Lunatics
Full moon.
Cops and emergency rooms hate 'em. I tend to agree. Add in some inclement weather and the goobers wandering around on a day pass from whatever trailer park or mental lock-down facility normally holds their leashes spend even more time dripping on the flooring and filling the air with the scent of musty laundry.
Some days within minutes of starting your shift you feel like the Sword of Damocles is poised just so. And your name is writ large in glowing, easy-to-read letters. It's a night where you try to ignore the persistent suspicion that someone is going to add to one's store of trivia. It will be something starting along the lines of, "Did you know oil-based lubricant has a flash point?" and progress to a photo journalistic exposition from arrival at the ER through convalescence in a burn ward.
Being as this is modern America, it will continue with the politely dropped question of whether they can get their money back on that particular purchase as well as a gentle probing as to whether they should include the store in the law suit since nowhere on the packaging did it say not to use this particular lube when engaging in double anal fisting with thermite gauntlets and a stun gun applied to their genitals.
It's a chilling feeling. That sense that somewhere someone or something will intersect my little corner of the universe and warp it out of some perverse need to demonstrate it can.
This is one of those nights.
The warm-up acts have been passing through, but so far, no sign of the main event.
Gods have mercy upon my little broken body.
Cops and emergency rooms hate 'em. I tend to agree. Add in some inclement weather and the goobers wandering around on a day pass from whatever trailer park or mental lock-down facility normally holds their leashes spend even more time dripping on the flooring and filling the air with the scent of musty laundry.
Some days within minutes of starting your shift you feel like the Sword of Damocles is poised just so. And your name is writ large in glowing, easy-to-read letters. It's a night where you try to ignore the persistent suspicion that someone is going to add to one's store of trivia. It will be something starting along the lines of, "Did you know oil-based lubricant has a flash point?" and progress to a photo journalistic exposition from arrival at the ER through convalescence in a burn ward.
Being as this is modern America, it will continue with the politely dropped question of whether they can get their money back on that particular purchase as well as a gentle probing as to whether they should include the store in the law suit since nowhere on the packaging did it say not to use this particular lube when engaging in double anal fisting with thermite gauntlets and a stun gun applied to their genitals.
It's a chilling feeling. That sense that somewhere someone or something will intersect my little corner of the universe and warp it out of some perverse need to demonstrate it can.
This is one of those nights.
The warm-up acts have been passing through, but so far, no sign of the main event.
Gods have mercy upon my little broken body.
posted by Lanius at 8:45 PM
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