THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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the phone is down the street from my house. whenever i get drunk i walk down to the booth and call random numbers from my "black book". i'm usually whacking off. last time i was there i had an MD 20/20 bottle in my ass. when we were children we had magnificent dreams, didn't we? i never thought that this is what my life would become. everytime someone said "oh yeah? well my dad's a _____" i always thought, i'm going to be a _____ when i grow up. that way my children won't be forced to lie. my children won't have to cover for their boring dad. but then, this is how it all turned out. i work nights cleaning and maintaining grease traps for fast food joints and diners and hotel kitchens. i drive a puke green valiant with rusted bulletholes in the trunk. and whenever i'm drunk, i'm libel to wander down to the pay phone to get my rocks off. often with a bottle of cheap, fortified wine shoved into my colon. because that's the kind of guy i am. and one of these days one of you nice women will want to give my half of the DNA a chance to mingle and bake for nine months, so that i too can have a nice little dirty schoolyard liar. a little runt that looks like me, stinks like me, and, with a little luck, will grow up to take over his dad's stature in life. maybe it will be more than one of you nice women. maybe it will be a lot more. maybe my progeney will fill ohio like a plague of cockroaches. eating the grime from where the buildings meet the streets. the leftovers. someone needs to eat the leftovers. maggots swarming a festering wound. consuming the bad, leaving the good. leaving the shiny people to have their love and happiness. leave me alone with my phonebooth. crack open another bottle of the maddog. |
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and i took vacation until January 10, 2001. i so loved 2000. all those lusty zeroes. Two Thousand. i can't stop writing it down... 2000 2000 2000 and the sun rose. and the sun set. and the sun will rise again. and as ever, none will give a crap. thank you for the wine, my fine feathered nieces. |
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it should have said simply, "niece and daughter. that's why they call you uncle dad". i'm a dimwit. |
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silly mom. she never thought that i could cook, but i did on the sly. it's not how it looks. it's how it tastes. right? |
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mmmmuuuaaahahahahahha |
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hmm. pity. it has tomatoes on top right? |
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When are we going to get a look at those 776,228 new phone numbers you have? |
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