I was in Bungalow 69 of the Chateau Marmet, the old motel nestled behind the Jack In The Box on Hollywood boulevard. Bungalow 69 is an abandoned cabin located just a brisk ten-mile jog from the main motel, where the vending machines are. It was suppertime.

Bungalow 69 is not famous like Bungalow 14 (Ted Danson) or Bungalow 128 (Captain Ron) or Bungalow 1 (Clarissa Explains It All) or Bungalow 320 (Big Trouble in Little China). It’s only famous in my own brain goo because that’s where I first met Gus Van Saint and because I was getting new walls put in at my place to replace the old ones. The walls. When I met Gus here, he was in a hammock and throwing pineapples at the local youth. He asked me if I wanted to be in his reboot of GREAT WILL HUNTING. I would play the apples, he assured me. Then he told me an amusing anecdote involving Crispin Glover and a titanium condom.

The apples would be good for me. I like apples. I see them in stores. I put them in my mouth-hole. Computers and pies are two other apple things as well. Anyway, Crispin Glover never recovered use of both testicles.

***

There was a Hollywood girl staying at the Chateau Marmet. She had gotten a key to my cabin after she realized the doorknob didn’t work. Fortunately, I always place a pile of garbage so big in front of any and all doors that no human being not on PCP could ever move it. She tried though.

She said, “Frames, open the door.”

Across the room was a framed picture of Waldo of WHERE’S WALDO? fame.

She said, “Open the door, you ninny ding-dong pile of sticks!”

I put a sock in my mouth.

***

But anyway, the apple scene was cut out. How do you like them apples? I always preferred carrots.

This was the same time that Michaelangelo DeCaprio got offered the role of a lifetime if he promised to teach a blind child how to see again. The project fell apart because that’s when Mikey started getting heavy into murals and steamboats.

***

My phone made that sound it makes when someone calls. It kept making that sound until I remembered I could answer it to make it stop.

“It’s sleepy-time in the USA.”

“Do you think this is me? Lennifer Jawrence. Say it like Donald Sterling.”

“Lennifer J-awrence.”

“I just want to take ambien and eat cat food until I fall asleep, preferably in a hammock.”

“We’re not going to play hide the penis-in-your-vagina. If you want to come over, I was about to freestyle with this Jamaican porter I met earlier but I can read the backs of cereal boxes to you, if you want.”

“Do you have CHEX?”

Is this all my doing? Between hell and a light bulb factory, that’s how I felt. Like a fish out of waterbed. This parasite pixie I’ve conjured, is it too late to stop?

***

This starlet was clearly hungry for more than games. You could tell she had that spirit, that American hustle. I can feel it deep down inside me. Chilling as a winter’s bone. Tom Cruise movie also.

She was lost in all her success. She had it all and wasted it by never flushing it all down the toilet. I read her cereal box after cereal box until one day, a bluebird came to the window of Bungalow 69. It whispered in my ears, “The walls are done.”

Yes, they are. Yes, they are.