flamboyantnegro
Stay level headed, she said. Easy to say for one that isn't about to enter the gauntlet. I may as well be entering the ninth circle of hell. I was going to meet her mother for the first time, and I was thoroughly inebriated. Maybe I'll seem like a gratuitous personality. Maybe.
Now, there were some who didn't have to go out to the fields again, like we did morning after morning for the past 5 years of our lives. They had a special piece of paper from the Government, a waver, that stated that they were better and more important to everyone as a whole than us, as long as they weren't breaking a sweat.
For example, take Stu. Look at what he's become. He's lost control of his life. He ignores his family, his friends, his bodily hygeine, all to make chocolate pudding at 4 AM. He is spiralling deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of chocolate flavored depression.
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'Nam.
1964.
It was me, scruffy, and three pounds of raw fish.
"What will we do? We have no seasoning! We can't this fish bland, this is 'Nam!"
Noticing Scruffy's cries of despair, I realized something must be done.
So I went to the forest, AND PICKED SOME WILD SAGE.
GRINDED IT.
SEASONED THAT FUCKING FISH.
It tasted delicious.
Oh, salty negroes, I've yet to type my writing! It lays there on my paper, in my humorously impeccable hand-scratch, just waiting to be lost to the series of dissapointments that comprise of time. It all must be typed, and have the ability to print!
time is not up. you are a dirty liar. none of this is sufficient, i'm justng to write about how much i don't want to write about the word 'solved'.