Page Five Ghoul

I’m Sure There’s Something Horrible I can Find Out There

Alright, SEG readers. It’s Stephanie, here we go.

Mort said I can have my weird Mama Reesy Yogi Bear retreat, whatever that means, in India if file one more stupid Page Five Ghoul before I go.

So, here it is. I get to India and right away I meet a bunch of people who look like the kids from high school who smoked a lot of pot and listened to the Dave Matthew’s Band and they ask me if I want to go to Goa with them. Had no idea what that meant, but I figured, whatever, at least they speak English and my mom would hate these people, so I went. After a really crowded train ride- I mean really crowded,  there were people hanging off of everywhere, it was so hot and stupid in there. Anyway, we get there and they’re all like asking me if I want to party or whatever, and I’m live “What evs.” Maybe I’ll take some selfies and text them to my mom. Like, ‘hey mom, gonna tell me to go to nursing school, now?’ The party is okay. I mean the music is cool, but all the people are doing that dance where they’re waving their hands in their own faces, but not much else. So, this dude hands me a green pill and I’m like “Whatever,” and I take it and it tastes like an Aspirin, so- gross. But, O.M.G like an hour later I’m doing that stupid dance too and the music actually sounds good.

I think I blacked out because the next thing I know it’s like lunchtime and now we’re in this camp all wearing these ugly gray robes. And some grandpa is telling us if we work hard we can get extra rice or something. I’m thinking: ‘I came here because that stuff literally sucks.’ So then I’m like, ‘Done with this place,’ and get up to leave. The old guy starts telling me I can go if I want, but the demons are having a meeting in the woods. I’m like, ‘whatever, maybe I’ll tell Mort all about it.’
I get into the woods. I know it’s got trees and stuff in it, but at this point I literally don’t even care. Literally, right in front of me are these demons. They’re all drinking in the woods like the kids from school who wear denim literally all the time. And they’re listening to this song my aunt who’s like 53, unmarried and still wears cocktail dresses, always put on when she got drunk and swayed in front of a jukebox, at one in the morning, in this old man bar down town. Something like, ‘Sister Christian, oh the time has come.’ Anyway, there’s a regular guy in like cargo shorts and a golf shirt hanging out with them like it’s no big. Then I remember the picture Uncle Mort showed me before I left on my first assignment. It was Gary Llewellyn. The guy who wrote this article before me. I think maybe it’s time to go home.
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