fragment #27

fragment #26

So I bought Lyle a bottle of Laphroaig for taking me in. He told me it tasted like someone had put a cigar out on a bagel, but in a good way. We split the bottle and also case of beer. We got pretty sloppy and spent most of the night playing Sega and talking about girls and other terrible things.

Lyle said one time he was at this party, and right away, he knew he was going to make the magic happen (his words not mine). There was this girl there named Eileen. Lyle said Eileen was funny, smart, and smelled strongly of cheap cigarettes (Lyle let it be known that this is a big time turn on for him) . They chatted for a bit, and pretty soon they were making out in someone's bedroom closet.

That night they went home together, but Lyle kept noticing she was calling him Larry on the ride home. No matter how many times he corrected her, she called him Larry. Lyle told me it even happened during the sex. Lyle says the whole thing was pretty psychologically damaging and he had to fake his big finish. He also claims that now when he watch's Vh1 and Dexy's Midnight Runner comes on he is filled with a great deal of shame.

After telling me the story Lyle kicked me out so I slept in his yard. FatFat wasn't back yet and I wasn't ready to deal with Sheila.

fragment #26

fragment #25

I'm hiding out at Lyle's, until this marriage thing blows over. Sheila seems pretty volatile. The crazy bitch threw the sofa threw my living room wall when I told her I was out of beer. Lyle says he knows a specialist for this kind of thing, and has sent FatFat out to retrieve him.

I have to admit staying at Lyle's is pretty fun. He showed me his dad's collection of vintage Penthouse Magazines. All these boobs of women probably long dead. I think The Who wrote a song about something like that.

Somehow I accidentally set one on fire, but Lyle was pretty cool about it, even though it was probably priceless. Sometimes I am such a fool. I'm pretty lucky to have a dude like Lyle around. When I have hard times like these. I should buy him a present or something.

What kind of present do dudes buy each other?

fragment #25

fragment #24

So, this is the conversation I had over breakfast yesterday:

Me: So, last night was crazy.

Her: ...

Me: I don't even remember much of what happened.

Her: ...

Me: Look, do how much do I owe you? (her eyes turn to derisive slits.)

Her: Owe me? You think I'm a whore?!

At the point there was a lot of yelling and breaking of my stuff. Apparently, I'm married now. I'm told we'll be very happy once she calms down and that I go get some of her "Special Medicine" everything will be fine. I got to talk to Lyle about getting this thing annulled. Oh, and her name is Sheila.

fragment #24

fragment #23

When I woke up this morning my ears were bleeding. I vaguely recall going out last night to celebrate the ghosts moving, out but not much else.

Also there appears to be a hooker in my bed. I don't want to make any assumptions on character, but she has cigarette burns on her thigh and keeps twitching in her sleep. I wonder what's the protocol on this...

fragment #23

fragmen #22

Well Davenport and Charles killed Mr. Proufrock. Drank his blood and everything. That was terrible, but the good news is they said they would quit with the Ambien. Also they decided they like being ghost. They're going to get their own place and everything. This is turning into a great day. Maybe I'll even invite them to poker night. Davenport used to come when he was still alive. I'm not sure if ghosts even like poker though.

fragment #22

fragment # 21

When I woke up this morning I noticed two things. One, that I has shit myself again, and two there was a man standing at the foot of the bed. The man was smallish and presented himself as Thadeus Jame Proufrock, Paranormal Extinguisher. Mr. Proufrock told me he would help me with my ghost problem. I explained to him that it didn't matter anyway because the ghost had stolen my soul. Mr. Proufrock just laughed at this. He said to me:

"My dear boy, there's no such thing as a soul. Those beasts have been forcing you to snort Ambien on a semi-hourly basis. You are higher than a Count on Christmas. Now time to get cleaned up we have much work to do."

At that point he sprayed me with a seltzer bottle and ripped away my soiled sheets. I think this guy means business because he talks so funny. Also he smells like menthol and old people. I guess that's cause he's old.

Anyway I'm glad to have my soul back.

fragment #21

fragment #20

This no soul thing is terrible. I feel powerless to do anything about anything. I've done nothing but stare at my bedroom ceiling for the last three days. I shit myself at some point, and now Davenport won't stop giggling like an idiot. Charles has been reading his stupid poetry non-stop and vaguely want to die but, not enough to do anything about it.

Lyle came over to barrow some money. He didn't even say anything when he saw me laying on the bed like this, covered in my own shit. He just took a fiver out of my wallet and left the room. Now, I can hear him, Charles, and Davenport watching Police Academy in the other room. Fucking assholes.

fragment #20

fragment #19

I don't know what those ghost have done to me, but my head feels empty like some scooped out my brain and replaced it with marshmallows. I couldn't even tie my shoes on the first go this morning. I tried to call Lyle for help but couldn't remember his phone number or even how to use a phone. I heard Charles and Davenport snickering in the bathroom. They are definitely up to something...

