It’s so wrong. Why won’t my magic thinking produce the desired result? I mean, I’m entitled to a harem of SHYTs, a personal and doting chef, like, the total Hugh Hefner life, right? And the downtrodden just need bougie jobs and all the trappings of bougie life, right? Things justContinue Reading
Charlie neglected the house. His presence was evident in the takeout boxes, snack wrappers, and empty Diet Pepsi bottles. At the eye of the storm of Neesha’s life is a love of artful interior design. Neesha needs a beautiful nest. She lives in Gilpin Court. Gilpin Court is awful. It’sContinue Reading
Ophie has a nest. Threatened, her instinct is to defend the nest. Ophie’s property lines around her nest are fungible. She sometimes draws her property lines around friends as well as kin. I made the mistake of starting a flame war on Facebook with a friend of hers thus discoveringContinue Reading
Inger and Ophie blame charlie. Charlie‘s crimes are first-world sins. Things would be easier if he would do something demonstrable like wear a MAGA hat at a BLM protest. They are not easier. Charlie is a couch slug. He gets space on this blog because Inger and Ophie won’t stopContinue Reading
I’m too nice. I believe in the basic goodness of man. What a good Christian man does is confess his sin and repent. Neesha . . . not so much. Neesha love is poison. She is evil. I tried visiting her at Chippenham Hospital’s Tucker Pavilion. It didn’t go well.Continue Reading
Neesha, Queen of Karinostan. You’ve met Neesha. She’s the perpetually angry, easily triggered woman whose every third word is “racist”. Roses are racist. Daisies are racist. Roaches are racist. Marlboro Red is racist. White people? Born racist and innately evil. Neesha has spoken. Let’s add the word, “innately” because NeeshaContinue Reading
She kissed me. Inger kissed me. I haven’t heard from her in a minute. She PM’s me saying she needs to see me. Ok. So . . . I pick her up on Southside. Well, more than that. I did the usual pull-over, get out to open the door andContinue Reading
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 afterContinue Reading
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!Continue Reading
Deep South Hot The forecast is cloudy. It is the summer of 2017 in Mount Pleasant, SC. Jolana, her daughter, and her husband are at the KOA with my Pappa and his dog, Dexter. It is hot, deep South hot. This is hours before the solar eclipse began its traverseContinue Reading