Aphids HaveThree Speeds

Young and single equals idiot. I am a complete super idiot. I am a fukin turbo drunk. I wake up on street corners or behind dumpsters at least three days a week. I work all week and then when Thursday comes, its time to get fuked up. I’ll start the evening off with a lid in my van at lunch time. I’ll walk in the office and everyone will caugh and look at me. I walk to my cubicle grinning to myself but keeping my cool on the outside. Then I pretend like I am doing work. Or pretend that I’m on the phone for official business. I’ll make one, maybe two sales and then I’m lost in my own world staring down at the phone or up at the cieling. I’ll reach up in there and scrape together some mouse droppings and then put them in my lip as a chaw. After a bit I’ll go to the bathroom and snort a line of frozen chimpanzee piss. Then I’ll head over to systems and see what my stats are. Then when the clock hits about 4:45 I’ll go back to my desk and make a couple more sales and then I’ll wait. When someone leaves I’ll say “leavin early today Phil? or whatever their name is.” It makes me look like an overachiever. Then I’ll wait a bit and then at 5:05 i’ll take off to the alleyway and score some hobo joints. The winos under the freeway make them. They are fukin tits. They make you so fukin high you want to reach up through your nose and massage your brain. Then when I’m coming down off of that I’ll hit the bar around the corner. I enter through the back. Harf usually passes me a shot of THC and Clamato. I’ll take a couple more to the darkest booth. Its in the corner by the vacuum. The middle seat reclines and I can put my legs on the table top. My kit is hidden in a false plate in the wall. I sawed it out once when everybody else was drunk. It was Saint Pattys day and I brought my cousin from Vulture Craps out. He was staying in town for a cannibal workshop. I was roasting on DMT when I picked him up at the launch station. He got in my van and the first thing the fuk hole said was “Rolk tovalsoe tojt camjdo.” I passed him my roach clip and he toked that and the next five snowcones down to ash and then speed bonged two bricks of hash. I immediately locked up my hards and tapped an aphid on the shoulder. Aphids have three speeds. My van had six.

Bring Back the Scalps

Diarrhea swans paddling down the stream with kegs of prune juice. Greased zebra taking a dump in a plastic bag. Zebra dropping the bag of poo onto swans. Swans pulling out lazer crossbows and pounding the zebra full of poison bolts. Zebra pulling out chain-mail umbrella. Two ogres crawling out of zebra. Ogres running behind the bridge. Swans taking defensive positions behind logs. Swan calling on ham radio. “You were right. Should we take them down?” Voice returning “Affirmative. Bring back the scalps.” Swans whistling. More swans landing in stream. Ogres making hand signals. Ogre pulling out fur-covered periscope. Ogre executing launch code. Airplane with two cat shits on wing launching sharpened jerkey sticks. Beef jerkey slamming into the ground. Swans flying off the screen. Ogres high-fiving. Ogres getting high.

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