Skip to main content

21st Century Problems: A.D.D., Work, and Sh*t Part 2 (#12) (Louis Toliver Jr-Swartz, LA)


"21st Century Problems: A.D.D., Work, and Sh*t Part 2 (#12)"

I feel like I was on a very, very long lunch break, but I took a shit and it cleared mind.

Job #3: YoguLand Shift 2 (2:00 PM)

“Do you have anymore hot fudge?” Someone was asking me a question, but I wasn’t paying attention. I am thinking about my life and how I feel like I need some sort of change. Maybe I should venture out from Michelle Branch. I need some new kind of music to inspire me. Hmmmm…..what could it be? “Hello! Are you listening to me?” the person continues talking to me, but I was distracted weighing pieces of Reese’s peanut butter cups. Who could be my new musical inspiration?

Job #4: Hot Dogs (4:30 PM)

Hot Dogs was pretty close to being the worst of jobs, but they paid well for me to stand on the side of the road in a Chihuahua costume holding a hot dog and waving. They claimed that this helped get them business for dinner, because they believed that people don’t often think of hot dogs as a dinner food….they apparently had done a study that claimed people associated hot dogs more as a lunch food. I honestly could care less as long as I got paid and no one recognized me.

Job #4: Men R Us (6:30 PM)

This was by far my favorite job because I got to work from home on my webcam. Basically, all I had to do was put on an adult diaper and talk to men and women across the globe pretend to be a baby at times and be “naughty.” It’s not as awkward and uncomfortable as it sounds. I get to work my own hours at Men R Us….O-M-G…my new musical inspiration just came to me…Justin Bieber. That’s it! I need to step up my game, especially after my break up with Terry. I’m about to find my inner playa.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

This Little White Boy Who Wanted Some Nigger In Him (James Leland Ludeau III - Lafayette, LA)

Grew up on a plantation
Removed
Secluded from the world
I knew classes but didn’t understand race
Because what raced through my veins wasn’t something of which I could ever speak
My father could fuck the slave girls
But I couldn’t touch the men
It filled me with resentment
Fueled my resentment with lust
Until it was too much to take
It was a small contained community
White as the cotton in the fields
Only dark around the edges where the black men lived
Ploughing the fields
I’d imagine them ploughing me
Sinewy
Glistening with sweat as the sun bathed their shoulders
The sweat running down until it pooled around the waistband of their thin cotton pants
Their skin
Black, almost indigo, like night
Some like coffee with milk in it
Cafe au lait
I could smell their musk
Watched as their muscly bodies worked
I yearned
Burned
This little white boy who wanted some nigger in him
To fall beneath the weight of one
As he heaved
As he forced his throbbing cock into my crevice
I longed for even the pa…

Poet's Cry for Mike Tidewell (Barry Sons - Berwick, LA)

I heard the Politician say in a hunter’s whisper, “There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. He was crying about the marshland’s accelerated decay.”
“Mr. Politician, can you help us anyway? I refuse to think our marsh is so quickly Going away. If we can scan the galaxy And bring men back from the dead, Why can’t we save our marsh? I can’t Get that around my head.”
There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today. Whining and crying; Who needs them anyway?” “Mr. Politician, I’m here to make you feel. Try to wrap your heart around the things that Are real. Like love and friendship passion and Sorrow; the love of earth and concern for tomorrow.”
“There’s a poet in the marsh, I heard one today." Mr. Politician, I cry for America’s wetlands,

God Will Cry (Louis Toliver Jr - Swartz, LA)

This is your soul trying to connect to you for last the time. We have come to the final crossroad in our life. This is the end. These are our last earthly breaths.
From this abuse of yourself, we will both die. You will be a rotting corpse. I will fade away into Darkness. People may mourn your death, at first, but you will be forgotten, while I am left here molested by the hands of Hell.
God will cry, “My child didn’t fulfill her purpose.”
I’m begging you; don’t do this. It has been a slow ride, a slow descent to suicide.