Tag Archives: family

WordPressident #7 

Baby, lets talk
Yesterday I searched the meaning of my name
Google/googoo gaga/God God/gah gah
Expressed exasperation in exclamation, boohoo blah blah
Cause I was wrestling with it being a Christian name but here’s what took the Edge off
The meaning, totally reeked awesomeness, I hand-in-waistcoat posed for 5 seconds, keshessshhh or chachzzz, how do you write the noise a camera makes? Let’s have a spell off
This is what I read off, Wikipedia, Harold is derived from Hereweald here “army” weald “leader”
The new letters in my name made me go weee but the O went dark like periods, full stop era girl features
They’re either, but from the derivative let’s carry on pal, the diminutives is Harry and Hal
With 6 days remaining before January is out the dictionary has crowned …
One the word of the day I’ll let you shoulder time browsing
But just note, today, I used it in a sentence so much I lost count it’s over 9 thousand
But let’s not drag on about me, me, let’s talk about you, yeah you, ballsy/ball Z, could ya be more ballsy?
The customer is always right, yeah from 3 to 9
But at 9:01 in the 901 a right to the customer would’ve got me 3 to 9
But my feet are fine ’cause I’m sitting on my ass all day
Warehouse? Unless it’s a TV inside my closet, speaking of that, hallways
Revealed a page, I’m thinking what is this cause my bills are paid, pest control already did their deal and sprayed
I pick up the note from that wide ass gap and it revealed a fate
Tiredrun Parkinsons/Tyrone Parsons is no longer employed where I live and stay
I’m thinking this can’t be real, a prank
But when I saw the edges of that same letter underneath my neighbor’s door
I knew the lights that shine through the cracks was just that and not a tape record
But I don’t know if I’m on the same accord about the smoke detector looking over where I make the score
But that smile wasn’t safe no more ’cause my grandma went to the hospital at 7 she was aching sore
I checked on her at 10:30 and she STILL HASN’T BEEN-, say no more
You should get every nickel back from the insurance you’re paying for ’cause what are you, what are you, what are you waiting for?
Make doctors nurses patients, then make their family members impatient, boy!


The Sweet Perspective of Ace

Dedicated to Sweet Aces 

A hunter comes to the rescue and with his axe cuts open the sleeping wolf. Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother emerge unharmed. They then fill the wolf’s body with heavy stones. The wolf awakens and tries to flee, but the stones cause him to collapse on the porch of a glass house. The huffing and a puffing causes the windows to fog. Ace, the occupant of the house, realizes the world cannot stare at him like a fish in a bowl anymore. He decides to use this time to do something he always wanted to do: Jump on the computer and criticize people online. Upon typing his first insult, his body is tossed across the room like a paper basketball. He waves some of the steam off the glass and sees the wolf outside launching itself at the house. Through the crack of the glass Ace took a great breath and sang out, “Wolf! Wolf!” The sheeple faced an uphill battle and couldn’t come to the rescue. Ace had 2 options: Stay inside and be stabbed to death when the glass shattered or go outside and be eaten by the dangerous predator. He shot for the moon. He put on his spacesuit to protect him from the sharpness of both the glass and the wolf’s teeth. With broken glass everywhere and the wolf dying, staring at one of the pieces, seeing his life flash before his eyes, one of the disguises over the years stuck out. That of grandma. No matter how big his hands was, big bad wolf could never hug like grammy use to. Rest in peace, baby girl …

Grandma shoes when she was a baby

My Child’s Imaginary Friend Killed Him

I had egg on my face when I saw his Heimlich maneuver costume. I was so embarrassed to fill his Halloween bucket with tears instead of Cry Baby bubblegum. The hugging from behind reminded me of my son the most. Him running off in public and me having to chase after him and pick him up so he won’t do it again. Him getting affectionately squeezed when he answered correctly to the ‘Guess Who’ game despite my pathetic efforts of disguising my voice. Wait! The dangling legs reminded me of my son the most. Him on his Spider-Man potty seat on the toilet. Him having them between the bars of the baby crib. Him bouncing around in his chair while I’m trying to get him to eat his food separately instead of as a KFC Famous Bowl.

Now here I am sitting on the dock of the bay, feet not touching the water, thinking how those abdominal thrusts only made the situation worse. What was I suppose to do, watch my child grasp for air until the pair of medics arrived? Notice I said a pair of medics instead of paramedics; I had to call twice because the first ambulance must have stopped at one too many red-lights. Or were they traveling at such a high rate of speed the EMT’s crashed into another car that ejected them on top of a traffic light pole three-quarters of a mile? Pffft. I’m not waiting on someone who didn’t give birth to this child to come save him. This is my baby! When he didn’t expel whatever it was that was choking him I jumped in my Aston Martin over my other brand cars; I wanted to see what the wings in its logo was really about. When the doctor came back in the waiting room his body language said it all, “I’m sorry.” My body language replied, “Not as sorry as you will be if you don’t get back in there and save my baby.”

Next thing I remember is waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. I must have died and went to heaven for a few hours to play video games with my little man one last time. I say one last time because I’m going to hell for being a bad parent. All of this could have been prevented. I shouldn’t have homeschooled my son, sheltering him. I should’ve let him be around other kids. He would have made real friends and wouldn’t have felt the need to create an imaginary friend, who would eventually kill him. I guess I shouldn’t say imaginary when the doctor, the nurses, and I can see the friend resting on my son’s windpipe. 

Truth is, though, I always saw him. We called it Airhead. We gassed its friends if one got too sharp. If it could talk its voice would squeak like a gym shoe. Speaking of shoes, its knot helped my son learn how to tie his. He was smooth. Multiracial. Had a string for a neck. Liked to fly. Liked to party. Could mold into any animal, different sizes and shapes. And it’s this very quality that helped it to conform to my son’s trachea, blocking the airway and his ability to breathe.

That is why I put band aids on balloons.

Bandaid Balloon


I Accidentally Killed My Mom! (LiveBlog)

Have you ever typed something while the barrel of a glock is pushed against your occiput?

This is my first time.

15 years ago, me and another customer pulled up in the lot of Wal-Mart. We parked bumper to bumper. A young woman got out and started for the entrance. As I was walking pass her vehicle I saw a child in the backseat sleeping. I yelled out, “Mam! Mam! Your baby!” She graciously thanked me and said she forgot her son was in the car because of his taciturn. 21 minutes into their shopping, in the back of the store, near the electronics section, for a few moments, she left her cart unattended. A basket her son was sitting in with her purse next to him. The inquisitive toddler reached into it, unzipped a special pocket for a concealed weapon and accidentally shot his mother in the head, instantly killing her. I heard, what I thought was a roof collapse, in the food section.

Over a decade later, that boy’s father got tired of lying to his son when he questioned where his mom was and why she never came home. He decided his son was old enough to know the truth. His father showed him the video surveillance he obtained from the Sheriff’s office after investigators ruled the incident was an accident. The video showed that heartbreaking moment, but the reason I’m sitting here with a gun pressed to the back of my head is because it also showed the parking lot footage. A 17-year-old man, who was once that 2-year-old little boy, is on the other side of this gun.

Before I die, I want the world to know the truth. I am responsible for Victoria Miller’s death. Not her son! I am the one who should have lived a life of confusion and anger these last 15 years. Not her son! I am the one who should have been lied to over and over and told it wasn’t my fault knowing it GOT DAMN WAS. Not her son! If I had just minded my business that day. The weather was 46 degrees on March 30, 2000. Not hot enough to have killed this baby. Mrs. Miller was just going in to get a few things. She wouldn’t even have needed a shopping cart. She would have been in the 10 items or less lane. I will pay for this with my life. And I will. To my family and friends, I love you!!! I hope my death teaches you to MIND YOUR GOT DAMN BUSINESS. Goodbye!

Okay, okay.

Uhh … I am being told, I am being told by the young man I can be saved. I can be saved. Okay. He says all I have to do is, is press control-alt-delete on this wireless keyboard and turn on the TV and put it on the local news.

He told me to close my eyes and count to a hundred. When I got to the century mark I waited on further instruction. It was this long scary silence. I didn’t see his reflection in the computer and looked over my shoulder. He was gone! He’s gone! And I’m still alive!!! There are skid marks in my lawn. He is gone! He really just left my house? I’m still here. No one died. Me or him. I can’t imagine how the last 15 years of his life must’ve been. Once he finally knew the truth it must’ve been hard to accept and he needed to transfer responsibility. But something’s not right. I feel funny. I should be dead. His anger. His aggressiveness. The way the gun was moving on the back of my head, I could tell he was nervous. How did his shaky finger manage to not jerk the trigger? Why did he bring this external keyboard and have me type on it? I’m typing on my laptop’s keyboard now. And why did he have me press control-alt-delete and he knows I have a Mac? Did he have me turn on the TV so I wouldn’t hear him leave?

There’s breaking news.

A car exploded.


I’m sure there are 100’s of White Nissan Maxima’s in the city. But this car wasn’t on the road; it’s in a driveway. Houses can look the same. Yeah, there are plenty homes with a Flintstone car in the front yard, and a little red corvette, and a see-saw, and a garden that looks like a bed with pillows and blankets on it. The reporter said the address. Is it possible, is it possible to have the same address as someone else who lives in your city? What am I seeing, like what is this? I don’t understand what’s happening.

Curious. I pressed control-alt-delete on the wireless keyboard again and this time the house exploded. I’m watching the fucking live shot on the news right now. Frozen. Only my heart and my fingers can move at this point.

I take my eyes off the TV and looked at what he told me to title this post. That’s when it hit me. He wasn’t talking about himself; he was talking about ME!!!

He got even.

I accidentally killed my mom.