To all my nonexistent followers: I'll miss you. I already miss you. I'm missing you.
And even though each one of you loves me dearly, in a hyper-stalkerish way, because you don't even know me except through my brilliance with the written word yet you can't help yourselves from clawing at me like ravenous raptors; you can still continue to follow me at my new blog here: The Man in the Moon is my Baby Daddy.
It'll be the exact same type of blog: My fiction. I hope to see you there! I already don't.
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Let's get Depressing!!!!
There is no more silence. No more stillness. They eviscerated it all.
The sun bore down upon us -- all of us -- making us bleed happier memories. I walked through the bones graveyard. They rattled underneath my dirty feet. The graves were crumbling to the ground, as dry as our skin. No more will to fight it. The people and animals lay, almost indeterminate. In a gigantic slumber party, that I could feel myself growing closer to. I wanted to end it with the bones of my husband, my mother, my father, my aunts, my cousins, my dog. Please end it here.
My entire body is in a dry heave these days. Still trying to fight the undeniable sun. A will inside myself that sometimes flares up against its mother flare. But how can I win? How can I, a flake, fight an iron-clad shut oven like the sun? I know I'll only struggle more painfully and so have to let my body bleed out the last of the sweat I have left. I force myself not to drink the one bead of sweat that found its way to my forehead. Fighting my instinct to survive makes it even more painful.
The sun is undeniable. It's so present that it's killing it and we can't even look at it, even though it's right in front of us. And there are days when I want to. Days when I want to blind myself from any more vision of this world. Drying fiver beds, and dead, thirsty bodies: humans, animals alike. Tongues still hanging out, so they'll look forever thirsty.
The atmosphere had been blown away only 5 years ago. The great U.N. finally reared its head against the atrocities it fought so long to undermine and bombed the entire world. They considered it an act of peace. But being a new weaponized ion of nitrogen-oxygen (other than the normal nitrate) wiped away the ozone.
We are all the blame. We were all walking this land when we allowed it to happen. The land had been perfect. It was born with an inherent perfection. We sipped from the teets of it our early days, and then stood aside and let our brethren bite apart the nipples. Nay, we joined. Now the milk is drowning us. I want to cry for ourselves, but as the sun takes away my tears, all I can do is heave for the Earth. Her pain is tangible. The grass is sharp. The birds are peckish and frustrated. The animals are howling at night. The only way it's worse than the humans that cry out and die, is that I can't run from it. Not anymore.
The sun bore down upon us -- all of us -- making us bleed happier memories. I walked through the bones graveyard. They rattled underneath my dirty feet. The graves were crumbling to the ground, as dry as our skin. No more will to fight it. The people and animals lay, almost indeterminate. In a gigantic slumber party, that I could feel myself growing closer to. I wanted to end it with the bones of my husband, my mother, my father, my aunts, my cousins, my dog. Please end it here.
My entire body is in a dry heave these days. Still trying to fight the undeniable sun. A will inside myself that sometimes flares up against its mother flare. But how can I win? How can I, a flake, fight an iron-clad shut oven like the sun? I know I'll only struggle more painfully and so have to let my body bleed out the last of the sweat I have left. I force myself not to drink the one bead of sweat that found its way to my forehead. Fighting my instinct to survive makes it even more painful.
The sun is undeniable. It's so present that it's killing it and we can't even look at it, even though it's right in front of us. And there are days when I want to. Days when I want to blind myself from any more vision of this world. Drying fiver beds, and dead, thirsty bodies: humans, animals alike. Tongues still hanging out, so they'll look forever thirsty.
The atmosphere had been blown away only 5 years ago. The great U.N. finally reared its head against the atrocities it fought so long to undermine and bombed the entire world. They considered it an act of peace. But being a new weaponized ion of nitrogen-oxygen (other than the normal nitrate) wiped away the ozone.
