Later that night, he heads down to the corner liquor store to buy a bottle of vodka for his last night of bodily freedom. His thoughts run through his head like a person with a dissatisfied taste with the channels listed on the TV. He sees the same thoughts and feels nothing. He's flipping through each channel with the microscope remote made up of nerves. He sees cartoons. He sees soap operas. He sees the next reality show with women and men who'd rather live a life on tv then one for themselves. All of this is him. He is the woman with the plastic surgery. He is the cartoon that explodes only to live 2 minutes later, still running after that unreachable award.
As he enters the liquor store, he sees the small white man eye him with suspicion. He couldn't give any less of a fuck. The tiny man will be nothing once he enters the building with white blaring walls. He hears the music over the radio and hates all of this pop shit. He can only imagine poor fools thinking they have some sort of musical talent.
As he heads home with the bottle of vodka in his hand, he thinks of the blonde that Margaret's husband is cheating on her with. She has a beautiful body but her face could be better. He imagines her body pressed against his and he starts to get this tingle in his legs and his arms. It's almost like he's been shot up with some sort of sexual medication that urges his thoughts further and further away from reality. This is the only time that he gets any sort of excitement in his life. Women don't really pay attention to him unless the spell of liquor takes over their intelligent minds. He never falls in love. Love is a one night stand. He's just learned to be that way...
" I'm home after my long night of nothing. The suicide hot line seems to be boring tonight. So my fun will be with my handy dandy bottle of vodka. Every time that I hear people ask stupid questions I want to turn to them and yell, "FUCK YOU!" I can't stand stupid people, yet I only went to college for a year. I'm a hypocritical fuck. Yes. I know. I can create some sort of world in my head where I'm alone and I'm never bothered. It would be one of very few things that would put a smile on my fucken face.
I'm looking forward to my stay at the mental hospital. Maybe there will be some fucked up women who need a real man. A sane man to look at from time to time out of the corners of their eyes. I'm not a "real man" but I sure have an imagination and I could pretend to be one. I've always been the stupid ass best guy friend who always has the fucken shoulder to lean on but I never have that lucky chance to sleep with them. It'll all change once I go to that fucken place. They'll never know who I really am... Who am I anyway? Who the fuck are you?"
He drinks himself to boredom and falls asleep with dreams of coaine and weed. He's talking to paper bags that tell him to go to hell...
He wakes up having to throw up orange bile and the rest of the things he had eaten the night before. Something feels good about being scared of getting drowned in one's own throw up, or it's just him lacking experience in social pleasures. The medication gets swallowed; same routine every morning. Alcohol mixed with the medication makes him feel like he's taking a ride through It's a Small World at Disneyland. He doesn't change out of the clothes that he wore the night before. He grabs the left over cigarettes from the kitchen table and laughs at how fucking cliche this whole moment looks.
As he gets in the car he realizes what a huge fucking dick he is. He's leaving the cat he has in his restroom. He's leaving his apartment without telling his landlord that he's never going to return.
No payment for this month asshole.
The drive is long and hot but the music soothes him. This is the sound of the guitar and just shit being played. No fucking audio tuning or some guy making some beats behind the closed doors. No, this is real. This is raw and it's every part of him that lives in this moment, right now...
The freeway smells like shit. He can't believe that he's this lucky to be leaving everything behind with no sort of consciousness at all. As the car moves farther and farther away from his apartment, his job, his cat, just his whole fucking life; his sanity becomes farther and farther away from his well being. He starts talking to himself in this deep matter of fact voice. Who would have known that he'd be this fucked up.
"I remember this one time where I felt like I actually cared about someone. It was my grandmother. She fucking ruled. She was the best human being on this fucking planet. She died though. She died because shit happens. Shit happens and we're all supposed to be fucking sad and fucking bitchy about everything but you know what? YOU HAVE NO CONTROL OVER THAT! So why waste your time and be sad? Why not pick up a nice cold glass of vodka and drink like you've never drank before. It numbs everything. The more you drink the more shit doesn't exist.
The more I think about my death the more I think that this world will be even shittier. Are there people out there like me? Do people actually give a fuck about every single person that creates some sort of label or judgment in their little notebook in their head? Is it really like that out there? I've been day dreaming for so long that I've become so bitter with everyone and everything. What if there are people out there like me? I can create some sort of fucked up society where we'd just talk about how stupid we all are, and how stupid people are. But we'll never be sad or bothered about it because SHIT HAPPENS. And we cant do a single fucking thing about it. Oh, you're friend slept with your girlfriend? SHIT HAPPENS. Oh, you mixed your pink clothes with your white clothes so now you look like a dick head? SHIT HAPPENS. That's our fucking motto. Shit happens. And if you don't like it you could fuck off and join a society where you bitch and moan about everything. Don't let your emotions take control of your true feelings. We'd be alot fucking smarter in this world if that's the way things were.
Now here I am off to a mental institution thinking I'm on some fucking field trip to Knotts Berry Farm. Good bye world, hello funnel cake..."
