Well, that’s a bit forward of you, Doctor; but if that’s what it takes to maintain a clean bill of health, I guess your coat won’t be the only white I’ll be seeing that day, nor the only white you’ll be wearing.
And it’s official: I am thirteen years old.
I gotta say, today was a good (hair) day.
Anatomy of a Murder
- Her: Do you hear this dog over here?
- Me: I do. She is getting buck wild, just like her mother.
- Her: I’m going to kill her if she keeps it up.
- Me: Let’s do it. Let’s kill her this weekend. What?
- Her: I wouldn’t put it past you.
- Me: Actually, the next time she claws my face, I might. And then I’m going to search for “chloroform” and “neck breaking” on your computer. And other disturbing things, like “Disney stars' addresses” and “bukakke.”
- Her: You would want me to be embarrassed on top of being found guilty.
- Me: I’d be slipping the prosecutor notes to make sure she’d ask the forensic computer expert, “What is this last search, and can you clarify exactly what that is?”
- Her: And you’ll volunteer to explain. “That is my field of expertise, judge. I’ve been masturbating to it since I was twelve.”
- Me: “I could arrange a live demonstration if it pleases the court.”
"There was a time — not long ago — when no amount of blood, semen, vomit, urine, feces, or any other substance contained within the human body could prevent me from watching a video on the internet. That time has since all but passed, and with it so have my last fleeting moments of childhood; and effectively, my happiness."
— Me, on (somewhat begrudgingly) transitioning into “adulthood”
Eventually omitted from Stephen King’s 2008 collection of short stories, Just After Sunset, this rough draft offers an interesting glimpse into the creative process from inception to publication.
Conversate for a few, ‘cause in a few, we gon’ do what we came to do, ain’t that right, boo? (True)
I, for one, would not have taken Biggie for a Lacrosse fan. “Anyone: Tyson, Jordan, Jackson; action, pack guns…” Maybe he was referencing different athletes than we all thought. Mo’ money, mo’ poke checks, I guess.
Note: A “Poke Check” is apparently a defensive maneuver in Lacrosse, and not when you purposefully brush your erection against someone while watching for their reaction in order to gauge their sexual interest in you, as I first assumed.
Due to this newfound information, I retract my previous statement — I do not “poke check all the time, like I’m in the desert with a dowsing rod.”
I cannot, however, comment — with any type of certitude — as to whether or not I actually refer to my penis as a “dowsing rod.”
