THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 19
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THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S --
The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation
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This is episode 19. Today I am in the physical therapy room
doing my exercises pulling weights and in comes the occupational
therapist. We get into a discussion of Bay Area cities, their
sizes and characteristics, while she is chomping on a cucumber
she is dipping into fake sour cream ..... well, I guess you
needed to be there.
George, my roomie, is lying down taking a nap. He has the air
conditioner on. It's hot outside but, in my old age, I like the
heat. George is not happy unless it is cold enough to hang meat
in here. Hardly anyone is stirring in this 90-degree delight
except Junior who is busy as usual running his wheelchair into
people and things. He goes backwards or forwards or around in
circles; it's all the same to him. They have a bunch of straw
hats to put on the "residents" when they sit out in the sun.
Junior looks just plain stupid with one on. But it does keep his
brain from overheating. When he overheats, he gets jerky and
wierd-acting. He gets some kind of seizure. He acts sort of
like your laptop would if you left it in the sun too long.
I've been entertaining you for weeks with descriptions of my
bowel movements. I think I may have found what makes me so
gassy. I stopped taking these vitamin pills. I have no proof
what these pills are except that they smell and taste nasty,
something like liver or fish oil. It may be that last night I
had my last LiquiShit[tm] because it wasn't very convincing but
was quite musical. Today I don't have gas bubbles running
merrily up and down my ascending colon as has been common for so
long.
I have to miss out on another sort-of squickfest to take place
the second of July on the San Francisco "Penis"ula. Mr Cheez may
go there to video-record the antics so I can watch these people
act up after they've all gone back to whatever earthen chambers
they crawl out of. There is no way in which I will be ready to
get in and out of a car myself in time. I raised hell about not
having a bed which will permit me to use a slideboard to get in
and out of it without a big production.
They are even going to put a new string on my over-bed light
fixture so I can turn it off and on when I need it. These places
never do anything needed until you get just plain ugly about it.
This goes way beyond squeaky wheels needing Astroglide. We're
talking screaming at Miss Ralph, the social worker, right in
front of "her" boss. I hope it's the young maintenance man who
comes to change out my bed and to put the string on the light
switch. He's a lot cuter than the older one, and I think he has
a hot tamale and large albo'ndigas.
Queen Bee is getting warm for my form, or else she thinks she can
cure me from being queer. Two evenings last week she kissed me
goodnight. She thinks I am _such_ a nice man. I am going to
have to work on being more tasteless. I have a (single) leg up
on that one because I showed Rochelle a bunch of my tasteless and
feelthy peekchures I leeched off the internet. She called in the
charge nurse and a couple other CNAs. Now they are all trying to
reconcile my reputation as a stained glass-struck organist with
my obvious taste for pictures of double pussies, extra long
dongs, golden showers, murder, mayhem, and abortion.
They replaced the grunting gomer what croaked next door with some
old Asian fuck who talks and yells at people who aren't even
there. He throws the covers off of himself all the time.
Unfortunately, he hasn't got it down on how to get out of his
diapers, so no weenie report yet. They've had to tie him into
his tard chair and into bed because he will try to get up. He'll
fall on his ass doing so. He put on his last major performance
at two o'clock this morning. There was much loud talking and
slamming of bathroom doors. George woke up and said, JesusChrist
JesusChrist. I said, Goddamn, Goddamn. It's time to train the
new CNAs.
They've changed the assignments all around again. In the morning
and the evening shifts I have the two laziest bitches on the face
of the earth. The one this morning fucked around doing nothing
until one of the experienced ones just dug in and got me and
George ready for the day. Last night the newbie couldn't be
bothered to hang up my clothes or put away my wheelchair. She
just left everything in a heap. I couldn't find the call button
when I wanted off the bedpan, so I yanked the cord out of the
wall plug which automatically sounds the call. then she got bent
because I did it! Cunt.
The new guy down the hall is here because he is recuperating from
being shot in the lower back with a .45 automatic. Gossip is
that somebody shot him in his house, drive-by. I haven't been
able to make up an excuse to see the damage. His legs don't work
and he has a urinary catheter. He makes no bones about his hose;
it comes right up out of the front of his pants and down to the
pissbag hung on the footrest of this wheelchair. He can't be
more than forty. Compared to most of the dick-bearing stuff
around here he's drop-dead cute. I wonder if he wants to fool
around.
Rumor has it that George and his girlfriend fool around even
though she has a catheter. I guess he can play stinkfinger. She
has no teeth and so could probably give decent head. It's
getting to be a regular thing for George to back up to me
mornings so I can untie his hospital gown. He sometimes shuffles
across the room clad only in his Jockeys. Yup, he's definitely
Italian with a nice pepperoni.
He and his girlfriend, Spastic Lady Who Isn't Too Bad That Way,
pulled the same stunt in her room that they pull all the time in
the dining room, evenings. In the dining room they turn up the
communal teevee until anyone who doesn't like to be blasted,
leaves. Spastic Lady turned on her radio very loud the other
evening when she and George came into her room. This interfered
with the roomie's teevee. Roomie is quite upset by this lack of
manners. I told her this is the way the two of them act. They
think they have everybody buffaloed by making loud noise to drive
anyone else away. This gets them extra time to sit and smoke and
stink up the dining room long after stated smoking hours are
over. I guess Spastic Lady thought this stunt would also work to
drive her roomie out so George and she could fool around.
Spastic Lady's new roomie is Maria who used to be across the hall
from George and me. Maria is a total Bible freak. She has at
least two very large thumping Bibles with her in this
establishment. She runs all the screwball evangelical roarer
preacher shows she can find on teevee. She tried to convert me
to jump-up-and-down Christianity until I convinced her I am not
about to convert. I thought I was going to have to tell her I am
a witch. She tells me all about her aches and pains and her
diabetes. Thank you, I have plenty of my own.
This just in -- I feel noxious gases rippling up and down my
descending colon. Apparently the vitamin pill is not the
culprit. I quit drinking milk unless there was something on the
tray to go with it such as cookies. Ever taste "diabetic"
cookies? They're about like eating unbleached paper meal. I
don't drink the juice around here. Juice in the tardfarm has an
extremely suspect reputation. It is often the vehicle through
which us tards get medication we would not otherwise be content
to take, hence the term Happy Juice[tm].
Tell me how this place can fry an egg into the equivalent of a
leather shoe sole, yet have the scrambled eggs be watery. I just
love having my toast arrive soggy in the excess water from the
eggs. But how do they get the egg to do that? I sometimes put
water in the scramble but it didn't seperate. Maybe the cook is
so ugly that when he looks at it, it curdles. We rarely get
tomato in any form, raw, cooked, or as a condiment. Ketchup
would cover a multitude of the culinary sins committed around
here. Old fashioned eastern "chili" sauce, a tomato paste heavy
with allspice, would be even better. No, we get nasty stale
garlic in nearly everything because somebody thinks it is good
for us. Maybe the garlic is giving me the shits. I can even
smell the garlic in my pee! Even on standing, my pee doesn't get
that fishy pissy smell. It gets a heavy musky character. Anyone
thirsty?
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