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The side effects of a lifetime
I’m back at the grocery store and the cashier asks if I have my bonus card. The bonus card, one of mankind’s most lame and inconvenient inventions. Retail stores want to engage you in a relationship. It starts with a free turkey at Thanksgiving and a coupon calendar at Christmas. They woo you and it progresses to the point where they eventually ask for a commitment, and tell you about the plastic card exclusively for you. In exchange they get your phone number and other personal information. You are now involved in a more serious relationship than just the average shopper. They start sending you “invitation only” incentives by mail and special deals on everything they know you like. They also begin keeping tabs on your every shopping move. They keep a detailed record of every purchase you ever make, what time you made it, and when you left the store.
Where do you think they got this bright idea? The institution of marriage! They should have the assistant manager get down on one knee and propose when they ask you to join! If you show up without your bonus card, it’s a hassle. The cashier treats you like you are her a-hole boyfriend who didn’t open the car door for her!
I open the car door as Donny comes home from the hospital and needs an additional two weeks of rest and clearance from his doctor to rehearse. We carry Donny’s tweed luggage in from the New Jersey fiasco and settle him into his favorite vibrating recliner. Donny has a one-floor bachelor pad fully stocked with vast quantities of cheap wine and an extensive assortment of generic brand dry goods. It is a nice one-floor bachelor pad. The thing that really stood out was his bar. There was an impressive assortment of collectibles. There were his “unknown comic shot glasses, ” “drummers know how to bang” bumper stickers, and a full size cardboard cut out of a beautiful model in a bikini that reads “drink up boys!” We noticed the picture’s bikini top was worn-out from Donny’s “two eggs, sunny side up” longstanding party skit.
He engaged in a recliner positioning ritual in an effort to find the “wiggle around” sweet spot.
Donny shifted from one side to the other until his derriere was dug into the perfect comfort shift where his rear end puzzle piece snuggled into the recliner cushion imprint. The wrinkled brow of the forehead was unfamiliar to us. It was part of his whole new irritated expression. It resembles a man with no other viable option but to use a roadside port-o-potty to do a number two. His recent dialect was projected through a distinct cocky side twisted open mouth drawl.
It wasn’t easy to see him this way, but it sure beats last week.
“Tell Shill to get Dom to fill in for me on drums the next time the group is booked in Jersey. Now I know why they call it the Garden State, when I got there, they tried to turn me into a vegetable!” There are two nagging challenges for Donny. He cannot negotiate his usual stellar grooming habits, as he needs assistance from the visiting home nurses. The other thing is that he is on some short-term, post-head trauma, prescription narcotics from Dr. Meat that transform him into a shadow of his usual jovial self. We are not used to him being miserable and high step the humorous banter attempts whenever we can. We all try our best.
“Was your favorite part of your hospital stay when they had you plugged into the back end meat thermometer or when they held you like a six pack?”
The nurse said you were one of the easiest patients to shave. It easily held like a cigarette.” “She said she never bathed a patient who asked her if she preferred top or bottom.” “He set off the smoke alarm when he lit up a cigarette and asked if it was good for her too!” “The psychiatrist was brought in when he started drinking rubbing alcohol out of the bed pan and buzzed the front desk for a drink umbrella!”
Donny grew agitated. “That’s enough! Now get the hell out of my house! Get out! Get out! I’m going to count to three!”
“Is he gonna blow our house down?” Grandma what big teeth you have, let’s break out the scotch.” “My porridge is too cold and has a peculiar valve poking out of it!” “Does your bologna have a first name?”
We stepped up our efforts to stifle Jerry and Joe, as it was obvious Donny was about to burst an artery. We exited after a hastened goodbye and filed out passed the screech of the screen door.
“We regrouped and caught our breath in the driveway before departing.
Until the band gets Donny and his mental capacity back, we are at a standstill. The fans can’t wait to see him make his valiant return, and either can we.
The upcoming show where we share the stage with established veteran rocker Iian Hunter will have to be dealt with later.
Right now he couldn’t even be trained to play drums by a circus lion tamer on a valium bender.
Dr. Meat had a lengthy conversation with Shill and discussed making absolutely sure we successfully ignore Donny’s verbal assaults. He was certain it would dissipate when he finishes his medications in two weeks. He said it could be dangerous to rile him up. If provoked, he could escalate rather quickly.
It is a week later and the Onion Dent home health care visits are wearing on us. This band can certainly dish it out, but can we continue to take it? We will find out soon as Donny continues to take no prisoners and hit below the belt.
“Iam you sing like you have a battery operated pepper mill up your arse.” Jerry, I heard better bass playing at cockfights. Joe when you play the sax it sounds like the mating call of the of the one eyed pump pheasant.” “Dom your third grade level writing ability makes me long for my ‘Dot and Jim’ books!”
Then he suddenly lost it. “I hate you all, get out, do you hear me? Get out you mother…” He then proceeded to called us every filthy name in the history of Home Boxed Office.
