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|Days of the Weak (standard:humor, 1133 words)|
|Author: Greggo||Added: Feb 21 2003||Views/Reads: 1822/1135||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
Day three: I dreamt last night for the first time since birth it seems. I was alone in this dream which isn't too shocking as I am always alone. I'm dressed in solitude as well as dressed in a camouflage uniform, not a real one, but one that might have been hastily concocted by a rushed, drunken father on the eve of Halloween. My face is recklessly smeared with forest-green and black but I'm not in combat. I am in the center of a rush-hour freeway surrounded by passenger-less vehicles speeding towards their empty destinations. I began running. Like there was no tomorrow I ran, only in this dream there was no tomorrow. I sensed it. Footsteps crashed and echoed behind me; towards me. I felt unstoppable. I heard shouting from all around me but by now I was too afraid to stop. I heard these voices in every which language. Some that I'm certain that I've never even heard before yet I somehow understood. In German, then French, Greek, Russian, even a Bronx accented English. I heard Japanese and Spanish all yelling the same thing: We Want You! Back and forth, in Afrikaans this time: We Want You! I accelerated up the next off-ramp. Sweating and yearning to quit running yet inexplicably propelling myself further. Finally I reached the peak of the incline and there I was staring off the roof of my apartment building. Eight stories up overlooking the city-scape with barely an oxygen atom in my lungs. I was teetering on the verge of falling forward and collapsing back. So I did what any normal American citizen would do in this precarious position: I woke up. Three extra-strength Tylenol and two beer later, my head still pounds. What the hell did I do last night? I am almost positive that I didn't lose my seed and “daddy” myself last night since I woke up totally alone. But I guess you never know. I do remember dancing and then drinking. Oh now it's coming back to me, I also remember drinking and then dancing. Man oh man, whatta mess I am. You know when you get insanely tipsy (if there is such a thing) and you begin to think that you might just be the perfect catch out there on the dance floor. I was dancing with anything and everything; I think I even grinded with a transvestite now that I think about it. She/he had the nicest ass but it's facial stubble left a little to the imagination. For about an hour I shook my bootie with a fabulous little filly with a lollipop shrouded shirt and the invitation “buck-a-lick?”. It wasn't until after I gave her a five and stuck out my tongue that I realized ( well actually somebody realized for me) that she was trying to enjoy her stag-ette without the interference of this soon-to-be private. It turns out that she has a solidly built bridesmaid that didn't appreciate my subtle five-dollar advances nor my bum-lovin' lefthand. But I recovered well and did the next best thing, I ordered a round of drinks for those lovely ladies and ran away from that side of the dance floor. I vaguely recall standing on somebody's table and belting out the Star-Spangled Banner while saluting towards a tiny old beer-stein, dustily pinned above the bar, with a scratched and faded American flag on it. I then remember tearing up as my eyes welled with pride. That is my last memory. Hmm, I hope I didn't embarrass myself. I kind of hope that the recruiting office doesn't call me today. I am definitely in no condition to move, let alone answer questions. Maybe I am not military muster. I somehow remember, while singing on the table, that nobody joined in. They seemed too unimpressed about the whole ordeal considering that we're on the verge of a war. Why aren't there any wartime rallies instead of anti-war protests. Come on people, we're doing the world a favor, aren't we??? I just wonder what it would be like pulling into a silent port with barely a newspaper mention of our tour of duty fighting for democracy. Do I really have to be ashamed to wear my uniform to a church function like soldiers used to? Do I really have to wait for a world war three to be welcomed as an officer in my own country? I sure as hell hope not! Dammit I'm am still on my way to becoming a great leader, a historical wartime figure up there with the ranks of General Douggie MacArthur. Oh gawd, just a sec, I totally got the squats now! I'm back. The bathroom smells like a trench now but at least I'm a survivor. It got rough in there for a while but I pulled through. I deserve the medal of honour for that entanglement. I don't remember eating anything green but I won't argue with the toilet water. Anyway, I feel sixty percent like death, thirty percent hit-by-a-bus, and ten percent craving a hotdog. I hate math! Today might just be a waste day; that's okay since by the time you hit my age, you're used to them. A Click here to read the rest of this story (25 more lines)
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