Why cry?
Why sniffle why sob?
And why do it at all while eating corn on the cob?
I truly regret whatever made you upset but shall we move on now, forgive and forget?
Why cry?
Why bitch and why moan?
Why surrounded by people but feel all alone?
How would a boat fix all of this? We'll never know! And that's partly why we're remiss.
Why cry?
Why not tweet? Why not tell jokes?
Why not crack ourselves up over beers and some smokes?
A snicker a chortle a smile on the lips, replaces the worry with sno-cones and flips.
Why cry?
Why melancholy? Why blue?
Sub in laughter for sadness and we'll both find it true:
It's a respite, a break. It's us on the take. Stealing a moment. Just one, to escape.
Why Cry?
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Holiday Family Letter
Well, it’s that time of year again. While everybody else returns to work, I set aside this day for taking down the family Christmas tree and slugging back enough bloody marys to give you the straight scoop on how things have been. This year sucked ass. Can I just say that? Well… I. Just. Did.
(Hold on. Sorry, I’m back: for a second there, I tasted tomato juice in this bitch. Whoo!)
You know, it’s not that we haven’t been trying this year. It just seemed at times like that precious Lord of ours picked the last 12 months for us to get our asses kicked. I know I’ve told most of you about Kenny, our garage apartment renter, and all the troubles he’s caused. Well thanks to Charlotte’s Finest, he and his store of cat tranquilizers are long gone. He did leave a piece of shit CRX in our yard. If you want it, it’s yours. Merry Christmas.
I’m still working at the SteinMart, whenever I can convince myself that it’s worth $6.35 an hour to spend a day with that cocksucker boss of mine Marty. Today is not one of those days. In fact, Marty had the balls to ask me why I needed this day off. I looked him straight in his one good eye and with the honesty I promised in my interview three years ago, I said “To recover, motherfucker.” Anyway, I’m sure Cindy and Keyla will do just fine on their own today in Households, provided Cindy can keep from crying about her recent rejection letter from Con-Way Trucking School. I feel for her, but my God. With three DUIs and an assault on a former employer, it is any mystery?
Nevermind them. They’re not family. Oh, excuse me, Marty! They’re “SteinMart Family.” Suuure. Not sure about you, but that’s who I’m going to call next time I’m in the pokey at 4am for impersonating a prostitute—SteinMart Family. Damn, I gotta get off SteinMart. I’m just so pissed at that asshole Marty I’ve got half a mind to pour one more pitcher of bloodys and walk the three miles with it down the highway just to tell him to kiss my ass.
My children, if we must discuss them, are two worthless pieces of shit. Y'all, I just crunched into the biggest piece of celery stalk and said that out loud. Good God, I’m getting my drunk on! OK, Kristina, little whore that she is, was almost pregnant more times this year than her newest adopted cat pissed on my head while I was sleeping. All close calls, but 37 pregnancy tests later she's in the clear. That girl buys pregnancy tests in bulk. Hell, I used one the other day to see if the turkey was done. Besides, I can’t see how she’d be fertile, after a lifetime of Snickers, Diet Cheerwine and giving head to future high-school dropouts. Regardless, let’s thank the heavens we’re spared having to dote on her for nine months. “Get me more cigarettes. Where’s my fuckin' Tequiza? Blah blah blah…” She does take me to work on Tuesdays and Thursdays and for that I’m thankful. Even though I know it’s because it coincides with her community service requirement down at the SPCA. Gotta give credit where it's due.
Charlene is my angel gone to shit. I’m not sure what that girl’s plan is. I tried all year to give her helpful hints about picking up a vocation or learning to work on something other than rolling joints, and I can’t seem to break through to her. I agree with her that if there was a job where you could roll joints, she’d be great at it, but that’s not a realistic plan, even with California and the whole cancer pot thing happening. The girl had so many talents growing up. I’m not sure where we went wrong, but somewhere along the way she decided she was gonna wait until prince fuckin charming came along and scooped her up. and until then, just rely on the social security checks and stolen identities of others. Well, time’s a tickin young thing. It surely is. I’m reminded of that as I chew on this ice and pour another—oh hell, I ran out of tomato juice back there talkin about Marty. We’re into pure Aristocrat now, friends. Love the burn, and I'll tell you cheap vodka is under-- Hey, I think that’s the trash truck I hear coming!
