Tag Archives: story

Get your ass in the car

I said get your ass in the car, Lizzy

Put my suit jacket over the cold shoulder she gave me

Over the cold-shoulder-dress she’s looking hot in

Hand on the small of her back leading her while letting her be the leader

She’s two steps ahead but I’m on her heels

Other hand getting the door

Pulling her by the hair mid-squat in the car

Putting her hair behind her ear, caressing her chin, lightly choking her, tilting my head since I got the bigger nose and pinning her tongue down

Her eyes remained close for another 3 seconds after the muah like it was the kiss of death

Her knees buckling

Hand on the small of her back slowly rubbing her ass and thighs before hooking her at the popliteal to pick her up

Dropped her on the leather seats to the sounds of creak and squeak and crunch and scrunch as she fixed her dress in the doorway

Peered through the rear windshield to see was Jane Doe gone be ex or be next

I victory flexed, whispery yes, when I saw her leaning over cheating during the door test

Necktie wrapped around my head in a cancer awareness ribbon knot

They’re not shades, they’re not sunglasses, they’re alien eyes

Sleeves of my buttoned-up rolled to the forearm

First two buttons undone makes it a V-neck

Leather gloves on steering with just two fingers

Holding my beer with two fingers

Driving with an elbow out the window

My hand just above her knee

Her leg shaking

Everything she saying has a vibration in it

But she never once asked, “are we there yet?” ‘cause she likes the long rides

The windows fogged up

And reappeared something from when they were last fogged up … Har+new

Advertisements

Wordpressident #11

The half-moon is the apostrophe between the Z and the S. The heavy breathing of the monster and skeleton sent the bed-skirt flying upwards, covering my exposed legs. The howling wind came through the opening of the glass like a straw and ripped the sheepskin right off my hide. Sleep is the cousin of death because I woke up sweating bullets hearing “ant ant ant” from my alarm clock. The time was handcuffs, handcuffs, handcuffs. 3:33. The colon between the numbers were batting it’s eye lashes like it wanted a conjugal visit. I had 13 inches free; my other foot and both my hands were tied up. An imperfect 10 was getting even with me. It’s like the lump transferred from the oddball to the throat how I was engaging in emotional eating. I couldn’t swallow because I knew this She-Devil stuck her forked-tongue in my breakfast in bed. The blood is the only part of the steak the vampire likes. Why does Cupid shoot arrows without good directions attached to it? Because everywhere I go makes me weak in the knees and I keep falling for a head over heels, whose favorite piece of the shoe is the shank. Maybe I wouldn’t be in these situations if my favorite part changed from breast to sole? Skeleton hands wrapped around her ankles and pulled the little closet freak under. The time I copped I spent wisely freeing myself with the 3rd little piggy. Got out the big house and the first thing on my to-do list wasn’t a brick house with wolf pussy.

I want a check sign next to a signed check. Number 2. I wanna walk in the bank like my shit don’t stank. 3:33. I want fuzzy handcuffs slapped on my wrist by Fine M. Banker for not taking off my hat and shades. You see, the hat for the one-eyed-monster I call Mike Wazowski. The shades to block sonny boy and little miss sunshine. But I’ll gladly take off my pants to show you I don’t have a gun in my pocket. But I do keep a pair of red striped white socks stuffed in my pants; Get your mind out the gutter. I know what you’re thinking. “Them there socks make up 9 inches of the 13 inches from earlier.” Yeah, you’re right …. because I was referring to my shoe size, not my penis, genius. And I know what you’re not thinking judging a book by its cover, “He gotta put ‘em somewhere since it’s a fashion faux pas to wear ‘em with Sperrys.” This reminds me of how much you and your girl got in common. My ensemble was the topic of our conversation last night on the phone. She asked, “What you got on?”


Fisherman hat

Navy blue shirt

Anchor print boxers

Dockers

Boat shoes


Translation: Wave goodbye to your relationship.

And nahhhh N word y’all can’t still be ‘endzzzz!

Unemployed Dream

My alarm clock is my cuddle buddy not in the bed the following morning

Going from a “hey big head” to a airhead, from a booty pillow to a bubble butt always wakes me up

Her schedule waits for no man

“Why you have me do the big spoon, little spoon when you knew you had to work?”

“Bear, I told you I had to get up at 6, and we did the butt ‘cheek-to-cheek.’ Remember you ripped the bedsheets with your big toe nail when we played footsie? Look!”

“Well, who was I hugging from the back?”

“Maybe your dream girl.”

“Describe her.”

“Unemployed.”

“…”

“Now baby I have to go. Your Captain Crunch is getting cold. It’s on the table, been sitting in the milk for 15 minutes which is long enough for it not to mess up the roof of your mouth. Now give me a kiss peace. A closed-mouth one though. You got morning breath. I don’t want to have to brush my teeth all over again. You know toothpaste makes me gag.”

“Me too.”

“What we don’t have in common?”

“Hmm. We’re not in the same bed right now.”

“What about now?”

“You’re leaning over the bed. Technically, no body part is in it.”

“Now?”

“You have a really pretty smooth sore-free, arrow-less left knee. Looks way better than mines. Butttttt there are a few body parts I think I like a little bit better.”

“Hmm. This one?”

“Wait. Wait. Before you sit your ass on the bed long enough to make a smiley face imprint you should remember one important thing … you have to go to work.”

“Haven’t you heard?”

“What?”

“I’m unemployed.”

the jig is up

999 puzzle pieces pour deliciously on the coffee table

The thousandth ran 2 laps on the grounds before coming to a calm post

The irregular shape of the piece against the perfect tiles makes it look like a spill from this height

Instead of water treating my head line, heart line, and life line, like a finish line, and racing through it like a hare, the shape of this puzzle piece has the profile of a baby tortoise upon slower analysis

“Turtles taste like cardboard” I expressed so I tucked in my puck

Roasting myself like, “You’re such a beanhead for letting that partner of theirs persuade you into spending Starbucks on a 3D puzzle instead of a flat white”

That pile of puzzle pieces sitting atop the mocha lava colored table is sculpted like a volcano, or did those cardboards just fall out the cardboard that way?

Maybe that’s why this turquoise turtle turned course? Poor little thing doesn’t know how to protect itself with its totally coarse shell yet.

Sugar dugar, I’m why your puzzle piece is missing

I have stolen a piece out of every puzzle made since 1991. The piece that most resembles a baby turtle. Don’t ask me how I do it. I don’t share my process with teenagers, mutants, or ninjas.

I was just a weird little zombie kid who wanted pet turtles

Because the pieces were all from different puzzles I never attempted to fill in the blanks with the tabs

Then one day during a commercial break of The Walking Dead I tried out of boredom and something amazing happened …

Head Roll

“Harold, you up?”

He didn’t question me because he heard noise coming from my room. He asked because the noise coming from outside my room probably woke me. The shouting match. The yelling back and forth. I hate when my parents fight. 

I wasn’t worried about staying still. My body was in sleep-mode. I felt paralyzed from the neck down, but from the neck up I wanted to stratch my goatee because I had the covers pulled up to my chin. Lying on my left side, I wanted to rub my face across the pillow, but squinting at the full body mirror in the corner my dad’s head was still midway through the doorway as if he was waiting on me to say, “yeah, I’m up.”

“Is he up, gUerilla?”

That’s probably why they were fighting. Mom must forgot to take off her heels to hide her club-going before she stepped back in the house, and dad’s back must be bothering him again. Her head poked through above his. Yeah, mom’s drunk. She’s slurring her words. She usually pronounce dad’s pet name with O instead of U. And is she THAT wasted to not see where my bed is? Why is her head turned the opposite way in this weird angle? 

“Is bruh bruh up?”

I guess the fighting didn’t wake him; his growth spurt did and he wanted to surprise me with the exciting news. My little brother’s head poked through the doorway over mom and dad. 

My family knows I think before I speak, but thus far, I have given the impression I’m sound asleep. So, why the hell are they still hanging out in my doorway? 

It was starting to scare me! 

My dad needs a chiropractor. 

My mom is still looking in the wrong direction. 

My little brother’s a giant. 

After an intense, awkward 3 minutes and 23 seconds (I know this because of my alarm clock) the whites of their eyes and teeth disappeared into the darkness. 

I gotta lock my door. 

As I was TRYING to get up, my head rolled out of bed.