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Hottest Poker Night of the Season

To: poker-night
From: Blake
Subject: Hottest Poker Night of the Season
Date: Thu, 2 Dec 2004 00:47:22 -0500

I wake up in the middle of the night. It is dark. I am breathing
heavily. I feel around. There are no beautiful women in bed beside
me. I feel confused. Afraid. It is dark, like I said. I think I’d
had a dream where the top of my skull was cut off and my brain was
exposed to the cool night air. Refreshing feeling at first, then
nausea. That’s why I woke up. Brain failure in the neither world. I
decide I should have some tea. Calm down. Go back to sleep. But
first, tea. Chamomile. Calm.

I stumble down the stairs. Striped pajama pants swish swish swish, paw
in the air for the kitchen light spoon. Are there aliens in the other
room? Peering around the corner, all fiendishly, like they’re on a
safari or something. Hate those guys, hate those guys, hate those
guys. Tea. Water, in the kettle. Stove, on. Time for waiting is
now. Images of brain falling out of skull. Aliens all laughing. Like
this sort of thing never happens on their planet. Falling down on
knees, forehead to the tile, a brief glimpse of gray matter spilling
all about before it all goes black and then . . . The scream of the
tea kettle wakes me back up. I’m in the kitchen for some reason. It’s
the middle of the night. The lights are on. There is a tea kettle on
the stove yelling at me.

Yes. Tea. High energy. Must wake up from this terrible dream.
English Breakfast just doesn’t sound hard core. Time for coffee.
Gallons and gallons of it, all around me, boiling my skin, making me so
god damn awake . . . I wake up. The tea kettle is still screaming. I
turn off the stove, fill a tea ball up with dead flowers and pour
boiling water over them. Cover. And now is the time for waiting. Set
the timer.

And as the zombies pick at my exposed brain with the cocktail
toothpicks of the dead I feel as if I’ve reached a turning point in my
life. It is truly a blessing to be delicious. I only hope my zombie
masters enjoy my brain the way nature intended it and don’t cover up my
natural flavours with soy sauce and ketchup. As my brain gets picked
away I have trouble with picking words that my thing will tell by as
this is going and then all is
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

A swift kick in the gut from an invisible house guest awakens me to the
fact that I’ve passed out on the kitchen floor and judging by the loud
buzzing sound I’d say there was some kind of oven roast or chemistry
experiment or possibly a pregnancy test that was just about done
whenever that damn thing started buzzing. It get up. Turn off the
timer. Hey, someone made tea! And best of all is that it’s still hot.

And then I remember. Oh god. The horror. Tomorrow is poker night.
All. Over. Again.

Yes.

The Poker Night
it is the night of the morrow.
or to-night for those who bed early.
or those who bed often.

If you bring anything, bring beer, or possibly vodka. If you bring
that single malt Islay scotch whiskey I will chide you for it.

Poker Night is of course
this Thursday,
“first hand at nine”
at DangerHouse
which is
XX XXXXXXXXX XX. #X
in “Slumberville” MA.
proud home of Tufts University and the Tufts University backup band.

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