We are all the blame. We were all walking this land when we allowed it to happen. The land had been perfect. It was born with an inherent perfection. We sipped from the teets of it our early days, and then stood aside and let our brethren bite apart the nipples. Nay, we joined. Now the milk is drowning us. I want to cry for ourselves, but as the sun takes away my tears, all I can do is heave for the Earth. Her pain is tangible. The grass is sharp. The birds are peckish and frustrated. The animals are howling at night. The only way it's worse than the humans that cry out and die, is that I can't run from it. Not anymore.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Super fence
"Dammit! I am not an illegal Mexican immigrant! I'm your wife!"
He looked down at his belly.
"You're not on duty! Stop guarding your heart like you're guarding the border to the country! You need to let me in!"
The off-duty patrolman lay in bed in his pillow, trying to fight his own eyeballs to swivel over towards his wives', which he could tell where already shaped like two sad little crescent moons.
"I know, Caroline," he answered, trying to reconcile the pain in his heart. "It's just... I'm scared."
"Of course you're scared to let me in. Throughout our whole lives you've kept me out! Dr. Katzger says that the problem with our marriage is largely due to the fact that you've trained yourself to keep your heart and mind guarded by a super-fence! I need you to let down your fence!"
"But I don't know what'll happen," he said at last. His fingers tickled with nerves. It was the first time he'd ever admitted that it was true.
"Of course you don't know," she said. "No one ever knows until they've taken that first step. Either you'll be hurt, or you won't. Please, let me take that first step into the land of your mind. Let me be free with you."
Tears of pure frustration welled up in his gray little eyes. Pushing down the emotion wasn't working. The dam was breaking. The pain was coming.
"It's all I've ever known."
"Let the wall down. What's the worst that could happen?"
"I'll be vulnerable! Vulnerable for attack!"
"There's always that risk. But meanwhile the wall backfires against you. The metal spokes, the iron wiring, the long hard poles start to poke into your ribcage. They start to sink into your flesh. It's cold. It slowly stabs you. And then you become a part of it. And you learn to live with it. You've trapped yourself in the very barrier that you're using to protect yourself. It's hurting you anyway."
He gasped. He wiped away the tears, trying to erase their existence.
"Let up the wall! Let up the wall! Open the gate! Open the gate!"
"I can't." And with that, he whipped himself out of the bed and ran into the bathroom and shut the door. She got out of bed and pounded on the door.
"I've infiltrated your super-fence! I read all your texts, I've listened to all your phone calls!" He opened the bathroom door and looks at her, an invader. "There's an app I installed on your phone. I know where you are with GPS. I know that you've been stressed at work because O'Brien's forced to make cut-backs. I know that you've started calling 978 numbers after work. I know that you've been ignoring calls from your brother. I know that you've been reading the obituaries every day. That you're growing worried about death. That you've been looking for meaning."
His mouth hung open.
"No matter what. We'll find a way in. Me, the immigrants, the world. You can't fight nature, you fool. We'll always find a way."
He stands in the doorway and watches a floor tile doing nothing for a solid twenty seconds.
That wasn't so bad, afterall.
He looked down at his belly.
"You're not on duty! Stop guarding your heart like you're guarding the border to the country! You need to let me in!"
The off-duty patrolman lay in bed in his pillow, trying to fight his own eyeballs to swivel over towards his wives', which he could tell where already shaped like two sad little crescent moons.
"I know, Caroline," he answered, trying to reconcile the pain in his heart. "It's just... I'm scared."
"Of course you're scared to let me in. Throughout our whole lives you've kept me out! Dr. Katzger says that the problem with our marriage is largely due to the fact that you've trained yourself to keep your heart and mind guarded by a super-fence! I need you to let down your fence!"
"But I don't know what'll happen," he said at last. His fingers tickled with nerves. It was the first time he'd ever admitted that it was true.
"Of course you don't know," she said. "No one ever knows until they've taken that first step. Either you'll be hurt, or you won't. Please, let me take that first step into the land of your mind. Let me be free with you."
Tears of pure frustration welled up in his gray little eyes. Pushing down the emotion wasn't working. The dam was breaking. The pain was coming.
"It's all I've ever known."
"Let the wall down. What's the worst that could happen?"
"I'll be vulnerable! Vulnerable for attack!"
"There's always that risk. But meanwhile the wall backfires against you. The metal spokes, the iron wiring, the long hard poles start to poke into your ribcage. They start to sink into your flesh. It's cold. It slowly stabs you. And then you become a part of it. And you learn to live with it. You've trapped yourself in the very barrier that you're using to protect yourself. It's hurting you anyway."
He gasped. He wiped away the tears, trying to erase their existence.
"Let up the wall! Let up the wall! Open the gate! Open the gate!"
"I can't." And with that, he whipped himself out of the bed and ran into the bathroom and shut the door. She got out of bed and pounded on the door.
"I've infiltrated your super-fence! I read all your texts, I've listened to all your phone calls!" He opened the bathroom door and looks at her, an invader. "There's an app I installed on your phone. I know where you are with GPS. I know that you've been stressed at work because O'Brien's forced to make cut-backs. I know that you've started calling 978 numbers after work. I know that you've been ignoring calls from your brother. I know that you've been reading the obituaries every day. That you're growing worried about death. That you've been looking for meaning."
His mouth hung open.
"No matter what. We'll find a way in. Me, the immigrants, the world. You can't fight nature, you fool. We'll always find a way."
He stands in the doorway and watches a floor tile doing nothing for a solid twenty seconds.
That wasn't so bad, afterall.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
You only have two weeks left to finally live
Mariella was a very tired woman. She glomped on McDonald's and Dunkin Donuts fried grease balls for lunch and dinner. It was the only solace in a world of her husband and mother. She wouldn't understand this until much time later but she only married her husband because he tickled her feelings of inferiority like her father used to. It made her feel good to have something to make her feel bad, so she could control life.
Even so, she knew she wasn't happy with Ronald but when she had three kids with him she knew she'd be stuck in Amerysberg working part-time at the saddest abortion clinic this side of the city. Her eyelids were a constant weight. There were days she wanted to leave but she couldn't. She had to live. She had to skate along for as long as possible, for her beautiful children. They needed her.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Espinoza but the tests came back positive. It's malignant." She grabbed her breast and gasped a harsh cold breath and her throat and body started convulsing. "It's spread to your lungs and heart and we're estimating you have two weeks to a month. I'll give you a moment."
Back home Mariella gathered her children around the kitchen dinner, their favorite meal: mac and cheese sandwiches with ham slices for bread to comfort them when she broke the news. She sat down.
"Kids, I have to tell you something." She opened her mouths to tell them. The little buggers listened to her obediently. She thought about how they would cry when they heard; and she'd spend her last weeks on Earth, weak and on pills, consoling bawling children. She thought about how her husband would come home soon and she'd have to break the news to him.. She felt the dread of his hairy knuckles twisting the knob, his fat body sucking in space and energy as he walked in the house, the smell of Marlboros polluting the hallway. She was about to take a gasp of air to give her the strength to push through the way she had to do things, just as she had when she got married, when she had children, when she applied to work at the clinic. Suddenly a thought struck her mind like a match stripe.
Fuck that shit. I have cancer.
"What is it, Mom?"
"Kids, we're going to Hawaii."
The kids' mouths dropped open. Seventy minutes later, they were hastily packed and speeding towards the airport in her 2001 Honda Civic.
The part she thought was dead in her -- her dreams -- was suddenly as vibrant as if she'd never met her husband. They flew to Hawaii where they explored the island, slept under the stars, fished with the locals, drank from the coconuts, cried, laughed, and spent their days gazing at the ocean. They were so happy together.
And several weeks passed by, Mariella didn't feel any weaker. So she visited a doctor on the island.
The Doctor was a gentle, soul and had to just tell two patients they were positive for cancer and HIV. It was a tough day. His heart warmed when he looked at Mariella's file and latest round of tests. He couldn't wait to finally give a patient good news. He walked into the room. She sat in a paper gown.
