Novel Treatments / Carper Pollux Redux (for all us retards who truly know what time it is)

(when we last heard from our hero, one Mr. Carper Pollux, he was adorned in one bathrobe, generic old man’s slipper, and suffering a very sticky inner thigh situation, due to some impromptu bowel extroversion during a recent and habitual black out session, courtesy of Glenlivet single malt {the guy’s a Sagittarius, he’s got good tastes, even if and when he slums it}Scotch whiskey, and Percocet 10s, the silver knight of opiates.  Ah, messy, messy Carp…time to clean your shorts like a big boy [thanks Hunter], or there will be no steakie and eggs for you this morning!   UP AND AT EM CADET!)

And now as my inner teacher’s voice fades into the ether, I realize that I smell like a pub toilet in Baton Rouge (knew a veteranarian’s assistant who wnet to school out there) after an LSU game, win or loss, no matter…The shit still smells rank and foul, banal to the very marrow, and it was hot hot water to cleanse the faerie devils from my soiled pelvis, or death by sloth.  Not today, goddammit, no not today.  October is an electric month, and I’ll be shit out of a crossbreed camel/orca whale before I let these winds take me under….

(The water may as well have been ice cream at first, for no matter how hot it got, our hero seemed to need it just a bit hotter..Too lazy to toggle the water heater, too determined to let this time of ablution go to waste, Carper scrubs and scrubs, with nails and loofa, teeth and shower curtain, until every bit of yin energy was safely swilled away in the sceptic tank, out of sight, out of mind, as the adage goes….)

And now for proper attire. I, like most indivduals who left self consciousness in the training toilet, have a very partial biasment to velour.  And what with cash settlement and 401k being so candy breasted last year, why not, said I to myself, why not?  Why indeed…Why not get 24 custom tailored velour three piece track/leisure suits made, one of every major color scheme prominent in my pineal palate.  Green for sick and lucky days, black for the somber, crimson for those pimpin casual afternoon stroll (hobbles now, fuckit) purple for that holier than thou indigant day,
yellow for, well, yellow just sucks, but I had one made anyway just to look at and feel quite proud that I had better sense than to wear…  All different colors had contrasting trim, with nice paisley, argyle, houndstooth, et al on the inside, the inseam, you know, the inner lining…
Just use your imagination, I’m not gonna go into the anal retentive shit right now, that’s tasteless, and besides, self conscience, training toilet, you get the drift…
Today I’m wearing royal blue with sunflower trim, and several deep greens and reds as per the paisley inseam (what the hell was that called again? shit this’ll bug me for a few pages, sorry), with a nice Emerson Lake and Palmer ‘Tarkus’ original tour t-shirt underneath.  Of course I’d need to anoint myself with some type of pheremonal enhancer, in this case i go with old faithful, the Obsession.  Maybe not everybody’s favorite scent, but it sure makes me feel like I’ve got a pencil thin moustache, and for that price I’ll take it, because pencil thin moustaches are for sissies.  Word.
Better to feel cool than have to grow a sissystash to prove it.  Maybe I’m just shallow, but I don’t think the world gets lighter when a Mr. Richard Smoker preens up his whiskers to make him look like Raul Julia.  No offense to Mr. Julia, but unless you happen to be that Latin by blood, don’t hang your latent desires to take a reverse dump on me, sailor…
So where was I?  Oh yes, I was at the feet.  Sandals, socks.  Ha.  Just ha.
Nice comfy sport sandal, sock over my stub; a yellow one to go with my trim.  Good taste makes good vibrations.  I needed all I could get, where I was living…

