Timothy 02: Tim2 Read Free Page B

fuck off. On second thought, as I gazed upon his pool of mouth refuse, it looked like that shit they eat in New Orleans. What’s that crap? Jambalaya? All that is, is some poor country shit, that some barefoot, toothless hag was ripping through her bare cupboards and put all the crap in a big stew pot that hadn’t been eaten yet, and when her fat beer bellied husband came home from putting his drink on, he asked what that shit was his old lady had put on the table, and she came up with that name on the spot. I mean, pretty fucking industrious of her, but a turd is still a turd even if you call it a ham. So, yeah, that’s what Clambake’s puke looked like.
    “My head is killing me,” Clarence said as he dropped to his knees.
    I started singing the Battle Hymn of the Republic as loud as I could. He didn’t appreciate my humor.
    “Oh, God, please let it stop,” he said as he got into the fetal position.
    I was once again bathed in darkness as he clamped his eyes shut. I’d been to this rodeo before. Me and Hugh went way back, but I wasn’t sure who was in here with us. I started to prepare my zombie fallout shelter.
    “Dipwad! Hey, dipwad!”
    “Shut up, just shut up. I need some sleep,” he sniveled.
    “I figure you’ve got another hour or so as a human, then my buddy Hugh is going to come along. At that point he’s pretty much going to destroy you.”
    “W-what?”
    “Not the stuttering shit again. Have you not listened to anything I’ve said?”
    “I don’t want to die!”
    “You can’t stop from becoming a zombie.”
    He started to heave again, maybe from being sick or maybe from the oncoming realization. Who really gives a shit.
    “You can save yourself , though,” I continued. Why did I care? That was the interesting part. I told him about considering himself a person within his own mind and how he needed to build the deepest darkest void within himself. He needed to become his own personal black hole. I could ‘hear’ him rooting around inside his mind; he sounded more like a hippo running around a bubble wrap factory. He was hurting my ears, but even through his loud fumblings I heard something else, something much more insidious. It was the wrigglings of what I considered worms. They were coming…and by the millions.
    “They’re coming,” I said softly. Just as I shut my ‘hatch’ I heard Clementine ask what he should do. I told him ‘survive.’ And then I sat back in utter blackness and solitude. It was as good a time as any to reflect on my life and see how long I was going to have to pay the Piper for my penance. Oh the joys of growing up Catholic; glad I wasn’t saddled with all that guilt they try to push.
    I killed someone when I was seventeen. Did he have it coming? I guess maybe he did, he shouldn’t have intercepted the ball. It was the State Championship game we had gone undefeated the entire season. Then our idiot quarterback gets into a car accident two days before the game, breaks two ribs and his wrist on his non-throwing arm. I told the pussy he should still play.
    The coach didn’t agree. We end up with our greener-than-Ireland freshman quarterback. Idiot could barely hand off without fumbling. We were down 14-12 late in the fourth quarter and we were driving – no thanks to the QB. After I got called for a penalty (tripping) we found ourselves at third down and long. It had to be a pass, we knew it, and they knew it. Our QB hadn’t thrown anything past the line of scrimmage the entire night. We were screwed.
    Fitzgerald, the QB was lined up in the shotgun, Dunnehy, the center, snapped him the ball, and then we did what we’d been doing all season long, we protected the glory boy quarterback. I looked over to make sure the back judge was looking elsewhere and I gave my blocking responsibility a hard nut shot. My fist slammed off his cup and into his – I’m sure – beloved jewels. I laughed as I heard his sideline screaming for a penalty. Fitzie was still