Crazy is as crazy does… again and again and again….
“You’re nothin’ but a Cronic pain in the ass,” say one mamma, and she slap my ear with a dish towel over and over till it bleeds. Some fake daddy kiss me on the mouth an’ stroke my charlie then wrap a telephone cord ‘round my neck, screamin’ and hollerin’ that I’m a bad, bad boy.
You a Cronic piece o’ shit, said one old lady who locked me in the broom closet all night and I feel crickets and bottle flies crawling on my dirty skin.
I just cry myself to sleep, sometimes bleeding from the ears or fingers, sometimes not, wantin’ Ole Mamma to come for me, wantin’ Dee-Dee Martella to come home and get me, waitin’ for Daddy to pull up in his truck and say, come on now, Charlie (or Nicky, or Danny, or who ever I am I am I am), let’s pull the plug on this ole shithole an’ go drivin’ to see your Mamma.
And I cry at bein’ so happy, an’ I cry ‘cause I don’t ever know if I’m the right boy for Mamma and Daddy, if I’m the wrong boy and they don’t want me no more. I forget my own name and they might not remember it, either.
“Hey, Charlie. Hey, Charlie Coffin. Come on for a spin. I’m on a pussy hunt an’ I want you here ‘side of me.”
“I ain’t no Charlie Coffin. I’m Charlie Danny Scott Cronic.”