Disclaimer: Not going to lie, this is taken from my blog. If you've already read it, sorry. This week, I had nothing. Cheers.
I woke up this morning with a beer bottle sized bruise on my face.
Saturday night, 9 pm, is when I realized that my career, although it had just started, was coming to an end. It ended somewhere between the awkward silence and the riot that I provoked, resulting in myself sprawled across the cold concrete with my jacket over my head. I was ushered out of my resting place by a drunken prostitute who needed a place to urinate in peace. I say she was a prostitute but I'm sure she was just a real nice lady just dressed like one.
As I run my face under the cold jet of my rusting shower, a few more memories come floating back up from the murky depths of my faulty cerebral vault.
I think I made a racist homophobic joke. I think I panicked. I also recalled a blond joke that went terribly wrong. I must've been desperate.
A pain in my left ankle tells me that I tripped as I walked up on stage but I didn't mind at the time; at least there were laughs then.
In my boxers, I sit down in my sea foam green excuse for a kitchen and pour myself a bowl of Lucky Charms. Even the jolly leprechaun on the box seems to be giving me attitude. I think he just flipped me off and ran away with all my marshmallows. I swear to god, they don't put as many in those boxes anymore.
When my girlfriend emerged from the bedroom, I knew I would get the full story. She just shrugged and kissed my bruise. As she walked away, she patted my shoulder and said; So you're going to look for a real job today, right?
That's when I realized.
Right there.
How unfunny my life was.
I woke up this morning with a beer bottle sized bruise on my face.
Saturday night, 9 pm, is when I realized that my career, although it had just started, was coming to an end. It ended somewhere between the awkward silence and the riot that I provoked, resulting in myself sprawled across the cold concrete with my jacket over my head. I was ushered out of my resting place by a drunken prostitute who needed a place to urinate in peace. I say she was a prostitute but I'm sure she was just a real nice lady just dressed like one.
As I run my face under the cold jet of my rusting shower, a few more memories come floating back up from the murky depths of my faulty cerebral vault.
I think I made a racist homophobic joke. I think I panicked. I also recalled a blond joke that went terribly wrong. I must've been desperate.
A pain in my left ankle tells me that I tripped as I walked up on stage but I didn't mind at the time; at least there were laughs then.
In my boxers, I sit down in my sea foam green excuse for a kitchen and pour myself a bowl of Lucky Charms. Even the jolly leprechaun on the box seems to be giving me attitude. I think he just flipped me off and ran away with all my marshmallows. I swear to god, they don't put as many in those boxes anymore.
When my girlfriend emerged from the bedroom, I knew I would get the full story. She just shrugged and kissed my bruise. As she walked away, she patted my shoulder and said; So you're going to look for a real job today, right?
That's when I realized.
Right there.
How unfunny my life was.
2 comments:
I liked the use of resting place. Reinforces the idea that his career is dead.
The backwards naiveté of thinking she was a prostitute stood out for me.
Well done!
I still likie it :)
I didn't notice the first time, but he pours himself Lucky Charms :P
Nice touch.
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