Cold winter weaver
Entombs her children deeply
Awaiting spring sun
Day 123/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog.
Cold winter weaver
Entombs her children deeply
Awaiting spring sun
Day 123/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog.
Christ Almighty! It feels and seems like the first day of Spring and what could ruin this beauty and quietness of this day, well, of course, it’s the Potheads next.
It seems that Dumba** has not only forgotten to celebrate Valentine’s Day on V-Day but now that four days has passed since the official date of Valentine’s, Stupid still has not brought anything home to his Baby Mama. Not even some stuff’. Mind you reader(s); it does not even need to be good stuff’, it simply needs to be stuff’ and or something. As in, well Dumba** did you bring me anything’ home?
Answer reader(s), no! Dumba** has brought nothing home other than his lazy self and grouse attitude and grouchy remarks. And why should Baby Daddy be forced to bring something’ home? Did Baby Mama buy Baby Daddy anything for Valentine’s Day? Of course not.
And why the hell should she have bought and or do anything for Baby Daddy? Baby Mama is a working Mum now. Working at her shitty job’ at the fast food place. And Baby Mama with nearly a year of work under her belt still does not have the first shift like she wants. Oh no! Whining Baby Mama is forced to work weekly at all hours of the shift her shithead of a Manager(s)choices to put her on. Let us not forget too that when Baby Mama returns home from her long workday, she must find and or make something for Stupid to eat. Not that he could be bothered to make something for dinner.
I should make a complaint of my own to BlackFields Apartment about all this loud and disruptive ruckus and bickering among the Potheads. Not of course that Management here will do anything about that. This is another rant for another day.
No reader(s) I shall leave you now with just a few thoughts and a closing poem.
1. Never forget Valentine’s Day.
2. If you and your significant other forgets V-Day, then you and or she and or he better be prepared to pay the price for such a slight.
3. Baby Mama locked F*cker out of their apartment for a good half an hour before finally letting him inside. Now how is that Baby Mama could lock Stupid outside, and Baby Daddy could not just unlock the door? In all honesty reader(s), this Witness is not certain either. Somehow, someway, Baby Mama wedged something against the door preventing Baby Daddy from unlocking the door and of course, managing to push his way into his apartment.
4. Baby Mama and Baby Daddy had yet another heated exchange about how F*cker could spend all day at work, not just working, also smoking’ while on the job and still not bother to bring anything for her. I mean what a selfish prick. F*cker could have brought the wrapping and or bag or whatever from the stuff’ and let Baby Mama take a lick or deep inhale.
Ah, love, is it not so grand even for Potheads?
And finally, my poem inspired by F*cker.
Pounding locked front door
Under winter moon
Day 122/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog
So in the past few day, this Conductor has experienced some hallucinations. I could be suffering from insomnia. Perhaps it is the stress every Mother faces when having to take their wee one into seeing the doctor. But I am doubtful about that reasoning. For my baby, it’s a yearly checkup and cleaning. Oh yes reader(s), I do consider my baby with four legs and a tail that barks to be just that, my baby. Alas, I think my hallucinations are induced by the seeping fumes creeping up from the basement and or from across the hallway, via Pothead’s domain.
I mean what the fried eggs and burnt toast!
Today there seems to be a mad dash of the Maintenance Men working hard to make repairs to Pothead’s apartment. A new door with new locks. And I see there is a new sheet of dry wall too. Or at least this sheet was there about a half hour ago. What the smashed pickles!? Why is there so much screwing (I am speaking of the handheld device kind) ruckus going on? And voices too! God Christ! The blurred voices and gruff laughter that cannot be contained or denied, but needed to be shared with others.
Miss Strumpet is the only adult at home right now with her grandchild, watching over and offering assistance to the Maintenance Men. Must be nice to be playing hostess, devoted grandmother to grandchild all while managing a lit cigarette in the mouth. Oh! What! How can this be!? Well, perhaps if Miss Strumpet closed her front door, this Witness would not have seen such a questionable, most deplorable scene.
There is a NO SMOKING policy here.
Maybe the Maintenance Men are getting a little something’ more than their work done while residing, working at a leisurely pace in Pothead’s apartment.
Moving on and returning to my nightly visits and or said hallucinations.
