A True Fart Story
Oct 2 Wed.
I'm in a duct-taped booth at Powerhouse Cocktails on Highland, just down the street from alcohol school which I must attend in a little less than an hour and a half. Stevie Ray Vaughn is singing "Sweet Little Thing" on the juke box for the small, down-and-out-looking clientele. The bartender and I are the only ones with collars. I'm waiting for the start of the Ranger/Yankee playoff game. The Dodgers lost again today. I watched that one on the TV in my classroom. I'm smoking another lung damn cigarette. I don't know what's gotten into me with the tabacky lately. I went down to El Rincon Taurino at lunch today and got a torta de pierna. Wolfed it, and a little taco de pastor, down in the car as I drove back to school. Tomorrow one of my extension classes starts. I think it's the novel writing class. It's at the Universal City Walk. The one at UCLA starts Monday. I'll go there by way of Van Nuys courthouse to get the abstract I need to get squared away with the DMV. Hey! An oldtimer with a tie and one of those 1920's driving caps just teetered in. Boy, if Ray, the alcohol school instructor was to walk in right now and see me with this beer, he might send me back to court.
Jim Jim Jim and Aaron what the hell will their conversation be. I need an agitator, a tempter for them. Another character maybe. A phone call, a girl or something? What?
I have to take a crap. The bathroom here is probably not the best place for that. Man I had some stinky STINKY nasty gas today. I filled the classroom as I read the sports page before the bell rang this morning, and even I was disgusted with the odor. I walked up to get the kids, leaving the door open and walked them back slowly to let the smell dissipate. The girls' line was straighter, so I let them go in the room first. Some reward. Shrieking and stampeding, they came pouring back out the door as if the room was on fire, holding their noses and complaining of rotten eggs and dead fish. Then little Suheidi gagged, gurgled, and puked her breakfast peaches onto the floor. True.
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Sam Beckett was conned by Polly and the false promise of sex nude into used bathwater and a shot of cologne which knocked him out. Something like this could happen to Jim Crack.
-
Juan "Going Going" Gonzalez just ripped one into the stands near the foul pole which a fan reached into fair territory and caught. The ump ruled it a homerun.
-
My watch winks green and red neon reflected on its face.
-The last sentence is hard to come by. Two more lines to fill. With what? I dunno. How about, "shit."?
I'm in a duct-taped booth at Powerhouse Cocktails on Highland, just down the street from alcohol school which I must attend in a little less than an hour and a half. Stevie Ray Vaughn is singing "Sweet Little Thing" on the juke box for the small, down-and-out-looking clientele. The bartender and I are the only ones with collars. I'm waiting for the start of the Ranger/Yankee playoff game. The Dodgers lost again today. I watched that one on the TV in my classroom. I'm smoking another lung damn cigarette. I don't know what's gotten into me with the tabacky lately. I went down to El Rincon Taurino at lunch today and got a torta de pierna. Wolfed it, and a little taco de pastor, down in the car as I drove back to school. Tomorrow one of my extension classes starts. I think it's the novel writing class. It's at the Universal City Walk. The one at UCLA starts Monday. I'll go there by way of Van Nuys courthouse to get the abstract I need to get squared away with the DMV. Hey! An oldtimer with a tie and one of those 1920's driving caps just teetered in. Boy, if Ray, the alcohol school instructor was to walk in right now and see me with this beer, he might send me back to court.
Jim Jim Jim and Aaron what the hell will their conversation be. I need an agitator, a tempter for them. Another character maybe. A phone call, a girl or something? What?
I have to take a crap. The bathroom here is probably not the best place for that. Man I had some stinky STINKY nasty gas today. I filled the classroom as I read the sports page before the bell rang this morning, and even I was disgusted with the odor. I walked up to get the kids, leaving the door open and walked them back slowly to let the smell dissipate. The girls' line was straighter, so I let them go in the room first. Some reward. Shrieking and stampeding, they came pouring back out the door as if the room was on fire, holding their noses and complaining of rotten eggs and dead fish. Then little Suheidi gagged, gurgled, and puked her breakfast peaches onto the floor. True.
-
Sam Beckett was conned by Polly and the false promise of sex nude into used bathwater and a shot of cologne which knocked him out. Something like this could happen to Jim Crack.
-
Juan "Going Going" Gonzalez just ripped one into the stands near the foul pole which a fan reached into fair territory and caught. The ump ruled it a homerun.
-
My watch winks green and red neon reflected on its face.
-The last sentence is hard to come by. Two more lines to fill. With what? I dunno. How about, "shit."?
posted by johnz at 10:51 AM
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