Fisto’s Lament

It is 3:19 am. I can’t sleep. Again. Today at the supermarket I saw a lady in the produce section. She dropped a lemon and I wanted to be helpful and return it to her. Instead I crushed it in my massive fist with such force the citric acid pierced the lenses of her eyes and seared all the way through her corneas. So she’s blind now. But hey, at least I have this big f*cking fist.

I still haven’t been able to shave my awful pedo beard. I don’t have money to go to the barber ever since I lost my hero gig and I’ve shattered all my razors. I f*cking hate He-Man. He doesn’t even have chest hair. Big, glistening homo. Nice fur panties.

No one understands how difficult hygiene is when you have a completely f*cktarded metal hand. I have to use a bidet because last time I wiped my ass I created an anal fissure that didn’t heal for 3 months. I can’t begin to describe how embarrassing that was. Plus Orko was at the doctor’s office at the same time so he told everyone. Beastman is supposed to be the guy who can’t shit right, who gets stuff caught in his ass beard all the time, not me. My brother is Man-at-Arms, man. I’m somebody!

After I was asked to leave the supermarket I went for a walk over to Grayskull Park to feed the ducks but Snout Spout was there with Ram Man. I tried to ignore them but Snout Spout pretended to start fisting Ram man and Ram Man would make his legs pop up every time and it caused a huge scene. I’m 38 years old. There isn’t a fisting joke you can make that I haven’t heard at least three times and those assholes know that. In fact, I think they made the same lame joke last year.

I went to my urologist appointment a little early and sat in the waiting room with Mekaneck. That was awkward. I hear he has gonorrhea. Again. When I finally got in, Dr. Johnson said it looks like I’m suffering some irritation, probably from applying too much pressure with my giant hand. Well no shit, doctor. I’m right handed, I can’t help it. My right hand is a big ass metal hand so every time I piss or jack off I pretty much destroy my penis and he’s talking to me like I just grew the goddamn hand and have no idea it’s an issue. No one come sup to Man-E-Faces and says shit like “dude, did you know you have many faces?” Bitch knows he has many faces, just like I know I have this fist. I’m not retarded I don’t have the forehead to match this thing for Christ’s sake.

When I got home there was another message on my machine from that movie producer. He says I could make a lot of money doing it, but I don’t know. I’m supposed to be a hero. I’m supposed to fight evil and stand for justice. He wants me to finger bang middle aged ladies. He says Stinkor’s cousin Ramona could probably take the whole fist. The idea makes me a little queasy.

I was in the shower earlier, looking at all the cracked tiles, the jerry-rigged towel rack that I’ve replaced so many times and the bell I use to call for Pedro when I need to brush my teeth and I couldn’t help thinking I’ve completely f*cked up everything. And I mean everything.

The first time I tried to cook dinner for a girl, I shattered a cast iron pot and started a grease fire that cost her parents $250,000 in damages. My parents got me a dog when I was 8 and I pet it to death. In highschool when I fell asleep at friend’s sleepover and they filled my hand with shaving cream then tickled my nose, I woke up punching my friends lower jaw clean off. That’s where Trap-Jaw came from. Nothing has ever gone right in my life.

I’m sitting here with a bottle of sleeping pills and you know what? I don’t want to sleep. I just want it to stop. All this bullshit. And it won’t. Because I crushed the goddamn pills in my giant hand. F***********************ck.