Lorelei – My Daughter – Happy Valentine’s Day

What can I say on Valentine’s Day to my daughter?

First on and foremost lets see what Valentines day really is.

I created the link so I don’t have to deal with it.

There will be flowers, chocolate and missing my girlfriend this year.

What are you all up to?

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Valentine%27s_Day

 

Valentine’s day is here and my girlfriend is in Japan with her family so I have no one to celebrate the stupid created money grab holiday with.

So who do I love?

Of course! It’s so easy. My daughter, Lorelei!

So I’ll just write to her today.

 

Happy Valentine’s Day to you, love.

You are the light of my life, and even though you rose from a broken marriage, we both loved you so much.

I can’t speak for your mom but I love you more that I love myself, and I know she does too.

As crazy and difficult anything has been between your mom and me, we both love you and would give our lives to protect you in this world.

 

I forgive your mom for everything, and I hope she is smiling right now.

 

Life is way too short to be bitter about anything.

 

I’m so happy that you and Brad have been in a relationship for over 4 years now! (We love him! He gets to come to Christmas every year at Janice’s house!)

You have worked from the day you graduated high school, and been so consistent in everything you’ve pursued.

You’ve been in the same job for the last two years and have outlasted most of your coworkers, and you’ve been promoted.

 

I’m so proud of you my only daughter.

 

You’ve been in the arts since you were 4 years old. Singing, choir, acting, drama, shows, and plays non-stop. Theater Camp, and then high school plays, non-stop.

You came to me at 18 to escape the clutches of your mom and flourished here in Philly.

I love that, because we both made great decisions to come to this city for retribution and rebirth. Me in 2007, and you in 2015. Our family is from here and we belong here.

 

You and I had a great conversation tonight about how you have been making music again in your life.

Lor, you are a brilliant singer, but as an artist myself I knew I could never push you when you arrived here in Philly at 18.

Artists can never be controlled.

As much as a parent I wanted to encourage your talent I knew I was powerless, so I did nothing. The talent either thrives or perishes.

There is no middle ground when it comes to art.

 

Lorelei, you healed and flourished here in Philly.

I started to see your art return to you slowly. (That’s how it always occurs)

 

Long story short, you have now connected with a guitarist and you are going to start playing paid gigs at a bar here in Philly. You are very much in control of the set list and the guitarist is on board, so this is really happening.

I couldn’t be happier.

 

I’m a big fan of: “If you’ve got the gift, use it”

 

But it’s happening and I’m so excited! The former musician’s daughter that is far more talented than him is now going forth with her art.

You guys even have a venue and will be getting paid, which puts them light years ahead of anything I was doing back in 1979!

I’m so proud of my daughter and will invite everyone I to her first show…. I know it will be amazing.

 

Umm…. I’m going to write these last words just so they’re on the internet forever for her from me….

 

Happy Valentine’s Day, my love!

 

My beautiful bird….

 

Go forth and sing.

I have wished for this day for so long, and now it’s here.

This moment in your life is so important.

Now you strike.

Daughter, it is your time to fly high, but not to close to the sun.

Protect your wings.

Life is fleeting and fragile.

Enjoy yourself.

 

Your Dad will always be here for you as long as I can stand.

 

As i get older I’ve learned that life is always moving fast.

 

In a short amount of time…

 

This will all seem like a long time ago.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

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Cherie – Chapter 42 – Cheer Me Up

“How was your night with Cherie?”

Me: “She rode me like a stolen bicycle.”

Last weekend Cherie came down and we went to the movies. It was great. We had finally carved out a little time to go on a real date again. I loved it and so did she.

But this weekend Cherie is coming for something else. That thing that she needs so very much. I need to prepare for this event. Fresh sheets, towels, air freshener, candles, and soft music.

She rolls into town around 7:30pm. Scores parking down at 19th and South, and is walking towards my place. I pop down to meet her and think I’ll see her halfway, but she’s right outside of my walk up when I reach the ground floor.

I’m very happy to see her and as usual she looks beautiful and sexy. I notice she’s wearing the black shirt with the criss cross pieces of fabric across the front. (See: Cherie – Chapter 4 – Ribbons) Of course you can’t wear a bra with that top, so her ample bosom is well in sight.

