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OCD

By Nicholas R. Morgan
More Works by Nicholas R. Morgan

The bald rich man awoke at exactly 6 a.m. as he did every day. His beautiful wife lay next to him, one of her legs curled around his.

“Ahhhh!, honey wake up!” he screamed.

“What is it? “ his wife said in a panic.

“Your leg.. Oh my god, how many times have I told you to stay on your side of the bed.. Your leg is touching mine.. Please my love, take it off, now I will have to do my rinse routine for an extra hour.”

“Sorry honey,” she smiled, rolling over to go back to sleep.

The bald rich funny man headed straight for their newly re done bathroom to start his routine. The bathroom was newly redone because his wife had let one of the construction workers, (They were having a germ free room built in the backyard) she had let him use the bathroom one day. Big mistake.

The bald man got out 8 different special germ free expensive soaps he had ordered. He had an endless supply of these. He began scrubbing the first treatment on his skin. Almost to the point of making his skin bleed, each had a special order. Once applied. He got in the spotless shower and washed off each one, so he would end up taking 8 showers before starting the rest of his day. All the soaps and lotions were only made from natural herb extracts.

Next he put on his specially made latex gloves and woke his children. Only touching them with his gloves on. His wife was up now making breakfast for the kids and husband. He watched over her like a hawk, making sure she used all brand new pans, and threw them away afterwards. After breakfast and seeing the kids off to school, he went out to the so called germ free room on the large estate. He sat in there imagining when it would be done, and how it would be perfect, and no one else could ever come in it and get their germs inside it. Rubber walls that could be washed down with a sanitized hose everyday.

The bald crazy rich funny man went into one of the many rooms where he kept his expensive clothes. He began to brush them all off with a wire brush, all his suits, shirts, ties,, everything. He did it over and over again for hours with that wire brush. His wife sometimes peeking in the room with a sad look on her face. She had married a fuking freak. She thought back to when they first met, how his disorder wasn’t that bad yet. How he was a highly regarded stand up comic on his way to stardom. It had progressed to the point of almost driving her insane. No doctors could seem to help, because the bald man just thought that they were jealous of all his fame and money, so he was convinced that they were just trying to get germs on him and give him the wrong advice on how to deal with the disorder. He couldn’t trust anyone. So things got worse and worse.

Even public appearances became a nightmare. But he still had to make them to earn money. Everything had to be Symmetrical and in a certain order. If not he would start having panic attacks and felt an impending feeling of doom. If he was scheduled for a TV show at 9 a.m. he would call in advance and ask the producers what was the exact time he would be going on the air.

Most producers would say..

“I dun know, maybe between 10 a.m. and 11 a.m.”

The rich bald funny man would get enraged.

“I need an exact time or I’m not coming, an exact time I walk out on stage.

I will have my agent call you to work this out.” and he would hang up, bursting into a slew of cuss words. Afterwards feeling guilty for cussing and started thinking a negative vibe would follow him if he didn’t apologize to the sky. He apologized to the sky because he didn’t believe in a god. He was an atheist. His agent would tell the TV producers ahead of time to not try and shake his hand, explaining his condition. Most had already heard about what a freak he was.

Every Saturday he had to mow the lawn in a straight line. Not the entire lawn. But just one straight line over and over again for hours, while the rest of the lawn grew wild and high. His wife would stare out one of the mansions windows with tears rolling down her face. He refused to let anyone else touch the lawn. It grew and grew with weeds, out of control, except for that one perfect line right through the middle of it. His wife would have to pleasure herself to porn when he wasn’t in the house in order to have any sort of sexual satisfaction, because he was convinced her vagina was full of germs from past men she had bin with over 10 years ago, before they were even married. Condoms would just break, was one of his excuses.

