What I had meant to say was...

She asked me if I was ever lonely.
I said no.
She questioned the validity of my response. My integrity had yet to be validated by a participating restaurant.

I told her a story.
She said it was sad.
I assured her it wasn't. I had learned something. Learning is never sad. Unless, of course, you are learning about sadness.

Loneliness. Sadness.
Those two channels are not part of my current Comcast package.
Therefore they do not exist in my space. Nor in myspace [I don't have one - Fuck you, Tom - friend that!]. Although I have heard those two stations are now offered in HD. I still won't be subscribing.


Loneliness. Sadness?


I glance at my watch. 11 pm. Regardless, I have no thyme for those, or any other season. Whether it be spring, or fall - the recipe of ladness is not one for me. I do not prefer it's bitter after taste; real diet-coke like.

I started to speak. Instead, I just laughed.
She laughed.

And I left it at that.

Chicken heads

As I'm waiting for the bus I see these two pigeons, PiJean [it's French] and Pidge, walking around each other. Checking each other out.

After eye-dancing for a while, PiJean walks up to Pidge and they proceed to have the following dialogue:

PiJean: Say ma, what's good? May I get you a bread crumb?
Pidge: No thank you, I flew in from NY this morning, so I'm kind of tired.
PiJean: Word? Aight. If you change your mind though, let me know.
Pidge: Aww, that's nice of you. Thanks.
PiJean: Don't sweat it ma. It's a pleasure.

Feeling slightly defeated, PiJean makes his way to the other corner of the planter. He can't help but look back though - never had he met a bird this fly. Flustered, he sends a chirp out to his boys. Advice was needed.

Pidge didn't know why she turned PiJean down. To be honest she was intrigued. He had this swagger about him. The way he clucked about was charming, to say the least.

After a couple more crumbs PiJean finds the courage to approach Pidge one last time before he headed to another planter.

PiJean: I'm bout to head out, are you sure you dont need anything?
Pidge: Actually...

Pidge interlocked her wing with his, and led him to the bar. One crumb led to another, and next thing you know they were pecking out. As the peck out session intensified, PiJean decided to mount Pidge in the middle of the planter, for all the world to see, and do, what is known in the animal kingdom as, the nasty.

It looked like this:


All the other planter-goers turned away in disgust. Not me though. I was enthralled. A group of girls, next to me, were fascinated by the scene as well.

When PiJean and Pidge were finished, and they had unruffled their feathers, they exchanged numbers with the hope that migration might take them to the same place in the future.

The bus then pulled up. There were no hot girls on it. It was a cold day.

*Authors note: All bad puns intended. You try writing about seeing two birds boink. It's harder than it seems [that's what she said]. Honestly, I just wanted to draw the picture.

51 Syllables

I wish I could be
typing creative stories
but I can't. Tired.

So...I'm going to
lay down. Nightdream about her,
or pizza. Then, sleep.

Or rather... pass out.
For this daymare will end soon,
much like this haiku.

Famished

"Yes, please."

They sat across the table from one another. Food already boxed - ready to go. He looked at her. She looked at him. He smiled.

"I'm going to kill you," he said.
She smiled her lovely smile back and said, "Sweetie, I love you."

He leaned back in his chair, for effect of course, sipped his wine, his red, red wine, and replied, "I love you too. I've always wanted to smother someone... with love. Perhaps you'll be the first."

"May I get a bit more please?"

She sat alone. The check came at the same time her food did. That's fucking depressing. She must not enjoy her own company. She probably tells horrible jokes. Or interrupts other's sentences. What a bitch. She stared at her salad. I wondered where her family was. She must've killed them. Murdered them. One by one.

The husband left the toilet seat up. She fell in. He also forgot to put more toilet paper on the holder. She couldn't wipe. Her son, while driving to the store to pick up cleaning supplies, wrecked the car. He got bleach all over the black seats. The daughter, who's only 15, is pregnant. The father of the young girl's child is a homeless man. The daughter loves this man because he is worldly - that and she believes it is her civic duty to help him in any way she can. She was born in San Francisco.

That's what must have happened.
It all happened right before dinner.
They deserved it.

"No maam, I'm good."

Or maybe... Maybe her family is at home, and she's eating dinner without them. That's it. She's eating this delicious food, while they have to eat their own cooking. What a bitch.

"May I have more napkins please?"

Finally. Pizza's here.

Random note: Never fall in love with another's pizza. It's not for you to eat, and you're better off not imagining how great it may taste.

But he started it!

The kid said something to me that I did not appreciate.
I hadn't forgotten.

So when the opportunity arose, I snuck up behind him: told him that his voice turned me on - and then I slit his throat. I silently laughed to myself. I accidentally laughed aloud. Whoops.

As I round the corner, I see another guy I had words with and shoot him in both knees. I stand over him. I contemplate letting him bleed out, to die a slow, sober, and boring death, but my knife... it beckons. Like a mosquito, I draw blood slowly, and frequently, from this man who questioned the integrity of my clan. Stab.

Stab.

STAB!

With each victim, and with each grudge settled, new planes of ecstacy are felt. Bombs rain from the sky, and bullets tear through limbs and vital organs of my enemies. Bullying the weak. Empowering.

The world fades to black...

I look up and it's 10:30, so I decide to turn off my X-Box. I figured it was time to go to bed. Or at least to play my Game Boy.

While showering in my blue, Nike, swim shorts, I ransacked my brain in an attempt to gain a better comprehension of the English language. For I wanted to explain to a girl how I truly felt about her. Unable to mix the perfect letters, to sculpt the perfect sentences, to convey that which is in my imperfect heart.

I turn to the language of love... 1337 sp3ak.

In short: g0d used pWn8ge haX0rZ when He made U!!!!!1111!!!!!eleven!