Tuesday August 29, 2006
	Protecting his hump.
	They're reading poetry at the nightclub and it's Saturday night and it's twenty minutes 'til midnight and I'm drinking Budwesier from a glass bottle and while I'm drinking from the bottle the man standing in front of the microphone says: "Let's have a nice round of applause for Norm Augustinus." When I stand mostly everyone claps and on my way to the microphone a bitch sitting near the big glass window says, "Hey asshole."   The chick that just said "Hey asshole," liked me once but after I mentioned her in my podcast regarding her Dormia space-age foam mattress she stopped liking me (she f-cked on the matttress and the special foam that automatically adjusts to whomever is lying on it wouldn't bounce back to its original shape after she was done, f-cking).  When I stand behind the microphone I'm thinking of her and not of the poem I'm supposed to read and while I'm adjusting the microphone I'm seeing her naked and lying atop her Dormia space-age foam mattress while Wladyslaw Szpilman comes from the speakers of her wall mounted CD player. Just prior to me actually mounting her she'd often say: "Top me off, Norman.  Top me off." She'd use, "Top me off," like maybe someone might say with regards to a half empty automobile gas tank.  "Top me off, Norman."  Did that mean she was half to three quarters full of semen already?  A girl in the audience yells: "Show us your dick." Someone else yells out: "Norm!" The chick sitting by the window, the one that said, "Hey asshole," she's sitting alongside a dude (his name is Ted), and the dude has a big neck and a brush cut and his arms are crossed and I figure she's told him something about me and he's looking at me without blinking letting me know he's her new hump. When the microphone is adjusted for my height I sip from my bottle inhale and then exhale and when I'm done exhaling I say: Giving out stuff on Halloween, why buy candy when I got the ice-machine... Twenty cents worth of water is all I need to carry out my dastardly deed... Here kid a cube for you, in twenty minutes your bag will rip through. The audience applauds but the bitch sitting by the big glass window is not clapping and her big necked idiot appears to have crossed his arms even tighter than they already were so I look away and ready myself to perform my second poem and while I'm waiting for the applause to stop I'm thinking about my aunt Marge who really wasn't my aunt Marge and how she'd take me out on my birthday and buy me anything I wanted so long as it was under a dollar. "Can I have the remote control robot on the top shelf aunt Marge?" "Is it under a dollar, Norman?" "No ma'am, it isn't." I look one more time at the bitch who f-cked up her Dormia space-age mattress and then I drink from my beer and when I'm done I inhale and then exhale and when I'm done exhaling I say: Your hips were like a train you're f-ckin' insane... F-cked a dude named Ted on your foam bed... Hips up and down, you looked like a f-ckin' clown... The Dormia won't bounce back, 'cause of the weight of you, Ted and your big RACK. There's applause and I'm finished and I walk to the bar and order another Budweiser and while I'm standing there big necked Ted comes over and says: "Lay off." He's standing to my left and while he's standing there he pinches the back of my left arm hard (the area between my shoulder and elbow) and he keeps squeezing and twisting my skin and while he's twisting and squeezing he says: "Am I making myself clear?" PREVIOUS   HOME   NEXT