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This year, I thought I would finally be a good, God-fearing Christian and observe Lent for the first time in my 20-year life. But let me tell you, giving up my Xanax, Valium, Zoloft, and Pepto-Bismol was a horrible idea.
Maybe I should've thought about my decision before 11:57 the night before. Maybe I should've stopped after that ninth bottle of Manischewitz. These are all important questions to ask. Each one is a sound hypothesis for why I had the most exciting week of my life, and anyone's life, ever.
The first few days were pretty awful. A few mornings after Ash Wednesday, I woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. I was so scared, but probably not as frightened as the family of marmots I woke up next to. I still don't know how they got there, but I let them go, even though marmots are my security objects. You can't have a good night's sleep until you've trapped a terrified marmot family, dad always used to say.
Things started getting better as time passed, though. My friend Reynaldo the werewolf, whom I haven't seen since I started taking Prolixin for schizophrenia when I was 11, came back after a week of rocking my knees back and forth! Reynaldo said he hadn't eaten in 36 years, so we went out for dinner, and I thought I was treating him, but it turned out to be a surprise party for me!
This one waiter was really bothering me with questions about drinks or something, so Reynaldo transformed and took care of him for me. Thank God it was a full moon that night, or he wouldn't have been able to go on a frenzied, murderous rampage, and that waiter would've made it home to bother his wife and kids about drinks.
I think Reynaldo liked dinner a lot because he kept running around and eating waiters. The night was still young, though, because that's when the SWAT team got there. How Reynaldo knew I wanted to ride in a SWAT van, I'll never know. Needless to say, it was one of the best nights of my life.
People kept asking me how I "killed all those poor children" and in what part of the bay I "stashed the bodies" and kept making me nervous, so I told Reynaldo to eat them, but they'd lopped his head off already.
A week or two had passed, and they took me to a room with big, soft pads on all the walls. My left hand was twitching and bugging me, so I cut it off. I didn't have a knife or any sort of surgical equipment, but I remember once seeing on the National Geographic Channel that incisors were designed to cut through animal meat.
I'm back on my medication now that Lent is over, and I'm also in an insane asylum, where I'll stay until I'm functional enough to go to jail to serve twelve life sentences. I think next year I might give up something useless like video games, or literacy, because honestly, giving up prescription drugs only ruined my spring. And my werewolf is dead.
