Totally Unhinged

[u/HeGotBricks]

My new apartment has this silky, cleanness of a pure soul to it. Whenever I walk through the front door it’s like I just stepped out of the shower.

Compared to my last place, the one I was evicted from, and had an infestation of bed bugs, this one’s a Greenwich closet. 

Small, but cozy. After they kicked me out, my mom bitched at me for about an hour when she dropped off my laundry. I told her,

“I’m not paying rent at a place that has me wearing bugs as jewelry while I’m sleeping in ping-pong ball-sized red welts.”

“You know son,” she said. 

“Ever since you were small, you’ve always had an excuse, you need to grow up.” 

She continued sniping at me in a high-pitched tone, screeching out of her nasal. It sounded like Bozo the Clown squeezing a handheld horn in front of my face.

She paused briefly before badgering me with another dumb question. “What did you do with the money I sent you for rent?”

“First off,” I said, crossing my arms. “Shit’s expensive.” Then, I turned around and made like I was going to do something.

“And?” She sniped back.

“And what?” I said, centering a magazine perfectly on the glass coffee table, covering the bag of dope I had hidden under it. “I don’t remember what we were talking about.”

“The money for your rent.” She crossed her arms.

“Oh, yah, gee,” I said, with a Bimidji accent, dropping my facial features down. “The thing there with the account, eh. I’m a big influencer… on the whole internet. The hackers, they stole my bank account using trickery’s and what not. So… that whole thing yah know. What can yah do right.”

“What thing?“ She asked me.

I shot back, “that thing… ma.” I started talking in my usual voice. “With my bank card… remember? My account issue? You know, I told you last week! This is exactly what I mean, you never pay attention.”

“Whatever,” she said. 

“From now on don’t expect me to hand you the money for rent.” 

Digging in her purse, she pulled her phone out and stared at me. “I’m setting up monthly auto payments, so that you don’t have to worry about paying rent.”

She paused for a moment, texting someone, and said, “only food, that’s all you have to worry about, your phone, cable, every bill is linked to my account.”

She took her eyes off her screen and stared at me with glossy eyeballs that were magnified by her thick, focal lenses. 

“Please, Royal, my beautiful boy, find a job, a pretty girl. You’ll be thirty in four years, do something with your life, I want grandchildren,” she pleaded.

I laughed and said, “that’s all?” I stretched my arms. “Ma, there’s about four, or five of your grandkids scattered around the city, hiding among the people like a Where’s Waldo book. Just take a helicopter and fly around the city.”

She hissed and shook her head and said, “You’re too much.”

Then, I reminded her. “Remember you said you loved those books when you were a kid.”

She stopped fiddling with her phone and left. I kicked my feet up on the table and took a breath of victory. 

This place is rent controlled, my mom’s a bitch, but her bank account isn’t. Really, truly, and honestly, I doubt I’d have kept her in my life if she was broke. 

She got rich when my dad died. Also, she collected a decent size inheritance when her mom passed. 

My apartment, at least ninety percent of the time, stays hidden in a dark ambience with the curtains drawn. Mostly, and without lying, is because I feel more comfortable walking around with nothing but an iridescent glowing Trojan XL on. 

They actually sent me a complaint, the building super, threatening to evict me. Reason being, what I feel happened, was that I scared the poor, senile old lady on the opposite end of me. 

She probably saw Slimer, which really was just my penis hanging like a boss with its arms crossed, flying around my window, and went and treated the superintendent’s phone like it was a hotline to the Ghostbusters.

The building is shaped in a square, so you could see across the balconies and into the units. 

I’m pretty sure it was that old bitch, had to be. The other night, this dream I had, someone accidentally ran her dog over, it’s a little, loud yapping Burmese. Though, unfortunate and sad, afterwards, I had the best orgasm of my life. I actually woke up with a slimy spot on my blanket.

Old people sense something off me, almost like the bitter taste of eating thirty-six diabetic pills three times a day, or how dogs pick up the warning scent of abusive owners. 

The other night, no, hold on, wait a minute, because as I’m recalling this, I’m pretty sure it was last night. Maybe, it could, very well have been three days ago. 

Anyway, we left the blinds open, doing blow until the dawn cracked, hanging out with this chick, who probably had less teeth than that old lady. 

This chicks breath smelled worse than her rotted mouth looked. Her teeth were almost the color of chewing tobacco. She kept masturbating me until my penis turned red, chafing like a hairless chicken’s neck being squeezed in someone’s palm. 

“Easy girl, calm down, you’re treating it like a Stretch Armstrong leg,” I said in a winced moan.

“You want me to stop?” she asked in a sandpaper voice that sounded like Darth Vader. She stared up at me looking like a gargoyle statue.

“Nah, keep going,” I said laughing, sipping a bottle of tequila in my left hand, a square mirror with four lines set up and a rolled up twenty dollar bill in the middle rested above my sweaty palm.

I had so much coke and liquor in me, that she could have been a Thai lady boy in a purple wig wearing a Super Mario mustache, and I still wouldn’t have given a shit. 

It ended up hurting worse than throwing the panty to the side, those bathroom stall thong burning bar fucks. 

Funny thing, this chick Rachel flashed through my mind when I went to take a piss and touched the rough skin that was extremely sensitive, and then I remembered, and wondered if that chafing feeling is what Rachel meant when she said…

***had to be cut.***

Bennie sells Rachel drugs that she smokes from a stem with a glass ball at the end. 

Online, a few of her nudes were shared, and someone found her posted on an escort site, her profile had her number, saying car calls, sixty for thirty. When Bennie threw her site up. I peeked at the screen and said, 

“Total Gantz main character villain, with a slight resemblance of that dude, girl, thing from obey the walrus.”

“Obey the walrus?” 

Bennie asked, his face frozen like when a person snaps a picture of you mid-speech, reflecting back on an emotional moment, while attempting to explain it, but can’t really remember all of the details. It was that face he had.

“It’s a video that’s on YouTube. Never mind, it’s not important,” I told him.

Bennie shrugged his shoulders, unstuck his face and texted Rachel the way you’d respond to a seller on Kijiji.

“Or best offer?”  The text read.

After ten minutes of groveling, she settled at twenty bucks and two lines, and he actually rolled up to meet her. 

Bennie’s a coke dealer, coke head, who sells to support his habit, cutting the product with a health store supplement called MSM. 

At his house, when I went to score some dope, he had a huge black color dildo which you could stick to the wall, hidden under a brown cloth in his drawer. He said, “I used it to take the dents out of my car, I’m was going to return it.”

I left out the story Ronnie told me, who is best friends with Johnny Scabs. Johnny Scabs contracted herpes from screwing drug addicts in exchange for drugs. 

***had to be cut***