Genteel Readers,
Like many of my fellow literati I have often pondered what the end of the world might entail, and what any prophesies regarding such might mean. The banal prefer to think of the apocalypse as widespread barbarism and destruction, but one must remember these same people have similar philosophical approaches to things such as music (as in ROCK music or gangster rap,) dining (non-organic foods purchased at non-artisan grocery stores,) or entertainment (watching television when reading the likes of Tolstoy or Dickens can provide literal hours [LOL!] of entertainment for pennies in the bargain-bin at the local Barnes & Noble.) I prefer to think of the apocalypse in terms of it's original meaning, which loosely translates to "world enlightenment," and hoped the noble Aztecs in their infinite wisdom before disappearing behind the veil of matter into the next world were simply indicating the moment at which the crazily acting, brutish assholes of the world would finally get their due, leaving the more refined and genteel person to his organic chamomile tea and Virgina Slims (I am pleased to report I am already up to two packs per day and have never felt more creative nor at peace, and the gas station pumpmistress has finally forgiven me for pointing out that she was smoking whilst pregnant out of wedlock, more on her later though! I have certainly become quite the squalor buff through my association with her!)
Last night, however, I was afraid the neckbeards were correct about the impending destruction of the world. I sat wrapped in my threadbare quilt, thumb in mouth, cigarette dangling out the corner of of my lips (I mastered this feat of oral dexterity quicker than one would expect,) sitting on a lawn chair on my back porch in the freezing cold, as Katie has been sneering at me in a condescending manner every time I smoke in the house. Every time I saw an airplane or heard a car in the distance, my wild creativity turned against me and told me it was some kind of UFO from outer space, or perhaps the first salvo of a barrage of nuclear cruise missiles, or a tank - you get the idea. I was terrified all because I had listened to the wrong kinds of people and allowed myself to become convinced that some horrible end was nigh.
Concomitant with my anxiety and the subsequent need to smoke my 'Slims, (yes, I call them that now! Kitschy, yes yes?!) combined with the early hours of the morning and all the exercise I had received that day from pacing to and fro in my house while smoking, I fell asleep. In the cold. On my back porch. Lit cigarette loosely dangling from my lips. As you might assume, my quilt is made of what? That's right, 100% natural organic cotton fibers sourced from fair trade plantations from some delightfully ethnic corner of the world which escapes my memory at the moment. Due to my sensitivity to all things unnatural, I ensured it had NOT been treated with cancer-inducing, flame retardardant chemicals as I knew straight away that I was going to find a corner and suck on it along with my thumb as I have been wont to do since I was a child. Since I've had it for a few years, it has acquired a great deal of natural oils (one should NEVER wash their security quilt,) and so naturally, when the lit cigarette fell upon it in my slumber it ignited quite violently. Apparently, though the shell itself was cotton, the stuffing was a polyester of some variety, because it burned and melted itself to me as I woke.
And so, I awoke to flames tickling my chin, and without a split second of hesitation reacted, running as fast I could to extinguish the flames. Apparently I need to work on my sprints, because the fire grew in intensity despite my efforts. Surprisingly, the incident ended when I slipped in one of puppy bear's delicate shits Katie had neglected to pick up, and landed on my lawn in a hiss as as the frozen turf quenched the flames. I sat there, stunned, then deeply angry at Katie for her sloth and irresponsibility. So of course I went stomping over to her room and knocked loudly on the door. Ricardo told me to go away, so I knocked even louder and demanded an audience with my ridiculous trollop of a spouse. She came to the door with her usual sneer, and her eyes widened in horror when she saw me wrapped in a smoking, damp quilt smeared with mud, dog shit, and grass stains.
I unwrapped myself and hurriedly shoved it into her hands. "Wash this! At once!" I bellowed. She sneered again and shoved the blanket back at me, which was very rude of her. But then I realized I was right - about the apocalypse. I was finally saying what was on my mind without inhibition! As the literary enlightened emissary of the world, my heart has been freed to ask - nay - DEMAND I receive that which I justly deserve. First of course on my own behalf, but eventually on behalf of all of you, the little people. This was a moment as significant as the transfiguration of Jesus, and I anticipate my writing will start to become brutally honest and edgier as I develop this powerful spiritual gift and spend further time smoking cigarettes at the gas station in the company of the pumpmistress. (She can swear like you wouldn't believe, and I may just start doing it too as an experiment in colloquial expression!) Eventually, I am certain the fruits of my labor will change the world along with the collective human consciousness. And, you will note there was little violence and destruction in the world today!
Aside from my quilt, which I have thrown in the trash to shame Katie. When she sees me without it, she will be overcome with remorse and do as I ask. I just know it!
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