It was two pm on a Sunday in July. Shelly and I walked out of the ice cream shop on forth street already wasted from our morning binge drinking.
“I dont even want this fucking ice cream! Why did you buy it for me?” Shelly asked.
Shelly was booze-a-rexic which ment she never ate food in any form and always had that bloated beer gut on her tall, skinny frame.
“Because it’s fucking hot! Eat the ice cream, bitch!”
“I’m gonna throw it on the ground!”
Shelly threatened.
“Put it in there.” I said pointing to a public, mail box. “I dare you.”
Sure as shit that bitch opened up the door and dropped that sucker in there! I couldnt believe it.
A black woman in a honda saw the whole thing. She rolled her window down.
“Bitch, I know you didn’t just throw your ice cream in the mail box! I’m gonna pull over and whoop your skank, white ass!”
Shelly threw her arms up, “Bring it on bitch!”
Oh shit!
So I did what any evil, drunken twat would do when her friend was about to get her face smashed in.
I fled the scene of the crime. Thats right, I ran like hell.
Two blocks later I made it home. Shelly wasn’t far behind.
“Why did you run? That bitch wasn’t gonna do shit. I flipped her off and she drove away.”
Shelly was almost two decades older than I was but you couldn’t tell by the way she dressed. She loved platforms, six inches or higher, peroxide and black eyeshadow. She wore more make-up than a transvestite prostitute.
One time she spent the night at a mutual friends house. He had white pillow cases. He said when Shelly left the next morning she literally left behind a copy of her face on his pillow.
Tammy Fae Baker.
Shelly was an alcoholic. Not the kind of weekend warrior alcoholic I was, she was the real deal. This girl would wake up to a tall glass of straight, room temperature, no-name vodka and shoot it in one gulp.
Then she would open up my kitchen cabinets and grab glasses yelling, “I’m going to throw this on the ground and smash it!” For no reason what so ever.
She was constantly getting us kicked out of bars and clubs. Once she even kicked the mirrored backdrop at a dance club shattering the entire thing.
I liked hanging out with Shelly because she made me look good!
We worked together at a hair salon. Shelly would walk in sober but by the second client she was shit faced and verbally abusive bullying the poor person in her chair.
This brought me much joy.
“You want me to do what? I’m not going to cut your hair like that! Thats fucking stupid! You would look like an idiot!”
Shelly got fired.
Then she died.
I saw white Kia’s everywhere today. I even think I saw him.
It's not my fault. 
I was curious if you ever thought of changing the layout of your website?
Its very well written; I love what youve got to say.
But maybe you could a little more in the way of
content so people could connect with it better.
Youve got an awful lot of text for only having one or 2 pictures.
Maybe you could space it out better?
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Love Shack is onto something, the content is Snap, Crackle and Pop with an Oatmeal user interface… Your writing style evokes images that transcend pics. However, I’m selecting stories as next links, or highlighted text. A good side bar would add some polish and direction.
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Thanks for the tip Jack.. How do I create one?
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