Everything I Like Causes Cancer

Where we've been convinced to write a new post on Dec. 2. Stay tuned!

2/10/2008

Oops! I did it again.

Posted by Gwen |

Just like every other time, I wake up on the beach, head throbbing, heart pounding, and half dead from dehydration. Clutched in my right hand is the requisite bottle of Jack Daniels.

Given how I feel I think it’s best if I just lay here and wait for her to show up. It usually takes her a while so sometimes, if I’m not feeling too bad, I’ll walk out to meet her. “She” is the infamous Ms. Britney Jean Spears. I’m not sure why it’s her but I think it has something to do with the booze.

Before all this craziness started her music would make me cringe like you do when the tip of your finger gets zapped by a spark of static electricity, one of those nasty blue ones that makes your fingernail hurt. Ugh, it seemed so vapid and tedious. But you know, she’s grown on me; I’ve even got a couple of her songs in my library now.

Nobody knows this because it’s all very Hush Hush, but K-Fed still loves her. Yup. He’s the one who arranged for her transport here. When it was clear that rehab and psych wards weren’t helping her, his heart shattered and he lost control. His momma’s Aunt Tootie is a fine Southern Baptist woman and when she learned that Her Favorite Baby Earl’s heart was broken, she defaulted on the Oath of Hush Hush and told Kevin about a program called The Southern Baptist Way To Get Your Shit Together Or Else.

Over time I’ve learned that TSBWTGYSTOE, a radical Southern Baptist rehab program, employs containment on this mangy cur of a deserted island and immersion into snake pits to heal The Afflicted. Once they’ve been contacted by a fellow Crazy Baptist in need of their rapturous assistance, they immediately dismiss The Afflicted’s entourage and clean up their messy bits like custody battles and bank accounts. After that, and quick as the green apple skitters, The Afflicted ends up here. They either get better or they get bitten.

As soon as Brit shows up on the beach, we head back. It’s always the same, we silently walk a mile back to the TSBWTGYSTOE campus. I’m being polite when I say this place is institutional and grim. Their only construction material is battle-ship grey metal. There is nothing to do and nothing to take your mind off that fact. There are no substances of any kind, including Pepsi and TV.

It takes about ten minutes for us to come within 100 yards of the campus. This is where she always turns to me curiously and says, “Where is it? Where’s that bottle of Jack? I can smell it. Hand it over or die, assface.” We scuffle around for a while and eventually she pulls a pocket knife on me.

The final act to this “Baby One More Time” nightmare has her raising her left hand high over her head and bringing the knife straight down with the intent of putting it in my right eye. It’s at this moment that I wake up on my kitchen floor. Every time. The first time it happened I soiled myself. No lie.

By now though, outside the inconvenience of not knowing when it’s going to happen, I don’t even break a sweat. I just roll with it. It only takes about an hour and I always make it back to my kitchen in one piece. On top of that, the pocket knife is some hair-brained contraption she slapped together with a butter knife blade and hangers. It fails to frighten me anymore.

In case you care, I believe I see improvement in her. Each subsequent attack is less angry than the last, and she gets to see the boys. Sean Preston and Jayden transport onto the island every time they make a number two, so she gets to see them several times a day. It’s nice but for all the pooping.

If you feel you need to take away some sort of moral of the story, it’s this: Don’t fuck with your local religious fanatic. You never know who they really might be, where you’ll end up or what might happen next.


# # #

NOTE: This is a story I wrote for the current Mystery Topic Challenge hosted by the Blog Ninjas. This challenge, #7, was to write a post using this scenario: You awaken to find yourself stranded on a deserted island with nothing but a pocket knife, a bottle of Jack Daniels, and Britney Spears. How did you get there, and what do you do now?

Please visit the Mystery Topic Challenge Blog to view all of the other entries. Once you've read them all, please be sure to vote HERE in the Sidebar for your favorite.

8 comments:

howmidugan said...

Good Lord, you DO work well under pressure! You're sure to win.

Jayne d'Arcy said...

Love it! This is really fantstic!

The Absurdist said...

You have a very original idea. I like it. I went with probability, and you went with creativity. Very nice!

Killer said...

Excellent! I like the ending, so full of hope and belief in her pulling it together. Such optimism.

The Absurdist said...

So, what exactly is TSBWTGYSTOE? I googled it to see if it was a real thing, and all I found was your blog..

I bet it stands for something hilarious!

Gwen said...

@Absurdist: Hee-hee! I made it up. It stands for "The Southern Baptist Way To Get Your Shit Together Or Else" - see the paragraph above the abbreviation.

MooPig_Wisdom said...

Heartbreaking as it all is, there is still two great commands we all must live by:
1) Always Pay full Price
2) And Charge List

It is like I have been waiting all my life to read your crux paragraph:

"Nobody knows this because it’s all very Hush Hush, but K-Fed still loves her. Yup. He’s the one who arranged for her transport here.
When it was clear that rehab and psych wards weren’t helping her, his heart shattered and he lost control.
His momma’s Aunt Tootie is a fine Southern Baptist woman and when she learned that Her Favorite Baby Earl’s heart was broken, she defaulted on the Oath of Hush Hush and told Kevin about a program called The Southern Baptist Way To Get Your Shit Together Or Else."


In your clash of scatological entities, I can think of no greater reason to exist than this oath among family members... isn't that intuitively typical to default on the oath of hush hush, to put a bandaid on one's favorite boy's heart. Money, cash on the barrel, or the love of it surely cures everything... including Kfed's hemorrhoids ...or does it.

There is more to life, isn't there... you seem to be asking. More than just money and scat... I am thinking of the source of harmonious living, rather the: VLRTPSEFIAH -- that is moderated in Lynchville, VA by Jonathan Falwell, son of Jerry, and heir to the throne.

I think you speak of Southern Comfort along with that Jack Daniels. You, Gwen, have overcome in the end:

"By now though, outside the inconvenience of not knowing when it’s going to happen, I don’t even break a sweat. I just roll with it. It only takes about an hour and I always make it back to my kitchen in one piece. On top of that, the pocket knife is some hair-brained contraption she slapped together with a butter knife blade and hangers. It fails to frighten me anymore."

What a relief! Sometimes we must soil ourselves before we can accept our situation. Thanks for letting me in to your "nevermind,"
MooPig

Jayne d'Arcy said...

Congratulations, Gwen! You are the winner of MTC #7. You'll get to choose our next topic, so get thinking.

Subscribe