I gotta go. I can’t remember whether Tommy’s route runs by my house today but either way I’m going out there to show some titty to those boys in hopes they will bend the rules and haul this douglas fir out of my life along with the remains of 2010. Goodbye and good riddance to this year is what I say. And one more thing: fuck Obama.
Happy New Year Errybody,
Clarice
(Hold on. Sorry, I’m back: for a second there, I tasted tomato juice in this bitch. Whoo!)
You know, it’s not that we haven’t been trying this year. It just seemed at times like that precious Lord of ours picked the last 12 months for us to get our asses kicked. I know I’ve told most of you about Kenny, our garage apartment renter, and all the troubles he’s caused. Well thanks to Charlotte’s Finest, he and his store of cat tranquilizers are long gone. He did leave a piece of shit CRX in our yard. If you want it, it’s yours. Merry Christmas.
I’m still working at the SteinMart, whenever I can convince myself that it’s worth $6.35 an hour to spend a day with that cocksucker boss of mine Marty. Today is not one of those days. In fact, Marty had the balls to ask me why I needed this day off. I looked him straight in his one good eye and with the honesty I promised in my interview three years ago, I said “To recover, motherfucker.” Anyway, I’m sure Cindy and Keyla will do just fine on their own today in Households, provided Cindy can keep from crying about her recent rejection letter from Con-Way Trucking School. I feel for her, but my God. With three DUIs and an assault on a former employer, it is any mystery?
Nevermind them. They’re not family. Oh, excuse me, Marty! They’re “SteinMart Family.” Suuure. Not sure about you, but that’s who I’m going to call next time I’m in the pokey at 4am for impersonating a prostitute—SteinMart Family. Damn, I gotta get off SteinMart. I’m just so pissed at that asshole Marty I’ve got half a mind to pour one more pitcher of bloodys and walk the three miles with it down the highway just to tell him to kiss my ass.
My children, if we must discuss them, are two worthless pieces of shit. Y'all, I just crunched into the biggest piece of celery stalk and said that out loud. Good God, I’m getting my drunk on! OK, Kristina, little whore that she is, was almost pregnant more times this year than her newest adopted cat pissed on my head while I was sleeping. All close calls, but 37 pregnancy tests later she's in the clear. That girl buys pregnancy tests in bulk. Hell, I used one the other day to see if the turkey was done. Besides, I can’t see how she’d be fertile, after a lifetime of Snickers, Diet Cheerwine and giving head to future high-school dropouts. Regardless, let’s thank the heavens we’re spared having to dote on her for nine months. “Get me more cigarettes. Where’s my fuckin' Tequiza? Blah blah blah…” She does take me to work on Tuesdays and Thursdays and for that I’m thankful. Even though I know it’s because it coincides with her community service requirement down at the SPCA. Gotta give credit where it's due.
Charlene is my angel gone to shit. I’m not sure what that girl’s plan is. I tried all year to give her helpful hints about picking up a vocation or learning to work on something other than rolling joints, and I can’t seem to break through to her. I agree with her that if there was a job where you could roll joints, she’d be great at it, but that’s not a realistic plan, even with California and the whole cancer pot thing happening. The girl had so many talents growing up. I’m not sure where we went wrong, but somewhere along the way she decided she was gonna wait until prince fuckin charming came along and scooped her up. and until then, just rely on the social security checks and stolen identities of others. Well, time’s a tickin young thing. It surely is. I’m reminded of that as I chew on this ice and pour another—oh hell, I ran out of tomato juice back there talkin about Marty. We’re into pure Aristocrat now, friends. Love the burn, and I'll tell you cheap vodka is under-- Hey, I think that’s the trash truck I hear coming!
I gotta go. I can’t remember whether Tommy’s route runs by my house today but either way I’m going out there to show some titty to those boys in hopes they will bend the rules and haul this douglas fir out of my life along with the remains of 2010. Goodbye and good riddance to this year is what I say. And one more thing: fuck Obama.
Happy New Year Errybody,
Clarice
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