I was first startled from sleep by a young girl wearing a blue dress and blondish, possibly dark brown hair covered in blood. I am assuming it was blood. If this young girl was not painted in blood, then I have no clue what that shit was dripping down her face and body. And mind you reader(s) that blood does look like black ink when it is night time and very little light shining through my bedroom window. I should take a moment and mention that I have a very intrusive but free nightlight provided by the businesses that are a mere fifty feet down from my apartment, just right outside my bedroom window. Joy and oh, so much jubilation! I can barely contain my smiles for the Jumbo Tron continuously lit 24/7, 365 right out side my bedroom window.
Hell, it is not as if I am paying their electric bill.
Now to describe my other hallucination. There was a man standing outside my bedroom door. It was a man, truly. I do not know how the mind remembers such slight details, but there it is. There was a man just standing right at my bedroom door. I mean what the f*ck!? I have a deadbolt for Christ’s sake across my front door. I would know immediately if someone was trying to enter my home. And of course, there is my little baby that barks, letting us both know whenever anyone passes let alone enter our quaint little home. So this darkly clad figure and I believe he was either old and or had some disfigurement that gave him the bent and or crooked look’. Keep in mind that neither I and or this figure made any attempts to interact with each other. Hell no! I just rolled my sleepy-startled eyes then rolled over and pulled the blankets around me. As if such a little ploy would ever work as a means of protection. Christ Almighty! The reasoning(s) we make at impulsive moments.
And finally, for my last hallucination that I have suffered these past few days, a freakin’ bag of chips. In hindsight, this free offer of chips would not be so bad. I mean we are at first saying this bag of chips’ is free. And did I mention that they were orange too? I know, again the slightest details the sleeping, near conscious mind, makes. Now, of course, I have dreamt of food(s), who has not had dreams and or fantasies about free food. But we are talking about it being way past midnight, and there is a freakin’ vending machine in my room pushing out bag(s) of chips to me.
I should take a moment to explain further that this vending machine was black with no neon-flashing buttons. There was a radiating whitish light from within the machine itself with a very polished glass screen. Again, reader(s), the details that we remember.
Now, where is or what is my wee one doing while Mummy is experiencing these questionable moments. Well, of course, she is in bed with me with her own covers, just staring at me, waiting for me to resettle myself so that she too can return to sleep. The life of pups. I call her a pup’, but she is not. No, my Little Bit is six years old and was considered the runt of the litter. Also, she is less than a foot long. I am ranting and rambling and raving quite possibly even raging, I know.
Hallelujah! This is the Delirium Train after all. You came aboard of your volition. Perhaps this Conductor has offered you treats of some sorts, again, you can always decline my offering(s).
A concluding thoughts for February 17, 2017…
I am not a racist. But I wonder does being raised in a mostly predominantly white community, does this mean that all nightly visitor are going to be white? And why the age difference?
How do you when and if there are nightly visitors in your home, how do you see them? Young? Old? Man? Woman? Some beast of Hell? Perhaps you have been chosen to be visited upon by some radio-active, deformed creature.
I do not watch that much television anymore. No! Now, these days this Conductor is reading with her newly established Kindle Unlimited account. Thank You, Amazon Prime for your most enticing, yearly offer. I mean over 10,000 books, magazines and other forms of literature for only $9.99 a month? Burning Hells and Whistling Bells, Yes Please!
Experts say that the sleeping mind’ does and can, in fact, recall facts better than the conscious mind. I mean can you believe that our tax-paying dollars are going towards this kind of scientific discoveries.
Mayhap all my delusions and or hallucinations are caused to and or are not limited by the exposure of the Black Mold building up within the walls of, we will call it BlackFields Apartments. A little more will be discussed about BlackFields Apartments, but not today reader(s), not today. No this little ditty was brought you by my niggling nightly intrusions to a good night sleep. And what is a good night of sleep’, anyway?
Crashing torrid tales
Lazuline bodies tumbling
Against dark seabed
Day 121/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog.
Engrave daring inscriptions
Against black canvas
Day 120/365 – Morgan’s #DailyHaikuChallenge. Join in and link back to her blog.
Yes, reader(s) it is the day after Valentine’s and much like any other day after such a holiday event, comes the blah, bloating and the sh*ts. And I do not necessarily speak of monies being wasted or of growing debt. No! I am talking literally about one’s bowel movement(s). Those sh*ts.
Of course, we have Miss Potti B to thank for yet another delightful little tale of delirium aboard the Delirium Train.
