By the time I'm dead no one will care that this one time I climbed to the top of the water tower with a giant pumpkin. I'd found the pumpkin in the middle of the field at Jersey Jerry's. It was an angry reddish orange pumpkin that looked like it might give birth to a thousand little green pumpkins at any moment.
I stole this pumpkin and I took it to the water tower and I climbed. How I made it to the top without dropping that pumpkin is beyond me. The wind whipped through the ladder and almost knocked me off. I held on to the pumpkin tighter than I did the ladder.
When I got to the top of the tower I held the pumpkin up high for the world to see. But no on was looking. Everyone that was out to look was looking over at Apple Pie Hill.
Over on Apple Pie Hill they'd lit up the Asshole Sign. It had been a Bob's Big Boy sign at one time, but it had seen better days. College and high school kids had taken it mostly apart until it was nothing but a pair of legs and an ass sticking out of the ground. Someone, probably an engineering student, had fitted the ass with a pump and nozzle. So now they could light the ass up.
Drunken idiots would come from miles around with cans of gasoline and pour it into the Asshole sign. And then, after drinking and smoking and fornicating, they would light the damn thing and flames would jet out of the ass ten feet long. The flames would light up Apple Pie Hill like it was the middle of the day and the college and high school kids would dance around it like wild Injuns.
And so I, standing at the top of the water tower with my pumpkin, the mother of all pumpkins, was completely ignored. No one bothered to take a single look in my direction.
I stole this pumpkin and I took it to the water tower and I climbed. How I made it to the top without dropping that pumpkin is beyond me. The wind whipped through the ladder and almost knocked me off. I held on to the pumpkin tighter than I did the ladder.
When I got to the top of the tower I held the pumpkin up high for the world to see. But no on was looking. Everyone that was out to look was looking over at Apple Pie Hill.
Over on Apple Pie Hill they'd lit up the Asshole Sign. It had been a Bob's Big Boy sign at one time, but it had seen better days. College and high school kids had taken it mostly apart until it was nothing but a pair of legs and an ass sticking out of the ground. Someone, probably an engineering student, had fitted the ass with a pump and nozzle. So now they could light the ass up.
Drunken idiots would come from miles around with cans of gasoline and pour it into the Asshole sign. And then, after drinking and smoking and fornicating, they would light the damn thing and flames would jet out of the ass ten feet long. The flames would light up Apple Pie Hill like it was the middle of the day and the college and high school kids would dance around it like wild Injuns.
And so I, standing at the top of the water tower with my pumpkin, the mother of all pumpkins, was completely ignored. No one bothered to take a single look in my direction.
VIEW 7 of 7 COMMENTS
there is no sensible appeal to amphetamines really. they sell you on the euphoria, but you end up tricked into despair. its a brutal scheme. i'd stay far away.