/lit/ - Literature

I have big hole in my chest. Not literal hole. Maybe not a hole. Maybe a bubble. I have a friend who is very open about her health physically and mentally. She makes me confused about mine. Things she lists as abnormal sound normal to me. It makes me worried but it also makes me feel dumb. Because now I think maybe I have problems. But I would feel dumb if I went to a doctor and they told me my problems weren't real. Ho hum.

I am waiting for world war three to come. I think that is an over reaction. I think but you never know. Now is more likely than before. The worst thing about a war is that it likely won't change my life that much which would suck. Ho hum.

"Hot damn! is it that time again?" Terry McFishburger pulled the mouthpiece of a trumpet out from his tight anus and fixed it to the rest of the trumpet that was sitting on his bedside table. "TOOT TOOT!" was the noise the trumpet made, McFishburger blowing hard into the instrument. It was midnight, also known as 'the witching hour', and every night at midnight Terry McFishburger pulled the mouthpiece of a trumpet out of his tight anus and attached it to the rest of a trumpet and played the damn thing until his lips were chapped. It's little rituals like these that keep a man sane, Terry's father had told him on his deathbed, his own lips pressed to his own shit-covered mouthpiece.