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He's so beautiful, and he's walking already. I'm raising him on my own now. But I knew from the moment she delivered that she wasn't going to be around forever. Hell, I knew she wasn't going to be around long at all. In fact, I'm surprised she lasted this long. Who cares. We're better off without her, my boy and me. God he's precious. A spittin' image of his father. But he's got his mother's eyes and nose. I'd better get those out of his hands and bury them with the rest of her before someone discovers what I've done.
Directions: Mix batter and pour into muffin tins. Leave remaining batter in bowl. Place two pieces chocolate laxative into measuring cup and microwave on medium setting for twenty seconds. Pour melted sample into last muffin tin. Fill tin with remaining batter. Mix well. Bake muffins for forty minutes at 400 degrees. Place muffins on display rack for customer access. Place tainted muffin on counter for store manager's consumption. Remain straight-faced as manager devours muffin without paying, as is his custom. Monitor actions of manager and remain calm when he makes beeline for restroom. Go back to work, satisfied with result.
Today it rained all day. I get really depressed when it rains. I don't know what it is about the wetness, darkness and the clouds; it just drives me fucking crazy. She picked a bad day to call. Don't ever try to talk to me when it's raining. And don't EVER give me bad news on a day like this. Break up with me? Who the hell does she think she is? Now I have to wait til it stops raining. I won't go out in the rain, and I damn sure won't take my gun out in this weather.
I'm an idiot. I followed him today. After work, he stopped at his ex's house. Then he went to a bar - though he says he hasn't had a drink in ages - and then a strip club. I sped home and threw on a robe to look innocent when he arrived. I was ready to pack his bags and leave them on the doorstep, but I wanted to hear his excuse. He walked in with a box of chocolates and a bunch of flowers. I melted and we made love all night.
As I said before, I'm an idiot.
They say there are three types of people: those who make things happen, those who watch things happen, and those who sit around wondering what happened. I'm one of the latter . Usually I'm stoned off my ass and don't know what the hell's happening . But I bet I have more fun than those who hustle all day, drinking on the run and talking in their cars. If the stress alone doesn't kill them their fast food diets will. I prefer to sit here blowing smoke into the air, not giving two shits about Dow Jones or gasoline prices.
I sniff glue and I can tell you do too
The dazed look in your eyes tells me something's wrong with you
It's okay; we all have our vices
There are so many bad things out there just made to entice us
Beer, drugs, food, heck - there's even sex
Some people so hard up they're runnin' back to their ex
Even if it's only for a little one-night stand
But I would have to agree, it's better than your hand
So don't worry, dude, we all do whatever we hafta
To get through today, tomorrow, and the day after
They can't make me talk. They've sat me in a room, blown cigarette smoke in my face, tried pampering, intimidating, threatening, and even abuse, but I won't talk. After that, they laid me on a couch and asked me to speak to a coat with various degrees and certificates on his wall. Then they locked me in a cell and fed me scraps that alley cats would pass by. That didn't work either. Next it was a padded room without windows. Then they added the jacket that buckles in the back. Nope. Nothing. No one will ever know the truth.
My name isn't Luka. But I still got the shit beat out of me on a daily basis. I used to think it was my fault. I really did talk too loud or spill things or forget things. Then I realized I wasn't the one with the problem. It was Him. He was the fucked up one, not me. This was the most important realization. After that, everything changed. Well, that and puberty. I grew up to be twice his size. And twice as mean. Boy, does that motherfucker pay. Let's just put it like this: he begs for death.
I never picked up that hitchhiker. Hell, I didn't even know she was there. I had just pulled out of the bowling alley and about jumped the curb and a fire hydrant when she spoke. Stupid bitch. She should've known better than to enter someone's vehicle without permission. She should've known better than to scare someone when he's driving late at night after drinking stale beer for hours. She should've known better; that's all there is to it. She won't make that mistake again, though. Hell, she won't make any mistakes again, ever. And that's all there is to it.
I don't like the ones that squeeze when you sit on them. That just doesn't seem natural. It's not as if you sit there for comfort. Besides, most of those cushiony ones are colors that aren't appealing at all, especially pink. I don't really like wooden ones, either. Wood seems unnatural in that room. Besides, once it gets wet a few times it could warp. It may eventually crack, too, from being slammed too often. I guess I'm old fashioned in that I prefer plain porcelain, although they get pretty damn cold in the winter. I can live with that.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Any sickness today?"
"I'm fine. I feel fine."
