I am the face of piss and shit and sugar
I do a crooked little dance with my funny little monkey
What I want, what I want is just your children
I hate what I have become to escape what I hated being
Calliopenis envy from your daddy
You're not gonna hear what he don't want to hear
What I say disgusts him
He wants to be me and that scares him
"Let's do a funny little dance with my funny little monkey"
The black keys
They try to blink me not to think me
Don't want to bring me out
I am the rotten teeth, my fists are lined with suckers
My prison skin's an eyesore-mirror-sketch-pad
I am your son
I am your fad
~ Marilyn Manson
Oh, god. I’m so bored. I’m so bored that I can’t even think of anything to write.
There are only so many octogenarians, burn victims, and staff that I can fuck with on this floor before I just run out of people. They should be bringing me fresh victims daily if you ask me - and you do. But no, whenever I go wandering down the hall, searching for new adventures and unsuspecting prey, the nurses just make me go back to bed, go back to bed, go back to bed.
And how many times do I have to say, “I’ll only go back to bed if Henry Rollins is in it, waiting for me” before my request gets processed???
How fucking hard is that? HUH?
Anywhoor. As I was making some changes to my blog background today, I also took the time to scroll through some of my old posts. And holy shit, you guys were right! I DO have a thing about Henry Rollins. Like, holy shit. I sure hope he doesn’t look at this site anymore, which he prolly doesn’t after our one-time misunderstanding of my open letter to him. Cuz if he saw all this other stuff, he would totally think I’m nuts.
And I AM nuts, but not in a Henry-Rollins-should-be-scared-of-me-or-should-invest-in-extra-security-personnel-the-next-time-he-plays-a-show-in-Calgary kind of way. Just crazy in the sense that I want to kidnap him and keep him chained to a wall in my basement where I can lick him at will and keep him all to myself. That’s ALL. I mean, that kind of crazy barely even registers these days. Please.
The point of this noxious rambling is that today I am thinking of another of my stalkees, Marilyn Manson. As I scrolled through my old blog posts I was dismayed to see a serious lack of MM presence as of late. THIS IS NOT RIGHT. Not right at all.
I must redeem myself to the Reverend! I started by using his image and lyrics for this post, but that’s just not enough; he deserves more than that. Luckily I’m completely nuts, so I’ve come up with a semi interesting (considering I am confined to a hop-sital bed) idea to show Marilyn Manson my Manson love.
We have this shower board on our unit, you see, which I have for some reason taken over as my own. I have also taken to bitting anyone else who tries to write on it.
|Yes, I AM a doctor.|
It occurred to me today that I could spread the word of Manson here at the hop-sital, if I am very careful in how I set it up. For the next two or three days, the shower board will look like this:
That extra writing is going to arouse staff suspicion, especially since it is coming from ME. So I’m going to write gooey, tree-hugging type quotes for the first few days. The staff’s heightened state of alert (haha! get it? henry? never mind) when they walk by my board will lessen each day as they pass by and see that I am being a good girl and only writing happy, slightly nauseating quotes of lovey, gooey mush mush.
And that’s when I’ll strike! The quotes that they will have stopped even noticing as they pass the board will all become Manson’s. Hahahahahahahaha!
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, fucking Christ. I am just so fucking bored in here that this, THIS is how I must entertain myself.
What the shit.