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@ 1 w/@ Least A %age by Ray Printer Friendly

Sometimes I just want to shake hands with the bad guy, warn him not to discuss all his plans before theyíve been carried out. Sometimes I want him to win, because I donít like what the good guys are doing with the place.

I like less points of articulation. Four, maybe five, thatís all I need. Why do you want to further complicate my life?

Glow-in-the-dark eyes and acid-flavored heat, the old man on the corner is screaming about love again, and I think we all know what that means. I wonít fail to fall, but I canít guarantee that Iíll land where you would like.

I stumble through the top-heavy thinking of the wily, dodging too slowly the greedy thought of the mercenary. Iíll dream of donuts tonight, I tell ya, and weíll all be lucky if I can keep from robbing at least eighteen toy stores in the next two days.

Laughing and jokes, all of it, and when the phone disconnects, the smile vanishes. Alone, in a dark room, without the sound of friends. Two monsters and a hero staring back at me, and nothing to think about except for what the next bit of words might be.

ďDonít write anything about this,Ē they say, and I promise I wonít, but of course I just did. Which makes me not only a drunk liar, but a, uhÖwell, yeah, I guess Iím nothing but a drunk liar.

Troubled minds and troubled souls, fourteen is never enough but always too many. Once, I had forty-eight, and I woke up the next morning unsure of who I was, was I going to live, and did I want to.

Solid sleep and a raging hard-on, missed jokes and fake laughter, a million burning, bloodshot, sleep-deprived eyes. I remember being hit on the head with an oar, and then nothing but salt water and darkness and the sexy chick crying because Iím supposed to be dead. She seemed almost disappointed that I lived.

Startling blank spots in the brain, where shit like memories should be but are not, and this is real estate that can never be bought back.

It seems like Iíve been writing forever but I think that thatís mostly because Iíve been hitting the delete key so much. I donít need a buffet, but I do need at least one solid meal a day, take that how you want, depending on who you are.

I will juggle pairs of panties from the clearance rack at Wal-Mart, laughing and making jokes, sneaking in a an occasional deprecating look at the old woman who just wishes I would go away. Because I have nothing better to do on a Tuesday morning but be out of my mind on stolen prescription drugs and terrorizing retail workers.

Donít try to sneak where you can tread in plain sightóit just makes you look like an idiot. And never scream when everyone else isóit just wastes your throat.

This is all nonsense, and Iím sure that you all know it as well as I do. One thing I like, though, is symbols in the title.

ĎNight, Liíl Homies.


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