My Addiction / Da Boy Jus Can't Hep It
That Final Drink
That Last Blast
Never Again.
For sure The Man Ain't Playin
Just Like That
Poof
No Turning Back.
Then It Happens.
The pull starts with the desert breeze.
The west side casting shadows over the cactus laden mountain perimeter.
Twilight starts to pull her Translucent Black Vail over the hill tops.
The cacophony of wild birds calls out to it's own broadcasting nights oncoming final curtain call.
The desert starts her degree dropping rapid temp changes in a brisky brisk rate.
109 Farenhieght turns her hot self down dropping 4 degrees every 5 minutes until the days oven blast turns to a livable twilight.
The Old Man looks out into the cool cloak desert.
His thoughts start to the beat of an Argentina Tango.
But He holds true to his convictions.
The addiction screams Her Jealous Rage.
Not today.
Not ever again.
But oh the fuck no.
Natures graceful onslaught plays to his thoughts regarding all previous events.
The battle is on.
But who really gives a shit.
In the entire scheme of things.
It really doesn't matter.
But oh the fuck no.
Just won't let go.
The World sinks her ever so sharp talons beyond all conceivable depth.
Piercing his ancient flesh.
Hellllllllllllll Nooo.
Not gonna happen.
Yet Additions Seductress ways lights him up soul deep.
Not gonna happen.
And the desert nights Yak harpoons the Old Mans Senses.
He Just Can't Hep It.
The early evening desert cool down graces his old worn body with Her Heavenly Breath.
He reaches for the familiar pen in his pocket.
Out comes the paper tab.
He Jus Can't Hep It.
"What Woman? Whose This Woman"?
"I'm gettin another beer. Wanna nother beer Bobby"?
"Sure Ryan".
"Zoie. Wanna nother beer"?
"Yes Ryan".
Ryan walks towards the fridge.
"Who is this woman Ryan? Is she from Flag"?
Ryan blows off all inquires coming from Zoie's direction.
"Here Ya go Bobby. Here Ya go Zoie".
"Ryan. I've never seen you drink before".
"Yeah. This is the one time out of three, maybe four times a year".
"Oh O.K. What Woman. Ryan"?
"Bobby. Turn back to that ball game", as Ryan totally blows off The Real One and The Only True Love of His Life.
As for Zoie.
She has that;
"I will Knock You Out. On Da Ground".
Look On Her Face.
It's going on 23:14 or for my single lingual readers, 11:14 p.m.
Zoie, Bobby and Ryan are all hanging in Bobby's crib.
Iggy Da Dog and Zoie were walking, taking their final walk of this now passing 24.
Bobby's Studio is located on the back side of the large parking lot facing out onto the street.
On Zoie and Iggy's return Bobby called out to Zoie to come on by.
Zoie walks in the already opened door, then quickly harnesses Iggy's long leash on the inside front door knob.
Except for back lite peeking out of the dressing area and bathroom, the crib is somewhat dark.
The large T.V. set in the Mahogany Amour, sound set low as a Spy movie plays to a seemingly empty room.
In front of the T.V. is a relaxing front room chair.
On the right of the chair is a coffee table then another matching relaxing front room chair on the right side of the coffee table.
Next to that chair was the bed.
As Zoie, non chalant as could be, moves with the fine tune of a well practiced martial artist, She side glances Ryan in less than a lickety glare.
Oh Yeah.
It's On.
Batter Up.
The Wind Up.
The Pitch On The Way.
Fast Ball Slider.
103 MPH Right Down The Middle.
Ryan On It.
His Pimp Hand Strong.
Ryan as cool as the water at 3a.m. sprinkling the cucumber patch.
Doesn't even see her.
Looking right through her body by Ferrari Physique straight at the tube.
Glass couldn't be more translucent.
Zoie takes Her seat on Bobby's bed with Iggy Da Dog at Her Right Barefooted Green Nail Painted Feet.
Ryan walks over to the fridge, grabs three beers, gives two to Bobby, Bobby hands one to Zoie over his right shoulder.
Ryan takes his seat at the far opposite of Bobby's bed looking directly at His Girl For Life.
The Quarter Mile Rails line up at the white line before the centered Xmas Tree starting lights.
This game of Wild Animal Mating Begins.
The Players Rev their Multiple Mach Racing Engine Hearts.
Lights engage.
Red
Yellow
Green
Rubber starts that black squealing burning fire, propelling sky high plums.
"So Bobby, That blond woman with all the Cha Wah Wah puppies still staying here"?
"Hell No. Robert found out about the 8 Cha Wah Wah puppies. Tore da shit out of that place. So her, da dogs, her boy, gone. Robert had to evict them.
"So Bobby, is there anyone living next store to me on either side"?
