A Live Chicken, A Pack Of Cigarettes And A Choad Chomper
A night of alcoholic blur lends the room to a spinning sensation and a tingling to my toes. I have realized that I am the only sane one left; the rest are just a bunch of crazies. Fuckin crazies man.
It has been over a month since I last felt sober and I am getting rather used to this numb. The numb is almost comforting. Not quite but almost. Am I making up for a lacking of the past or a denial there is a lacking in my present. Who the hell knows. I am the only sane one and there is no one to ask.
The chicken is beginning to annoy me. I put its leash on it and ask Juakim to take the monster for a walk. He said no so I kicked him. Juakim and the monster have circled the block at least six times now; I don't think they will be back soon.
Somewhere in the distance I smell a barbeque.
Juakim is running low on smokes and it is beginning to piss him off. Why the hell had she asked him to walk a damn chicken anyway?! A moment of clarity brings Juakim and the monster to 7-11. Scared someone might steal the monster, he brings it into the latenight florescent lit wonderland. Just then, the green vested waste behind the counter shouts out, "It has no lips! It has no lips!" The late night munchi hunters go crazy. Screaming and running out of the store failing to put down their over priced twinkies and overfloing slurppees. The momentary superhero of 7-11 jumps the counter and wrestles the monster the the ground. "You have no lips, you freak" but the chicken is too scared to respond.
"It has lips," Juakim shouts out, "they're just really well hidden."
"I don't see no fuckin lips"
"I SAID THEY'RE HIDDEN MUTHA FUCKA"
"oh"
"Now give me a pack of smokes before I call the police for sexual harrassment of a chicken."
And the 7-11 punk complies.
Juakim grabs the pack, takes the monsters leash, and rushes out the door.
"Just be glad you didn't ruffle her feathers,"Juakim shouts from behind, "You don't want to see her pissed."
Ignorant to the trials and tribulations of poor Juakim and the now completely depressed chicken, the party rages on. There is a cloud of smoke lingering above the heads of the party guests and some stare at it as though it is god. Bonnie and Clyde are making out in a dark corner. No shit this is really their names, it was like fate for them to meet. Their shadows move along the wall like as though at any moment they might just break free and escape to where ever shadows escape to. Their shadows mingle with the smoke and Gretchen is sitting on the couch voyeristically watching.
Gretchen's boy toy was missing in action. Somewhere in the midst of the party he had dissapeared to a hidden room for a session and had never reappeared. She was beginning to wonder where he is. Is he with the little blonde midget whore? He did have a thing for midgets after all. And the whore had a thing for him.
Gretchen gets off the couch and tumble into the nearest room looking for her pal, Pollo. He would know what was going on. He always knew what was happening, even if he was not there when the event occured. It was like a 6th sense with him. Or maybe for him it would be like 7th or 8th. He was a smart punkass.
"Have you seen Bradley?" Gretchen asked the now red faced wonder.
"He was with the midget whore."
"Fucking bastard, fucking fuckface grubby twat licking fuckernut."
"You ok?"
"Fine," Gretchen says in a liars tone of voice, "You wanna go fuck or something?"
"ok"
And with that Gretchen and Pollo dissapear into the bed room.
Some might think it is weird to own a chicken. And to those people, Smithy says, "fuck you, she's my best friend." Smithy had heard the cliche of dogs being mans best friend but he was not the regular man. Actually he is not much of a man afterall. He is a pre-op. The breasts are there and so is the penis. Everyone asks to see it. You know to see if it has shriveled up or if he can still get hard.
Back to the history of the chicken though, he got her from an our door market in Mexico after a week long tequila binge. He is not sure from who he aquired the monster or how much he paid but he woke up on morning holding a leash and at the bottom of that leash her little eyes stared up. He loved her immediately. Even if he could not tell if she had lips or not.
With an orgasmic glow, Bradley stumbles down the stairs not realizing Budda is sticking out of his unzipped pants.
"BEER RUN!?!!" he yell when he hits the last step.
Trent standing next to him yells back ,"HOOK ME UP WITH SOME OBSIDIAN"
"I'M GOING TO 7E! YOUR CHOICES ARE BEAST, LUCKY, OR MICKEY'S"
"FUCK THAT!"
Bradley crashes through the party like it is an unmoving mosh pit. Watching the sidewalk like it might just dissapear at any moment he catches a glimpse of Budda. He stuffs his little friend back in a looks up to see if anyone saw. Juakim and the monster did.
"Hey what's up?" Juakim is always one to make the most of an awkward situation.
"Beer run," Bradley's face feels so warm. Was it the alcohol? The midget's skills? Or embarressment? "Ya want anything?"
"Nah, I'm cool."
"Do you got a smoke on you?"
Juakim hated Bradley. The feeling was mutual. Juakim was not going to give up one of his smokes on this punk ass."Nah, sorry man."
"It's cool," Bradley said knowing Juakim was just being a dick, "Have you seen Gretchen?"
"I heard she was in the bathroom lining it with Evan"
"Fuckin rumors man. She's off that shit."
The truth was, she wasn't. Neither was Bradley. That is what kept them together though; they were both compulsive liars. Drug addicts, can't trust them. Why should you? They don't trust anyone themselves.
"Hey I'll catch ya later. It is almost 2."
About a block and an hour later, Bradley nearly collapsed when the sign of 7E was out. He decided banging on the doors was the intelligent choice for a man in his condition; a feeling of almost sobriety. Our green vested friend from ealier in this story came from the back with the red eyes that mean one thing. To clarify he had not been crying.
"Dude, you have to let me in."
"It too late to buy beer so unless you are on a slurpee binge I cannot help you."
Bradley recognized the now humbled stoner from high school. His name was Trey... Trash.. Something like that. He was a jock. No one remembers the jocks unless they are one. Then they remember eachother by their own glory.
"Do you want to see me cry?"
"Over beer? How fucking poetic, asshole"
Bradley was reduced to grunts. He could not find a single word that fit. The all of a sudden he remembered a moment in highschool so clearly you could see the lightbulb flash on.
"Remember Walter's class senior year? I let you fuckin cheat off me man and I took the fall."
Travis' face stiffened, "Yeah man, so?"
"I fuckin fell for you man. I almost didn't fucking graduate and now you won't sell me beer?"
"Fine, you have 5 minutes to find what you want."