One of the only things left that they had in common was smoking extreme amounts of ganja, Gods most beautiful plant. But even then, the bald man had to make sure it was organically grown and came from the same dealer every time. And the bald rich funny man would always smoke half the bag down first in the sanitized newly bought bong every time, before passing it to his beautiful wife. Afterwards, he had the bong incinerated and a new one bought everyday.

His wife had many break downs and crying fits, threatening to leave him. He felt bad, he really loved her and his kids, but he just couldn’t seem to change.

One night after a bad fight, she said she had enough and unless they went on some sort of vacation, she was taking the kids and leaving.

The bald man wiped away one of her tears with his latex glove on.

“Ok honey, lets go to Jamaica and get stoned out of out heads, it will be like a second honey moon?”

“Ok my love. Ok.. We will have my parents watch the kids.” she whimpered.

“Yes but, your parents cant stay here, they will have to have the kids at their house.. Just cause.. Well.. You know.. Just cause of the germs they would bring..” he said. Almost crying himself.

She ran out of the room having another break down.

They arrived in Jamaica on his private sanitized plane at exactly 3:33 a.m. as he had requested to the private pilot, who’s background was checked many times before being hired. An expensive private Rastafarian tour guide had bin hired to meet them at the airport and take them to their high priced hotel. This tour guide had bin well informed to not shake the bald rich funny mans hand. They walked into a private section of the airports gates and noticed a big black man with dreadlocks leaning against a post with a big grin on his face when he saw the celebrity couple walk in.

The bald man got instantly paranoid when the Rasta man started walking towards him, thinking he may be an imposter the doctors had hired to get germs all over him.

“Jah mon. Haile Selassie my brada, Jamaica welcomes you with open arms my brada, I know you don’t shake hands, but let me put this string of jah on your wrist for to have forever good luck.”

The big black man quickly grabbed the rich bald mans wrist, making sure he only touched his long sleeve shirt. He wrapped the rasta colored thick string around the crazed mans wrist tying it in a double knot before the crazed rich funny bald man even had a chance to react.

The entire ride to the private hotel the rasta man had the gift of gab, babbling on and on about this and that and what a beautiful motherland Jamaica was. The bald mans wife new exactly why her husband wasn’t talking. It was that dam stringy thick bracelet that now wrapped around her husbands wrist. She knew that it could never be removed now, or bad luck would come.

They got to there private room and her husband began cleaning everything, inspecting the sheets on the bed.

“How could that dumb son of a bitch idiot fuker think I would want this on my wrist! How could he have done that to me honey? How! How! how!”

He demanded.

His wife was already starting to regret this so called vacation.

“Honey, just cut it off, you were fine when you didn’t have it on, and you will be fine when you take it off.” she tried to reason.

“NO! you stupid bitch! don’t you know anything! didn’t you hear the man! He said it was for good luck! Now it has to stay on forever, or until it breaks on its own, that’s all there is to it. Just like when that stupid worthless actor put that ridiculous hat on me 18 years ago, and said it was a lucky hat. You know I kept that hat on for 10 years! Until you finally tricked me in my sleep and threw it away on me! You know how much therapy I had to have to get over that one!”

The vacation was a total nightmare for his wife. All the man did the entire time was complain about the new thick string on his wrist.

They got home a week later and his wife packed her things. Loaded up the kids, left a note while crying, explaining she couldn’t take it anymore, and left. Not telling him where they went. The rich bald funny man washed the note off in a special soap over and over again while crying, until all the ink came off. That made he calm down for a little while. Because with no ink or words, maybe it didn’t really happen. He was a wreck for weeks, his disorder growing more and more out of control now that the one stable thing he had in his life, his family was gone.

The man was booked for an appearance on a so called shock jocks radio show. His agent convinced him to do it, and just not talk about his wife leaving him. Just go on and make it seem your life is going perfect. It will be good P.R. for your upcoming game show, his agent had told him.

The rich bald once funny man , now alone man, had bin on the shock jocks show many times before and they all knew about his condition, so he felt more comfortable going on the show.

