Thursday, June 02, 2016
At the Addiction Shop
it's Let’s Pretend. I’ve combined a few ingredients,
and try to fake I’m experimenting.
Of course, my Old Harrower still rules!
But, they’re not to find that out!
They do, of course, and I’m at The Committee!
Led by the triply-sweet Jennifer. Who digs at
the raw parts with efficiency!
Finally my nerves just can’t take it, and it just fires
out of me! “How many men have YOU ruined?”
“No, no. A frank exchange!” she answers those
who wish to expel me on the spot.
Her tack changes then to slow seduction. I’m promised
The Harrower forever if I go along. Implicitly promised,
naturally. Jens is nothing if not slick.
Well, grating story short, I’m ruined by her. And, by
the way, I make seven, three who committed suicide.
Then, tossed from Addiction Shop altogether!
I must put myself out with the trash the following
morning.
Sounds more terrible than it is. The guys just
put me in a separate compartment in their
huge truck. Lefty-2 brings coffee. Nice of him.
We shout over the rumbling.
“How can you be sure this is not my addiction?”
“It’s everybody’s!” He adds cream to his and
it shimmers.
“That's beautiful!” I tell him.
Labels: addiction, Fatal Woman, garbage men, social control, trash
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Honors and Family
Highest award in the Agency. And, as you might guess,
hush-hush. The President, of course, approved, and
Dr Anknul said to the few present, “Without this Operative,
there’d BE no Zendenistan!”
The following morning, Hannalore had already left for
meetings, and Ricky tossed something onto the pile of trash
overflowing the plastic barrel, screaming “Zach, you got two
minutes to leave for swim practice!”
He appears! Disgusting, yet alive, and they're departing.
With keys.
Bus for him.
“Trash?” he reminds!
“You handle it, Spy-Man!”
Zach adds, gobbling a Pop Tart, “You’re lucky we don’t piss on it!”
Labels: award, CIA, Family, operative, President, spy, trash
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Going Dutch in a
Red State
When Jup and Mitzy got down, they always went to
Trash Alley. This time she got Dutch Boys and Girls.
The Chinese man didn’t have windmills, but girlfriend,
Letz did, she knew.
Jup got National Football League players, sort of. Splotchily
painted, but the jerseys were the approximate color, and
had script identifying the team name.
No ceramic pants, but little erect penises.
“Cute, but they’ll break off if you play with them,” warned
Mitzy.
“I’m not gonna play with their peckers!”
“I mean just play generally. They’re delicate.”
He had another plan, which he told her. It inspired her.
So, for each game that year, he paired the figures.
Thus Bronco versus Raiders, as an example. Then,
photographed them with his phone camera. Sixteen
games, sixteen pictures that week.
When the season opened, she brought along the
actual Dutch figures. Girlfriend Letz, her own little
windmills and wagons and such. They sat in a booth
with other women at Mad Martha’s, and played the way
they did as girls.
On the way back from the men’s room, Jip told them
“Don’t get too rough now!”
Then he returned to his gang watching the contest
on the biggest screen in the place.
Wills and Hester always came late, but this time
she brought the ceramic food she had fashioned.
She got a hearty Dutch welcome. “Let’s eat the
sausages first!” gushed Emily Hertzmeuller.
Meantime, the men tapped their phones together ritually,
and thus received the obscene schedule of Jup’s.
Men, their wives and girlfriends, appreciated him and Mitzy
further livening up their gameday.
Mad Martha in the kitchen yelled to Gypsy Joe at the bar
that they were a class act!
Some of the newer lady friends were tomboys and wouldn’t
play with the women, but roared alongside the men.
“It takes all kinds,” Jup reminded the very conservative
Ralph Betz, nicknamed Reagan.
Labels: child play, Dutch, female bonding, football, male bonding, Reagan, relationships, segregating by sex, sex roles, trash
