Tongue to the Battery Connector

I dreamt I was FBI.

Chasing down terrorists and Lee Marvin. Do you remember Lee Marvin. Probably the most suavest guy on Earth. He was so suave, that he brought new meaning to the word. If you looked the word up in the dictionary you'd see his ass there. In any event, he was a high powered executive, and I was chasing terrorists through his office building.

I woke up, finding myself alone, in a small bed, in a small room, in a big assed city. New York, a silver dot on the face of the Earth. A miniscule speck of diamond glittering like hundreds of others on this whirling ball of mud. Outside, all life is gearing up, making ready...a new day has begun. I rise, standing in the center of the room, taking stock. Today is my room inspection. How do I straighten up this room in so short a notice?

I start at my desk, with all of this paperwork scattered atop it. I collect the paperwork, straighten it all out and make it into one neat pile stacked in the corner of the table. Suddenly, clean table. I do the same with the scattered papers on the floor. My clothes on the bed...I lay out flat, then throw the blanket over them. Suddenly, instant made bed. The dishes in the sink. I put dishwashing soap in the sink and fill it up with water, the foam of the soap bubbles obscuring the dishes and the cups. Suddenly, clean sink.

Ahhh, suddenly, a cleaner room.

My kidneys ache. Well, not my kidneys, but my back, right where the kidneys are. My back aches. It's been like this all week, giving me trouble. Don't tell me that my back is beginning to give out for all the years that I walked around with my laptop in my backpack?? Shouldn't my back be getting stronger, not weaker? Fucking Jack La-Lane still works out like an animal and his ancient body seems to take it all. He pounds on the abuse and it responds like a sixteen year old body. My forty seven year old body responds like a fifty seven year old's. I'm breaking down. Pieces of me are falling off daily. I'm not young anymore.

I pick gray hairs out of my nose. I grew a beard, a nice one, and I'm searching in it for grays. Searching, searching. I don't see any. I give off a sigh of relief. But they're coming...in droves. I know it. Just around the fucking corner. I give up. I'm going to grow old gracefully. I going to give up the ghost like everyone before me. Fuck it. Can't stay young forever. Just as long as my johnson continues to work, I'll be happy. Once that stops, fuck it.

I get online, check email, begin to blog then decide that I'm not going on IRC. I'm not going on and fuck with these people this morning. Besides, it's probably too early for them to even be up. I decide that I will not go on. I make coffee instead, putter around the web, and for the first time in my damn fool life, I find it boring. There is no flavor in it. I even go on ebay and look around my paltry room for something to sell. I have nothing worth selling. Nothing. Without my army of homeless minions collecting stuff from the streets and giving them to me, I can't sell anything. My ebay account is wasted. No more excitement from that avenue.

I stop, cut short, and stare at a Yahoo homepage. I reduce the window and look at the icons on my desktop. One icon is mIRC. I'm not going on IRC today, but I click on the icon anyway. mIRC opens, and I'm teleported to the IRC server. And then I get a brainstorm. A wonderful, wonderful stroke of genius. Why not make my own Chatroom, otherwise known in IRC, as a Channel. But I need a catchy name. 1) I don't want kids in it. I want adults, and not just over 18 because I don't consider 20year olds adults. Shit, I don't even want to see 30 year olds. So...let's call the channel #Mature. 2) But it's missing something. What is probably the most searched word on the net...FUCK! I've got the name of my channel...#MatureFuck. The topic next to the title: "For the OVER 35 year old crowd...come in for drinks, good conversation, meet new people, get naked and fuck!" Now if you search Fuck in the Title or Topic Text...it'll come up. If you're a fucking kid, the title and topic will turn you off because only old farts will be in the room. And it you just search for a mature room, it'll show up in the title.

I said it was a stroke of genius didn't I???

So I bring up my chatroom and stand it it alone all fucking day long. Aomeone has got to do it, because the last person to leave collapses the chatroom, or channel. I'm not losing the name of this channel to anyone to sneak out from under me. No one. Then I head over to #hotadults. That's right, you can hang around in as many chatrooms as you'd like.

My friends are already in #hotadults at 7:00am. They welcome me with open arms.

Is this Nirvana or what??

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/04/tongue-to-battery-connector.html
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