pandalicious's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mrs. Skanked Out Coombs, nice to meet you. I do still hate him. I know, HATE is *such* a strong word. But there it is. I'm talking on the phone to my mom, there's a knock knock knock on my door. Steven, I suppose, as he's coming over so we can decide what to do for dinner. I hang up with the momser, fling open the door expecting to see one person and instead seeing a monster, a monster from my past. I wanted this century to be impurity-free. So the monster says that he's arrived for the last of his things, the Rancid LP and his skanked out beastie boy cap. Mind you, I attempted to give skanked out boy his skanked out hat back in September, but he wouldn't hear of it. I tried to insist, stating that it is just a hat, it will fit in your pocket if your bag is full... but he refused it, still. Since SEPTEMBER I've had the last of skanked out boys stuff and he's not bothered to come calling for it. Why NOW? Why when the memory was just starting to be JUST that? A MEMORY, something SO hazy that it's like soap stains on the shower door... a ghost of something else, another time, other bad things washed away. I wanted him washed away. So UGH. I am on a slippery high in my life for a change. The opposite of up is down. But I've been down and now UP is where it's gotta be for me. I've got my GOOD BOY and some unlucky girl's got this one. This monster. "I got married." he said, expecting silver bowed gifts of congratulations. He got married. He's going to have BABIES in November. TWINS, he says. And all I can do is pray that this girl has family and friends. Family and friends that he hasn't pushed out of her life, as that's his best trick. A sleight of hand to make everything valuable and positive disappear from your horizon, your vision. He will suck you dry with his invisible, rotten, vampire teeth. The plaque will find its way inside you and you will begin your slow decay and maybe, if you are lucky, someone will have a drill, someone will have fluoride. You will need it, Mrs. Coombs. Lord have mercy on you. You will need all the help you can get. 6:55 p.m. - April 10th, 2001 :: 6:55pm ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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