Turns out those bastards removed my soul last night while I was sleeping. Who knew you even needed a soul to tie shoes? Those fucking ghost have got to go.

fragment #19

fragment #18

It turns out getting drunk with ghost around is a really stupid idea. At one point Davenport convinced me to drink some of his ghost tears. They tasted like salty grenadine and sadness. The tears transported me emotionally to the time of my greatest rejection. Jessica Shands I will never forgive you, or the fourth grade. My psyche thoroughly damaged I retired to the living room to watch a movie.

Charles the Snake kept trying to get me to watch Anaconda, but I refused, I've never cared for Ice cube as an actor. Instead I put on Three Men and a Baby. Davenport is a Gutenburg fiend and Charles had never seen it before, so It kept them from bitching about the whole murder thing for a while.

I'm gonna take a nap now. I'm still feeling pretty depressed about girls from my grade school.

fragment #18

fragment #17

Charles the snake's ghost is haunting me. Nothing is worse than a ghost snake poet. He keeps crying blood on the carpet, and using iambic pentameter to tell me how terrible I am.

To make matters worse, Davenport came over and was such a dick. He told me the ghost snake poet would be good for me, because he likes me better when I was depressed all the time. He was really getting on my nerves so, I chopped him up with the garden hoe as well. I got to quit solving my problems this way.

Now that Davenport is a ghost too, he and Charles just sit on my couch all day crying blood everywhere. How do I get myself into these situations? I guess I'll get drunk now, but all I have is some Steel Reserve FatFat left over and some cooking wine. What a turd of a day this has been.

fragment #17

fragment #16

Man, that snake will not let this poetry stuff go. Every time I go out to sit on the porch, he's there reciting twelve stanzas in free verse on swallowing rats whole or some such bullshit. Now, he wants me to go to his goddamn recital! I can't sit through that, I'll gnaw my own arm off. Why do these type of people always find me? I mean I feel bad, because he obviously has no friends, but enough is enough!

I chopped up the snake with a garden hoe. He was just a stupid snake and it's not like any one will miss him. Turns out his name was Charles.

fragment #16

fragment #15

I think things are cool between me and Ben Franklin. We had a talk, and I explained that I wasn't into immortals. I also introduced him to my friend, Gay Andy. They seem to really like each other. I wonder if all gay people scissor, or just lesbians?

The rest of the day was pretty boring except a snake talked to me. He was pretty boring too though. He just kept asking me to read his poetry. I don't want to read any snake poetry. It's probably depressing.

the lbg

fullsize gallery

fragment #15

fragment #14

OK so, Ben Franklin is not a vampire, just immortal, and now things are kinda awkward (I think I broke his heart).

I think I'm going to just skip a day, and make myself a Whiskey Bathtub. If you don't know how to make a Whiskey Bathtub here's the recipe...

1 glass of whiskey (fill to brim)

1 bathtub

Fill bathtub with water

Get into bathtub (remember to take the whiskey with you)

Wallow in sadness

fragment #14

fragment #13

Ben Franklin is a vampire! We all hung out at FatFat's the day after the party. Ben Franklin kept trying to get me to go into the bathroom with him. I think he was trying to suck my blood. Also one time, when were in the kitchen alone, I felt him come up behind me. He just stood there, really close, breathing on my neck. I wonder if I should destroy him.

FatFat made us all huevos rancheros. Mine had a sock in it for some reason but was still pretty good.

fragment #13

fragment #12

Since I had returned to life, Lyle threw me a big party. He gave me this huge bottle of this stuff called Zwak. It's kinda like Jäger but for pretentious people. I drank like half the bottle, but never really got buzzed. I wonder how come that happened.

A lot of people showed up, including this one guy that looked just like Ben Franklin. I asked FatFat about him and it turns out, it was Ben Franklin! Lyle met him at the laundry mat on the corner of Sidco and Elm, and they hit it off. How is he still alive? I wonder if he's a vampire...

Davenport did a keg stand, and somehow managed to break all his fingers in the process. Weird.

fragment #12

fragment #11

So, I decided to suicide. I had rather be dead again than a weiner dog. When my master wasn't looking, I ran out into traffic. A late model Volvo hit me causing my spine to fractured and my stomach to burst, spilling my guts in the hot sun. It took a while to die and no one really seemed to care, even my master. The last thing I heard, before the world went black, was a little kid yell, "Mommy, Mommy, that weiner dog exploded!"

When I woke up, I was me again and alive. Although, I kind of feel like my hands may be smaller than they were before.