| Each of us goes through
some sort of progression over the course of our lives. The pressures of our environment
act to mold and shape our actions and appearance. Recently our own reactions have been brought
to our attention by outside observers. Those same observers have expressed an interest in our thoughts
on the subject and what our ideas on a fully realized course of adaptations may look like. Of course the outcome of each life is affected by each person's individual starting modifications to a "base" lifetime. The amount of resources available to any given person greatly affect that person's options for conforming to the pressures that are brought to bear against them by a cruel cruel universe. As a matter of fact the universe is so cruel that it's begun to to get just too depressing to contemplate. Instead of pretending to be scientific about the kinds of acts human beings are capable of under duress, why don't we just have storytime? Great! |
The story below is extreme and may be disconcerting to those with weak hearts.
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this occured a quite few years ago, while I was just starting out in the big
world, all by my lonesome, my roomate and I having moved into this shit
house in the north end of Seattle. the house was a non descript little post war
cracker box piece of shit, with solid concrete walls, and (most importantly)
shitty plumbing, and no dishwasher. we had left the dishes in the sink for a
week or so, and had promised each other that we would take care of them
ASAP. well the dishes sat there for a while. a while became weeks, then
months. as the time passed, we kept piling up dishes into the sink. being
lazy and entering the kitchen only long enough to dash in and grab whatever
dry goods required to make up a quick snack, as the interior of the kitchen
had become quite unbearable, as the sink by now contained the contents
of several barbecues worth of meat scraps, and various salad scrapings.
being summer, the heady scent was EVERYWHERE! to simply call it
decaying meat and other delights would be like calling 'ol jeffy dahmer
a little misunderstood cooking student. the cloying smell of rotting meat,
and mold, and fuckstick knows what else would literally crawl up inside
your nasal mucus membranes, and deciding it was a prime place, virtually
liquishitted all over the walls inside, rotting towards your frontal lobes. this
stuff was a cross between abbotoir (sp.) and KKKrazy Glue (tm). any time
one of the dishes was disturbed, a fresh cloud of OxyPus (tm) would waft
up towards me I would react by gagging and running out the back door
choking and hyperventilating and praying i wouldnt puke. Tasteless Potential Litmus Test Sidenote: this is from a person who would routinely fart in the shower stall,and seal the top of the stall door with a towel to 'seal in the freshness and flavour' dancing merrily in my own stink, under the gentle minstrations of the water. Glad (tm) bags have nothing on me. My roomate and I were a little pissed at each other for letting the sink go as far as it had, and being the wonderfully friendly guy I was, and since my room was on the same floor as the kitchen, i decided *i* shouldnt enjoy all the olfactory delights, I duct taped garbage bags over the two entrances to the kitchen, and effectively sealed in the kitchen, much like a 'biohazard tent' of asbestos removal fame. the kitchen remained a tomb of sealed delights for *two months* during which time we learned to eat in our rooms from disposable paper plates. If it wasn't stolen MRE's or had 'refrigerate after opening' on it, we didnt eat it. the temperatures routinely soared into the hundreds that glorious summer. we would walk past the kitchen window, and glimpse in. after a time the inside of the window was covered with a peculiar dark pink and black slime. literally hundreds of colonies decorated the inside of the window. (ObBio:) the colonies appeared to be a very stable strain, with no visible mutations apparent on successive growth expansion of the colonies, at least I could beat my chest with fatherly pride and bellow loudly knowing that *we* had a stable strain. no mutie single celled animals for _our_ house, thanks much. this little game of decay farming went on for the rest of the summer, until one day, we both sat in the back yard, drinking massive quantities of hideously cheap malt liquor, talking about neighbor irritant methodology, and which of the local bus stations we were going to deface and something suddenly snapped. I stood bolt upright, and declared 'today we clean the kitchen'. my roomate's blood drained from his face, his expression one of disgust, and revulsion. 'you're full of shit, right?' he said. 'no bullshit, let's get the gear, and go in' says I. a trip to the military surplus store later, we had a MOPPS suit for myself, complete with charcoal canister breather, full coverage mine proof boots, and *fucking* *thick* gloves. an entrenching tool rounded out the gear. my roomie, being the cheap fucker he was, decided to get a surgical mask, and some dishwashing gloves. I will say that he did spring for the cleaning chemicals. and what chemicals they were. japanese cults, and the FBI's hostage rescue team would shit their pants in subservience at one look of the (arse)enal we had assembled to wage war on the fearsome sink of death. comet cleanser, pool chlorine, deck stripping solution, chlorox bleach, windex, laundry soap, steel wool, brass bristled brushes, garage and engine degreaser, cat litter, boraxo, lye, salt, vinegar, a case of paper towels, lysol disinfectant, soft scrub, and baking soda. he had literally gone to the hardware and household supplies section and