She enters the bedroom. The air conditioning is on so it’s nice and cool on this July afternoon in Philly. She drops her bag at the foot of the bed and sits. We normally do this. Just sit and chat and catch up on what’s been happening in each others lives. This goes on for a bit and then the serenity in my room starts to kick in. She realizes that for the next twelve hours, there will be no children to deal with, no patients, no studying, no stress.

Just the unadulterated relentless pursuit of sexual pleasure. The pursuit is my favorite part. The beginnings. Gathering the kindling. Getting the spark, and then watching the fire in her loins explode before me.

But I can’t just run at her with a torch and a can of gas. It must start slowly. Slowly relieving her of her clothes. Tender kisses everywhere on her firm lean body. Like soft clay in my hands she yields to my every touch.

But tonight’s different. after our conversations and re-connection, she tells me she has to use the restroom. She grabs her bag and heads in. I walk to my desk and adjust the volume of the music on Pandora. The Music for Lovers mix. So cheesy but we like it.

I get a text.

It’s from Cherie.

“Your adopted daughter Jasmine is coming home soon and wants to see her daddy.”

 

Here we go…

 

Cherie comes out of the bathroom wearing a full high school cheerleader uniform. She looks hot as shit. It’s red and white and looks like the real deal. I love this role play stuff she pulls on me. It’s always unexpected and men hate surprises but if your twenty something shows up in a cheerleader outfit and wants to play, I doubt any man would turn this down.

I’m sitting at my desk and she comes over to me and it’s on. Here we go. She comes over to me and plays the precocious daughter role. She says that mom yelled at her because she wanted to go to the mall and get some stuff and it seems like mom has been really mean lately.

Jasmine loves her dad and knows that mom hasn’t been taking care of daddy and she’s sad about that.

This is classic role play and Cherie has clearly worked it all it out in that pretty head of hers. She comes over to me at the desk and looks exactly like a cheerleader. She’s upset with mom. I am trying to be careful here I don’t want to cross over into sex blog from dating blog. But this is very exciting and mind-blowing

She rubs her lovely brown firm thigh against  mine and tells me she wants things at the mall, and I tell her no.

She says she’s been thinking about her daddy and that she’ll so anything to make me feel better.

I’m doing my best to be a good actor but I absolutely love Cherie’s performance. She’s planned this and has a story line. She’s begging to help me and knows I desire my adoptive African American daughter and how its ok because she loves her daddy and how my wife is a bitch and sucks. (not a stretch for me in regard to my ex-wife)  I’m sitting at my desk in my underwear and my adopted daughter Jasmine is pushing on me and I’m putting my hands on her and as I run my hand up her thighs I feel that she is not wearing any panties.

She pushes my hand towards the moist junction between her legs. Then she pulls off my shorts and attacks me.

 

I’m going out of my mind.

 

I was happy to go to the movies with Cherie last week, and now my love has become a 16 year old cheerleader hell-bent on giving me oral.

I resist but of course I have to play it out. How lucky am I? I scan my mind of the laundry list of people I know and what is happening to me right now. Blessed.

Jasmine pleases her daddy. My god it’s so dirty.

Jasmine wants to know how a man pleases a woman.

How do I describe this other than a cheerleader skirt hiked up around firm hips and a rasping pervert between her thighs playing her lady parts like a symphony.

She mounts me and all I see is Jasmine in her uniform. This is a classic fantasy come true. Blow up the outside world. It’s actually feeding into an old fetish of mine. Jasmine is here and ready to go and be accessible to whatever I want.  Jasmine says she’ll do anything I want. She’s just a younger Cherie that wants to please me. She’s so willing. She is exquisite in her role and plays it perfectly.

This is a new role play for Cherie. If you’ve been following this series, you’ll remember her first character was Riley Carter the bad little school girl. That was mind-blowing. Totally different role. (See: Cherie – 2016 to Present – After School)

Cherie stays in character until we mutually decide to stop.

I know this is a dating blog, but making love to Cherie is amazing. It’s like Christmas morning when you’re a child. It’s on that level of excitement and celebration. Cherie is the most in tune with her mind and body than any woman I’ve ever been with. I think black women in general don’t have all the bullshit in their heads that many other women have. They know what they want and they know it feels good, so if they can get a lot of it, so be it.

