2013/02/10

Chapter 10: The Hippy Chick Meets the Scrawny Schizophrenic

CHRISTMAS VACATION: CONFESSIONS OF A CONFUSED DOUCHE


SECTION TWO: CINCINNATI, OHIO







Chapter X: The Hippy Chick Meets the Scrawny Schizophrenic

During the day while my mom was working, or at night after they went to bed, I was left all alone with nothing to do. The down periods were nearing dreadful as I had nowhere to go or any means to get anywhere. It snowed and was cold, so walking a great distance was out of the question. I passed the time at night by responding to Craigslist personal sex ads with ridiculous pick-up lines and sending them photographs of random sex offenders that I found on the internet… such as: (actual E-mail I sent)

"Drinks! I absolutely love the idea of having drinks. As for me, well you know, I am a guy. I like the good ol things in life, football, basketball, caramel sundaes, and the good smelling laundry detergent that seems to make everything so much better. I like to smell good. I once dated a hippy and she didn't smell good, so I somewhat became obsessed with fragrances. That's kind of what I'm all about... fragrances. Tell me a little something about yourself. I can talk about anything. And I like them a little thicker- so that's a good thing for me."

(with this photo attached)



This proved to be a moderately enjoyable way to pass the time. It got even better after I received a text from a friend in Milwaukee who was visiting her parents in the Boston area. She joined in on the fun and created her own personal ad in which I was expected to respond…

She posted some crazy ad stating that her dog died and she needed some sexy Vietnamese guy to come over and help her ease the pain. I responded with my version of tasteless humor, and sent her the picture below. Sadly, she actually had people seriously respond to that ad... offering to bury the dog for sex.



Even though I had the benefit of a comfortable bed in a cozy retreat, I was still having difficulty sleeping. As a result of passing time in a period of insomnia, I did something rather ordinary that would mysteriously play a huge factor in a life-long realization. Perhaps it was meant to be that I should not be wasting time with counterproductive nonsense such as sleeping.

I had been listening to music on my headphones for several hours and was in deep thought. Although it was late, I was not anywhere tired. Furthermore, I was deeply involved with a selection of songs that many might consider “weird ass fucking unlistenable shit” (it’s called experimental art.) During the listening process, my mind drifted through various extremes of surreal images from distant universes. Somewhere in the midst of all of this, I recalled an incident that happened one night in Asheville.

It was late in the evening; I had just left a gathering, and had to walk a lengthy distance to my car. The long walk was absolutely essential because I needed to wear off some peculiarity, because, I had accidentally smoked... you know, some of us just happen to think that tobacco is actually green and should be smoked out of a bong rather than a cigarette. It was strictly an accident, for I assumed that I was smoking tobacco. Plus, I felt this green tobacco relieved stress better than the ordinary brown tobacco and opted to smoke more of it. They really should sell this green tobacco in stores.

As I was walking the two mile long trudge from one side of downtown to the other, by myself, I was soon joined by a girl by I had never met in my entire life. There is a slight difference between Asheville, NC and the rest of The Universe; it is common for people here to actually walk with you; there is a slight chance that the people who accompany you may slightly deviate from that of the regular norms commonly found in the suburbs. This was some hippy/crust punk tweener type with dreadlocks and a lip ring (hippies and crust punks comprise 25% of the Asheville population, it's hard to tell them apart sometimes.) She talked about some pretty strange shit; in fact, I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about.

We reached her destination and she invited me into her house. I was not attracted to her at all. Simply put, I am not attracted to dreadlocks, and she smelled bad. The likelihood that her armpits were hairier than mine was roughly 100%. However, she was a cool person because I actually enjoy the company of beatniks who refuse to indulge in common conversation that only state the obvious. Furthermore, she had even more of this green tobacco and offered to share it with me.

What is most unusual: after smoking a considerable amount of this green tobacco, a two mile walk becomes a beautiful excursion filled with pleasant thoughts of sensational artistic creativity; sheer brilliance achieved while engaging in active healthy exercise. After consumption of a considerable amount of alcohol, a person cannot even walk, talk, stumbles, vomits, and the mind is stricken with provincial primitive thought processes… assuming there is even brain activity at all. Try to guess which one is perfectly acceptable and which one potentially carries a prison sentence. I would imply that if the green tobacco was, in fact, illegal… that might be considerable evidence that the history of government has been littered with unreliable narrators; it might suggest that the government has no clue what they are doing; it might even raise the question as to whether or not we even really need a government.

Although women with extreme hippy characteristics are not the most physically attractive in my opinion, they do know where to obtain the green tobacco that has been cultivated in the richest soils of The Universe. After two mere hits from the hippy green tobacco, a person could walk 25 miles while visiting 247 different planes of parallel surrealism while devising the most extravagant of artistic brilliance and resolving every pertinent issue know to humanity.

As for me, I do not engage in green tobacco usage too frequently. I am considered a lightweight. After smoking the hippy green tobacco, I found myself on an entirely different level of existence than I had ever explored. Unfortunately, my voice of reason was not affected in the slightest least bit, and continuously reminded me of reality.

