Warlock Or Pyro

Hemingway App makes your writing bold and clear.

Non-sequitur Sticks

FS: I had this system for getting exactly what I wanted out of people.

I had this system for getting exactly what I wanted out of people. Some people called it charm or charisma. And there were even a few idiots that said I was a pushy narcissistic jerk. It didn’t matter what any of them said about me. They were all wrong. I always got what I wanted because I was a freaking warlock. Yeah, that’s right. I’m magic. And I don’t need a lame dressed up tree branch filled with unicorns and dragons to do it.

NS #1: She found him in the Terminal Bar and Grill. He was sober, for a change.

The only flaw to my skills was that I can’t control other magical beings. If I had that power, I wouldn’t have had to track my mother down at the Terminal Bar and Grill. Not that there was a whole lot of tracking involved. That crazy old bat loved the place. There was one surprise though and luckily it was a pleasant one. Mom was sober, for a change.

NS #2: “If you don’t take chances,” said the man in the striped pajamas, “you might as well not be alive.”

As I glided toward my mom’s table, I noticed she wasn’t alone.

“If you don’t take chances,” said the man in the striped pajamas, “you might as well not be alive.”

There was an adult man, sipping a domestic beer, giving my mom life advice while he was in his bedclothes. There were a lot of winners at Terminal Bar and Grill, lemme tell ya.

“Ma. It’s time to go. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“We’re not finished talking yet.” Pajama guy stood up and stumbled into my space, trying to intimidate me. Even if his short stature, impressive beer gut, and missing teeth scared me, the fact that the butt flap of his jammies was open negated any hope of that.

NS #3: On the following Friday, we packed our bags and planned our escape.

“Hey man, do you realize you left your house in your pajamas?” The idiot deserved to be turned into a pig and delivered to a slaughterhouse but I was in a generous mood.

“Sure do. Did it on purpose too. Now when I stumble home drunk I’m already dressed for bed.” His prideful grin showed off the checkerboard pattern that were his remaining teeth.

“I see. Good thinking. Is that why you left your butt flap unsnapped too? So it’s convenient when you need to take a dump?”

“I have a butt flap?” He walked in a circle like a cat chasing his tail while he attempted to get a clear view of his new addition. “That explains why my hemorrhoids haven’t been hurting as much! Fresh air must be good for ‘em. Will you do me a favor son?”

“If involves your hemorrhoids or your hind parts I’m gonna have to say no.”

“Naw. It’s nothing like that. I wanted you to check for dingleberries. I ain’t gonna be able to impress your mamma with dookie in my butt hair.” Quicker than I imagined possible, he bent over and used his hands to pull apart his fuzzy cheeks. Then bared his poop shoot for the world to see.

My stomach was rolling and my blood was boiling. I was beyond livid. This fat drunk moron mooned me while attempting to hit on my freaking mom. I knew it was unwise to display my powers, it could derail our best-laid plans, but I didn’t give a flying dingleberry.

The bar was in shambles and the pajama guy didn’t have to worry about hemorrhoids or dingleberries any longer. Pajama guy was ash. If my mom hadn’t dragged me out, I would have taken the time to pee on his charred remains.

“Look at what you’ve done! You have use some self-control!”

“Now you’re trying to give me advice? That’s rich! The one night in months you’re not three sheets to the wind you think you have the right to lecture me?”

“I know. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Even without magic, I could manipulate my mom. Heck, I did have a bit of charisma after all.

“We should leave. It’s no longer safe for us here.”

Thanks to my little pyro outburst we stayed in our apartment for a week before I lost my patience. As I said before, I almost always got everything I wanted and this little situation was crap. On the following Friday, we packed our bags and planned our escape. We were leaving the dust bowl (aka Yuma Arizona) and heading to New Orleans to put my plan in motion. Revenge was going to be sweet and those punks who had stolen my birthright were going to pay.

LS : the time he invited his mother to dinner

The closer we got to our destination the darker my mood became. Rage was my constant companion. Unless of course, I was thinking about how much the pajama guy must regret the time he invited my mother to dinner. Watching that waste of space burn was epic. I always got what I wanted out of people. Always.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *