Pussy as Universal Adapter

Friday morning, Thursday night.

I'm dreaming, and it's not about pussy. That's the bad thing, having a dream and it's not about pussy. The cool thing about dreaming about pussy is that you can either fuck it or eat it. It's sex with a universal adapter. You can do anything to it and you are instantly having sex. Wow. Just think of that. No other organ on either sexes performs like the pussy. Nothing. No. Well, instead I dreamt of George Bush, and a very tall tree. Suddenly, while I'm there, the tree topples over and falls on me with a crash. I find myself struggling with it's limbs, gasping for air. I am being suffocated by it, and I fight harder.

I wake up kicking and struggling, but I still can't breathe. I'm being suffocated. I jump up and get a drink of water, and the damn sip almost drowns me. I have so low a gag response trying to catch my breath that I almost kill myself with a glass of water. What is this? Asthma? The last time that I found it this hard to breathe, it was that my heart had failed. I get my clothes on and take a walk down the street. Maybe some fresh air will change things. It didn't.

I walk down to 96th street and see the bus pull up. I jump on and ride it across town to Metro- politan Hospital. I find myself standing outside of the emergency room, giving my body one more chance to change it's mind and start breathing. It decides not to, so I go in. Once in the examination room, my breathing returns to normal. Everything is fine. The doctor wants an EKG. Sure, I want to know what happened too. He takes me to another examination room and gives me a robe and sheet. I hold it up. I can't wear this doc, I tell him. I don't wear underwear. "I don't care," he replies, and walks out of the room. Shit. I strip down, put on the stupid robe and jump on the table for my EKG.

Now I know how women feel when they wear dresses, constantly pulling at the hems to keep those glorious pussies from showing to the world. I don't think my cock and balls will have the same reception if exposed. The doctor walks in later. The nurses are putting a catheter in my arm and drawing blood like vampires. He says there is something very abnormal about my EKG. To get me in one of the exam rooms, schedule a chest xray. Prep me for admission. Oh shit. Great. That's not a whole lot of fun.

I'm laying in the ER for most of the day, being wheeled here and there for tests and by late after noon, I'm spoken to by more doctors than I can count. What they think so far? That I had a mild heart attack, although my bloodstream does not say so. I could have had a water imbalance. By not being able to eliminate water from my body my heart got overtaxed. Or, it could have been from my heavy drinking this week, which was not all that heavy. But it could have been that or even my putting salt on my food. In other words, THEY DON'T KNOW.

Not that I care. I can breathe now. That's important. If I have some serious problem, then it would be an issue. I had a minor experience with heart problems. They wheel me upstairs Friday night and put me in a room with two other men. I don't sleep all night. I watch television. No porn on the networks. Too bad. Porn is the best to watch when you are bedridden. My nurses are NOT hot, and they wake me up in the middle of the night to take vitals, blood pressure, pulse, temperature. All night long. The food is bland, not something you want to hang around for, although it was good being out of my room for awhile.

On Saturday, the doctors come around me and they have a big discussion as to my condition. They watched my heart all night long and there were no anomalies. I was free to go. Yes. I want to leave. To get home, take a shower, and get ready for the SHOUT OUT. Shit like that. I want to take off, so I wait. Wait all day. My roomates are released and allowed to leave. They go, but I don't get my discharge papers. I get nothing. It is growing late. 2:30, 3:30, 3:40.

The nurse walks in smiling. She has my papers. Tells me that I must followup, do this, do that and then has me sign half a million papers before telling me I can leave. I get up, get dressed and get out, heading down the hall and thinking...where am I going? I take the bus home and once there, wash up and change clothes. Then I grab my bag. The time 4:16. The SHOUT OUT has already started. I jump on the trains, which are running local, and inch my way downtown and then across town to OTTO's and when I walk in OBSIDIAN is already introducing the feature. I missed half the show but not the whole thing.

I have a great time. I have fun. Our feature is lively, and I tell people where the fuck I was when I go up to host the second half. No problem. Later, we hang around at the bar, drinking, OBSIDIAN, D2theL and myself. We drink, smoke, eat chicken, bullshit. That was fun. It got late and we headed off, moving downtown, catching the Way and I heading apart from them at 14th street and left for home.

I crawl into my bed, happy to be home. It is late.

The lights go out. I don't dream. There are no trees.

Hobobob