bought one of everything. i'm sure the bill was more that the average operating budget for you average south african hospital. we were determined, and most appropriately, we were drunk enough not to care. armed with the best equipment and chemicals money could buy, we were minor gods of industry and cleanliness. we donned our gear and headed in. I cut the plastic, and entered the kitchen. my roomies cheap shit mask didn't seal properly, as he backed away from the opening and retreated outside. I heard his retching and gagging a few moments later. I thanked the defense department for handing such quality out to joe citizen, my breather was working like a charm. every time he would begin a new series of gasping, retching noises, I would laugh like a fool. the scene inside the kitchen was astounding. it was like we had discovered a tomb. the scene in 'the silence of the lambs' where jodie fosters character rips open the blinds after she kills the bad guy is the closest i can approximate. nothing moved. even the flies were dead in a row along the window sills. mold and other strange growths covered the once eggshell white kitchen surfaces like a fractal painting from hell. some of the residue was more than an inch thick in places. it was amazing. to think that this playground of festering rot was procreating right in our house was enough to clench my sphincter so tightly, you could practically hear the muscle audibly pop. at this point, my roomate rejoined me, his eyes blood red, puke and malt liquor breath pouring from behind his soiled mask. we began by clearing the kitchen floor, and laying a garbage bag in the middle of it. we began pulling dishes out of the semi viscous soup that had all but filled the sink to the rim. one by one the sink reluctantly released its prizes. the turgid mess made an audible sucking sound when each dish was extracted. while groping in the horrid sink of death for the drain, my hands kept coming in contact with semi solid chunky matter. these felt similar to clots in that there would seem to be a semi-solid center that was graspable, but the peripheral areas would be slightly jello-like. realizing that in that decaying sewage was food that once graced my mouth sent a shiver up my spinal column. I finally succeeded in locating the strainer plug, and attemped to pull it out. it wouldnt budge. the weight of the still remaining dishes kept it firmly bunged in place. at this point I glanced into the increasing exposed areas of liquid material in the sink. it was then i noticed the maggots. these werent your ordinary, pencil diameter maggots, these were the thumb sized chubs that fishermen, and pathologists have wet dreams about, i'd venture. the whole sink was full of them. seeing this made me gasp and shake violently, and pull my hand out in a violent, spastic fashion, the end of my hand spraying sink sickness all over the ceiling and walls. a few drops of the hideous goo made its way towards my dear roomie. they made a nice multicolored stain on his nice sweatshirt. he was heading for the backyard within milliseconds, his 'yoooooooo fuuucckkkuurrrrrrr' trailing as he sprinted for the lawn. he was decorating with LawnYawn (tm) immediately thereafter. laughter seemed to be the best medicine that day. his body made these racking, full body shakes right at the end of his vomitus maximus episodes that would practically give me an aneurism, i was laughing so hard. after several minutes of yacking, he comes back in, and we get the last of the dishes in the bag, and drag them out into the backyard, where Mr. entrenching tool digs a hole you could bury bodies in, toot suite. thats right, we BURIED the fucking dishes. neither of us wanted to eat off of dishes that has such corpulent festering pus growing on them for as long as they did. and we didnt want to pay good money just to have the garbage man take them away. I got a laugh thinking about some twit archaeologist digging them up millenia later, and putting his own food upon them. Landlord Side Note: later that month, our landlord stopped by to check on the house, and commented on the roughly coffin shaped mound in the back yard. he got 'it's just a little paperboy' as to what was 'down there'. his face was more than a little ashen as he waddled back to his hyundai. fucking cheap shit bastard. we finished the job by scooping out the sink, after the maggots were chemical warfared to death. the combination of cleaners we used just on the sink defeated my breather, and I thought I was going to pass out for a second, the fumes were so strong. repeated combinations of chemicals seemingly had no effect. the shit never did become wholly liquid, it just kept changing colors, several portions of the goop was significantly thicker in places, and resembled opaque cottage cheese with sizeable (what looked like) blood and pus packet streaks in it. another disconcernting thing was that as i was fishing around, i noticed that portions of the ooze had definite hot spots to it, so active fermentation or decay was obviously taking place, and I feared the fucking stuff would reach out and take a swipe at me if I got too close. another scary realization came later when we didn't remember any bones being in the mass of sludge that was harvested into the backyard pit. we distinctly remembered tossing several chicken bones, and not a few steak bones into the sink. copious quantities of bleach, and hot water were used on the walls, ceiling, floor, and cabinets. we used a floor squeegee and a street broom to get the hard stuff. portions of the paint were bubbled, and in some places, missing after we were through. we never did determine if it was our cleaning tactics, or the growths that did it. |