the Doc be droppin bombs on em


this stupid bird sat out of my window mocking
me all night smoking his stupid menthol cigarettes.

so this morning i was on the 6 [yup, just like j-lo] going to the upper east side for a sleepy pre-op examination. damn, i havent been anyplace at 8.30 in the morning since i worked that crappy cafe job back in disco. that had to be like, '96 or some shit. whatever, everything checked out ok. though im sure they are going to find some xanex, weed, and maybe some amphetamines in my blood or urine and am curious as to whether or not the doc's gonna call me on it. im not too worried about if he does or not, as long as i still get some severe dope to ease the pain when i get outta the hospital.

next tuesday. may 10th. i'll be fixed. i finally be fuckin fixed.

no more deeply concerned looks in their eyes. no how are you feeling or can i get that for you. no sad tones with a wooden smiles and a wince when i flop down on the couch. starting May 10th im no longer gonna be the eggshell they tip toe over, the bush they dance around. im no longer gonna be this ticking time bomb ready to blow. im no longer gonna be, as Gabriel Garcia Marquez would put it, "a cataclysm in repose."

im gonna be repaired, mended, sorted out. and you know what that means right? thats right chicas, daddy's hittin it from the back!

[ya know, ive never felt comfortable calling myself 'daddy' to a girl im going to have sex with, and the few times girls have volunteered the title to me while in the midst of the act ive rolled pretty well with it, getting off on it just as much as they do. but usually i dont refer to myself as 'daddy' to girls im about to penetrate. its kinda creepy so i leave it up to them. but you know, i was in character and i did it right there. so whatevs, eat daddy's shit bitches.]

oh yeah, the man with the accent and the white coat and the notepad. the one of many who doesnt understand the craft of delivering a joke or creating an even vaguely comfortable atmosphere in his office, he also laid another small explosive on me this morning: i cant drink any alcohol.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!?

first the cigarette, which it was still never completely explained to as just why i have to quit smoking before the operation but i am going along with it because you know, they got like 12 years of school and a few degrees on me and apparently they are fairly well versed in the art of medicine and know these kinds of things. but now the drink too? jesus christ doc, give me something to help slip through these last fractured hours before the scalpel splits the skin.

this is gonna be tough. i went ahead and got the patch but have yet to fasten it to my skin, and i have no idea how im gonna get through the evening without my problem solving elixer in hand.
i hope i dont become one of those sober and succesful types that wear pleated khaki's and have a hammock in the backyard which i INSIST that everyone lay in for "at least a minute" when they visit me at my smoke and alcohol free summer home on the coast of the jersey shore. that would be lame, and my friends would be boring.

god i need a cigarette.