Beneficent Bowllah

(Guest Blogger: The BENEFICENT Allah)

Berkeley, CA

Sometimes I feel like God is using his mouse to drag the arrow over my baldspot in a fictitious Youtube video of me in a convertible whilst he murmurs: "Aging, man, aging..."

This past week has not been one of those times. Katie lives in an idyllic Berkeley apartment surrounded by three seminaries ("to keep the Jews away!") with an office and a walk-in closet. Surrounded by feminine splendour, I have sprouted a perfect, mid-sized clitoris in hushed olive...when I was little, I thought that women don't have anything there, just missing-a-penis. Now I know...

To make me feel more manly, Katie (or somebody) left the kitchen stove's gas on. I entered the apartment - sniff sniff - "I smell gas!" which is silly since gas has no smell except the smell we give it. I opened the windows (which could have caused an explosion) and then I heroically strutted around shirtless all day long until I Googled the situation in the evening and realized my error: I should've ran out screaming "Gas, Gas!" and called P,G & E from across the street like a pussy.

No fire though. Today I went to Berkeley Bowl to fetch some discount Komboocha (for the missus! I don't drink that gayjuice...) Walking back I passed a hospice. I peeked inside: a man-nurse was sitting at the piano, playing a rink-a-dink rendition of Take me out to the Baall Game while a bald white guy drooled like he was meant to enjoy it. Next to him, a fat black woman in a wheelchair dismissively regarded the drooler's obligeance, which was nice.