Roger

Roger wrote this book about colon health. It's full of photos of people's poo, and he made a bunch of money off it. (He once told me that the freaky dude who played the Green Goblin in the first Spiderman wanted to option it for a movie. Whatever.) He took his first big check and had a sauna built in his bathroom. The Christmas after the book came out, he and his wife had a little dinner party where I got hugely drunk. Somebody put on the Cars first album and I was screaming along to "Just What I Needed" when I started to puke. I ran into the bathroom, took a wrong turn, and ended up in the sauna. Fortunately it wasn't on, unfortunately I couldn't hold on any longer and ending up puking all over the walls. I promptly passed out. When I came to and realized what I had done, I tried to clean up the mess with a wadded up handful of toilet paper. This went on for hours as I kept passing out and waking up again. At around four in the morning his wife Judy walks in and sees me and the puke and the toilet paper everywhere and starts kicking me and screaming. The only words I could make out between the shrieks were, "Cedar is an aromatic wood, FUCKING ASSHOLE!" The photo of Roger is one I took four years later. He wouldn't even look me in the eye. Can't you just feel his colon seething?