The Extraction of #17: Who wants their teeth done by the Marquis de Sade? (Part 3 of 5) (1546 hits)
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Submitted by WiLL ZoNE (View user info) at 2006-02-01 10:01:09 EST
The Extraction of #17: Find a Pussycat & Bash in its Head (Part 1 of 5): http://www.ubersite.com/m/82324
The Extraction of #17: Here he is folks, the leader of the plaque! (Part 2 of 5): http://www.ubersite.com/m/82687
The Extraction of #17: Who wants their teeth done by the Marquis de Sade? (Part 3 of 5)
So I was only clipped by a few cars as I crossed the highway...the ability to rotate ones neck is highly overrated. Who needs that function?! [Did I just become Jerry Seinfeld?] I need food. I need the diner in the distance.
I'm sad and starving. I haven't smoked in a week, haven't eaten since the night before, and I still haven't found what I'm looking for. [Did I just become Bono?] The only thing that has been in my mouth since yester-night was Doc Bloom at 8:30AM this morn, and he wasn't nearly salty enough, nor was he cheese filled. I should say that my tooth is feeling great. No pain. The temporary filling is doing wonders...I contemplate not having the tooth out at all, since it doesn't hurt anymore, but then I realize that that's a retarded thought that a retarded man would have on an otherwise retarded day.
Something I've noticed since I've started to try to quit smoking...everyone and their black-lunged mother smokes. I pass by no less than 47,000 people puff-puff-puffing away on their cancer sticks as I schlep my fatass towards the silvery diner. The diner, by the way, didn't get any closer as I walked towards it. It was like a Hitchcock camera trick where you zoom in as you pull the camera back, creating this nauseating moving-not-moving feeling. There is probably a word for this camera trickery, and I'm probably to lazy to look it up.
I am too lazy to look it up.
Finally, after what felt like miles, I wrung the gallons of sweat from my shirt, and walked into Diner-land. I both love and hate diners. I love that retro-look, the silvery and chromey mirrors everywhere, and the coffee cups that millions have sipped out of before me. I love the Mexican busboys, and the elderly washed up waitresses. And this diner had my favorite diner accoutrement...the personal mini jukebox at the table. This jukebox, as with any personal diner jukebox, contains the same songs everywhere; Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley, and Gladys knight and the Pips. The most recent "hit number" was Sheryl Crow's "All I Wanna Do." Sadly, I've yet to find a diner jukebox containing Onyx's "Slam." My quest continues.
Upon entering the diner, I see the hierarchy contained within. The gray-haired, well dressed Greek man standing near the front door was obviously the owner. Every five minutes he did rounds and shook hands with the regulars and smiled his toothy-Greeky smile at the newbie's. Behind the, and I use this term loosely, maitre'd podium (where the cash register sits) were the two attractive, youngish women. The gals had a firm grasp on the English language and were obviously the sexpots of the diner. The girls were the employees that all the male co-worker in the place, if they had to pick an employee to fuck, they'd be the winners...or ultimately, the losers. They were Dinerlands equivalent of Victoria's Secret models. When it comes to the aforementioned busboys and waitresses and hierarchy of power, it is unknown who is the bottom of the barrel. Busboys have the numbers and their secret encrypted language called Spanish on their side, so maybe the Waitresses are at the bottom.
I take my seat on the vinyl bench, and check my watch. It's 3:30PM, and I'm ordering breakfast. The waitress comes up to me and the moment I'm done describing how I want my toast, my meal is in front of me.
"And for toast, how about Rye Bre—" And BAM!, my eggs, sausage, coffee and toast are before me.
The food was delicious because I was starving, but there was nothing that separated it from any other meal I've ever eaten in a diner. Diner food always, to me at least, tastes generic. All the flavors are intertwined and everything has a similar taste. It tastes like what you imagine that rotating cake in the airtight case that's been sitting there since Dan Quayle joke were all the rage, tastes like. Everything sorta tastes like communion bread, you know, the body of Christ, with a pinch of salt and onion. For all you non-Catholics communion bread tastes like a Pringle only without any flavor. Lick a business card, same taste.
I suck back my food and drink quick, quick like Flo-Jo on crank. [A Flo-Jo reference? Did I just become 1985 for second there?] I drop a tip at the table and saunter over to the register to pay. I only have a hundred dollar bill on me, a rare, rare occasion, and the hotties behind the counter don't understand what it is. They examine it like a caveman would examine a stapler. They poke at it, and retract their hand quickly when the bill moves after the poke. They grunt. I open the register myself and give myself the change as the cavewomen draw crude cave -like-paintings of the large money bill on the back of a paper placemat with stubby crayons.
Being short on patience and time, and high on the $20 dollar bills now lining my pocket, I avoid a 2 hour train ride home and opt for a car service. The sexy cave women give me a phone number and I call. The car service company's name was something like "We don't speak English, and don't understand Roads, but we'll try to get you where you're going anyway- Speedy Car Service." I don't blink an eye and book a car.
I hear the sound of a muffler scraping the asphalt, and then, from a cloud of exhaust and sparks comes my beat up, rusty ride. I get in and the sweet smell of BO fills my nostrils.
"Hey, I'm going to Williamsburg, Brooklyn. Take the BQE east to Metropolitan and I'll direct you from there."
Fifteen minutes later I realize that all my driver understood was east. I look out the car window and instead of seeing Urban sprawl; all I see is beaches and bungalows.
"Umm, buddy. Are we going the right way?"
"Yes, we go east. Dirka-Dirka."
