My Right to Flatuence in the Morning Before Spiked Coffee

[izeveryboyin]

Am I expendable? I woke up this morning asking myself that. Dear friend John was hawing it on the couch (another fight with lover/sex machine that ended disastrously) and there I was walking about the house with my bedtousled hair and my sleep-encrusted eyes muttering madly to myself "Fuck, I think I might be expendable". What the fuck does that mean anyway? In the kitchen, there were liquor parties on the floor with happy corks and desolate bottles, seperated and free from each other. something was spilling on the goddamn floor and fuck if I wasn't just walking all over it in my absence from reality. "Am I expendable?" "Bad noise" My bathroom sat with dripping panties washed from the night before. "Shit gal, ya can't afford the laundromat?" "Bad noise" So then I yanked them all down, threw em in the hamper, stared, and let some gas go. "Bad noise". Wiped my mouth, scratched my ass, muttered "am I expendable" sat on the toilet for a pee. "bad noise". Was headed out the door and down the stairs for forgotten mail and other dirty remnants. Yuppie fuck neighbor chain-smoking and so damned aware of Kayla's breasts leaning happily against her shirt. went upstairs for something new and was drowned with all the old. whiskey's in it's tent and hiding, tired of filing out and living less. Coffee machine was a collection of mostly the same shit I deal with everyday in life, and thus was useless through and through. I pushed a pot onto the stove and told the coffee "Fix yourself!" and it did and it was good with that hint of tennessee whiskey, cream and sugar, tainted and confused like me and lost between a haze of legal addictive stimulants. "Bad Noise" Smoke rings in my morning coffee, and the flatulence before it. Ahem.