I have a goddamned brown spot the size of a saucer on my stomach. I don’t know what the hell it is. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t affect my ability to empty my bodily waste into the colostomy bag. But it’s annoying as hell to look at.
Dick Shepherd’s got brown spots all over his body. He never seems to complain about them. That’s what I like about ol’ Shep. He’s only got one quarter of a lung left, half a kidney, six fingers (out of possible ten) and just one eye (and he’s damn near blind out of the other). If ol’ Shep doesn’t complain, then neither will I.
THOSE DAMN KIDS have really outdone themselves over the last week. Snotty Scotty has discovered stink bombs and loves to throw them in Mrs. Aldrich’s flower beds. She cut half of one bush down because she thought they stank like the worst fucking shit ever (my words).
Every time Snotty Scotty throws another one it reminds me of Korea. If I get hold of that little bastard, I’ll tell him about the stench of burning flesh. That will teach him. I wish we could keep a record of smells like a movie can capture images from the past. If these stupid kids could just smell some of the horrors I’ve smelled, they’d treat me with the respect I deserve.
April is nearly here and I can only hope I’ll be dead before May. I don’t know how long it takes little brown spots to work their magic, but it won’t be soon enough as far as I’m concerned.
As far as my plans for the rest of the spring go, me and Mrs. Aldrich will be in the bomb shelter eating beans and talking about war.
I’ll talk at you next week…
Lester Aldrich is a freelance columnist for Octogenarian Magazine. Manka Bros. Studios is not responsible for any action by our freelance writers. If Mr. Aldrich actually kills someone, that’s his problem. Manka Bros. cannot (and will not) be held responsible.
