(no subject)
Wrote a totally random bit of.... um. "criping" (That's crappy writing for you guys, lol) the other day and figured I'd post it here. :)
"Untitled" (Though, I suppose it may be appropriate to title it "Mad Tomatoes")
Once upon a time, a young girl name Fancy went to the market to fetch a tomato for dinner. Don't ask me why Fancy chose a tomato from all other available dinner items since I think the things are nasty, but there you go. Fancy wanted a tomato, so Fancy walked the four and a half blocks to WalMart to buy herself one.
In the store she came across an old man in tattered, stained clothing trying to sell someone the dirtiest, mangiest boot dear sweet Fancy had ever seen. It was peeling and cracked, and a myriad of crusty yellows and browns. Fancy looked into the rheumy eyes of the old man and felt a flicker in her sugar-spun heart. A melting, if you will. So instead of buying her tomato, as she had planned, Fancy did something dippy.
She bought the grungy footwear and held it in reverent hands as she exited WalMart and began her long trek home. Fancy had gone into WalMart for a tomato and she came out with a trashy boot instead. (I can't say that I'm surprised, Fancy's sort of a dumbass.)
When she returned to her room with it's pale pink walls and floral lace curtains, Fancy set the boot on her pristine windowpane ledge and gazed upon it with delight. She had made a difference in that old man's life, after all! A warm, fuzzy feeling of contentment stretched from her gooey marshmallow heart out to the rest of her.
Congrats, Fancy. You've really done good. And hopefully, as you brush your long hair and slip under your bubble-gum pink comforter, you can imagine those hunger pains away by thinking of your kind deed.
Fancy did try. She tried not to think of how she had spent all of her money on a boot that she couldn't do anything with. She tossed and turned and began rethinking her whole outlook on the situation.
By the time three am rolled around, Fancy wasn't so much a marshmallow as she was a flaming comet of hunger and bitchiness... (Well, maybe a marshmallow if it's one being burned black and shriveled in the fire until there's nothing left but the smoking stick.) Fancy shoved on her mary-janes and her brother's Metallica hoodie and marched the four and a half blocks to WalMart.
The old man was there, and today he was selling matchbooks that had half of the matches ripped out. Fancy walked up to him and flung the boot at his dirty, poorly groomed head and screamed about trechary, a boot, and how she wanted her tomato.
The old man, who wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders either, began to pelt her with matchbooks while he screamed about conspiracy, do-gooders, and his magic boot.
The WalMart store manager, Ken, walked in from a smoke-break to find Fancy and Old Guy having a scream session about shit that sounded.... Well, kinda crazy. So Ken did what anyone would have done. He called the cops.
Fancy and Old Guy were hauled out of WalMart and the good people got back to doing what they do best.... Shopping.
And how am I involved in all this, you wonder? Well, I'm just the guy unfortunate enough to have to listen to all this crap. But that's what happens when they handcuff you to the bench in the local jail.
Fancy's going home, she's one of those butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth types so she probably got off on a warning. And maybe it's none of my business but I've been around a while and I can tell you one thing... Old guy's probably just losing it. No doubt he's been on the streets awhile and it's all just starting to catch up to him. But that chick--Fancy?
Crazy as they come. You can see it in her eyes. I can bet you cold hard cash that she's gonna end up cracking one day and stabbing someone in the eye with a knitting needle or something. Bet you anything.
I mean, come on, four and a half blocks for a freaking tomato? Fancy's crazy as they come, man.
You just wait. I know my crazies.
"Untitled" (Though, I suppose it may be appropriate to title it "Mad Tomatoes")
Once upon a time, a young girl name Fancy went to the market to fetch a tomato for dinner. Don't ask me why Fancy chose a tomato from all other available dinner items since I think the things are nasty, but there you go. Fancy wanted a tomato, so Fancy walked the four and a half blocks to WalMart to buy herself one.
In the store she came across an old man in tattered, stained clothing trying to sell someone the dirtiest, mangiest boot dear sweet Fancy had ever seen. It was peeling and cracked, and a myriad of crusty yellows and browns. Fancy looked into the rheumy eyes of the old man and felt a flicker in her sugar-spun heart. A melting, if you will. So instead of buying her tomato, as she had planned, Fancy did something dippy.
She bought the grungy footwear and held it in reverent hands as she exited WalMart and began her long trek home. Fancy had gone into WalMart for a tomato and she came out with a trashy boot instead. (I can't say that I'm surprised, Fancy's sort of a dumbass.)
When she returned to her room with it's pale pink walls and floral lace curtains, Fancy set the boot on her pristine windowpane ledge and gazed upon it with delight. She had made a difference in that old man's life, after all! A warm, fuzzy feeling of contentment stretched from her gooey marshmallow heart out to the rest of her.
Congrats, Fancy. You've really done good. And hopefully, as you brush your long hair and slip under your bubble-gum pink comforter, you can imagine those hunger pains away by thinking of your kind deed.
Fancy did try. She tried not to think of how she had spent all of her money on a boot that she couldn't do anything with. She tossed and turned and began rethinking her whole outlook on the situation.
By the time three am rolled around, Fancy wasn't so much a marshmallow as she was a flaming comet of hunger and bitchiness... (Well, maybe a marshmallow if it's one being burned black and shriveled in the fire until there's nothing left but the smoking stick.) Fancy shoved on her mary-janes and her brother's Metallica hoodie and marched the four and a half blocks to WalMart.
The old man was there, and today he was selling matchbooks that had half of the matches ripped out. Fancy walked up to him and flung the boot at his dirty, poorly groomed head and screamed about trechary, a boot, and how she wanted her tomato.
The old man, who wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders either, began to pelt her with matchbooks while he screamed about conspiracy, do-gooders, and his magic boot.
The WalMart store manager, Ken, walked in from a smoke-break to find Fancy and Old Guy having a scream session about shit that sounded.... Well, kinda crazy. So Ken did what anyone would have done. He called the cops.
Fancy and Old Guy were hauled out of WalMart and the good people got back to doing what they do best.... Shopping.
And how am I involved in all this, you wonder? Well, I'm just the guy unfortunate enough to have to listen to all this crap. But that's what happens when they handcuff you to the bench in the local jail.
Fancy's going home, she's one of those butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth types so she probably got off on a warning. And maybe it's none of my business but I've been around a while and I can tell you one thing... Old guy's probably just losing it. No doubt he's been on the streets awhile and it's all just starting to catch up to him. But that chick--Fancy?
Crazy as they come. You can see it in her eyes. I can bet you cold hard cash that she's gonna end up cracking one day and stabbing someone in the eye with a knitting needle or something. Bet you anything.
I mean, come on, four and a half blocks for a freaking tomato? Fancy's crazy as they come, man.
You just wait. I know my crazies.