The Goddamn Reason that Shit Fucking Happens

by: Michael Bradford

People pepper spoken sentences with crummy curse words out of anger, I think, when realizing – right there in mid thought – that what they are currently trying to say is really just an idea they tried on for size after having liked the looks of it in the silence and solitude of their cerebral changing room.  Liked enough to talk it up tightly with belted words – a verbal affinity that slowly but then suddenly slips out of the grasp of a yo yo dieting belief system and that instead of just being let go, with a wink and a nod to having been caught pants down around the ankles, becomes a sworn curse upon her shoulders to suffer the fate as fulcrum in the suspension bridge linking the baggage of recently deceased weight that is hubris with the unnerved mainland on a first date with Mr. whats-his-nuts.

Beware those who wear suspenders and a belt.  How can one truly trust a person who cannot trust her own pants?

Incredulity is the shit stained lace and recycled paper thin veil of stupidity’s arrogance.

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