Look at this… Expect it… Cherish it… Take it into the toilet and wipe with it…
It’s…
SON OF WANG: Part 5
I wouldn’t claim to be illiterate, mute, or terminally handicapped unless it were a situation that could result in free parking; but where are the words? Where are the words right now for this specific situation? Nothing to say, nothing to think on, nothing to write home about; likely because the person reading it at home would be my mother who has probably already heard whatever it is I had to say.
But let’s look on the bright side, I’m a circus freak being mind-controlled by hypnotic messages sent to me by the ghost of my dead grandfather who is currently inhabiting my pork-chop-prodder by diabolical means. From here one could think that things couldn’t possibly get any worse; no way in hell, nowhere from here but upwards, bring on the good times because the next thing to happen to me will surely be a good one.
So naturally, my nose starts bleeding.
Down over my upper lip, curving and pooling at the front of my mouth.
“I can’t believe it!” I said, spitting nose blood all over the room like some sort of violent arterial spray.
“Yeah son, me either… I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NOT BUTTER!”
I see that sometime during my lengthy and blank musing, my father had gotten up and bought a sandwich from a vending machine in the hallway.
“How can you eat? Damn it, you really are a douchetard!” I accused, spraying nose blood ALL OVER THE ROOM like a skunk trying to put out a fire.
My father threw his now blood-soaked sandwich out the open window, looked at me and began to speak;
“Well what do you want me do? Let me save you the trouble of asking; there’s absolutely nothing I can do for you. And you also owe me $3.50”
“Well if you can’t help me, then tell me someone who can!”
“Good motherfucking luck finding an exorcist who specialises in genital possession. The sandwich was what I was referring to earlier, you owe me $3.50 for another sandwich.”
“Well, what then? I can’t go on like this forever. My pelvic brick isn’t normal. It should be normal. I should be normal!”
“Well firstly, the $3.50. Then my suggestion would be to carry on, carry on like nothing really matters.”
“It’s too late, my time has come, sends shivers down my spine, body aching all the time.” What the fuck just happened?
I realised what was going on.
“Fuck you dad.”
“Damn it! We were just getting to the good part!”
“Sure, I’ll go ahead sing the next bit; ‘goodbye everybody, I have to go. Leave you all behind and face the truth.’”
At this stage, I blood-drippingly left the room while my father was in the middle of singing “mama”.
“HEY! WHAT ABOUT THAT $3.50?”
Distracted, I slipped on a drop of my own nose blood and knocked my head on the polished floor. For the next hour, I was without consciousness.
In the darkness of my mind, I heard a voice.
< Grandson! >
< Huh? Hey, whoa… What’s up with my voice? >
< We’re below consciousness you shit! You don’t speak with your mouth right now. >
< Oh, that’s just bloody great. While I’m here, let me get a few things straight, you’re really my grandpa? >
< Yes >
< And you’re really haunting my peener? >
< Yes >
< So right now I’m having a conversation with my crotch monster? >
< Damn it boy…> Without seeing it, I can tell he did a face-plant… As well as a ghost could, at least.
Slowly, images began to fade into view. I saw a person; crossed between Ron Jeremy and Condolezza Rice. A man, tall, slim and neatly dressed in a white tuxedo… Sure was ugly though.
< Well? Aren’t you happy to see you grandpa? >
< I’d rather not. That would imply that I prefer this to seeing the real world with my physical eyes. But let’s chat anyway. Why are we here? No, let’s start from the beginning… What’s the deal with you? >
< Me? Well… My name is Shake-zula, the mic ruler, the old schooler- >
< Ok, enough! For fucks sake, are all the men in our family like this? >
< Only the good looking ones. >
< You’re hideous. >
< … Shut up.>
So far, things have been shaping up for a pretty fucking amazing inside-mind experience. In fact, the only way it could get better is if I died.
< Well, goodbye for now boy. We’ll speak again soon.>
What her meant by that is that unfortunately I hadn’t died. So I woke up.