Charlie is useless Boogaloo Couch Slug. He howls like a wounded toddler at the suggestion that the empty bag of Cheetos belongs in the trash. Then he’ll petulantly ask you to do that for him. The empty Chinese Takeout containers? Ain’t there people for that? Charlie the Boogaloo Couch Slug occupies space in this blog… Continue reading Boogaloo Couch Slug
Inger heard that my Dad died. I’m used to being alone. Sympathy for the Living is harder for me than a full measure of salty, shady bitterness. Still, it’s nice that she’s making my extra bedroom the third domicile. It’s Sunday after church. I’m back in Richmond the weekend after the viewing. I’ve tried working.… Continue reading Sympathy for the Living
I had a visit from PUDFARB ICE (People’s United Democratic Free Anarchist Republik of Berkeley Immigration and Customs Enforcement). My Dad passed so the fact that I am off the estate living in the capital of racism is a renewed outrage. If I knew what was good for me I’d sign off on my inheritance… Continue reading Off the Estate
In which Inger says she found a finger in the abandoned Cadillac Escalade that was in front of my house. And there is breakfast.
Stolen Cadillac? Not really a story. Escalade with suitcases containing cocaine, cash, and clothes? Better. No pulse, just a finger on the back seat? Yes!