The other evening I was lying in bed thinking...
About the dead lightbulb that I need to replace in my living room lamp.
About the way that I’m petrified of possum, but completely enamored with coyotes.
About the fact that I have this strange gray hair that keeps growing on my earlobe.
About how I cannot live without ice-cream.
About the merry transvestite who used to live across the hall from me.
About how bored I am with reality television.
About my years trapped in suburbia.
About acne.
About my life when I was a Catholic altar boy.
And then I bolted up and realized that Father O’Brien owes me $8.00. That son-of-a-devil stiffed me out of money when I worked a double-whammy funeral and wedding some twenty-eight years ago.
I remember it clearly. The funeral was first, and then the wedding. When it was all over he told me he had $8.00 for me, but would pay me later. Later never came, but days later he suddenly was driving a new Dodge with all the amenities.
So wherever you are, Father O’Brien, know that I haven’t forgotten. And when I get to the Pearly Gates, and I will, I will make sure that you get arrested and sent to purgatory for eight years; one year for each buck you owe me.
And as a gesture of Christian generosity I won’t demand extra years for interest I could’ve earned from the money.
About the dead lightbulb that I need to replace in my living room lamp.
About the way that I’m petrified of possum, but completely enamored with coyotes.
About the fact that I have this strange gray hair that keeps growing on my earlobe.
About how I cannot live without ice-cream.
About the merry transvestite who used to live across the hall from me.
About how bored I am with reality television.
About my years trapped in suburbia.
About acne.
About my life when I was a Catholic altar boy.
And then I bolted up and realized that Father O’Brien owes me $8.00. That son-of-a-devil stiffed me out of money when I worked a double-whammy funeral and wedding some twenty-eight years ago. I remember it clearly. The funeral was first, and then the wedding. When it was all over he told me he had $8.00 for me, but would pay me later. Later never came, but days later he suddenly was driving a new Dodge with all the amenities.
So wherever you are, Father O’Brien, know that I haven’t forgotten. And when I get to the Pearly Gates, and I will, I will make sure that you get arrested and sent to purgatory for eight years; one year for each buck you owe me.
And as a gesture of Christian generosity I won’t demand extra years for interest I could’ve earned from the money.
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