TRIALS OF ST TIMMY'S 33 ================================================================= THE TRIALS AT ST TIMMY'S -- The Continued Saga of Paul Ess's Rehabilitation ================================================================= This is episode 33. The other day I forgot to mention I was going through my closet and came upon the Pocket Pussy. This is a disgusting little silicone rubber tidbit I had Miss Kooky buy for me to give to my PT at The ERR. Neil had been whining about how, since they got the baby and all, his ole lady didn't want to play. I terminally embarrassed him giving him that thing but he finally took it home, afraid that his wife would see it. I told him this was the idea, to let her know if she doesn't want to cooperate, she can be replaced. But he chickened out and gave it back. He didn't even keep the complimentary tube of KY. He could have used that for the wanking he's forced into. I was going to have Miss Kooky give it to this other queen we know by the name of Miss Crunt, just to start a bitchfight because the old cow hasn't come to see me once since I been laid up in the tardfarm. Anyway, I showed it to Miss Ralph who just came unglued. I thought the girl was going to laugh her ass off. We decided it might be interesting to tease Roger with it because neither of us can figure him out. Roger was my nurse last night and once again took the opportunity to emolient-ize my full moon. This time he did it with a jar of what looked like butch wax. That's a stiff pomade the jocks of my youth used to make their crewcuts stand up tall. I don't know what it is with this boy that he likes to smear goo on my ass so much, but, Glub bless'm, he should have a good time! My computer and most of the lights just went dea They are testing the reserve generator. I sounds like it's hitting on five of six most of the time. The stink of the exhaust is pretty good, too. It's like having your patio next to a bus station. The place has been embarrassed in the past when the State came here and the damned thing wouldn't even start. This time it at least started. Yes, the State is due to inspect the place in a couple of weeks from what I hear. How nice of them to give the joint the opportunity to fix things they got written up for last time, just in time not to get written up for them twice in a row! That's why the fan in the bathroom doesn't make a racket any longer -- they replaced it. This is one of the things they got hits for last time, noisy fans. You may think this is a minor thing, but at two a.m. the roar is anything but minor. The nursing staff is all changed round because it's first of the month. Gee, and I thought long welfare check cashing lines in Coketown were the only thing happening on the first. They used to call The First in Coketown "Mother's Day". I have yet another dot head for a CNA this morning. This one is really dense. They all have a problem with shit. It's a cultural thing and it makes them highly unsuited to this line of work. She won't empty my pisspot without an engraved invitation. We're going to have to cure that quickly. Glub alone knows how she may freak if she has to give me a bedpan. Actually, when they freak is when they see the generous offering. I am still without form when I void (a little Genesis humor, there) and so one smart-ass said it looked like a pile of chocolate mashed potatoes. "Take it easy, ya sonomabitch!" ..... "Take it EASY, ya cockSUCKER!" ..... "Ow! -- my LEG! I got a bum leg!" That'll be The Buzzard across the hall. Now Miss Dot Head is over there mistreating _him_. Last night his roomie was hacking and coughing in the wet and strained way peculiar to those who need suction. Be careful, CNAs, about sucking the crap out of his throat or he may choke and croak and drop the revenue even further. Mr Salazar was up early this morning singing grand opera to keep us all awake. He did his best profundo during breakfast of real scramble, toughest bagel in the world, meat which I'll get to, and cereal. The cereal today is listed as "High Fiber Cereal" They don't say exactly what it is; they might be ashamed of it. I think it's boiled budgie seed mix with ground-up egg carton -- tastes very like it. But the meat was a real piece of hork. It was slice off a monster-sized loaf of some Spam-like crud and grilled to bring the copious grease to the surface. The only flavor was that of grilled grease and salt. What a day to run out of preserves. I could at least have redeemed the nastiness of the bagel. Miss Ralph stops by to dish nearly every day now. I keep bitching at the girl to bring back the hard copy of the Bastards stories. I'll bet she's got them at her house where she sits in front of her stereo reading them wanking her pud off. Just so long as she doesn't show them to the old ladies or -- horrors! -- to that shrink. I don't know how Freudian he is and I don't want to find out. The last time he insinuated himself in here, he was babbling something about