Wino's F.inal U.niversity Essay

See below!!!

"Are you done school yet?" I ask. Wino has been holed up in his room for weeks. I'm vaguely aware that he has exams now, and essays to do. But he hasn't left the house for a while...so...?

"Almost," he says. "I have two more essays to do."

"No more exams?"

"No, I did those last week. This is all I have left."

"Wait, why are the essays due after the exams?" Because I gots ta know.

"Well...they sort of aren't. They were due a couple weeks ago."

"Don't they care?"

Wino has a slug of Coke. "Nah...I play these guys like a banjo. I just tell them how 'overwhelmed' I am with things, and I can hand them in when I please."

"Nice. Don't do that when you join the porno industry. They have strict deadlines, those porno guys."

"Meh."

"So what's this one you're writing?"

"It's my last one. Finally. I'm writing about feminism, because males can never give anything about feminism a bad grade."

I pretend to puke in my mouth. Feminism? "You'd better be writing on the 'con' side, or else I'll have to take your balls."

Wino sniffs. "The dog already got 'em. Nah, you write for feminism for the easy grade."

"Those fag professors," I shake my head. "It's like leading a donkey with a carrot. But think about it though, your last essay, ever, is going to be about feminism. Is that what you want?"

Wino stiffens. "I'm only acknowledging feminism. I'm not 'for' it. There's a difference."

"Acknowledging a point is a sign of weakness. I think you're showing your femininity. You're giving in to the pink side," I goad.

Wino tosses his can into his trash. It's heaping with others. "I'll become a card-carrying feminist the moment I'm as hairy as one of 'em," he says.


Deep down, a true feminist...
wants to be a MAN!!

Final Recollection

I feel great. My period of grueling convalescence is over. My elbow is healed. My prescriptions are legal. Before I move on to brighter subjects and greener pastures, I must share with you the matter of Ed's final moments. I was there to witness his death.

Before I wrap up my podium time here at the wake... what, no laughs? Come on, don't you get it? Wrap up! A little bandage humor! Yikes. Nevermind. Not appropriate. I figured Ed would like it. He was so keen on puns and levity. Not a family trait, apparently. Anyways.

As I was saying, before I pass the microphone to Ed's mother so she can share his childhood triumphs, I have to tell you his last words.

He said "Fuck you! I'm gonna have your kidneys for breakfast aaaaaaaghghghhgkkkk-"

Allow me to explain. By this time I was mobile. I would say ambulatory but that'd be a crass choice of words. Ahem. Across the room, Ed was recovering steadily. He'd regained enough dexterity to pivot his forearms and point his fingers.

We'd been playing Monopoly. I was cruising to an easy win on the strength of full sets of Yellow and Dark Blue. Ed had picked the scotty dog, even though I warned him that the player with the battleship usually wins. Me.

I called a timeout and excused myself to the washroom. I excreted a frothy paste composed of bile, carrot, and white bread. Hospital food sucks. It took me forever to wipe my ass. I still didn't feel clean when I gave up. I gave myself an intentional wedgie before returning to the game. My underpants would be my surrogate itching fingers when my ass felt swampy or squirmy.

This unsatisfying voiding fouled my winner's mood. When I returned to the game board I saw that Ed had stolen all the orange 500 bills from the box and had removed my hotels from Park Place and Boardwalk. My mood soured further. I immediately accused him of cheating.

"You owe me four hotels and I'm taking every 500 in your stack and putting it back in the bank. Nice try, fucko."

As I leaned over to reach for his paper he poked me in the right eye. By reflex I stood up. He took the obvious opportunity and he clumsily punched my genitals. I would've fallen were it not for Ed's IV wire, which I grabbed to steady my balance. As a result I ripped a quill of needles from Ed's torso, resulting in him squealing in agony.

He shocked me by speaking those aforementioned final words. He'd been playing the drooling imbecile all week. Unbeknownst to me he'd regained his speaking capacity some time before, no doubt reserving it for requesting sex from Argus and Wino. He must have figured I'm out of his league, which is absolutely correct.

I needed to quiet his keening cries of agony. I also needed to quiet the furious demons rampaging within my mind, howling for retribution and blood sacrifice.

So I killed him. He wanted those 500s? I gave them to him. I stuffed them into his mouth, effectively muffling his noise and blocking his airflow. I flipped him off the bed and he splayed helpless and facedown on the cold linoleum. I ground my footheel into the back of his head, pressing his delicate face downwards to prevent him from spitting out the soggy fake cash. Then I got more enthusiastic. I started stomping, mashing all that careful reconstructive facial surgery back into shards and flaps.