"Your tumors are shrinking. Your cancer is receding!" He looked at her with a wide smiling eyes.
"BAHHHHH!" she bawled, covering her face with her hands which became wet with tears.
Fuck this job, the Doctor thought.
With sagging shoulders, she walked out and hiked back to the beachfront hutches where the fisherman showed her children how to clean a lobster.
"We're going back to Illinois. We're going back to... life."
The kids groaned. Mariella went back into the jaw of the tiger: Her husband was enraged that they had gotten up and left. He had hired police officials to track them down. She submissively nodded and sighed and took his abuse. Back to the life.
"You have two weeks to live again," said the Doctor, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. The tumors are just as aggressive as before."
Mariella clapped her hands together. "YES!!!!" The Doctor looked crazy confused.
And so back home, "Kids.... we're going to the Caribbean!!"
Even so, she knew she wasn't happy with Ronald but when she had three kids with him she knew she'd be stuck in Amerysberg working part-time at the saddest abortion clinic this side of the city. Her eyelids were a constant weight. There were days she wanted to leave but she couldn't. She had to live. She had to skate along for as long as possible, for her beautiful children. They needed her.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Espinoza but the tests came back positive. It's malignant." She grabbed her breast and gasped a harsh cold breath and her throat and body started convulsing. "It's spread to your lungs and heart and we're estimating you have two weeks to a month. I'll give you a moment."
Back home Mariella gathered her children around the kitchen dinner, their favorite meal: mac and cheese sandwiches with ham slices for bread to comfort them when she broke the news. She sat down.
"Kids, I have to tell you something." She opened her mouths to tell them. The little buggers listened to her obediently. She thought about how they would cry when they heard; and she'd spend her last weeks on Earth, weak and on pills, consoling bawling children. She thought about how her husband would come home soon and she'd have to break the news to him.. She felt the dread of his hairy knuckles twisting the knob, his fat body sucking in space and energy as he walked in the house, the smell of Marlboros polluting the hallway. She was about to take a gasp of air to give her the strength to push through the way she had to do things, just as she had when she got married, when she had children, when she applied to work at the clinic. Suddenly a thought struck her mind like a match stripe.
Fuck that shit. I have cancer.
"What is it, Mom?"
"Kids, we're going to Hawaii."
The kids' mouths dropped open. Seventy minutes later, they were hastily packed and speeding towards the airport in her 2001 Honda Civic.
The part she thought was dead in her -- her dreams -- was suddenly as vibrant as if she'd never met her husband. They flew to Hawaii where they explored the island, slept under the stars, fished with the locals, drank from the coconuts, cried, laughed, and spent their days gazing at the ocean. They were so happy together.
And several weeks passed by, Mariella didn't feel any weaker. So she visited a doctor on the island.
The Doctor was a gentle, soul and had to just tell two patients they were positive for cancer and HIV. It was a tough day. His heart warmed when he looked at Mariella's file and latest round of tests. He couldn't wait to finally give a patient good news. He walked into the room. She sat in a paper gown.
"Your tumors are shrinking. Your cancer is receding!" He looked at her with a wide smiling eyes.
"BAHHHHH!" she bawled, covering her face with her hands which became wet with tears.
Fuck this job, the Doctor thought.
With sagging shoulders, she walked out and hiked back to the beachfront hutches where the fisherman showed her children how to clean a lobster.
"We're going back to Illinois. We're going back to... life."
The kids groaned. Mariella went back into the jaw of the tiger: Her husband was enraged that they had gotten up and left. He had hired police officials to track them down. She submissively nodded and sighed and took his abuse. Back to the life.
"You have two weeks to live again," said the Doctor, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. The tumors are just as aggressive as before."
Mariella clapped her hands together. "YES!!!!" The Doctor looked crazy confused.
And so back home, "Kids.... we're going to the Caribbean!!"
