I've always known I'm going to hell. My tombstone will read: "Here lies Tarquin Churchwell, our blogger who art in Hades." Yep, I know where I'm going, but I always thought it would be years before I got there.
The ride to Portsmouth made me think that I was going to the Final Destination last night!
This is what happened:
This is what happened:
There was hardly anybody on the bus, as it bounced through the countryside. Only a few passengers, several chickens and a sickly goat. I pressed my nose against the oily window. Way out there I could see a pumpkin now and then, just flickering orange light on some lonely porch.
It wasn't even warm on the bus. A man wearing camouflage was snoring at the other end of the cabin, his coat rolled up for a pillow. His assault rifle was on the floor. A few seats away, a girl with spikey orange hair jerked to the beat of her ipod. She saw me watching her, reflected in the window, and smiled at my reflection. But before I could make my move, the sick goat fell on top of her, killing her instantly. I spat a chicken feather and sighed. The man beside me was shooting heroin. He didn't care what I was going through.
I tried to sleep, but the driver, a very old man, probably eighty-six, drove down the highway like a maniac. He had the scary habit, whenever the bus veered into the next lane, of dropping to the floor and turning the wheel, then bobbing up to see where he was. Crossing the New Hampshire state line, he hopped four lanes of traffic, swerved to avoid a flying piece of granite, and dropped to the floor. He hit the brakes in the bus station, hurled my bag at Lylah (but missed her) and slammed the cargo lid so hard, the whole bus jumped on its wheels. The asshole came within three inches of running over my toes.
I tried to sleep, but the driver, a very old man, probably eighty-six, drove down the highway like a maniac. He had the scary habit, whenever the bus veered into the next lane, of dropping to the floor and turning the wheel, then bobbing up to see where he was. Crossing the New Hampshire state line, he hopped four lanes of traffic, swerved to avoid a flying piece of granite, and dropped to the floor. He hit the brakes in the bus station, hurled my bag at Lylah (but missed her) and slammed the cargo lid so hard, the whole bus jumped on its wheels. The asshole came within three inches of running over my toes.
7 comments:
That's hot. Love at first bite, er, sight.
Hi, midget. Why didn't you come to the station?
I was working Asshole. Be sure to lube up tomorrow. I'll be cummin' to get you, dude.
You have to clear that first with my sister. It's her house and I obey her rules.
By the way, tell my NH fans to read my blogs. I don't want them to miss out!
Did you do like I asked and pick up the large size of Crisco?
Post some more movies of Lylah. I'm kind of liking her this year. Did she lose weight? Whatever she's doing, she's looking much better, even attractive. Maybe it was just your piss poor photography and a bad haircut that made her look so fug? I'm betting on your bad fotos, TurdBall.
Fuck You Bob. I just read your Crisco comment and my peenie spit up. Spit up all over Lylah's sofa. Thanks a lot.
So you're not cummin? I spent an hour waiting outside the trailer for you. You're to blame for my "blue balls" and then some. Go to hell, Midget.
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