"Sign of the Blessed Accurser After Being Fired From Taco Bell"
I remember when I was in college. I had a few friends living next door
to me who were all "punk rock";. They had a bunch of guns and sat around
playing video games and watching Monty Python movies all the time. One
night I was drinking and tripping with them and one of them was all
pissed and depressed because he'd just been fired from Taco Bell (ummmm
. .maybe because didn't show up for work when he was supposed to?) I
was a little younger and more sympathetic back then, I guess, drunk,
and consoled him, like, "Awwww, it will get better, dude. Just donate
plasma for a couple days or go back to delivering pizzas or
pan-handling or something. Well, the despair was just too much for the
green-mohawked lad. The following night I was in my room studying,
heard a loud gun shot. I heard someone screeching like a little girl
and running down the stairs. I opened my door to see what was amiss,
looked across the hall and saw this Taco Bell reject all sprawled out
on the futon in his room, blood gushing from his head and a rifle
sitting next to him on the floor, in a pool of gorgeous red
blooooooood! Pretty! Hee! He had actually killed himself! The
screeching was from his friend who watched him do it and then ran away
like a scared rabbit! The scene was especially delightful to me because
right near his beautiful splattered head, on the futon, was this little
image I had painted the night prior, while on acid, which looked like
this:
HAHAHAHA!! This is a symbol I have had in my mind every since I was about 13 years old. I used to paint it on the walls of my bedroom. I named it "The Sign of the Blessed Accurser" and when I was younger I used to think of it symbolic of my father's soul. As I got older I acquired more refined, loftier ideas of it being "Christ With His Face Ripped Off As he Hangs From the Cross" and I'll try to talk about that more sometime later. I started fancying that my image had voodoo-ed my friend into killing himself somehow, and I got a kick out of thinking that because I was very morbid and unenlightened back then. The next morning, after his body was carted away, all his friends were lounging around the apartment, surrounding where his body had been. Everyone was wondering who was going to clean up the bits of his brains still left on the carpet while Nirvana fucking blared. I gleefully volunteered for the task, of course, found it to be a rather "religious experience," really, something very positive in my
life. Although it was very horrific it seemed to teach me at the time something I couldn't quite yet explain. Soon after putting his brain remains in my refrigerator for
safe-keeping I went to class. Then after class I went to WORK,
suffering through my emotional anguish even though I had loved my dead
friend very dearly. It wasn't until years later that I would realize how symbolic, meaningful and profound it was that he had commited suicide after being fired from TaCO BeLL and was perhaps a portent conerning my future transformation as TaCO WeReWOLF.
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