It rained all day yesterday steady, without hope. I couldn't barbecue, so the hookers wouldn't come. No ribs. . . no fun. So I sat around drinking the Colt .45 Malt Liquor by myself and got drunk and morose. That's just the way it has been going, though. I'm living under a curse. It was probably from that Haitian girl, or maybe one of the girls from Brazil. But I know a couple of women from the states who are into all that, too. I don't believe in ju-ju, so I think I'm safe, but lately I've been wondering. And that may be all a curse needs to take hold--just a little doubt. All that chicken blood and sacrifice. . . I don't know. I'm sure there are dolls out there with my name all over them.
Later, my stomach was all hollow from the Colt .45, so I stopped at a Chicken Licken for some CHiCK'N SLYDERS and chips and an X-tra Large Coke to pick me up. If I'd thought about it earlier, I could have gotten a big takeout order for everyone and we could have partied inside. I must be getting old. I should have thought of that.
So that was it. No MLK celebrations. You know white folks would pick the worst weather month of the year to celebrate diversity.
The "Lie" precludes it from being "true." It, therefore must portray Truth-- as a play portrays a character. It is the reader then that decides the veracity as it pertains to their experience and perception.
ReplyDeleteThat's what I was trying to say on MLK Part 1.
I love this one too. But I'm a masochist of sorts.
Install a Play-station in your lobby for the B-friends and include the latest Grand Theft Auto. They'll be begging their wimmen to get nekked and have you take their pitcher.
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