Monday, March 31, 2014
Pop
There was once a woman living in a male-dominated country (take your pic) and so much of her worth was to get married. But the girl was already nearing age 17 and hadn't gotten married! People warned her that her womb would soon be a toxic sludge waistland. But she didn't care.
-- Because she was a bubble tape popper. All day long, she struggled with her addiction to buy and pop bubble tape. Her parents found her hobby disgusting.
"What kind of a man will want to marry someone obsessed with bubble tape?!"
She cried as she went to the office store to buy more and more bubble tape, feverishly pop it in her car, and then scrape any money together she had to buy more. Soon, she lost her job, her schooling, and all her money. Her parents couldn't take it anymore.
"We're throwing you out!"
Meanwhile, on the otherside of town, a young male was also feeling the scorn of an aggressively male-centric culture (again, pick just about any neighborhood/town/country/continent you'd like to picture the story in). He was a skinny weakling, very pale, and rather ugly with acne all over his face and body. He didn't match up to the muscled, viral boys at his high school and so was seen as low worth in the society.
And on this day that the girl had been kicked out of her house, they happened to run into each other on the street. The girl saw the pale boy covered in acne bubbles and the boy looked up at the beautiful girl, who looked at him with a lust in her eyes no woman had ever given him.
They walked up to each other and said hello. The girl asked if she could pop the boy's skin bubbles and he said, "Gladly." They spent the afternoon together. The girl was never without a bubble to pop and the boy felt cared for. "You're my bubble tape boy." They got married and had several very ugly children and lived above averagely ever after.
-- Because she was a bubble tape popper. All day long, she struggled with her addiction to buy and pop bubble tape. Her parents found her hobby disgusting.
"What kind of a man will want to marry someone obsessed with bubble tape?!"
She cried as she went to the office store to buy more and more bubble tape, feverishly pop it in her car, and then scrape any money together she had to buy more. Soon, she lost her job, her schooling, and all her money. Her parents couldn't take it anymore.
"We're throwing you out!"
Meanwhile, on the otherside of town, a young male was also feeling the scorn of an aggressively male-centric culture (again, pick just about any neighborhood/town/country/continent you'd like to picture the story in). He was a skinny weakling, very pale, and rather ugly with acne all over his face and body. He didn't match up to the muscled, viral boys at his high school and so was seen as low worth in the society.
And on this day that the girl had been kicked out of her house, they happened to run into each other on the street. The girl saw the pale boy covered in acne bubbles and the boy looked up at the beautiful girl, who looked at him with a lust in her eyes no woman had ever given him.
They walked up to each other and said hello. The girl asked if she could pop the boy's skin bubbles and he said, "Gladly." They spent the afternoon together. The girl was never without a bubble to pop and the boy felt cared for. "You're my bubble tape boy." They got married and had several very ugly children and lived above averagely ever after.
Friday, January 31, 2014
It's so Nice to Not Meet You!
The van pulled up in front of the woman's hotel and she opened the white door labelled "MARIO TOUR" and climbed in. Inside was one other woman with frizzy hair and a dorky smile. The driver nodded to her in his rearview mirror. She sat down next to the woman, which she immediately regretted because she felt that all-too-familiar social pressure of needing to either start uncomfortable small talk or ignore the woman and feel like a bitch.
She could feel the woman's eyes glance over at her every minute or so, obviously feeling the same pressure. She really didn't want to talk; she was exhausted from an all-morning winery tour and then gondola ride in the hot sun. She just wanted to relax but couldn't handle the pressure of other humans thinking she was socially inept or mean.
"Ugh!" She finally released. "Listen, you seem very nice, but, let's just not make ourselves have to talk to each other, okay? I would love to talk to you and I'm sure you're a fine lady, but I'd rather just stare out the window and be silent."
The woman responded with a shocked expression. "Oh my gosh! I'm so glad you said that! I feel the exact same way! Thanks for saying that and getting it out there, now I don't have to worry about being polite."
"Perfect!"
