Fake Plastic Me

A Rant By: Patrick McDaniel

Do you know what's great about laundry? As soon as you take it from the dryer it's still got a lot of static. Do you know what's great about laundry static? It's the only time you can actually smell electricity with about killing yourself. It smells wonderful! It's the little things in the world that meet and greet us on a daily basis.

The little things include but are not limited to; listening to a hooker give your buddy a fraught blow-job in the back seat of your car in his time of drunken desperate indecision. Should I have stopped that? Sorry Ben. Too late it's in the books. I’m even more sorry that you had to grade her performance with an “I” for incomplete.

The little things are, but certainly don't end with bum-yelling. This retard asked me for change in the amount of $2.60. First off, how did we arrive at that number? Is someone actually budgeting an Old English 40oz? Second, how do you have the audacity to come up to my friend and badger us for a second time? “Get the fuck down the street before my blood boils to an Irish temperature you fucking scumbag.” What's that you’re reaching for vagabond? A knife maybe? Pull it on me! Now you're just getting my dick hard. Now I’ve never field-dressed a bum, but I imagine it’s not pleasant. It’s good for both of us that he bothered someone else. But it’s doesn’t end there. I must mention a wonderful incident hours later outside of Skulley's Diner  where one of my *brothas made the mistake of putting his arm in my car asking for money. Sorry I had to roll your hand up in my window shit-bag, but sorrier I didn't start the car and take you with me 5 blocks. If it wasn't for the young lady in my company that night you're ass would have been asphalt. The irony of the unemployed and hungry is that they never take the food you offer them, and they cover up with job applications for warmth.

It's the little things I include my self in, but certainly don't sign up for. For example: Making it all the way home from the bar, just to fall asleep in my car with the ignition still on. Dead battery, no DUI. What can I say? There was a song on the radio I really liked and had to hear before drifting off.

It's the little things that amuse, but don't consume me like vaginal piercings, and taking a few hits from the ole bong after so many years. It made me want to run outside immediately hug the shit out of a tree, eat lot of potato chips and come up with philosophies on life. Ideas that if I had written them down, sobered up, and then read them I would have had to consider myself a moron. However, I do like the captive bead at the end of a hood. It puts me in mind of a doorknocker to the house/cradle of life and pleasure.

It's the little things that make me gitty, but not infantile like the thought of stabbing the stuffing out stuffed animals. It seems every girl has a near and dear stuffed animal they hold on to until they are married. Every chick who has ever fucked me over better keep an eye on Mr. Cuddles cause I'm coming for 'em. Paint goat's blood on your front doors or I will pass over like the stuffed animal angel of death. I know I'm an asshole, but ironically enough I fear before long I will have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. You'll no longer have to read my outrageous banter. That is until I get a scanner. That rhymed and so does this:

”Lip-gloss and lager they both make me smitten.
A massage with a happy ending on this couch where I'm sit'n.
In-depth conversations that end up in flings…Just a few of my favorite things.”