The Room (28 page)

and pretty scum bags in a motherfucking row

and pain and he had to walk around with a fucking golf ball on his cheek, unable to sleep on the side because the fucking thing hurt so goddamn much, all because some little fucking hair fucked him up. Just like everything else. Theres always something fucking you up. Or someone. Krist. Same old shit, all the time. Just cant be left alone. If its not some dumb cunt of a teacher its a lousy fucking hair. Fuckem. Who needsem. I got the sonofabitch out anyway.

He carefully slid the core off the mirror with toilet paper then held it in the palm of his hand while he looked and poked. It was hard. It felt as if there were a piece of gravel in the middle. Even the outer layer was hard. Not as hard as the center, but hard. When he squeezed it with his finger tips he could feel the resistance. Jesus, how could a fucking thing like that grow. Its incredible. A little hair fucks up and a fucking lump like this grows and his face is a fucking mess. He looked at his face and the hole in his cheek. He put his pimple down on the sink and began prodding the infected area, squeezing here and there, making sure everything was out, making sure that there wasnt the slightest bit left. He continued to squeeze
and mop up with toilet paper until only blood and water came out, then picked up his pimple and studied it from various angles and distances, prodded it, squeezed it and rolled it around with his finger tips. After a time he dropped it in the toilet bowl and stared at it for many, many loving minutes before flushing it and watching it swirl around and around in smaller and smaller circles until it disappeared with the gurgle of the water.

He dropped his hands and raised his head then walked over to the mirror and looked at his blemish. He started to poke at it, but stopped. There was no point to it. It wasnt ready yet.

He leaned against the wall and glanced through the window in the door, through his reflected face at the hallway, the laundry baskets and signs with their little arrows; yellows here and greens here and blues here and who cares about north and south, its all the same. North could be south, or green or wood or anything. Its all the same. A big nothing. Everything is nothing. Cops or robbers, robbers or cops. Its all the same. A big nothing. Its never like it should be, walking as slowly as possible back to the bed, never. Never really comes out right. Going to camp. Or anything. It was O.K., but there was something missing. Shit, I dont know. It just should have been better. Those shithouses sure did stink. Or whatever they called them. What the hell did they call them. Johns, or something like that … … … … … … o yeah, willies. Johns, willies, elmers. The same thing. Anyway, they sure did stink. I guess it was all right. I dont know. But it should have been better. Talking for months about it, about getting out of the city for 2 weeks and going swimming and hiking and all that shit and then youre there and its not all that great. I guess it was O.K. though. I mean we did go swimming and hunt around for salamanders and turtles and things and go on hikes, but it was never what it should have been. And what can you do at camp when it rains? Sit around and talk I guess. I dont know. But I guess I liked it. It must have been fun. But it seemed like there was something missing. Maybe I should have stayed another 2 weeks that first time. It was better than the other times. I guess. It seems like that was the time we had the race in the war canoes. Sure did get wet. Wonder if anyone won that
race. It was a lot of fun though. I guess there was a lot of things like that. I guess I had fun. But not enough to stay. Funny, but I can still remember how the mess hall smelled. Seems like it always smelled of hot cereal. That wheat cereal. And that rotten prick looking at me like I was some kind of weirdo or something because I licked my spoon clean before taking some plums out of the bowl. Shit, big fucking deal. What the fuck did he think I had, leprosy or something? The rotten mothers cunt. Looking at me like that and making a big deal out of nothing.

Like the time I found that book and took it to school. Somebody always making a big deal out of nothing. Found it on the street on his way to school. It was a small cartoon booklet and it started with a woman getting undressed and a burglar watching her outside her window. He comes through the window and a huge penis bursts through his pants and they say and do a lot of funny things he didnt understand. He showed it to his friends and eventually gave it to someone. The next day the entire school was marched out to the yard and they stood there while a few teachers and a couple of the older boys walked up and down looking at everyone and all the rest of that day and the next morning all the kids wondered what was going on and they talked about spies and somebody stealing something and the police were going to come and maybe some kid had a gun or something and there were so many stories it was impossible to keep track of them all. The next afternoon he was sent down to the principals office and the assistant principal showed him the booklet and asked him if he had brought it to school and he said yes and she told him it was a naughty book and a few other things and he panicked and told her he found it and started to cry and she told him it was all right, not to be upset, but that if he ever found another one he should either throw it down a sewer or give it to her.

Hahahahahahahahahaha. I wonder if she had a collection? Wouldnt mind having one now. Might help pass the time. Seems like all those guys had 2-foot dongs. Shit, they didnt have dongs, they had clubs. Wonder what youd do if you had a rod like that? Guess you could always shove it up some cops ass. O fuck it. Its all a bunch of dumb shit.

one, two, three, upsa daisy
i dont care if i go crazy
just so i can beat my daisy

As the days of the trial progressed he couldnt help but notice that the wives of the cops were glancing at him. At first he averted his eyes and continued to concentrate on the proceedings, but after their glances had met many times he became more and more aware of the fact that the glances werent hostile. When the trial ended he called them and after they had spoken for a few minutes he knew he had them. As he waited for them to get to his apartment he set up the hidden cameras and made sure everything was ready for their visit. When they arrived he took them to the bedroom immediately and let them undress him, then watched as they undressed each other. They made love to him, he made love to them and they made love to each other, following his directions. When they left he developed the pictures and laughed aloud with joy and excitement as he looked at the endless number of beautiful photographs. The angles and lighting were perfect on hundreds of them. Their faces were clear and distinct, their activities obvious. It was a shame he didnt have a big dog they could have fucked, but that wasnt important. The pictures he had were perfect. He hung them up to dry and went to bed happy and relaxed, looking forward to the morning when he would select the pictures he would send to their husbands and families. It was an exciting sleep and awakening the next morning. He also sent copies to their friends, the principal of the school their children attended, and to the church of their choice. His heart sang with gladness when he heard their hysterical voices on the other end of the phone, and he listened in silence as they told him of what had happened to their children and themselves. They sobbed and pleaded and begged. He smiled and his body tingled as he felt their world coming to an end
and he could see the tears streaming down their faces and could feel the marrow draining from their bones, see them on bended knees, washing his feet with their tears and begging him for their lives. It was a lovely scene and he loved the music, and when he had heard enough he gently cradled the phone and let the joy flow through his body.