"This is so freeing! Gosh I really like you. I just don't feel like going through the whole, Where are you from? Oh great! I'm from yadda-yadda and Do you have kids? and all that crap."
"And you have to force a smile and nod and make approving sounds with the back of your throat."
"God it's so exhausting!"
"Yes!"
"I actually feel so great about this, I feel like I can be totally open to you with the fact that I just really could care less about anything about you!"
She sat up in her seat. "I was just thinking that I don't care anything about you either!"
"Ha! That's so funny! My gosh, I really feel like I get you. We're so similar!"
"We are! Okay, let's just stare out the window, no judgements."
"I'm not even going to glance at you once. I won't even say goodbye, or Enjoy the rest of your trip or any of that other bullshit! Only if a terrorist attack broke out, or the bus caught on fire would I further interact with you, and that would only be so I could push you aside so I could escape and save myself!"
"Likewise! I bet we have tons of things in common but I don't care to wade through all the energy sucking politeness to reach it! I bet we probably know the same person in Ohio or something, or are related in some way, but there is zero part of me that wants to exert that energy for you! Zero!"
"You are one of the best people I've ever met here!"
"You are! I knew from the moment I met you there was something special about you, that I couldn't care less about!"
The women talked about not talking to each other for hours. They'd never had such a real interaction. They both felt like they could completely be themselves around each other. They passed by the Colosseum, the Vatican, the Sistene Chapel, and the Pantheon and barely glanced out the window. Finally their tour was over and the women felt revitalized with energy. When the frizzy hair woman got out she accidentally let slip that she lived in Romeoville, IL; the same town as the other woman!
"No, no, don't tell me where you live. I don't care, I don't want to know you."
The other woman laughed. "So true! God I hope I never run into you again! Seriously, fuck off."
"No, you fuck off."
"Thank you. This has been one of the best relationships in my life. Go away now!"
"You go away and shut up!" The women laughed and she shut the door and walked away. Inside the van, the woman who was so tired at the start of her tour and now felt energized watched her walk away.
"Dammit, I should have gotten her phone number..."
She could feel the woman's eyes glance over at her every minute or so, obviously feeling the same pressure. She really didn't want to talk; she was exhausted from an all-morning winery tour and then gondola ride in the hot sun. She just wanted to relax but couldn't handle the pressure of other humans thinking she was socially inept or mean.
"Ugh!" She finally released. "Listen, you seem very nice, but, let's just not make ourselves have to talk to each other, okay? I would love to talk to you and I'm sure you're a fine lady, but I'd rather just stare out the window and be silent."
The woman responded with a shocked expression. "Oh my gosh! I'm so glad you said that! I feel the exact same way! Thanks for saying that and getting it out there, now I don't have to worry about being polite."
"Perfect!"
"This is so freeing! Gosh I really like you. I just don't feel like going through the whole, Where are you from? Oh great! I'm from yadda-yadda and Do you have kids? and all that crap."
"And you have to force a smile and nod and make approving sounds with the back of your throat."
"God it's so exhausting!"
"Yes!"
"I actually feel so great about this, I feel like I can be totally open to you with the fact that I just really could care less about anything about you!"
She sat up in her seat. "I was just thinking that I don't care anything about you either!"
"Ha! That's so funny! My gosh, I really feel like I get you. We're so similar!"
"We are! Okay, let's just stare out the window, no judgements."
"I'm not even going to glance at you once. I won't even say goodbye, or Enjoy the rest of your trip or any of that other bullshit! Only if a terrorist attack broke out, or the bus caught on fire would I further interact with you, and that would only be so I could push you aside so I could escape and save myself!"
"Likewise! I bet we have tons of things in common but I don't care to wade through all the energy sucking politeness to reach it! I bet we probably know the same person in Ohio or something, or are related in some way, but there is zero part of me that wants to exert that energy for you! Zero!"
"You are one of the best people I've ever met here!"
"You are! I knew from the moment I met you there was something special about you, that I couldn't care less about!"
