THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 23 ================================================================= THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S -- The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation ================================================================= This is episode 23. Should I stop at 25? I'm currently not in a position to go smelling around in the diaper pails to get the hot poop on much of anything. The mystery of the missing finger pricker [heh heh heh heh he said 'prick'] has been solved. I wrote one of my famous letters. This time it goes to Miss Ralph who can deal with it or not deal with it as she chooses. Whatever happens, I am upset enough to leave this dump whether I'm really deemed ready to go or not. Paul Ess Post Office Box 00000 Oakland, California 94600-0000 email 'pauless@rahul.net' 8 July 1996 Ms Queerella Ralph, Social Services St Timmy's Tard Farm 1234 Stinkpot Road Weirdville, California 94500 Dear Ms Ralph, This news just in: My Penlet II finger pricker turned up. It got made up in the bed clothes. I've been here a little over a month now. I've had time to see how everything works. Outside of intense one-time provocations I've attempted to keep my bitching to a minimum. Some things might be fixable. Others may not. 1. I was promised weeks ago that a string would be replaced on the light switch over my bed. To date there is no such string. 2. Everyone claims the organization seeks to make this a home- like environment for the residents. a. I never lived in a place where maintenance men stroll in and out without permission. I may be mistaken, but I don't recall being informed my room was the passage from the outback to the leftward part of this wing. b. No one would dare walk into my own bedroom at half past four in the morning to wake me up to ask if I need something. In no case would they be allowed to shine a flashlight in my face and mutter, "Just checking." Just checking _what_? I do appreciate having my urinal emptied in the night, but this is no reason to wake me. Urinals should be rinsed when emptied. If I need other assistance in the night I will ask for it. c. Your med cart nurses mostly know by now not to wake me for a BG test before six o'clock. With Mr Salazar and Mr Chinque and Franny hollering all the time, it's quite difficult to get a long period of unbroken sleep. d. Both bathroom doors should be kept closed at all hours so I don't have to listen to Mr Chinque lecture people who aren't there. e. You have looked at this solenoid in the small electrical enclosure on the wall outside my room. No one seems to know what, if anything, it does except buzz from sunset to dawn. Having that thing resonating in the wall all night is like trying to sleep next to a noisy refrigerator. Why don't you disconnect a couple of wires and see if it actually _does_ anything, or, rather, if something doesn't happen that should. 3. Let's talk about the food. I have some definite preferences in food. I'm listing the likes and dislikes which are strong enough to cause me to reject all or part of a meal. I am loath to run a CNA back to the kitchen. More often I will ignore the tray. I am in no danger whatever of starving. a. I hate garlic like Glub hates sin. I don't like onion much more. The aroma comes out in my output, solid and liquid, and I tend to reek from it. I couldn't kill the taste with enough ketchup to eat the meatloaf. Most meat here is the same way. b. One item this kitchen does well is potato when the potato is real. When the potato comes out of a box it tastes to me exactly like plaster. I will not eat it. Kentucky Fried Buzzard, for example, must be doing something right because their mashed potato is instant and doesn't have that awful limestone taste. c. I have upon ocassion asked for a hamburger. What I got was a large meatball. There is a difference. Hamburger has a coarse texture and is not usually seasoned and most assuredly does not come with onion bits mixed up in it. When I want meat I want to taste meat; not somebody's herb garden. d. I hate ordinary brown bread. I do like variety breads such as soda bread and white bread made with unbleached flour. Mr Cheez said I was full of it if I thought I could tell the difference between ordinary brown bread and ordinary white bread. We did a blindfold test. I had no doubt which was which and now he knows that too. How come we don't have any interesting dark bread such as pumpernickel or rye? e. The only meal at which I will drink milk is breakfast. I do not appreciate skim milk, especially when it, too, comes out of a box. I am unlikely to consume milk at the same meal with meat. This is not a gesture at Kosher, it is a