FLASH FICTION

I am not suppose to remember any of this.
The living,breathing agony of watching you give my life away
like junk that didn't sell at a garage sale.
I'm not suppose to remember you trying to erase me,
to shake me away like an etch-o-sketch,
to land on your cutting room floor.
You have reduced me to a blood stain, a chalk outline of fading memories
and broken spirit.
And as I crawl on my knees,
battered,bloody,and broken,
chasing the ghost of what you once were,and never to be again,
I'm not suppose to remember any of this...
BUT I DO-

NEVER TRUST A SEVERED HEAD

First off, enjoy the lame ass orange.
Second, why in the HOLY MOTHER FUCK cant I get on full tilt poker?
( Vices are like the haunting memories of an X wife...just cant get rid of them)
and third....lets talk severed heads.
I met a severed head at Bad Monkey, a bar I have been banned from after my last
visit. She was beautiful. Italian. (Which, in itself, boggles the mind, as all Italian women
cant talk, yell, or scream without using their hands.)
She must have sensed my drunkenness,and bleeding, broken heart.
After a couple more drinks,and witty conversation, she asked me to place her in her
Vera Wang bowling ball bag, and go back to her place.
To my surprise, she drove. Nice car. (Please, just go with me on this, as I don't have the desire
to be creative enough right now to explain how a head operates a motor vehicle,
because if I did, I could give up plumbing for a rewarding career writing crap novels
sold in local porn shops..."She took his throbbing member whole, in one desperate gulp..")
Anyway, after driving through McDonald's for coffee and apple pie,
and explaining away the monitoring bracelet on my ankle, we pulled up into the drive-way
of a very lovely English Tudor in Lake In The Hills. I bagged her up, she gave me the garage
code, and I staggered into my latest BAD DECISION.
I was jumped from behind by several other severed heads.
I tried to flee, but one rolled between my feet, and tripped me.
I woke up beneath a sign on the highway hours later, it said
WELCOME TO LODI WISCONSIN, HOME OF SUSIE THE DUCK.
I was too humiliated to file a report. My cash and credit cards, gone.
As well as pride and dignity.I don't want to talk about it ever again. So excuse me
Max,the severed head, if I'm a little stand offish.

FACEBOOK

You cant find me on Facebook because I use my real name-
If you like, I can drop you a private message, and actually
tell you what it is-
Be more than happy to have you all over to my Facebook space for
some coffee and cake-