So Why Ya Sad?

God, those sideburns. You’d think he was from the nineteenth century or something. Belly, too. Big feet. A red, bulbous nose. Sixteen teeth. A gray, greenish-coated tongue. Who knows what it’s coated with? That, I don’t wanna know. He believes in something north of Philly. Checks his blood sugar on Sunday. Medicaid says they won’t pay. Lifts weights a few times a week, 20-pound dumbbells. His pecs are looking better every day. They usta sag. His sister told him he'd better do something about them, or the chance of him screwing any chicks in the near future would be slim to anorexic. And I quote. So, he started doing push-ups. But the pecs still need work. He’s not completely satisfied with them yet. He wears baggy shirts to offset them. Another thing is that he sweats too much. Sweat’s even when the air conditioner’s on. One time, he reset his watch. The front of his shirt was completely soaked. His doc began to get concerned. Thought it might be cuz of the diabetes or that he might even have heart trouble. As his doctor listened to his heart with a stethoscope, he asked, “Why are you still smoking?” “How’d you know?” “I can smell you.” “I’ve cut way back,” he lied. “Cut ‘em out completely,” the doc said. That night he smoked two packs of menthols. Lord -a’ mighty…his income was down last year. Down forty percent from the year before. “Guess most people already have a vacuum cleaner this year,” his brother said, giggling. “That’s what ya get for not getting your G.E.D.” Lordy -a mighty.

Reviews

[Philip Gaber]

It's hard to write happy when your SSRIs keep you on sad.

[Michael Sun Bear]

Man that is one sad story. Another great read from the unique mind of Philip Gabor.

[Rosalien]

A very fun read! Immediately comes to life.