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2:00 a.m. - 2001-12-05
The first thing I'm finna do is try to shatter my bad habit of watching TV when there is nothing good on. Which is most of the time. I will flip through the channels for a half hour sometimes, hoping that somehow something watchable will appear. At this time of the night it seldom does. Yet I flip and flip, like a little wind up monkey. Enough of that shit.

As of tomorrow I will do something I always wanted to do, begin to learn Spanish. I know your basic taqueria Spanish but that's about it. I have wanted to learn to speak it fluently for quite a while, but now, now that I spend ridiculous amounts of time sitting in front of the TV guide channel, I have every reason to just do it.

I mean fuck, some of those shows on Telemundo must be okay…

You like STD's? Here's a herpes story!

I was working for an incredibly wealthy complete bitch. Her husband was a successful architect who had designed one of the biggest buildings in SF. He had a stroke and retired and spent his days sitting on his bed watching TV in his underwear and listening to his bitchy wife bitch. I was working in their backyard fixing their deck and some other various crap.

I had to work out of their bedroom and every morning her husband would watch me instead of TV. In his underwear. At first I didn't mind because I figured he was a lot less capable than he really was, all I knew of him was that he had had a stroke, but I had no idea how able it left him. I had never heard him speak, his bitchy wife did more than enough talking for the two of them. But everyday, there he sat in his tighty whities watching me work.

I just want to pause right now to let you wonder what all this could have to do with herpes.


Anyway, he could talk, a fact that I found out on the fifth day I was there when the first thing I heard him utter was "shut the fuck up, bitch" to his wife.

This woman had two cats that she was so worried were going to runaway, she locked them on the third floor while I was there and I was forbidden from going to even the second floor. A full floor buffer zone to keep the idiot carpenter from mistakenly trying to exit through the third story window plunging to his death and, more importantly, letting her cat out into the sunlight. She had extra doors installed all over the house so you could open one, enter the hall, close it, and open the next one. This process was very important, even when the felines were locked in their tower. So important she found it nessesary to explain the technique every time I went in or out of the house.

Anyway, on to the rash part of the story. One day a strange fucked up rash appeared on my mouth. It freaked me the fuck out because I had no idea what it was, and it sounded very much like the herpes description on the net. Plus I had recently done a few things that are none of your binnis.

The damn thing appeared overnight, and everyone I asked either said they didn't know what it could be, or "Yep, that's the herpes alright, I've had 'em for years and now you have 'em too. Now we both have 'em. We have herpes, you and I."

So I called my boss and told him I wasn't going in the next day because I looked like I had been sucking on the business end of a shop vac and I had to get it checked out. He told me to call the Bitch and tell her.

So I did.

Bitchy cat Freak: Hello?

Heckafresh: Hello, Mrs. Freak?

BCF: Yes! Who's This!

HF: It's Heckafresh with name of my old company here construction. I just wanted to let you know that I wont be able to come in today because of a medical appointment.

BCF: An Appointment!? Why Didn't You Inform Me Of This Yesterday?!

HF: Well, it's kind of an emergency appointment, I had to make it this morning.

BCF: What's Wrong With You?! (this was said with way more emphasis on accusation than concern)

HF: Um, well frankly it is not something that I wish to discuss.

BCF: Well you'll have to have someone else come in to take your place then!

HF: (Well ma'am, the very fact that I'm the one who has been sentenced to dealing with your bitchy ass should give you a clue as to where I am placed on the totem pole in this company, that's right, at eye level with your imprisoned cats who by the way, if I was them, I'd try to run away too.) That's up to the office to decide Mrs. Freak.

BCF: Well! I'm going to call the office right now and tell them this!-Click-

HF to empty line: That's why I referred you to them Satan!!

So I went to the doc. She told me it wasn't herpes. I demanded a blood test. It came back negative. She asked me if I had been swimming in the ocean because it could also be a bacterial infection caused by raw sewage.

No, no I hadn't but I had been working under a deck with LEAKY SEWER PIPES!

Suddenly, I desperately wanted to have herpes. The idea that this rash came from putting my face where it could have been exposed to an std was WAY more appealing than the idea that it came from coming in contact with bacteria that grew on raw sewage emitted from BCF's wrinkled ass.

The good news is no more rashes since then. But I did find out that BCF called the office and claimed that I had a case of agoraphobia and was afraid to leave my house.

Those poor cats and husband. I bet they are wishing for an STD too.


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