2005-10-17 - 11:35 p.m.

Hot Tamales are not for me. It's true. I don't think any of you really have a hard time understanding that fact. I've always given Good N Plenty's a fair shake. Hell, I'll state for the record that I am quite FOND of Good N' Plenty. I've even been seen with a Good N' Fruity way back when. Mike and Ike? Check. Strawbana? Of course. Cherri & Bubb? I love them so much that we made McKeen march from the trestle to Lachance's just so I could eat some while I was stuck in tar. But Hot Tamales? They are not for me.

I think Catfish (aka - Kate) and Andrea (aka - Prem) were spot on in the last comment section for suggesting that I am perilously close to losing what precious sanity I have left. Simply read on for testament to that.

My head hurts so bad. It feels like a colony of earwigs are trying to bust out of my face with fanciful little molotov cocktails. Isn't that darling? Seriously. I need to call the doctor. Or the dentist. Or the local parapsychophantasmagorical expert. Something is seriously wrong. And Monique, I know you probably think it's pink eye. But I assure you, it's far worse.

Will I not make it for Day 37?! Will the world keep spinning?! Will I ever talk to Coty again?? More importantly, will he ever forgive me for being such a shitty friend this last summer/fall? Conversely, will Fred ever call me back? Is this karma because I've been so lax with Coty? Buddies, if you're reading this: Know that you two are two of my absolute favorite people on this planet. You both have the rare ability to absolute infuriate me in a fun way. Most people just infuriate me and it makes me want to cut them up and make them into soup. You two? I don't want to ever make you into soup. If that's not friendship - hell, I don't know what is.

Did I mention I'm drinking champagne from a coffee cup? I'm quite sure I did. At least in the title. All my painkillers are either too old or too ingested. I have no more real alcohol left (as in beer or booze) and as I was laying on the bathroom floor, licking rubbing alcohol off the pipes, I remembered that there was a dusty old bottle of champagne from about four New Year's ago in the kitchen. I popped it open (giving Kenichi a miocardial infarction in the process) and went to pour it into my most favorite champagne flute when I remembered . . . I don't own any champagne flutes, let alone enough for me to christen one my "favorite". So I did the next best (and classiest) thing! I poured it into one of Ben's old Tabasco coffee cups. (My other choice was the Gay Pride mug that his dad inadvertently got him, instead thinking Ben would simply like, "a mug with his name on it in rainbow swirly letters". You can't write that kind of comedy.) So as I swigged back champagne like I was at so many shotgun weddings with the hopes to numb my ridiculously intense facial pain, I realized I probably shouldn't swig champagne on an empty stomach. So I made a nice "meal". Perhaps it's time I broke out the visual aid before I go any further.

1. Percoset left over from when I got my teeth pulled like 100 years ago. You remember - when I tried to convince the nurses I had telekinesis. Except while the shit still has a little bit of a kick to it - it's nowhere near as mind-blowingly brain-rupturingly pleasing potent as it was way back then. And now it's all gone anyway.

2. 800mg Ibuprofen. So, you know, strong Ibuprofen. But still - it's only Ibuprofen. Granted, the pills are large enough to choke 3 horses. But still. Not nearly enough animal growth hormone to touch my problem.

3. The Roxicet that I thought I had plenty of, left over from when I had surgery this summer. Except apparently I didn't have any left and just kept the empty canister for funsies. Which I don't think is the truth. I think a certain someone who just happens to have a tail and spends most of the day planted in front of the tv watching General Hospital & Starting Over dipped in to my supply! For if there's one thing Kenichi loves more than over italicizing things to death, it's freebasing my narcotics!

4. Never having time to do dishes in this ice box of a pit of an earwig infested of a creosote splattered arena of an ice box, I tend to end up drinking out of small bowls and loafers before I'm finally forced to sidle on up to the sink and do the dishes myself. Maybe if I hire Nate Dowd to move back in with me and do my dishes for me . . . it's so insanely stupid of an idea it HAS to work!

5. "Great Western New York State Champagne" The label says "It's the first American Champagne to win a Major European Competition!" Oh. That sounds promising. The competition could have been a fucking pie-eating contest for all we know. Or "Champagnes that are best to OD on with 3 year old painkillers!" Oh snap. I hope it wasn't that last one. Or Kenichi will become a ward of the state. And then Batman will start making him wear questionable tights with an even more questionable color scheme! DAMN YOU BATMAN! (Not the "real" Batman, but the fake, comic book Batman). Also, I think this Great Western is definitely the Miller High Life of Champagne. And since High Life is known as the "Champagne of Beers" than that makes Great Western . . . oh my . . . my brain just launched into some sort of barley and hops tinged mobius strip. DAMN YOU MOBIUS STRIPS!!!

6. So with all the groceries I had to pick from in the fridge, [namely some slices of cheese, some bread that was hours away from turning into penicillin, perogies we've been saving for Chad, and an extra-large bottle of mustard left over from my birthday], I whipped up one of my specialties. A Cheese Sandwich!! I can hear all you mugwumps salivating from here! Hell, after only ONE BITE of that deliciosity I decided I had to . . .

7. . . . make another one before I even finished the first one! It was a smart choice I think. I mean, who knows if this would be my last meal or not?! I want to go out with my belly full of only the finest foods God has to offer. And since God was all out of Hamburger Helper, double doses of Cheese Sandwich did the trick! I'm not dead yet!! [Then again, I am currently on a mix of 7 cups of champagne, pepsi, old pain pills, stale water crackers, and cheese sandwich(es) - and it's 2 in the morning. So there's still a very definite chance I could perish before day break. In fact, the Weather Channel says there's an 80% chance I'll be dead by morning. As well as a small craft advisory for all coastal regions through Wednesday!]

8. That ain't your father's ginger ale! If in fact your father drinks giner ale. Which most people's father's don't. Except maybe Liz's. I know Liz's family was contractually required to chug ginger ale at every meal. Those zany outlanders! But yeah, that's some sweet, sweet champagne in a tabasco coffee cup you're looking at. Are you jealous?! ARE YOU?! You really shouldn't be. Because I'm currently in a cold sweat. I've had to pee every 15 minutes like clockwork. I'm starting to get night tremors. Or is it trembles? Or is it the vapors? I can't remember. But I'm in a world of hurt. And for once, I don't think this is a problem that up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, start {select/start if you're playing 2-player - obv.} is going to solve. Then again. I have no fucking idea what I'm talking about.

Good night.

It's been real,

Glen Plake

ps - Sweet shit. I just went to pour myself "one last" cup of champagne coffee before I go . . . to the valley below . . . AND IT WAS ALL GONE. Oh, what a world.

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