Ian Anderson 5 p.m., Oct. 13
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10:00 AM. Wednesday. Going to the post office before work. I swing up to the post office and park across the street in front of that large red house with the matching red curb. As I am walking out, I see the ticket lady in the her electric car driving up to my car. I give her a wave and do the pretend jog to my car. I started my car up, but the ticket lady is blocking me from leaving!?! No...she wouldn't. I gave her a wave and did the pretend jog. As she rolls down her window, I noticed her name tag reads “Chthonic”. She hands me the ticket, and I yell directing at her, “F**k you!!”. She does not stop skip a beat of her conversation with her cellphone and silently putters off. On the drive to work, I realize it had been awhile since I cursed at someone. I think I got a high letting out my anger.
About an hour into the job, I realize I forgot papers at home. I jump out my car into my apartment, find the papers, throw the dog a bone, and back to the car. Sgt. Chthonic is writing me another ticket. This time I knock on her window. She does not stop skip a beat of her conversation with her cellphone. She opens her door and hands me a ticket. I tried to stop her from shutting the door, but Sgt. Chthonic is stronger than me. She runs over my foot. I spent the next 5 minutes screaming in the middle of the street as she slowly drives out of sight. On the way back to work, I confirm letting out anger gave me some sorta of satisfaction, but the high is short-lived, because I am down 120 bucks.
As I am leaving work around 8pm, I get a text saying to come to PB for free drinks. My friend has an alcohol promotion gig, hence the free drinks. I call my neighbor to take care of the dog and head to PB. Within an hour, I am six buds and four shots deep. I begin to stop paying attention to the silent décor of the stereotypical PB bar. I start a conversation with a sweet belgium lady named Dagny, who has a large gap between her two front teeth. As she blabs at me, I wonder if I could stick my tongue between that gap. Too late, she leaves. Around midnight, the bar is filled with a new crowd. Some lumpy, tan, blonde girls are molesting me and my friend for free shots, which he obliges. Swaying at the bar transforms into groping suntanned flesh. No one wants the night to end, so we head to mexican. Always a bad choice, since PB has the worst late night mexican. As we sit and devour our who-knows-what crammed on an outside bench, I declare that my mouth is burning. Lumpy sitting next to me shoves her salty tongue down my throat, then points my head to her crotch, There, I spot a protrusion between her legs. Great...I have been macking on a fat ugly tranny. She/he pulls out a bottle of jeager between her legs. The relief that she is just a fat ugly PB chick makes me forget the thought of her large cavernous crotch. After the jeager is gone, I wake up in unfamiliar surroundings. There is a wheezing lump in the bed with me. I quietly try to find my clothes careful not to disturb the lump or my head. The lump moves, and I jet without finding my underwear.
Back to the safe haven of Golden Hill. First things first - take my lonely dog for a walk. As I open the door for the walk, I don't have the leash. I go inside, and the dog goes outside. The dog is gone. This has happened before. He is friendly and will probably find a friend, who normally calls the number on his collar. The waiting game, however, between the call and my crazy imagination of him lying in the street dead sucks. Within an hour, I get the call. He is at that monstrous yuppie village next to the Starbucks. The woman invites me in, and we sit on her balcony. She is a talker. I just want to leave, but I am indebted to her for finding the dog. As she sprays words at me, I spy Sgt. Chthonic smoking a cigarette on a first floor patio. During my escape from the talker's condo, I observe Sgt. Chthonic leaving the compound. The dog and I creep on to her patio. The door is unlock when I employ tremendous force. Her place is entirely white (the carpet, the drapes, the furniture) enclosed by mirrored walls. I grab a cigarette from the glass coffee table and inhale slowly while contemplating my revenge high. Then, it hits me. Literally. The smoke hits my colon and starts the mexican food moving towards the border. I drop my pants and squat over the coffee table. Ouch...burning going in, burning going out. During my intoxicating dizzy high, I grasp the drapes. As the silky drapes cool my fiery crack, I spot Sgt. Chthonic in the mirrored wall staring at me. Sgt. Chthonic, then, proceeds to open the gates of hell.