the lost man chronicles
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trippin’ with the benzo: don’t be a clown—man!

Feelin’ like a bit like a brown clover, I dug into the farthest reaches of the sack to extract a twig of that green one-hit wonder. One sip and I went flying from grey to bright-sky-blue, careening on through the remains of the day like a gay-bird on rit—focused, I skipped across the street to indulge in my latest addiction—the dunkin’ doughnuts double-shot latte.

Whoowhee! Was I floating thereafter—a bout of laughter was waiting for me around the corner and mirth was well on its way. Finally, glee! Finally, whee! I felt absolutely funderful! No more doldrums and sad-clown frowns for me.

I then hopped on over to therapy to get my weekly reclining dose of electro-stimulation from the Medcolator KX—ah, what a fix! I think we took it up to 6 this time, ah what a sublime titillation that was!

Meanwhile, I picked up the Elle tempting at table-side and sighed rather deeply as I perused the pages whet with desire. Rebecca Romijn-Stamos readily drew a long fiery pine out of me as she showcased her sojourn in Cartejena, Colombia. ¡Ay, Caramba!

After, I plunged my ten piggies into the Jacuzzi, a wonderful water-thrill of a woozy ensued. The jets tickled the tips of my toes so well that at one point I was certain I was about to explode! Weird, but true. And so I wiggled on through the allotted ten minutes before the nurse came in and flicked the switch on hydrotherapy.

With my soles abuzz I sauntered out and into a small leather shop with at least ten burly salesmen standing in tight-knit formation, hovering over the handful of customers uneasily perusing.

“Can I help you wit’ sumthin’?”
“Ah, no thanks.”

I would have added that I had only really come into to smell and touch the hides, but he looked like he was going to beat me if I didn’t buy anything. Poor him, rich me! As I giddily passed through fragrant pastures of dead cow.

Then, there was H&M. Little but the panties prancing around there did it for me. The one exception to tickle my fancy was the used tires they made their flip-flops from—heavens above and yum! I could practically taste that refreshing clean rubber smell!

I passed old mc-tawdry’s (Victoria’s Secret) and screeched to a jolt half a block away when I realized I had to sashay my way back there to feel up the silk. Man, did I milk those c-cups and frays of lace.

I even fluttered about their redolent field of perfumes with my proboscis sticking out and into every other bottle. They had these tacky strips of testers that looked like paper vibrators.

And so with my scent-i-lator I went sampled the passion fruit in love spell and the pear in shimmer-me-sexy. Very-sexy-for-her had a slight blur to it, but picked me up enough to carry me on upstairs to the second floor where they sold the little whore polka-dot collection.

Oh, cotton bikinis and v-strings where have you been all my life!

A few hours into my second wind the whirl of mirth began to wear thin and I began to unwind. I needed to find some more mind-fuzz quick, so I stepped into the local picture show where I curled my toes and just let it all hang out. The girl on the screen screamed at the same time I did. My, what a catharsis that was!

At the rear end of my buzz I was so hungry that I seriously considered grabbing a wet-and-sloppy sleezah (slice of pizza). But discipline yanked me back and I ended up drinking some tangy OJ instead.

I bought the bottle from Aziz the Turban-head who nervously fucked up my change because he miscalculated the difference in his head. He was obviously ripping off the store, because he left the drawer open from the last sale and let my twenty rest on top, surely to be contributed to his sweep off the brim when he closed and made up his receipts later that evening.

What a fool! Cause jack you’ve got to keep it cool man when you’re pickin’ the numbers. Shit, this joker wouldn’t last a single round of TwoHand Luke, even if a royal flush of spades poked him in the ass. Damn shame. Sandman, if you’re gonna to play the game you’ve got to play it right. Champs know how to fight and win by bending the rules without breaking them, chumps break the rules and that’s what takes ‘em down. Don’t be a clown man! Don’t be a Clown.

Easin’ into dusk, I rode the bus into the horizon realizing I was tired, and that it was high time I closed my eyes.

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