Say what?! Shit was just getting started and Rick Young clears house. Well, except for me… Because he knows better. Funny how boys can be trained ain’t it? I know there’s a big fuckin’ ordeal as to who Jalie’s gonna side with. Does she go with her sister’s man, Carson, or her best friend, Brandi?

How about neither?

Yes, folks, neither. I’m neutral. Indifferent. Beige. Taupe, whatever. I don’t fucking care. This is Carson’s fight. So as for me, I’m just gonna sit back and watch Cody make an even larger ass out of himself.

Assuming that’s even possible.

Now, on to more important, or, at least, more interesting things. In the past I developed a list. Upon which, I would name people that bothered me and aim to kill them. However, seeing as the current laws prevent me from doing so, I’ve settled for maiming them beyond recognition within the confines of my profession. So considering Rumbler already got on the wrong end of my crowbar, I’m moving on to someone else. That someone being…

*half-assed drum roll*

…Adonis. Yes, folks, the puberty-stricken flamer with the foot fetish.

Lately he hasn’t done shit except chase after Jimmy Stryker like a pre-teen girl with a crush. Granted, like seeing Stryker suffer but that doesn’t change the fact that Adonis is FUCKING CREEPY! So he’s gay. Bi. Whatever. I don’t give a shit what he does in his spare time. But must he shove his femininity and altogether disturbing persona upon us? The innocent viewers? I’d like to know what the hell I did in a past life to deserve this. And the feet? What is with the feet? In a sense, I suppose I should applaud him. It takes a hell of a lot to make me gag. The whole toe sucking thing? Yeah, totally got me there. Some things just shouldn’t be videotaped, dude.

Sorta like Brandi and Rick, heh… But that’s another story entirely.

.scene//taking out the trash

“God DAMNIT! Bring that back in here! Those do not belong to you!”

Jalie’s scream ripped through the still mid-day air, causing the neighbors to peer nervously from behind the safety of their curtains. A man who has been absent from AWA television for quite some time now appeared on screen hauling a black trash bag into the can outside. Glass bottles could be heard clinking together inside it. Seth Thomas closed the lid and turned to his sober and resultantly distressed wife. She looked a wreck in a pair of olive dickies and one of his white button-down work shirts splattered with motor oil. Her eyes were puffy and red and her lips were settled into a pout. Jalie shuffled her bare feet on the front walk, eyeing the trash bin with suppressed longing. Seth noticed this and took a step forward to grip her by the shoulders.

“Nothing worked. The meetings you wouldn’t go to, the hobbies, the job, begging… This is the only way to get you to quit. You’re gonna be on your fifth liver before you hit forty!” He pleaded.

“Pfft, you don’t really need your liver. That’s just a myth. Just like your pancreas and your left kidney.” Jalie replied with a snort.

Seth gave her a confused look.

“Left kidney? But.. No, listen, the point is this is getting out of control. Sober up, at least for a while. For me. Please?” Seth looked her in the eye.

Jalie groaned and turned around to stomp back into the house. Seth took this is her assent and followed her in. Once inside, it became clear the place was horribly crowded. Hobo Nick was passed out on the couch in his tightie whities. Jay was taking bets on who could wake him up and with what. The rest of the house was occupied with a motley assortment of people, most of them Latino and making Seth seem rather out of place. A drinking game had been set up in the kitchen involving a few bums and a man Seth recognized as Jalie’s uncle Vargas. He was a tiny fellow with a bushy black beard that reached his chest. He had both thumbs hooked behind his suspenders and was carefully watching his final opponent, a friend of Hobo Nick’s that some of you may recognize from last years Hobo-Thon. Seth cursed under his breath. His drastic efforts to purge the house of any and all liquor had failed; there on the table sat a tall bottle of Black Velvet…. And his wife, he noticed, was gazing at it like Gandhi at a buffet. But he didn’t dare remove the bottle, or do anything to upset Vargas. Seth’s last encounter with him had left him with two new scars and half his hair singed off. Painful memories, to say the least.