Thu, 19 May 2005

lightning
I used to have a t-shirt with Barney Rubble flipping the bird which I bought as a kid at the campground just above Flintstone Village, where I also played the best game of mini-golf of my entire life just after buying the shirt, and have since considered it lucky, or at least it was until this stupid girl that I didn’t even fuck walked out of a party wearing it, and I chased her down into the street and said hey, that’s my shirt, and she said well but I spilled wine on my shirt and I just wanted to wear it home and I promise I’ll bring it back tomorrow and I said no, but see the thing is that’s my lucky shirt and you can wear the shirt I got from my aunt on my last birthday with the racecar on it and she said but I’m already out in the street and why get all bent out of shape man it’s just a shirt and I said listen bitch, give me my fucking shirt and some clown-dick boy she was with does his whole peacemaker tough guy routine and the short story is she ran off with my shirt and I got kicked in the ribs. Most people, that would be the end of the story, but not me, I hold a grudge forever and also I’m crafty. I don’t want to give away the plan, as I might have to use it again, but it involved dressing up as a Wal-Mart employee, video cameras, a grapelling hook and dog poop, and the moral of the story is when you steal someone’s lucky shirt, that’s unlucky, as luck isn’t something you can steal.
(12:24.05.19.2005) [/scrytch] #