Brown Neon: from the diary of Tad Friend “sweating”

something came calling last night.  from above.  as i lay sweating my wang off during a terrible midnight.  it’s been like that.  things.  coming.  calling.  whispering into my brain.  but they don’t say anything. not that i think I can hear anyway. it’s always. just.  out.  of.  reach. and i twist and turn and open and close and clench and grab and pull and push and. and. and. nothing happens.  something is trying to tell me something.  what the hell does that even mean.  i am something.  i know what that means.  nothing is not something and that is something.  confusing.  and it always has to happen at night when i’m trying to sleep it all off.  snooze away the world and its cruds and stinks and itches and thirsts and crowds and oh ho ho the goddamn kneejerks and all the etc they bring. but no, no snoozes for you, just thick sweats and strange invasive whisperings and a black rainbow poking me in the face. how come this stuff never happens just after lunch? after i’ve finished my sandwich and strawberry sundae and am sipping my brewski and then a black rainbow comes and pokes me in my silly face. I could maybe better deal with that. so how come that never happens? my unit has no answers. all it says is that i should get more rest, perhaps use a rectal-sleep-aid or sonic-rest-cure. believe you me i have tried all manner sonicgulletsuppositoriapharmocopials and have yet to have that moist and sinking feeling of sleep-thieving dread stay away for anything like a thrice-night. i’m pretty aware of the root causes. my wife and best friend are dead. and i am lonely. my only chum is a robot. and my unit. which is functional. but i do not love it.

The Maculate Conception (or them Holy Soiled Drawers)

“Jesus doesn’t wear unders, baby, he preaches au naturel.”

“You’re not going up to the top of that hill in just a robe and your junk. It’s uncivilized.”

“Say who? The Romans? Man, they go gladiator more often than freakin’ gladiators. C’mon Mary, don’t be such a square. Besides I’ll be wearing sanders, too.”

“That’s exactly why I want you to put something on over that dirty dong of yours, the stupid, bastard Romans and their cosmopolitan ways be dammed. You’re a man of the people, who ought to aim to be respected. So act that way. And I could go on about them dirty ass feet. Sweet Noah’s ghost, they nasty.”

“I came into the world as God made me, baby. I intend to go out into it that way.”

“Yeah, and if your ass gets run over by a chariot and all we’re left to remember you by is leather sandals and wrinkled balls.”

“Mother Moses, that’s a little dark ain’t it? C’mon, we rock the sermon today, tomorrow I head out to the desert for a little R and R. When I get back we just keep gigging. Keep the fever pitched, you dig? Maybe make some history.”

“I dig I dig, and I’m sorry to be so snooty but I just know you’re capable of great things. I don’t want you to do anything that’ll sabotage that. Going gladiator included.”

“Anyone else but you and I ain’t covering this nutsack for nothing.”

“Aww you’re sweet. And a bullshitter, I get Simon Peter in here making fun of your bare-knuckle low-hangers and you’d be begging me to wash and hammer dry you a fresh pair of undies.”

“Simon Peter can lick my left one.”

“Who’s saying he hasn’t?”

“Wha—who you been talking to?”

“I’m prayed to God to keep me appraised of your, ah hem, apostling.”

“Damn my Dad, I told him to leave me alone.”

“Don’t get upset. I don’t give a shit. In fact, I think it’s pretty hot.”

“You do, huh?”

“Yup. And I’ll prove it to you after the sermon. So will you please reconsider the underwear.”

“Okay, hand me those there will ya?”

“Jesus Christ, these are disgusting. It’s just like Jeremiah said quoting your dad, ‘although you wash yourself with lye and use much soap, the stain of your iniquity is before Me’.”

“You want me to wear ‘em or not.”

“I just pray your Mother doesn’t decide to come see the show.”

“I’ve got a real good feeling about this one.”

A Day in the Life of Dick Whitfield III

—and I’m telling you moongoofs that I ain’t just a goddamn diamond platinum member but that I AM the yacht club!! I ain’t messing around. I’m a big deal in this town. Ask anyone. I’m the bean in the burrito. I’m the jelly in the donut. I’m the stink that makes the pink. I am the eternal wind that blows the sails of life around here. I speak people shut up sit down and goddamn listen. The mayor, the Sheriff, the goddamn Bishop and all his Nuns and shit. Not a potato gets mashed in this town that I don’t know about. In fact, a potato doesn’t get mashed lest I say so! You understand what I’m telling you? You better clean out those holes or whatever it is you call call ears and listen close, I AM THE MAN! Understand? The jewel in the crown of the King of the county. That’s all me! Jewel crown king county. Four for four, right here! I’m the wieners AND the beans. I’m the sun at noon and the moon at midnight. I’m the scissor kick and everyone else is the freaking creek. Nobody around here gives me the south end of a north bound mule. Alright? You get it now? I’m the divine chosen one who has the biggest yacht newest Cadillac leatherest shoes and toppest hat. I’m so goddamn important they spell it with seventeen I’s! And so I want you to GET THAT PROBE OUTTA THERE PRONTO!!! All it’s going to tell you is what I already told you which is I am the most important cheese there is and I command respect and admiration which I’m not getting here so if all you want to know more than that is the amount of peanuts and corn I ate in the grill room at the club which I’ll make easy for you and just tell you was one bowl and three cobs then just give me my clothes, beam me back, raise anchor, and FUCK OFF!

The Hardest Working Sidedish on the Menu

He’s an inchoate dingus with all the potential of a cornwad. If he ever gets a chance to get his head out of his anus he just might realize that his only career choice is not gonna have to be in government. Of course with teeth like those and pimples just as disgusting uphill is the only battle this kid is gonna know. So right now I’m sure assholes that think they know better are telling him that one day he’ll be prime minister or pope or a motherfucking CEO! But who am I to talk? I got knees like shins and hams that honk and if you think that’s goose in my gander then you’ve never tasted pig. I’ve got porkskin for foreskin and ham hock for man cock and Lance love a duck I suck when I fuck. It’s tough to be me, man, I mean I’ve toiled, and by goon, and I mean gadloon, when I say I’ve toiled I mean I’ve TOILED. And by toiled I mean wailed away the night popping whiteheads and squeezing blackheads and plucking mole hairs like pizzerias slice pepperoni and shred mozzarella and open no.10 cans of tomatoes. I’m talking work work work, baby. So listen, I mean this when I say it ’cause I know it know it know it, this kid is gonna have to slog and I mean slog with a capital WORK HIS FUCKING GOOEY ASS OFF. But he can do it. Because I did. And look at me before but look at me now: The big zing. The hot zang. A baked potato with sour cream and chives and bacon bits and grated cheddar and butter fucking galore. I’m the guy on the plate that makes the steak a nervous wreck not knowing whether it’s gonna shit or go blind. The Caesar salad is worried that I’m definitely gonna fuck it’s wife. And the goddamn garlic bread is praying I ask it to hang out after the cheesecake gets ate and we can catch the last few innings of the game at The Shoehorn Tavern up the block. So I’m not so concerned with goofy Gus and his long ride on the short bus. The kid gets on, the kid gets off. People look, people judge, people shrug. Fine. But BUt BUT! Sorry, listen, I apologize for standing up and shouting down at you but, it’s–well hell, it’s just that, you’ve gotta get it through your head, man, you have gotta understand. That is not the fucking story. No. It’s certainly not. Because I know mettle when I see it. I really do. And this guy’s got it. And it gives me reason to know the hope I have for the future of it all is gonna be alright. For fucking serious. It really is gonna be alright. THAT is the fucking story. And it’s the one worth telling ourselves. Over and over and over again.