It started off well, the shock jock asked him all sorts of questions about his personal life and his disorder. They cracked crude funny jokes about each other. And the rich bald once funny man made it seem like everything was going perfect and everything was symmetrical in his life. Talking about his loving wife and kids. He was holding his own until the so called shock jock asked him what that weird looking bracelet was on his wrist.

“It doesn’t seem to go with your expensive suit.” the shock jock laughed.

The bald rich crazy once funny mental man told the shock jock the entire story of how it got on his wrist, and how it had to stay there.

The shock jock suddenly turned somewhat evil.

“Look man, I’m going to cure you of this disease once and for all and I want you to listen to me, and look at me, we are going to cut that fuking retarded string off your wrist, and I want you to repeat after me… nothing bad will happen after it is cut off.”

The bald as you know rich crazy once funny man began to panic as one of the so called shock jocks assistants brought out some scissors, handing them to the shock jock dj. The famous radio DJ stood up with the scissors, repeating that he was going to cut that thing off, and that no bad luck would come. The rich bald man panicked.

“Fuk you man, I will leave if you even come close to me. I’m serious, I will sue your fukin ass, don’t even joke about cutting it off.”

The Tall so called shock jock famous controversial DJ came closer, snapping the scissors, taunting the poor man. He knew it was good radio and that his audience was probably loving it, laughing their ass’s off.

“Quit fuking around man, I’m not kidding.” the man tried to say.

Two of the shock jocks goons came into the studio and held the rich once funny sick bald man down on the couch and the oversized so called shock jock grabbed his wrist and in one quick snap, the thick rasta colored string was cut in two.

Everyone was laughing except you know who. The man stood up with tears streaming from his face, shaking uncontrollably.

“Do you know what you have done to me you stupid son of a bitch! I swear to fuk you have killed me! And I am going to sue the living shit out of you!” he screamed, running from the studios. The mans agents and producers running after him, trying to calm him down.

The man’s mind was convinced he was doomed now. He got in the elevator, and was sure it would collapse. He got in his limo, and was sure it would crash. He got to his house, and was sure it would be burnt down. He finally got inside his house and started tying numerous strings around his wrist, at the same time trying to color them the rasta colors. He has now reached the brink of insanity. After collapsing on his floor in a fit of madness, he sat in his specially made disinfected chair staring sadly at the TV, waiting to die.

He went to his perfect stainless steal kitchen, and got out a bag of spinach from the bottom of the fridge. Spinach that was organically grown and safely packaged with all the precautions being taken so that it would be fresh with no germs. That was the one food he had always trusted. Maybe it went back to his now dead mother, as he was growing up, she would always tell him, that spinach was the best thing for a mind and body.. Very very clean and righteous. She would tell him, feeding him freshly made spinach salads, and then getting drunk and beating the shit out of him all night long.

He put his latex gloves on, the 4 xanax bars he had ate, were now calming him down a little. He tried to make a spinach salad, just like his mother use to make for him. He dropped down in his chair, like a lazy drugged out sloth, eating all his spinach down, flipping around the TV stations.

Just as he took the last bite, he focused on the news channel and turned up the volume.

The news man looked blurry.

“This just in, the recent outbreak of the E coli virus has bin linked to packaged spinach all across the country. The food and drug administration is warning everyone to not eat any spinach. I repeat, throw all packaged spinach away. There have bin a total of 3000 deaths across the nation now attributed to the e coli infected packaged spinach. In other news, Angelina Joe lee and Brad Pitt have given birth to another three headed baby.”

The rich bald once funny, now crazy lonely man couldn’t even breath. He felt like there were millions of diseased cockroaches crawling around inside his stomach. He sat there frozen. His heart going into spasms of shock. He grabbed his chest, eyes wide like a horror show. He looked down at his wrist.

(C)opyright 2006 Nicholas R. Morgan All Rights Reserved

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