The room in which I am sitting, writing this most undesirable description of the room in which I am sitting, gives me a feeling of confinement. The corpse - white walls illuminating the small room are barren and desolate, and at the same time seem to make me completely confused and mentally incapable of any thought outside of the strict domain of my putridly infantile brain capacity. As I sit in this pale, lifeless room, I feel compelled to utter a discouraging word and throw myself, forcefully, from my chair, and upon colliding with the hard cement below, create a dull sound unheard by myself, as the ringing in my ears, caused by my head's smacking the insanely distubing design on the tiled floor, blocks all sound. I smell a faint odor and ponder. For to smell is to remember and to remember is to recall upon a past experience long since forgotten and hence placed in the deepest darkest realm of the human mind, never to be found untill triggered by a related, but separate sensory detail. This particular scent brings back such a recollection.

I now have a vision of lying down on the soft, baby blue rug of my bedroom floor, doing my homework. So as to better concentrate on my most unimportant studies, I was listening to the soothing and relaxing sounds of MetallicA blasting from my stereo in the backround. As I laid there trying to make sense from the jumbled mess my mind had become, I felt a tightness around the lower abdominal section of my torso. The tightness slowly worked its way down further toward the small opening in the mass of fatty tissue just below my lower back. As the tension became greater, I felt compelled to release it with a great force, creating a thunderous noise that would have sent small, furry animals scurrying for protection. Eventually, however, as my sphincters lessened their hold, the trapped air seeped noiselessly from the dark chambers just inside my anal cavity. A fan had been behind me for the purpose of making my greatly stessed being less hot, but it now seemed to have a new, if less desireable, function. The smelly, invisible, and unmistakable concentration of O2, N2, CO2, and Methane gases rose from the seat of my shorts and was blown forward. As this cloud of contaminated air reached the space immediately in front of my visage, the tiny particles entered my domain through my nose and I made a disgusted face. At that exact moment in time, I heard, as my CD spun swiftly in its player, the lyrics to an excellent song called "Welcome Home (Sanitarium)," about a patient in a mental hospital who believes that it's the place in which he is that makes him crazy. (" They keep me locked up in this cage// can't they see it's why my brain says rage") Now those disturbing lyics return most clearly.

This Memory still embedded deep in the confines of my subconscious mind, I now sit and look around at my surrounding piers; at my totally intelligent friend who so often accompanies me as the last to enter class each unGodly morning at 8AM; at the loony and deranged red - haired professor sitting atop her desk, swinging her feet back and forth as if listening to some excellent music only she can hear; at Jed, the dude who lives below me and seems to have some secret dark past that would scare the gall bladder out of anyone who dared to probe to deep where he has no business to be; and at the very beautiful girls scattered around the classroom like sparkling gold glitter on a third grade art project. Through my head pump the lyrics of "Welcome Home" and, clutching for some vague comprehension of reality, I shake in fear as the connection becomes clearer. ("Welcome to where time stands still // Where no one leaves and no one will") Now, some say I'm crazy, insane, a couple sandwiches short of a picnic, or not playing with a full deck (I've got a pair of jokers and a King of Hearts), but it's this classroom that is making me Mad. Even as I am writing this now, I feel the urge to smash something, anything; to take it in my hands and destroy it beyond recognition; to feel the energy it once posessed drain from it and fill me with the sensation of biting into a York Peppermint Patty. ("Kill, it's such a friendly word") This room is a sanitarium, twisting my mind like a clown's balloon into things I cannot perceive. I am a tightrope walker,teetering on a thin rope of reality; a margin of lucidity. The longer I sit in this Godforsaken room, the closer I come to falling over the edge of sanity; into the pool of burning souls who once sat in this very room, now condemned to live out their worst nightmares and faced their deepest fears in this place we call Hell. ("Sleep my friend and you will see // That dream is my reality")

Now, as the walls seem to "Whisper things into my brain, assuring me that I'm insane," I begin to see the room as an image of Hell itself. I feel trapped, and yet there is no confinement; I feel confused, but nothing is unclear; I feel lost, but I have a map. Nothing is as it seems, and nobody can help me; for the frayed edges of sanity to which I so desparately cling are being torn to shreds. As my perception of reality slowly mutates into a hideous form, my stream of consciousness, which once flowed gently downstream, emptying into the awaiting oasis below, has become a raging river of torrid rapids in which my small boat of sanity now sinks. Everything that I once held so dear has disappeared. My life, my grip on reality, and even my pencils are now gone. Now, I have been left for dead in this land of neverending nightmares. Maybe it is just a dream. Maybe I will wake up and everything wil be as it was. Or, maybe, English 101 is my own personal Hell which is guarded by a large, terrifyingly red - headed beast whose sole purpose is to work me like a mule on a farm, making me shovel my own bullsh*t!

(or is it?)

*All opinions, remarks, wisecracks, stupid statements, bad jokes, puns, incoherencies(is that a word?), confusing anecdotes, ideas, concepts, and periodic lacks of reason are those of Mike and do not reflect those of normal people.

** This is a work of fiction. All names, places, and additudes are supposedly soley from the mind of the author. (He made them up). Any similarity to actual people, etc. is purly intentional.


Do NOT, under any circumstances, try to understand what is happening in the reading. This work was written by a sick, twisted, and demented mind, and any attempt to find reason in the absurdity of it all, could have serious side effects!

Submitted By: Anonymous

This joke is rated: PG