THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 24
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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 24. In case you didn't see it, my "stolen"
finger pricker [heh heh heh heh heh he said 'prick' again] was
not stolen at all but got lost in the bed clothes because it got
knocked off the tray table after my morning bleeding.
Just as soon as I gave that nasty letter to Miss Ralph things
started happening. First Danny comes in here really unctuous
and puts a new string on my over-bed light. Later
he comes back and puts a hasp on one of the built-in bureau
drawers so I can lock up my ceedees and anything else I want to
hide. Sorry, no stroke books. Nothing doing around here in the
crotchal area. No inspiration. The only time I get not a woodie
but intense feel-good congestion Down There is when I read one of
Bruce Bramson's stories. Bruce, remember that Jayzuz said if you
do it in your mind you the same as did it with your tool. You
whore.
So Danny comes back with a lock I can use on my new hasp. He
sticks the lock in the hasp and hands me the key. _The_
key. Oh, he has only one key. And I am the Empress of China. I
have the long-shackled lock I used to secure Mr Cheez's
wheelchair at The ERR before I suggested he give it to Alice.
Now I have a lock on my shit and I know where _all_ the keys
are... [I am not proofing this a day later after Mr Cheez has
been in to see me and bring me things, among which is a nicer
padlock for my drawers^H. Poor baby. I had to cheer him today
as much as he always cheers me. Baby, I love to see ya comin'
even if ya don't have a banana in yer pocket.]
Some executive-type female came in here to see me about the
contents of my letter. I bet I shook some folks up with it. It
was produced on an inkjet printer and is every bit as business-
like as Word Perfect 5.1 in MS/DOS can make it. She's the fourth
person who has assured me that "they" will pay for the lost
scanning radio. I still wouldn't hold my breath over it. I
still do not agree to come out of my hole and "participate". I
feel that if it's tied down and they can't steal it, they may
just wreck it for spite. Yes, I'm paranoid, only this time they
really _are_ out to get me!
In the matter of the so-called food, they will call Ming the
Merciful to see if he will okay my switching to a regular diet
instead of the "diabetic" diet. I have eaten little of this crap
the last three days and have not had shekels with which to seduce
the vending machines. Mr Cheez has put off bringing me my sack
of quarters for a week now.
[Now that I am proofing this, I must publicly state that he has
come through with some change or I'll never hear the last of it -
- only terms of endearment like CUNT.] My BG readings morning
and afternoon are in the 80s which is about as low as I can get
without starving. If I lose the ten pounds I gained the past
month I can probably drop back into the 70s at will. I feel
better running in the 90s mornings and around 120 in the
afternoon. But since I porked out I'll pull my tongue in.
I thought my tardchair was getting smaller... And my love-grabs
(they're bigger than handles) protrude from the busted sewing on
my pants pockets more than ever. Lookee, everybody! Free peeks!
Of course if I would do something besides guard my crap and nerd
all day, like go to the Torture Chamber and yank weights, I could
eat more and still have lower BG readings and might even be in a
better mood. Mr Cheez could bring me a couple of bricks to play
with. On the other hand, I _like_ being pissed off, fat, and
self-destructive. What the hell else is there to live for?
Queen Bee came over to see me this afternoon. George still rules
the roost in the dining room during the evening smoking hours. I
was the last person to formally complain about the way he pumps
up the teevee volume in there so you can't hear yourself think,
let alone your neighbor's blab. If you recall I hang out with
smokers for much the same reason Jayzuz hung out with whores and
bureaucrats: I hate stuffy people. I prick pomposity whenever
possible. On the other hand, about fifty percent of smokers tend
to have the aura of a cheap hood, so I have to be careful. But I
don't go in there evenings now. I can't stand the noise and
nobody else cares enough to bitch effectively. Goerge wins by
default.
Her Majesty was shocked to have George invite her to sit on his
left side. Spastic Lady Who Isn't Too Bad That Way always sits
on his right so he can help her eat, suck (with a straw) and
smoke by holding her ciggie for her. For them to have anyone
else so near their august presence is singular. Bee told me a
little more about Spastic Lady. She's been here on the tardfarm
for quite a while. He used to hang out with this or that old man
but they kept croaking on her. I guess you could say she is a
tardfarm tramp. Every time her beau would bite it she would get
all upset and cry for a week. When George came along and took a
fancy to her, he informed her that this shit was going to cease.
She only hangs around with him now.
Bee claims her son is still going to bring his portable computer
over for me to help him learn to use more effectively. He wants
to set up a database for client information in it and carry it
with him on his rounds over several counties. Bee's daughter-in-
law is a nice lady but Bee feels they don't get along smoothly
enough. Well, surprise surprise! Since when did wives get along
with their mothers-in-law? I told Bee to tell sonny boy to come
up and see me some time cuz I want to play with his laptop...
