Got Bisquick®?

Night begins And I can tell when the whole cycle is about to kick back in because of my third eye rupturing like a psychic aneurism which sends gobs of steaming blood and pus streaming down the center of my face and all I want to do is try and close it with a thick mixture of Bisquick ® batter I would smear in thick heaping layers across my forehead complete with butter and syrup, sure my super heated blood would cook it into the finest hemoglobin flapjacks the west side has ever seen but in my desperation I have snorted the last of the Bisquick ®i n hopes of achieving a cheap starch high and of course I cannot purchase more Bisquick ® from the local supermarket, not just because I’ve been banned for leaving puddles of blood and pus on their fancy shiny floors but I cannot even afford to purchase anything from the Bisquick ®dealer for the simple reason that I left all my money with the kind hearted surrogate worker down by the warehouse gardens who couldn’t even be bothered to give finish the hand job she started when she saw my ruptured third eye and said that it would be too painful for her to bring me to orgasm because it was all just so goddamn poetically beautiful and she wasn’t even going to charge me full price but for the simple reason she told me she wished she hadn’t hemorrhaged the video camera that had been surgically implanted behind her eyeballs so she could always remember the texture and layering of the brown, red, black and yellow scabs trailing down the center of my face, but not wishing to offend I left her a big tip after that and stumbled down the waterfront in the dark unable to see where I was going till I smacked headfirst into a wooden stop sign that had been vandalized and left hanging off an abandoned warehouse gate which in turn opened up the wound over my third eye all over again and there I am trying to pick myself back up off the ground when I sense a car pulling up next to me and bright lights washing over the whole pathetic spectacle that is my brokenness and a gravelly, blues singer voice croaks out “hey you datin’ baby?” and I squint into the direction of the light and voice and tell them only if they have Bisquick ® on hand.