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I'll Remember It Well
Written on 2002-12-20, at 1:58 a.m.

dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

1 Turkey Sandwich

1 Shredded Pork BBQ Sandwich

1 Bowl Baked Beans

1 Order Mac and Cheese

7 Mint Hershey's Kisses

1 12.oz Sprite

2 Fried Chicken Breasts

1 Small Salad w/Bleu Cheese Dressing

1 Medium Cherry Limeade

1 Sonic #2 Burger

1 Box Godiva Raspberry Biscuits

John Live*

God, how I love thee, Urban Outfitters.

*Not at all live...

After careful consideration, and extensive thought on the subject, I have relegated myself to the fact that I shall spend the rest of my years alone, without a shred of sanity to my name. 

Sometime after the age of twenty-five, I will finally accept the fact that no one in this world will ever be patient enough to deal with my neuroses.

In my thirties, I find hope, and enter into a five-year string of doomed relationships, which lead me to relinquish all my worldly possessions, and flee to a small, nondescript cottage in Key West.

I grow fat.

Very fat.

I rise at 7am every morning to bathe, and cover my enormous body with an oversized muu-muu adorned with an eye-wrenching floral print. 

I sit, rocking, on my front porch, smoking out of a crinkled pack of American Spirits, and I position my oscillating fan so as to blow away the ashes dramatically. 

A gaudy, golden medallion of indeterminable origin floats on top of  a patch of matted, white chest hair, similar to that growing thickly from my ears.

Groups of students walk by on their way to school, and I shout things at them. Nothing encouraging, nothing disparaging, I simply shout for the sake of shouting.

By noon, I am drunk.

I don a hat, and leave my home. 

The hat is made of straw, tattered, and has a faded lavender ribbon attached to it which hangs limply from the back, like a pastel pony tail. 

I will call this my "Shopping Hat", while in reality I found it on a beach, discarded one summer afternoon by a long departed Argentinean tourist named Hortensia.

I have a Vespa. 

This mode of transportation is counterproductive to me, as it strains and sputters under my weight, moving me along at a parade pace down Duval Street. 

At the grocery, I will buy things simply because they come into my line of vision.

Cereal, pomegranates, tampons, birthday candles...

All equally likely to end up a part of my final purchase.

At some point, I have acquired a large lizard. 

He is old, green, and peeling.

I sit in Mallory Square peddling blurry Polaroids to tourists of them holding the reptile. 

After the sun goes down, I will steal away to a gay bar, where I will sit, drinking gimlets, and winking at young men.

More than once will I be asked if I'm having a seizure. 

I make my way home, and prepare a meal consisting of various meats, cheeses, and more than one brand of mayonnaise on white bread.

This is washed down with a Diet Coke.

And gin.

There is a cat who doesn't actually live with me, but she makes her way in and out of the house as she pleases.

She follows me up to bed, where she rests next to my thigh.

I am watching reruns of "Everybody Loves Raymond".

As I relax, I become violently flatulent, prompting the cat to dig at the sheets, in a vain attempt to bury the smell.

I sleep until the next day.

Be well...


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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