She’s the most orgasmic woman I’ve ever met. It’s like a dozen times in one session. Can you imagine if men could do that? Cherie is astonishingly orgasmic. She needs a man with stamina that can go for a long time so that she can enjoy all of these multiple orgasms that she has. I assure you that phicklephilly can deliver the goods.

Which would dismiss the sexual chemistry thing where Ambria couldn’t get her train to the station. That had nothing to do with me. (See: Ambria – Atlantic City) I also know for a fact that Michelle’s inability to orgasm with a man was partly in her head and from over self stimulation. (If you get what I mean) (See: Michelle – A Brand New Day)

I’ve never seen anything like Cherie. She has all of these little ones and then has like a massive climax near the end of the act. Like a grand finally! Then there are lots of encores later that night and the next morning. I’m usually tired the next day after a twelve-hour visit from my sexy little vixen.

 

I feel like Cherie is more beautiful and precious than ever to me now.

 

Unfortunately she has to be up and out at 7:30 tomorrow morning. She’s only parked two blocks away so she gets up, showers and hits the road. For me it’s same thing, then back to the salon for the Sunday shift.

That night my buddy Church called me: “How was your night with Cherie?”

Me: “I rode her like a stolen bicycle.”

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

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Phicklephilly – Tinder Moments

Here’s another batch of interesting characters I found in the online dating community!

 

Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

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Wildwood Daze – 1980 – I’ve Had It With This Town

I love the summer. I’ve been dropped here against my will by some other person. My father. I have no control over my life. I have to go to school at a new school as a stranger. I know you have a problem with my dissatisfaction and depression.

I excel in school and start a band. I thrive in this shit hole you’ve dropped me off with no concept of how that will break your son’s spirit.

Janice is off in college so you’re good. If anything is of kilter your going to lose your shit and that is me.

What did you think was going to happen?

Let’s rip the 17-year-old son from all of his friends and his band from Philly and drop him off in Wildwood, New Jersey. A retirement and resort town the you already know is a deathtrap for young people.

You dropped out of high school to get away from this hell hole. You joined the army rather than turn to crime at 17. You fucking asshole that I love.

I get it. I worked in banking just like you for 30 years. You were making a bunch of bad loans at the Provident in Philly and got out when the getting was good.

You retreated to NJ. your little safe haven to escape, but you never thought of what that would do to the children in your life.

The little ones were fine. April and Gabby didnt;t know any better. But I was a senior in high school. I never got to graduate with my friends at Frankford in Philly. I had a band. You destroyed that for your little escape plan.

But what was that. You replicated your life in NJ as the regional manager at First Fidelity Bank. You’re a great manager and a great man. But you really have a taste for some of your employees, man.

I remember telling you about a girl I met once how I was in a relationship and I told you about how I had feelings for her.

You said, “Why don’t you just move on her”

I said: “Because that would be wrong. I’d be cheating on my girlfriend and that would betray her trust in me.”

You were pleased and happy with my answer.

I knew it.. because you could never be that. I could see it in your eyes you were relived that I wasn’t like you in that respect.

That respect.

Bitch, please.

If you’re unhappy in your liffe, divorce mom and just send the check and leave us the fuck alone. Then you can bag Jennifer Sweeten or as you call her “sweet meat” all you want until her husband finds out.

You’ll figure it out.

 

You and your brother Jack were dropped off here after your parents divorced. Nobody got divorced back then.

Why the hell would you think it was a good idea to drop me off in this shit hole?

Wildwood is a glistening sand castle of magical fun and romance in the summer… and then it turns into a bleak shroud of dark depression where there is nothing going on in the winter. It is a desolate hole of isolation that is impossible for a teenager to escape.

Here I am. I know you and there is a part of you that is me. Some great. Some awful. But you have the chore of raising the shitty you and now the shitty son you don’t understand who is too much like your brother Jack.

So if there were any questions as to why Chaz wanted to load up the ’69 Volkswagen minibus and drive across the country to go live in sunny California let’s put all of that to rest right now.

I love you, you selfish, self-serving prick.

I really do.

Thank you for teaching me to read. Thank you for all of the books. Thank you for your honesty. Thank you for teaching me to ride a bike. Thank you for teaching me how to catch a fish. Thank you for teaching me to drive a car. Thank you for teaching me about wine, art, and literature and film. Thank you for teaching me about women. (To an extent) Thank you for everything.

