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Sweetheart

By T.G. Clown's Friend, Portia

I went to the mall with my dear deranged and squandered friends, Selene and Nancy. We desperately needed clothes so we had to shop at G+G, since we only had about 5 bucks in our pockets. Well that's nothing new. After stealing bras and underwear from the fuckin' snotty, breast implant, sex craving, six foot model posters, we make your tits look big and beautiful, he'll fuck you if he sees you in Victoria's Secret (with a help of their darling employees Elizabeth and Sadie), we went into Spencers. Nancy bought a condom for a whale of a man. I bought a fart fan for my sweetheart Chewy (a.k.a. Milky and Handsome). Then we decided to go get coffee from McDonalds, which was our usual breakfast.

After sitting on our lazy asses for two fuckin' minutes, Selene, Nancy, and I went to the public bathroom. We washed our hair from the tiny sink and dried it with the hand dryer. Washing is the hardest and the most difficult thing for us to do, since we live in a squat with about thirty people and fifty stray cats.

Selene felt hungry so we walked outside to get the cheapest food. But on our way to restaurant a fuckin' annoying anti-scum of society, anti-loser whatever-the-fuck-he-is, came up to us and said, "You guys are the scum of society!!! You don't have to sell your body tonight!!!"

"Fuck you! Get the hell out of our face, Sandis! You mother fucker!" Selene yelled.

"Scum of society! @#$%^&*!!!" Sandis senselessly uttered and fled. Such a fuckin' pathetic loser. Nature's tragedy. I am convinced that Sandis is crazy. He is totally out of his mind, if he has any. He does stupid things like wrapping money with wrapping paper as Christmas gifts and when people open them, they rip the freakin' money. Well, who am I to say.

We went into the great restaurant where Chewy works. He was cleaning the tabletops wearing his purple "wife beating tank top" (as they call it). My dear sweetheart, they think that he is a "nine to five working wife beating bastard!" But Chewy is my dear honey. We sat down.

"What's the special?" Selene asked Chewy.
"Burgers," Chewy answered.
"How much?"
"Five dollars," he replied.
"That's too damn expensive," Nancy screamed, "I thought it was the special!"
"Sorry, it's a restaurant," Chewy replied with his usual cold hands.
"We should have went to McDonalds," Selene said. But we were tired of McDonalds. Eating rat hair is not that good.
"What's the cheapest?" I asked him with my usual denseness and blankness.
"Soup is $1.75," replied Chewy with a strain on his tanned forehead.
We ended up buying one Minestrone soup. We each paid fifty cents and left.
Then Chewy ran after us, "You guys owe us a quarter!" he yelled, "Come back! You owe us!"

Can't believe he did this. We don't have any money. We're starving, thin and tired. We got nothing going for us. All we do is drink coffee, write zines, and go to some gigs in a fuckin' leaking bar that only has one fuckin' toilet. I can't believe Chewy embarrassed us like that. He acted like as if he doesn't live in a fuckin' smelly, disease filled, fungus growing, shit floating squat like us. He's no better than us.

By the way he's a hick. His dad's name is Bo. His dead horse's name is Chucky, his dog's name is Whisper, and his cat's name is Meow.

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