Contact Seller: If that’s your wife in the photo, your wife is hot. We should go to Japan, tomorrow. I’ll buy the fucking tickets right now. My balls are big as oranges. You want to see my calves? I’m in shape. I have stamina. I wish I could invent a dinosaur that would eat dems and liberals and communists. Like with DNA. I am so sick of people and their guns. I love you, I do. I’d like to take your wife and just run away from all of this shit, this bullshit, and do it all over again. I’m sorry. I don’t know. They say in Japan nobody speaks English and nobody litters and there are 10,000 bicycles lined up outside the Tokyo airport and nobody steals a fucking one. You want to touch my chest? I think there are better people somewhere. I want to meet them. God I hate my ex-wife. Name one thing she’s said that’s interesting at all. One word. She’s the most normal person I’ve ever known. I think it’s bullshit that tsunami thing. The day after Christmas. God is crazy. People won’t say that but I will. I am so sick of people with guns. Nobody cleans them right. Nobody understands solvents and Rem-oil and bore butter. I seen people take them out of their little cabinets, go hunting, and put them right back. Without cleaning them! Then they wonder why it jams. My dad once said a gun is like a tool, but fuck him! Fuck rust. Fuck it. Fuck the bailout! Come bail me out. Come bail me out! Who’s going to do that, for me? Thing is the bicycles they don’t even lock them up to nothing.
He tries to sell his soul. He tries to buy another soul. But EBay has outlawed the exchange of souls since 2003 (along with human organs, bone, blood, waste, sperm, and eggs).
So he smells his fingers.
He likes to smell his fingers before he goes to bed.
Sean Lovelace likes to run, far. He teaches at Ball State University. He has a chapbook out of flash fiction called How Some People Like Their Eggs. He gets drunk and orders off Ebay and this gives a sense of wonder to his life, especially when the UPS truck arrives.
I liked this one a lot.ReplyDelete