Why We're Going to Eat Uncle John's Suicide for Breakfast, Tomorrow
by Smiley McGrouchpants, Jr-Esq-III
"He didn't mope for weeks . . . How can you ever go there! . . . He must've thought about it . . . He'd certainly given Stacey away to Bucky, his hunting buddy, whom she'd been 'dating' since she was 14 and he was 28 . . . 'Sure, honey, I'll let you.' 'May I?' 'I'll let you!' 'Okay!' . . . Don't start your lefty-critique psychobabble with me, we don't want hear that that much-ballyhooed — if it's cited at all, paradoxically — 'Power of the Image' is just a drop in the bucket compared to immediate-vicinity validation . . . Well, another line's crossed and problems not needed are made, uniquely . . . At least that we can agree on!"
THE END/BARF
in loving memory of
brains splattered all over
the basement wall
and buying the sub-
urban, landless house
you grew up in
— after that horri-
fic event! Ah, memories ...
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Author's Note
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Other stories by Smiley McGrouchpants, Jr-Esq-III
- My Name is Smegma Jones, and I'm a Pussy: A Memoir
- This Story is Terrible, and I Only Wrote It to Annoy You People
- Family Emergency
- How to Have a Fulfilling Sexual Relationship with Your Own Parents (Part Two)
- This Isn't a Title, But I'm Fingering Your Mother, While You're Sitting at the Computer, Reading This.
I'd be lying if I said I knew what to make of this.
I didn't like that "mope" was italicized and I might have deleted the last two lines. Although I read on your profile that you have a no editing policy.
There is a lyrical quality to it, even if I get lost a bit in the last few lines before "The End."
Title alone is worth a fav.
I hate my life.
And I want to die.
Sorry.
Oh wait -- was that OUT LOUD?
Har, har!
;)
#yeah--