Orange Sodas and Chico Sticks

Lately I have been posting my "Intro To Creative Fiction" homework. I actually sent one of the stories, "Kingdom of Heaven" to a few literary magazines. Who knows ? Can't go fishing without putting your worm out there. As usual, I find myself hoping that someone will like my worm. School has kept me pretty busy lately. I actually polished off two little papers within the last two days. Thank god. They were like thorns in my academic ass. I hate research papers, and being an English major, there is no escaping those fucking things. Looks like I am the only one posting these days. RButler has all but disappeared off the radar, and MNeal has about a thousand blogs of this own to populate. God, is it hot and sticky in my house. D turned off the fucking air conditioning. Ahhhh, it sure is nice to come home to thick as butter jungle funk. I just wish that I had a vinyl couch to lay on, and a rayon shirt to suffocate me. Sweet Jesus, it is like someone put me in one of those bags you buy to roast your turkey. "Fresh hot GS3 right out of the oven...come and get him while he is hot!" "Momma, I want a leg." "Oh honey, you can't eat all that!" To make things worse D left the stereo on some homeboy music, and I am too lazy to turn it off. God damn it, I hate that shit. Ever pull up to the QT for a bucket of Coke and a Whatchamacallit, and are assaulted by a piece of shit car with a 1000 dollar radio ? I am surprised that the sub woofer does not rattle the rust bucket piece of shit apart. I can see it now, a couple of homies coming out of the QT with Orange sodas and Chico Sticks, only to find their 1000 dollar stereo sitting in a pile of rust. The only thing that I wish, is that it would fall apart while they are driving down 85. One of these days, I am just going to get in one of those homie mobiles ( they always leave the key in it ), and drive it to Car Max and sell it. It feels good to let off a little steam, although really, I have it pretty sweet compared to others. Take my brother for instance. He puts up with more shit than a little bit, working for a body shop in Cumming. When he is not busy detailing cars, they give him a razor and make him convert big fat boxes into little thin ones. Oh yeah, they make him clean their fucking shit hole too. He is 38 years old, going on 39 and those fuckers have no respect for a working man. Hell, the world has no respect for a working man. The only thing keeping him going is his side job, coaching football for his son's high school. He lives for three o'clock every day. Until then, it is all work and hiding from it. He is a good father too, and a good man. Much better than I have turned out to be. I am not being down on myself, just honest. Trust me, I know me. Great now I have a headache. Time to 86 that fucking boom boom shit someone calls music.