Dick ship candy pop
:rubs eyes, scratches forehead:: Grah, another day, another dollar that's what makes me holler. Work, work, work is becoming just plain out silly. I feel that I work in a charity. Serving food doesn't truly pay well by the hour. One gets a whole 2.13 WOOT! Not receiving adequate tips doesn't help the cause. Anyone reads this be kind to the people that feed you and give them 20% They have to pay the bills too.
Now on to another feeling/ thought of mine.
The drive home I have to make to and from work isn't a bad one. It's rather nice. Driving from a pseudo "city" area to a more "rural" is kinda nice. The sky turns from only being able to see three stars to hundreds. The moon seems brighter and everything is kinda, I don't wanna use tranquil but no other good words come to mind.
Anyways, I drive. I drive home the bulk of the time at night. It's kinda spooky. The roads mainly narrow, curvy, dark. Trees always seem to crouch over more so then in the day light. For some reason the scooby doo fog is constantly hazing over my roads at night. Why? fucking no clue. I some times hope that the Mystery Machine will just pull out behind me riding my ass and blowing there horn for me driving to "slow" on these one lane each, two way roads. In a fit of rage they pull over on the other side of the road and open the sliding door, gracefully, flip me the finger "Fucking, GRANDMA DRIVER!" Fuck Fred, prick.
Most of the time I think about deer. Fucking bastards. Who walks around at night in the woods, fucking deer. So while I drive I look for those fuckers. I kinda just peer out the side of my eyes into the woods while I pass them by. That is some scary shit. The horrid images that one's brain will trick them with. Today I was hoping for a wolf man to come out to play. I really just wanted him to run into the middle of the road, me screeching on my breaks, trying to lock the doors. Him, the fucker that he is middle of the road, ripped flannel shirt, shit ass shorts and fur every where, just give out a little howl. Then scurry off back into the woods. fucking dick. I bet it'd old man Peterson the grave yard digger.
Now on to another feeling/ thought of mine.
The drive home I have to make to and from work isn't a bad one. It's rather nice. Driving from a pseudo "city" area to a more "rural" is kinda nice. The sky turns from only being able to see three stars to hundreds. The moon seems brighter and everything is kinda, I don't wanna use tranquil but no other good words come to mind.
Anyways, I drive. I drive home the bulk of the time at night. It's kinda spooky. The roads mainly narrow, curvy, dark. Trees always seem to crouch over more so then in the day light. For some reason the scooby doo fog is constantly hazing over my roads at night. Why? fucking no clue. I some times hope that the Mystery Machine will just pull out behind me riding my ass and blowing there horn for me driving to "slow" on these one lane each, two way roads. In a fit of rage they pull over on the other side of the road and open the sliding door, gracefully, flip me the finger "Fucking, GRANDMA DRIVER!" Fuck Fred, prick.
Most of the time I think about deer. Fucking bastards. Who walks around at night in the woods, fucking deer. So while I drive I look for those fuckers. I kinda just peer out the side of my eyes into the woods while I pass them by. That is some scary shit. The horrid images that one's brain will trick them with. Today I was hoping for a wolf man to come out to play. I really just wanted him to run into the middle of the road, me screeching on my breaks, trying to lock the doors. Him, the fucker that he is middle of the road, ripped flannel shirt, shit ass shorts and fur every where, just give out a little howl. Then scurry off back into the woods. fucking dick. I bet it'd old man Peterson the grave yard digger.