I heard him sob and cry through the paper jam. I would not relent. This time, my choke job would be final. I knelt atop him and used one hand to cover his wet mouth and nostrils, and the other to cover his lone exposed eye. He would die in the dark. I will not tolerate cheating. I'm not proud of my actions, but in my defense...

He started it.

The Short Bus Test

Back in the first grade we weren't given exams; instead we were given pink "activity books" that had to be returned to the teacher after we had completed them.

The questions were simple: Multiple choice style. Using our navy pencils we were to indicate the biggest circle in a series of circles; or differentiate between a cat and a dog. Easy shit, really.

Even at such a young age I understood the purpose of this test. It was designed to determine if any retards had slipped through the cracks. Its purpose was to weed out the buds that wouldn't blossom; the bulbs that wouldn't illuminate. The results would decide who would suffer the indigity of riding the short bus to and from school. These children would be forced to become friendly with the kids who had their names written in their underwear...the kids who had their winter mittens fastened together with a length of yarn between their coat's sleeves. They were the brats who would piss themselves during nap time.

Even at that age I was a shit disturber, I suppose. So I went ahead and filled out all the wrong answers.

Fond Recollection #3

Despite my exhausted inability to move I remained conscious for several more hours. I averted my gaze from Ed, vainly trying to ignore him. I strived to deny his very existence with every fiber of my superior being. I failed. Ed bested me. His dedication to botheration was staggering and almost admirable.

He still had difficulty forming coherent words. His larynx had been severely bruised in his little accident. While his mangled throat slowly reconstructed itself, he dedicated himself to using me as the sounding board for his self-imposed physical therapy regimen. I heard him strain and wheeze with every lungful of air he laboriously forced through his purple esophagus. I heard his saliva sizzle and pop behind his uvula, where it would well up to near drowning depth and then finally surge down his throat when he deigned to swallow it in a massive slimy gulp.

That was nothing next to the words. He'd choose a single word and practice it for a five minute stretch before moving on to the next. He sounded like an elderly man with mismatched dentures and gout of the asshole chanting while willing out an undigested heap of rare steak through his blood weeping sphincter. So shrill and bubbly.

"Dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty........"
"Apple apple apple apple apple apple apple apple........"
"Bimbo bimbo bimbo bimbo bimbo bimbo bimbo bimbo........"
"Seahorse seahorse seahorse seahorse seahorse..........."
"Fucky fucky fucky fucky fucky fucky fucky fucky........"
"Sir Ian McKellen Sir Ian McKellen Sir Ian McKellen....."

I finally buzzed for the nurse and requested sedatives and earplugs. I could not stand the assault upon my brain. She condescendingly patted me atop the head and said "I think you've already had enough dear, you be strong and everything will work out just dandy, okay hon?" She gave me a disgustingly sanguine smile, pivoted, and casually strode out.

I had only one choice left at my disposal.

I turned to face Ed. He paused. I tried a smile but he flinched. Maybe I didn't appear sincere. "Hi. I'm Steve. You're... Ed, right?"

"Muh-huh, Mby nabe izth Ehhd. Yghew chjoked mbe lazth wheegk."

"Yes, well. I am terribly sorry about that. I have this friend, you see, and she has no insurance."

Ed waited for more. I knew this better be damn good.

"They won't give her medicine for her baby. His name is Pepe. Pepe's skin will come loose and shrug off if he doesn't get Epifixy. Epifixy is a special skin glue pill for children with loose skin."

He looked extremely doubtful. Well, as doubtful as a man mostly covered in bandages can look. To be fair Ed does have a very expressive eye and lipless mouth hole.

"You know how a tree without bark gets bug infestations, rots, and eventually dies? I didn't want to risk Pepe becoming a hollow log for raccoon birthing."

I could see my tree analogy wasn't hammering my contrived bullshit home with any authority. Time to ditch all subtlety. Time to yank his heartstrings.

"When you pointed at me in the laundry room, I imagined flies alighting on Pepe's raw exposed skinless little baby fingers. I imagined earwigs using their pincers to tease out his capillary veins so their little earwig babies could suckle from them. I imagined maggots squirming in his fontanel."

Ed's horrified expression went quizzical. I was so close now! Where had I lost him? Must be the fontanel.

