Uh, I don't have a new puppy "not that I have anything against them" so I decided I'd post this older piece I wrote. Thought some of you might get a kick out of it. Don't mind all of the horrid grammar, but if you do please post an edited version so that I can at least make use of your anal retention. ................................................................................................. I was staring at the overweight middle aged man across from me, I had occasionally had conversations with him. I didn’t quite hear his greeting, my ears attuned to the amusing sound of his hand rubbing the stubble of his cheek “scratch, scratch” then his voice tuning from senseless tones into words “So it occurred to me I might be a Nazi, I mean hell I wouldn’t mind if most of the morons I’d met had their seminal ducts tied off. I don’t want them to start filling up neighborhoods with more wining brats.” “Nazi?” I smirked, intrigued that he didn’t have any qualms saying it in public. “Yeah” he said. As he leaned closer I heard the tart chirp of what I could only assume was gas escaping. “Sure, we do it to our fuckin dogs and cats, and cutting off their balls isn’t considered a sin, shit we think it’s goddamn charity. And it’s true, the more cats the more litters ; whoever thought a starving kitten was a good thing. Besides people could be less violent, more intelligent. I never heard of a golden retriever who was too dumb, or had a problem bitin up kids. The smell of his fart came to me then, and in some part of my head I knew he’d fried up five or six eggs that morning. I’d listened intently the first few times he’d talked, but more and more I was enthralled with observing deeper and deeper layers of his horrid hygiene and social habits. I knew he did deliveries for some pizza joint in town, and that was all I could see when I looked at him. A round half cooked Italian pie, the yellow oil from the cheese running down his forehead, I even assumed he might show up one day with an arm missing, having gotten hungry the night before. I’d again lost track of the conversation, only registering a building excitement in his voice. I just picked up what I thought were the last words he’d said. “Retard babies. You want to eat retard babies?” “What? fuck man, what the hell are you talking about?” he smashed his right palm against his forehead. “I said, I don’t think the mentally retarded should be allowed to have babies. Shit. Listen I don’t mean we should pack’em into gas chambers and hav’em breath the old yellow mustard. But I don’t think its right hav’in so many kids born like that.” I looked at him and made the assessment that he’d never been in a real relationship. Sure he might have gotten laid, paid for it, or gotten some in collage before he packed on the pounds, but it was hard to think he had. Trying not to see his great white expanse undulating on top of a woman, I gave a halfhearted response. “But… well, I mean who would decide who got snipped and who didn’t. If some social worker had a bad day they could send anyone to the clinic, you, me, anyone.” He smiled exposing strangely well-kept teeth. “Your right, it’d be difficult at first, but there’d be some way to make it pretty fail safe. Even right now we have a court system that makes grave decisions. And they do mess up, but most people don’t want to see the system go.” “yeah” I said, looking off down to the back of the bus. Though most of the seats where empty a mottle of seven or eight black people sat huddled to near the back. Forty years now they could sit anywhere they wanted and they still sat in the back. “fucken hell” I thought. In my lap I became away of my shoulder bag under my hand. I tended to get partial erections when I sat for long periods of time. Compulsively I tend to reach for anything to cover it, a bag, book, or pillow. Funny that I do that, I don’t know why I assume so many people are looking at my crotch. I was tired, the soil from my gardening job sticking to my neck and hands. I could feel the dirt leaching out any compulsion to move. I was staring blankly, again observing the lumbering man of a pizza boy. He was peaceful, picking at his arm, sneering a little as he squeezed a pimple that he’d gotten a hold of. I watched him and slowly a chill ran threw me, a wave of repulsion. I realized that I did the same thing, not thinking or caring, I also did the same kind of tasteless grooming in public, picking at my skin or facial hair, not noticing the sneers of others. I knew then that in many ways this jovial fat man across from me could be my twin. Just add twenty more years, seventy pounds, and keep the same intrusive conversational manor. I already had the paler of skin, those over sized calves. I wanted to bash out my repulsion on window behind me, see if the pain would blur the mirror from my focus. I was seething but I knew it shown only in my eyes being open a little wider. He turned back to me, his name was Harold or Donald or some other roly-poly one like mine. His face had concern as he spoke “So did you get what I meant about given people vasectomies and all?” I also asked these questions, the same pitiful, approval seeking questions. From with his words my self-loathing starting to slip away. I was saved again, by another uncontrollable slip of imagination. I saw Harold driving in his company car one hand on the steering wheel, the other gripping a stale pizza slice. His foot heavy, speeding down the road. The policeman that pulls him over has a thick mustache, mirrored sun glasses perfectly reproducing a pudgy face. Harold hands his drivers license out the window. The officer shakes his head like he’s said what he says over and over “I’m sorry sir but it’s the law… No… It’s no use runnin, if you could please step out of the car.” And Harold dose this, he hesitates, but the officer's look goads him on. Harold pulls down his pants shaking like he’s just plopped out from a jello mold. A thick rubber band is snapped tightly around his shriveled testicles. There is a deft slash with a sharp knife. Harold’s little jewels fall soundlessly to the street. I smiled then at Harold, glad to answer his question “You mean do I understand about stopping people from breeding?” My well-kept teeth shone at him and he nodded vehemently “I think… shit man, you’ve convinced me.”
Yeah, great! But a little tip...change 'Harold' to 'Barry', and it'll be sure to generate more interest. :idea:
How sweet Nursey. Isn't it strange how we are polar opposites in nearly everything, but somehow you just can't keep me off of your mind? We were probably married in a past life. I wonder if we had kids? This girl may be our granddaughter. Barry
Ain't nobody want to hear you all be slatherin over this here internet skank and shit. Yo got yo own ugly ass wife to be slatherin around an shit without havin one on the internet than be makin all these here posters sick and shit with implantin mental images of you ugly ass motherfuckers goin at it and shit.
