Where the fuck am I, actually? I can only see clouds and I think I gotta piss ... but plane restrooms... ewwww• November 25, 1992 • فيزا
Remember last night? When Bessie left a message in my voicemail and sounded so panicked I legit thought that either her or Sean were unwell? Well, I called her straight after having listened to that one, trembling and panicking because I was too scared to find out that either one of the two Seattle people I love the most were about to die, but surprise surprise, nobody was about to die or had already died. Not even Cuntrell, much to my dismay, because I want him dead, he wants me dead too and everyone knows it, but I would've still attended his funeral and brought a flower to his burial because, unlike him, I'm a pretty civilised person. Whereas, if I'd died, he would've just undressed himself, spat on my grave (I wanna be cremated even if it's haram, though) and danced the tip tap on it, that Cunt.
Anyways, Cuntrell hasn't died, and his funeral isn't the reason why I'm travelling back to the Alice tour gang today. Cuntrell is still alive, and in a matter of just hours, I'll have to deal with him calling me ugly and fat again, just for the sake of putting a damper on my joie de vivre... but does it even matter? Deep in my heart, I know I'm travelling for a couple solid reasons today. And the one reason in particular that convinced me to ditch my nose job for good and catch the first available (expensive as fuck) flight to Pennsylvania instead, was that when Bessie called me sounding oh so worried... it was just to tell me that she'd rescued a flock of tiny tiny lovebirds, and hence needed my help as she just didn't know what to do with them. I'd normally say that a flock of colourful lovebirds always, easily triumphs over a 8.5k nose job... but in my current headspace, that'd be a lie. A flat out, big lie, and the fact that I cancelled my appointment and gave up on my biggest dream, aka having Michael Jackson's same, snatched profile, at least for the next three months because my surgeon friend has rescheduled my procedure as it once was, for February 14, is making me feel like an idiot. The fact that I've hopped on a flight to reach the side of the US opposite to the one I live in is making me feel like the biggest idiot who's ever walked the soil of this settler colonialist country. An idiot of the good kind, though, a very good, Good Samaritan, and an excellent future veterinarian. But what else could I do other than say yes to travelling the length and mothering the babies, when Bessie told that they were all so tiny, so sweet, so innocent, so hungry and motherless ? And that Sean, who's generally good with all animals (including birds, man of my dreams, fuck's sake), couldn't help her handling them because he was passed out drunk on his bed, locked in his room and withdrawing from any kind of human interaction? Nothing else but tell Bessie to put the babies in a shoe box with bird formula, pack my suitcase (that was already half packed for my medical trip to San Francisco), dress Cock Soup up in his best road attire, go pick up my best friend from uni Mariam in a rush, because I wasn't feeling like travelling solo... and ultimately, leave Seattle behind my back with her and my feathered baby by my side.
On top of my trusted, stunning stunning Moto Guzzi, Mariam, Cock Soup and I rode to San Francisco as in our original plan. She threw a shabshib (a slipper, where the fuck did she even find it?) in my face, when I told her that not only we were going to Baghdad by the Bay for my appointment with the surgeon, the one she'd volunteered to escort me to... but that we were also going to take a great deviation to Spreadable Cheese City to go save the birdies. She got mad at me for the sudden change in the plans at first, but she understood my reasons in the end, and I wasn't surprised one bit by her condescension, considering that she too will be a veterinarian, and most likely my colleague of the future. Then she took her 'revenge' on me, she annoyed the hell out of me asking me if there was going to be Sham (it's Sean, though, even if I've gotten pretty tired of correcting her wrong pronounce) there too, apart from 'the birds'... and when I said yes, she poked my cheek and called me a hopeless, lovesick idiot. And I called her silly, because it was pretty obvious to me that she hasn't experienced real love in her life just yet. Then I told her to let me ride to San Francisco in peace, or I would've crushed both of us into a guardrail and called it a suicide, terroristic attack. At that, she shat herself and shut the fuck up... and the rest is history. Let me tell you more of it before I open the plane window and yeet myself out of it because I don't know what the fuck I'm doing today, or why the fuck I'm even doing it. Okay?
