Saturday, October 30, 2004

Twelve Hours

The man walks into the non-smoking bar and orders a beer. Sweet, delicious, beer. Ah.

The man waits for his date.

The man wonders why it is that all non-smoking bars feature sensitive men strumming their twee guitars “pling pling pling pling.”

The man wants a cigarette.

The man asks, “So, uh, do you wanna go somewhere else? Oh, your friend is playing tonight? Which one is he? That guy? Oh, he’s good.”

The man is asking himself if she has shaved her legs above the knee.

The man stands up and shakes hands with the friend. “Hey, was that Asia you covered at the end there? I thought so.”

The man really wants a cigarette.

The man is being ignored by his date and her friend, and drinks the last of his third beer.

The man is singing smoking in the boys room, while smoking in the boys room.

The man leaves without saying goodbye.

The man tells himself, “That’s the last time I make a date with someone from Friendster. Jesus.”

The man has stepped into a real bar, and smokes a cigarette as nature intended.

The man is listening to the karaoke at the real bar, and signs up for a song.

The man tells a joke to the bartender, “Hey, how do all nigger jokes begin?”

The man sings badly, “There’s nothing that a hundred men or more would ever do. I guess the rain’s down in Africa.”

The man argues, “aw, shut up man, the Lakers finally got beat by a team that did not rely on a fucking superstar. They got beat by a team, and not a bunch of egos. Phil Jackson’s Zen bullshit is fucking bullshit, man.”

The man is settling his tab, he tips five dollars on a ten dollar check.

The man thinks, “no, where I would put it is in the back of my knee, that way, if I sit in a modified lotus position, my dick might be able to reach it.”

The man buys some apples, a bottle of wine, a pair of pantyhose, a box of condoms, a can of whipped cream, and a copy of the Weekly World News with the headline that reads “Cheney is a robot!”

The man watches Craiggers interviewing some c-level star.

The man jerks off to the escort ads in the back of the alternative weekly, thinking that it is just like window shopping.

The man sleeps while an infomercial for an easy to sell vitamin plays on the television.

In the man’s dream, he confronts his uncle on whether they should eat a brown banana. The banana becomes a turtle.

In the man’s dream, he is chased by insectile lemmings, while holding hands with his babysitter.

In the man’s dream, he’s driving a k car in space.

The man is on the phone with his ex-girlfriend, who is yelling for him to go back to sleep.

The man is peeing on his dog’s food.

The man’s alarm clock rings in the distance.

The man hits his dog with the copy of the alternative weekly.

The man brushes his teeth.

The man is in traffic, glancing at his watch, and cursing that he is late.

The man switches radio station to one that’s not playing Asia at 7:50 in the morning.

The man is in the parking lot, passing car after car, and heads toward level F.


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