Miss Potti B with so much free time on her hands, at this time she was not working towards bettering herself with acquiring her GED. No! Nor was Miss Potti B bothering much with cleaning her home. Why bother? The sun was out, the blinds lowered and semi-closed, and finally, the television provided for a distraction for her baby boy. So all in all, it’s an average day at Miss Potti B’s. And while in this dull lull, Miss Potti B decided to share with me her friendly neighbor at the time, and please keep in mind still, reader(s) that I have gone above and beyond to remain civil to this twit and her unruly brood.
I was returning from a walk quite possibly at this time when Miss Potti B spotted me and invited me in for a cup of coffee. The coffee I declined the conversation, not so much. And why I could not decline from this daily chit-chat? It was about sh*t of course.
We are not speaking about the dog shit that other neighbors refuse to clean up after their pets. No! And we are not talking about her mood at the time. No! We are talking about her, we say that it is, he is a close relation. Mind you; it was not Baby Daddy. Oh no!
It is, he is another relation completely. Though of course, Miss Potti B is always screaming that Baby Daddy is a Shit. Not to be confused with one’s bowel movement(s). But a shit in general and or an asshole depending of course on his daily activities.
Baby Daddy is off to work at 5/5.30 am and returns shortly after 3.30 and or around 4, depending of course whether or not Miss Potti B has him running around and picking up few things for her because she did not at that the time drive. Also, Baby Daddy has no license and was bumming a ride’ from a steady co-worker. Til this day, Baby Daddy is still bumming these rides. Payment most like, if this neighbor had to say, payment(s) were, are being made in some drug trade. This is yet another story, for another day.
No today we are speaking about said close relation and his lack of abilities to fully taking a shit. I joke with you not reader(s). Miss Potti B felt for some reason that she needed to share this bit of information with me. And of course being the good neighbor that I am, I merely listened to the story. I mean really, how does one refuse a story about shit?
So said close relation, if you could not guess is also another Pothead with a little brood of his own. Married? No! Is said close relation living with his Baby Mama and her two previous children of yet another Baby Daddy? Yes! Absolutely! And all three so-called parental figures, head of the family are living off the state with much questionable assistance.
The second Baby Daddy and his Baby Girl’ not to be confused with the term of a child, no. Baby girl’ aka Daddy’s new girlfriend in this instance was of the questionable age of eighteen and or nineteen and still in high school.
I should mention now that this close relation has a job that would be considered, working under the table,’ meaning, he gets paid daily and or weekly in cash for his workday. It was never disclosed what said relation does for work,’ but to say that he was and is still ‘working under the table.’ At least Miss Potti B is gripping about how Baby Daddy should be doing the same kind of work and still working at his factory job.
Returning to said close relation with the problem of having issues with being able to do his secondary business’. Miss Potti B say number two or second business’ so I shall do the same here.
Said relation had not acquired this injury to his bum. Said relation was not born with some birth defect that had and or is to date, affecting his secondary business and or bum directly. What is this issue of the bum? It is scar tissue of, over the a**hole.’ Again reader(s) I joke with you not. These are words directly from Miss Potti B. Her said relation, another regular pot smoker has hardened scar tissue of his a**hole’. Why? I cannot explain further. How does Miss Potti B know that her said close relation has scar tissue over his a**hole? It shall for this Witness remain a mystery. One that I never care to know the answer of -ever!
Said close relation, very much like Miss Potti B and her Mother, avoids visiting the doctor -if at all possible. Mind you Miss Potti B will rush her baby boy to the pediatrician when he is ill, but for any other reason(s) -not unless the issue(s) significantly affect her -then no doctor for any of them.
Now I ask you, reader(s), if you had the issue of not being able to poo or take a shit, would you not visit your doctor?
Said close relation does not. He did not and to date, I believe, if the rumors still ring true, said relation still avoids the doctor and or any other medical treatment to address this most concerning medical affliction. Said close relation continues however to consume his caffeinated products and Red Bulls -daily. Said close relation smokes heavily as told by Miss Potti B and not just good old Mary Jane. And finally, said close relation always finds the means to conduct his second business, one way or another,’ as again, confirmed by Miss Potti B. Why or how does Miss Potti B even know this much detail of said close relation?
A few concluding thoughts for February 15, 2017…
Good Christ Almighty!
How do these f*cking Potheads survive? How do they continuously breed and thrive as they do in this world of ours? And finally, why does this issue of said relation of no consequence to me, remain in my thoughts?
At first telling of her story, I was lead to believe that Miss Potti B’s close relation had not taken care of his business’ in a very long time through natural bodily means. It was confirmed by Miss Potti B’s that said relation aka Dumbsh*t‘ never had or has had a colostomy bag.