sort-of amazing discoveries

I met the Virgin Prince at a house party thrown by my friend Pat in the late ‘90’s. He was wearing a top hat and, by that point I may have been bleeding. He was standing with our mutual friend Chris, guarding the door to the backyard.
I asked Chris why he didn’t have a drink. He replied that there “were a bunch of strangers in the kitchen.” I turned around and marched in my slanting, sliding way into that kitchen all lit by ugly fluorescents. There was a boy a couple of years older than me with thick fingernails standing in front of the refrigerator. I said:
“Get the fuck out of my way.”
And he snorted like that was unreasonable, and yet he moved. His friend threw a tortilla at me and it fluttered to the linoleum floor without touching me. There were many German beers near the front of the thick marching order set up in there. I grabbed two and slammed the door shut. It sounded plastic, full of sucking and vacuum.
I mumbled: “You people are assholes.”
The one with the thick fingernails yelled: “Who the fuck are you?!”
He made like he was going to punch me. I whipped around.
“I own this fucking house, you PIG!!” I turned one of the beers around, it’s neck in my hand and lifted it to smash.
He said “that’s cool, that’s cool”
In point of fact, it was not my house.
I turned then, and stumbled through those dark, musty hallways, back to the living room, back through and against many warm people.
I handed the Virgin Prince and Chris a beer each.
Chris said “Hey thanks, Mikey.”
The Virgin Prince simply slightly nodded his hat towards me and I knew that my gesture had been unnecessary. I could feel a warm trickle of blood run down my forehead. It struck my right eyebrow.
“I might have to sleep here,” I mumbled.
I lived and died in that house.

I went to the library today. I guess, I WALKED to the library. It took a long time. Some little kid with a Razor scooter asked me if I had change for a dollar. I threw down my backpack and gave him the finger, both guns blazing.
I screamed "Get a fucking job!!" But then I got nervous, because what if he HAD a job. Then he could ask ME and I'd have to confess that I was unemployed.
Inside the library entrance there was an elderly janitor trying to spong this huge red stain out of the carpet.
I could hear this tinny, panicked intercom voice repeating "Code Alpha, Code Alpha!" Man that was loud!! And annoying!!
There was like nobody IN that place! Who was gonna listen?
When I went to check out the couple of books I'd picked ("How to get rich through Blackjack" and "The life of Babe Lincoln: Abraham Lincoln's hot cousin"), the clerk behind the counter was wearing a HEPA filter mask. One of those big Darth Vader, professional grade ones, reserved for when you're removing asbestos or dead aliens from your house.
I said, "Is there something you know that I don't?"
He said, "Yes."
I appreciated his honesty and brevity. I don't want to hear his damn life story. I have money to make in Reno!
We both started laughing. Laughing and laughing. After a while I forgot what I was laughing about, so I grabbed my books and glared at him as I left.

Well, I have taken the plunge.
Now I'm "somebody."
After much prodding by my good cohort, "The Virgin Prince" (it's just a name folks), I have signed up for free therapy via weblog.
Finally the wisdom of the split-personalities that have tortured me for at least twenty minutes can be yours...FREE OF CHARGE. Together we can get through this.
Maybe not both of us. But me.
Definitely me.
Well...we should probably get this show on the road.
Here is the first nugget of wisdom (you should calibrate your decoder rings now):
While attempting to call up the aforementioned Virgin Prince's blog, I stumbled upon a delightful typo.
I kept typing in what I thought was the URL, and kept getting an error message from the fine folks at blogspot, politely informing me that I had to be mistaken.
"Don't tell ME I'm mistaken," I yelled. But wonder of wonders, when I looked in the URL bar I saw that I WAS wrong.
I had been typing "the virgin PRICE".
Now this is when the wheels began to turn, folks. This is where I thought "wow...the Virgin Price...what a great name for a...TV MINISERIES...about...Vincent Price...and his deathbed confession that, yes, yes...he was a virgin!! Ala, Gods and Monsters!! And the best part would be that playing the part of the incomparable ghoulish master, we'd have...Richard Pryor!! That's when I heard that sound, you know, like cash registers ringing up in the background? Things seemed to be changing for me. Or aha, MAKING change for me.
I immediately telephoned Virg', as we confidantes are apt to affectionately refer to Princey-boy as, dandy fopp that he is.
It was 3:34 in the morning. I know for sure because when he answered the phone he was all like "what da fuck, homie, it's like...3:34 in the morning!!"
I whispered...."are YOU READY TO BECOME RICH?!!"
Of course, he said yes. The Virgin King didn't raise idiots.
I detailed my plan to him in hushed tones...from the Legal Mumbo-Jumbo I'd have to discuss with the "Head-Honcho Stuffed-Shirts at NBC, to the securing of Hoobastank to pen a score for our masterpiece. I waited for his response.
At first The Prince was silent. I believed that silence to be the percolations of immenent ecstasy. But then he started yelling at me. Apparently he didn't think it was such a great "idea."
What could I say?
"Your loss, DICK!!" I slammed the phone down. HARD. I hoped hard enough to incur deafness in his Royal Eardrum. Over the following week I began contacting my legal representation about bringing "The Virgin Price" to the big screen, as they say. But it was more a figure of speech, as it would be a TV movie. Some TV's are pretty big though. You have to give me that. Come on.
Anyway, my team of lawyers got back to me surprisingly quick.
Apparently, The Virg' wasn't the only one who didn't think too much of my little dramatic endeavor.
Apparently, the Estate of Vincent Price believes in something they call "dignity beyond the grave."
Sounds pretty creepy if you ask me. But hey, that's cool.
I still love Tales of Terror.