BOTTOM-DOG BLUES: B. DIEHL’S UNEDITED RAMBLINGS FOR THE ALIENATED, AWKWARD, BROKEN, & BORED
(ENTRY #8: BATHROOM THOUGHTS)
As a columnist, I am often complimented on my straightforwardness and my sense of transparency. So let me make my readers happy by starting out with a simple fact: I’m typing this while sitting on the toilet. I ate like 9 fire-sauce tacos from Taco Bell this morning and my stomach currently feels as though it’s in the midst of a nervous breakdown. For real –– like, I’m picturing my stomach wearing a straitjacket right now because it feels insane. It’s doing backflips or something. Maybe cartwheels. And my asshole is the mouth of an erupting volcano.
That chick I was into (Sara) moved to Texas –– and even though it seemed really out-of-nowhere, I respect her decision. A lot of people make spontaneous/impulsive choices…and just because you don’t understand those choices, sometimes you just have to trust their judgment anyway. I’m not going to go into detail about why she went to Texas, but I will let you know that I’m not bitter at all. I’m a little sad, simply because I suck at goodbyes, but that’s why I spent the morning eating my feelings. That’s why I’m fighting off my demons –– my sorrows –– by shitting them out and flushing them back to Hell. Oh, yes. Let’s send all of the sorrows to Hell. Yeah, man.
Among other things, my best friend just got surgery. Apparently, he had a misshaped femur and a bunch of torn cartilage surrounding his hip. They had to shave down a chunk of his femur and then use dissolving stitches to suture the cartilage. Sounds like a bad horror movie, right?! As you can see by the screenshot to the left, he’s fine, though. He was just out of his mind from medication for a bit.
The screenshot here is from right after his surgery. Apparently, the surgeon drugged him against his will –– even after he told the surgeon he didn’t want to be drugged. (For some reason, I’m picturing this surgeon looking exactly like the psychopath from The Human Centipede: First Sequence.) The surgeon walked in before the surgery and was like, “Okay, before we get started, we’re going to give you some oxygen” –– and my friend was like, “Okay, I’m down” –– but then the surgeon actually gave him a massive dose of some crazy anesthetic. Is that…legal? Not sure. Seems funny, though.
Without anesthesia, I guess my friend probably would have bugged out from all the pain and tackled the surgeon through a wall like Hulk Hogan.
Yo –– I think I seriously just pissed out of my asshole. Something isn’t right here. Should I call Taco Bell and complain? I feel like it wouldn’t be the first time they received a complaint about volcanic assholes. I can totally imagine myself explaining my situation on the phone to some serious-sounding manager. The manager would probably be like, “Yes, I am very sorry to hear that. Yes. I’m very sorry, sir” –– and then he’d send me a bunch of Taco Bell coupons in the mail so I could go get more tacos, which would ultimately lead me into this same position of metaphorically blowing up this bathroom.
Okay, yeah –– I think I’m just not going to complain. Complaining seems stressful anyway because it involves speaking to a person. I’d rather not speak to a person because I’m not a fan of humans. The next time I want to eat my feelings, I’ll just eat a bunch of microwave pizza like I normally do. Not sure why I even chose tacos this morning. Probably because fast food is fucking godawful for me and I make bad choices.
Okay. What else? Not much, honestly. The cover art for my first full-length poetry collection, Zeller’s Alley, is being created as we speak. Do you have any idea how fucking excited I am?! I never thought I’d have an actual book coming out through an actual publisher. This is just surreal as hell. White Gorilla Press is the best thing that has ever happened to me. (If you have not already done so, please check them out at www.whitegorillapress.com. Dave Newman’s The Slaughterhouse Poems and The Poem Factory are some of the best poetry books I have ever read. Sarah Shotland’s novel [Junkette] is fuckin’ brilliant as well.)
Well, kids, that’s all I’ve got for you today. I’m going to finish taking this monstrous dump now and then maybe post a really manic Facebook status about how angry I am at Taco Bell.
Be safe. The world is insane. Take care of your assholes and remember to wipe.
B. Diehl co-authored of the poetry chapbook Temporary Obscurity (Indigent Press, 2015) with Charles Joseph. He is also the sole writer of the full-length poetry collection Zeller’s Alley (White Gorilla Press, 2016). When he is not writing, you can usually find him at home, hanging out with his cats and/or feeding his social media addiction. He still lives with his parents.
You can find him on the web at www.mynameisb.net.