She said she will give her son's wife the message is exactly
those words. That ought to do my rePUTAtion as a slut some good.
Bee wants to introduce me to her friend who is a psychiatrist.
She says he comes here to see her every so often. Bee says he
has patients he sees here, so it's no trouble for him to drop in
to visit her when he's around. DING DING -- DING DING -- Poor,
poor Queen Bee, why is it that one of my favorite nurses, whom I
can pump for info, says you have "a diagnosis"? The Queen is
mad. She's delusional. Pity. She's still fun though.
While were dealing with formerly h-h-hot Italian menthangz, they
switched Johnny out with some old tard. Johnny was bitching
because his roomie groans all night. He ought to have to put up
with the Chink next door who gives wholesale lectures all night.
I just found out who the old tard replacement is. It's none
other than Goddam Old Spaghetti Winder / The Buzzard! He's in
there sleeping the rest of his mouldering life away, as usual. I
almost never hear him yelling or cussing any more. He might
actually be getting feeble now. I bet he'll come to life just as
soon as Franny next door starts screaming. Incidentally, I can
scream exactly like she does. Sometimes it feels good to let go.
Fools the CNAs, too.
* * * * *
This is a post in response to Peter Bell which I inadvertently
saved as an email instead of a usenet message. He was kind
enough to forward it backward(!) to me. Since I am real stoopid
when it comes to the Eunuchs O/S, I have to put it in here
instead of attaching it to the thread blah blah blah...
Date: Mon, 8 Jul 1996 18:14:40 -0700
From: Paul Frederick Schnellbecher
To: Peter Bell
Subject: Re: What I Did On My Summer Vacation....
In article <4rs69s$gr7@news.ycc.yale.edu> you wrote:
: In <4rmqtm$btg@samba.rahul.net>, Paul Ess, QueenAmpuTard
: writes:
: >Peter Bell (bell@morpheus.cis.yale.edu) wrote:
: >I also thought it was a hoot when Delores Hepburn ran a high
colonic
: Any relation to Kate and Audrey?
Doubtful.
: >: As we hung out, we began going through
: >: Paul's collection of smut and exit wounds downloaded from
the net.
: I should add here that Paul has the most carefully indexed
: collection I've seen -- I now and again attempt to index my
: holdings, but Paul has a genuinely meticulous system going...
: Plus, now and again I do something stupid and lose a harddrive
: partition full of stuff. Ah, well.
You are too kind. All I do is start a new category in a separate
directory when I get a new slew of stuffez. My set-up is--
d:\cshow\
I always back up my holdings on categorized floppies. Good
thing, too, because I once lost my entire logical d:\ drive.
: Just for the record here, when I phoned Paul after turning up
: in town, just about the first thing that he brought up was an
: inquiry as to my anal virginity, and his interest in setting me
: up with "someone small."
I don't remember this, but it is in character. I guess I just
have a missionary frame of mind. Actually, your rePUTAtion
preceded you and ... just checking.
: After the exit wound and the Enormous Woman, Paul made sure to
: call up a few nekkid wimmin on his monitor -- kept on the
: harddrive specifically for the purpose of getting hetboys
: interested in play.
I am cut to the foreskin! I believe in being a good hostess,
showing people what they want to see. Wanna buy the Bay Bridge?
: At one point, Paul made sure that the chair I'd been sitting in
: to read my email was absent from the computer, so I needed to
: drop into a squat to use said terminal. Paul, your gasp was
: audible. :)
The view was most fetching. George wanted his chair. George
owns this room. I let him get away with it because he's
basically ten years old now, doesn't challenge me too much (not
like some twenty-somethings I could name!!!), and he's charming
in his tardly way.
: >What do I have to do to please you, turn up the voltage on
: >this new device you're building? (TELL THEM ABOUT IT OR I
: >_WILL_, you tasteless hunka burnin'--)
[ WONDERFUL description snipped. Mr Cheez's eyes are crossed
with anticipation, I'm sure. ]
: Perhaps the most entertaining part of this was not telling Paul
about it; his response was fairly predictable, after all, and
required him to wipe his chin.
Bitch...
: No, the more entertaining part was telling a friend from
: college I was hanging out with ... what exactly I was thinking
: about after she asked.
: I also saw Paul's VeggieSling -- they use it, in conjunction
: with a block and tackle, to effect transplanting His Gimpness
: from the bed to the chair. Sadly, it was both stain- and
: odor-free at the time. They'd neglected to use it that
: morning, and were in the process of trying to figure out how to
: replant him in bed for the night.
I am now able to use a slide board to get back and forth. Next
comes getting on and off the porcelain altar. I still like to
sit on the sling because the canvas is slick and easy to move
around on. I can adjust my package and my buns more easily than
on the cushion. Downside is the cushion is unlikely to ever
obtain that je ne se quois that Mr Cheez and you would like to
sniff. I will be glad to save a sling for you the next time I
blow out a wet fart.
