June 25, 2009


I saw a woman being pushed down the street today in a wheelchair. She was drinking a supersized Coke; eating from a large red and yellow carton of french fries. She's lucky, I thought to myself so confidently and sure that all isn't so wrong. Until pause for a moment, she probably won't enjoy the shit she takes after eating that. The man pushing her down the road will likely help lift her onto the porcelain seat in a mutual agreement they have sorted out, her two legs in casts splayed out awkwardly on the tile floor as she regrets her meal decision.
But I digress, as shit is not my main topic of interest. Rather luck, or a lack thereof which some are so certain they possess. Considering past phrases I've used the term "luck" is a good way of appropriately gauging my potential gross amount.
"I was lucky to make it on time"
"I was lucky they liked my bullshit story"
"I was lucky to get the job"
"I was lucky to have fucked that broad"
"I was lucky to make that shot"
"I was lucky to hit so many green lights"
And so on. Those using phrases such as "I was lucky my shit ended up in the plastic bag tied to my bedside this time instead of all over the floor after the poorly executed surgery on my rectum" may gauge their luck considerably different from someone who uses a list such as the previous. But again, (shit), I digress.
So here I am, falling aimlessly forward, relying upon luck to catch me and turn me in every which direction I was meant to tumble. A blurry haze is appearing before me and I'm reaching my arms out, allowing its randomness to fill my belly like wine. Unarranged and indiscriminate, my body is more of a machine now.
I was the lucky sperm after all, incase you didn't know.

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