So I sat there by the window observing the gaping hole between the legs of me pants and I wondered aloud to the speckled bird who spat a slew of slimy worm guts into her little chirpers’ mouths: “what’s all this then?” ‘Twas then I remembered the night before!
And so I ran from the coppers, bounding over brooding bums and brilliantly sparkling broken bottles and I happened upon a corner from where no escape was possible, save for up by way of magical flight, or more reasonably, up and over the razorwire fence which guarded, presumably a pot o’ gold. Resigned to nothing but victory and escape, I made my sausage fingers into sausage claws and climbed up the fence and that is what must have happened! I evaded the police, yes, but at the cost of a cotton crotch. A small price to pay to stay out of the clink, I’d say.
But examining the hole in me pants I couldn’t help but feel this re-telling was incomplete or maybe incorrect altogether. So I pounded a pint and then the memories swelled— all of them. I punched away the face of warty Mathilde, my old love and I kicked back the bilious ghost face of my abusive, alcoholic father, whose accursed affliction, by way of genes and education, now afflicts me, and stared into to the dripping wet snout of a mean mutt. Ah-ha! So it was the case that I had climbed that razorwire fence, but indeed, had done it so well I came out unscathed; that is, until the dog approached me, presumably guarding that pot o’ gold. ‘Twas no rainbow leading there, I’d say, but only a murky gray, spotted black. But the memory of this dog now comes back entirely and I see his foaming mouth at my crotch and no, this wasn’t Mathilde sneaking her way back into my mind, no, this happened last night. My god, this was it then. This dog went to tear the genitals from my body but only got me pants! Guess I was lucky then.
So I sat by the edge of my bed mourning the loss of me pants to the vicious bite of that beast, but thanking God it was just the pants when I took another sip and yet more memories flooded back, all of which I battled; swatted away Gregor the Holy Bugman, who I met that painful afternoon in the park, playing hooky and since then, never missing a class on anything or for any reason and there’re those nuns, who took to swatting me away when I had a grievance to air. Oh, but what’s this— yes, me pants once again. Now it’s clearer and my goodness, these pants, I hadn’t been wearing at all last night. Ah, there in the corner of my room, I see now me pants from last night. Yes, torn up by razorwire and dog teeth, but what about these ones? Where did this hole come from?
Ah, life’s little mysteries! Ah, me pants!4 days ago