The story of the incident in the mental institution was on the front page and he stretched out in his easy chair as he read the account of the two police officers, who had only recently been committed, running amuck and attacking hospital personnel and leaping through an office window and trying to claw their way over the fence. They were finally shot with a tranquilizer gun as they attempted to escape and returned to the hospital, still screaming incoherently – I/ll kill the bitch. I/ll kill the rotten fucking bitch –. They both had multiple lacerations about the body and face from the glass, and their hands were ripped and torn from their attempt to climb the fence. No explanation was given for their behavior. After their wounds were treated they were put in restraint and locked in the maximum-security wing of the hospital. The 2 officers were committed after a trial …

Hahahahahahahahaha. Theyll never get out. If it worked once it will work again. There are plenty of copies of the pictures and more can be gotten any time. Any time. And they wont even be able to kill themselves. Just sit in that padded cell and wait. Wait for nothing. He dropped the paper on the floor and went for a walk in the sun.

The officers each found an envelope on their beds when they returned from the dining room. The envelopes were opened and the pictures dropped on the bed. The pictures were looked at one at a time, many times, then placed next to each other on the bed and stared at with an exciting fascination at first and then a growing and rumbling nausea as the pictures were studied more and more carefully, each position and action absorbed deeper and deeper until their flesh started to tremble then their entire bodies roar with rage and they screamed as they attacked the pictures with their fists, pounding them into the bed, then crushing them, throwing them against the wall, trying to pulverize them with their
feet, picking them up and tearing them and throwing the pieces with all their strength onto the floor, screaming that they would kill the cocksucking bitches, the no good fucking cunts, and pounded on the door and screamed and pounded and it was nice walking in the sun

and he sat on the edge of his bunk, a small piece of string in his hands, trying to remember how to tie a bowline. He looped the string this way, that way, positive that that was the way to do it, yet it never came out right. He closed his eyes trying to imagine the illustrations in the boy scout manual, yet he couldnt seem to follow them no matter how carefully and slowly he tried. He stopped for a second then very methodically tried it another way and still he couldnt get the goddamn thing tied properly and he strangled the string with his hands and screamed at it and threw the sonofabitch on the floor and stared at it for many long minutes wishing the fucking thing was alive so he could kill it and tear it to shreds, his body trembling, his head shaking and burning, staring at the motherfucker and trying to make it disappear by focusing all his hate on the fucking thing. Finally he picked it up and squeezed it as hard as he could, his stomach sucked back to his spine, his eyes fused shut, a furious groan rumbling through his chest and throat until he finally heaved it into the toilet bowl and kicked the handle and watched it whirl around and around as it descended to the hole in the bottom and gurgled out of sight and down into the sewer with the rest of the shit where it belonged.

Jesus fucking krist, how in the hell can you be expected to tie a fucking knot with a fucked-up piece of string like that? You gotta be crazy. Its impossible. Like those stupid knot-tying contests. Lining up and running to the pole with the pieces of rope hanging from it and picking up the stupid piece of paper with the name of the knot youre supposed to tie on it and the stupid fucking rope gets all stiff and wont bend and gets all fucked up. What a dumb-ass fucking thing that was. I wonder what asshole came up with that fucking idea. Like that asshole of a teacher having an arithmetic lesson right after the english lesson. Shes gotta be out of her fucking mind. But theyre the boss and you have to do what they tell you. If only one of those fucking assholes knew what
they were doing it might not be so bad, but theyre all the same. Every fucking one of them. Theyre the boss, but they dont know their ass from a hole in the ground. Dumb fucking assholes,

pacing the floor and waving his arms,

krist, what a bunch of dumb sonsabitches. And the fucking world is full of them. Always fucking something up. Always. And always telling you what to do. Jesus, what a bunch of dumb shit,

briskly pounding across the floor of his cell from wall to door, from door to wall,

six times seven is forty two
one more whack and I/ll be through.

striding up to the door, snapping around and pounding his way back to the wall in a few quick strides, then snapping around again and bulling his way to the door,

I dont care if I go crazy
Just so I can beat my daisy

back and forth until he stopped in front of the door and glared through the window then jerked around and stared at his fucking cell and spit as hard as he could, watched it scream through the air and splat on the floor. He stared at it for a period then stomped it and ground it into oblivion.

and scum bags all in a row

Theres always somebody bugging you. They just wont leave you alone. No matter how simple things are theres always some sonofabitch complicating things and fucking with your life. Jesus, this fucking world stinks. People are nothing but a bunch of shits. A rotten bunch of shits. They always want to screw you. You go in to buy a pair of shoes and tell the guy what kind you want and the exact size and everything else and he sticks something on your foot and when you tell him it doesnt feel just right he tells you its your size and it
looks great on you and all that shit and by the time you get home your feet are blistered and all fucked up and you cant even kill the sonofabitch or shove the fucking shoes up his motherfucking ass.

rotten fucking scumbags in a motherfucking row

A simple fucking thing. All you want is a pair of shoes and some rotten mothers cunt makes you buy a pair that chew your fucking feet all up. But this is your size. They look very good. Its the best shoe in the house. And all that fucking horseshit. And the old bullshit about breaking them in. I/d like to break his fucking head the four-eyed slob.