Whoa. Hey. Forgot you were there, blog.

It's been a while.

Have this cover of a thing!

I wrote a song earlier this week.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=kVwWHMF-rL0

Getting nearer...

http://flaminglog.wordpress.com/2012/01/15/almost-there/

Jerome

It was a typical Thursday night for Jerome. The bar had just closed, and in his drunken state, he had to haul his stumbling body home. However, he had no idea what time it was. “Sorry Jerome. You have to leave.”

“I ha… have to… But we’re buddies, man…”

“Look, you can barely stand up. You’re done for the night. Now go home. And sober up. It isn’t even the weekend yet and you’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Oh… It’s not Friday?”

“No, it’s Thursday. And you’ve got work in 8 hours, according to your story earlier. Come on… Get up.” The bartender said, trying to push Jerome out the door.

“Oh my gah… I have an expense report to finish…”

“Yes. Yes, you do. Now get out of my store. I want to go home too, you know.”

“Oh-… Okay.” Jerome stumbled out of the front door and out into the chilly November evening. He lived two blocks away. Hardly an unwalkable distance, but when you’re drunk, every step takes herculean effort.

“Hey man, you look like you could use something to liven you up.” said a shady looking man, stepping from the shadows of a nearby alley. “I’ll cut you a nice deal. A gram of the good stuff for $50. Take it or leave it.”

“N… no.” Slurred Jerome, waving a hand in the general direction of the man. “I have expendits to report about. You go on now and leave me be!”

“Jeez, man. No need to be so hostile.” The man retreated sharply.

Jerome had one and a half blocks to go. A stray dog began following him, nudging at his knees to try to get him to pay attention to it.

“Good doggy… You go home now, I don… don’t have time for you.”

The dog whined loudly and redoubled its efforts.

“No… I don’t have food. Go away.” He flung a hand in the general direction of the dog. The dog bit his hand.

“Ow! Fuck you, dog!” He aimed a sloppy kick at the dog, which turned into an accidental stomp on the dog’s foot.

The dog yelped in pain and retreated.

“Yeah, that’s what ya fucking get, you stupid dog.”

He then bumped into the chest of a large black man wearing a wife beater. The man’s head was roughly twice the width of Jerome’s.

“What, you got a problem with my dog?” The man said.

“Wha-woah-wait. I thought that was a stray dog…”

“It was. But a dog’s a dog, dog, and I don’t appreciate dogs like you kicking dogs like that, you dig, dog?”

“… What’d you say?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” The black man then whooped Jerome across the face with a fat fist the size of Jerome’s head.. Jerome flew back a few feet.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know that was your dog!”

“Damn right, you’re sorry.” The large man then spat on Jerome and continued on his way.

Jerome had 1 block to go, after he crossed the next road.

He looked both ways before crossing, holding his head as he did so. He then heard a siren blare to his left. He looked, and there, less than one foot from him, was a police car. The policeman inside opened the door and stepped out. He walked up to Jerome and held a flashlight up to his eyes. Jerome shielded his eyes, as the flashlight was the brightest thing he had come across in 7 hours.

“You jaywalking, son?”

“What? No, I was on the crosswalk, right here.” Jerome pointed downward, and found that he was standing 6 inches to the left of the crosswalk. “But that’s only like half a foot!”

“Sorry, son, but the law’s the law. And you just broke it. You’re either on the crosswalk, within the law, or off it, outside the protection of the law. I’m gonna have to write you a ticket.”

“You’re fugging kidding me. I… just wand to go home and so far I’ve been bidden, beaten, and some guy offered me crack. Jus’ a block from here! There’s a… a drug dealer less than a block away and you’re writing me a ticket for jaywalkin’ by 6 inches! Do you have any idea how retarded that is?”

“Hey, asshole. My son’s retarded so I don’t take kindly to that sort of language. If you hadn’t said that, I might have let you off the hook if you showed me where the drug dealer was. But you know what? Now I’m going to write you a ticket for being drunk in public.”

“I was just walking home! From the bar, right next to the crack dealer!”

“Hey, good idea. I’ll write you up for verbally assaulting a police officer while I’m at it.”

“Fuck this. I don’t need this.” Jerome turned to walk away.

“You sure you want to do that, son?”

“I live like less than a block away. Just leave the tickets on my doorstep or something.”

He wrote out one last ticket with a smile on his face. “… Resisting… Arrest. There. Done. Here you are, kid. Stay out of trouble and hopefully the next time we see each other it’ll be under different circumstances.”

Jerome took the tickets from the officer’s outstretched hand and flipped through them. “Un-fucking-believable. This is like $500 in tickets for walking home from a bar.”

“Hey. Did you hear me? Go away before I find something else to give you a ticket for.”

“Oh.” Jerome stumbled the rest of the way to his apartment. He opened the front door of the building and fumbled his way up the steps. He took his keys out of his pocket, promptly dropped them, picked them up again, and undid the lock of his 1-bedroom apartment.

Only to find his girlfriend sitting at the dining room table just in front of the door.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…”

“That’s how you greet me? Really? That’s how you greet me after you forget our anniversary?”

“Oh… honey, I-“

“No. Just shut up. I’ve had it with you never spending any time with me, always showing up drunk, waking me up in the middle of the night, and just generally being an asshole to me. I don’t need this!” She choked out, on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry… Baby… Just come here…”

“Are those fucking police tickets!? No. Fuck you. I’m leaving! I’m going back to Maine to live with my parents!”

“You’re making a mistake, baby! No one can do the things I do for you!”

“Yeah. Right. What can’t they do? Try to fuck me with a 4-inch, limp, gross penis? Afford a one bedroom apartment? Show up past midnight with a bunch of police tickets? Drunk? Forget my anniversary? Yeah. You’re right. No one else can do that. No one else is as much of a fuck-up as you are!”

“Just give me one more chance! I can change!”

“No. No more chances. I’m through with this. I already packed my shit. I’m LEAVING.”

She stormed past him, knocking heavily into his shoulder with tears running down her face. Down the stairs, out the front door, and into the cold November night.

Jerome slumped into a chair in the Dining room and sighed to himself.

“I fucking HATE Thursdays.”

So today I got locked in at work and then 5 minutes later I was locked out.

I finished returning items customers decided they didn't want, so then I went to go outside to round up the carts from the parking lot, but WTF the door was locked. So then I went to the other two doors, and they were locked too. So I found my manager and he unlocked one of the doors, and I went outside and started gathering the shopping carts. When I came back, the doors were locked again.

Luckily, I had my phone, so I whipped it out and called the store's number. My friend Dan picked up on the other end.

"Hello, Cromwell XPect?"

"Hey, It's Anthony. I'm locked out."

"Haha, what? I'll be right over to let you in."

So he walked over to the door from the customer service desk (We'd been closed for 20 minutes at this point.) And he started patting his pockets. Then he looked over with a sheepish expression and said "Uh... I don't have the keys. Let me get Kirk."

Kirk is the manager who unlocked the door at first to let me outside.

So, all told, I spent 15 minutes outside waiting to be let in.

Did I mention I was getting paid that whole time? :3

Working on a story with my friend Julie.

It's about a quirky girl named Harriet and her dog, Kipper, and the adventures they get into.

Oh. And Harriet's a serial killer and her dog ends up becoming a zombie that tries to kill her.

Thought I should mention that.

Also, here's a Digchoke.