Apr 2020
"This is a collect call from: 'Darlene Ryder', at the Nielsen County Sheriff's Department, press '2' to accept charges and be connected."
beep
"hello? Bill?...you there?"
"**** Darlene, how many times we gotta ******' do this?!", he threw his voice at her through the phone like a fastball wrapped in firecrackers.
"I dint do nuthin' wrong! they jus got sumpn' against me s'all!"
"uh huh, the **** d'you do, huh?
"the ***** had it comin', I was jus tryin' to have a few 'n relax then she come 'n talk 'bout how I was lookn' atter funny but I watn't- I was jus mindin' my own talkin' to Charlie. So all's I need from you is to get yer lazy, belly-picken', beer-guzzlin' hole fer a face down here and unpinch this ******' mess!" and hung up the receiver on her end of prison.
The guards shoot each other a look then raise their eyebrows. They'll be recounting this over beers tonight beneath the monstrous glow of 47 90" TVs in between attempts at the waitress young enough to be their daughter. They'll shovel in the wings of a total of 18 birds drowned in hot sauce and butter before the sports bar stops feeding them. Then they'll all drive home drunk with hot breath and testosterone like molasses, ending their nightly routine with their ***** in their hands and their pants around their ankles drooling at tiny glowing screens.
Long live the American gods of New Olympus.
beep
"hello? Bill?...you there?"
"**** Darlene, how many times we gotta ******' do this?!", he threw his voice at her through the phone like a fastball wrapped in firecrackers.
"I dint do nuthin' wrong! they jus got sumpn' against me s'all!"
"uh huh, the **** d'you do, huh?
"the ***** had it comin', I was jus tryin' to have a few 'n relax then she come 'n talk 'bout how I was lookn' atter funny but I watn't- I was jus mindin' my own talkin' to Charlie. So all's I need from you is to get yer lazy, belly-picken', beer-guzzlin' hole fer a face down here and unpinch this ******' mess!" and hung up the receiver on her end of prison.
The guards shoot each other a look then raise their eyebrows. They'll be recounting this over beers tonight beneath the monstrous glow of 47 90" TVs in between attempts at the waitress young enough to be their daughter. They'll shovel in the wings of a total of 18 birds drowned in hot sauce and butter before the sports bar stops feeding them. Then they'll all drive home drunk with hot breath and testosterone like molasses, ending their nightly routine with their ***** in their hands and their pants around their ankles drooling at tiny glowing screens.
Long live the American gods of New Olympus.
