explodingboy

I visit Wal-Mart on a near weekly basis, and have yet to find the girl of my dreams–a beautiful, bottle-blonde girl with teeth so rotten they resemble the brown jaggedness of tree bark, and her extremely obese body covered with numerous tattoos, preferably of her favorite Nascar driver. We could marry, and have blonde haired sons with crew cuts and rat tails. Children with mosquito bitten/sore covered legs year ’round and teeth that make their mother’s look amazing. We could find a foreclosed single-wide trailer to get after the last man living there was arrested for molesting the dozen or so dogs that wandered around the trailer park. She could stay at home during the day filling her face with a variety of unhealthty foods, gaining more and more weight by the second, smoking her Marlboro Red cigarettes–carton by carton, ashing away on our carpet that already has so many stains it looks like some type of patterned carpet. While I have a late day at the construction site, she would be having sex with some random snaggle-toothed river rat teenage boy living in the same low-income trailer park. I could come home from my construction job, my overalls covered in dirt, and walk into our trailer. I would sit down on the handed down patio furniture that her drug-abusing uncle gave us as a wedding gift, before he was locked away once again. She will have cooked my favorite flavor of Hamburger Helper, after feeling guilty about finally letting the river rat teenager fill her insides with his seed, instead of forcing him to pull out right at climax to assure she didn’t add to our already numerous children, and I will smile, enjoy my dinner, and forget about the troubles of my day until tomorrow when I get to start it all over again.