I’m not going to mention all of the bad stuff here.

All ready did some of that.

 

Time to load of the 69 VW minibus and head to California.

 

Thank you for reading my blog. Please read, like, comment, and most of all follow Phicklephilly. I publish every day.

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6 Urban Legends That Actually Came True

I thought this was interesting so I thought I’d share.

Enjoy!

http://www.cracked.com/article_25219_6-horrifying-urban-legends-that-actually-came-true.html

 

Another Life – Chapter 3

We took them to a movie – Dutch treat. I didn’t catch much of the film: Sam kept leaning over to whisper in my ear. “Who is that?” she’d ask. Or, “Why is he doing that?”

She had a hundred questions. Some of them were truly stupid. I think she genuinely had trouble following the plot. Or maybe she thought she had missed something important.

But it didn’t escape my notice that every time she had a question, she leaned over, rested her hand on my arm, and put her lips next to my ear. Once I even felt the pressure of her boob on my shoulder. Sam wasn’t skinny everywhere. Tanya kept shushing her. Sam tried to justify herself. I had to promise to explain the movie to her afterwards.

We went for ice cream (Marty’s idea). I kept my word, and summarized the film’s plot for Sam. It turned out that she really did think that she had missed a key scene, near the beginning. After that, she felt like she was struggling to catch up. Tanya rolled her eyes so energetically, I was afraid she was going to hurt herself.

I wasn’t sure that I believed Sam – not entirely. But while I was explaining the movie, I discovered a few things. For one, if I was doing the talking, that shut off most of Sam’s inane chatter. She listened attentively, with a big smile, her eyes never leaving my face.

It’s flattering, for an 18-year old guy, to have a girl focus on him like that – no matter how dumb she might be.

Besides, I had no problem looking at Sam. When she wasn’t saying something stupid, she was actually quite pretty: long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a cute face. In fact, if she wasn’t talking or giggling, Sam was downright attractive.

She had narrow hips, and not much of an ass, but she was far from flat-chested. Then she giggled, and put her hand on mine. “You’re so smart!” she said.

It was like throwing a bucket of water on me. I immediately remembered where I was, and who I was with. I wasn’t immune to flattery, but …

– “I think she likes you.” said Marty, after we had dropped them off.

– “Great deduction, Sherlock.” I said, with a snort. “Lucky me.”

– “Come on, Joe – it’s not so bad, is it?”

It wasn’t. That’s why I agreed to go a party with Marty and the two older sisters a few weeks later. Tanya was there when we picked them up, and from the expression on her face, she wasn’t too happy to be excluded.

– “Don’t be late!” she said.

Marty drove. I picked up a case of beer. Caroline sat quietly; she didn’t say much at the best of times. Her older sister made up for it, with a non-stop flow of questions: who was hosting, would they know anyone there, could she have a beer – or two …?

The host was a friend of Marty’s, a guy from our high school named Jim. He had a cute sister, who had been a grade behind us. But if I had had any plans to check her out, those were immediately torpedoed.

Sam attached herself to me like a barnacle. She kept one hand on my arm at all times, as if she was afraid to lose contact. I couldn’t entirely blame her: she didn’t know a soul at the party. It didn’t stop her from asking questions about every single person there, though.

Did I know him? Did I know her? Had I dated her? Would I date her? Did I think she (another girl) was pretty? Could she (Sam) have another beer? Half of her questions I couldn’t even hear, because the music in Jim’s basement was on so loud. They were playing the Cars album – I’d heard it too often on the radio.

I steered Sam up the stairs, and into the backyard. It was a nice autumn night, with a clear sky. We sat down on a bench. To keep Sam from talking, I told her a long story, about how Marty and I had met, and become friends.

– “He likes Caroline.” she said, with a giggle.

– “Yeah, he does.” I agreed. “Does she like him?”

– “I dunno.” she said, with a shrug. Well, that made sense. I doubt that either of her sisters ever confided in her. Telling Sam a secret would be the equivalent of putting it on a billboard.

At that point, Jim came out into the backyard with a buddy of his. Introductions were made, and Jim said “Hope we’re not interrupting.”

