Smoke a Turd in Purgatory

My friend always says, as a punishment for d-bag behavior, “That guy will have to smoke a turd in purgatory.” LOL

I just love those words together. It’s poetic in sound and justice.

a great reminder for me to be patient, from 2016:

i DMV’d it.

there was a guy who i should have tackled and hog-tied for cutting in line, but i restrained myself and prayed to the baby Jesus. he was the d-baggiest. but i believe in Karma. he’s going to the front of the line…in hell. mwahaha! JK

actually, if he’s in that big of a hurry, he can have it. i’m supposed to be where i’m supposed to be whenever i’m supposed to be there for whomever i’m supposed to be there for. i have purpose and i’m in no hurry.

i accept waiting. i embrace opportunities to be patient. and i just try to quiet my mind when i feel overwhelmed. (i did this yesterday and it helped!)

ur welcome, DMV-er. i didn’t call you out when i had every right to. u shall spend purgatory waiting in line behind an old lady with a change purse the size of ur ego. may God have mercy on ur soul. and may the turd you smoke while waiting in Satan’s nether regions be full-flavored.

Happy Easter! LOL

Soap and Cigarettes

His office smells like:
and cigarettes.
Like a dentist with a habit.

He shares a building with a lawyer who is never in.
Yellow legal pads
On top of a big desk
In a dark/cluttered/slightly-open-doored room.

Everything a-soak in cigarette smoke.
Even the paintings.
The open area that could be construed as a tiny lobby is neat, but dim.
Ashtray on every surface.

Perfumed with solace and solemnity.
I stare at a picture of a stream inside a wood.
Looking for any sign of reason, beauty or good.
Radio softly plays country music.

It’s cold outside.
Wet snow.
But it’s warm and dusty here.
The fabric on the chairs is stiff and speckled.

I’m waiting in the waiting room
For nothing but myself
I simply want to be around
Spending minutes off the shelf.

There are old editions of:
Field & Stream
National Geographic
Something tells me
I’m outside his demographic.

No. I’m waiting for him.
Just for a friendly face.
When he sees me, he says, “Hi!”
He seems like he likes me.
That’s unusual.

When you grow up in a rural area,
Any excuse to see people,
Whether you need their services or not,
Is a reason to put clothes on and be seen.

I want to be seen.

He’s like a dad.
The kind of dad you want your dad to be.
But he isn’t.
But it’s enough.

“I’m fine, Doc. Thanks for asking.”