behavior modification. Yeah, I'd like to practice some behavior modification on Roger that would get me laid. Anyway, Miss Ralph and I were comparing notes on the boys we grew up with and how today's youngsters just don't grow up the way we did. Why, these days they think their asshole is only to shit with. You may not have a name for it or quite understand it, but when Mama pokes your hiney with nozzles and thermometers, you learn what your P-spot is and file it away for future reference. Shall I bitch some more about the food? Today's luncheon was Veal Scallopini. Was so! That's what it says on the chalk board out there! Yeah, you're right; it was some more of that nasty ground turkey with mushrooms all over it. I ignored the mushrooms and covered it with ketchup to kill the taste. It almost worked. The noodles were fine except they put so much oil in the boiling pot they slid right down my throat like a Venereal oyster. Tomorrow evening nursey will think I have worms again... I went down the hall just to blow the stink off and get a Diet Poopsi and I saw Cookie next door playing with his GI tube. I wonder if he pulled it completely out of his stomach this time. There'll be grey goo food substitute all over the floor because the pumps don't stop when the tards mess with the plumbing. There is a new old fart in the A bed which means they won't be bringing The Chink back next door if he comes back at all. There is a Glub! The evening charge nurse clued me that Countess Dracula would be in to see me this morning. Ming the Merciful wants to see if I have any blood left from all this fingersticking. It's a bit of a start to be awakened at five a.m. with all the lights on and some bony little dyke feeling your arm. Did she _really_ think she was going to get a sample out of Miss No-Veins without a fight? I allowed her one jab and no joysticking once in. She nailed the vein. Problem came two hours later when I woke up for breakfast. Damned puncture bled all over my nightie. And now I have a right good bruise on my arm. Nobody but nobody could nail my pisspoor veins like the chick who did the bloodwork over at The ERR. Some people have a calling. Sticking needles in fat old queens is Mary Jo's. But the bruise is nothing compared with the shitty way the rest of the day has gone. I got another newbie CNA this morning. I'm really getting tired of training all this staff. Here it is way after noon and my bed still isn't made. The Buzzard across the hall has been wheezing HELP! HELP! HELP! since breakfast and nobody is paying the slightest attention. The new man who replaced The Chink in the A bed next door did something to the porcelain throne which flooded the bathroom. There has been water all over the floor for four hours now. Where the fuck is the janitress? The newbie CNA brought me water to wash with this morning only after a protracted absence doing Glub knows what. Then she let me lie there half washed for another half hour til the water got cold. She got new water and nearly simmered my balls. I don't know what she did with my wash basin after she took that away. I did ring and scream bloody murder about her running off with my pussy pitcher. I cannot sing enough praises for the so-called female urinal which is a Glubsend for us princesses from the House of Tinymeat. I don't want to lose track of the thing. I've gotten quite used to the feel of stuffing my balls into its maw and having the reassurance my flow won't end up in bed with me. Last night my CNA fiddled around so long I had to move from chair to bed in small, deliberate steps to avoid losing my bowels. I rang for assistance at seven o'clock and wasn't flat on my back until almost eight. She was partly distracted by Walter next door on the other side who expects instant service because he claims he's "private". If he's paying for his stay here out of his own pocket, why is he here in the poor folks's wing? So she has to go fiddle with him and leave me sit a while longer. Finally she gets back and we wiggle me out of my tardpants and drawsheet. When she was about to place the offering plate under my buns, I lost it. I ripped the mother of all wet farts. I sprayed the bed and I got her uniform, too. Then she had the nerve to get pissed at me. Serves the old cow right! I am going to get out of here some day. One way or another I am going to get out of here. If I do it getting into an ADA- compliant apartment in a tardhive, I am going to throw a party. It may be a small party because so few people have stood by me this long. For the ones who are invited, it is going to be a flat-out wild thing to be remembered forever. We're going to have Mud Pie for dessert. This is a concoction of smashed Oreos, whipped cream, and Jell-O which is usually served in a flower pot. My version will be served in a stainless steel bedpan. ================================================================= =================================================================