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11.03.2003 - 2:03 p.m.


A very special Sundry Mourning...


TO: DiscoTheKid
RE: your stupid obsession with the past

Dear Disco, I don’t know how you got my password but I am begging you not to write about what we agreed long ago neither of us would ever talk about again. I don’t need the kind of attention and reputation your name has given me in real life. Things are different now. I’m not the person you once knew. Do you hear me you son of a bitch? You’ll be happy to know that JB is still very angry because I’ve only recently told him that you have a diary here also. It was a long time ago Disco. Why can’t you just let it go? I wish I never met you.

- Sundry

Dear Sundry’s Diary,

I am writing here today to fill in a large gap that is missing in both Sundry’s journal, and my own. A gap that although isn’t very wide chronologically, has left a mark on both of our lives. I will try to approach this like an objective historian as to not awaken the febrile Sundry and I have no doubt suppressed with our present lives but I feel that I must tell this story before it falls silent like that old tree in the woods riddle.

You see Sundry and I were actually college sweethearts. It’s true. Well, except the part where we went to college. That never happened. Sundry and I both got our masters degrees in gun cleaning from a correspondence school that Sally Struthers endorsed a long time ago. I first met Sundry in the flesh during a trip to Seattle. The corporate offices of our university were located there and I was concerned about a mix up regarding my degree, and whether or not I got to keep the tools.

Sundry looked a lot different back then. She had hair of the artificial ebony variety and wore torn up stockings under a leather skirt that barely draped below the waistline. She was a vision in black that evoked dangerous possibilities that appealed to me like Disney World might appeal to most children. She kept a switchblade in her thong, I mean, how hot is that? Nowadays one might meet Sundry and assume tiny animated birds assist her with her morning routine. At first glance Sundry appears to be one the lord’s more cheerful creatures, as if she greets every new day with a hokey song or ritualistic dance. When I knew Sundry she wasn’t a morning person at all. In fact she resented daylight for it only reminded her that the night before was over. That was the Sundry I knew.

I met Sundry in the elevator of our aforementioned university. Out of respect for our spouses I will omit the more intimate details of our first meeting, and the second meeting, and...well, there is a lot I have to leave out.

After a week or so of things I have to leave out, Sundry and I moved into a tough housing project of Seattle where we ran a small but profitable prostitution ring and coffee bar. None of the other thug gangstas in the neighborhood ever messed with us because they would all come to us to clean their guns so we were lucky we had a useful trade. We ran a tight stable for a couple inexperienced pimps. Sundry, or Madam Dry Sun, as she was known back then, would hire nothing but the best whores in Washington and it was my job to keep those fucking bitches in line. Once in a while Sundry would have to get a trick addicted to an awful drug when one of those hos would threaten to leave us. Sundry always looked so beautiful when she was turning a bitch out. My God I miss you so much sometimes Sundry.

You see that’s the thing about infatuation. It’s restless and completely unaware of its surroundings. Love on the other hand is noble, content, and sacrifices spontaneity for the comfort and safety of an everyday routine. Love says “You’re home baby.” Infatuation rings your bell and runs off giggling. Sundry and I were hopeless pranksters.

One of the sweeter things Sundry and I loved to do together was Quaaludes. We absolutely adored the stuff. I remember once Sundry and I broke the windows of a local Catholic School while we were high on Quaaludes. Some lady dressed like a penguin came out all kinds of angry and Sundry punched the woman in the crotch before stealing her rosary beads. Later those beads would inspire the identical tattoos Sundry and I had done that very afternoon. I was so nervous about the whole tattoo thing because I didn’t want to get anything corny like a heart or her name. Sundry thought we should both get something personal that reflected our personalities and more importantly something that reflected our special bond. It took seventeen hours for the tattoo artist to find a decent picture of Jesus cleaning a rifle while moon walking on water but Sundry would accept no substitute concept because as she put it at the time… A tattoo is forever.

I’ll never forget the day JB walked into our lives with his nice aftershave and his promises of a better life. Sundry fell head over heels for the son of a bitch the moment she laid eyes on him. She began behaving strangely whenever he passed by our building on his stupid-looking Segway. She began speaking differently, dressing differently, and eventually took to bathing as well. Once in a while I would catch her staring at him whenever he came by the handball courts so I decided to try to nip the situation in the bud as quickly as I could.

I thought I would challenge him to a card game in front of all the boys near the park bench. Everyone in the area knew the park bench was the spot when it came to late night gambling so it wasn’t like this challenge was unfamiliar to the bastard. Also, I had a bit of a gambling problem back then but since I was a terrific card player it wasn’t really that much of a problem at all. I was totally confident I would smoke the fucker. JB asked me what I wanted if I were to win. I told him that I would take his expensive little wheeled toy, which inspired some instigating dog noises to bellow from my immature opponent.

I asked JB what he thought he deserved if by that snowball’s chance in hell that he were to beat me. JB didn’t even need time to think about it. He replied almost before I finished my question. He said simply, “Your girl. I’ll take your girl.” Suddenly my cheerleading squad shrunk silently.

I took JB up on his challenge because if I were to back down I would look like a total pussy and besides I was completely confident that this fucker didn’t have a chance. JB also agreed that if I beat him that he would never again ride his i Series near my building.

I would like to say that it was a close game. It wasn’t by a long shot. JB dropped four aces during his second hand. I was down to my last card and didn’t have long to fold so I knew I had to act fast. I inquired as to the rest of JB’s hand in which he replied, “Go Fish,” two syllables that would spell the last of my days with Sundry. My pile grew to the size of certain sorrow. In twenty minutes I had lost my girl in a card game to a dorky looking local with a gayhole self-balancing personal transportation device Years later JB would admit to padding the cards but either way he won fair and square for pulling it off.

To his credit JB was nice enough to give me the Segway anyway. I still ride it sometimes knowing that this was the dynamic stabilization technology that chartered the better man to his happily ever after. Later in life I would fall in love and get married also. My wife works in the defectives department of a very prominent beverage lid manufacturer and together we pull in a pretty decent living. I now clean rifles for an up and coming militia that you will no doubt hear about in the coming months but that’s all I’m at liberty to say about it right now. I live a much different life than I did back when I knew Sundry.

But at least I knew Sundry at all…


Written by Disco The Kid

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6 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

yay, diaryland