Feeling Guilty
March 29, 2005
Don't tell my mom, but today I was sniffing white out. en I was in high school, I remember kids getting expelled for doing this stuff.
The only difference between them and me was my intent. I wasn't making a lame
attempt at killing brain cells or getting high. My left hand was innocently
resting on the desk, holding the bottle. I leaned over until my eyes were
approximately 3 inches from my paper, and with the skilled hands of a surgeon I
spread the white out over my tiny mark. I should go to medical school with this
talent, folks.
That's when it happened. The delicious scent wafted beneath my nostrils, and it
was like a guilty pleasure. Like fresh-cut grass, or a baby's hair, or a freshly
painted room, or gasoline. The latter two I can only take in small portions, but
I love them just the same.
It's okay to admit that you like them too, SUCKER.