"You know, a baby's fontanel. When a baby is born there's a hole in his skull right at the pinnacle of his bald crown. It doesn't grow shut for like a year I think. There's naught but soft glowing babyskin covering it. That's why people joke about brain damage and getting dropped on your head by your parents.

If Pepe has no skin, all his brainpan fluid will leak out! It'll spill into the bottle of Gerber apricot jelly he's gumming for breakfast! Maggots will fester in his head! Can't you hear him crying while insect larvae bubble out from his knobby little baby head?"

Finally my point had reached Ed. He nodded in sympathy. He also clutched his stomach, perhaps suffering from a slight case of nausea.

"That's why I had to make deathly sure you didn't rat me out. I needed to have that coat so I could impersonate a doctor and get those pills. And hey, let's be fair here. You pointed at me. You started it. I didn't want to hurt you, and I didn't kill you, did I? Here we are, ha ha! I just put a little scare into you. What a kidder I am. I did it for the children, you know? The kids are our future after all. They can't be our future without any skin!"

Oh how we laughed. Well, I laughed. He bubbled mirthfully. We were buddies now.

The Taco Incident

The headlights slash through the darkness ahead of us as we cruise down the highway. Skynyrd is pumping out of the speaker as we roll, the beat chugging through the big bass in the back:

“…be a simple….kind of maaannn…”

For some bizarre reason, Taco Bell has a promotion on tonight, for a charity or something. Tacos are on sale for .25 cents. So, being the social-minded guys we are, we did our part and chipped in our shekels for the cause.

“Hey, I hope you guys finally find the cure for AIDS!” I yelled at the kid at the takeout window.

“It’s for cancer,” said the kid.

The sacks on the bench seat between us are filled with dozens of tacos. Never mind that they’ll rot, forgotten, in the sack overnight. We have all we want now, and that’s all that matters. In the distance, a hitchhiker materializes out of the gloom, his thumb hanging out for a ride.

“Wait! Stop for him, I’ve got an idea,” Wino says. The window hums into the door, sucking the armpit stench of the tacos into the night. I ease the car up to the guy. He looks like a dumbass, standing there in his jean jacket and everything.

“Hey man,” Wino grins. “Are you hungry? We’ve got about a million tacos here, we can’t eat them all.” He holds up one of the bags to prove it.

The hitchhiker is suddenly alert, stepping away from the car as Wino hangs out the window. “Uh, no man…I just needed a ride.” He looks up the road…no other cars. Fuck - trapped.

Wino’s smile disappears in a flash. “Come on, man. They’ll go to waste. You don’t want that to happen now, do you? We’re trying to cure cancer here. Think of those fucking kids!”

“What the hell…? Cancer? Listen, thanks anyway guys,” the hitchhiker says. He begins to trot up the road.

“LET’S GET HIM!!” Wino screams. I slam the car into park and take after the kid, who is now running away at a full sprint. Still on the soft shoulder though, the idiot. I stay on the pavement, and shortly, I’m on him like a fat kid on a Smartie.

“HOOFF!!!” The kid grunts. We roll into the ditch, out of the glare of the headlights, and I pin him down. He’s weak, scratching away at me like a girl.

“That’s enough,” I say, slapping his face like a tyke who’s gonna get tickled. “You wreck my shirt and I’ll rip your ass off.”

Wino huffs up, carrying some taco sacks, looking over his shoulder at the highway. Still no cars out there. Country life. Man, you can’t beat it.

“You’re gonna EAT these tacos! ALL of ‘em, and you’re going to LOOOVE it!!” Wino howls. He begins to unwrap the tacos, mashing them into the face of the hitchhiker, smearing hot sauce on his cheeks, and stuffing his nostrils with beef by-products. They are splattering down, a rain of beef, lettuce, and sauce, soaking his jacket and filling his mouth.

“Meeeef! Morf! MEEEEEF!” squeals the hitchhiker. Wino cups his ear.

“What’s that? You want MORE?! Why, you greedy boy! Well, allow me, then!” Wino grabs two of the tacos. “Double your pleasure! Heeeerrre comes the airplane!” He rams them into the hitchhiker’s mouth:

“EEEEFFF! EEEEFFF!”

