Miracle, The Shining
After he dumped me, I would go out and drink screwdrivers and have sex with strangers on an alarmingly regular basis. One night I came home and puked into the toilet. I gripped the cold porcelain, trying to catch my breath, my glitter make-up mixing with my tears in little rivulets down my cheeks. I know this is going to sound gross, or possibly like a lie, but I cried so hard that an undigested corn niblet came out of my nose. When I felt it happening, I stood up on my shaky legs and rhinestone-encrusted stiletto heels and peered into the medicine-cabinet mirror at my sparkly sad face. I snorted the corn niblet fully out of my nose and into my hand and thought about how I didn’t even think that was scientifically possible. Maybe it isn’t scientifically possible — maybe it’s a miracle, like when the Virgin Mary’s image appears on a grilled-cheese sandwich that someone puts up for sale on eBay. I thought about selling the puked-out-my-nose corn niblet on eBay, and then my too-practical mind started wondering what sort of shipping rate to charge for such a thing, and then I looked in the mirror and laughed, because for the moment I had forgotten about him.
The Flabbergasted Jabberwocks, The Shining
(whistling a jaunty tune) Alright! It’s the Flabbergasted Jabberwocks, everyone’s favorite ragtag, time-travelin’, planet-hoppin’ basketball team from the future! (more jaunty whistling) High-five, rise-n-shine! There’s Charles DuBotte, maestro of the three-point shot – and known far and wide for his clown-shoe stride. (audience laughter as Charles scrambles down the court in a pair of oversized red bozo shoes) There’s Bluejay Bonair, point-guard extraordinaire — who can slam-dunk a punk before you can get a skunk drunk. (thunderous applause as Bluejay leaps up high to pound the ball through the hoop and then does the splits, his signature celebration move) There’s MC McSquibbles, who dashes and dribbles… and don’t be mistaken–this man loves his bacon. (laughter as MC McSquibbles fires up a grill right there at half-court and strips of bacon sizzle) Alright, dyna-mite!
A real nail-biter, Eddy and the Passion of the Christ
State College lost to the University of School in a game that I’d describe as a nail-biter if I hadn’t lost all of my nails during the war. So let’s forget about that and get back to me, okay? I didn’t call you into my office to read you the sports page. What I want to tell you, Oscar, is that I dated this girl Emily last week and she never called me back. Never called me back! Can you believe that shit? Anyway, I decided to follow the dictates of Mr. Spike Lee and do the right thing, videlicet [he pronounced it like “wee-day-lie-kit”], committing suicide. I ingested the contents of two 100-count bottles of Vitamin C and waited. The death throes were long in the coming, much like yours truly in the sack [here he elbowed me in the ribs, whereupon I offered a weak “ha ha ha” to show him that I cared deeply about what he had to say], and the only real consequence of my malfeasance was a pounding headache.
My one true dream in life, Eddy and the Passion of the Christ
It’s funny, you’d think realizing your one true dream in life would be a watershed… pivotal moment in/on/whatever the greatest hits compilation of your life, but I just realized my dream a minute ago and I’ve already forgotten what I was doing when it happened. At least I remember my dream, though, which is as follows: That someone will read this whole thing and understand and we’ll be friends and love each other. Then we’ll get married and move to some quaint, progressive town in Maine or New Hampshire or something and I’ll be an English teacher and you’ll be a waitress at a coffee shop and you’ll look “cute” in your uniform which will be one of those old-fashioned ones, naturally,
Crying. Crying. I heard crying!
and I’ll come in every now and again and drink coffee even though I don’t really like coffee that much and be friendly but shy with your coworkers and grade papers or something while you’re working and when you’re on your break we’ll sit and drink coffee together and talk about how our days have been going and how much we’re looking forward to something, because God I want something to look forward to. We’ll do this for a while and then we’ll gradually stop. We’ll see less of each other for one reason or another and basically become more like friends who sleep together and fuck when so inclined and we’ll carry on about our business. I don’t know that we’ve fallen out of love. I think it’s more like we know it was and is there so we can feel it whenever we want to.
The Papa Bear, The Passion of the Christ
The papa bear hoped his wife had gotten him a rimjob for the religious holiday. He so wanted a rimjob. The kids had gotten their basketball hoops and athletic wear or dolls or whatever and he’d gotten his wife some piece of jewelry he’d picked at random, so where was his fucking rimjob, man? He was tired of this shit, which is why, in a crowded convenience mart, wearing a black nylon jacket and sporting a heavily-gelled ‘do or ‘doo or however it’s spelled, he saw fit to say, “Tired of this fucking shit.” So “tired of this fucking shit” was he that he neglected to even preface the statement with “I’m.” He wanted to get the statement out there so badly that it was so fucking terse, man, whined the guy who masturbated to some quality he referred to as “terseness.” I just jacked off to it, man. I couldn’t take it. That was the most terse shit I’ve ever seen, man.