Sunday, December 20, 2009

Tales of a Drunken Degenerate, part fifteen copyright 2009 Robert J. Day



Tales of a Drunken Degenerate, part fifteen, chatting with a midget while tripping on mushrooms
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4pIxnuUG1k
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When you walk out of the bathroom, it's a whole new universe. Holy fuck, those mushrooms must be super potent if you're already starting to feel them. Maybe you shouldn't have eaten so many. Fuck it. You take a seat at the bar and order a pitcher of beer. Sitting on the stool next to you watching a soccer game on the flat-screen behind the bar is a small child, a little boy about five or so.
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"Hey kid, aren't you a little young to be in here?" you ask. The kid turns away from the game, and you see that he's not a kid at all. He's a midget. A dwarf. A little person. "I'm no kid fuckwad I'm old enough to be your daddy. Hell I might actually be your daddy, what's your mother's name?" He laughs a little at that, then asks, "Aren't you a little poor to be hanging out and drinking in this rich folks dive?" His voice is the kind of rough that only comes from years of Whiskey and cigarettes. "Yes I am, but this seemed like a good place to hide out for awhile. Sorry about the mixup, how about I buy you a drink?" You've never talked to a midget before, you've got a million questions. But he's got questions of his own.
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"A drink would be great, this is a bar after all. Jack Daniels, no ice. Hiding out is no kind of way to deal with your problems man, they're still be there waiting for you when you leave, don't you know that? What did you do that made you seek refuge in this hellhole anyway?" You order his drink as you think about how to answer this without telling the midget the ugly truth. But you're really starting to trip now, the neon behind the bar is unnaturally bright and giving off a slightly sinister vibe. It's fucking up your concentration.
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You take a drink of your beer to fortify yourself and say, "I fell in love with a late-night shoplifter who saved my life after I spurted cum all over the face of this bigass scary biker dude in a bar I went to after I got out of the hospital for overdosing on meth and coke that she gave me. Actually she only gave me the coke, the meth was Chickenwing's, that fat piece of shit, I went to his house today to pay him back the twenty bucks, and she was slurping on his uncircumcised dick like it was a fucking Rocket Pop! He's the only friend I got and he's trying to steal my girl, and the fucking biker guy and his goddamn buddies want to kill me, and I can't go home!"
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"Wow, slow down dude. I don't think I caught all that..." The midget looks confused, so you take a deep breath, light a cigarette, and start over. You end up telling him the whole sad story, from the beginning up until now, and he listens attentively, nodding in all the right places and throwing in the occasional, "Holy shit!" and, "No fucking way!" Either he's a really good listener, or you're just really high. Probably both. It feels good to talk to someone, but you can't look him directly in the face anymore. Not because you're embarrassed by the bizarre but true story you've just told him, but because his face is beginning to morph into that of a baby. A baby with a full beard showing streaks of gray, who drinks like a fish and cusses like a sailor with Tourette's Syndrome. Oh Christ, are you high!
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The bartender asks if you'd like another pitcher, even thought the first one is barely half gone, but you're afraid to speak to her right now, afraid you'll blurt out some embarrassing moments from your childhood or the world's lamest pick up line perhaps, so you just nod. She brings the pitcher and another Whiskey for your vertically challenged friend and you pay her. "Hey thanks man, you're alright. How ya holding up?" asks the midget. "I'm fucking tripping balls and you keep changing into a bearded baby, but I'm alright. So what do you think I should do?" He talks. You listen.
TO BE CONTINUED...

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