She sipped her 25 FL oz Ritas Lime-A-Rita.
It was the second one.
She tried to drink at least two a day.
She bought them at the Shell gas station.
She could walk there and the owners were Japanese.
She wanted to say arigatō gozaimasu to them
and slightly bow her head when she said it
because she liked cherry blossoms, round bridges, pagodas, and Sanrio and they weren't indians or muslims so didn't ring her up for double, but she didn't speak Japanese.
She skipped some days.
Every day was a new day to start over.
Her dad had told her that while sitting on the edge of his unmade bed and watching a football game in his bedroom with the stained white carpet. It was good quality carpet, but the room was too hard to clean.
He had congestive heart failure.
It was the way he said it.
She had been a skirt girl, but once she quit her remote job,
She wore the same two pairs of jeans. One of them had a hole in the crotch and her XS tops no longer fit her. She tried to drink two Lime-A-Ritas a day. Sometimes she added 1500 ml of Moscato.
Those were the best nights that turned into day if she couldn't finish it all in one night.
She had lost interest in marijuana a few years back.
No rent, no property taxes, no mortgage payment.
Her dad found a miniature Jesus at the post office and gave it to her.
She put it in her purse and he kept on telling her to put it on her dining room table, but it stayed in her purse.
Maybe miniature Jesus was waiting for something. Maybe miniature Jesus would be forgotten.
Lately, it was very reliable to forget.
She wanted the miniature Jesus to serve a useful purpose. She wanted to fund her brother's retirement. She wanted to get her dad's line of credit paid off. He was 83 and had congestive heart failure, an unmade bed, and spots on his unvacuumed white carpet.
16 years ago he had taken her to a TGIF restaurant because he wanted to take her some place he thought she would like.
She cried and cried. She knew it would just get worse.
Surely the miniature Jesus should stand useful and tall somewhere.
She didn't know where. The dining room table didn't seem like a useful place.
Miniature Jesus was still in her purse.
She thought about the losers she had known.
Garbage indians were tweeting on twitter:
'The guy behind this account died of a overdose
He spent the final days of his life spreading hate on an online platform.", tweeted the ***** indian.
The responses and responses to the responses were:
"Rusty Shackleford
@RustySh0714XXXX
·
May 6
And retards love the maple loafs? Hope your loved ones the same fortune you pirce of dog ****
Wade
@royalcanadiancuntwholovesvaccines,trudeau,andthinkshewillgetrichtradingbaseballcards
·
20h
he was a piece of **** Rusty, get over it."
Wade, whose name was nathan, was a cucked piece of **** even though times on, it doesn't move on for some.
She thought about the fetlife poster who had a wanted to be a life coach and was posting about checking himself to a mental hospital because no one was willing to be there for him, but still thought it was reasonable to charge $211 for his life coaching.
It was all so ******
She sipped her Lime-A-Rita, too tired to watch True Blood.
Tomorrow was another day.
The filthy indians were drowning in shallow water, bumping into trains, eating **** drinking **** electrocuting themselves with sticks, and lying about their credentials.
No rent, no property taxes, no mortgage payments.
Her 83 year old dad had congestive heart failure.
May 8
May 8, 2026 at 3:03 AM UTC
She sipped her 25 FL oz Ritas Lime-A-Rita.
It was the second one.
She tried to drink at least two a day.
She bought them at the Shell gas station.
She could walk there and the owners were Japanese.
She wanted to say arigatō gozaimasu to them
and slightly bow her head when she said it
because she liked cherry blossoms, round bridges, pagodas, and Sanrio and they weren't indians or muslims so didn't ring her up for double, but she didn't speak Japanese.
She skipped some days.
Every day was a new day to start over.
Her dad had told her that while sitting on the edge of his unmade bed and watching a football game in his bedroom with the stained white carpet. It was good quality carpet, but the room was too hard to clean.
He had congestive heart failure.
It was the way he said it.
She had been a skirt girl, but once she quit her remote job,
She wore the same two pairs of jeans. One of them had a hole in the crotch and her XS tops no longer fit her. She tried to drink two Lime-A-Ritas a day. Sometimes she added 1500 ml of Moscato.
Those were the best nights that turned into day if she couldn't finish it all in one night.
She had lost interest in marijuana a few years back.
No rent, no property taxes, no mortgage payment.
Her dad found a miniature Jesus at the post office and gave it to her.
She put it in her purse and he kept on telling her to put it on her dining room table, but it stayed in her purse.
Maybe miniature Jesus was waiting for something. Maybe miniature Jesus would be forgotten.
Lately, it was very reliable to forget.
She wanted the miniature Jesus to serve a useful purpose. She wanted to fund her brother's retirement. She wanted to get her dad's line of credit paid off. He was 83 and had congestive heart failure, an unmade bed, and spots on his unvacuumed white carpet.
16 years ago he had taken her to a TGIF restaurant because he wanted to take her some place he thought she would like.
She cried and cried. She knew it would just get worse.
Surely the miniature Jesus should stand useful and tall somewhere.
She didn't know where. The dining room table didn't seem like a useful place.
Miniature Jesus was still in her purse.
She thought about the losers she had known.
Garbage indians were tweeting on twitter:
'The guy behind this account died of a overdose
He spent the final days of his life spreading hate on an online platform.", tweeted the ***** indian.
The responses and responses to the responses were:
"Rusty Shackleford
@RustySh0714XXXX
·
May 6
And retards love the maple loafs? Hope your loved ones the same fortune you pirce of dog ****
Wade
@royalcanadiancuntwholovesvaccines,trudeau,andthinkshewillgetrichtradingbaseballcards
·
20h
he was a piece of **** Rusty, get over it."
Wade, whose name was nathan, was a cucked piece of **** even though times on, it doesn't move on for some.
She thought about the fetlife poster who had a wanted to be a life coach and was posting about checking himself to a mental hospital because no one was willing to be there for him, but still thought it was reasonable to charge $211 for his life coaching.
It was all so ******
She sipped her Lime-A-Rita, too tired to watch True Blood.
Tomorrow was another day.
The filthy indians were drowning in shallow water, bumping into trains, eating **** drinking **** electrocuting themselves with sticks, and lying about their credentials.
No rent, no property taxes, no mortgage payments.
Her 83 year old dad had congestive heart failure.
You're a rich girl, and you've gone too far
'Cause you know it don't matter anyway
You can rely on the old man's money
You can rely on the old man's money
It's a ***** girl, but it's gone too far
'Cause you know it don't matter anyway
Say money but it won't get you too far
Get you too far
[Verse 1: Daryl Hall & John Oates]
Don't you know? Don't you know?
That it's wrong to take what is given you
So far gone, on your own
But you can get along if you try to be strong
But you'll never be strong, 'cause...