“I told you never to smoke with hippies! Now look at us… we’re in a strange living room… with her moving in on us.”

I didn’t really wish to have sex with the hippy girl. In fact, after I got this stoned, I didn’t even wish to participate in any sort of realistic activity. All I wanted was to be friends. After we were stoned, I simply wished to either A.) Sit on the couch, listen to music, and have a deep intellectual conversation about something extraordinarily ingenious; or B.) Leave, and go back out for the walk. And, ideally, sitting on the couch meant she sat way on one side and I sat way on the other.

We did sit on the couch all right, and I fulfilled my bargain of sitting way over on one end, but she scooted all the way over next to me. Our deep conversation topic consisted of her openly discussing my awkward mannerisms. She put her arm around me, touched my leg, and felt me up all the while making fun of me for every single aspect of my very existence. Naturally, I simply pretended as if nothing was going on and tried to go to my happy place. However, she persistently disrupted my happy place by mocking my every reaction.

“You’re just, like, all tense around people aren’t you? (Laughs at me) Are you worried that I’m going to rape you?”

I responded the way I always do when confronted with these types of issues, and in my opinion, is the most logical way to react in these situations. Rather than answer the question, I simply stated that I had to go to the bathroom. And, I went to the bathroom; I felt that we (we, meaning me by myself) needed to have a good long discussion as to how we were going to handle this situation.

A few moments later, she barged in on me in the bathroom. I wasn’t even in there for very long and she just walked right in, without even knocking, and acted as if this was perfectly normal. What the hell was I supposed to say? After all, it was her bathroom. When she entered, I was obviously startled and attempted to conceal my true identity. Again, she laughed, found my behavior absurd, further claimed that I was way too tense and needed to relax, and suggested the best way to resolve this personal dilemma.  “You should just let me watch,” she said as she sat on the edge of the bathtub staring at me with anticipation with her chin propped in her fists.

I’ve been in some fucked up situations that are beyond belief. As she was sitting there, I was hesitant and mumbled a few inaudible phrases, until she declared that I had to. “Using the bathroom is completely normal.” Unfortunately, I could not go with her watching attentively. I felt I had met the minimum requirements by simply exposing myself for her to at least observe, and that was good enough. She seemed utterly disappointed; although she smiled while she shook her head. After my display of nervous stage fright, she pushed me out of the way to where she had been sitting, pulled down her panties, and comfortably took a massive piss while casually talking to me.

As I was recalling this incident, which happened to be during a period when I was considering writing some Kirstie Alley-style autobiographical content, I contemplated writing a comedy story called The Hippy Chick Meets the Scrawny Schizophrenic. I was even going to make it a “tell-all confessional” that revealed some hidden secrets pertaining to this matter; I uncontrollably developed a full erection with her watching me (this is an automatic reaction anytime a woman looks at it.) Furthermore, I could explain the real reason why this situation is so meaningful to me; she currently holds the record for the biggest massive bush I’ve ever seen in real life. Also, I was debating how many other details I should discuss but was uncertain how certain people would react to the drug use. Or, how the reaction might be should people discover that one of the eight people I made with during my extravagant going away party was a guy… and although I’m straight, making out with him held certain advantages over the dirty ass stinky dreadlocked hippy chick.

I grabbed my computer, and just as I was prepared to write the new story, I stopped in the middle of the train of thought and was mysteriously sidetracked. For reasons unknown, the idea hit me to do that aforementioned ordinary thing that would ultimately play a huge factor in my soul searching process. It seemed irrelevant and insignificant at time, but I suppose it was meant to be. For reasons unknown, I deferred writing the story and decided to take a new photo for my Facebook page. The result was a photograph of me after listening to my personal favorite music for several hours in a deep uninterrupted train of thought. This was me, as me, not having to comply with any other person’s standards… this served as photographic evidence of my natural state... (topic to be continued)


Index: Chapter List

Chapter 10 Soundtrack Listing:

1. Deerhunter
"Cover Me Slowy" 1:22 + "Agoraphobia" 3:23

Microcastle
2008

2. My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult
"A Daisy Chain 4 Satan" 5:31

Confessions of a Knife
1990

3. Francis Lai
"Promenade" 3:45

Bilitis
1977

4. Grateful Dead
"Hell in a Bucket" 5:39

In The Dark
1987

5. The Velvet Underground
"Heroin" 7:13

The Velvet Underground & Nico
1967

6. Yo La Tengo
"Blue Line Swinger" 9:18

Electr-O-Pura
1995

7. Cheap Trick
"Southern Girls" 3:38

In Color
1977

8. Lowlife
"Thinking Naturally" 2:11

Leaders
1979

9. Teenage Fanclub
"The Concept" 6:06

Bandwagonesque
1991

10. Bardo Pond
"Flux" 9:07

Lapsed
1997





All Sections Written, Designed, and Music Compiled by Tony J. Neal

Images of random people pulled off Google
The picture of me... yea, I took that mother fucker myself.

©2013

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