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Monday... is the singlemost unnoteworthy day. Last-minute playlist emailing. Bill paying. Checkbook reconciling. Scraping off the gunge from the weekend. Jamming clothes into the bag. Loading the car. Migrating. Repeat X52. Unless, of course, you forget to renew the plates on the car. Found out by unearthing the registration notice from the accumulated projects on the drawing table. Expired, by one day. fuck. Usually, the trip to the DMV sucks, immeasureably. The surliest of the surly paper pushers. The great melting pot of humanity. A great spot for on-edge people watching, If'n you got the stummik fer it. This go 'round, it was fairly uneventful... almost pleasant, until.... The stringy blonde strides to the window... with the figure that starts out round shouldered, widens out to big at the bust, continues wide at the waist, and tapers at the butt that wobbles at the front instead of the back. Frontbutt. And the black cloud overhead signals imminent eruption... Mount St. Helens style, if things don't go smoothly. The only attribute shared with her male counterpart being the complete and utter lack of any ass whatsoever. And, since her invariably bony, wipsy-bearded, NASCAR-capped main squeeze (who no longer drives after the twentieth DUI) has given her registration papers that were last legal when all of the members of Lynyrd Skynyrd were alive... it's pyroclastic cloud time. Hell Hath No Fury Like Roberta Scorned. With a GodammitFuckYouMuthafuka! the volcanic eruption shears the decorum. This force of nature thunders to the exit, crushing and immolating all objects in its path.. And I was closest to the door. When this femme fatale hits the outer atmosphere, the impact sucked all of the air from the room... a big booty sonic boom. There should have been singed papers and burning hair. Oops, there goes another trailer park. |
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