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Day: November 7, 2009

06 – Coke Fewer Than Zeros

“This instant coffee tastes like total fucking shit.  I’m serious,” I told my mom.  “Really.  Why do you buy this crap?”

“It’s cheaper, honey.”

“But, like, coffee is one of those things that it’s, like, good to spend money on.”

“Times are tough, sweetheart.  Everybody’s made sacrifices.”  That was always the line she used to justify her terrible taste and inability to stock the house with a decent cup of coffee, but I knew she was full of shit.  A decent pound at the grocery store—and I’m not even talking about like gourmet coffee or whatever—is what, like 2 dollars more expensive than this instant abortion she forces on me every time I come home?  Fucking A, mom, what the hell.  It’s like, I travel so fucking far from college to come home and see her over Christmas when I could be in Cancun with my boyfriend and this is the welcome I get?  Unfuckingbelievable.  Is she just trying to push me away?  Am I invisible?  Do my needs not count?   Read more

05 – The Barbarian

Oh dark Mistress!  Destroyer of men!  Drinker of still living blood! they called to her.  We beseech thee to vanquish our enemies with your sword!  Reave their skulls!  Crush their bones!  Dance in their viscera!  That last one she liked quite a bit.  But she needed time to decide if she would hear their pleas.  Would she be a virtuous benefactor and avail them of their problems, bringing peace and tranquility to their miserable peasant lives?  Or would she turn her whip on them and grind them beneath her blood-stained boot?  Shall she save them or shall she be the instrument of their demise?  Choices choices!  She turned to Puce, her unfortunately named Elven companion, and then thought better of asking him for advice.  Elves were always so dreary.  For once, she’d like to meet an Elf who wasn’t all, “The forest is dying” this, “Nature is screaming” that.  How about a flagon of mead once in a while, guys?  Like, relax, man.  The trees are going to be there.  Lighten up.  She looked past Puce to Skinflint, the rogue who came and went pretty much whenever he wanted.  He was picking something from his teeth with a dagger which just grossed her out to no end.  Where else had that dagger been?  She had no problem wading knee deep through the blood of her enemies, but, jeez, keep that filthy thing out of your mouth.  Even she had limits.  She turned to the other side to ask Grisham, the not-all-together mage.  He made eye contact with her, and then tore his eyes away. Read more