We tried our best to get his mind on something else. “Donny look at the pretty girl on TV!” “Do those toenails have a warranty?” “Does the word washcloth ring a bell?” “That yellowish brown tank top tee looks great, do you recall it’s original color?” “This house smells just like my favorite pet store, thanks for being so thoughtful.”
He didn’t buy our humorous attempts and things only got worse. “Get out of my house, get out!” Donny screamed. “It’s alright Donny, look the ‘price is right’ is on.” He just kept it up, cursed us, threw stuff at us, and charged at us in his hanging down undies. “We hustled outside to a resounding door slamming and distant uncontrollable thunderous screams. Through the front picture window we were further entertained by Donny’s theatrical smutty mime act where he projected the “middle finger,” “fungule gesture” and the ever-popular “ universal vertical fist levitation for whacking-off.”
As we raced to a secure location near our cars Joe started us off “I wonder if he knows walking against the wind?” “I don’t want to walk against his wind!” Jerry was next “maybe if I just mime ‘taking a bath’ it’ll all come back to him.” “Anybody know how to mime a hot paraffin spa pedicure?”
There was a runaway car that entered the driveway and we all had to jump into the grass to avoid meeting our maker.
Donny has a visiting nurse named Zelda, and she has just arrived in her speeding jalopy, a 1981 K-car. She looks like she has been in the business forever, and could possibly have been called to the scene when Lincoln was shot. She had a massively bobby pinned nurses cap that looked like it may have been issued upon her graduation that featured guest speaker Christopher Columbus, Jr.! Her uniform was fashioned with faded stripes and coated with DNA evidence of every patient she ever inserted a tongue depressor into.
She is the biggest malcontent I’ve ever seen. The problem is, unlike Donny, her drugs never wear off. She is permanently miserable and nasty beyond repair. You know Joe. He is never one to hold back his words. “Hey Zelda, are you playing solitaire in there, I don’t know what’s worse the stale smell of anal solitude or the wonton toenails.” Zelda shot back “shut your pie hole mini-dick, he gets power washed and waxed today.” Joe kept it going “after he’s all cleaned up can I bring my pen in and play a few rounds of connect the liver spots!” “Zelda scowled “your pretty funny for a guy who is romantically involved in a close encounter of his own vine.” Zelda then treated Joe to his second heartfelt “middle finger” of the hour. She closed the door slowly as her middle finger backed inside the house followed by a slam of the door.
Joe thought a second “she’s a nurse? At least they sent the right personality match! I’m sure Donny will really love that blue-ribbon beside manner while she scrubs the vitals!”
“I hope we never see that nasty old bag again.”
We decided to go for some lunch and commenced to an ancient diner a few blocks from Donny’s place. It was a prototypical greasy spoon with the waitresses that were hired in the early 1950’s on the same day the plumbing was installed. This crinkled elderly lassie with a synthetic Farah Faucet wig approached the table. She had an irrefutable mole on her chin that led the way and looked like a milk dud with a curly perm. She approached us with her order pad in the ready position and her pen cocked for blue-plate special hieroglyphics
We ordered then discussed our visit with Donny.
Jerry got the conversation going and we all took our turns. “What was with Donny’s underwear, was he storing for the winter? “The hospital gown was bad enough, but I didn’t need to know how his garden grows!” “He looked like my nephew when the babysitter was on the phone all night and the kid dumped out his happy meal.”
Just then my cell phone rang and all I heard was deep breathing. “Can you call me after lunch Mr. Masher, I would like to finish ‘my everything omelet.” It was Shill “Dom, there’s a serious emergency, get everyone over to Donny’s place right away. It’s bad, real bad.” We dashed out of the diner and quickly backtracked to Donny’s humble abode.
To our surprise the home front memory transformed from our previous recollection of the nurse visit, to a full-blown crime scene.
There were a number of police cruisers, emergency units, and one vehicle that immediately caught our attention, the one from the city coroner’s office.
The emergency team guided the manned stretcher and strategically burst through the rusted screen door. The body was unidentifiable at first glance, until the nursing cap became visible perched atop the covered corpse. A few seconds later, the door was forcefully kicked open to a radically distressed Donny being physically pushed out with his hands cuffed behind his back. He yelled with a ferocity that expanded the veins of his neck to fullest extent. “I hate you, I hate you, who took my skittles?” He was muscled into the back seat of the police car and they sped off with the sirens singing throughout the neighborhood airwaves.
Jerry slowly shook his head “he lost his skittles alright.”
The poor guy has no idea what he’s doing.”
Nicole asked, “do you think we’ll ever see Donny again?
“That is the million dollar question Nicole and the walls of that house hold the secrets and the truth.” I replied.
Joe sighed and looked up to the sky “it’s a real shame.” Iam asked “that you got your death wish on Zelda?”
“No, that I never got to eat my rigatoni and braciole.”
“You never cease to amaze me Joe. You never cease to amaze.”
Copyright © 2010 Domenick Cassise. All rights Reserved Worldwide.
(Check back for more installments that continue the story)
Onion Dent is a work of fiction and any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.