Wednesday, June 06, 2007

nose holes


New, weird story that's not yet beet proofread. whatever.

Nose Holes

I have a bowl stuck on my face.
I have a goddamn bowl stuck on my face.

I really could kill my friends right now- that is if I could see them.

It started off as an innocent joke, of course, as how almost all tragic things start. They were, as they said, bored, and decided to super glue the rim of the shiny stainless steel bowl and put it on my face while I was sleeping. A goddamn bowl on my face while I was sleeping. I guess it's their form of entertainment- watching friends suffer from suffocation and embarrassment. Apparently, porn doesn't give them their full satisfaction. God knows I can't imagine why.

I woke up in a start that morning, seeing nothing but grey, my face all moist as it is covered with the goddamn bowl. I brought my hands to my face and felt something cold and hard, Like my worst nightmare finally coming true, I panicked. I screamed. I tried to get out of bed but I stumbled upon my side table. I heard laughing immediately.

They thought it was funny, of course. They also thought it would come out.
Those idiots. Really, they don't call it super glue just because they thought it would sell. I've seen those bloody things advertised on TV, when there's nothing else to watch except infomercials. Either that, or the Indian channel.
I've always thought that all those things they sold on TV never really work the way they claim it should. Well really, that man glued to the ceiling by his shoes with the super glue- totally fake. There's got to be some trick of some sort, right? I mean, who believes those things? They couldn't really work, could they?

That's what I thought.

And after this, well, what do you know. They do work.

Yes, they did drill a hole before they put the bowl on my face. It's in front of my mouth- so I could at least breathe and they don't end up in prison for killing me. But really, a mouth hole? Why not steel nostrils, huh? I bet those guys hoped I would be stuck like that for quite awhile, and they would have to feed me something through the mouth hole, like a little guinea pig for animal testing. God. And they expect me to be thankful for drilling a hole on the bowl? What a bunch of crap.

So, really, thanks guys for letting me live. I'm just utterly elated that I'm not suffocating my way up to heaven right now. Seriously.

Ugh.

Maybe if it was a ceramic bowl they glued on my face, I could've smashed it ages ago and had great fun banging my head against the dinner table. But it had to be stainless steel. And I wanted them to drill the whole bowl away so my face would come free, but those tiny, sharp particles might get in my nose, or mouth, or worse, my eye, causing me to be permanently blind instead of temporarily- by this stupid bowl. Plus, I would still probably have that rim circling my face like a big dart target. And this would make me look equally ridiculous.

I know they've been dying to laugh about my predicament ages ago. After all, it was their idea of a joke. But really, the least they could do is not laugh. I mean, they've cast upon all this trouble on me already, anyway. And when I do get back to my normal self, who knows what I'm going to do with those guys? Oh, I'll never let them forget it, that's for sure.

They've been feeding me Cheerios for an hour already, through the hole on the bowl they've made earlier. Milk has been dribbling off my chin because it has been trembling every time I open my mouth. Really, how can you trust the same guys who glued a bowl to your face? For all I know, they might be feeding me something ghastly already. Cheerios at the first bite, cockroach the next.

I've heard millions of clicking for the past half hour, and I could almost see those flash bulbs going on and off. I know they've been documenting this, those bastards. They're probably going to make a sad video of me and send it to AFV or something. Maybe even FedEx it to all my ex-girlfriends, if they could only find the right addresses. Those guys know no mercy, really. And I could kill them right now if I could.
I can't believe I even called them my friends.

We've been arguing ever since I woke up with a bowl stuck on my face, about what we'd do about it. One of my so-called friends suggested going over to the nearby hospital- maybe have it surgically removed or something. But God knows if I let them drive me there, they'd probably just take me to a pub for public display, or worse, to a circus. Now if I could just find my way to a hospital- a real one, maybe that's the only thing that could help me. Of course, I would have to be ready for the amazing embarrassment I would have to deal with upon visiting the hospital. There would be heaps upon heaps of insult, I'm sure. I can practically hear it.

"Mommy, what's that bowl doing on that man's face?"
"Just look away, honey. Just look away."
"Is that... a bowl?"
"Oh how awful!"
"Cool!"
"Listen to me sweetie. You will never try that at home, ever. Promise me, okay? That man is a lunatic."
"Oh my god. Oh my god!"
"Hah. That must've hurt."
"Hello, Izzie? You've got to here this. I'm in the hospital right now, and you won't believe what I just saw!"
"What the f*ck?"
"Oh darling, quick! Get the camera!"
"Yes, that's a perfect shot."
"Imagine trying to walk around like that!"
"What an idiot."

Yeah. The hospital scene? Not so pretty.

My other 'friend' wanted to get me a guide dog, and I couldn't tell if he was really serious about it or just trying his best not to laugh at the idea. Really, they're treating me like a completely blind person, and it's kind of insulting. And anyway, can a guide dog really get you to a hospital without getting you killed along the way first?

Then, this friend who suggested the hospital idea told me something, and really, it killed me. It really, really did.

"Well, I guess you just have to trust us, man."

That's what he said.

Trust? Trust? I'm not even sure if I still know the word "trust" anymore. This bowl has made me so goddamn paranoid, it's killing me. Those bastards have already gone through super gluing a bowl on my face AND still has the nerve to photograph me while I'm sitting in front of a bowl of Cheerios I can't even see, helpless. And they're asking me to trust them?

Hah. Yeah. That's gonna happen.

