Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

Tammi G and a Season in Hell: Part II

Oh god.  What was happening?  Tammi sped up, braked, and turned for what seemed like an hour before we arrived at the mall’s parking garage.  She found a spot, jerked the emergency brake up, got out of the vehicle, and slammed the door shut.  I had barely escaped the ‘Stang, but Tammi was already on my side of the car manhandling me.  She clenched my left wrist and dragged me forward to…..Jesus…..Forever 21.  We approached the entrance doors as a crone in her mid-sixties began walking out with three shopping bags.  I held the door open for her, and she squinted over at me.  I suggested she have a nice day, and this must have triggered her in some way because her squint turned into a possessed, frantic stare.  Her eyes glazed over, and she bared and gnashed her teeth.  She didn’t move her lips, but I heard a screeching voice whiz by my ear that said, “I am the slave of my baptism.  Parents, you have been my undoing and your own.  Poor innocent!—Hell has no power over pagans.”  I gulped while Tammi impatiently pushed me through the gates.  I was legitimately terrified now. 

Surveying the clientele didn’t subdue my fear any; every rabid and tacky forty-two year-old zombie on earth was crawling around the floors of this decrepit Temple of Doom.  Tammi was still wearing her swimsuit with the side cut-outs as she barreled her way through the loathsome crowd, and grabbed every fucking hideous clothing item in sight.  I wanted to kill her.  An unwanted soft voice in my head burst into song: “In low dives where we’d get drunk, he used to weep for those around us, cattle of misery.  O seasons, O castles!  What soul is without sin?”  I was beginning to feel sick now.  “Let no one come near me,” I thought with some tired resistance.  “I must smell scorched I’m sure.”  Things were already spiraling out of control for me, but Tammi still felt pretty raw about her car’s white interior, so she forced me to help hold her enormous stack of clothes while waiting in line behind three dozen Undeads or so.  I gazed across the store at one of the mannequins that was positioned like she was about to take a dump through the bootie shorts she was wearing, and felt jealous.

I felt like I was stuck halfway through a chimney by the time it was Tammi’s turn to try on her chosen apparel.  The dressing room attendant, with a name tag that said ‘Arthur’ on it, looked at her selection and said, “Oh these look cute!  How many items do you have with you….How many items?”  Tammi and I fumbled through the pile of garments in our arms, trying to make a tally.  Out of nowhere, Arthur leaned into me, pinched my bicep with his cold fingers, and expressed, “I do not like women: love must be reinvented, that’s obvious.  A secure position is all they’re capable of desiring now.  Criminals disgust like castrates; as for me, I am intact, and I don’t care.” I nudged Tammi to see if she heard any of that, but her eyes were drawn to the Shiny Objects section across the store.  She dropped every ‘item’ right in front of the attendant’s feet, and stormed over toward the accessories.  I gave Arthur a look of embarrassment and handed him my pile before ambling after Tammi.

Standing there in front of the fucking-ugly-cheap-ass-bangle bin, Tammi looked at me maliciously, and swooped every piece of jewelry into her giant shopping bag.  She started heading toward the registers, but I ran around and stopped her in her tracks.  “Listen here, you piece of shit.  The lipstick will come out of your seat if we clean it soon.  You have tortured me enough today….I have swallowed a monstrous dose of poison.—Thrice blessed be the counsel that came to me!—My entrails are on fire….Now, uh, let’s go!”  Tammi understood.  Her game was over.  She dropped the bag, and we headed out of the gates.  

I spoke not one word to my best friend the entire car ride back to my apartment.  Didn’t wave goodbye to her as I exited the car; didn’t care if she hit a fucking tree on her way out of my parking lot.   My living room was dark, just how I wanted it.  I plopped down on the couch and cracked open a beer.  I took two swigs and considered calling a mental institution because I wasn’t sure if anything I experienced that day was real.  However, I have finished, I think, the tale of my hell.  It was really hell; the old hell, the one whose doors were opened by the son of man.

