Day 53 | Two-Wheelin’ on DRY Pavement | Down 21 Big Ones | A Shout-Out to Marilyn Monroe
Sisters are doing it for themselves. Despite him.
I’m determined to cut that 16.5-mile bike ride.
And it’s going along swell.
Until I hit the halfway mark [Wayland].
[queue Vincent Price laughter]
Here’s where ya bonked, fatty.
I talk at him out loud: Go’way, downer.
The cars rush by.
Three miles later [Sudbury].
Here’s where you sat your ass in the shade. Fatty. DPW, classy choice.
Over my shoulder: Yup, and tell it goodbye.
Four miles later [Saxonville].
Ho-shit! [His pitchfork is lodged between my eyelid and brow and he’s laughing on his ass, holding his fat belly like some prize] Here’s the sidewalk where you rode in retard-gear.
Retard-gear. Thank God for it. No matter what it’s called. I bite down hard on the valve to my CamelBak. You’re an effin’ asshole.
His feet are straight up, air-pedaling. He farts long and hard. Teases, re-tard, re-tard, re-tard.
I spit out the valve. You know, why be the raw deal all the time?
He’s snapped to his feet and sticking the damn fork in the place that makes him crazy-happy. The aqueous humor of my right eye.
Boink! Boink! Boink!
We’re a half-mile from home, nothing’s gonna stop me now, and I slip into one of my big gears for more resistance. What the fuck’s wrong with you.
He’s glib, still boinking my eye and sticking his forefinger of the other hand into his belly button. The asshole can multi-task. I want you to destroy you.
For God sakes, why?
He withdraws the fork, screws his head 360-degrees then does a backflip, says, it’s my nature. [fart]
Your lousy nature has had me drinkin’, eating and stinkin’ thinkin’ for the greater part of 5 years.
His lips recede; his teeth are putrid with stink. And I’m lovin’ it.
Yeah? Well, just watch me. I’m climbing out this mess.
[August 5, 1962: Rest in peace, Norma Jean. You’re life-size images hang in our bedroom and hallway, and my favorite portrait of you from The Misfits is near my bedside.]