                           .
                           .         a n a d a  1 7 7        1 0 - 0 8 - 0 0
                           .
  . .   . . .    . .    . .    . .
 .   .   .   .  .   .  .   .  .   .                 "Impotent"
 .   .   .   .  .   .  .   .  .   .
  . . .  .   .   . . .  . . .  . . .                by Infernal


  . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

        Sent on my way, locked in a box, kicked out off the curb and into
 the street rush flying like some kind of dodo bird who tried harder.  What?
 Fuck you.  I aint crazy, I tell you that, I aint crazy.  I got the raw
 end of the stick a couple of times, that's all, and it hurts, it stings
 like a poke in the eye does, and it makes you feel raw all over after a
 while, like ground beef on the outside, and everything that comes your
 way feels like razor burn, when youre stripped naked and chafed by the
 shit that people do to you, and the way shit goes down when youre young
 and stupid and you dont realize youre digging yourself a grave because
 forever is a word in a foreign tongue, something old people say when
 they put you in jail, and it makes about as much sense to you as bink
 bink bink.  What was I saying?

        I aint no sissy boy, bud, I aint one of them faggots, but I gotta
 wonder once in a moon pie if you forget how to do, you know, do the do,
 if you aint have had the chance to do it in a  while.  I mean, it aint
 the same with your hand, you know what I mean, were all grownups here,
 right?  Am I right?  Am I right or am I right?  I tell you something,
 and if you tell Doug this I swear on the grave of Lyle Alzado that Ill
 rip your spine out your asshole, but bucky, I tell you what, I got about
 one chick friend left in this wadded-up world, and the last time I seen
 her she gave me a hug, and I about panicked, I totally started to sweat
 and get weird and wanna go hide someplace, I felt like I stunk and had
 bugs and puke on my chin or something.  I felt her boobies touch me
 through her shirt and her breath on my neck and I thought I was gonna go
 nuclear or something, I really did.

        So what Im tryin to figure out here is, what the fuck am I supposed
 to do if, God fucking forbid, I ever get naked with a chick again?  I dont
 even wanna tell you how long its been, bucky, but I think my cherry done
 regrew, you know what I mean?  And I  shut up, Im serious here  I mean,
 it aint even really the sex part, you know?  I mean, that shits like
 fallin off a bike, rabbits and stuff know how to do that.  Im sayin  you
 know Im no good with this kinda shit  Im sayin its being intimate, and
 how you wanna be all touchy and hugging and stuff when youre with a girl.
 Only I dont know if I could do it, you know?  I dunno if I forgot how or
 something.  Or did I ever even know, you know?  Am I just makin shit up in
 my head that I thought I did and I thought I said and I didnt really do any
 of it, and all those other times I was just a scared little fucking bunny
 humping?

        Thats the kinda shit I worry about, bucky.  You wanna know how come
 Im not sayin nothing and why Im in the goddamn bag every time I see ya,
 well there ya go.  I dunno, its like I feel like Im growing away from
 everybody else, you know?  Like I used to know people, and care about
 em, and know what to say when I ran into em and how to be their
 friends and stuff, but now I cant even handle getting a hug from
 somebody.  Thats too close for me, the fucking human freak, like Im
 mutating into some crippled ugly extinct thing right before my own eyes
 and I cant even stand my own stench any more, all sweat and booze and
 fear.  Am I making any sense to you here?

        Yeah, yeah, fuck you too.  Any more beer in the fridge?

  . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
                                                                             
  .           anada 177                   by Infernal  (c)2000 anada e'zine .
      
  . . w w w . a n a d a . n e t . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
