why i should probably burn in hell: by shawna martinez

so one day this girl walks up to a pizza parlor in some small podunk california town, she's starving and therefore, maybe a bit cynical and slightly crabby.  she spots a very stoic, very cool, sunglassed  'gene simmons' (sans makeup, of course - full-on KISS makeup at the pizza parlour would just be...well, pretty fucking cool.) sitting at a table with two teenage-ish girls.  gene is as cold as ice...he sips a glass from his own personal pitcher of beer looking out the window, saying pretty much nothing to anyone.

the two girls (one i dubbed '80's-madonna' simply because of the frilly mini skirt and the huge floppy bow hanging in her face. ok, ok...the cut up lace gloves might have had something to do with my initial analysis, well, that and the fact that she stood by herself at the plush animal-grabber machine smacking her gum, dancing and softly singing to a silent tune running through her little bow flapped head.  she was channeling 80's-madonna dammit!) didn't talk much, just kind of went about their pizza parlour-ish business, stopping by to mumble something to gene and take a bite of pizza before bouncing off again.

gene was a man of few words.  i think i may have commented once or maybe 7 times just "how fucking cool" he really was.  i'd venture to say his coolness factor was hovering around 9.5 and i was fascinated...well until i had to pee, then he quickly became a (momentary) afterthought.  i breezed by madognuts - who, while playing pinball,  had her fingers a'snappin, her head a'bobbin and her feet a'groovin - on my way to the bathroom, when i realized it was occupado.  dammit.  after quickly pondering and discarding thoughts of ducking into the men's bathroom - for various reasons, the top of the list happened to be the state of the staggering, greenish pallor-ed man, hunched over and wiping his face on his shirt collar, that had just exited said men's bathroom - i made my way back to the table where a certain someone (who really really REALLY wishes to remain anonymous) and my daughter were holding judgmental court while the reigning justice of the bench was off doing her personal business.


upon my return this ANONYMOUS person leans over to me and says "dayum, you should see gene's eyes - they are fuuuuuuuuuucked up!  i'd wear shades indoors too if my eyes looked like i'd had the shit beaten out of me with a bat right after coming off a 30-day meth run...cripes, poor guy!"  of course, i look over to catch a glimpse of  a now even cooler mr smooth, but nooooooo...his glasses were back on and he was back to staring out the window sipping on his beer - coolness and light baby.  dammit - i miss all the good stuff.

having had about all the fun i could with gene, i moved on to smacking on someone else in the pizza parlour, and the next thing i know i become aware of him talking to his girls about going outside to have a cigarette.  keep in mind mr simmons is only 2 tables away from us, so i can hear him pretty clearly.  the cigarette statement wasn't quite enough to fully pull my attention from jim-bob's half-sister's inbred brother who is telling the story of accidentally boinking his third cousin's prize 4-H hog, "BUT ONLY ONE TIME AND I WUZ REEL DRUNK AND FELL RIGHT TO SLEEP DURING, SO IT DON'T REALLY COUNT AS SEX RELATIONS, DUZ IT?"...good shit in small towns i tell you what.

next thing i know i find myself being slightly pulled off the bestiality topic by the sound of gene scraping back his chair and mumbling something to himself about not being able to find something.  i vaguely recall thinking, kindly of course, "jeebus gene...if you laid off the sauce and took off your damn glasses inside, you might just be able to find your freakin cigarettes, or lighter, or whatever it is you are too drunk to mumble coherently about not being able to find - gah, some people - now who's gonna drive those poor girls home?"

then, finding myself more than mildly interested for whatever reason, i turned to see if i could get an idea of what it was that he was having so much trouble finding and i see him reaching around on the floor. i couldn't see anything interesting...well except a little skinny stick of some sort - surely that couldn't be what he was looking for, right?  well...gene seemed to find what he was looking for right then and - tickle my ass with a feather - it WAS the skinny stick he was all ruffled up about.  hunh.  he then picked it up and worked some little switch and the skinny little stick - VOILA! - turned into a walking cane.

my eyes grew to a size relative to godzilla's gonads, my hands flew to my big fat fucking blasphemous mouth, the lights flickered inside as thunder crashed outside (ok, not really) and all i remember was hearing ANONYMOUS hiss (no really, he hissed) into my ear, "JESUS shawna, i have got to stop letting you drag me Straight...Into...the Bowels...of...Hell.", as i watched a very blind gene simmons *tap*tap*tap* his way outside to smoke his cigarette in the peace and quiet away from stupid, asinine, judgmental people named me.

now, you do realize that people deficient in one sense acquire greater strength in others...namely hearing when your sight is compromised?  oy, i so suck as a human being. how have i been allowed to walk the earth this long?

*i'm going to add here that i am aware that this is not a laughing matter - the making fun of disabled people, and being disabled, of course...very not funny.  what i do find sadly comical, and therefore blogworthy, is the fact that i can be sooooo stupid.  those that really know me, know that i would never EVER do anything to intentionally hurt anyone's feelings - i said i was stupid, not an asshole.  that being said, conjure up your own form of bad juju voodoo and cast it upon me if you feel the need.  the more compassionate among you may consider sending me some CLUE THE FUCK IN juju, as i can obviously use it.