"I love you," he said, "more than life itself."
"I know," she replied, rubbing her expanding stomach. "I love you too."
"I can't wait to be a father," he added, massaging her belly.
"You'll be terrific. You're perfect, and you're going to be a wonderful daddy."
"I hope so."
"You will," she added, to comfort him. "I can't wait."
"Me neither," he said, "I've been waiting for this day forever. I love you."
What he did not say was that he had a vasectomy years before.
You know who I am. You just don't care to think about me. I'm the one who tells you to do it when you know you shouldn't. I'm the one who says, "Go through the stop sign; no one's around." I tell you things like, "It's okay to steal; it only costs 89 cents anyway." I'm the voice that tells you to push the old lady down the escalator just for fun. I direct you to step on ants and hit rabbits with your car. You know who I am; you just don't talk about me. I'm your evil conscience.
Tonight's the night. I'm going to do it tonight; there is no longer any doubt. I've waited fifteen years to do this. Fifteen long years. I've been preparing for this night for years. No one can stop me now. No one is here to stop me. I've had this plan for days now. I've been drinking coffee and thinking about tonight all day long. It's finally going to be over in a few short hours, right when the clock strikes twelve.
I did it! I finally did it. I can't believe I was actually able to stay up past midnight.
Sitting there in the restaurant, he said he had a very important question to ask me.
"What is it?" I inquired.
He said he couldn't talk to me there, that he needed someplace more romantic.
We had been dating for three years. Actually, we were way past the dating stage. The truth is, we had been living together for half that time. I knew what his question would be but played the naïve role.
As we were walking through the leaves that evening, hand in hand, he built up his courage: "Do you think you'd like to try a threesome?"
I remember watching her tuck us in, gently covering us with the blankets and kissing our foreheads goodnight. It brought tears to my eyes.
I remember watching her cooking, flour flying and sausage sizzling, biscuits baking and sauces simmering. She was a whirlwind of activity and her apron flew like a cape. It brought tears to my eyes.
I remember visiting her in that room, her head propped on the pillow and her hair fallen out, the vacant look in her eyes and the strain in her lungs as she took her last breaths. It brought tears to my eyes.
Life was fun, life was a blast
But I can't say I'm proud of my past.
We had good times; some were bad
But overall my whole life was sad.
All those tragedies and heartaches aplenty
I'd lived too long by the time I was twenty.
And who's to say my life was any worse
Than anyone else who's lived with a curse?
The only thing I really know
Is that the time has come for me to go.
So I bid you adieu with this gun in my hand
As I look past the horizon to a faraway land.
There are many ways to relieve tension. Some people go on junk food binges. Some people sleep their troubles away. Some lift weights while others run around tracks; some just run away altogether. Some try transcendental meditation. Others just bite their fingernails and jerk off daily. However, nothing I found could help me. But then I realized what would help. And it seemed so obvious I couldn't believe I didn't think of it earlier. So that night, at dinner, as she went to answer the phone, I slipped a dozen sleeping pills into her drink. Immediately, all my worries disappeared.
As I look down below and watch the people walking the streets, I am reminded of ants running about the driveway, evading my footsteps. I can almost touch the clouds up here, and the lands I see are far away indeed. But my thoughts are so clear! Everything makes perfect sense up here. All the answers to my questions are right in front of me. For weeks, I have racked my brain trying to come up with a solution to my problems. All I have to do is put my best foot forward and step off this ledge. Simple, really.
It's just a hundred words. That's it. Just write until you hit the magic number. This isn't brain science. It isn't even simple arithmetic. It's writing. Just write. And you have to do this every day. You can't cheat and write ahead. Or so they say. But who knows what really goes on? As long as our words get there, does it really matter? I mean, so what if I wrote something last month and posted it today? Does it really fucking matter? Yes, because this is a glimpse of your life as it is, right now, blah blah blah.
My son is absolutely the cutest thing I have ever seen. I know, that's what every parent says, but I mean it. You'd know what I'm talking about if you could see him. He's an angel. He's perfect. I love his soft skin and bald head. I love his blue eyes and red peach fuzz. I know she had an affair; I know there's no way I created something so perfect. But I don't care. I'm keeping him. He gets cuter every day and I can't kiss him enough. I love his smell and his hugs. I love my boy.
