Monday, June 14, 2004

bad revelation

Mrs. Rogstadt's fleshy form looms over my tiny, second-grader self. As usual, my teacher is livid.

"Please write this two hundred times, Mr. Kim: I MUST SMOKE BETTER WEED FROM NOW ON!"

My lower lip trembles. "But, Mrs. Rogstadt, I don't wanna--"

"WRITE IT! And get ready for your punishment." She starts hiking up her skirt, about to reveal the fatty, hairy nightmare beneath: the thing John Leguizamo referred to as "the coochie." I give an audible whimper. This seems to excite her.

"Reach in there and get the chalk!" My trembling hand starts forward--

At that moment, I scream and wake up.

Thank God.

I look around.

I'm at home, not in the classroom.

All that happened yesterday.

I have a week before the nightmare begins again.

At that moment, I scream and wake up.

A dog is gnawing my balls. It's growling, but the growl is English.

"Check yourrrrrrr emaillllll, asshooooollllllllle," the dog growls as it finishes off the right testicle.

I check it and see a message from Justin Yoshida, re: my so-called Tarantino revelation:


You assume incorrectly about Revelation #1 today:

TM (interviewer): I'm wondering why you changed the name of the girl force from Fox Force Five, in Pulp Fiction, to DiVAS in Kill Bill?

QT (dorky white guy, AKA "god" in certain circles): Well, the thing is, as similar as they are to each other, they are different. Fox Force Five were crime fighters. They were secret agents. The Deadly Vipers are NOT secret agents! They are killers! But the idea is very, very similar. It's like the flipside.


So, as punishment you must feed the 'pede some foreskin. Yours, natch. Photos, yes. Today sentence fragments good.

Bye now.

I look down at the dog, which has chewed everything off and is still looking for something to grab out of my crotch. Obviously, I have no foreskin to contribute. My crotch is a gaping, bloody maw. It's like a scene from John Carpenter's version of "The Thing." Any second now, alien tentacles are going to shoot out of my crotch and strangle the dog. They don't. The dog sees my wishful expression and reads my mind. It laughs. But not a growling laugh: the dog sounds exactly like Hillary Clinton.

At that moment, I scream and wake up.

I dreamed I was a butterfly, but when I woke up, I was just a man getting his balls chewed off by a dog that speaks English. I blink sleep out of my eyes and turn on the TV. It's a porno: Chuang-tzu is going down on some tanned, long-haired California blonde, and she's lovin' it.

At that moment, I scream and wake up.


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