Wednesday, December 8, 2010
"I mostly just come here to mingle with the toads and to bottle up some sludge along the creek bank. And to smoke PCP."
HERE IS A DRAMATIC RE-INTERPRETATION OF THE JORGE THE LONELY CREEKWALKER STORY:
I used to be a smile-faced man. Long ago, before a had a whoopsie inside my brain. I will tell you the story: I was once a normal man. With a hat. And a pet dog. And 40 dollars. I found a woman I wanted to marry. Her name was Filbert St. Jude. I met her on the sidewalk in front of my adult living facility. I saw her in the bushes and I told her I loved her. Then we got married in the treefort in a person's backyard who I don't know. I made a tuxedo out of an animal hide that I got from a golden retriever who lived in my neighbor's back yard. And I made Filbert a wedding dress out of a few boughs of pine. It was a beautiful wedding.
Later that night, I tried to bring Filbert back into my adult living facility but Master Krugnuck said "No way, you can't bring that tramp in here." So I let her go outside. For six months she lived outside my window in the bark dust. I made her a little fort out of a few pieces of Styrofoam and a garbage bag. When it turned into rainy season, I couldn't find Filbert St. Jude anywhere. I ran outside in the rain looking for her but it was hard to see anything. Water was everywhere and all the landscaping was flooded. THen I found Filbert in a stream in the road headed toward the sewer. I grabbed her up just before she fell into the drain. Then I got hit by a bus, because I was standing in front of the bus stop.
When I woke up in the hospital, my brain-doctor friendly-man Boop St. Augustine was standing over me. He told me "Jorge, we found you in the street with the mangled corpse of an elderly squirrel in your hand. Why is this, Jorge?"
I didn't know how to answer that question. I just pulled the blankets up over my head and started sobbing to Jesus to kill Boop St. Augustine for making my brain hurt. From under the covers, I could hear Boop talking with the nurse, saying: "We have witnesses saying they say Jorge up in a young boy's tree-fort having some sort of ceremony with an elderly, North American tree-squirrel."
It was then I realized... a warlock must have made Filbert St. Jude turn into a squirrel. That's when I decided to run away to become the Lonely Creekwalker. The way I saw it, if I walked long enough in creeks, Filbert St. Jude's spirit might come back to me. If she died in a creek, she may be resurrected in a creek. Either that or the PCP I smoke is affecting my judgment.
Posted by Adamantium at 11:15 AM