Good to be back home I thought to myself as I walked through my front dropping the handful of boxes, which I'd just lugged 300 miles, on top of my dog.
I gave her a pat on the head before heading into the kitchen, leaving her pinned under my computer case still smiling, wagging her tail, and shooting pug snot on my floor.
The Suffra household seemed to have held itself up pretty well without me. Although it seemed to be doing ok though, I still saw some things falling apart due to my lack of presence.
Leaning forward with my head in the sink, getting a drink of water the proper way, licking it off a rushing tap, I noticed the first problem. I spent a moment eyeing the sink basin, and running my finger across the bottom.
"WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PLATE OF CHEETOS!?" I screamed straight upwards, attempting to elicit a response from the ceiling.
"Oh good, you made it home." The mom said melodically, smiling wide as if she forgot exactly who she was welcoming.
"YEAH BULLSHIT," I screamed pointing at the empty sink.
"oh, the cheetos," she said, with that cold look of dread returning to her face that I've become accustomed to, " I did the dishes."
Trying not to be unreasonable, I decided to calm myself before going on. I closed my eyes for a moment, took q deep breathe, and flung a vase. As the vase crashed through an ugly ass tiffany lamp hanging over the kitchen table, I hugged the mom and headed down to my room.
I took detours, walking through the living room, checking out the bathroom, dad's bank, brother's coin jar, mother's jewelry box, and finally settled into the Suffra shaped groove on my bed, picked up the phone and dialed "Some Jew."
"Dude," I muttered, inside elbow draped over my eyes, head hold the phone against my shoulder, and spare arm hanging lifeless off the side of the bed.
"we had it so easy man," I sighed, "perhaps the highest per capita rate of retards cripples and invalids in the country in Albany, roaming idiots making utter fools of themselves on every street corner," I went on,"not to mention pushers, junkies, bums, immigrants, alcohol, and the worst boss ever."
I pause momentarily and scan my bookcase, noticing that the January Playboy was removed and replaced with the binding facing the wrong way.
"I mean," I finally continued," the stories just wrote themselves up there," tears almost streaming," they just fuckin happened."
I listened to the consoling words of "Some Jew," telling me how things would come back to me, and that I would be able to start writing good stuff again,
"Yeah BULLSHIT," I screamed defiantly,"It took me two god damned days to write this stupid fuckin story..." I gave my balls a quick scratch and switched my conversation to myself, muttering,"throwing a vase because of cheetos... that doesn't even fucking make sense... Christ."
I gave her a pat on the head before heading into the kitchen, leaving her pinned under my computer case still smiling, wagging her tail, and shooting pug snot on my floor.
The Suffra household seemed to have held itself up pretty well without me. Although it seemed to be doing ok though, I still saw some things falling apart due to my lack of presence.
Leaning forward with my head in the sink, getting a drink of water the proper way, licking it off a rushing tap, I noticed the first problem. I spent a moment eyeing the sink basin, and running my finger across the bottom.
"WHERE THE FUCK IS MY PLATE OF CHEETOS!?" I screamed straight upwards, attempting to elicit a response from the ceiling.
"Oh good, you made it home." The mom said melodically, smiling wide as if she forgot exactly who she was welcoming.
"YEAH BULLSHIT," I screamed pointing at the empty sink.
"oh, the cheetos," she said, with that cold look of dread returning to her face that I've become accustomed to, " I did the dishes."
Trying not to be unreasonable, I decided to calm myself before going on. I closed my eyes for a moment, took q deep breathe, and flung a vase. As the vase crashed through an ugly ass tiffany lamp hanging over the kitchen table, I hugged the mom and headed down to my room.
I took detours, walking through the living room, checking out the bathroom, dad's bank, brother's coin jar, mother's jewelry box, and finally settled into the Suffra shaped groove on my bed, picked up the phone and dialed "Some Jew."
"Dude," I muttered, inside elbow draped over my eyes, head hold the phone against my shoulder, and spare arm hanging lifeless off the side of the bed.
"we had it so easy man," I sighed, "perhaps the highest per capita rate of retards cripples and invalids in the country in Albany, roaming idiots making utter fools of themselves on every street corner," I went on,"not to mention pushers, junkies, bums, immigrants, alcohol, and the worst boss ever."
I pause momentarily and scan my bookcase, noticing that the January Playboy was removed and replaced with the binding facing the wrong way.
"I mean," I finally continued," the stories just wrote themselves up there," tears almost streaming," they just fuckin happened."
I listened to the consoling words of "Some Jew," telling me how things would come back to me, and that I would be able to start writing good stuff again,
"Yeah BULLSHIT," I screamed defiantly,"It took me two god damned days to write this stupid fuckin story..." I gave my balls a quick scratch and switched my conversation to myself, muttering,"throwing a vase because of cheetos... that doesn't even fucking make sense... Christ."
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