Timothy

Jack's Twisted Kingdom
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2010-09-05 07:10:35 (UTC)

I Win


There I am, sitting in the same cafe, on my laptop, doing
nothing. It's nice out, Seattle is a nice city, but I'm
bored. The guy, his name is Marcus, serves me a hot
choclate, I fucking hate coffee. There's a girl I know
sitting with me, we vaguely know each other, sort of a, met
through livejournal, and tried out a date. It didn't go
well. She's more interested in the twat serving us at the
table. Fuck Marcus, he was a dumbass anyways, the way he’d
look at her from across the room, he thought if he’d send
her another bottle of beer or one of those retarded shots in
a test tube again today that she’d tell him this time, to
not fuck the hell off. it never would have occurred to him,
that once you’ve turned down, trying again is like beating
your fists raw and bloody into a wall of glass. I for sure
wouldn’t have told him, I mean, the fucking guy didn’t have
a clue. Who does that shit anyways? like, what? she’s gonna
see something different today than she did yesterday?

I don’t fucking think so. I mean the bruiser with the chain
spiked belt and the new rocks has more of chance of getting
some lip action with her, than he does, even with his acrid
smelling leather jeans which get cleaned every six months
even though he wears them three days out of the week when he
hits the bar. Somehow, bruiser boy
thinks its cool. I think he’s a jerkoff, but then here i am
talking about the moron in the corner wasting another day
away on the chair, looking at cheap boring porn off the
internet, and going home having these fantasy’s about how,
“ohh, she’s so hot in that black eyeliner, and those
fishnets”, and how she’d suddenly noticed I existed. Please.
Like thats gonna happen.

“poet?”, said the girl in the red. “yes, thats what i call
myself, when I’m trying not to be pretentious.” I said, with
a leer at her chest as she heaved a breath. “Oh. well, at
least you have something to define what you do.” at this
point i was so bored with her, I’d have said anything to
move to another seat in the room. “So,” I started, not quite
knowing where I was going with this, “what do you plan on
doing with your life? I mean, being a wage slave for the
rest of your life is, as about as fulfilling as getting laid
every sunday afternoon.” Oh, did I ever think I was sly with
that line. fuck that, and fuck her, maybe she’ll go away.
“Mmm, I don’t make a time to fuck. Who does that?” she said,
slightly sitting up, she probably noticed I’d been staring
at her boobs out of the corner of my glasses. “oh, wait,
there’s that guy I know, he and his girl friend do. they’re
just kinda weird tho. She told me once he’d tried to do
something different cause he’d seen it in a porn, and well,
it just was bad. So, they just do the usual, her on top or
the bottom.” She kinda sighed when she’d said that, odd,
but, I didn’t make any real notice.

She was the type who’d sit with any old reject, myself
included, and talk about everything, of course, whether I
wanted to hear it or not was completely irrelevant. “Well,
sounds like she’s dead fish in bed. I’d heard she something
like that too.” I offered, albeit unwillingly to this
already highly stimulating conversation. Of course, here we
were, sitting like a pair of nattering chickens, or like,
what the fuck are they called. Knitting circles? Sewing
Circles? Well, you know what I mean, a gaggle of women all
doing their best to keep up with all the gossip they can.
“Who the fuck cares anyhow” she said gleefully as the chubby
waitress handed her a new mug of coffee. She of course,
watched the fat young girl waddle away to the counter, and
sort of sneered at her, mm, maybe it was the scrunching of
her nose. “hey, she is quite the portly slob isnt she?” I
half whispered. I couldn’t give a shit if I were being
hypocritical or not, fuck it, fuck her, and her media
induced snobbery. I was just as bad. if not worse. “Probably
the only job she could get too” I said a little softer, I
mean, christ, I probably get laid more often than she does.”
I said. “Hey, thats mean. You shouldn’t say shit like that.”
She chortled out, of course, she had to, she needed to be
superior to me, to the masses, and heaven fucking forbid
that someone might actually take issue with it. She’d
thought the same thing as I did. the only real difference
being that I said it out loud, instead of keeping it to
myself. “Well, it doesn’t make it any less so.” I’d been
hoping to be so rude and completely unforgiving of any other
human being, that maybe she’d finally get the hint and
wander off to the table of the other people we both shared a
passing acquaintance with.

“So, what are you doing on there anyways?” She had rather
deftly, in her own way, changed the topic. “Oh, just doing
my resume” I looked at her, sorta of eyeing her tits, as she
looked out the window. I imagined what they felt like, and
then, just went back to typing. No sense in dwelling on
something that wouldn’t happen, without some minor divine
miracle.

Like, war, too much booze, or a combination of celestial
events too unrealistic for words. “Why?”

“oh, just wondering” she’d said

“You’re bored aren’t you?” I snickered

“yeah. I need to get laid. ”

“so do I. so do I.” I whispered with a sigh


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