THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S 29 ================================================================= THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S -- The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation ================================================================= I'll spare you the sound effects as we go into episode number 29. That glubdamn slant-eyed fool next door started in at two a.m. and didn't shut his hole until it was time for decent xtian people to begin the day. I woke up at two a.m. partly because of him -- earplugs don't stop everything -- and partly because I needed to pee. When the med nurse came at six-thirty to bleed me I asked her, Don't they have drugs enough in this place shut that old fart up? She shot me this exasperated look and said at one- thirty she gave him Mellaril. Then two hours later she gave him something that starts with an A. Then an hour after that she gave him Benadryl. Benadryl is commonly used in tardfarms to shut old fucks up because it makes them sleepy -- nevermind what it does or does not do for their allergies. I suggested without success that, since little in the way of pharmacologicals worked that we try something from the hardware store, such as a mallet. But Glub is kind in mysterious ways. Allison brought The Chink a bottle of stuff this morning. The bottle was square and big like the windshield wiper reservoir in your car. It was full of barium sulfate. The old boy is going out for a CT scan. At least it will be quietER around here this morning. I wonder if he got to drink it or if they pumped it up his chooch. If there is cosmic justice, he got it both ways. Old bastard... Cutie-pie Roger set me up for bed last night. He likes to play with the block and tackle, the Hoyer lift, so I let him have his fun. As he was putting the hooks into the steel bars which are a a part of the canvas sling I sit on, he said Where's the hole. Be still, evil heart... Sometimes the gap in the cloth and the hole in the bar don't match up exactly right. So I teased him, Datehole didja say? -- you men are all alike, all you want is hole. After I got in bed, the only thing I wanted was the groganplatter ASAP. The way Roger fiddled and farted, I think he wanted me to lose it so he'd have a nice mess to clean up. Then he insisted on putting my pussypitcher[tm] on the printer stand where I have no possibility of reaching it. Oh, I'll be glad to help you with it, he said. You *like* my little pink nuts, don'tcha, Roger? You're gonna get it, Roger. I'm gonna enjoy givin' it to ya, Roger... Here I am netting away this afternoon. It's been quiet since Chink went byebye to be irradiated. Franny is screaming her head off. I open the room door to have a look. Franny is in the hall straining at her Posey belt, trying to get out of her wheelchair. Chink is next to her in his tardchair ("jerry" chair) (geriatric chair for you newbies) and he's harrassing her and she's doing her level best to cuss him out. Gee, Mr Chink, back so soon? Nothing she says makes words in any remotely human language. That is why I describe her ranting as the squalls of a physicked chimpanzee. I rolled over and said, Is Mr Chink bothering you? IHHH IHHH IHHH IHHH, she says. She begins contorting her body much like you see from a terrorized caterpillar. IHHH IHHH IHHH IHHH EEEEEEEEEEE!!! she says. Here comes trouble. Rochelle sees this nonsense and the way I am attempting to bait the fight. I always wanted to see two old tards do battle. Mr Chink begins pulling at his pants. I guess he figures he can't reach her properly to knock her lights out so he'll put her out with a view of his choad. I keep hoping they didn't get all the barium out of him and that he'll dribble gray muck all over the floor. Oh, don't do _that_, Mr Chink, pleads Rochelle as he pulls at Franny's sleeve. I hear tell yesterday afternoon when they took the old tard to the dining hall for supper he did a quite complete striptease before his mortified family noticed what was going on. Rochelle begins holding a conversation with Genghis. He avers he wants a ride to Alameda to his house and then he wants to go to Oakland and visit his mother. (She has to be 120 by now and a real fan of the Crypt Keeper. I bet her condo is in the slant-eye section of Mountain View Cemetery.) I just saw the promised land! Da Chink was screaming for somebody at the top of his considerable lungs, so, unable to concentrate on the bee-oo-tee-ful boys Olympically swimming, I went to have a look. He'd got out of his diaper. I'm sorry to report there was no groganage, but his starfish looks like a little pussy. It has the shape of a rolled-up condom. Once he rolled over and showed me his choad. What you've heard about tiny Asian dicks is not true -- not true in this case, at least. It's at least two inches across the beam and one and a half inches up and down. It is, however, only two inches or so long at this late date. The balls are impressive as well. Think young bull. Once again the shades of evening fall at the tardfarm . Roger is here again and wants to play with the Hoyer. After he transfers my bigass into bed, I lie out flat and discharge several cubic feet of fartgas I have stored all day. Don't light a match in here, Roger, or we'll both go through the roof. After I spend an hour on the groganplatter looking at another PBS nature show of little furry things eating other little furry things, Roger cleans me up. He's brought along a small container of something -- I can't see what it is because the label is turned away. Whatever it is, it feels nice on my crack where he smooths it on and leaves it while he goes to the Hooper to blast away my groganpaste. When he comes back, he wipes away the emollient. I then notice that what he smeared my butt with is Colgate spice-flavored shaving cream. All amateur shrinks please consider this tale and tell me what is going on here. I know you think I am making this up but I'm not. Mr Cheez carried out his threat to dump me in the sidecar of his Yamaha crotchrocket and take me for a ride. I signed myself out just like OR from jail. It took two murses and the Hoyer block and tackle to get me in. I'm glad I didn't have to pee during the trip. Actually, I did and I wondered if I was going to spring a leak when we went over another bump like >>>OW!<<< that one. The really nice thing about riding in the sidecar is that I can play with his leg and he can't do much about it except enjoy himself. We went to Coketown to look at the construction around the east end of the Bay Bridge where Interstates 80 and 580 join. Then we went to Emeryville, the Land Nobody Wanted back when they were mapping out cities here. Emeryville is a taint. Taint Berzerkeley and taint Coketown. Some guy came up to ask Mr Cheez a lot of questions about the sidecar. Mr Cheez said if the guy had been closer to 15 than to 51 he would have dumped my ass out of the sidecar and given the prospective trick a ride. Actually, the only ride Mr Cheez wants any trick to have is right there --->***<--- on his moustache. On the way back we stopped at a famous East Bay mall and parked in the shade on the sidewalk which is obviously not open to vehicles. Mr Cheez said we should sit there in front of the 24- Hour Nautilus Workout Center with a sign that says, Go to 24-Hour Nautilus or look like us -- old, bald and geeky or one-legged, fat and retarded. The shopping center was fun. People kept staring at the sidecar. I kept wanting to scream at them, YOKELS! We went close to The Eternal Rest Room but did not stop in. We should do that sometime and bug Dragon Lady -- Dragging Cunt as Mr Cheez prefers. =================================================================