"Buddy, we got to get on the BQE East. Not just "due east" in general as a direction."
"Yes, East. Nice!" It was like talking to a stupider Borat.
This convo went on for another 5 minutes and we just headed further and further in the wrong direction. I was finally able to convey to him that he should call his boss and ask him where to go.
After talking to his boss, the kind-hearted foreign man became visibly angry. Mother-fucker pulled a U-turn on the highway. Insane. My testicles retracted into my body cavity. This man is deranged. He drove like 'Toonces the Driving Cat' on a diet of speedballs, coca-cola and English as a Second Language.
And then we hit traffic. After my insides caught up with my outside I breathed a deep sigh of relief thinking it would calm my driver down.
Nope.
He still jerked and twitched like he was racing in the Indy 500, only he was going 3MPH.
"Do you mind if I smoke a fucking cigarette?" The driver says to me in perfect English.
"Um, actually I'm in the process of trying to quit smo—"
"Fuck you vagina-face. Here smoke this!" He said as he shoved a cigarette in my mouth, stared at me unblinkingly, and lit it with his other hand. He was steering with his knees and weaving in and out of traffic without looking.
So I smoked friends. And it felt great. I got all light-headed; it was like having a brain boner. The fact that I've been in this car for over an hour already didn't bother me anymore. When I started tasting filter, I flicked the butt out the window. I felt high. I felt that post-sex weightlessness. I looked around the car and it looked different, it was shinier. I saw the soul of my driver. We were on the BQE, in bumper to bumper traffic and I had to shit like you wouldn't believe, but I was at peace.
I told the driver I was going to go to sleep and to wake me up when we get close to Metropolitan Ave. My eyes closed and I dreamt.
What felt like seconds later, but in reality was 45 minutes later, the driver is yelling at me, and oddly enough, my fly is undone.
We were at Metropolitan Ave. I direct him to my house, and pay the ridiculous cab charge. He tries to kiss me as I get out of the car, but I tell him I don't like him like that. His car disappears in the same cloud of exhaust and sparks that he met me with. An hour after I would have if I took the subway, but I didn't care. I was spent.
My day is finally over. I get changed into my 10PM pants, even though it's still daylight outside. I ain't doing shit for the rest of the day. Speaking of shit, I drop the diner deuce off at the porcelain PO Box and everything seems to be back in order. My testicles descend back into ostrich-skin pouch.
It's a little after 5PM, when I sit on my couch, and immediately my cell phone rings.
It's my boss.
"Didja get the oral surgery?"
"No, the doctor left early, it was a nightmare. I just got home."
"Well, good. You need to come to work immediately and work to the end of the day."
"Seriously?"
"Deadly serious."
"Alright, I'm on my way."
Click.
I quickly get changed, and head for the subway.
In no way was I prepared for what I was about to witness on the 4 train.
To be continued in Part Four of the Series.
Later.
Oh uBER, "Verbosity leads to unclear, inarticulate things." -Dan Quayle.
Will
User Reviews
Submitted by WillZone (user info) at 2006-02-01 17:08:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Glad to see someone has learned to take a little critique....
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Guess I should just have a "get insulted in my own post and ignore it" attitude?
fuck that...and there was no critique you douche-knuckle.
Submitted by Deidra (user info) at 2006-02-01 15:03:53 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2006-02-01 14:54:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Don't smoke.
You can do it! [Did I just become Rob Schneider?]
Submitted by STIXS (user info) at 2006-02-01 13:43:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
There is probably a word for this camera trickery, and I'm probably to lazy to look it up
Don't know if anyone else said it: but it's called Rack Focus.
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2006-02-01 13:21:09 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by WillZone (user info) at 2006-02-01 12:59:50 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Agent_Smith (user info) at 2006-02-01 10:07:03 (#)
Ranking: -2
"I felt that post-sex weightlessness."
As if you would know, Jabba
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FUNNY COMMENT, ONLY BECAUSE YOU IMPLY FAT PEOPLE DON'T GET LAID...TALK TO YOUR MOTHER...ASK HER ABOUT HOW FATTY ROCKED HER LAST WEEK. ACTUALLY, YOU KNOW, YOU HEARD THE SCREAMS. I BELEIVE IT WAS YOU WHO WAS CRYING IN THE CORNER OF YOUR LORD OF THE RINGS DECOR'D ROOM.
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Glad to see someone has learned to take a little critique.
Submitted by WillZone (user info) at 2006-02-01 12:59:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Agent_Smith (user info) at 2006-02-01 10:07:03 (#)
Ranking: -2
"I felt that post-sex weightlessness."
As if you would know, Jabba
-------------
FUNNY COMMENT, ONLY BECAUSE YOU IMPLY FAT PEOPLE DON'T GET LAID...TALK TO YOUR MOTHER...ASK HER ABOUT HOW FATTY ROCKED HER LAST WEEK. ACTUALLY, YOU KNOW, YOU HEARD THE SCREAMS. I BELEIVE IT WAS YOU WHO WAS CRYING IN THE CORNER OF YOUR LORD OF THE RINGS DECOR'D ROOM.
Submitted by Ditka (user info) at 2006-02-01 12:14:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Made me smile a toothful smile.
Submitted by OneCheapGeek (user info) at 2006-02-01 10:41:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Don't walk behind me; I may
not lead. Just bend over and grab your ankles, Mom.
Submitted by Agent_Smith (user info) at 2006-02-01 10:07:03 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
"I felt that post-sex weightlessness."
As if you would know, Jabba