I eat bark and drink piss. But when I sit down for a meal, it resembles croutons and diet soda. I’ve had a lot of ideas in my days. I know that shoes don’t float. And people ask me a lot of questions. Are you capable of smiling? Well I don’t know, are you capable of frowning?
The other day instead of bark and piss, I ate all the cotton candy they had. I reached that point where there’s so much sweetness you want to throw up and I didn’t stop. The vomit looked better this time. More functional, as if I could dry it out a bit and reshape it into fluffy sugar puffs. Or at least scoop it up and feed it to the neighbor kid.
That kid never stops dancing around with his ice cream. The chocolate drops cover the sidewalk and I know that’s why girls never call me back. What kind of girl dates a guy who has a sidewalk in front of his house stained with chocolate ice cream? It doesn’t say much about my cleanliness. Or my character. I’m sure they think everything in my life is stained with chocolate ice cream: my ceiling, my robe, my furnace. She’d come over, go to wash her hands, and chocolate ice cream would pour out instead of water. I’d go to grab a towel to help but it’d be covered in chocolate ice cream. Then she’d go to leave but she’d slip, fall, and crack her skull open. All because that damn kid dropped chocolate ice cream all over my floor.
So after cleaning up the girl’s body and all the chocolate ice cream, I decided to go say hello to the kid. Shake his hand. Ask him if he’d stop dripping his chocolate ice cream all over my sidewalk. I’d tell him that I wanted to live my life free of chocolate ice cream because a girl I loved once died slipping on it. He’d have to understand.
I walked over to the neighbor kid’s house with a carton of cigarettes and a box of cereal. I figured I’d introduce myself with a gift. I’d only watched the kid from my house for the past year since moving in. One piece of bark lasts a long time and the human body makes its own piss. I never have to leave. When the kid answered the door, I asked him to please stop dripping his chocolate ice cream all over my sidewalk. I made sure to mention the girl. With a forced smile on my face, I waited for a response but he only stood there, licking away at his chocolate ice cream as it dripped down his hands, onto the doorstep and his bare feet.
Dissatisfied and becoming enraged, I refused to leave my gift of cigarettes and cereal. The next time I saw the kid, I ran out and grabbed him. I brought him into my house and strapped him into a chair. I put two hooks in his mouth, one around his upper jaw and one around his lower. These were attached to a pulley system so I could wrench up and down until his mouth stayed open. I told him I didn’t like his chocolate ice cream on my sidewalk. Then I began eating cotton candy again until that point where there’s so much sweetness you want to throw up and I didn’t stop. I threw up into the kid’s mouth until he choked to death.
Afterwards, I cleaned up the kid’s body and the cotton candy vomit. Not a minute later I received a call from a girl. I picked up for dinner and I suggested croutons and diet soda. She loved it. Then she asked if we could get dessert. I told her we could get anything she wanted. She said she’d been craving chocolate ice cream all day. It didn’t take much vomit to get rid of her, but I’m starting to get sick of cotton candy.