The Living End

Journal entry for April 13th.

Day like any other.

The first day of the rest of my life.

I had Hostess Ho Hos for breakfast.

Stopped off at Aron's

and bought the new Dead Can Dance CD.

Got the results from my first AIDS test.

Positive.

Sorry.

Now let me explain what this means.

The test only verifies

that you have the antibodies to the virus.

And as you're probably aware,

many people live perfectly healthy, normal lives

for years and years,

so by no means

should you consider this a death sentence.

And no doubt you've heard of so-called safe sex,

which, as a member of a high-risk group,

you ought to be practicing anyway.

Now I just have no idea

of what the fuck I'm going to do.

Live fast, die young,

leave a beautiful corpse.

Yeah, right.

Death is weird.

So what's your name,

you sexy slab of buff beefcake?

Luke.

Luke?

Doesn't that rhyme with puke?

I'm sure, Fern.

Don't be so fucking rude

to our new traveling companion.

My name is Daisy.

And this cranky cunt with the teeth

is Fern.

Nice to meet you.

Where are you headed?

Wherever.

Oh, my.

A nomadic drifter.

A lonesome cowboy

hitching across the country

like Jack Kerouac.

How romantic.

Isn't that just fucking romantic, Fern?

Stuff it, Daisy.

You just want to play hide the weenie with him,

and you know it.

Don't get your panties all in a knot, Fern.

You know I only have eyes for you.

Bullshit.

All you got on your mind

is that dumb pig's tool.

I don't know what you're talking about.

His tool.

You know,

his penis,

his pecker,

his prick,

his peter,

his poker, his pussy plunger.

You mean his wang, his hot dog,

his dingus, his bologna pony,

his smiling meat puppet,

his love gun?

Hey!

All right, Daisy,

I'm going to blow his fucking face to smithereens.

Sweetie pie, put the heat away.

Why would I be interested

petit little taste of Vienna sausage?

Daisy, I've had it

with your lascivious flirtatiousness.

At least shoot this one in the fucking head.

The last guy she killed,

she shot him in the cock.

Took him 12 hours to die.

All that squealing and bleeding and whimpering.

I couldn't fucking stand it.

What do you got to tell him that for?

Now I got to kill him.

So what?

Then there was this other guy.

She slams an ice pick this fucking big

up his asshole.

At least he was bound and gagged

so he didn't make so much fucking noise.

Would you please shut up?

Jesus.

You got me so agitated with all this talk,

I got to pee.

What? Again?

You must have a bladder

the size of a seedless grape.

It's all that fucking Diet Coke.

Here. You hold the gun on him.

I'm going to go take a piss.

Give me the toilet paper.

Oh. Here.

Aw, moopsie.

Mmm, moopsies.

Now don't kill him until I get back.

And no more flirting.

I just love it when she gets jealous.

You know, she shouldn't go out there alone.

There's snakes in those bushes.

You must think I'm real stupid.

Fern can take care of herself.

You'd better believe it.

Moopsie!

Snakes.

Another death.

Another gruesome killing.

It's not like I'm kicking the bucket

right this second.

No, I just can't believe it.

I mean, you were careful, right?

Yeah, I mean, um...

most of the time.

It was Craig, wasn't it?

I never trusted that guy.

I told you his karma sucked.

I don't know if it was Craig.

I don't know who it was.

I'm not blaming anybody yet, except myself.

I'm...

I just heard he was sick,

and I thought I should, you know,

go to the doctor and...

Is he still in New York?

Uh, he moved to his parents' in Utah.

That's a fucking fate worse than death.

Listen, you know, um...

I'm here for you when... whenever...

Yeah, yeah. Thank you.

I think I'm going to be fine, really.

I just need to lay off

those Joy Division records for a while.

By ultraconservative whites.

Fuck.

Don't these wenches listen to anything else

besides K.D. Lang and Michelle Shocked?

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Where's the party... Adam?

15-love.

30-love.

Death is weird.

Hello.

Are you ready

What?

Are you horny?

Do you want to get off?

Who is this? Where did you

The Bulletin Board.

You mean like one of those 976 things?

Uh-huh. So what do you look like?

This is a joke, right?

Who is this, really?

Are you hard?

What?

What are you wearing?

Uh, look, I got to go.

How big is your cock?

I don't think that's any of your business.

Why? Don't you want to get off?

No. Maybe some other time.

Sorry.

Oh, my God!

Oh, shit.

Ken, I thought we were finished

with this little phase.

I had a relapse. Sorry.

It's... It's not the '70s anymore

when being married to a bisexual

I just can't take this anymore, Ken.

I can't take this anymore.

We, the people of the United States,

in order to form a more perfect union,

establish justice,

ensure domestic tranquility,

provide for the most common defense,

promote for the general welfare...

And secure the blessings of liberty...

Liberty.

To ourselves and to poster...

Pos... posterity.

Posterity!

Do ordain and establish this Constitution

for the United States of America.

Congress...

Shall make...

No law respecting...

No law respecting...

Prepare to swallow your teeth, faggot.

Oh, shit.

It's cosmetic surgery time, honey.

Guess again, fucking Three Stooges.