mode and not effect my hand-eye coordination. I take the stick and begin guiding the yellow pie chart with a pink ribbon around the screen.
Dot-dot-dot-dot-dot-dot-dot-Superdot-dot-dot-dot-ghost-dot-ghost-ghost-dot-dot-dot.
I take a sense of pride getting to the next level, I hope girls find that an attractive quality. I hand the joystick back to her, I remember reading somewhere that girls that play video games get laid more than girls that don’t. After reading that I thought of course, because girls that like video games only like video games because their boyfriends like video games. And sleeping with a gamer is about as challenging as level one of Tetris. Anyone can do it. These guys are sexually stimulated and socially crippled. If the game isn’t sold on sex and violence it had better be a pretty fun game. The video game industry is built on providing extreme and unobtainable sexual conquests only a button away from the guy who still receives fashion advice from his mother.
Even Mrs. Pac-Man feeds the male fantasies. Pac-Man find the perfect mate, some one just like himself only sexy and a little bit smaller. That is a gamers dream, those selfish fucks only thinking about themselves, the girls have to be the most selfless people to sleep with them, that or they are just as selfish and are using sex to keep the guys around. Which doesn’t sound like a bad deal, I might sign up for a girl like that.
Bella’s second turn was a lot better than her first, but I was still needed to get us to the next level. I decide that it might be a nice thing on my part to let her finish the level. We have one life left. I eat all but three dots before I let Blinky eat me. She steps up to the plate, but strikes out before the three dots can be eaten. I check my pockets as “Game Over” flashes on the screen. Bella hands me a dollar and tells me to get change. I rush to the bar hoping that I the count down won’t expire before I can feed the machine four more quarters.
The bar was still busy, but the bartenders weren’t and I was able to get change in a flash. I raced back to the machine and entered enough coins to go another round. I let Bella take the first turn, and she is a quick learner and nearly completes the level on her first try, but by this time we are both a little bored with the a game that already cost as much as a quarter of a pitcher and are intimidated by the seven digit high score that stairs at us from the upper corner of the screen. She was looking away when the final Mrs. Pac-man came and went.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
There is no bigger pube magnet than Jell-O
This morning I was eating my breakfast, a pre-made cup of Strawberry Jell-O and a cup of coffee, and as I dug into the Jell-O cup the buoyant solid fell off the spoon, bounced off my lower thigh over the arm of the dinning table chair and landed on the generic beige carpet.
Jell-O cups are usually only good for about 4-5 actual bits of Jell-o, so I thought that I should pick it up and put it back in my mouth. I picked up the red chunk of gelatin and gave it a quick look over. And thank gawd I did. There were three pubes on my bit of Jell-o. I have no idea how the pubes could have come to rest underneath my kitchen table. If I were eating my breakfast while taking a shit I would understand the appearance of truant pubic hairs on the food. But the kitchen?
I take pride in knowing that my apartment isn’t home to orgy after orgy. One of the main reasons I don’t subscribe to the orgy style of life is because I don’t want to have pubic hair floating around everywhere. Have you ever thought about why shag carpet was popular in the seventies? It was because during all the orgies the pubes would be engulfed by the long threads and never seen again. Yet, here in 2007, I sat with a piece of furry Jell-o in my hand.
There are only a few explanations on how the pubes got on to my breakfast gelatin via the carpet under the kitchen table. 1) There could have been a moment in my life when I subconsciously felt it necessary to sleep walk around my apartment completely nude, and while in this nude-wakeless state I could have decided to start dancing in the kitchen, and that must have jostled a few pubic hairs loose.
The second explanation is that the creators of Jell-O were originally trying to design a product that would attract women to them. While there calculations were off, they accidentally created a product that attracted loose pubic hair, which happened to also be a delightful snack. With the original roots of Jell-O established the chunk of food that fell to the floor attracted all of the loose pubes in the entire apartment complex to it.
The third reason could just be that I haven’t vacuumed more than twice the entire two years I’ve been living in this apartment.
I personally think that is was the second of the three explanations thus proving that it wasn’t that my apartment was dirty, but rather it was the extraordinary origins of Jell-O that resulted in my loss of my third bite of Strawberry Jell-O. I will be forwarding this blog to Kraft Foods, Bill Cosby, and the Gelatin Manufactures of America, I hopes that they will remedy the problem and offer me sufficient compensation for my troubles with their product.
Jell-O cups are usually only good for about 4-5 actual bits of Jell-o, so I thought that I should pick it up and put it back in my mouth. I picked up the red chunk of gelatin and gave it a quick look over. And thank gawd I did. There were three pubes on my bit of Jell-o. I have no idea how the pubes could have come to rest underneath my kitchen table. If I were eating my breakfast while taking a shit I would understand the appearance of truant pubic hairs on the food. But the kitchen?
I take pride in knowing that my apartment isn’t home to orgy after orgy. One of the main reasons I don’t subscribe to the orgy style of life is because I don’t want to have pubic hair floating around everywhere. Have you ever thought about why shag carpet was popular in the seventies? It was because during all the orgies the pubes would be engulfed by the long threads and never seen again. Yet, here in 2007, I sat with a piece of furry Jell-o in my hand.
There are only a few explanations on how the pubes got on to my breakfast gelatin via the carpet under the kitchen table. 1) There could have been a moment in my life when I subconsciously felt it necessary to sleep walk around my apartment completely nude, and while in this nude-wakeless state I could have decided to start dancing in the kitchen, and that must have jostled a few pubic hairs loose.
