UNIVERSAL DONOR: MA VIE EN CROUTE
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Universal Donor
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Thursday, June 10, 2004
Last night, while buying toilet paper at the bodega, I see on their little B&W television that there's some sort of Reagan-related stuff on the news. Standing in front of the TV is the wizened Puerto Rican wino who hangs out at the store, sometimes sweeping or stocking but mostly just wobbling on his wine-soaked legs. So he's staring up at the funeral or whatever, which is perched on a high shelf, and he says in almost incomprehensible nuyorican winoese: "Eh deh. Eh prezedeh e deh!"
"Yeah, I noticed," I say back at him, "and I'm sick of this relentless fawning from every single face on TV." He just sort of vibrates and wobbles some more. "Like, I get that he's dead and it's appropriate to mourn his passing and all," I say, "but dying doesn't excuse all the horrible things he did or all the important things he didn't do. To truly honor the dead you have to be honest. I just can't bear to hear all the amnesiac assholes trying to pretend that he was a great man." I'm pretty happy with my speech, especially because there are some other customers in the line, which satisfies my performance RDA. But the wino gets wobblier. He starts to croak something out. "E wah a grey mehn! EH GREY MEHN!" Oh shit. I look closer and see that the wino's eyeballs are about to float out of their sockets on a wave of 40 proof tears, and that a viscous drop of grief-snot hangs translucently from his septum, quivering with potential energy. Then I realize that for this guy, Reagan might actually be his president -- like maybe he thinks he's still in office, and that this is an FDR-style death in the White House. Maybe the last time he was sober was the mid-eighties? I don't know. But I couldn't help but wonder: why the hell would a disintegrating 50-year-old hispanic wino with dubious residency status have any good feelings at all for a president like Reagan? Some mysteries are bigger than my mind can handle. Like: why do zombies start to rise up from the ground? Like, one minute the town is peaceful, and then, for no apparent reason that I've ever heard, the first rotting hand pierces the dirt above its coffin. By the time the rest of them are out of their graves and ripping at your door, there's no time for philosophy. But friends, now, here, in the downtime between attacks, shouldn't we attempt to figure it out? If we never ask why, how can we learn? We've lost too many family members to unspeakable horror. We've seen our friends rise up to fight us just moments after being killed. We've seen priests machete-hack their own hands off to prevent the flow to the heart of whatever is in a zombie bite, only to moan for our flesh an hour later, bloodlessly, handlessly. Well, only one priest, really. To recap: whatever. Mysteries. Some unsovable. Like why did I even write a post today at all if I was just gonna be a spastic retard? A drooling lobotomee could have written something better by mashing his cheeks and jowls against the keyboard for a hour or two. Goddamn you, Reagan. Stay down. Stay under the ground. Stay. Or if you're gonna rise up to eat brains, do it while you're still in D.C. -- plenty of tasty candidates for munching over at your old place. Who can you eat at your library in Simi Valley? Not a lot of brains in Simi Valley, though you could eat the Rodney King jurors for a light snack. I don't have to work tomorrow. Pataki closed state offices. How 'bout that? See you later, suckabitches. 0 comments |
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MY IMAGINARY GIRLFRIENDS Chan Marshall Rotem of the IDF Eleanor Friedberger Amy Goodman Bernardine Dohrn ('69) Maya Rudolph Joanna Newsom Imogen Heap Caroline Dhavernas Shana Rae Ray DISALLOWED FOREVER "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!" - "from whence" - "...the exception that proves the rule" - any use of the question "spit or swallow?" - the phrase "drop trou" - fake-o reviewer verbs: "penned" for wrote "helmed" for directed "lensed" for whatever - "expat" - the euphemism "passed away" - pronouncing merci beaucoup as "mercy buckets!" (see also: "grassy-ass!") PET PEEVES "confinscated" - trying children "as adults" - "drownded" - misuse of reflexive pronouns, as when someone says "Please talk to Bob or myself." Come on people now. "Myself" is not just a fancy version of "me"! LEARN IT. - tattoos in the Courier font - any use of Comic Sans |