DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #43 - one for the road

'Yeah, the fifth limb is my favorite'. Sean answers, and I can swear that he looks at me and grins like an idiot for a second, right before he switches his full gaze on Cuntrell's... fifth limb. And gives the blondie's crotch a solid, firm, avid squeeze. Surprisingly enough, Cuntrell doesn't get pissy at the groping, he just has a good laugh at it, like just about everyone else in this bus. Except me. I get it, Sean is a comedian and a people pleaser... but he's just palmed some Hepatitis C-untrell, and I ain't a big fan of it. At least, not now that I'm slowly trying to come to terms with Bessie's terminal disease, and I'm still making a dozen different plans for her funeral day. Why did my loverboy have to get his own share of Cuntrell plague, exactly?

'Wash your hands before touching me, babe...'. I speak, shaking my head in disappointment and almost flinching in disgust, the moment the hand that Sean used to grope Cuntrell lands on my shoulder... and wanders a bit too close for my liking to my cheek. I mean, it's sweet that he wants to rub my face mid fighting Cuntrell, it really is. Makes me wanna stand up on my feet, throw my hands around his neck, kiss him, and drag him down with me so that he sits back right next to me... and we put an end to this mock (mock?) brawl already. But his hand is contaminated now, and man, I don't want him to smear Cuntrell's crabs all over my face. But he finds the spreading the disease thing funny, and as a matter of fact, he's laughing his ass off at my disgust. So are Layne, Bessie, and even Starr. Why do people in this tour bus think that STD's are stuff that gotta be taken so lightheartedly? Bessie is going to die on one, real soon, and noone's fucking paying attention to it.

'Your kinda girlfriend is annoying as hell. Get rid of her'. The pissy blonde primadonna of Phellus in Chains addresses me, Sean's non girlfriend girlfriend, and if it wasn't clear enough that he's making the whole thing about me, all over again... he points his greasy ass finger my way, and looks at me with spite in his eyes. Back in the day, he'd look at me with horniness in his eyes, so I can't help but draw a deep sigh of relief, when I realise that he's looking at me like he's tryna tell me 'I wanna throw you and your fucking parrot off the window', not like he's tryna tell me 'I wanna fuck you senseless, n make your (hooded) eyes roll to the back of your head, shawty'. Hooray. Mission being the end of Cuntrell's hatred, not of Cuntrell's hormone accomplished, Victoria. Another reason to cherish this day and believe it's indeed bound to be the best one of your life so far.

'Or ? You're personally gonna get rid of me?' I taunt Cuntrell, because you know. Gotta have a plan B, if Sean doesn't want to stick with the plan A, and get rid of me as he's just suggested him to. I don't think that Sean would get rid of me right now, definitely not because it's been Cuntrell to say so ... but it's always good to trick the blondie into believing that he can somehow make me, and perhaps, also my cockatiel, disappear. The harsh truth is that he would like to, but he can't... I am persistent, doing mighty good where I am, and I'll be hanging out with the band for the next few weeks. My only concern is that Bessie will be dead before I can even realise it. But besides that, the wind in my favour and Cuntrell can't break my stride.

'Brother, my what? I don't even know this chick'. Sean chimes in, as he takes a seat right next to me, and looks over to me... like he's never seen me before in his life. And he looks so goddamned serious, that for a second I get the vibe that we're really fucking strangers. The truth is that he's just an idiot... and he was born to be an actor. Man's in a loan to the music industry, but he belongs to the goddamned big screen.

He should've been an actor, no joke. Not only he made everyone believe that he was going to kill Cuntrell and yeet his bones on the highway, the moment he stood up in front of him with the menacing look in his little brown eyes. But he's also out there, still looking at me like he has no idea who the hell I am, what am I doing on the tour bus, and why does his bandmate even think that we're dating. 'Cause we aren't, and it's the only element of truth in this whole skit.