Our Ways

Our ways sucked, that’s what!

Number one: There’s only a hand full of us in the entire universe, no friggin’ kidding!

Number two: Those of us who exist don’t give a monkey’s piss about each other. Yep, my alter-ego is a perfect example. He doesn’t give a monkey’s piss about me. Or anyone for that matter!

Number three: There can be only one alter-ego in a pair. What do I mean? Like say, I’m Fiery CJ, right. I have only one alter-ego; you can’t have it in reverse; I’m not my alter-ego’s alter-ego, if you catch my drift. That would be totally nuts! Like this whole story of mine isn’t nuts enough for ya, get outta here!

Number four: Your alter-ego is almost always more powerful than you. Don’t ask me why; it just is. And yes, they know magic, too, like African juju or something, I don’t know.

Number five: You can never kill your alter-ego, but your alter-ego can kill you; though if he does, the universe will implode and start all over.

Number six: Most alter-egos wanna rule the world and all that crap; so they’re mostly always gangsters, dope dealers, mob bosses, pimps, and you know, all the illegal professions known to man.

Number seven: Which is the most important of all; never, ever under any circumstance f@%* with your alter-ago.

More Rant...

So we walk on, and though it seemed like we’ve been in the warehouse for a billion and thirty-three years, I still can’t get used to this stinker of a smell. Shit! F@%* ass &%# $@* @%* #*$?

I can be f*@*ing articulate with expressing my feelings, you know. Yeah, I’m a friggin’ English Professor. No friggin’ kidding!

“Enough with the curse words. This is business.” My alter-ego snapped. His attention is suddenly alert, and needless to say, this gets me pretty worked up. I mean, the guy never gets alert just for getting alert’s sake! I know ‘im. He never gets alert just for getting alert’s sake, I say!

“You’re turning into one whinny little bitch, aint ya!” My alter-ego snapped again.

“What’d you say?” I snapped back. I was mad, too. I mean, the smell was killing me, I had this premonition of death hanging over my stupid shoulders, and this guy has the guts to call me a ‘bitch’. I wouldn’t stand for it, if he‘s gonna kill me, he better make it happen now. I didn’t give a monkey’s piss anymore.

“You talkin’ to me.” My alter-ego said in an attempt to imitate Robert De Niro in the movie, Taxi Driver. He could be a real class-act comedian sometimes, my alter-ego. No friggin’ kidding!

“You talkin’ to me.” He repeated again, with a stupid smirk on his stupid face.

I simply ignored him, pulled out my Luis V scarf from my jacket and wrapped it across my face.

Time slowed down. I really felt damn cool, in spite of myself.

Allie didn’t miss this little cool gesture of mine. “What a tough guy, look at ‘im.” Allie said, trying to stifle an imaginary bust of laughter. Gawd, I hated this guy – what a phony macho idiot he is; and that’s exactly what I called him.

“What a phony macho idiot you are, Allie.” I retorted.

Allie reached into his Armani suit for his gun – it’s a big ol’ magnum, gold plaited and all that crap. He got it with his first pay. Can you believe that? His first job for my alter-ego and what does he do with his pay – he gets a gold plaited magnum! Other people get clothes, shoes, geez, even blow it away on booze and whores; this guy gets a golden gun for pete’s sake! Like I said, what a phony macho idiot he is.

Anyways before he could even pull the gun, my alter-ego’s eyes cuts him short. He stuffs the gun back into his stupid jacket, and adjusts his shoulders, you know, just the way phony macho idiots like him always do, when they think they’ve done something real tough, like pull out a stupid gun when someone insults you.

ARRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHH!!!!

“What the f*@# was that?” I said, getting panicked. That sounded like a big ol’ monster. Then I turned to face my alter-ego, trying to seek out answers from his face. He just seemed to be in a world of his own, a dark smile creeping across his face slowly, delightfully.

Gawd, I know that look, and it isn’t good, I can tell you.

“F@*# you!” my alter-ego said to me.