She puts stipulations on the dreams she doesn't mean.
"Look at who's talking!"
"We're not talking about moi."
"It would be nice to make men's eyes follow me around when I walk into a room."
"I'd rather make people's mouths drop with some insult I said than have them drool all over me, like Saturday."
This existence is typically American. There is no point. Resist and survive. Count to five, still here. You are forgiven. It is quite obvious you have no idea what you're doing, anyway. You breed and eat. You're American. Your skin is saran wrap thin. You're always wrong but claim truth absolute. I'm not drunk. I am merely sick of you. Brotherhood from sea to shining sea. What a load of shite! It's Walmart from coast to coast. Self-confidence is not the same as arrogance.
Misunderstand me you raging lunatics!
"Hi, my name is Bob and I'm an alcoholic."
"We love you, Bob."
"Would anybody like a drink?"
Step 1: Bide time until happy hour
Step 2: for 1's
Step 3: Get obliterated and talk to chicks
Step 5: Pass out
I've recently taken upon myself the description 21st Century misogynist: A man who hates women as much as they hate each other. I like it. What's Step 4?
Meg's favorite hobby is hunting deer and when asked what she thought people thought about her upon seeing her in their drunken state she quipped, "Oh, God."
"Doesn't that make you feel really good?"
I must have seemed sober or at least funny enough.
God would be a security guard.
I haven't even told her. I just wander around listening to Jagger's ½ a Loaf.
"I just like to dial this number because acts of complete futility give me great amusement."
Now that I told her. Well, I said it to her voice mail. It's a blatant lie but all I can do to appear as if I don't give a shit. Unfortunately, I do.
I watch me struggle. I'm sure the day will come. Death.
"Don't you care about your own health?"
Who is the ass that said this to you?
I wish I could have have been there to see the look on your fat face when those gay ass words were uttered. True love is sitting in your own filth all day long while getting loaded and watching TV. So you see, you found true love a long time ago.
I understand the hiatus. Sometimes you have to get away because you get sick of the same old fuckin people telling the same old fuckin stories every fuckin night."
Thank you, Tidbit.
"At first I was intimidated by you, Bob. Now I need to know what I've done to deserve you?"
"Ex squeeze, me?"
"I'm tired of men dumping me because of my job."
"You have two degrees and you manage a kitchen. How can your "career" even matter?
"Bob, if you weren't so cool, you'd be in big trouble."
My kingdom to know what that means.
Oh wait, I've heard this before.
"I'd love to date you, Bob, but you're like the perfect husband."
It's no wonder I drink like a fish.
It's no wonder I have guilt just piled to the sky for actions beyond my inebriated control.
It's no wonder women break down around me.
It's no wonder that I lie very well.
It's no wonder I have no feelings whatsoever.
It's all I can do.
*puff* *puff* *keep*
"Circle the wagons, young Bob Show! Keep your head down!"
Above me is a blue sky tainted red. Below me there is death and dirt. Surround me are the minions of spite. Inside me there is bleeding. In my ears the murmurs of pleasure.
Carcass of apathy surrounded by devils.
"Die Bob Show! Do us all a favor!"
Should be in bed.
Can't stay sober.
So high above the ground.
Inflated floppy shoes.
A frown on a floating clown.
Let's call it bi-polar art. Manic-depressing creativity.
My bowels ache to push.
Wipe it on the wall.
A room of my own shite.
I hate happy people.
I hate happy.
"Just let it be. If you try to keep it. You're doomed."
"What are you talking about?"
"Someone else's relationship."
"What do you mean by keep it?"
Then out of nowhere Jerilyn bellowed, "I love the Bob Show!"
Lola said, "People are annoying. I'm unwilling to compromise because it's all about me."
"What do you mean by, "it's?"
"My real name isn't Lola."
"As if I didn't know that."
"Take a left at the Roadhouse, go 2 miles stay to the right. I'm right there."
Earlier, a sailboat mast had divided the view of the lake from the third stool at the back bar in the Pelican Zorbaz. Veronica sat aphelion to my barstool. Her hair cascaded like a curly waterfall. I know.
I was looking at her. I thought she saw me. Talk about fruitless hope.
"So, yeah, fruitless hope is…"
I'll have no way to respond to this full frontal assault on who I'm not trying to be.
TJ stepped on a saw in her silk pajamas on a quest for a fire pit poker and the ability to poop more. There was some mention of liquor-infused fruit as a metaphor for sex and the aphrodisiacal nature of food, in general.
Erin and Lulu sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G First comes oral, then comes the strap-on, then comes the ice dildo and Bob's says, "Fuck yea-uh."
"Everybody's got an asshole. That doesn't mean they all stink." – Randy
"Oh Bob, we'll be huggin' later!" - Candace Joy Wisdom
She was right. The first hug I turn down and I had trouble letting her go. The girl's a frisky tart.
"Bob, you are a genius."
"That's so arrogant."
"But it's true."
"I guess you're right."
"You're still laughing, Lare."
"It's a madhouse! A madhouse!"
Mondays will always be evil. Tuesdays are worse. One day there won't be any days. It will one big party with a bar that never closes. Hey, if that's my heaven, none of you are invited. Well…
"Ahh, let me see…fuck off you…"
"I'm still angry."
"Unless those little bubble brush guys show up to clean the tub."
"Thank you for paying attention."
"Good little Americans."
And then Corndog Williams, the coolest Beagle on the planet jumped next to me on the couch and agreed. It is a madhouse. Give me a treat. Amen.