“A Journey I Can’t Escape”
By
J.B. Galui
Copyright 2013
Published by: J.B. Galui
Opening:
Anhhhhhh!, again I wake. Yeah, I wake to another bright,
early, sunny morning. The array of birds chirping outside the window usually
grabs my attention. It’s really cool at night this time of year so I keep the
windows open and the air circulating, sometimes with a fan. The hum of the fan usually helps me sleep, well at first anyway. But
sometimes those damn dogs next door bark all fucking night. I need to mention
the neighbor. What a jackass he is and the owner of those barking mutts. They
are craving the company of their master, who is hardly every home. And when he
is, puts them out in the morning, with a little food & water, but then never
comes back home for a day or two. The poor bastard dogs are hungry, probably
thirsty too. But that’s not my concern is it? I mean I don’t own them. I didn’t
take on the responsibility to love and feed and play with them, and get my ass
home every night to make sure they’re taken care of, did I? Well I do throw
scraps over the fence a lot, I mean I’m not that goddamn cold hearted, at least
not as much as their asshole owner. I hate the fucking barking at night, but I
think I hate the fucking neighbor a hell of a lot more.
As I was saying, I
wake in the morning with those damn birds, the ones who seem to be taunting me,
‘Get up asshole,
we’re up so should you be, you lazy human load.’
And the first
thought that whirls thru my brain is-
‘I’m going to fucking
die poor. And not just monetarily poor, but mentally as well as physically
poor. What fucking shit is this piss assed day going to shove down my already
bile filled throat?’
But such is the
start in a day of this fucked up life.
Chapter 1:
So along with the
barking, the birds, the neighbors, and the shit that rolls around in this orb I
call my head, is the sweet smell of the freshly brewing coffee. Thank God for
the brilliant bastard that invented the programmable coffee maker. I don’t
think he or she realizes how many lives they’ve saved with this invention. Sure
you have to drag yourself out of your bed. The coziest place to ever lay your
head since you were taken from your mother’s womb. But the smell of that fresh
coffee makes the whole process bearable.
So as always I make
it to the bathroom. I haven’t lost that bodily function yet. You know the one
where you regress to a child again & piss the bed or yourself, that shit
will have to wait a lot more years to happen to me.
I remember working
in a V.A. Hospital. What a fucking sick, depressing place that was. And this
was suppose to be a place that our ex military men and women went to be taken
care of when their duty was done. What a fucking sick joke to do to these poor
souls.
There was this one guy,
I think his name was……Oh, who the hell remembers?.........Right, I mean really,
who? Anyway every morning there would be piss on the floor. A streak of it from
his bed to the toilet, and a wadded up; piss drenched ass-less gown thrown in
the corner. I remember thinking this poor bastard was probably a tough fuck at
one time. Crawled thru all kinds of shit. Saw his buddies being blown and
ripped apart. Could break your neck with his bare hands, and now he can’t make
it eight feet to the toilet without pissing himself. That to me had to be the
biggest kick in his nuts. If only I had a programmable coffee maker for him at
that time, who knows?
So I make it to my
bathroom, sans urine streak, but with a headache and a fucking panic attack. I
hate those bastards, panic attacks. Makes you feel like your heart is going to
explode and a cold clammy sweat rushes you. Sometimes they get you in the
middle of the night. Fucks up your whole nights sleep. That or those damn
barking dogs. But a doctor gave me some medication for them. The panic attacks
not the dogs. Some fucking little white pill that calms me down but will
probably make me impotent in future years. But I can’t think of that shit right
now I need a pill. Thank you Dr. Pill Pusher.
I think a lot of it
may be that I drink too much sometimes. No I’m not an alcoholic, but there are
times when one or five drinks aren’t going to cut it, so I don’t stop till I’m
fucked up. But don’t fucking judge me like I’m the only one in this booze boat
to ever go crashing into the preverbal shore. But I take my little white pill
and the day begins.
I look at myself in
the mirror, fuck do I look bad. I should shave, but who the hell really cares
if I take the time. I mean, I’m a divorced middle-aged male. I already have
that damn hair thing going on in and around my ears. What demented plan did God
have in mind when he threw this shit at us? Hair in your ears? For fucks sake I
really could do with out this. Where’s Dr. Pill Pusher? Doesn’t he have maybe a
little yellow one that makes this bastard hair go away? But I know the way shit
works. The hair would fall off my balls, then I’d be this middle-aged guy with
hairless balls & a beard growing out of my ears. Fuck it, I’ll just brush
my teeth while I still have them & get my damn coffee.
Chapter 2:
Ah,
a hot cup of coffee. The best part of the day, that is until the cell phone
rings. I fucking hate these cell phone pieces of shit. Every time it rings it’s
like a nail piercing my ear. Nine times out of ten it’s someone or something I
really don’t want to deal with. But like a dumb ass I pick it up.
“Hello”
“Yeah,
it’s me. What’s on the schedule today?”