We were fishing, and….drinking. Yeah, we were drinking pretty heavily out on that lake. It was hot and the fish weren't biting. The boredom and the heat and the flies, God, those flies were everywhere. And then, then he told me what he'd done. With my wife. What was I supposed to do? Sit there and take it? Laugh and hand him another? Cry in front of my younger brother? Hell no, I couldn't do any of those things. It was so fucking hot I couldn't think straight. But my aim was pretty good for a drunk guy, huh officer?
Once upon a time something really terrible happened. It was a long time ago. It was awful. It hurts to remember. Have a seat. I'll tell you all about it. But first, shut the door. I don't want anyone to hear. Wait, unplug the phone, I don't want any interruptions. Pull the shades. You really can't be too safe, can ya? Okay, are you ready? Okay, sit down. This is pretty graphic, and, well, as I said, really terrible. Here goes: I came home from work one day and found her, let's just say, she wasn't really expecting me home…
Two cups crushed tomatoes. One cup vinegar. One cup sliced jalapeno peppers. One half cup habanero peppers. One tablespoon ground horseradish. Two teaspoons crushed red peppers. One teaspoon garlic. Mix all ingredients in medium bowl. Makes four servings of the hottest shit you've ever tasted. Good for getting that bad taste out of your mouth. Even better for getting rid of that bad spot in your life. It worked for me. I knew he had problems with metabolism and spicy foods. I knew his heart was weak. But most of all, I knew where he was spending his Friday nights.
One hundred words about………whatever
One hundred words about the weather?
One hundred words are all about me
One hundred words are boring as can be
What do I write of? I just don't know
One hundred words can come so slow
One hundred words are sad, mad, funny
One hundred words about sex, greed, money
One hundred words take forever to write
Is word one hundred coming into sight?
One hundred words will never end…
One hundred words around the bend!
Twenty words left and then I can proudly say
That I'm done writing my one hundred words this day.
I'm going hunting today. No camouflage is necessary where I'm going. You see, I will walk right up to my prey and talk to it before blowing it apart with this here elephant gun. I've been watching and waiting for this day for a long time. Lots of people will be very, very pleased with my deed. Let's just say I'm not the first to think of shooting it. Others before me have had this idea. They just haven't been driven over the edge like me, I guess. And really, who would seriously think of shooting a purple dinosaur anyway?
I teach in a small alternative school. It doesn't matter where; it could be anywhere. There are approximately twenty five females enrolled in this school (I told you it was small). Thirteen of them are African American. Five of them are pregnant. Five! Out of thirteen! That's 38% people! Do we see a fucking problem here??!! None of the Caucasians are with child. Is this another cultural issue? Is this a status thing within the culture? Where are the role models? What do their parents think? Is there any wonder why they are at risk students?
Is there any hope?
I was out with the guys again, trying to get over Elizabeth. We were drinking and dancing, but I wasn't looking for anyone. That's when Jodi walked up - long hair, long legs, and enough make-up for three. When I saw the way Jodi's eyes were checking me out - and those luscious red lips - I knew I wasn't getting out of this one. I succumbed, with some encouragement from my buddies, who were almost as drunk as I was. We were slow dancing across the room when I went for Jodi's crotch. That's when I felt the bulge.
Practice random acts of kindness. Hold the door open for the next person. Pay for the driver behind you at a toll booth. Help an octogenarian unload the groceries into her car. Smile to every stranger you pass by on the sidewalk. Give double your normal tip to the doorman, waitress, beautician. They say these types of things will become contagious and everyone around will respond in kind. They say these actions will make the world a happier place. I agree. If we all did this, life would be more enjoyable. But I still say it's more fun being evil.
She's so meticulous, it's ridiculous
She likes everything in its fucking place
She's so damn clean, it is obscene
To get things dirty I must go way out of my way
I just can't stand it, this cleaning bandit
She vacuums and dusts until it's sparkling white
But it's my gig to be a pig
And I work hard at this every day and night
She thinks it's crazy that I'm so lazy
She says I can't clean up anything at all
But I'll show my sanity and cleaning vanity
When I clean up her brains from our bedroom wall
It is fall now. Autumn. The leaves are changing, the grass stops growing, and those darn geese start flying south. The chill is in the air; the feeling of loneliness overcomes me. I love this season; I really do. But its symbolism isn't lost on me. Autumn represents the coming of winter. More specifically, it represents death. This is the time of year when things begin to die, things like leaves, flowers, gardens, and my noisy neighbors. I can't wait to take their bodies and make scarecrows for Halloween. I wonder who will be the first to notice the smell.
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