– “Not at all.” I assured him. I didn’t want Sam to start chattering, so I asked Jim what he’d been up to since graduation.

– “Working with my Dad, mostly. Learning the ropes. Have to get started, if I’m going to take over the business some day.”

– “What kind of business?” asked Sam. I held my breath when she started to talk, but to my relief, it wasn’t a stupid question at all.

– “Men’s clothing.” said Jim.

– “Is it hard work?” she asked. I had to turn, and look at Sam. She worked in a major department store – in the women’s clothing department!

Jim started explaining the trials and tribulations of selling suits to ignorant customers, or cheap customers, and working with temperamental tailors.

– “And then you have to deal with the Jews …”

My eyebrows rose.

– “I’m Jewish.” I said.

Jim stopped dead. Then he started backtracking. “I was just … umm … I didn’t mean …”

I didn’t say anything. I just let him squirm. His buddy looked embarrassed. Finally Jim remembered that he needed to refresh his drink, and went inside.

– “I didn’t know you were Jewish.” said Sam.

– “I’m not.”

Jim’s buddy grinned. “Nice one.” he said. “Have to remember that.” Then he excused himself, and left us alone.

– “I don’t get it.” said Sam. “Why did you say you’re Jewish when you’re not? Was it just to make him stop? Oh … that’s it, isn’t it?”

I told Sam another story. “There was a kid in Grade 4 who got picked on, just because he was dark and had kinky hair. I didn’t stand up for him, then – but I knew I should’ve.”

“My uncle Ray lives with a woman from Guyana. Nice lady. My stepmother calls her names, makes fun of her. I call her on it. I can’t stand that shit. One more reason we don’t get along so well.”

Then I remembered something. “Sam, you work in clothing.”

– “Yeah. In a department store.”

– “Why did you ask Jim if it’s hard work? If anyone would know, you would.”

– “I know.” she said. “But … I didn’t want to start talking about my job. It’s not very important. Besides – I can tell … you don’t like it when I talk too much.”

“I know I’m not very bright.” she continued. “I say – and do – silly things. My sisters tell me, all the time.”

– “What about at work?” I asked.

– “I’m fine at work. I know what I’m doing. And if I have a problem, or a question, I can just ask Mrs. Maguire – my supervisor.”

This came as a revelation to me. Sam was … well, pretty dumb. But she knew it. In my limited experience, most stupid people have absolutely no idea just how ignorant they really are. On the contrary, many of them actually believe that they’re smart.

“I just … I guess I try too hard, sometimes.” said Sam. “I just want people to like me.”

– “I like you, Sam.” I said. At that moment, it was no more than the truth.

– “Really?”

– “Really.”

– “That’s nice.” she said, with a smile that didn’t look goofy at all. “You know, I was really impressed – what you said to that guy.”

– “Let’s get you another beer.” I suggested.

 

https://lapetitemort17.wordpress.com/?p=369

 

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Wildwood Daze – Summer of 1980 – Morey’s Pier

That photo above is of me rocking out on Morey’s Pier. You can see in the background my ex-girlfriend Lola wearing a shirt that reads: And on the eighth day God created Union Jacks.

Somehow we got a gig playing on Morey’s Pier. That’s the best amusement pier in Wildwood, New Jersey.

I remember the morning of the gig the band converged on the boardwalk with all of our gear.

We set up our stage in front of one of the amusement rides and went to Sam’s Pizza to get something to eat.

Back then I had terrible anxiety and it was hard for me to imagine eating before a gig, or anything for that matter.

I got a slice and a coke and laughed it up with the boys in the band.

This was going to be a watershed moment in our bands short history.

We went under the boardwalk to get ready and have a chat before the show.

I stayed behind telling the guys I’d be right up and ready to play after I took a piss.

I stood in the soft sand under the best amusement pier on the island. This was going to an amazing show. It was still early and the sea air was sweet and it was cool in the shadows beneath the pier.

I proceeded to throw up because I was so afraid.

I pulled myself together after several minutes and headed up the ramp to the sunny pier.

People were starting to fill the pier.

We needed to go on. The day was beginning.

I pulled my Ibanez Iceman from its case and put her on.

I never felt like I was anything until I put that guitar on.