So, I refuse to be brought to the hospital by these guys, and I absolutely wouldn't consider the guide dog idea, so what now? It's not like I can take a cab and ask the driver to drive me to the hospital, and if he's up to it, maybe also walk me to the hospital steps and lead me to a real doctor who would take my case very, very seriously and who will do everything in his power to get me out of my problem- literally. I'm sure the odds of getting that kind of cab driver- one who would really drive me to a hospital and not to his fellow cabbies up for an extended lunch break at some alley (to be, presumably, their helpless laughingstock) - is like, one to a million. Which is practically never likely to happen.

The rest of the guys are now trying to convince me to at least do something about the bowl, since they couldn't get me to trust them and do something about it for me. But by that time, I was feeling my way through the house, being careful not to hit my groin on the way to the bedroom. When I finally managed to get there without knocking over something overly expensive (I think I've dropped a lamp somewhere, and a little crystal figurine, but anyway), I stretched out my arms like a boy about to hit a party piñata, and reached for my telephone at my study table. I did bump a knee or two before I found it, but when I did, I lifted the receiver and heard the dial tone. Jackpot.

I lifted the receiver and felt the top of the phone touch the metal rim of the bowl. I fumbled with the keypads and tried to dial the right numbers. My heart was semi-racing and I could still hear my friends arguing- this time, about what channel to watch. As if there are enough channels to begin with. They didn't even bother to look for me. Really, when I get this bowl off my face, I would kick them out of my place in their sorry asses. Those jerks.

I've made up my mind to call my Mom up, no matter how embarrassing it is for me, after I've just run away from home and said some pretty horrible things. I was a teenager then, and I wanted to live alone. Who could blame me? Practically every one my age was living on their own. Either that, or they were trying to make babies with their girlfriends.

I felt ridiculous having a bowl glued to my face. I felt like a dirty old sock. But I wanted to call my Mom. After all, every lost boy needs his mother.

And right now, I'm just far more than lost.

Goddamn bowl.

Maybe it's karma.
I knew I shouldn't have stolen that from Home Depot in the first place.

Random Note: Everyone seems to be changing their YM Ids now. Well, I guess the occasion calls for it, since we're going to college. Most of our IDs are all so grade school-ish. But I don't think I'll be changing mine anytime soon. Orsem tom. Yawn.

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killed a random reader @ 11:29 PM





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do take a visit.

oh yes, thanks to nicki for the loverly html-ing. all hail :))


omigesh i want one too!
omigesh i want one too!







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previous posts
~ narnia, middle earth, terabithia
~ stuck
~ the daredevil's plight to impress miss smartypants
~ what are the odds?
~ windows of soul
~ the black list
~ the oblivious, the ugly, and the unattractive
~ nudity budity
~ starstruck over Spiderman
~ missed
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008


random reads
randomness
my Deviant Art account: where photography is humdrum
my multiply: click for weirdness
lemony snicket: my hero
roald dahl: twisted
dr. seuss: for those who dare eat green eggs and ham
amazon: life's just like one
wikipedia: where you find everything.

crazy cousins
ate meg: adventure diva
ate che: misyoo

suckish schoolmates (kidding :))
ces: katotong hudas
koko: psycho
trixie: confused
kar: gossip girl mate :))
nikki: the white witch
paula: # 1 DJ
ella: great thoughts
hannah:donato
via: THE dancer
poj: kapits! :))
aiafafs: YA astig? :))

gem: gottalovedogs
danica: kitty witty?
krista: *yaya?*
nicki: html goddess
alex: the ultimate GENIUS
jescia: in LOVE
cha: bulang-guguuuuu!
joan: ee
frances: olan
phyl: reech keed?
yna: ahoho
danie: superrr
lori: nator
marion: busmate!
ate nica: harmoNICa (?)

some teachers
ate min: banaag '05
sir trogo: trogi the pogi
miss jennie jo: juniper

freako friends
ace: ex-shsian
odi: lonsquared
tar: ness
kuya rics: mr. pang-asar
CJ: virus ka
mara: kapits 2

YA Astig
dannie: delandanners
noel: rarr!!!
mica: woah no
louise: surfer girl
elyse: the great
anjo: anti-social?
theia: HMM?
paolo: lindt lover daaaw
ate marion : super dancer
angel: pedo! :)) joke
fin:ina
frances:arcilla
bianca:virina
josef: boy genius :))


face it, sucko.

i'm the hero of fools.

all quoted.

"The sad truth is that the truth is sad."

"It's amazing how people are always willing to listen to a man in a funny costume"

"People don't always get what they deserve in this world"

"You can not be a supermodel."

"I'm beginning to think that washing my face is a complete waste of time"

"Most women would rather be Cindy Crawford than Marie Curie"

"The world is a harum scarum place."

"If a guy is witty, charming and artistic, he is probably gay."

"Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaraunt, filled with odd waiters who bring you items you never asked for and don't always like."

"In relationships, it is best to assume nothing."

"Not only am I very intelligent, but I am also very smart."

"Hey, I heard your friend died"

"Yea"

"Well, don't feel bad. He's an old guy, and that's what old guys do. They DIE."

"Certain things they should stay the way they are.You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone. I know it's impossible but it's too bad anyway."

"I remember how, a couple of days ago, you and I killed a couple of hours with a computer game. Perhaps the game amused me more than it did you; I desperately needed a little respite from all my thoughts. But each time we 'died' in that game, a new screen immediately came up, and we were off again. How can we know that there isn't a 'new screen' for our souls as well? I don't think there is, I really don't. But the dream of something unlikely has its own special name. We call it hope."

blasto fasto. congratulations, reader, you've clicked the scroll button long enough to have reached the part that nobody dares to reach. now buzz off.

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