Saturday, February 15, 2014

Personal Stuff


There are some really poor shmoes out there. These guys and gals suffer borborygmus. An on-going, noisome, condition in which the guttsies makes noises. Draining and churning sounds, in succession. In my case, it can be heard from across the room. Like it matters, there is no physical pain, just the discomfort of knowing I sound like a laboratory instrument turned all the way up. It's a bonafide social handicap, for which there is no known treatment, and which isn't recognized as serious enough to win you a charity parking space and special license plate. There are coping strategies that aught to get at least a doggone bowl of soup. I gave myself a nick name. I'm Gurgles. My new name is Gurgles.


"Don't be shy"-I say to the woman behind the cosmetics counter-"I came to pick up the perfume I ordered. Yes, it's Gurgles. Gurgles Hineschmidt."

"Is this gallon of Rex Derriere for you, or is it a gift, if I may ask, Gurgles?

This woman was my type. Stern and tall. I'd let her rip out one of my kidneys with a can opener if she needs it to sell for a fix. But at the moment, I had a huge statue-shaped bottle of fragrance to navigate. I'm going through changes. Coping mechanisms. I'm determined to pull off an egg basket of them.


Lately I've been shortening 'supposed to' to 'spozta,' with a long 'O,' of course. It's a linquistic moral decline. From the social stresses.

I believe people have organic needs to improve their slump. Everyone slumps. Then there is some damp resurrection, with more energy with which to cope with people and places. When people generalize like this, and name themselves after borborygmus, you can say they would make a crappy personal friend. I usually do.
Independent of annoying stomach noises that can go on for hours. I'm 'spozta' adapt to having alien sounds. And figure out, same as everyone else, including non-borborygmus sufferers, how to get along with people.


There are believers and non believers in musk. The former are my scented kin. It is possible to neutralize sound with smells. Has to be the right one. I'm smelling a lot of it because the gorilla shaped gallon bottle of Rex Derriere is hard to keep a grip on. There's a pool of it soaking into the center of my Oleg Cassini lounging PJs. Damn. But transfiguration is going just fine.



Woke up this morning like Robert Johnson finding his guitar out of tune. Before I even made coffee, I darted out of my cot and went right to the glass likeness of King Kong, or some facsimile of a commanding, superior ape, which is how Rex Derriere is marketing his fragrance. Maybe the ape looks more like Mighty Joe Young. In any case, I stole a whiff of some of it at the perfume counter last year, and don't think this monkey water don't draw game. I splashed a load of the unguent on the old puss. Then I sat back in my gigundous brown Barcalounger, and let the smell drape itself around the olfactory gluttons for pleasure.


Well, it's nearing time to head out, for once, after about fifteen years of being a hermit. There have been a series of decoder rings in my life, bought from comic books and Popular Metaphysics, that were spozta provide some form of relief, even if only from boredom. There were herbal products said to make the organs ride unicycle on a tight rope, smiling. Exercise gadgets that make the body a temple, since it usually, in most people,is a red lights district. But it's the way I smell that is going to make all the difference. Time for another splash from the great gallon. 


Say, I was just playing a few licks on my Flying Vee, when this bat flew in the house. Ominous SOB. Comes in. Perches right on the stopper on the bottle of Rex Derriere. Smart move. How am I going to get at the intruder without smashing eight thousand dollars worth of scent.

While I tried to let the bat make the next move, I went over to the eight track tape player I'm using, and pushed in a real old tape I have of Nico singing "My Funny Valentine." It is, after all, that funny holiday. Funny as borborygmus.

Bonus Haiku

dreary convenience store

stale coffee falls dead
industrial cream creeps out
hand pump dispenser



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