Joe Hardcore

Introduction

A mighty fine introduction:

My stomach hurts. Tied in knots. Constipation? But I want to throw up. I've felt like this for days. I had a dream last night we were stabbing each other with scissors ever so lightly. You started it. If you want to continue living together you can't keep initiating the stabbings. I should stab first sometimes. I'm sorry I used your toilet paper. Get a magic marker, a felt tip pen and write your name on it.

I am rock and roll. Dead at twenty-seven but only twenty-one and soon I'm going to be twenty-two. Life is shorter than my dick.

When I die I'll have lived through only twenty-eight Christmas eves and never once will I have caught Santa Claus coming to deliver me gifts. He stopped coming a long time ago anyways and even when he was coming I suspected it to be my mother by her busy and stressed nature before the holidays and suicidal tendencies no doubt caused by debt after.

My stomach turns. I want pancakes. I want to try French fries covered in mayonnaise like they do in Holland. Does miracle whip count? I've got miracle whip. I can't say miracle whip without thinking about cool whip. French fries and cool whip? It's probably best I just stick to tomato ketchup.

It's eight in the morning. It could be noon or midnight for all my biological clock cares. I haven't slept in days. I should do another line but I'm saving a drug cocktail for my family reunion tomorrow. I asked myself if I should bring coke, heroin or meth before placing all three in my cremation bullet shaped, silver necklace and shaking well. I need such a smash to cope with my family. Fucking alcoholics.

I need ginger ale and gravol but I'm drinking monster energy drinks and snorting a cocktail of heaven. My face is numb and I'm sweating. I still want to puke. Fucking opiates.

If chips are crisps and fries are chips I'll throw up if I do another line. My back hurts though. It's worth the overdose. You have to weigh the consequences of your actions. You could snort a line and cure the ache in your back but it may upset your stomach to the extent that that bothers you more than your back did. You hope to nod out. You hope you fall asleep on your side or stomach so you don't asphyxiate on your own vomit. That's what happens to people who cut class. They choke on their vomit and disappoint their mothers. Better than someone else's vomit I guess. I could choke to death on someone else's vomit. That would disappoint my mother.

My stomach rumbles. I'll make myself vomit into my trash can. I can already taste it anyways. Last nights lasagna. It's amazing because as I vomit entire noodles come out whole as if I didn't even chew. Undigested. Marinara sauce and stomach acid mixes about as well as orange juice and toothpaste.

I was going to do that line. I should call my drug dealer. Drug dealers will teach you patience. You don't want to be out of narcotics when you decide to text your drug dealer. You want to have a sufficient amount of drugs to last until they arrive with more. I should deal drugs but I'd sell to support my habit and end up in jail. That's where people who swear at the dinner table go, jail and they most likely skipped class and asphyxiate on their own vomit.

Half of being a drug addict is waiting. You wait for money. You wait for your dealer. You wait for your friends. A day full of drugs involves two hours of drug use and twenty-two hours of waiting.

I have a pet beta fish and a painting of a mahi-mahi and to save you the trouble there is no significance. I don't enjoy symbolism. I don't eat fish. I do eat meat. I like to eat things that look cute. I'd eat a puppy but you'd look down on me for it like I was the devil or a Korean. I should feed my beta fish. I should probably walk my dog but that's not happening today. I'm getting fat and so is my dog. We like hot dogs for breakfast.

I saw a man with a swastika tattooed on his head this morning. I see him every morning. He's not a Nazi but he did kill a black man once.

Jenna next door is a cripple and if she didn't smell like vomit and apple juice I'd fuck her. She'd never feel it. I could do what I wanted to her.