mini novel.

Chapter 1:Holy flyin fuck.

A couple of beers later and I'm comepletely enlightened. I could make

the dalai llama look like a middle school counselor. Not that I know

anything about that sort of thing, coencidently enough I do. It's a

damn shame it takes the intrusion of alchohol into my system to see

clearly enough to be human. Or atleast the facsimile of one. When and

how did I become such a shy, insecure wreck. I can't approach a decent

looking female without getting sweaty palms. How about a few lessons

in social networking and dating. Or maybe a few improv classes. I

could write for months on my evermounting horniness. These are the

confessions of a man who peaked in middle school. Now an adult and my

sex life consists of memories of teenage sexual encounters, and mid

shower rub downs. Loneliness is only as far as my arm.

My bladder has shrunk to that of tom thumbs. My mouth is dry due to

the alchohol, and my pisspot is full as I lye here on the top bunk. Oh

whoa is me. Whoa is me. So now the time has come for me to conclude

this convulsion of converse and scream goodnight.

Chapter 2: southern states conjur a southern mentality.

It' has been well over a month since I've been home. Well atleast

what I consider home. A state on the eastern seaboard where all of my

belongings are scattered in dissaray. This is what i call HOME. A

place to keep my shit. A storage unit a P.O. Box, and a few unlucky

friends homes or garages. Somehow I know where all of it is. But there

lies the moral to my story. The goal I mean to reach. A stationary

place to keep all of my things. Anywhere I can call my own. I don't

care if it's a god damned cave, it's time I take care of myself the

way I should have before. This vagrant lifestyle I have been living

has to come to an end at some point. Time to put the brakes on I

suppose. Then again I will give myself a year perhaps and that old

nomad spirit will pull me onto the road again. Searching for purpose

and a good time.

Chapter 3: My friends are assholes, with heart.

Here's a good thing not to do to a friend you know is suffereing from

home sickness, DO NOT call your friend to tell him that your are going

to be on MTV. Of all the assanine, exciting things that I could be

missing, why must it be the first chance to make a complete dick of

myself on national telivision. Leave it to my so called friends to

wait till I am indisposed and unable to make a quick return to decide

that this was time to go to the casting call of the Silent Library.

Another one of those we will pay you to puke sort of shows. But that's

just our ticket to 15 minutes of fame. A few rotten tasks for a few

hundred dollars, and a half hour on television. Give me a bucket, a

spoon and I will eat my own shit like icecream for that kind of

exposure. But here I am riding in the back of a freightshaker,

somewhere in the depths of central Texas asking myself why. Your all

swine in my book.

Chapter 4: Its just for looks...

This chapter has been deleted due to cruel accusations, wrongful judgments on my character, and attacks on my libido. But for those who want to know a little about what this chapter was here is an exert for your amusement:

" when meeting a potential man for you, don't send him nude photos and dirty

texts inviting him to fornicate. For this will signal a pattern of

thought that will lead to this man thinking you are easy. Do not get

sad or angry over the fact that all He wants is sex when you made it

so apparently available for him. And it's a well known fact that most

men are assholes get over it."

I suppose this is just another one of those self fulfilling prophecies

I am always hearing about. Then again I just want to lay some pipe.

Chapter 5: master of your own domain.

I smoke a pack and a half of marlboro 100s a day. That's like 4 packs

any other brand. I have a habit of eating before bed and it's never a

small snack. More like a full coarse meal. these kind of habits make

me sick to my stomach. My mind is always churning on how much weight I

should lose and how healthy I could be. day after day I choose to

break the promises I make myself. I constantly imagine what I would be

like thin and fit. Yet I don't get out of the truck and run like my

life depended on it. I have always been cursed with an over abbundance

of laziness and procrastination. Although my mind is always going like

some speed freak in a drug den. My mind pushes my body to move, and my

body stays firmly rooted to whatever seat I have decided to put it in.

It's only a matter of time before my mind wins over body and the

initial burst will be like the gale of a Hurricane wind. Sending me

into some insane tantrum where I will push myself so hard that I break

like a vase. As I crumble to the floor I will curse myself for never

having dicsipline.

Chapter 6: THE BLACK HOLE

There is something sinister about truck stop, and rest area bathrooms.

I am not one of those people that can't use public toillets, infact

Its the only way I can handle my daily business. I am forced to push

myself through the gates of hell everytime I realize I have to take a

shit. A good example is right this moment, I am literally sitting on

half a toilet seat. Where the other half is I dare not think about. I

would have used the other stall but it was taped off like a csi murder

scene. And ofcoarse the third and final stall was vacant of T.P., the

toilet seat had some kind of satanic scripture written on it. It

looked like a page out of the necronomicon. I fear to sit there for my

ass may be possessed.

There are a few differences between truck stops and rest areas.

Here a few I've picked up along my travels. Truck stop bathrooms the

message boards for the biggutts, homosexuals, and Christian extremists

of America. Most ts bathrooms are cleaned on a regular basis but

somehow still look like the end of the movie dead alive. Always full

to capacity , and the sounds you may hear In the other stalls will

keep you up at night in terror. Rest areas on the other hand are

Almost always empty but you get the feeling your being watched by some

murderous freak like michael myers and I don't mean the Austin powers

shmuck There is never any toilet paper and the seats and doors are

only hanging on by one hinge. There is never paper towels and don't

expect to clean your hands cause there is no soap. Piss poor service

for a piss poor America.

Chapter 6: Your only hope

Worry worry worry. Always a problem to solve never any solutions. They

should start a college to teach you the basics in living day to day.

Perhaps I should have spent more time with the guidance counselor in

school. Or spent more time in school overall.

My whole life is like walking through a room of beartraps. One

false step and your caught in a world of shit.

Chapter 7: Deja Vu

It's a kick to think about how similar my life is to that of my

teenage years. Still taking walks alone, with a pack of cigarettes,

and some headphones. Dressing up for no one in particular. Hoping to

meet someone to explore the universe with. I never was afraid to make

small talk with strangers.

Chapter 8: good and toasty

You know that feeling you had when you were a child, the feeling on

Christmas eve. Right before you went off to bed and you were thinking

about all the presents you would get. That's how I feel when I'm good

and drunk!