Some Day

Women are complicated specimens of nature. You have no clue how they operate nor the decency to care in the beginning of old age. Some days they love the hell out of you and wanna smuggle suffocate you on a personal presidential level, when yesterday, she treated you like two servants and a robot; a maid, a waiter, and an ATM. Some days you aren’t in the room when she comes in and you’re still not done working to her needs. It’s a bitch; along with the bullshit you do for her too. I know because I’ve been seeing it my entire life. From childhood to my teens, my father, Lancelot Works or “daddy’s busy sweetheart”, has been in constant tears and sweating the entire time. The man was an “Oh Boy!” Man. Scrubbing the happiness from his back, cooking it, then presenting it well seasoned for this woman on a silver platter, whom was second option in marriage. I shake my head in slow swings as i walk through a cold parking lot to “Al’s BBQ Smut Home!”. Dumbest name for a restaurant. Whitest place in America. Saddest place for a date. At night. On December. Before Hanukkah. I should be anywhere that’s In my jurisdiction and not beyond the state as said by my parole officer(s). Anyway, I get to this hole in the trash with the president’s redneck stamp on it to “find” my date. If I don’t see him, then I go the way I came and try not to feel guilty… that I went home with someone else. Only for the ride. Maybe a drink. Maybe a one time thing just for fun. “Table number 6?” Cute waiter. Not my type, flat ass and no abs apparently. I follow “flatly, flatly, two by four, can fit underneath the kitchen door, using the floor” to meet, this. Now I don’t know if you know what the word “preppy” is, or the word “grunge” is, but understand that both are pathetic phases in middle school and absolutely don’t mix on a person’s body. I am currently rubbing my hand on my face in an up and down, sideways, motion. Fucking loser. And i am not talking about my date, there’s a better name for him in the next hour as soon an his jaw and lips do that open, close, thing with unpredictable wording and foreshadows how this night might go down. What sucks even harder is that i am here against my will and ordered by the judge for a “humanitarian” test to “check my humanity towards other human beings depending on my actions”. Bullshit. It’s a political and social shakedown to try and snuff out my first and second amendments and render me a subordinate to domination and to be dominated for the society’s totalitarianism,chauvinists, and homophobes. I’d hate for all those things to arrive at the dinner table early. This guy is a total rip-off. Like if we were “Mork and Mindy”; but he’s like if Mindy was the fucking alien. Like his voice sounds like i am forced to go to the most traditional church that’s technically in the middle of nowhere with trees and a big lake behind the church meant for baptizing you eight times after every prayer. He looks like white men can’t jump, but achieve their financial dreams by blue collar work; which is exactly what this dude doesn’t do. He just told me he quit his job to follow his dream to be in a band made up of nothing but two college students and a teenager playing the drums but is failing math. Mind you, the loser in front of me is almost 40. I don’t care what anybody say, but life is too short for me to be nice to weirdos, creeps, and a suspect to insurance fraud. So i did the only thing i could do before the food came…Dump his coffee on myself, thus giving an excuse to leave for December’s “cold air”. Thank god for the holidays weather nonsense. So i left. No point feeling guilty now. Already did that in court when that lady mayor said i called her the “B” through “C” word. Didn’t know we couldn’t say corruption in public in front of our kids anymore. Nonetheless, i left my bad coat back there just in case i forget that i don’t wanna go get it. Another first time in the bag off the to-don’t.