She had
her feet
on the headboard.
He was balling her but good, balling her butt good, giving it to her, patronizing her apothecary and all. And I knew, on my end, there would be death threats against Mister Doug.
This was why I got paid the big bucks.
One foot in Zaire, that old hoe, the other foot somewhere around the Adirondacks.
I mean, I had to take the trash out, and be the ding-dang security staff, an army of one, and I was beginning to go Margaret Sanger on it, to think, it'd keep him more out of trouble if I just shot him in the leg.
That was one way of thinking.
Olaf had absconded from "general operations" to the "marketing combine", particularly, posting chest hair pics on facebook, that there was some kind of under-market, a quiet, "gray market" for eyes on pictures of Doug's chest hair. And the girls were all about it, and I didn't know if it was vicarious living, or "caged heat" or something, but it was going.
An NFT of Mister Doug's penis was sorely in danger of going viral.
It was going.
Big business with the devotchka set.
I also, as another element of my job description, scraped the squirrels off the roadway in front of the house.
Me and Olaf had to schedule a think-tank on this beshizzle.
I mean, what do you do with a problem like Doug? I mean, its like the black people, where you make abortion legal on some pretext, and let them just destroy all of their future generations.
Youthanasia, you see?
"Right to choose." Not weed though. Not gambling. But certain other things, a beguiling little menu of lifestyle choices, and those beniggling moral imperatives. Make abortion legal, and then let nature take its course.
In the name of convenience, you let them kill themselves. But then too, its like, a Tennessee abortion, that Doug and his lastest flame are related. I seen him in his dress socks, smoking a cigarette, elbows on his knees, lost in some kind of thought.
But that's why Doug makes the big money.
Not only residuals from having built, single-handedly, a discount store in Richmond County, NC.
Olaf had a little Volkswagen, and I was teasing him that the hatchback was for some kind of sex-sling for all his boyfriends. Olaf, happily married, and all, you know? He had a kid in the Justice department, where my best hope was that one of my children doesn't enter the system as a convicted felon, incarcerated and generally hopeless.
Rather just take Doug's trashbag, rip it open with my unusually keen Leatherman blade, and just broadcast that all over his yard and house.
They
say
the Big Bear is in the woods.
Looks like her clothes got snagged-away on a branch.
Put her feet on his shoulders
and force his ugly coconut down the toilet.
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