The women talked about not talking to each other for hours. They'd never had such a real interaction. They both felt like they could completely be themselves around each other. They passed by the Colosseum, the Vatican, the Sistene Chapel, and the Pantheon and barely glanced out the window. Finally their tour was over and the women felt revitalized with energy. When the frizzy hair woman got out she accidentally let slip that she lived in Romeoville, IL; the same town as the other woman!
"No, no, don't tell me where you live. I don't care, I don't want to know you."
The other woman laughed. "So true! God I hope I never run into you again! Seriously, fuck off."
"No, you fuck off."
"Thank you. This has been one of the best relationships in my life. Go away now!"
"You go away and shut up!" The women laughed and she shut the door and walked away. Inside the van, the woman who was so tired at the start of her tour and now felt energized watched her walk away.
"Dammit, I should have gotten her phone number..."
Friday, January 24, 2014
It's a Sign.
"CAUTION! WET FLOOR!" shouted Janitor Molitrov, pointing to the yellow pointy sign. The woman walking towards Aisle 6 to get her eggs rolled her eyes.
"Oh, please, calm down- ahhh!" She tripped on the wet floor and the pack of bacon she held in her hand went flying the air and landed on the head of a man in the other aisle with such force that the package split open and cold bacon flopped down over his forehead and face. He wiped it off his head and screamed.
"WHO JUST THREW PORK AT MY HEAD?!" he shouted. His security team swarmed around him and drew their concealed weapons looking for the culprit. "They are attacking me! They are attacking Allah!" the man shouted. He walked forward to the nearest aisle where a pimply faced teenager timidly swiped people's milk cartons across the scanner with rhythmic high-pitched beeps, grabbed the telephone behind his head and shouted into the receiver. His voice echoed throughout the entire Safeway supermarket.
"I was on my way to President Barack Obama's house to sign a peace deal between my country and the United States. All war would have ended. I knew it was too good to be true. I knew it was only a matter of time before you Americans would take the time to soil my belief and country and most importantly, my God! We will now not only be withdrawing our diplomacy and signature from this historic treaty but we will be officially waging war on America!" His security guards fired off their pistols into the air and people screamed as pieces of drywall and lighting equipment fell down from above. The group then stormed out of the building.
The woman on the floor looked up at Janitor Molitrov who shook his head at her. He picked up his walkie talkie.
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"We got another international war sparked over here because someone didn't listen to the sign again." He rolled his eyes. "And I can't get into the supply closet, my key got jammed."
"Weird. Did you try twisting it?"
"Oh, please, calm down- ahhh!" She tripped on the wet floor and the pack of bacon she held in her hand went flying the air and landed on the head of a man in the other aisle with such force that the package split open and cold bacon flopped down over his forehead and face. He wiped it off his head and screamed.
"WHO JUST THREW PORK AT MY HEAD?!" he shouted. His security team swarmed around him and drew their concealed weapons looking for the culprit. "They are attacking me! They are attacking Allah!" the man shouted. He walked forward to the nearest aisle where a pimply faced teenager timidly swiped people's milk cartons across the scanner with rhythmic high-pitched beeps, grabbed the telephone behind his head and shouted into the receiver. His voice echoed throughout the entire Safeway supermarket.
"I was on my way to President Barack Obama's house to sign a peace deal between my country and the United States. All war would have ended. I knew it was too good to be true. I knew it was only a matter of time before you Americans would take the time to soil my belief and country and most importantly, my God! We will now not only be withdrawing our diplomacy and signature from this historic treaty but we will be officially waging war on America!" His security guards fired off their pistols into the air and people screamed as pieces of drywall and lighting equipment fell down from above. The group then stormed out of the building.
The woman on the floor looked up at Janitor Molitrov who shook his head at her. He picked up his walkie talkie.
"Mike?"
"Yeah?"
"We got another international war sparked over here because someone didn't listen to the sign again." He rolled his eyes. "And I can't get into the supply closet, my key got jammed."
"Weird. Did you try twisting it?"
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