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A Conflict Of Interest

Maybe I’ll just stop the car right here in the middle of this fucking interstate. Just slam on the brakes, lay the seat back, cross my arms over my chest, lie back and wait. All of this seems like a splendid idea until I get to the “wait” part. What am I waiting for? Am I waiting for you to notice me? Am I waiting for me to give up on you? Maybe I’m waiting for a big airplane, flying at 35,000 feet, to lose control of it’s luggage door and inadvertently spill out a custom made Louis Vuitton leather tote; which, after tumbling 35,000 feet, lands squarely on the roof of my car, hopefully tearing it like gravel through wet toilet paper and impaling me like a Martini olive? Maybe? One can only hope. Either way, goddamnit, I’m going to slam on the brakes and stop this car right here in the middle of traffic. I really don’t care. I stopped caring ages ago. Or maybe I started caring ages ago and you stopped. Either way, this is one fine and dandy cotton candy mess you rolled us up into now.

I feel like a few fringe tobacco leaves hanging out of that nasty cigarette in your mouth; about to be burned. Burned to crisp. Burned so that you can shake the shakes bitch. I can see your hands trembling. Greasy fingernails and all. Maybe if I slam on the brakes hard enough you’ll swallow that weed. Choke on the ashes. Maybe you’ll hit your forehead on the dashboard and snap out of it. Or you might get knocked crazy. I think you’re going crazy already to be totally honest. I don’t mean “gimme another hit of Prozac, Doc” crazy. No. I’m talking rip off your clothes and run up the hillside by the highway naked and squat down in a patch of moss and throw your own shit at passing cars kind of crazy. Oh, I’m the crazy one?

Sometimes I see big black spots you know. I’ll be walking around town or bending over to pick up a penny off the sidewalk and BAM! Dots. Big, black slimy blotchy dots. Looks like I’m staring at the world through a piece of Swiss cheese. And you know, after spending all these years with you, I feel like Swiss cheese. I feel like a big, dumb, gullible hunk of Swiss cheese. Ever get a hankerin’ for a hunk o’ cheese? When your ten-gallon hat is feelin’ five gallons flat? Yeah, like that. Why are you laughing at me? I’m dead serious. I’m gonna stop this fucking car right here in the middle of the street. I don’t care. Well I know it’s stupid and pointless, just like the rest of my life. But.

You know, it’s been so long since I’ve heard you laugh. Why do you have to be such an ass? Sometimes I don’t see your face; I see this big hairy ass sitting on your shoulders. Ever seen an ass smile? It’s really disgusting. And that’s not funny. I’m serious. If that luggage doesn’t flatten me soon, you’ll be laughing your way to a fucking nudist funny farm. I’ve already ordered you a nice white butterfly net. Did you know your eyes literally sparkle when you laugh? They do. Like diamonds. Of course sometimes, they look like they’ve been glued to a big hairy, smiling ass. I’m crazy? Yeah, well, maybe I am.

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7 thoughts on “A Conflict Of Interest

  1. Evelyn says:

    ” Either way, this is one fine and dandy cotton candy mess you rolled us up into now.”
    How clever.

    ” I’m talking rip off your clothes and run up the hillside by the highway naked and squat down in a patch of moss and throw your own shit at passing cars kind of crazy. ” Ha! Ha ha ha! HA!

    “Ever get a hankerin’ for a hunk o’ cheese? When your ten-gallon hat is feelin’ five gallons flat? Yeah, like that.”
    I’m picturing that wavy noodle legged cartoon man. Of course.
    You are crazy funny, lucky me. 😉

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