Short Stories Uncategorized

Way stalky, as opposed to regular stalky…

Oh, creepy postman, how has it come to this? It began with your handshake, which held on too long, and attempted to draw me toward you. Yes, how you want to reel me in to your mid-sixties mid life crisis, so you have someone to cook for you, clean your too-much-like-the-show- Dallas-palace, and cook for you odd children. I want you know that the red hair dye, so wrong for you it turns your hair purple, frightens the good people of the town. Your overly attentive parcel delivery, fecund with insistence that I call you if I ever need anything, absolutely anything, like your old dick in my mouth, is redefining the concept of southern hospitality. The coup de grace was the little unnecessary postal customer form, suddenly requesting my phone number, at the risk of losing my delivery service, complete with a personal note to comply. So, I filled out your bullshit ploy. In the space twice circled, where you wanted my phone number, I wrote the words, “not applicable.” I would have been so happy to offer up the information, were it not for that lecherous, perversion in your eyes when you’re sticking your hand in my box.

2 replies on “Way stalky, as opposed to regular stalky…”

Is it wrong that this made me smile? I think there are postmen like that across the world – though thankfully I don’t have a lechy one at the moment. Glad to have found you via my blog – your poetry is my cup of tea.

Fiona! What a fanciful way to find a person…via mouse taxidermy. I’m glad you enjoyed the blog. I’m so happy to know you. Much of my poetry is inspired by art and painting, You are quite my cup of tea, as well. I enjoyed your page and will return often! And yes, it was meant to make you smile…

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