ricky rabbit hates me.

i bought his cdr and it's all scratched the fuck up. he probably has lots of them. stacks of golden cdrs, all glossy and perfect. but he fucked mine up. ethan got my order and was at first really happy to have anyone order anything from the label, but then decided i was just some shit stain trying to be something that ain't. so he talked to ricky and asked him what he should do about the poser ordering the only ricky rabbit (strictly ricky), i mean he can't be a lover, he's in the midwest for shit's sake.

vulture's fist is the size of my face. and his brains are the size of my ego. he doesn't hate me, but he pities me. he used to show my his collection of dead beetles, but ricky talked to him the other day and now he won't talk to me.

ricky told the grocer that i beat my dog. i don't, but it's pretty effective dirt. everyone thinks i'm the lowest kind of trash. because ricky rabbit hates me.

he got the order from ethan. he pulled a bag from the stacks, with the art on it, pressed flat as flat. almost automatic he grabbed one of the strictly discs from the stacks. glossy and perfect. not right for midwestern jackoffs who think they know ricky. he spit on the floor and dropped the plastic on the spot. with his boot he scuffed twice and added a twist. picked up the cdr and wiped it on his pantleg, shoved it in the bag, and didn't smile.

maybe i'll go crazy and kill something. maybe it'll push me straight over the fucking edge. i'll slice my belly in a field and become food for animals.