Tammi G and a Season in Hell: Part I

It’s summertime!, so last week, Tammi Gymnastics and I decided to go swimming.  About ten minutes after we arrived at the public pool, we got kicked out by a fifteen year-old lifeguard.  Typically, Tammi doesn’t follow anyone’s orders except for mine on occasion, but the tan son-of-a-bitch looked serious when he threatened to call the cops for lewdness, and Tammi already had a court date coming up for a similar offense.  “Fine, mother fucker,” she said dismissively, as she slipped her wet feet back into her sky-high sling-back pumps.  I frankly was pissed off we didn’t get to swim longer, so as Tammi squished by in her heels, I grabbed her leopard-print swimsuit from behind and gave her an atomic wedgie.  She didn’t really seem to mind, so I quit being a bitch, and helped her adjust her suit back to normal. 

“Honey, I need you to drive so I can reapply my makeup,” Tammi directed when we approached her car.  I was midway through putting on my potato sack dress over my bikini, so Tammi didn’t notice the massive smile that spread across my face.  “No problem,” I squawked as she handed me the keys.  “Let’s go to my apartment and mix some drinks.”  I took a moment to size up Tammi’s car.  It was an ’88 blue Mustang convertible with white stripes, white leather interior and a tape deck.  This muscle car only had 44,000 miles on it, and was in mint condition since it had been garage-kept most of its life.  It’s the type of fine machinery that requires lines of coke on the dashboard at all times while parked, and two Dobermans sitting stoically in the back seat wearing diamond-studded collars and sunglasses for good measure (just kidding about the diamonds, gross).  I raised my eyebrows with lust while I pet the cobalt hood encasing the pristine V-8 engine…..fuck, this car was so choice.  After I stopped drooling and both of us were in the car, I put in a Mariah Carey cassette and sped out of the parking lot.

On the freeway, I worked into my routine of weaving in and out of traffic.  I was gaining good rhythm when all of a sudden I got a strange feeling that someone was following us.  After inspecting the rearview mirror, I reckoned the highway patrol wasn’t anywhere nearby, but I sped up anyway.  Tammi finished smearing on her eyeliner – which looked sort of crooked – and glanced over at me and smiled.  She didn’t seem to think anything was wrong or off, so I calmed down a little and started singing along to the tape:  “Well, I guess I’m tryin’ to beeee nonchalant about it.  Goin’ to extreeemes to prove I’m fine without ‘cha.  But in reality IIIIIII’m slowly losin’ my miiiiiind…”  God bless Mariah.  God bless Mariah while speeding recklessly.  I was nearing the exit, and Tammi decided I didn’t need to pay as much attention to driving as I was, so she tapped me on the shoulder to show me her applying-lipstick-with-the-cleavage trick.  Nice.  Already been done on a certain 80s-movie-I-won’t-name-because-if-you-don’t-know-the-reference-you-had-a-suppressed-childhood-and-I-feel-bad-now twenty some-odd years ago, but nice.

While I started letting down the gas towards the freeway exit, something abruptly whispered into my ear:  “Make the city eat its dust.  Oxidize the waterspouts.  Fill boudoirs with the burning powder of rubies…The air of Hell will tolerate no hymns!”  I slammed my foot on the brake, and Tammi’s lipstick tube popped out of her swimsuit and landed in between her legs onto the white leather seat.  “What tha fuck d’ya think you’re do-win’!?” Tammi screamed.  She ordered me to pull over and get in the passenger side.  This woman next to me was livid.  I fucked with her car, and now I was going to pay.  Instead of Bourbon-and-Cokes at my place, she informed me we would be going to........THE MALL....................to be continued...................

 

Rap Bear

For those of you that would have guessed that this is my favorite writer on alcoholism:

You are wrong. In my eyes that coveted title belongs to none other than Richard C. Langsen, the guy that penned this: