The emptied chick bank account.

The garbage truck roared past the hedgerow of conglomerate protecting us from the outside world, and the echos startled the smokers, talking smack. I realized, they don’t want a baby per-se, they just want love. Babies give love wholeheartedly, with innocent abandon. They make us feel needed, and valuable, keeping the nothing at bay. What you’re doing take on great importance; there is little room to measure the vast intelligence of the stars, and come up wonting. The pointlessness is overwhelming, when you consider the immensity of things. Commiserate with the sultry smokers, we complained bitterly about the racket of the garbage truck. Jesus. At this time of night! What about the workers fighting for sleep? Which I’d live to trailer that night, or morning, I might add. Millions of acts conspired to derail my tranquility, as demands escaped counting, and hours of rest diminished, but when she went to her therapy, at ninety dollars an hour, the sincerity level peaked, and disintegrated again. Funny how crack has the effect; water under the dire brink of yourself, when the swishy edge wears thin ... the dessication o-so, of self, always wins. We had ten thousand dollars which will seem like nothing in fifty years, heaped in a monumental pile of worn twenties, the likeness of which, our citizens quickly forgot. "I’m suntanning, with this in front of me. We should charge admission to bask here." "What a great scam. If we get twice as much, can we raise the admission charge?" Better and bigger business ploys filled the air, as we shot the tips from beer bottles with antique air rifles. "Dude, gimme that! You’re cut off. Shit; my mom gave me that doll. What’s she gonna say when she visits, and notes the hole in its head?! If you weren’t such a flaming poofta, I’d think you did it on purpose!" We laughed, cuz he probably did. Mike was half fag hardy-har sorcerer, and one third bright nickel-coated nail-hard sadist who delighted in grueling feats of endurance, and marathon party nights, ending in all day drinking binges. The other fraction was momma’s boy, which he unleashed for the ladies. Hidden in his glowing heart, was a searing ember the naughty saw, and tired trying to keep up with.


His retinue of fag-hags was legendary among straight guys, and lesbians alike. Apparently he had an enormous shlong, and knew how to use it, occasionally whipping it out in a state, and blushing the faces of those who felt safe with it, as men are dicks with bodies attached. "On the sly, he’s had a delicious few, methinks." I slander. "Jesus! And why hot when scorching’s in reach? The chicks he hangs with would regenerate balls on a eunuch. I’m sure if you close your eyes, a hot snatch is better than a bunghole, or a mouth, doncha think?" We were counting, and folding the bills, staring at the strobe light hitting explosions of glass at the end of the room. "Is that a trick question? Shoot; he’s proactively pretensing himself gay, to attract the TV-beauty queens,who underit all, want to convert him to snatch." "Damn. You might be right! A.)What a conspiracy; B.)can we get in on it, and how often will we be laughed at, fucked with, or poisoned in edgy ridicule?" "Cee ... don’t forget beat up." "Yea. That part sucks." "Still, it’s a noble Darwinian niche." "Indeed it is. I’d almost wear lipstick for it." Fuck! I lost count. The process lasted most of the night, glass littered the carpet and tore the vacuum cleaner to bits. "My mom gave me that too," she laughed, "but I wish she hadn’t. Too many bad memories of hours spent as a kid, too short to push it effectively. Odd she’d get me that same model."