THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 11
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THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S --
The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation
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Here we go with episode eleven. My Glub, but so much has
happened in only twenty-four hours! Miss Kooky and Mikey, the
tard wannabe (you should see his tard act -- hilarious), came to
visit. We were going to straighten out my computer setup and try
to conserve a little space in this cramped room, but, you know us
girls and Mikey, we just Had a Good Time and didn't do shit.
Then, as threatened, matriarchal Auntie Lenore, that terrible
motorcycle dyke Bobbi Hatch, and the Scourge of Binghamton John
Hollister showed up. We immediately adjourned to the patio
outside the tard dining hall, the more to be looked upon and
envied by those who have no life. The company was amused by the
sight of little old men who drive wheelchairs backward until they
run into something that squawks and little old ladies who sit
there chewing even when they have no food.
Auntie Lenore is much as I had envisioned her, though I do find
her more forceful in her posts than in person. Lenore charmingly
combines the best qualities of auld auntee and net nanny in one
little package. It is difficult to think of her as one who could
grow a vaginal plum.
Bobbi is everything you could want in a mean-ass diesel dyke.
"Mister" Hatch is scruffy to a fault and has a really bad hormone
problem which results in a luxurious (for a woman) beard. I
regret Mr Cheez was not in attendance so he could show us how
well he quivers in the presence of such assertive persons of the
lesbian persuasion. Such a meeting would also have been
informative for the male concubine he's living with at present.
The CUUUUUUUUUUUTE guy was John Hollister who makes us look like
mere pretenders to whoredom. I couldn't believe he has so many
miles on his cock. You know Mikey from the Quaker cereal
commercial, the one who eats anything? Well, maybe Hollister
eats anything -- whatever -- he looks like the sort of kewl guy
Mikey would grow up to be. We were playing kneesies back in my
room in front of Auntie, Bobbi, Glub and everybody! Need I say I
WANT HIM!? i want to dig my nails into his back the worst way
possible.
On to the food this morning. There is not a great deal more to
talk about in a tardfarm than the food and what it turns into.
We had pancakes for breakfast. To make matters worse, they had
some of that Glubdamn hash left over and plopped it next to
today's pancakes. The pancakes reeked, so I sent the whole plate
away again.
I have had hash that was enjoyable. I don't categorically hate
it, but most hash is an excuse to use up stuff which ought to
have been dumped in the first place. Take good corned beef (not
the gelatinous fatty CRAP they use here) and dice potato not
cooked to mush, combine and liberally anoint with Heinz Ketchup.
Divine. But reconstituted Alpo? -- no thanks! I don't eat food
that looks the same as it did when the dawg ate it the first
time.
Nursey-poo went to the kitchen and got me fried eggs and toast.
Still more brown bread. The eggs had a crunchy edge to them and
were quite brown underneath. I stuck my fork in one and the
whole egg came up from the plate by virtue of the strength of the
overcooked edge. What is it with institutional cooks that they
have to fry eggs at 500 degrees in three seconds? I didn't send
these back. I know when I'm fucked.
This place charges a minimum of 90-plus dollars a DAY, more if
they can get it. When a place charges as much or more than the
going rate in many areas for a fucking HOTEL room, I think their
cooking ought to match that of a Ramada Inn or at least a fucking
Denny's!
Mr Cheez brought my mail the other day. Among the mostly junk
mail was a pair of diskuses from CompuSwerve. Mr Cheez thought
it would be neat for me to install their warez, create a fake
account, and get on and fuck with people in the alt.support
heirarchy. We proceeded so to do. I never did get it to work.
I have since been kindly cautioned about their lousy software.
What it did was screw up the winsock driver so my Agent99
wouldn't work. Without that, and without any real knowledge of
UNIX, I would have no way to upload the St Timmy's crap.
Well, sistah-girlfren Kooky and I figgered out how to fix it, so
no real damage was done. We just lost time farting around with
it is all. But you unnerstan there are now two very pissed-off
queens who would like to stumpfuck the CEO of CompuSwerve...
Miss Kooky probably would not want to join me in the Land of
Stumpdom, but might consent to put her size 13 up his ass just
the same.
No sooner had I finished answering email from all my loyal fans
(you know who you are ) than Ralph, the fay social
worker comes in here and drags my wideass to another Glubdamn
meeting. I have to say that the girl maybe cain't he'p it but
she got some wiiiiide booty on her bee-hine her _bad_ se'f! This
time the daughter of the owner is interviewing the few, the
proud, the cognitive, on patient/tardfarm issues. She was
especially interested in abuses by staff.
Alas, I have not found any sadists. There is one nurse on the
afternoon crew who has potential. Remember the huge black
actress Jean somebody-or-other in John Waters's Desperate Living
movie? This one could be cast for the remake. I think if she
were poked several times with a sharp stick, it would motivate
her sufficiently to make even Mr Cheez suffer properly! Glub
knows he loves abuse; he steadfastly continues to visit me. How
tasteless can you be? I luv oo Cheezy. Hurry up an' get over
that bad nasty cold so's I can kiss you and freak the nurses.
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