These words I write keep me from total sadness

Roids, first mentioned in this post, looks like a young Michael J. Fox, one who wears a lot of tank tops and tight-sleeved T-shirts and is pumped up on you-guessed-it. He’ll be quitting the job soon, but as a part-timer he was hardly ever here anyway.

Roids disclosed yesterday he’d bagged Londra, another part timer, the other night. In the face, ‘Lonnie’ looks like Egon from Ghostbusters but her ass is astonishing. Her body is straight until the ass, which hits out of nowhere like the bulb of a glass thermometer. It turns out Lonnie, a plain-except-for-the-butt broad, is a full-on freak, pierced nipples, works by day at a nudist camp, etc.

Good luck, Roids.

This is the 2nd broad Roids has nailed at the job with little effort, proving once again that women, if the setup is right, are just as shallow as men.

I really like Roids and will miss him when he’s gone. He wants to be a cop, like his older brother. He’s smart enough but not a deep thinker, the kind of generic happy fellow that does best in this world. When at work he was always scheduled evenings while ______, the unhappily married woman I had a thing for, worked mornings; had they met and hooked up I would’ve shot them both, then myself.

Now that is an awful thing to say, but you have to understand the difference between writing something and acting on it. Stephen King has written about monsters, human and otherwise, for decades, but no one seriously believes he zips up in a werewolf suit in Owl’s Dung, Maine and goes looking for victims in the woods; if he did, no one would believe it.

Why write about Roids at all? Because the whole woman-whore game is as bad or worse than being picked last as a kid in PE (I was usually picked second-to-last but fuck ’em, I didn’t want to play that badly).

Staring into the Void it’s possible to accept there are some things you should never have to take.

Being a loner is a great gift except when it’s not.