"The gun and the money? --- How 'bout the penis?"

Sometimes, when I'm too tired or unoriginal to write anything new, I'm going to revise, revamp, and repost past updates that I particularly enjoyed. It'll be something like a greatest hits compilation -- only "hits" will represent words nobody ever enjoyed or wanted to revisit, except the author himself.

Anal tears

I've got a habit of talking to myself each and every morning when I awake, holding conversations between the fragments of personality that (who?) constitute my true self -- the internally-accurate Patrick-package. Of course, these conversations reflect a mind having just emerged from sleep (aka ultimate detachment), and a mind that, when at peak performance, is not at all concerned it's comprised of multiple personalities -- which is to say, if you still remember the point of this sentence, these conversations are so jumbled and incoherent as to be completely meaningless.

When I'm lucky, the conversations exist only inside my mind; but sometimes they manifest themselves into vocal vomit. And even when my mind's characters converse using real words, the words are arranged and employed without heed for the basic laws of oral communication. From outside my bedroom it probably sounds like borderline possession -- or that I've been sleeping with two totally toxic permanent markers rammed up my nostrils^...1.

It's rare that anything of memorable import emerges from my personal dialogues, even after I've had time to contemplate these patently dumb events. However, one morning, after I'd risen from bed and begun jabbering within myself, one of the many mes used the word 'asleep'. I don't actually remember the context of 'asleep' in that morning's amalgamation of mental sludge, but there is one thought I can't purge from my mind: somehow managing to smoothly transition from the word 'asleep' to 'ass-weep', a phrase that conjured nightmarish notions in my barely alert but, still fresh from a night of pleasant dreaming, hyper-imaginative mind.

Over the last half year or so, I've been constantly terrorized by the imaginary character I can't quite envision, the one who, I fear, spends his (my?) mornings promising to "make my ass weep." I've become supremely frightened of the implications of the declaration, the promise, "I'm gonna make your ass weep." I'm not even sure when the disconnected component phrase morphed into a full-fledged promise, but it haunts me. I think I'm especially concerned because the threat actually emanates from within myself. I want to tell that sadistic portion of myself that I'd be happy to settle for slit wrists, a nice noose, or the comforts of a car crash. Butt, however 'ass-weeping' comes about I never want to know; may no part of my body ever cry tears of blood.

Really, is there any other single threat that can make you squeeze your cheeks so tight, shake and quiver through the night, and realize you aren't alright? I'd be less scared of a cave escape blocked by enraged velociraptors or being encaged in (The Silence of the Lambs') Buffalo Bill's basement. Even debasement suffered at the bowel's of Barry, my good friend who actually believes the entire world is his toilet -- and treats it as such -- would be infinitely preferable to a punishment designed to make your anus cry a river.

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¹...huffing away all night, the consequences of which will -- if you are interested to know -- transform a person from 100% normal functionality to -12% functionality, otherwise known as 100%-drooling-screaming-slapping(-oneself) mental retardation, in a mere 8 seconds.