The Bum

         The cats were everywhere. Jumping in my hair, eating my socks, even massaging my back. Although I have to admit, I’m not complaining about the latter. Nonetheless, the cats seemed to be everywhere. Yet strangely, my only thought was, “how much will four thousand litter boxes cost?”
         That’s where I woke up. What weird dreams. Last week I remember having a dream where I married a polar bear. And just days before that, I was at a market (or “supermarket” as you call it, sue me if you must, I just can’t stand saying “super.” Childhood problem I prefer never to think of again. Ever.).  What was I doing at this market? Why, I was searching for an incredibly long list of food. And then, of course, I wait in line. That was perhaps the most boring dream ever. What’s worse is I woke up with a spork in my left nostril.
         But alas, I forgot to introduce myself.
         My girlfriend is really good-looking. She’s so good-looking that people say they can’t even see her. Isn’t that amazing? Everyone tries to convince me that she’s invisible, but I know that’s impossible. We all know that people can’t be invisible! They’re just jealous. I’m sure there’s some scientific way to explain it, like the sun’s UV rays absorb her body and make her so incredibly hot and bright that people can’t stand to look at her? Or maybe she’s a vampire. That would be sweet.
         I work at the place they call “7-11.” I mean, I call it 7-11 too, I suppose. Or is Hell-Hole already taken? Or maybe “The Magnificent Palace of Cheap Stuff for Expensive Prices When There’s a Walmart Next Door”? Nonetheless, it’s amazing how I have the same working hours, 7 am to 11 pm. But they assured me that those are regular working hours, in fact just last week I worked overtime and was given a raise! I now get $2.50 an hour, what a world. That’s almost three dollars an hour!
         After work I always stop by my favorite bar. If I knew the name of it, I would tell you, but I always seem to be too drunk to remember it. I think the place is “Macdoonalds” or something to that extent. But man do they serve a mean chocolate milkshake. One morning I remember waking up to a man cooking me eggs. Why another man was in my house calling me “honey” and cooking breakfast is beyond me, but the eggs were good so I won’t complain. I did have some slight pain, however. Must have been…. the bartender….taking me home. Yes, that’s it. The bartender took me home and cooked me eggs, and my, err, pain is from…something completely unrelated.
         Many people are allergic to things. For instance, my neighbor is allergic to garlic. My fish is allergic to bacon. One of my friends is allergic to prostitutes, whatever they are. And one of my friends is allergic to ears. How he figured that one out, I don’t want to know.
         Now would probably be the most appropriate time to tell you about my pets. I have two. First, I have my dog, who’s name is “your mom.” So yes, your mom is my pet. Next, my goldfish, Bear. Some guard fish he is. I caught him one day as I was fishing on a pond. It had a wonderful landscape, nicely manicured grass that was perfectly green. It’s amazing what Mother Nature can do sometimes. Only problem was that little spherical pebbles with a diameter of about an inch were flying by constantly. Some fell into the pond and made a splash, scaring my fish away. Just as some bulky guy in a suit was coming up to me to tell me to leave his golf course, I snagged Bear. I tried to assure him that this was not a “golf course” but what I like to call a “pond.” The guy just looked at me and stared, one of those “Is this guy retarded?” looks. Not sure why though, he’s the one who called the pond a golf course.
         My house is more like a collage. Of other people’s houses, I mean. I don’t see why trash digging is frowned upon; I have found some very nice objects in there. Take my couch, for instance. It cost me nothing, and all I had to do was remove some stains (in other words, dig deeper for some pillows), patch up a couple holes, and wash the thing. Twice. But now it’s good as new, and that’s all that matters. I found my television in one dumpster, and a couple shirts in another. It’s amazing what people throw out. On occasion I’ve even saved my self a few bucks by getting some grub out of the trash cans behind my 7-11. Some slightly stale beef, a few pieces of bread (those are always tricky to find, usually the maggots have already gotten to them. And for future reference, I do not eat anything that has live creatures on it. Please, I only eat dead animals.), and maybe a can of half flat soda. But only half! I refuse to drink flat soda, call me picky if you must.
         Glad to see we’re all caught up in my life.
         About five minutes after my routine of shower, coffee, another shower due to smelling like coffee, and finally getting dressed, I got a phone call. The moron couldn’t stop saying “indubitably” for some reason, so I hung up on him. That’s almost as irksome as telemarketers. Of all the jobs to be outsourced, you do NOT get people to speak on the phone who can’t speak English.
         After the phone call, I was off to work. That was the day I finally got out of there. That’s right, I won a scratch lottery. Ten dollars, baby!
         Now, I know the smart and responsible thing to do would be to go invest it in a strip club or put a bet down on a horse. But me, I’m a fan of food. There’s just something about wanting what you can’t have. So with my ten dollars, I invested in a waffle iron. And I didn’t have enough money to buy the ingredients after. Damnit.
         So it was back to my lame job, back to my lame life. Only now, I had a waffle iron.
         I quit my job and decided I would spend the rest of my life trying to create a new religion, one where people would pay to a waffle iron. I mean pray. Pray to a waffle iron. The only way to get people to join my cultigion (a mix between a religion and a cult) was to get it some exposure. So, naturally, I did what any person would do. I ran around yelling "TAKE A LOOK AT MY WAFFLE IRON" while attempting to stick people's faces in it. For some reason, I was thrown in jail. I still don't understand. Those cops were just racist.
         It turns out jail's not too shabby. I get to watch moving pictures and, better yet, I get to wear clean clothes every day. After excercise time, I get to eat some good food. This prison isn't bad at all.
         On my last day in prison, I tried, for the last time, to recruit the wardon to my religion. He didn't see it the way I did. Neither did the video tapes. Something about sticking a persons face in to a waffle iron just doesn't look as good on camera. The judge said I would have to stay in jail for just a few more years, just until my name reached the top of some list. Then I would get a chair! As if they weren't giving me enough stuff already. I graciously accepted there offer and left the courtroom.
         It took only a year and a half before my chair arrived. But when it did, I was so excited I accidently broke my waffle iron. The guards assured me I wouldn't be upset about it for long, but I didn't believe them. That waffle iron had been just like a waffle iron to me.
         I was led to a secluded room while I heard someone say "He's walkin' the Green Mile." I didn't see that movie, but I assumed it was good for someone to be comparing my elation over my chair to it.
         As I entered the room with my chair, they let me test it out before I was allowed to take it home with me. The things I could trade it for! Especially with all those metal things hanging off, I could make them in to belts and sell them on the side of the road! This was looking promising.
         I sat down in my new chair, and after trying on my potential belts, I felt a sharp sting and fell asleep. I don't remember the dream I had, but I think it had something to do with cats.