I was living in a pretty decent double wide trailer, to tell the truth, it was furnished with what I’d imagine the late Steve McQueen would’ve fancied in his own on set mobile home.  Maybe not, but you’re not gonna stop me from fantasizing about being Bullit either.  That would be rude.
But what did the trailer find itself outfitted with?  This is the latest question a burnin, and so I suppose I should detail, and just give you what you want, which is only really what I’ve suggested that you wanted anyway, so maybe I’ll save the details for later, when the entire layout comes into play, in real way.  For now I’ll saciate you with the description of my coffee table, sofa, recliner, ceiling fan, bric-a-brac shelf, entertainment center, kitchen table, and refridgerator.  I’ll start with the last and work my way backwards.  It’ll be kinky, you’ll love it!
The fridge.  Standard flat chrome, gutted in both compartments to necessitate only large cylinders (kegs:  Hoegaarden White Beer; I highly reccomend), and with one standing shelf situated near the top of each respective compartment (fridge+freezer, that’s the two compartments dummy)
to hold random bottles of spirits and wine, of course only to be placed lengthwise, so as to create a nice stacking effect.  Have you ever been to an airport bar in Europe?  That’s what my fridge contained, more or less.  It would be superfluous to go voer each individual bottle of Sctoch, Irish, Bourbon,  blended, Rye, Canadian,Vodka, Tequila, Mescal, Metaxa, Gin, Rum, Liquer(scnapps brandy yes it’s all there), Ouzo, Cinzano, Midori, Kalhua, Drambuie, Frangelico,  Fuckin Boones farm found its way in there thanks to my live in concubine, whom I originally thought was named Jen, but as it turns out has a more Irish streak in her than my lack of perception had provided me with privvyness to, and so I’m not sure what the silly bitch’s name is, to this day…Let’s just call her Mystery Babylon the great and be done with it…
Enough of that, you’re probably getting thirsty, I know I’d be, if I weren’t swilling right now.  the kitchen table was, as you may imagine, just a nice heavy card table, octagonal in areal shape, nice deep green felt too, and yes, I tried to get it in velour, but I was in the middle of northern Ohio, and I was too impatient to order one custom.  Still, the table could hold more than three people at a time, and that to me equals quality.  
The entertainment center:  Yes, well, ah fuck it use your imagination.  I was too drunk to remember what I had goin on there, I only used the stereo to listen to Dr. hook anyway.  And I’m not even sure how I got that cd player to take vinyl besides.  Ah well, go figure….
The bric a brac shelf was kind of a reminder of grandmama.  Why else would I have one?  To lure underage girls into my living room?  Maybe you chief, but not me.  Those crying clowns were getting me no action, and that’s the way I liked ‘em.  Clowns desreve to be sad anyway.  Or dead.  Either way, I kept the bric a brac shelf as a reminder that somewhere, someplace, sometime, someone is gonna take those friggin things seriously.  And it kind of humbles me, makes me realize that some people have it way weirder than I do.  You might say I pity those clowns…But damn, they still creep me out, Don’t they creep you out?  
The ceiling fan was cool for one reason:  The baby harness.  I had a contractor install an indutrial grade motor on my ceiling fan, and attached sort of an elastic papoose that hung from the hub of the fan, down two and a half feet, to chest level, and could fit and weild a twenty pound infant.  the fan didn’t spin so sadistically fast as to upset the hypotheical child, but merely sent it round at about 35 rpms.  I used it on some neighbors’ kids one time whilst babysitting, and it worked like a charm.  The kid crapped his pants, but didn’t cry all night due to the rhythmic hypnosis the fan provided him.  Bad diaper rash the next day for little Tater, but the parents didn’t know any better, they just knew that he was safe and giggly, and so they flipped me an extra scrip of Valium.  Bazing!  
  Sofa was suede.  There is nothing finer on naked flesh than suede, and no I’m not being subjective here, I’m thinking about company.  I love velour, but not all coked up little tarts can deal with so much plushness.  It makes them vomit.  That’s -a- bad news, boss.  So suede it was, and in a nice tan that could easily accomidate plenty of electric sex slime without looking like it had been bought from a Turkish prison rummage sale.
Oh, the recliner was velour. Of course, and it vibrated.  Green, sea green, nice chair really.  Cost a penny too, no doubt.  Smelled like scotch, duh..
And that brings me to the coffee table.  The coffee talbe was special: it was simply a silicone sealed 4×12 speaker cabinet, used by the greatest metal band ever to grace the industry, Spinal Tap.  It was Scotch guarded, and had ruber stoppers on the corners, to avoid scuffing. Also, it was wieghed down with a sack of bearings in the center, to make it stay put.  The back side sat face up, and had a nice sheet of clear glass covering it.  It had the mighty draw of the beast, to be sure.  More girls had snorted more substances on that table than, well, than a really fucking impressive thing.

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