"So Bobby, on and on and on, Blahsey, Blahsey, Blahsey.
All Ryan can do through all this Zoie ignoring him passion ploy is to just look at her and fall deeper in love by every tick to tock.
"Damn Zoie. You looking good Girl".
Zoie brushes off Ryan with a quick cute closed lip little tiny tini pursed in a Nano smile, then continues the complete head turn away from Ryan completing Her Fast Ball Blow Off.
"So Bobby..."
"Zoie stop. This Man Loves you so very fuckin much. You melt him like cheese on a double steak sandwich. Pleezeeee. Pay this poor old love sick Man some attention. He so loves you so so very very fuckin much".
Ryan just bounces his head looking at Zoie on Bobbys every word. Like follow the bouncing head.
All Ryan can do is stare at Zoie.
Hiz Girl For life through all da thick.
All da thin.
For sure.
Talking collar and leashes.
Ryan's Alfa Man Hood is reduced to a Bloody Beta Bath.
Bones Optional.
Hiz Pimp Hand has broken in umteen places leaving a limp, less than a stem, hanging from no where
Ryan reaches into hiz bag of tricks.
Takes a shot.
"Damn Bitch.
Comes all the way down here from Flag with me in her truck. Spends my money.
Leaves me in a Herd of three day old Buffalo Dust.
"Woman?
What Woman?
Whose This Woman?
Ryan?
Who Is This Woman?
Ryan?
From Flag"?
Ryan's fire breathing rail, Monster Slicks just about reduced to Rubber Knubs, pulls oh so slightly ahead.
Now. On To The World.
Malaysian Airlines Flight 17.
Boeing 777 shot down over Ukraine.
World saying V. Putins hands are all over this sky high slaughter.
Russian Militant Rebels guilty of the squeeze.
Seemingly.
The World Media has this one Bought and sold.
The Real Real.
The 100 Percent.
The Horrendous Treacherous Murderous Bring Down of Malaysian Flight 17 is all but lost in The Sacrifice of Pawns.
A few hundred plus people die in the sky.
A scintilla of sacrifice on the Global Stage Game of World Domination.
The players all lined up.
Up and Down the board.
In this game of Power.
Without a doubt.
Vladimar Putin is The Stone Cold Leader.
By a Bustillion Football Fields.
So So Very Very far up in front of the pack.
Taking this lead even a step further up the acreage.
Israel today is closer, much closer to Russia than to The United States.
Without getting real deep.
Russia and Israel' missions run direct parallels.
Lt. Colnel Vladimir Putin, KGB.
Is not on any far flung.
Far fetched.
Makes absolutely not a bit of sense.
Senseless scheme.
On the way far far side of any and all realty.
Is going to risk his Global Prestige and Power Over No Mind Sensless Acts.
What for sure Vladdy is not going to do.
Is smoke 298 civilians aboard a domestic European flight.
No fuckin way.
As well.
What the hell is a Commercial Airlines Flight doing navigating over a hostile ongoing combat zone?
Is it just me?
Honestly.
Malaysian airlines is starting to remind me of the United States own former airlines;
'Air America'.
Not that I would know anything the fuck in the world about that.
What I am saying World.
The stench my fine tuned nose is picking up on is the Pungent Sickening Puke Stained Wretched Slaughtering Act of the one.
The only.
The American C.I.A.
Their Grease Butt Monkey Feces Are All Over This Bitch.
For the Masters of The Murderous Craft.
Smoking 298 Civilian's to turn the table on Putin The Global Adversary is a Sunset Walk on Bali.
Worse.
Much Much Worse has been perpetrated by these Dark Room Spooks.
So I have been told of The C.I.A.'s Tantrumunous Criminal Romp Through Cambodia and Laos.
Many of these South East Asian Spooks are to this day still on the ground in this far far away haven.
Stacks($) Piled Higher Than Bukoo.
So I Have Heard.
An Aircraft full of civilian passengers.
Tehhhh.
Nigga.
Pleeze.
Putin Way Way Too Smart To Even Consider for a moments fraction anything as far fetched as this killing.
Not Today.
Not Tomorrow.
Not Ever.
Conspiracy Theory?
Bet The MuthuFuckin Farm.
Certainly For The Sure Fact.
Not One Bit Ownership From This Author Regarding Any Conspiracy Theory.
Just Da Real Real.
Da 100 %.
Feel Me?
So Far?
Da Man Jus Can't Hep it.
Ryan. Out.
I certainly do apologize for the triple editing.
After Publishing todays blog.
As I have previously stated.
I do not own a computer. That said.
So far so good regarding the many public computers that I
publish on.
The luck of the draw today opened her wicked jagged tooth mouth and bit my face off.
Sorry to put Ya All through that.
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