Peanut Butter

...I'm telling you, man. This bullshit is piling higher everyday. I already told you about the boys and their Robotussin and their house music. You know, I think they were trying to get a thirteen year old girl high offa glue in my basement? MY basement! And christ, this girl was only thirteen. They don't even go to the same fuckin' school.

And lemme tell you this: My foreman is a good for nothing, ignorant hack. This bastard is twenty two years old, he's balling the boss's daughter, and he doesn't know a fuckin' wrench from a tape measure. I'm supposed to listen to this guy, With his soft hands and his faggoty assed voice? Well, it doesn't make a bit of fuckin' diff'rence, cause they halted development on the subdivision, anyways. Apparently all the union workers who buy these piece of shit cardboard cookie cutters that pass as houses are broke.

So I've spent the last few weeks broke as hell. I get a piece of bread and goddamn peanut butter for breakfas', lunch, and dinner. My wife, god bless her whoring soul has spent what little savings we had on shit the boys don't need and yet another fuckin' Prada bag. She can't get over the fact that this isn't the 1980s anymore. "No Honey, I don't have money for a fuckin' eight ball. No, I don't wanna buy another bottle of wine, I work for a fuckin' living, while you're at home bangin' the shit outta half the neighborhood." She doesn't look like she used to either, man. When I met her, I fuckin' loved this girl. Twenty some odd years later, I wonder if it was her tits and teased up hair. Her skin sags off every part of her body. Like one long fuckin' turkey neck. We haven't fucked in years.

My dad worked in construction, I worked in construction. It was steady, honest work, man. I wasn't one of those damned saving and loan assholes. Now, lookit me! I'm on my ass! No money saved. And not a goddamn thing to show for my years if those bankers get their hands on it.

Last night, I turned in a few bottles I found outside the gas station and went to the supermarket to buy a cucumber for dinner today. I love cucumbers, man. And even a cucumber would feel like a real meal right now.

So I come home from picking up the boys, and what is my wife doing?

She's sitting on the couch, fuckin' herself with my cucumber. I'm real fuckin' glad the boys saw that. I couldn't help it. I slapped the shit outta her. She started cryin' , her mascara runnin' down her face. I looked at her, and I saw me there inside her eyes. She looked like a dying god damned dog, and in her eyes so did I. That shit scared me, ya know?

I walked into the kitchen to make my usual peanut butter sandwich. It was sitting on the counter by the sink. The lid was offa' the jar, so I look in it, and there's a fuckin' fly caught in it. What the fuck am I supposed to about that?!?