And I’ll tell you, I’m laughing so hard, I’m having trouble seeing his eyes bugging out at me, what with the tears and everything. Poor guy, all he wanted was a ride…finally, I get off him, and he scrabbles away, spitting up the tacos. He spasms suddenly, and a roar of puke sprays through his fingers, soaking his shirt with chunks of vomit. He had pizza for lunch, looks like. "Aww, gawd...," he moans.

“Oh my, you’re not going to cure cancer that way!” Wino raves. He dumps the rest of the bag on the guy’s head, and kicks his flabby behind.

“Enough,” I say. “Let’s go, I’m thirsty.” Buddy is still crawling around in the dirt. Geez, what a mess.

We get back into the car, and I drop it into Drive. “Hey, look at that - we even have some tacos left,” I say. On the soft shoulder, the hitchhiker staggers to his feet, shielding his eyes from my high beams.

“I know…perfect,” Wino says. He’s got a thick, dripping taco in his hand, and he’s reaching back for the fastball.

“Noooooo!!!….” screams the hitchhiker.

The value of taking a sauna

"My building is upgrading the saunas," I said, leaning in the chair to out-gas.

"So?" Argus asks, raising his palms to the sky, as if praising some mythological being.

"That means that when I feel a cold coming on, I can take a sauna. It means that I can boil the cold virus within my body."

Argus makes a face and says, "But your internal body temperature doesn't rise."

I smile and start thinking logically, "Yes, it does. Your body temperature can rise to over 100 degrees above normal."

My friend stares at me for what felt like a day, but was probably only a second. He leans in to me, within inches of my face and spits, "Why doesn't your brain explode then?"

I lean even closer and retort, "Who says it doesn't?"

Wino and I Have a Chat

“Have you applied to any jobs yet?” I ask. I’m fooling around with my guitar, plucking the same power chords you hear in any so-called commercial “punk” song. Those chords, they’ve been used about a million times, and everybody keeps listening to them.

Wino, he’s kind of milling around the room in his filthy Homer Simpson slippers. Homer’s mouth is eating each of his feet as he does. He’s carrying the only wine glass he owns; he’s been drinking his grapey red again from bottles with no labels. He corked it himself at the liquor store for only three bucks a bottle. There are spigots on the wall down there, a wine buffet stretching to the back of the store, and a man with alcoholic designs can get anything he needs.

“Would you like a sample, sir?” the attendant had asked, offering him a plastic cup at the taps.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Wino had said, accepting the cup. His eyes had the desperate gleam of a man about to get what he wants for a very low price. “And, actually -- I’ll take a few of these, my good man!” he waved the attendant away. Shoo, fly. He reckoned his stack of cups would allow him to try each variety of the reds…or he would die trying.

He swirls his glass around now. “Not really…but I applied to be a bus driver though. I was talking to the guy on the bus, and I think it would suit me. I can take lots of shit without caring, really.”

I hear an old tune in my head and play the chords some more. “Sounds all right…and the money is good too,” I say.

“Yeah,” he says, sipping the wine. I can smell it from here. “Did you see what I did to the tree?”

“No, what?”

“I put up some decorations,” he says.

I look out the window, and sure enough, a half-dozen bagels are hanging from the tree outside, thrown up there in the branches in the same way a kid would heave a pair of tied-up sneakers over a power line. It’s bait, you see. We need them to come closer. They’re getting wise.

Wino smiles at his handiwork. “Now…they won’t be able to resist. All those bagels, just hanging there…they’ll come. And when they do…” he trails off, looking to the corner where our rifles are. He doesn’t need to finish the thought for me. Yes, they’ll come…and when those fat, hairy bastards begin to gnaw on our bagels…they’ll get the surprise of their lifetimes. The guns, they are always loaded, leaning on the frame beside the window.

Wino finishes his glass. “Do you think I should take ‘paperboy’ off my resume?” he asks.

Fond Recollection #2

Early last week I was shuffling aimlessly down the sidewalk enjoying my buzz when I nearly got flattened by a speeding ambulance. It came careening around the corner, sirens wailing, and it clipped my elbow. I should've been using the sidewalk instead of the bicycle lane, but my brain was addled and stupid on that particular day. I was also operating under a severe vitamin deficiency and possibly scurvy. The ambulance sped along to its destination while I stood there in my bathrobe and slippers, clutching my elbow, whimpering.

I followed the hollering siren. I knew the hospital was less than a mile west and made directly for it. I decided I would sue the ambulance driver for malpractice. Or some comparable offense. At the very least they would have to treat my elbow with some gauze and splint. There was no white or red paint on my limb to prove any guilt, but I wasn't a chrome bumper so such a telltale sign certainly wouldn't be required.

