The Eggs of Dementia

Hip Hip Hooray, Christmas vacation was finally here, which meant it was December and the nights were cold as my heart. Now, as far as I was concerned, the Plane of Torment was gone. I stopped dreaming about that kind of stuff all together. I began having sexy dreams of supermodels and hot bitches making out and rubbing my private parts. I would wake up and the sheets would be wet and then I really wanted to fucking die, especially when my mom would walk in and see them. Then I began dreaming about My Little Pony again, never going more than a dream at a time without Rarity having some kind of involvement. What was it about her? Was it a message? Was she trying to tell me something, but forces of Satan’s storms were holding her back? That would actually be kind of cool, as it was in my opinion that the Dark Father was the rawest dude ever and an ironic future savior of humankind.

Maybe she was just trying to tell me that I needed a tan. I mean in reality, I was as white as she was and kids in school made fun of me for it. However, I felt the only appropriate place to get a tan was in an exotic land on a beach, but our family was poor as shit and as a result I couldn’t even wear designer shirts, which of course led to even more bullying.

Yeah, I bought all my threads at the Salvation Army. Same place I bought my bobos and we bought our used furniture. This is a little off topic, but I have to give a special mention to a brown leather divan we recently bought that you can actually stick to if you sit on it long enough. I affectionately called it the “devil couch”.

Christmas vacation was, like any other time of the year, lonely and pathetic, but at least I wasn’t in school. We had dinner at Grandpa Hal’s on the 24th and I got some cash money, but that was not what I desired. I desired the apocalypse, but I knew upon opening the envelope marked “Wally” I wasn’t going to find it there.

Just like that, it was January 3rd and I was back at it again. Then it was March 3rd… and April 3rd… and April 20th, when our mailbox got run over by some high and drunk pieces of shit. On the eve of the first of May, I was visited again by Princess Luna, who didn’t mince words: she was pissed that I wasn’t murdering people. This was getting on my nerves, so I laid down the law the best I could.

“Luna, thinning out the herd is gonna take a few cluster bombs, not one oppressed teenager…” I said.

“I suppose you’re right.” she yelled, knocking me back from the sheer force of decibel carnage.

“Wally, what’s going on in there?” my dad inquired from behind the door.

“Nothing, dad,” I replied.

“Who’s in there? Are you on drugs, Wally?”

“This isn’t over…” Luna said softly.

“No, dad, I’m just talking to myself…” I said, as I put all of my 120 pounds against the door in an attempt to stop him. My dad hardly represented the charge of the heavy brigade, so I was confident Luna could make a quick getaway, but when I turned around Luna was gone, with only a vinter-like breeze eerily caressing the drapes to my window.

My dad finally made it in, with my mom staggering in pursuit behind him. My parents very rarely entered my room, especially during the sensitive period that was nighttime. My dad was pissed as hell and my mom reminded me of an episode of I Love Lucy where Ricky Ricardo warned some bald ass dude about how women have two faces… one pretty and one covered with cold cream.

“Wallace, you’re in big trouble,” my dad exclaimed.

He barely ever called me Wallace; I think because he was ashamed he gave me such a stupid birth name. But why was I in trouble? Because he suspected I was on drugs? Fat chance! I couldn’t even say I was on the ‘drug of life’ because my life was miserable but you already know that, reader. Let’s just say the strife didn’t last long. After my dad realized that his son was still a pussy mark that didn’t take drugs beyond sleeping pills he stole (he still didn’t know that little detail, nor did I figure he cared), he and my mom returned to their sleeping quarters. I sat on the edge of my bed stroking my Rarity plush which I recently bought used from the Salvation Army (perhaps the only good thing that store has ever been good for). I choked three more of my dad’s sleeping pills and let my head hit the pillow…