Here I Am, Sitting Beside Myself....

Looks like the heat has died down after my last hit, so I'm back. Gotta be sure to remember to cover my tracks better on the next hit. Geez, you smack a crippled hispanic protesting chick, and the whole fucking world gets its panties in a wad. Granted, I kinda fell of the wagon and fell back into the favor of a woman of ill repute, and the resultant rounds of antibiotics to ward off a scorching case of the clap has me all torn up on the insides, but I think I'll probably survive.

Anyhoo, I came back to the Hospital, and no one was there. Looked like Enron with papers and all kinds of shit just strewn about. The shredders had been going non stop for quite some time when I walked in, and the only people left were the patients. They were hungry and a little dehydrated, but had remained diligently working at destroying any evidence.

Back to my great escape... After getting caught up with the crack whore on "Blind Date," I needed to lay low, so I went to visit my brother in East Texas. East Texas, as most of you are probably aware, is a brutal mix of double-wide trailers sitting damn-square in the middle of Marlboro Country. For most of the people who have found themselves here in this part of the world, East Texas represents the end of the road. That probably includes me… The cocky farmers, the whores, the bums, the fine array of meth labs and dope heads just Jonesing for another hit on that glass dick. It’s beautiful and trendy at the same time, and I loved it. For some, this place has probably always represented home – a road that led to nowhere. They never got out of the fucking gate. For others, it is a disappointing dream that led nowhere, and now they are stuck. Most of the younger ones are acting like white rappers; Eas-Tex Pimps, if you will. You don’t want to fuck around with these dudes – they will fuck you up real quick.

At any rate, my time for laying low expired, and once I figured out that the fuzz wasn't on to me, I rented a vehicle to get me back to Hospital World. Two days later, I finally arrived in a rented black Cadillac Escalade with 22 inch spinner rims with hard-crusted, sun-baked scum of 100 rotten bananas and 2 dozen or so coconuts, 26 pounds of catsup and French fry residue, and about 5 pounds of raw sewage– along with a layer or so of vomit and a goodly number of bad dings, dents and scrapes that were covered, thank Christ, by the rental insurance. Even the fucking spinners wouldn’t spin when I brought the piece of shit back to the rental place. Needless to say, I’m Jonesing for some reliable transportation right now. The truck wasn’t a happy looking gang-banging vehicle when I turned it in… but they gritted their teeth and took it after I showed them my Corporate Compliance credentials from the Hospital.

Upon returning to the Hospital, I found no one there, except the Enron thing going on. It was a real Hitler scene in this shit-hole of a corporate office; I was busted down in the basement by some guy who said he was an auditor. I had a death card at the ready, but didn't use it. The guy looked at me like it was all he could do to restrain himself from ripping out my floating rib and eating it. He asked me a few simple questions and really started quizzing me about Jane and Buckethead and what I thought about working for them. I was tempted to Mace the bastard, but instead, I backed off and went back to my office for a drink. With Jane and Buckethead laying low, the fucking days are flipping by like pages off a cheap calendar, and sometimes it’s hard to understand how all this running-around-advancing-behavior can amount to much.

I smell a fresh batch of Cheetos in Administration; looks like the ladies may be back in town...

-Captain Sharky