I plug into my Marshall and we all tune up. I have to tune Mark the bass player’s bass because he’s tone-deaf. Can you imagine that? A kid whose parents are wealthy enough to pay for their music loving son great equipment who wants to be in a band and doesn’t have the physical chops to actually e a musician.

I need to get the fuck out of this band.

I love Jim, and he is a good musician and all but he’s into Lynyrd Skynrd and Clapton. I want to play music like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden. I no longer feel like I belong in this band anymore.

We blaze through our set and it’s a beautiful day. I’m surrounded by pretty girls (There they are in front of me!) and doing the one thing I love the most in the world. It’s the beginning of the summer and I couldn’t be happier.

When you have anxiety and get sick, you’re not really ill. You’re just frightened. You vomit because you’re so terrified to have to do the impending deed, you become physically ill. But once you vomit, you actually feel better because you know you can’t puke onstage now. (Pat Benetar and Barbra Streisand have the very same thing)

The show was great and we killed it. I had my Marshall amp on 6 and the show was loud. The crowd loved our set. My mother later told me that she was sitting on the porch of our house at 8th street and could hear me playing the opening riff to the song “Satisfaction” .

Let’s do the math here. That’s 18 blocks away. My mom heard my Marshal roaring from 18 blocks away. That’s some loud rock n’ roll man!

It was an amazing show and everybody loved us and I was pelted with phone numbers as usual.

 

But it would be bittersweet.

 

That was our final show as a band. The summer was upon us and we all worked our jobs during the busy season. During that time Mark had lost all the weight and fell in love with the band The Cure. The eighties were rapidly approaching and Mark wanted a change.

He told us that we could no longer practice at his families restaurant and he was quitting the band.

He wanted to pursue the new wave music that was coming at the turn of the decade. I got it. He was always a weak member but I liked the guy. But without a place to practice, the band fell apart.

I remember my father seeing this picture of me and my best friend Jim and saying :”What are these guys on?” 

We never took drugs and rarely drank even beer. I love this pic. Jim and i shared a passion for music, depression, isolation and a love of playing rock and roll.

I hardly talk to him now but know if I showed up at his house we’d be right back where we were as teenagers and have a laugh, a drink and a meal.

He’s a gifted hard-working artist and I will never forget him.

To me it looks like a pic of a couple of good-looking young rock stars.

And I’ll tell you this… I  get my energy from people. I don’t need coffee or cigarettes anymore. When I played on stage with Jim, I got my energy from him.

I would look to my left and he was always there. My best friend. I knew we were in sync as musicians because we were such good friends.

Thank you, Jim. I love you.

 

The Union Jacks were a defining moment in my music career and I will never forget the time I had with these guys making music and trying to figure out our lives a long time ago.

 

Once we all realized the band was dead we all needed to figure out what we were going to do.

Jim, was going to be a sophomore in Wildwood School. (He later married an older woman whose dad was a doctor and he started an Art Institute in the Poconos that still thrives today. Jim is an artist and entrepreneur.

Mark was going to become Robert Smith in the Cure. (He later was in a band called The Flesh Lords that were an absolute piece of shit)

I never found out what happened out what happened to Brian. I later found out he was gay and hopefully he is happy doing whatever he’s doing. What a spectacular drummer and singer!

 

Me? Graduated high school and no longer in a band. My father said “You’re either going in the military of getting a job.”

Really dude?

You rip me from my life in Philly and my band and drop me off here because of your fucking life?  So Janice can go to college and fuck my life because I’m a shitty student and I don’t matter?

I’m getting second honors at Wildwood High you cunt. I’m an art major and people love my work. You can’t crush this artist. I’m out of here.

Why would you drop me off in the hell you came from your childhood? the resort town you were forced to live in because your parents got divorced when nobody did that?

You asshole.

I love you for all that you’ve done but you’re still an asshole.

 

Fuck this.

Fuck you.

 

I know I’m not good enough and a disappointment and a sad dark refection of you. (I know you’ve told me who you are… almost proudly)

You can’t make a good son because he’ll be too much like you.

Don’t worry I know you. You’ll never admit that. You have three great daughters to justify your existence.

Whats one son?

You always have your grandson for a do over.

See ya.

 

“I’m going to California to play rock.”

 

 

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