That fucking guy was supposed to come by at 11:00 to pick up the lawnmower he said he wanted to buy; sum-bitch didn’t show up til 2:45, piss drunk, talkin’ bout he got lost on the way — he lives 3 fuckin blocks from me — and then he asked me to load it up in his truck because he was too drunk to pick it up; and then, after I get the fuckin’ thing in his truck he asks me to tie it down – it’s a fucking lawnmower, it Ain’t fuckin goin anywhere – so I pushed it up tight to the cab and put a couple bricks behind the wheels. He said thanks and started to climb in his truck and I said, Hey, you gonna pay me? And he said, “I already did”. And I said, The hell you did. And he said, “oh yeah, I paid the beer store”. How much you want fer it, he asked? I told him we’d agreed on $25 and he said it wasn’t worth half that. And I said, I don’t recall you mentioning anything about what it was worth, only that you’d give me $25 for it. And he said, Well, I was probably drunk when I said that. So I said, that’s fine, I’ll just unload it and you can find another fuckin’ mower. He didn’t like that so he started diggin around in his pockets, pullin’ out coins and a few singles, a couple rocks, six lottery tickets, a pocket knife, several receipts, five .22 shell casings, a church key, a rabbit’s foot, a small coil of copper wire, some coupons for Subway, and a green and yellow friendship bracelet. And then he said, “between the cash and coins and lottery tickets and Subway coupons, I’ve got about $9 and .43 cents, can I bring the rest by tomorrow?” By that point I was so irate, because he didn’t have the cash and I was crying from laughing so hard – that friendship bracelet musta been a gift from his mom, she loves her some Jordan Love and the Packers but he’s a die hard Vikings fan, swears their gonna win the super bowl, every fucking year, and after 5 games he changes his tune and starts talkin’ bout the draft, that poor fucker, he ain’t got shit in his life that’s worth a fuck, aside from his sister and those 3 cats, they’re the only thing standing between him and a life of failed criminal ventures. So anyway, I started to feel bad for him, and I know he’s a good guy, if aggravating, and there’s no need for me to keep the mower, I don’t need it no more, turned my whole yard into a zen garden so I can meditate in a place that allows me to tune everything else out. I told him he could take the mower and I’d take the Subway coupons and we’d call it even. That may not have been as good an idea as I first thought, given his obsession with Subway sandwiches, he thought I was trying to pull a fast one on him, started to ask what kind of piece of shit mower I was trying to unload on him and that just one of those two dollars off a foot long coupons was worth 10 times what that mower’s worth and that he wouldn’t take that mower if I gave it to him. It was at that point that I decided I was done, I turned my ass around and headed to the house, wasn’t worth the time to argue. That pissed him off even more, he was cursing me and the mower and my neighbors sprinkler that was shooting water on him every 15 seconds and had been since he got out of the truck. He attempted to grab the mower out of the truck but couldn’t get any leverage so he opened the gate and tried to climb in – he nearly got one knee up when his other foot slipped on the wet clay – his reaction time, which ain’t great when he aint drinkin, was really slow. His nose was the first part of his body to stop falling, followed by the rest of his face – he’s a bleeder, that’s for certain. If he wouldn’t a crashed his truck six times on the way to the hospital, I woulda let him drive; but I knew he was in no shape to keep his eyes open and his brain alert, so I helped him into the shotgun seat and drove him to the ER. After they wheeled him in, I drove his truck back to his place, unloaded the mower & put it in his pole shed. 3 days later he called me up & told me that was the best damn mower he ever had & he’d a happily paid $50 instead of $35. I didn’t bother telling him anything, just said glad ya like it. That was last Thursday, I ain’t seen him since, he typically drives by here at least 8-10 times a day, running here there and the next place but nothin’. I hope he didn’t fall in a well.
Tag: creative writing
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How to Paint
- appropriate/buy/find paint
- locate canvas/surface
- paint
From Merriam-Webster:
appropriate 2 of 2
verb
ap·pro·pri·ate ə-ˈprō-prē-ˌāt
appropriated; appropriating
1
: to take exclusive possession of : annex
No one should appropriate a common benefit.
2
: to set apart for or assign to a particular purpose or use
appropriate money for a research program
3
: to take or make use of without authority or right
natural habitats that have been appropriated for human use
AS OPPOSED TO:
appropriate
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Welcome to Diamond lake
Let me tell you somethin’ about this joint – it ain’t a tent revival for the wretched of the earth, we don’t need no tent for our revivals; it ain’t a place to wrestle with your investment portfolio and plans for a lovely low-fucking-key retirement in Fiji; an’ it ain’t a dad-gum fire-station turned nightclub with too many speakers and too few barkeeps. We don’t sell crepes and we don’t allow the smoking of electronic shit – if you wanna smoke, get a lighter and a pack of Marlboro’s or P-funks or Newports or Virginia Slims if you’re of a certain age . We’ve got: flowers by the bushel – fresh cut, dried, potted, & planted; popcorn and peanuts in paper bags; salamander saliva comin’ out our ears; and we play a mean game of Sheepshead. Our squirrels dance the two-step and our dogs bark on 2 & 4. We’ve no way of knowing how long we’ve been here and we don’t really know that our existence herein wasn’t always so. We’ll paint your toenails with a Sharpie and your knee-pits with vinegar and oil. The last person who tried to keep us from singing our songs ended up in tar pit, on Mercury. If you got a story to tell, we’re all ears. Ya got somethin’ to sell, not here (un’ ess you’ve got some peanut butter and chocolate chip cookies). The bar in Diamond Lake Bistro opens at 06:00 E.S.T. and closes at 05:00 C. S. T. The bistro’s kitchen is open 24/7 but ticket times run long between 17:30 – 22:00 and again between 02:00 – 07:00. If you need a bath, we got a pool in Diamond Lake Gardens, out back. If you need a therapist, we’ve got 3 honest-to-god bartenders and a bar-back who doubles as the bouncer. If you need someone to hit you upside the head with a cast iron pan, Tommie ‘ll come out the kitchen and see you. She don’t cook steaks past rare and she don’t put up with no shit from the clientele; and if you look her way with the slightest “you don’t scare me” attitude, you damn sure won’t be the first s.o.b. to find your nose closer to your ear than it was before you met Tommie. At Diamond Lake Creative, we make art, lots of art, all different kinds in all different fashions and we don’t give a shit whether you like it or eat it or talk about it like it’s a god-damn masterpiece gone awry and could easily be mistaken for a bag of flaming hammered-dog-shit on Mitch McConnell’s front porch. We make art for people who live life without pretensions and who don’t have overt ostentatious oligarchic tendencies. We make art for the people who Rock It, every fucking day, in pajamas on their couch or in the corporate office surrounded by a culture of stupidity that’s overshadowed by a mission to maximize wealth accumulation and grovel to shareholder concerns. We make art for those who don’t have art made for them – the beat-down who get up every single time they’re knocked to the ground, the quiet souls who rage against the garrulous assholes who are completely unintelligible but still find their way up the ladder of dumbfuckery. We make art for us, the one’s who know when we’re being sold a bill of goods and raise our middle fingers to salute the ass-a-nati from whom we buy our days old bread. Do take some time to peruse our site and see if anything tickles your fancy, or maybe irritates it. And if you have any questions, concerns, complaints, observations, or recommendations, you’ll find contact information on the page that has contact information. Thanks for stoppin’ by, watch your head, the doorways were installed in the 1850s.