Why does he sound
so urgent? It is merely words he is reading. Fists clenched, teeth grinding ego winding up for the home run that had begun (in his head) years ago. Does he know? His ass crack still flaps in the breeze, just like you and me, when nature calls our duty home. He gives a disclaimer, hands out a waiver and immediately calls attention to the clause that states: NO SWEARING. These F bombs, that I am (disrespectfully) wearing are not to cross the line. Linguistic segregation to keep the literary swine at bay. "BULLSHIT" I politely say. Now, pass the salt and pepper. Pass the hat, and gently fuck the haters. I'll not sit in the back of the literary bus. No muss no fuss and I'll speak these words where I please. Thank you very much.
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AuthorMolly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw. Categories |