A


  powerful thunderstorm raged as I awoke. Lightening slashed the skies and thunder rocked my world. I had to close all my windows, especially the one with the fan in it.

I've noticed these days that my room is speckled with the parts of disintegrated insects. They come to my window, attracted by the light, only to be sucked through my fan, torn to pieces and then blown onto my bed. Sometimes at night I can hear the larger ones meeting their maker, dumping their chromosomes, memories and learned behaviours into the great digital dustbin that surrounds us. Bazzzzerrrrchchchchchtck! And when fireflies go through, the light show can be spectacular.



The most interesting of these stories is related to her boyfriend, a guy named "Dream Dreama."

D


ownstairs I found a number of people hanging out: Monster Boy, Diana the Redhead, Sarah "Rosy" Rosenthal, Leah, Leah's mother, and a girl named Virginia, Diana's New York City roommate. I'd never met either of the latter two.
Virginia is originally from Kentucky. She has a septum ring and mid-length bleached hair with dark roots. I was a little puzzled figuring out her clothes; she had three thin straps over each shoulder. Diana has told me a few stories about Virginia. The most interesting of these is related to her boyfriend, a guy named "Dream Dreama." Dream Dream is allegedly endowed with a nine inch penis.
One night Dream Dreama and Virginia were having sex and something went terribly wrong. Virginia started bleeding. The next morning she was still bleeding. Actually she was hemorrhaging. Diana took Virginia to the hospital, where doctors determined that her vagina required repair. It seems Dream Dreama's nine inch penis had torn a one inch rip near her cervix.

Leah and her mother left, never to be seen again this evening. While the others watched Midnight Cowboy, Sara Poiron called from Philadelphia. She was enthusiastic in her usual pathologically obsessed way about the prospect of buying an abandoned town in the midwest. Jessika had learned about it on the Oprah Winfrey Show.

I'll call the place "Moocow, Arkansas," but that's not the town's real name. Sara, you see, is concerned that one of my readers might scoop it out from under us. I'm well aware of the fact that there are fewer musings readers than Oprah viewers, but the wealth, ambition, initiative, dedication, sex appeal and psychological pathology of my readers is legendary.
Supposedly the asking price for Moocow is $700,000. That might sound like a lot of money, but according to Sara, that's not a major hurdle. She went on to tell me about her new job.

I asked her how hard she gets to kick her victims. "Pretty hard" she said. Sara Poiron humiliating Monster Boy in a hypothetical scenario.

Sara is training to become a dominatrix. A dominatrix, for those of you who do not know, is a woman who pleasures masochistic men with an array of tortures. In many places, such as Philadelphia, it's perfectly legal for a dominatrix to charge money for her punishments. At the establishment where Sara will be working, the house rules say that none of the customers may touch any of the employees, though the employees may touch the customers. The sorts of things Sara will be doing include tying up, tickling, whipping, kicking, painting on, scolding and menacing customers. Some customers also like to be urinated and shat upon. Whether doing such unpleasantries is legal or not is in dispute, though that sort of thing goes on. As a trainee, Sara is already making $60 per hour, plus tips, which are often substantial. Later, if she's good, she can expect to climb the heirarchy and bring in the sort of dough that would make a lawyer jealous, with much less compromising of principles.
As she trains, Sara has been asked to be a victim in a few of the humiliations just to give her a little perspective for when she eventually wields the whip. So just today, Sara was tied up and tickled with a feather by one of the customers. She was so good that she earned a $20 tip.
I asked her how hard she gets to kick her victims. "Pretty hard" she said.
Sara has a good disposition for becoming a dominatrix. All the time I've known her, she has delighted in pummeling, kicking, throwing objects at and ridiculing me. I never took much offense, seeing as how she tended to do such things the most when we were getting along the best and thus it seemed to be mostly an indication of affection. But she's also beaten those whom she despised, people such as Bad Toast.
Sara already has a professional name. The slaves all call her "Mistress Morgan."

