To the Artist's Page                  To our home page

To Scott Holstad's previous piece     To Scott Holstad's next piece

Hush

The spoiled shits in 3 East
who voluntarily checked 
themselves in brought their
own CDs and CD players.
24 hours of rap and disco.
I'm sure it thrilled the
geriatrics to no end.
Made me wish for my
death metal all the more.
Me, I went around threatening
to beat holy hell out of people
who didn't turn that shit
down.  I developed a certain
"reputation."  People asked
why I was so cranky.  I said

        I'm in a FUCKING
        LOONEY BIN with
        a bunch of FUCKING
        LOONIES - what the
        hell do you think!?!

That usually drove them away.
They went and called their
actor/waiter boyfriends and
wailed.  Pathetic.  I wanted 
them to see the scars the size
of ropes on the wrists of the
people in the Other wing,
the walking dead, the
drooling zombies, the
maimed and homeless, so
these fucking prima
donnas could go home to
their sig others and
weep silently in the
cellar that their acting
career is nothing but
casting couch blowjobs.

To the top of this page