86 lines
4.1 KiB
Plaintext
86 lines
4.1 KiB
Plaintext
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$$$$$$$$$$$
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$$$$$$$$$$$ hogz of entropy #143
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$$$$$P $$$$ $$$$ moo, oink, up your butt.
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$$$$P $$$$ x$$$$
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$$$P $$$$ xP$$$$ d$$$$$$$$$$$.
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$$$. $$$$xP $$$$ $$$$$$' >$$$$
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$$$$$$$$$. $$$$P $$$$ 4$$$$$. .$$$$'
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$$$$'`4$$$b. $$$$ $$$$ 4$$$$$$$$$P'
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$$$$b 4$$$$b. $$$$$$$$$$$ 4$$$< %%
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$$$$$b 4$$$$$x $$$$$$$$$$$ 4$$$$$$$$$ %%
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>> "Carmex Rocks My World" <<
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*or*
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>> Confessions of a Hardcore, Down & Out, Gutter-Dwellin' Addict <<
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by -> MoonBagel
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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I have a dirty little secret. My family and friends have their
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suspicions, I'm sure, but they dare not confront me with their accusations
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and tears and hurt.
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I have it completely under control. Really. I just don't want to
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quit -- I like it. And how could I not? The euphoric bliss as my body
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absorbs the sweet balm...
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I used to use it occasionally. Maybe during the cold, dry, lonely
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winter months when I needed to cling to something tangible instead of
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maddening abstract thoughts about God and the universe and my purpose, if
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any of those really existed outside of my confused, lost adolescent cranium.
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Philosophical musings contented me in the warmer seasons -- they'd float
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about in front of my face and behind my head and inside of it, too --
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sometimes they would bump and merge. Oftentimes the bubbles would just
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burst.
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In the winter I could ski, sled, raise general hell -- but I was
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always yearning for something I could keep in my pocket or hold in my hand.
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Those outdoor activities were maddening for lack of a suitable talisman.
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Along came my satori.
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I was 14 years old, out raising some of that crazy middle school
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hell. I could take it no longer -- my lips were cracked and
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uncharacteristically crimson, and I could bear not another minute without
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that mystical healing agent I sensed was in close proximity.
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"I am chapped! I must have a balm!" I howled, startling cats and
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younger siblings and elderly passersby. They assumed it was just my lips
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that were chapped, but this sensation was so much more profound than that.
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It reached my soul.
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"Shut up -- use my Carmex."
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And thus ends my search, and begins my gradual downfall. Those first
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weeks I would be satisfied merely having my little yellow-capped talisman
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close at hand, in case of emergencies. I would smooth a thin,
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barely-perceivable layer over my lips, and instantly be soothed for days. I
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was strong.
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There were no suspicions -- there was no problem. There isn't any
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real problem now. "My, you have moist, un-chapped lips!" was the only
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comment I heard regarding my special friend.
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Now I hear snickering as I pass acquaintances and former friends on
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the street. I try to tell myself that they're merely envious, but the world
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comes crashing down when I try to use a straw or wipe my mouth with a
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napkin. My lips slip off the straws; there are frighteningly obvious
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grease-stains on the napkins. My chin is constantly covered in throbbing
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pimples, my pores being permanently clogged by excess Carmex.
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To think once a week used to be enough... I should "Huzzah!" now if I
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make it through two hours.
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I don't have a problem, though. It's all under control. I could
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stop any minute, if I wanted to, but I like it this way -- I'm warm and
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moist and never chapped. I haven't had a cold sore in over three years.
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I bow to thee, Menthol, and to thee, Camphor and Alum, and Salicylic
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Acid, Phenol, Fragrance (O mighty Fragrance!), Lanolin, Cocoa Butter, and
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Wax base, in turn.
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----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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* (c) HoE publications. HoE #143 -- written by MoonBagel -- 12/9/97 *
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