Once Sara has accumulated enough money humiliating the legions of Philadelphia perverts, she intends to buy Moocow. She hopes I'll help out some with my savings. Then she, Jessika and I can form a cult in the style of Heaven's Gate and cause a big stir in Middle America. Or so goes Sara's plan. She was very excited about this idea, and she kept asking me "aren't you excited about Moocow, Arkansas?" and "Don't you want to form a cult?" and I'd agree in a monotone that indeed I was/did.

Sara also expressed a longing to return to Charlottesville. She suspects there are enough perverts in this town for her to set up a house of sadism here.



A


fter the movie, we set out to pick up Matthew Hart from work at the C&O. Diana was driving and the vehicle was a shiny $40,000 Land Cruiser. I have no idea where her bottomless supply of plush vehicles comes from, but they accomplish the business of transportation nicely. Rory the British bloke joined us atthe C&O.

I told them they were acting like 14 year olds trying alcohol for the first time.

On the way back home, we stopped at the ABC store for a half gallon of rum. We also went to visit Meghan Huddleston, but she wasn't home.Matthew left a note on her door and she came to Kappa Mutha Fucka later.

Monster Boy has a tall, narrow vase that he seems to view as an enormous shot glass; it was one of the things dumpster-dived from the Salvation Army. Once the rum was flowing, he drank a big shot from it. Then Rory drank a somewhat bigger shot from the vase. Naturally, Monster Boy then felt the need to better Rory. Little marks were used to keep track of the size of each shot. Predictably, I found this display of macho drinking to be foolish and dangerous. It seemed like a waste of rum considering that, if left to continue, Rory and Monster Boy would soon be puking all over the place. So while the others (mostly the girls) hooted words of encouragement, I told them they were acting like 14 year olds trying alcohol for the first time. That remark seemed to be what it took to breathe some rationality into the room. Which was good. Rory and MonsterBoy got nice and sloshed, but there was no puking.

Let's see, we watched home videos and played Guns 'n' Roses, Black Sabbath and the Fixx on the record player (my records seem to work best in mixed crowds for some reason). Then Matthew Hart bought a deck of cards at the Fastmart and we tried to play Asshole, but that didn't work too well.

When the rum ran out we picked up another litre in the Dodge Dart, stopping at Plan Nine on the way back to buy a Wu Tang Clan tape. Virginia and Matthew are especially fond of the Wu Tang Clan, whichis a rap ensemble.

Returning to Observatory Avenue, we witnessed Meghan and Rory arm in arm. Meghan said they were "trying out" this boyfriend/girlfriend thing that Matthew has proposed, advocated and nurtured. I suspect, however, that it is more tongue-in-cheek than anything.

Utkhan the Turkish guy had arrived, as he often does when my eyes are blurry from drink. He usually hangs out with Deya. Tonight, though, Deya and Monster Boy were engaged in a protracted heart-to-heart conversation. Meanwhile, our drunken girls were spray painting a big yellow graffito in the street.

At some point Rory said he thought I was pretty cool, and wondered how I had managed to stay so young. "Virgins" I told him, leading him to think I'd popped many a cherry in my day.

When things got boring, I went off to take my pre-work nap. Diana came by and tried to wake me up, but I would not be moved.

L


ater, while I was at work, Deya's mother called me. She said the police had found Deya's car in a ditch behind Barrack's Road with a flat tire. Someone had taken it from in front of Kappa Mutha Fucka. The prime suspect in this theft is Rory; he's stolen Matthew's car before. This time, though, he was pretty drunk and I fear he may have fucked up the car worse than giving it a flat tire. Flat tires almost always imply dumbass machoboy driving. This really sucks, since fewer and fewer of our house's cars are operational though they ALL continue to take up room.

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In case you haven't noticed, I have a guestbook now. I like the idea of more interactivity. Unlike most people, I encourage negative feedback. It keeps things more interesting. I'm using the same guestbook service as Ladies of the Heart and Dreamdweller.com. All I have to do now is find the right MIDI file.

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