a sprinkling of funnies, a dash of life, and me being me.
I buy a burger. I have no relation to the meat, I don't know who the cow is or if the cow liked crunchy dry grass or a more fertile mossy grass. I don't know if the cow had a bae with commitment issues or was starting a rally against the treatment of pigs at his establishment. All I know is I better not wait five more minutes for my burger before I give this place a scathing review on Yelp. I've lost connection, somewhere, somehow. Someone decided that fast means I can do more things that matter to me. And what is that exactly? Posting pics of that burger on social media that read #blessed #goodeats #veganssuck. I would probably get twenty likes. Mmmm...satisfaction. But imagine the thrill of raising a cow. Seeing it grow, his name is Johnny Be Good because you thought it was funny while you were drunk off of mojitos. We'll call him Be Good. Be Good would come when you called. He had a black dot around his left eye, and was extra sensitive to lightning. He was a sweet soul, kind of like the first guy who dropped out of One Direction. So you raise Be Good, through his trying adolescent years where he tried a myriad of weeds and got frisky with both Leila and Dante. And then you kill the cow. Because you’re hungry and you have to feed your family through winter. You spend the whole day with Be Good, give him some fresh veggies, rub his rear, let him spend time with both of his lovers, and then shoot him in the head. You skin him with his smeared thick crimson blood on your gloves and his black eyelashes kissing the stars. You work hard all day and put a rack of his ribs on the barb. You send out a snap to your friends showing them the ribs and yelling "Let’s eat Good tonight!" Tony brings his new flimsy gal Sabrina, and your almost homeless sister comes uninvited, and Todd from work comes because he's the best. And you feast. And yes, your friends Instagram that shit and post it on Facebook but you sit in your satisfaction. Truly satisfied. Because you ate Good tonight.
Taco Bell is the Cheeto stained kid who plays on your white keys, banging out “Heart and Soul” everyday all day. Taco Bell is the drunk girl with the fifteen dollar H and M dress grinding on your back. She will text John her second cousin that she is still coming over. Taco Bell is that one friend who calls you, even though that is socially ignorant. Taco Bell will text you "You up?" with a trifling amount of emojis. Taco Bell will throw you a surprise party with your ex in attendance when you clearly stated you loathe surprise parties. Taco Bell is the tinder profile that reads, "Don't be basic". Taco Bell will tickle you for no damn reason. Don't touch me TB. That ain't cool. Taco Bell is the substitute teacher that hands you the incorrect homework assignment. Taco Bell, is just like Trevor. Yeahhh, that Trevor.
Soooooo....do you still want to go halfies on a Nacho Bel Grande? You know I do, girl.
do i have to be friends with everyone?
The midwestern woman with her doughy husband behind her grasped the iPhone toward the millennials. Us. We had watched Girls, we were on Bumble, we voted Democrat. The grandmother of two snapped two pictures of us and handed back our treasured mouth piece to THE girl. The girl swiped through the photos and without hesitation asked "Do you mind taking another one? I don't like how I look." The kind woman who definitely watches the Voice took the phone as we all returned to our formation. The girl said, "Can I be in the middle, I just like being in the middle!" She moved in between the girls, to take her rightful throne. The angel of a woman snapped the photo and the girl was pleased. During lunch over mimosas and amid talks of Game of Throne she was quick to post the photo, asking each of us to add our tag. As lunch was coming to a close and we each tipped separately she passed her phone around asking for all of our contacts. "Let’s hang again, see another movie together!" Her iPhone was passed to me and I didn't want to enter my digits under my name. I didn't want to be tagged in her photos. I didn't want to see another movie with her. I didn't like her. Wait let me say it again. I didn't like her. She was the exact opposite of everything I stood for. Who asks to take a picture twice? Who pushes themselves in the middle of a photo? It's not your birthday! We just saw a movie! Who has to see this photo!? Why do people need to know that you have friends. I'm not even your friend, we just met. We just met. I don't want to be #besties. I don't want to be in any group chats where we decide our next tanning destination. I can't, I can't be this nice all the time.
I put my number in the phone and pass the phone along. I see myself tagged in the photos and like all of them because guess what we are going to be friends.
will you love me on tuesday?
After Monday ends I become more than the dark side of the moon. I become the piece of gum under the table, that gives you ecoli from making eye contact with me and gives you crabs up your butt. I turn into a Gremlin, broken iPhone in hand, and lactose intolerance sprouting from both holes. I become evil. I will look at you and say, you make me want to puke and I hate your nose. I will attack your penis, I will throw down on your manhood. I will throw a fit in the car about racism and the lack of coconut chips at Trader Joes. I will wake up knowing that you had a threesome with my best friends. I will punch you in the stomach, and see how deep I can cut. And that's just on a Tuesday.