THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 11 ================================================================= THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S -- The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation ================================================================= Here we go with episode eleven. My Glub, but so much has happened in only twenty-four hours! Miss Kooky and Mikey, the tard wannabe (you should see his tard act -- hilarious), came to visit. We were going to straighten out my computer setup and try to conserve a little space in this cramped room, but, you know us girls and Mikey, we just Had a Good Time and didn't do shit. Then, as threatened, matriarchal Auntie Lenore, that terrible motorcycle dyke Bobbi Hatch, and the Scourge of Binghamton John Hollister showed up. We immediately adjourned to the patio outside the tard dining hall, the more to be looked upon and envied by those who have no life. The company was amused by the sight of little old men who drive wheelchairs backward until they run into something that squawks and little old ladies who sit there chewing even when they have no food. Auntie Lenore is much as I had envisioned her, though I do find her more forceful in her posts than in person. Lenore charmingly combines the best qualities of auld auntee and net nanny in one little package. It is difficult to think of her as one who could grow a vaginal plum. Bobbi is everything you could want in a mean-ass diesel dyke. "Mister" Hatch is scruffy to a fault and has a really bad hormone problem which results in a luxurious (for a woman) beard. I regret Mr Cheez was not in attendance so he could show us how well he quivers in the presence of such assertive persons of the lesbian persuasion. Such a meeting would also have been informative for the male concubine he's living with at present. The CUUUUUUUUUUUTE guy was John Hollister who makes us look like mere pretenders to whoredom. I couldn't believe he has so many miles on his cock. You know Mikey from the Quaker cereal commercial, the one who eats anything? Well, maybe Hollister eats anything -- whatever -- he looks like the sort of kewl guy Mikey would grow up to be. We were playing kneesies back in my room in front of Auntie, Bobbi, Glub and everybody! Need I say I WANT HIM!? i want to dig my nails into his back the worst way possible. On to the food this morning. There is not a great deal more to talk about in a tardfarm than the food and what it turns into. We had pancakes for breakfast. To make matters worse, they had some of that Glubdamn hash left over and plopped it next to today's pancakes. The pancakes reeked, so I sent the whole plate away again. I have had hash that was enjoyable. I don't categorically hate it, but most hash is an excuse to use up stuff which ought to have been dumped in the first place. Take good corned beef (not the gelatinous fatty CRAP they use here) and dice potato not cooked to mush, combine and liberally anoint with Heinz Ketchup. Divine. But reconstituted Alpo? -- no thanks! I don't eat food that looks the same as it did when the dawg ate it the first time. Nursey-poo went to the kitchen and got me fried eggs and toast. Still more brown bread. The eggs had a crunchy edge to them and were quite brown underneath. I stuck my fork in one and the whole egg came up from the plate by virtue of the strength of the overcooked edge. What is it with institutional cooks that they have to fry eggs at 500 degrees in three seconds? I didn't send these back. I know when I'm fucked. This place charges a minimum of 90-plus dollars a DAY, more if they can get it. When a place charges as much or more than the going rate in many areas for a fucking HOTEL room, I think their cooking ought to match that of a Ramada Inn or at least a fucking Denny's! Mr Cheez brought my mail the other day. Among the mostly junk mail was a pair of diskuses from CompuSwerve. Mr Cheez thought it would be neat for me to install their warez, create a fake account, and get on and fuck with people in the alt.support heirarchy. We proceeded so to do. I never did get it to work. I have since been kindly cautioned about their lousy software. What it did was screw up the winsock driver so my Agent99 wouldn't work. Without that, and without any real knowledge of UNIX, I would have no way to upload the St Timmy's crap. Well, sistah-girlfren Kooky and I figgered out how to fix it, so no real damage was done. We just lost time farting around with it is all. But you unnerstan there are now two very pissed-off queens who would like to stumpfuck the CEO of CompuSwerve... Miss Kooky probably would not want to join me in the Land of Stumpdom, but might consent to put her size 13 up his ass just the same. No sooner had I finished answering email from all my loyal fans (you know who you are ) than Ralph, the fay social worker comes in here and drags my wideass to another Glubdamn meeting. I have to say that the girl maybe cain't he'p it but she got some wiiiiide booty on her bee-hine her _bad_ se'f! This time the daughter of the owner is interviewing the few, the proud, the cognitive, on patient/tardfarm issues. She was especially interested in abuses by staff. Alas, I have not found any sadists. There is one nurse on the afternoon crew who has potential. Remember the huge black actress Jean somebody-or-other in John Waters's Desperate Living movie? This one could be cast for the remake. I think if she were poked several times with a sharp stick, it would motivate her sufficiently to make even Mr Cheez suffer properly! Glub knows he loves abuse; he steadfastly continues to visit me. How tasteless can you be? I luv oo Cheezy. Hurry up an' get over that bad nasty cold so's I can kiss you and freak the nurses. =================================================================