HAPPY 50TH

My 50th post. Time moves fast. I remember it like it was just yesterday - my first post. I've come such a long way since then; my sentences make a little bit more sense now. I had hoped by now to be Dostoyevsky. Wow, I spelled that correctly on my first try; proof that I'm well on my way.

My legs always ache after a night of drinking, even when drinking moderately. I've always thought this was a strange side-effect and assumed I was suffering from some secret and life-threatening illness. Perhaps a parasitic insect burrowing into the marrow of my shins and knees like a drunken termite, turning my bones into sawdust. While I slept someone must've played whack-a-mole on my legs, bludgeoning the heads of my knees with big black dildos like mallets. Turns out it's fairly common; the leg pain, not the dildos. Dehydration; who would've known? Thanks Google! I'm in desperate need of some electrolytes. I think maybe I'll rub a banana all over my calves and ankles. I need fucking potassium goddamnit! Have you ever noticed how the inside of a banana peel looks like an anus? Try it; it's science.

I went with the Profuser earlier to get something healthy to eat for lunch. It took much persistence and steadfast refusal on my part, to deter him from the Vietnamese sandwich place he wanted to dine at, but I finally convinced him to go with me to Roam. They have a solid veggie-burger, and I felt it would alleviate some of my guilt from last night's calorie cavalcade. But when I got to the counter, the cute blonde-haired blue-eyed cashier forced a bison-burger on me, saying only faggots eat veggie-burgers, and that if I got one, she would have the cook cum on the bun before serving it to me. Manonnaise she called it. She asked me, rhetorically, if I was a bitch and she slapped me across the face for "even thinking about getting a veggie-burger." She told me I "was going to get a bison-burger and I was going to like it." Shocked, I looked at the Profuser, and looking at the cashier he said, "make that two." It turned out she was right, it was a pretty good burger.

We left and ventured back to his place. On our way, we passed lifelike sculptures - which approached Madame Tussauds quality - of people placed in different positions along the sidewalk. One, a child, dancing around a stop-sign, another of an old woman waiting for the bus holding bags of groceries. Others stood mid-embrace, a woman reading a book on a bench with her feet reclined, businessmen talking. It was eerie, and I wished I had my camera. I was suddenly worried he had slipped some mushrooms into my burger while we were eating, but when I saw other people observing the statues I relaxed. Once at his apartment we watched a couple episodes of Drunk History, and I departed to capture what remained of the day.

I roamed the streets, meandering without direction. I saw a woman confined to a chair, surrounded by a crowd of onlookers outside of a popular micro-brewery. Firefighters and medics held her in place asking her questions as her eyes rolled around in their sockets like cue-balls. It was unclear what was happening, but the presence of the firetruck made the spectacle more...spectacular. I continued walking, peering into the occasional shop casually browsing wares. I want to write a story about a ware-wolf, a lone bargain hunter split from the pack, seeking sales and miscellaneous merchandise in the moonlight.

After losing interest in my perambulations, my dogs like wolves howling, I decided I should make my way somewhere with seating. Earlier, when I left the Profuser, I told him and his lady that I'd text them about dinner. I took my phone out to text him, and after I unlocked it, it died in my hand. I figured I'd grab some groceries and head home to charge it. Whenever I charge any electronic device, I always have a gavel and a black cloak handy. And one of those fancy powdered wigs.

They say absolute power corrupts. Absolutely. That's why I never charge my phone to 100%.

Bananus