The brothers are in the anteroom, a lobby-type place. I just assume that most of them are here so that they don't have to be at City. As fucking unpleasant as this place is, it's a hell of a lot nicer than than having stripes around your shoulders. Less sex, I guess, but you can get away with masturbation a lot easier here than you could there. Less chance you'll end up eating out some dudes ass. I guess whether that's a positive or a negative really depends on you.
I'm sitting on a vinyl couch out in the tv area. Bunch of freaky-ass chairs everywhere. There are a couple of couches, arranged in a u around the tv/vcr entertainment complex, which is really just a big bookshelf with a 25 incher, a vcr, and a bunch of videocassettes. Those chairs creep you out, cos they're all medical-type chairs. Canvas seats for some reason. There are also bigger hospital vinyl lazyboys with huge oxygen tanks next to them. No smoking. Fucking eats it.
CNN is telling us about Maryland suspending the death penalty, good for fucking Maryland. Course, if I had to regularly eat a brother's ass, I might want to die, but I ain't killed anybody nor do I plan on doing so in the near future. That's just what the ticker at the bottom says, in between wacky Enron jokes. The main story is Breaking News that gwb told some jokes at a dinner gala thing. Breaking indeed. I can't hear the main story, though, so maybe he told some really serious jokes about mideast policy or medicare or, more apropos my situation, medicaid.
The other two are only kinda watching tv. Well, the dude is, as much as he can. Dude's greying, beard, fucking old glasses and don't pay attention to much these days. Homey's got himself a plaid shirt and some old grey slacks. Look to've been washed a million times, like my own grey slacks'd look if I'd ever bothered to wash them - not that they're all dirty or all that smelly, mind you. Mine also don't have the cigarette burn hole in the thigh region, a hole that'd be mighty sexy on a bird, but not on him, no offense. His companion is one of the young docs. Blonde bob, love fucking short hair on a woman. Underneath her coat's one of them peasant hippie dresses what goes translucent right around her shin. Then there're her ankles and black slides on her feet, cute. Can't see her face, so she can't see me staring at her feet. Dude's staring at the tv, but I doubt he's enjoying his view as much as mine. She's kinda curled up beside dude on the couch, talking about his Deal.
I heard it said once that most people go into the brain doctory so that they can figure out their own problems, understand why they're all screwed up. Then there are just the few normal people who do it to do it. I wonder which is. No chance of tonguing her ass if it's the latter.
Dunno his deal. Maybe it's got to do with those bandages on his hands. They're all bloody. He hasn't had a haircut in too long. Me neither, but I'm a young turk and can get away with it. All my life.
I stop thinking about running my mouth up and down peasant's legs long enough to look at the end table by the window. Now, mind you, the view's just another building, but it lets in enough light to let the badly-attended plants grow their woody way. The table offers a chess game, but nobody wants to play someone who'll beat you, which means I can only play the staff and the staff only plays to identify with you and help you let your guard down. Only the ones who can beat me will play me, too, so I rarely play.
Compliments of Wyeth-Ayerst Pharma, as a gold star sticker on the cover tells us, is What's Wrong with Mommy, a children's depression coloring book. A quick glance round the ward reveals several walkers and no nintendos or fisher price little people. The book's a gas. Poor Mommy Mary sits around all day in her slippers and housecoat, her copy of Madam Magazine going unread on the nice new coffee table. Daddy William yells at her when he's not at work and not masturbating to gay porn in the basement. Mommy Mary calls Nana to tell her that life's just not worth living. No shit babe.
Of course this crap is told from the pov of the kids, lil Iago an' Desdemona. Why won't Mommy play with us? Why is Daddy yelling all the time? Why does he always smell so funny when he's smiling? Daddy eventually calls Doc who promptly explains to Family that Mommy is sick, but not in her intestines or uterus. Mommy's sick in the head. How can we help Mommy get better? Easy, she just needs some drugs. The kind Daddy gets from the thin young men with funny spots like chicken pox? No, Mommy needs my drugs. Mommy also needs to spend time with me, talking about how she wasted four years of college to burn away a life in devotion to a closet case and their two beautiful children. Mommy gets high off doc's works, and then all's well. The last two pages show Mommy, Daddy, Sissy, Bro, all happy in their happy home.
A couple of the pages show the two blank faced kids, 8 or 9 or 10, cooly touching each others' arms, declaring their woe and distress at Mommy's sad condition.
O Desdemona, why won't Mommy wipe my bottom?
Do not despair of cleanliness, o brother! I shall clean you with attention and love.
Truly I am blessed to have such a caring sister as you, O beauteous!
I keep trying to find continuity errors to make fun of, no luck. The lady who wrote this, the lady who suffered through the awful scourge of depression and made it back thanks to modern medicine (as the dedication tells us) clearly knows enough not to fuck up like that. The fireman in the firetruck always wears the same smile, same as the sun shining through the window. Clothes change, but these changes indicate the passage of time. Technically adept. Only funny thing is that on one page, the boy's wearing overalls. Two pages and a day later, the girl's wearing the same overalls.
O dearest darling sister, let us not fall from grace like mother!
Brother mine, we cannot!
Listen to mother, our time in life is precious and short, we cannot waste it. We do not know what will happen come the morrow. We may all die. Our knowledge and understanding of the world is thin and flimsy. Our knowledge of ourselves, of each other, is certain and true. Let us seek refuge from the terror round our lives in each other's arms.
Brother true! You cannot ask this of me!
Do not worry, do not defer. Do we not love unbreaking and true? Come now, let us cease from sorrow and taste sweet relief!
O Brother!
O Sister!
On Star Trek, Kirk would have some tasty green bitch in his cabin, he'd make googly eyes, and then cut to the next morning as he pulls on his boots. Loved those green bitches drenched in paint.
Doc and dude are now watching the Breaking News of a buffalo out in a field. "Isn't that amazing?" opines doc, dude sits motionless. Doc has to break it up now, has to go. She swishes her ass in a funny circle before she stands up. Not wholly erotic, it's mostly odd. She turns around and I see her face. I hate it when you wanna fuck someone from seeing them from behind and then you see their face. It's better not to. It's always better to see less. Walks past me. Dude's looking at her walk away, first he's moved in a half hour. He's giving his look to her back. If she really wanted to help him.
As soon as she leaves, my own doc rolls into the room, and we get up to go elsewhere. I see there's a wet spot on the couch next to dude.
As doc and I walk down the hall, an older black woman asks dude if he wants the tv turned up. I wonder what doc'd look like covered in green cum.