I ambled up to the foreboding stone edifice and urinated into the ashtray. I wanted to be calm when I entered the building. The last time I went into a public building hopping and clutching my genitals they called the police and I ended up urinating in the squad car. When you do that, the cops beat you with nightsticks but never touch you with hands. It's so impersonal.

I was enjoying watching the few whitish butts turn yellow when a spark of pain shot from my elbow to my fingertips. The spasm caused me to whip my penis to the left. Urine splashed off the ashtray onto my slippers but I quickly corrected my aim. Laserlike precision has never been my forte. Undeterred, I tucked away and marched into lobby where I boldly marched up to the check-in desk.

"The ambulance that got here eight minutes ago was piloted by a frantic and haphazard driver with no regard for pedestrians. Not only did he nearly tip the vehicle over onto the fragrant lilacs at the corner of Chestnut and Harmon, but he also nipped my elbow with his right rear tail light as he whipped by. I demand complimentary treatment for my damaged arm and you better pray to your insurance providers that I don't sue the pizzacutters off your headbands. Now! I demand ministration!"

"Sir, please calm down. You'll be okay. Slow down and explain to me calmly what happened."

I was understandably upset and pained. My patience had completely evaporated. I tried to crawl over the counter but she hit some sort of alarm button and swiped at me with a clipboard. She lacerated my forehead and I fell backwards to the marble floor. As I lay there clutching my gushing forehead howling for a lawyer and a sewing kit, three angry barrel-shaped women with hatchet faces and short hair muscled me onto my stomach and secured my wrists behind me with plastic wire ties. I tried to bite one but she slapped me with one of her heavy slab hands and scratched my right cornea in the process.

I continued to make ruckus until I felt a needle plunge violently into my right buttock. All faded.

.................

I woke. An undetermined block of time had elapsed. My wrists felt chafed and my buttock still pulsed in agony from the barbaric stabbing I'd endured right before I lost consciousness. I moaned and tried to collect myself into a sitting position but found no energy at my disposal to accomplish the task. To my satisfaction my left arm was in a cast. I looked beyond my arm and saw a sight that made my blood run icy. I was now sharing a room with the drooling man I'd nearly choked to death the week before during my prescription acquisition mission.

It was Ed. He was awake. He'd been waiting for me to wake and see him. I could see a merry dancing light play across his lone exposed eye, and he chortled out a bubbly laughter in a high, childlike pitch. I almost shat.

I thought my day could not get worse. I was badly wrong.

Fond Recollection #1

Ladies. Gentlemen. Hello.

Ed has shuffled off into the long, dark night. I think a virtual wake would be appropriate, so I'm going to take my reluctant turn at the podium. I'll share my few brief glimpses of Ed's life with you. Today I'd like to share our introduction to one another.

I first met Ed when I got lost in the hospital two weeks ago. I was there trying to score some Dromazapan pills. I was rifling through the laundry desperately trying to find some doctor's whites so I could stroll about with impunity in my quest for keys to the prescription cabinet. I hoped to satisfy my cravings and, if I got lucky, snag some liquid morphine which would finance my gasoline for a month.

My only mistake was no fault of mine. No, it was the very hand of fate intervening to change my life forever. I did not securely close the laundry room door, and as I rifled through the used uniforms the door slowly and silently swung wide open.

I paid no attention to the sound of the squeaking gurney as it approached. I was intently smelling the armpits of one unstained overcoat when I heard something like a voice.

"Mrrrgellep!"

My body froze, but my eyes upturned to see a horizontal mummy rolling by. The pilot of the gurney paid no heed to the gurgly mumblings, but I saw one eyeball peeking out from a bandaged head, and one cockeyed arm tried to lift and point me out. It shuddered and collapsed back to the cart.

At this point I had no idea whether Ed was a friendly or not. He might rat me out. All it would take is one lone nurse taking the time to decipher his frenzied scribbling on a notepad and I'd be toast. Security would comb the house of healing with billy clubs and barking dogs. They'd find me and rip my face clean off. Then I'd be in the same boat as Ed. No good.

I stuffed the coat into my pants, creating a considerable bulge. The odds of finding a clean one in my extremely tall size are astronomical and unlikely to be repeated. I didn't want to risk it disappearing. I would've simply worn it, but it wouldn't match my Celine Dion 2002 European Tour t-shirt. Staff would be suspicious and my gig would be up.

