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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Dog Flavored Smoochingdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: MyX
    ASL Info:    27/m/Ohio
    Elite Ratio:    4.38 - 932/973/107
    Words: 856
    Class/Type: Story/Friendship
    Total Views: 1117
    Average Vote:    5.0000
    Bytes: 5558



    Description:
       A true account of your's truly.


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsDog Flavored Smoochingdots
    -------------------------------------------


    I work in this gas station
    that is too ghetto
    to keep its doors open through the night.
    I take care of my customers
    through a triple pane bullet proof window
    with a sliding steel money changer.
    I'm just a nobody
    waiting on a bunch of nobodies.
    The decline of America
    is deeply riddled in the eyes
    of all of us.

    This fat chic
    comes running up to the window
    with both of her hands over her privates.
    She was sweating, drunk,
    had smeared make up
    and a dazed look about her.
    “Can I use your bathroom?” she asked.
    “Sorry.” I said. “I cannot let anyone inside the store.”
    “Shit!” she exclaimed, doing her pee-pee dance.
    She looked like a large sea animal
    in a tank of boiling water.
    “Tell you what,” I said.
    “There are no cameras pointed across from pump 11.”
    “Really?”
    “You can pop a squat there.”
    “Hell yeah” she says. “That's what's up.”
    “Yeah.”
    She waddled off
    and I reached over
    and hit record on the surveillance system.
    I leaned against the counter,
    crossed my arms
    and began to watch this dense fat chic urinate on camera.

    A figure rushed passed her.
    A much older lady,
    forty or so,
    approached the window.
    She was wearing a green hoodie
    beneath a transparent poncho.
    Coupled with her mangy hair
    and moley face,
    she looked like some kind of dejected school lunch lady.
    After searching through every compartment
    of a very large discount store handbag,
    she finally ordered a pack of smokes and a slim jim.
    Handed me a credit card.
    Declined.
    “I'm sorry. It won't take this.
    Do you have another card you would like me to try?”
    She freaked.

    Abruptly after the last syllable rolled off my tongue,
    she violently pushed the changer at me and exclaimed:
    “BITCH NIGGER COCKSUCKER!”
    “Wha...what?”
    “FUCK YOU!”
    I slowly slipped the card back into the changer
    to give it back.
    She shoved it at me again.
    “NIGGER BITCH PUNK FUCKER!”

    I took a step back and watched her amusingly.
    She started beating the balls of her fist
    on the window, whipping her hair around.
    Her eyes were globes of sincere hatred.
    The credit card in the changer was now badly damaged
    by her tantrum.
    I started to dig it out before she would destroy it.
    She threw the changer at me again,
    smashing my hand in the process.
    “OW! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
    I asked with one injured hand tightly gripped in the other.
    I raised my leg and kicked the changer back at her,
    knocking her in the gut with it.

    She backed away
    and started rummaging through the station's main trash receptacle,
    throwing its contents over her shoulder
    like a prom bitch at the closet in search of a missing shoe.
    Presumably, she had a nicotine jones
    and was looking for a smokeable butt.
    A group of young men then pulled up in a sweet ride.
    (Sweet ride. Such lingo is born from my mouth
    as naturally as an atomic bomb. These bums are actually
    influencing my communication ducts.)
    “What can I get for you guys?” I asked them.
    The men looked cautioned by something.
    Suddenly...
    she popped up from
    not the left or right...
    but from the bottom of my blindspot at the window.
    “You never gave me my cigarettes!” she informed me.
    “That is because your card was declined.”
    “BITCH NIGGER! COCK SUCKER!”

    BANG! THRASH!

    The two-way speaker
    with which I communicate with my clientele,
    has this neat volume function.
    Turned all the way up,
    God himself could hear me.
    And it emits wicked feedback to boot.
    An ear soaring sound it is,
    like some random kid picking up a megaphone.
    I usually reserve it for people
    that cannot stand to repeat themselves
    and feel the need to do so with a loud growl.
    “HAVE A NICE NIGHT!” I would squeal and thunder after them.

    I turned the volume all the way up.
    “HEY! YOU DISEASED HAG! LEAVE BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!”
    “BITCHNIGGERCOCKSUCKER!”
    “I'm not even black, you retarded cow!”
    I shouted back with the loud speaker.
    She stormed off finally,
    noticing on her way that three black men stood behind her.
    Trash was everywhere.
    My new customers looked confused.

    That morning
    my manager told me to come to his office.
    He had watched the video(which had audio) of the events
    leading up to trash everywhere in his parking lot.

    “Mind explaining your behavior to me?”
    “Sorry sir.” I said. “But I cannot be expected to play counselor,
    let alone take some of these people seriously.
    Not for minimum wage.”

    The manager squinted,
    rubbing the bridge of his nose
    with his thumb and index finger.

    “Get the hell out of my office.” he said finally,
    handing me an empty trash bag.
    Still employed,
    I gladly got down on my hands and knees
    and cleaned up the mess.




    Submitted on 2010-02-27 07:50:33     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
    Submissions: [ Previous ] [ Next ]

    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!




    ||| Comments |||
      As I was reading this I got the best visual lol this was great!
    | Posted on 2010-03-26 00:00:00 | by allhunee | [ Reply to This ]
      lmfao
    aahhhaa
    haaa
    rlly
    rlly?
    aha
    wOW
    need a cigarette after that one
    that [censored]s too funni
    | Posted on 2010-03-24 00:00:00 | by MINTPATTY | [ Reply to This ]
      “NIGGER BITCH PUNK [censored]ER!” -- I have a feeling you've been called worse. Just a feeling.

    Entertained as usual by your unflinching detailing of our wonderful species in all its glory. We do make our mamas proud.

    And actually, this made me very relieved to be unemployed and not under the thumb of some corporate [censored], whether it be an actual man or a pack of cigs or whathaveyou.

    -Emeya
    | Posted on 2010-03-01 00:00:00 | by Lady of Shalott | [ Reply to This ]
      gotta love it.


    yup.


    sigh. i think though, that for some, life is just too hard to even consider it may be good sometimes.

    so you have...

    and it sucks to be declined after having the thought that you might have that cig to take the edge off.

    do you know, one time i went into the exxon/mobile (that still has doors to walk through) and there was this old woman with a little boy (musta been a grandson she was looking after) trying to buy a pack with her debit card. after trying it like five times, hoping the declined was just a fluke, she sighed and told the boy: come on now.

    i asked the guy what brand she was trying to buy (salem), so i bought my reds and picked up a pack of her greens and ran out of the store.

    i caught up with her outside and gave her the pack. God bless you child, she said.

    i didn't do it for the blessings. i just know it sucks in the biggest [censored] of ways, not to have that smoke when you need it.

    anyhoo...

    this was amusing. and sometimes, it just sucks, being the dregs of...
    | Posted on 2010-02-27 00:00:00 | by isabella | [ Reply to This ]


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