Pastoral Genocide

Solanum Lycopersicum, Ye Godless Red Demon.
July 2, 2008, 12:07 am
Filed under: Writing | Tags: , ,

I wake up as sick as a dog. I get ten feet out of bed and I realize that I’ve got the running shits. I reach the bathroom barely in time. Afterwards, I heave a voluptuously obese spray of vomit over the sink and mirror. It has a stew-like consistency, off-brown and pocked with porcelain white lumps of digestive curd. I lean over the sink, panting. My stomach muscles gently begin to relax as my sweating head cools against the air. There is, slightly, relief.

I crawl back into bed and space in and out for a couple hours. I wake up to the warm feeling of my own fecal matter drying aridly on my leg and my sheets. It’s like someone opened an industrial-sized jar of extra creamy peanut butter and spread it generously throughout my bedding. I don’t know what to do, it’s all so disgustingly horrifying.

Eventually I pull it together and wad my pajamas and the affected bedding into a large ball that I push under my bed. I’m naked and laying on the bare mattress. I feel terrible, so goddamn terrible. I start sweating, then, I’m shivering, shaking rigidly. Things are strangely and uncomfortably inconsistent. My teeth clack together. I wish that I had a blanket and I glance lustily over to the ball of shit-covered linens. No, I can’t – won’t – wallow in my own feces. I’m a red-blooded American, not a German. So I’m cold and hot and shaking and naked and laying in the fetal position on a stripped mattress. The air is afire with the repercussions of misappropriated digestion. It is a low-rent scene and yours truly is the feeble, humbled star.

I decide to take a bath. I don’t normally take baths. It’s hard for me to respect a man who takes a bath. Seems fruity, you know? But, as always, there are exceptions to rules.

On my way to the tub, the phone jingles merrily. I answer it on the third ring. It’s my boss. He’s talking to me, asking me where I’m at and some other things. I tell him I’m really sick. I look at the clock, it’s twelve fifteen. I apologize and tell him I’ve had a really rough morning. I say that I’ve got one heck of a bug and it’s running me ragged. I keep it nebulous. I don’t get into specifics and I don’t tell him that I’m presently buck ass naked and streaked with viscid contrails of my own shit. I’m a good employee so he believes me. We hang up.

As I’m heating up water for the tub, I puke again. I’m hunched manically over the rust-rimmed throne, gripping it distraughtly with white knuckled ferocity. Like I’m on a roller coaster or something. I didn’t flush after my initially disastrous flirtation with diarrhea and so my plight is robustly disheartening: I’m chest-to-chest with a monster of my own making. Vomit on top of shit and piss. My face is inches away.

The bath is mostly full and I squeeze a half bottle of Pert Plus into it. I sink into the water and it burns me, deeply reddening my skin along the high water lines of my clavicle.

I eventually get out and start to dry off when it starts grabbing me again. From deep within, I’m ravaged by a phantasmal and wrenching cramp. I sink awkwardly to my knees before falling to the ground. So, I’m laying there, gasping for reassurance like a fish in pure oxygen, and thinking: Am I on my way out of here? Violent spasms roll through me and it – all of it – erupts from my body. I dip into a self-contained pool of blackness and static. Time abruptly and completely stops.

I wake up seven hours later in the shimmering white phospherence of a hospital room. There’s a nurse sticking some sharp ass needle into my arm. I groan. She looks at me. She’s a smoking hot Latina and I’m into smoking hot Latinas so I wink at her.

I get answers, eventually. Tomatoes. Can you believe that? Fucking tomatoes.


2 Comments so far
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Wow. Clicked on a sig at mgoblog and this is the first thing I read. Nice job. I’ve done this exact thing, albeit sans hospital, and it’s definitely a good way to buy new sheets.

Comment by Jeff Kelley

Nice mental image, thopp. it was vivid, to say the least and i so did not want to picture all that. well done.

Comment by Jennifer Tepe

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