: >I'm more likely thirty years their junior though I am no
: >spring chicken. Just watch the descriptions, sonny, or I'll
: >kick your ass just as soon as I get done practicing Swan Lake.
: I'm shaking in my Tevas, m'boy. You'll be lucky to crimp one
: of my toes with your chair...
Yes, but if I run over your toe, it'll damn sure STAY crimped.
: >If you have the guts, I have the stump. Yer on, sonny.
: Next time I'm out, if I have the camera with. Hell, maybe I'll
: just buy one of those throwaway cameras --
Stop right there. Bring a throwaway camera. If the lens cracks
you won't be out much. Suggest you bring a small head-mounted
mirror and walk backward toward the Holy View. It, like Medusa,
can turn you to stone. Strangely, if this happens your dick will
stay limp. I never could figure that out...
Paul Ess
--nearly anything for a laugh
* * * * *
Well, Petey, I like you. You can thrust and parry with the best
of 'em.
:::::sigh:::::
QueenAmpuTard, huh... That's two.
* * * * *
There's a regional television program called Bay Area Back Roads
whose slogan is, You Never Know _What_ You'll Find on the Bay
Area Back Roads. You never know what you'll find on the internet
back roads either. Check out this gem--
Tue, 09 Jul 1996 07:04:02 misc.handicap
Thread 5 of 5
Lines 35
Re: Gimp??
1 Response
lathrop@primenet.com Douglas Lathrop at Primenet
(602)416-7000
(I've crossposted this to misc.handicap, which is the more
appropriate group for this thread.)
Steve wrote:
: This is my second posting to this newsgroup. I am curious to
: hear from others about the word gimp. I am disabled and find
: the word offensive. What do you think it means? Who gave us
: this word? Do you find it offensive?
No, I don't. And I use it frequently, especially on the net. I
use it in the same way that, for example, many people in the
gay/lesbian community use "queer," "dyke," etc. - to take a word
that many people see only as a term of derision and making it
into a statement of pride. Some people - a few disabled people,
but mostly (in my experience) ABs who are bending over backwards
trying to be politically correct - find the word offensive.
That's their problem, not mine.
Our community is forever dicking around over issues of
appropriate language, wasting a lot of energy that could be put
to more productive use. Who honestly gives a damn whether we
call ourselves "disabled" or "handicapped" or "persons with
disabilities" or "PWDs" or whatever? And whoever came up with
"physically challenged," "differently abled," and all the other
smarmy euphemisms should be kneecapped.
"Gimp" is short and sweet and shows some attitude, and that's why
I use it.
Tue, 09 Jul 1996 12:23:17 misc.handicap
Thread 5 of 5
Lines 51
Re: Gimp??
Respno 1 of 1
mitchel@cts.com Mitch at CTS Network Services
I think the word "Gimp" is demeaning and disrespectful. Since its
origin and definition isn't known by most people it's meaning is
defined by the context it's used in, I've never heard it used in
a good or endearing way.
The term "Disabled" says it all. I think all the other buzz
phrases that describe disabilities tend to sugar coat a condition
and make everybody comfortable with problems that should be
addressed and fixed.
* * * * *
Hell, I don't care _what_ you call me -- gimp, cripple, tardfarm
cum-guzzling queen or one-legged old bitch -- just don't call me
late for supper.
One thing I do not understand is why some people, men chiefly, I
think, are so enraptured with the idea of amputation that, in at
least one recent case, someone has gone so far as to shoot off
his leg to realize his fantasy. He retained his knee which makes
coping with the loss a great deal easier than when you don't or
can't. I didn't and it has made things quite difficult. I also
don't understand why anyone would want to spend over a year
getting used to, and largely over, so-called ghost pains. This
is not pain from the surgery but sensation produced by the
shortened nerve bundle. For example, I sometimes feel that my
non-existent foot is cramped or that my heel itches.
This raises another question: If a person may commit mayhem upon
self, why are there criminal or psychological penalties attached
to attempting offing oneself? Both acts diminish the state's
interest in the citizen as a source of confiscated wealth. The
act of self-mayhemization can, in addition, cause the
state a negative cash flow in keeping that person's self-tarded
ass on the dole.
The other prime question is why would anyone find an amputee
sexually exciting when the same person in wholeness would not be
particularly attractive? I guess the answer is tied up in the
paradox I faced when I was extraordinarily fat. On the one hand
I was violently rejected by the mainstream, yet a source of
fascination to chubby chasers, most of which I think have two
screws loose. As complex and weird as humans are, if there is no
Glub at the bottom of all this, He's missed a wonderful chance to
create Himself, look at all this, and laugh his Divine Ass off.
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