The second explanation is that the creators of Jell-O were originally trying to design a product that would attract women to them. While there calculations were off, they accidentally created a product that attracted loose pubic hair, which happened to also be a delightful snack. With the original roots of Jell-O established the chunk of food that fell to the floor attracted all of the loose pubes in the entire apartment complex to it.
The third reason could just be that I haven’t vacuumed more than twice the entire two years I’ve been living in this apartment.
I personally think that is was the second of the three explanations thus proving that it wasn’t that my apartment was dirty, but rather it was the extraordinary origins of Jell-O that resulted in my loss of my third bite of Strawberry Jell-O. I will be forwarding this blog to Kraft Foods, Bill Cosby, and the Gelatin Manufactures of America, I hopes that they will remedy the problem and offer me sufficient compensation for my troubles with their product.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
The Essential Guide for Dealing with Bears
The summer is upon us, and for some that means constantly having to find things to fill your empty hours of the day. For others, the questions of how focus on work and responsibility when all they really wish to do is sleep in, go swimming and dread having to go into the fifth grade. Whatever camp you fall into camping can be a great activity. But before you pack up you generators, fire wood, and marshmallows, you’ll need to know a few safety precautions for dealing with nature’s inter-species bully: the bear.
Rule #1 – If you are cooking or preparing food in clothes, before you go to sleep you need to wash your cloths, with detergent. Bears love the smell of prepared food, even salads, so if you don’t wash your cloths you could run the risk of having a bear maul your tent to chew on the flannel shirt with the hotdog smell on it, and don’t count on the animal’s courtesy to remove it from your body first.
Rule #2 – When you are shopping for a tent, make sure that the store you buy it from is not a mega-store (i.e. Super-K-Mart, Super-Wal*Mart, or Super-King Soopers) or a store that has any sort of food in the perimeter. The scent of the food can get into the fabric of the tent and when it is exposed to the odor for the extended shelf time, not even detergent will remove the smell. Warning: even pre-packaged energy bars can emit odors, so ask the store manager if there is any type of food on the premise before buying a tent.
Rule #3 – Some people may suggest that you place your food in a tree before you go to sleep, but the thing that those people forget is that 1) bears can climb trees and 2) sometimes bears can be so big that when they stand on their hind legs they will stand over forty-feet in the air. The better suggestion is to put the food in the car before turning in for the night. However, locking the car door won’t be enough considering that bear’s teeth are made out of the same material that is used on the blast panels of every major space vehicle since Apollo 8. After placing the food in the car it is necessary to tape all the doors and windows shut with at least two strips of duct tape.
Rule #4 – When choosing which sleeping bag to bring camping, always examine if the sleeping bag is a down sleeping bag or not. If you choose to bring a down sleeping bag, consider dipping the entire bag in wax so that the smell from the down feathers won’t arouse the bear. Simple fact; bears love to eat geese.
Rule #5 – A popular cartoon spokes animal suggests that putting our camp fires before going to sleep can reduce the chances of forest fires. This may be true, but putting out your fire before you go to sleep will only increases the chances of a bear attack. Weigh your options before pouring water on the fire; would your rather be mauled to death in your sleep or would your rather wake-up, alive, to a roaring fire?
These are just some of the tips that I can suggest to make your camping trip a safe and bear free trip. If you do encounter a bear on your trip, just remember to repent your sins and think about your funeral with a closed casket, because nobody has survived a face-to-face encounter with a bear. Please enjoy camping this summer.
Rule #1 – If you are cooking or preparing food in clothes, before you go to sleep you need to wash your cloths, with detergent. Bears love the smell of prepared food, even salads, so if you don’t wash your cloths you could run the risk of having a bear maul your tent to chew on the flannel shirt with the hotdog smell on it, and don’t count on the animal’s courtesy to remove it from your body first.
Rule #2 – When you are shopping for a tent, make sure that the store you buy it from is not a mega-store (i.e. Super-K-Mart, Super-Wal*Mart, or Super-King Soopers) or a store that has any sort of food in the perimeter. The scent of the food can get into the fabric of the tent and when it is exposed to the odor for the extended shelf time, not even detergent will remove the smell. Warning: even pre-packaged energy bars can emit odors, so ask the store manager if there is any type of food on the premise before buying a tent.
Rule #3 – Some people may suggest that you place your food in a tree before you go to sleep, but the thing that those people forget is that 1) bears can climb trees and 2) sometimes bears can be so big that when they stand on their hind legs they will stand over forty-feet in the air. The better suggestion is to put the food in the car before turning in for the night. However, locking the car door won’t be enough considering that bear’s teeth are made out of the same material that is used on the blast panels of every major space vehicle since Apollo 8. After placing the food in the car it is necessary to tape all the doors and windows shut with at least two strips of duct tape.
Rule #4 – When choosing which sleeping bag to bring camping, always examine if the sleeping bag is a down sleeping bag or not. If you choose to bring a down sleeping bag, consider dipping the entire bag in wax so that the smell from the down feathers won’t arouse the bear. Simple fact; bears love to eat geese.
Rule #5 – A popular cartoon spokes animal suggests that putting our camp fires before going to sleep can reduce the chances of forest fires. This may be true, but putting out your fire before you go to sleep will only increases the chances of a bear attack. Weigh your options before pouring water on the fire; would your rather be mauled to death in your sleep or would your rather wake-up, alive, to a roaring fire?
These are just some of the tips that I can suggest to make your camping trip a safe and bear free trip. If you do encounter a bear on your trip, just remember to repent your sins and think about your funeral with a closed casket, because nobody has survived a face-to-face encounter with a bear. Please enjoy camping this summer.
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