matter of aesthetics. f. The coffee is quite adequate. I would like to drink more of it at meals. g. Deep Six the "diabetic" cookies. They have the flavor, texture and charm of ground-up paper egg carton. I prefer nothing over a lousy substitute. h. Putting frozen vegetable bits in Jell-O to make "aspic" doesn't work. Strangely, finely chopped cabbage in lime gelatin does work. Maybe the awfulness of each cancels out the other. i. I love eggs. What is this watery yellow stuff that bleeds all over the plate and sogs up the toast? I bet they came out of a box after they came out of the chicken... Don't send me artificial scrambled eggs. Your poached eggs are really hard- boiled eggs sans shell. You overcook them. j. Why have you stopped putting a pepper packet on the tray? k. Can we have plain vegetables, not all mixed up in odd combinations, and not put out with an ice cream scoop? 4. I have no hope of having the stolen scanning radio returned. My only joy in that theft is that the radio is a battery hog and will run down in six hours or so. You cannot feed it enough dry cells to keep it in business. I have the charger here. Ha ha. As you know, before this my change purse with all of 95 cents came up missing. Big deal. But I'm hearing that other people are finding things missing, things more important than change purses with a few coins in. They can handle the situation in whatever manner pleases them. I choose to circle my wagons. I will not, for the duration of my stay, leave this room without there being someone I trust to remain here on alert. I am not going to have more of my stuff taken away from me. I will be glad to leave Weirdville, the town with snakes low enough to rip off old people and cripples. Sincerely, Paul Ess * * * * * I received another honorable mention from a true heirophant of tastelessness: Sun, 07 Jul 1996 13:51:04 alt.tasteless Thread 11 of 12 Lines 111 'Tardfarm/Funny Farm No More... No responses ketteridgep@glub.demon.co.uk Prophet of the Great God Glub at The Midden `Tard Farm no more. Jane got kicked out of the `Tard Farm in January, and has since been eking out an existence cleaning out the Gents' shitter at the Woodcock and collecting eggs up at the farm. So another fine source of tasteless tidbits expires. Luckily, the inimitable Paul Ess has more than made up for this in my protracted absence with his excellent ERR and St Timmy's series. Way to go, Pee Ess! -- Pierre ----------------------------------------------------------------- It's a dirty job being me, but someone's got to do it... ----------------------------------------------------------------- * * * * * The tribute continues-- Date: Mon, 8 Jul 1996 09:04:21 -0700 (PDT) From: Paul Frederick Schnellbecher To: "Eric J. Holtman" Subject: Re: Field Expedient Constipation Relief On Mon, 8 Jul 1996, Eric J. Holtman wrote: > In article <4rpecc$1ci@samba.rahul.net>, you say... > > > >Anonymous (nobody@REPLAY.COM) wrote: > > > >[ Amusing tale of kneeling in bathroom whilst sticking rubber > >douchebulb up ass repeatedly, plus description of the wet, > >resonant results. ] > > > > Paul........ > > just thought I'd drop you a note. > > I'm about as straight as they come, but your contributions to > A.T. are just *so* *fucking* *awesome* that they deserve > recognition. > > Just imagine what a psych dokter would think when I said "It > just makes my day when I see a new post from Paul S." O.K.... > so maybe I am a closet fucktoy... who knows... > > ObT: you mean I degrade myself with a shameless "Yeah Boy!", > and you're looking for an ObT? > I'll gladly let you off the hook for omitting an ObT. I often coast on my St Timmy's laurels on that score and Geoff Miller, who is having terminal male PMS lately, hasn't flamed even me yet. I offered Peter Bell the distinct privilege of interviewing my stump the next time he's in town. I suppose he'll think that was just another cheap come-on from the Whore of Haywierd. In connexion with this I have to ask you, do you feel the need to become a fucktoy -- I mean, is your closet getting a bit stuffy or something? All I can tell you about moving from one side of the fence to the other or simply sitting on the said fence is that it is a birth process. But take heart; no messy cooter is involved and the experience is considerably less traumatizing than becoming a born-again Christy Ann. I found it, if you'll pardon the expression, _seminal_ that you have to bring my queerness into your raison for considering my shit funny. This is not a cheap come-on; it is an expensive one as you will see if you get involved with me because I am a $high-maintenance$ whorebag. You may have your choice of meeting my stump or having a more conventional date -- when you're ...up... to it. Seriously, if you ever want to fool around, you could do a lot worse than to pick me to experiment with. In the first place, most fags don't want to deal with virgins and newbies. On the other hand, I, with my teacher complex, prefer to break folks in and make them do it over and over until they get it right! In case it is the anal thing that made you get all nervous and jerky, it's okay to be a male het who gets turned on through asshole manipulations. Parts is parts and fun is fun. You might want to consider finding a female enema freak and have her work you over. If ever you do, can I watch? Thank you. Have a tasteless day, Paul Ess --your hunka hunka tardliness * * * * * Now, maybe I laid it on a little thick. This _is_ alt.tasteless. The trite thing I am supposed to say here is that Humor Is Universal. Said. The worn-out thing I am supposed to say here is We Must All Laugh at Ourselves. Done. * * * * * Date: Mon, 8 Jul 1996 09:22:32 -0700 (PDT) From: Paul Frederick Schnellbecher To: Pierre Antony Ketteridge Subject: Re: Clue (fwd) On Mon, 8 Jul 1996, Pierre Antony Ketteridge wrote: > Hi Paul, > > backside away from both the grinning thing in the chair *and* > the leering houseboy in the corridor> Okay, so you're not into anal. I can respect that. I am, after all, a perfect lady. The houseboy is another matter. If you mean Fucktoy, he's ready, able, and willing twenty-four hours a day. > How's it going? I was glad to hear from you - I've thoroughly > enjoyed your writings, though I don't think I've read them in > any specific order (some I've culled from Dan's web site and > read in slack moments at work, others I've read more recently > straight from the ng). Except for the early ones, it helps if you read them in order because some of the crap won't make sense unless you can remember back. Sorta. > I'll certainly be posting them up when I get my own glubsite > up and running. I was going to merely link to Dan's area, but > seeing as I've been reformatting my own stories, and adding > graphics (photos, cartoons etc) It would be churlish to leave > others as straight ascii text, don't you think? I'm continually amazed at how much trouble you tasteless people will go to over my verbal menstruation. > So if you have any spare photos to send me of the various > characters (yourself included, natch) I would be more than > happy to start illustrating some of the more bizarre > happenings at the ERR and at Timmy's :-) I have no photos to speak of of myself and none at all of the other guilty parties. You might consider having an illustrator -- or better, a cartoonist -- work on this. I would be amused to find out what someone could picture from the mere words. > Well, I've started posting again, and the SN ratio is so bad > in there that I guess I should persevere and see if I can > shake some of the other regulars and old-timers out of the > woodwork. My heart's not really in it, though. What with the > dissolution of the Funny Farm, nothing tasteless seems to be > happening in my life. I feel like a ship becalmed in the > doldrums, and am experiencing the resultant stresses and > anxiety. Maybe I should resort to dredging up past anecdotes > while I wait for something to happen. Yes, maybe I'll begin > with 'Bitches who have fucked me over' tonight. If you'll do Bitches Who Have Fucked Me Over, I'll do Bastards Who Have Over Fucked Me... > BTW, Peter Bell is a scream, isn't he? Nothing at all like > you'd expect him to look like. Sort of angelic, like a > choirboy. I stayed over with him in New Haven last year while > I was on my GlubTour (East) '95. Peter Bell is a geek -- not that this is a bad thing. It's Hollister who is the choirboy. When I saw Hollister for the first time, I couldn't believe he was this piss freak I've been hearing about. > Weird coincidence: I just dropped a line to Jeff Angus to > cheer him up/calm him down after all the flameage he's getting > in the ng. His response included the following, which is > almost word for word what I said about you the day before... > more kudos for your locker door! > > > ObSelfabasingAssKissing: Oy!! I certainly enjoyed reading > > the happenings at the tardfarm and with the missus. 'Course, > > Paul Ess has been doing a good job of taking up the slack in > > your absense. > > Cheers, Paul, speak to you soon, > -- > Pierre > > -------------------------------------------------------------- > It's a dirty job being me, but someone's got to do it... > -------------------------------------------------------------- I appreciate your kind words. Now get to work on the Bitches thang. Paul Ess --if I'm so damn funny why ain't I rich yet? =================================================================