Fuck
it’s Jimmy, the guy who works jobs with me and another reason I need those
fucking little white pills.
“What’s
up your ass, I’m just making conversation ya’ prick”
Jimmy
needs to talk sometimes. He’s a good guy all in all but his life may be
shittier than….. well most anyone I know. He calls in hopes that he is getting
out of the house. He hates what we do & who we do it for as much if not
more than I do, but if he doesn’t have work that day or isn’t doing something
his old lady yells and bitches at him, and I mean bitches.
‘You
lazy bastard, get a real job, you need security, you have a family, what the
fucks wrong with you’ - and it goes on and on, I know I’ve been there for the
poor fuckers bitch beatings.
Yeah,
Carlie, his wife, is a real peach. I think I honestly saw her sprout fangs
& fly around the room bitching in tongues. But the dumb fuck Jimmy knocked
her up and like a dumb ass good guy married her. Now he is a servant in earthly
hell.
“I
know you are, I haven’t had my coffee yet.” Hey, so I lied “Meet me over there
in about a half hour.”
“Ok,
sounds good.”
So
I finish the only good part of this day, grab a piece of bread and head out the
door; still thinking about Jimmy that poor rat bastard. He really doesn’t have
a chance. He should be on the little white pills but for him they’d have to be
the size of a baseball. He could take one and throw one in Carlie’s big mouth
to shut her up or knock her ass out. Either way he’d be better off.
I
feel bad for the kid though little Jimmy. Yeah, I was fucking floored when she
let him name the kid after himself. But that little guy is going to grow up to
be either a genius born of two idiots or with so many complexes he’ll be a
walking physiological test. Yeah, I feel bad for that kid.
Chapter 3:
I climb into the
car. Fuck what a disaster. I really need to get some deodorizers. It’s not
junked with litter but the smell of cleaners and power tools. And shit, I
forgot to take out the dirty rags from last week. Damn is that a foul odor, wet
rags drenched with cleaning chemicals. The car smells like a fucking biohazard
dump. Well they’re getting tossed out. I’ll deal with that shit much later.
If I haven’t
mentioned, that is what Jimmy and I do. We go to these rich and over privileged
homes, occupied by the rich and over privileged people, with their rich and
over privileged problems like
‘Oh my life is so
stressful and I have so many things to get done while my old man is out making
a ton of money. I have to drop off my little meal tickets I quickly popped out
after marriage, just for the security, at school by seven thirty. Then a nail
appointment at eight thirty I just can’t miss. A tennis lesson at eleven, the
sport or pass time of choice for the rich. And of course there’s the late lunch
with all the other anorexia stick wife’s gossiping on their new smart phones
all about the other stick wives who aren’t at this lunch, at least not till the
next lunch. Order and pick up dinner. Retrieve the darling little snotty brat
meal tickets from school. And last but not least spread those exercised, spa
treated, moisturized legs of mine real wide when honey gets home, make it feel
and sound good, I have a lot of young competition out there.’
And we clean their
houses, do repairs, install whatever the fuck needs installing, clean windows,
hell with all the unemployment out there we even started doing washing &
ironing. We basically do everything but wipe their asses & paint their
toenails, And I think if it kept Jimmy out of his hell he calls home he’d do
that too. Carlie, what a peach.
One good thing I’ve
got is a car that starts. Makes life easier. I start it up and get on my way.
Again the phone rings. Fuck, this time it’s the Queen. She’ll have to tell me
shit I already know or it’ll be some more requests for things that are just
making her life miserable, and damn we can’t have that can we? I fucking hate
cell phones.
“Hello”
“Are you on your way
or are you already there?”
She must be at one
of her urgent exercise classes trying to tighten up her tits and ass since she
doesn’t know I’m still on my way. Got to look good for daddy.
“Almost there, what
do you need?” I quietly laugh in the phone, like I said everything but her ass
wiped.
“I need the spare
room cleaned, sheets washed and ironed too, my father is coming to see the
house. Oh, and also I’ll be home in about four hours with some things I need
you to bring in for me, are you still going to be there?”
Are we still going
to be there, we’ve been doing your bidding for over four years now, you know
we’ll still be there. How fucking stupid are you? And you’re a lawyer. I’d hate
to have your dumb ass representing me.
“Yep, we’ll be
there. See…..”
“I have another call
I have to take.”
Yeah, good-bye to
you too. Damn, people like that bug the shit out of me. Can’t even acknowledge
you as a person who deserves a simple good-bye after they call. Oh, christ the
phone again, it’s fuckin’ Jimmy.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Hey, where are you?
I’ve been here for ten minutes now.”
Fucker you’ll do
anything to get out of the house as quick as you can.
“I was jacking off.”
I said that in a mumble
“What, sounded like
you were cutting out.”
“I said I’ll be
there in a minute.” Why don’t you go jack off till I get there is what was
running thru my mind.
“Ok, I’ll have a
smoke till you get here.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Sometimes you have to make your own fun, or I’d be eating those fucking little white pills like candy.