I scampered after the squeaking trolley and discreetly followed it back to Ed's room. I loitered in his hallway for nearly an eternity. Finally Ed's nurse departed. As she/he/it walked by I whistled to indicate my innocence. My whole posture screamed "I am benign, I belong here, pay no attention, I am a good person." The nurse farted away.

I hustled into the room and Ed began gibbering again. A saliva bubble grew until it popped at the end of his feeding tube, which I had just disconnected. I jumped into his bed and straddled his torso. I leaned in very, very close to his wrapped head.

I began to whisper. "Listen, you mutilated sack of mealworms. If you talk about what you saw! If you try to tell them-"

I pointed to the door.

"-Anything! Then I'll get you. If you think you have the slightest chance of spoiling my fun, you are wrong. Dead wrong. Get it? I swear to you, I'll come back."

I will not be taken lightly. To make my point I strangled him for thirty seconds. I stopped and allowed him to breathe when the respirator started beeping. As he regained his breath he flailed his head up and down. He obviously wanted to indicate his assent.

I made a big show of reading his clipboard and writing down his name and room number.

As I made to exit, I stopped and turned back to the crippled shadow of a man.

"Remember."

Love is stronger than drugs

From my hospital window, I saw clouds that carried a darkness that only Autumn brings. An ugly Spring greets this once handsome young man, wrapped in bandages like an ancient corpse. Reading reports of my death, a figurative one at that, slowly burns the fire within my writer's soul. That flame will erupt, not unlike the many pustules that spread on my back.

One Last Visit With Ed

It's been a few days since Ed's traumatic accident. I thought I could stop by and sort of see how he's doing and everything. It's the least I could do, since he has been estranged from his family for the past eight years.

There was an incident, you see. Babies were involved, and restraining orders. And leather. It's all I can say, I'm sorry.

Anyway, as a Handsomes team member, I thought an interview with the original mastermind of the Handsomes project might be a fun idea. And besides, I had nothing else to do yesterday:

Me: Hey there, Ed!

Ed: Guh.

Me: Hey, you doin' okay, big guy? You maybe wan' a so-da? You wan' some ice-cream?

Ed: I have no lips, you dumbass.

Me: Sorry, I didn't catch all of that. Your mouth looks sort of like corned beef now, did you know that?

Ed: (moan)

Me: Man, my arms hurt. I've been working out a lot lately. Do my arms look bigger? I feel so strong today!

Ed: Nurse...

Me: Or maybe I'm just sore from all that sex I had last night.

Ed: NURSE!

Me: I'm just horsing around, take it easy. How's the hospital been for you?

Ed: Terrible. Just...just awful, it's so hard to describe.

Me: Really? Why, what's the matter?

Ed: The nurses. The...the nurses.

Me: Yes...the nurses?

Ed: They all look like men. They're so ugly, dude...(starts to cry)

Me: Oh...that's horrible, man. I'm so sorry.

Ed: (weeping) I thought...I mean, there's new, young nurses aren't there? Can't even one of them be assigned to old Ed? The horror...the horror.

Me: Yikes.

Ed: The pain meds they gave me have constipated me. I finally took a crap this morning, and I thought a brick landed in the bedpan. It was like sandpaper on my soft, baby skin.

Me: Hey, what skin? Ha ha ha! I'm just kidding.

Ed: I need a favour, man.

Me: Shoot.

Ed: Remember that five bucks I gave you? For breakfast that one time?

Me: Yeah, I gave that back to you...I bought you a pint, remember?

Ed: Oh...oh, yeah.

Me: What do you need though?

Ed: You're my friend, right? Say you're my friend.

Me: What? Yeah, of course I'm your friend...?

Ed: Clean me.

Me: What!

Ed: I'm dirty, man...down there...you said you're my friend, right? Don't make me beg, dude...you don't know what it's like for me here. Don't make me ask like this. I stink...I'm not even human anymore...look at me, man! I'm just a head! I'm just this goddam immobile head, stuck here under this blanket...and my stinking genitals make those ugly-ass nurses look at me like a heap of crap or something...

Me: The nurses...

Ed: I told you about them! Fuck the nurses! No more nurses...please, man...I need this. The sponge is in the drawer...be gentle. Use light strokes.

Me: I've got to go.

Ed: You're dead to me, man.