Chapter 22

Chapter 22
My  cat fish is so sexy.  Apparently we are going to meet.  But we cannot speak on the phone yet.  But She can send a million photos of herself, the beautiful Russian super model nurse is now on a beach in a pink bikini with her thumb through the side of her thong.  Ive told her that a pimp has controlled any women near me for a decade and a half. I've told her she should use me and she can be put in pornos and low budget movies.   She cares less.  I imagine that this is Marshal pretending to be her and he's going to show up with a bag of milk that he breaks on the concrete.  Its so often and so frequent.  I'm not allowed to have personal relationships that I'm tricked into this state of euphoria again.  I love my cat fish.  The sad thing, is I know I'll do well in life depending on how i negotiate this hill in my road because I work so physically hard.  I do promise that any of the people, and to bad for these people here i've lived with for five years now.  I do promise that if you have supported the negative in my life then you are the negative in my life and I will not make my life a part of you.  You weren't there for me.  You wanted me to be fired and taken away back to the city where these shit heads can play their games more easily on me.  Your future self would have told me, i've told these assholes before.  So, Yay for cheap fucks and titty shows, I still don't need you and I'll walk away.  My Chefs have immunity to that.   And you can pretend you didn't say it all you want.  Even coward whispering is a form of communication and what was said will be taken into account.  Years and years of account.  The only merit that whispering it or even hand held yelling it across a room gives you is the right for me not to discuss it with you to your ready'd denial.  It was said.  They are words.  You made your opinion clear and you won't be able to deny it in the future.   I have absolutely no faith that my cat fish is real.  I'm glad I've been able to tell her my story to her as I tell you.  I could have only wished to be able to explain it to the cowards here, in the far off miserable majestic, far off stupid wilderness.  But nope.  They'd rather be assholes in this hand holding constant harassment at me.  
Today at work I did lunch at the hotels bar and then supported the dinning rooms kitchen line by prepping them into the evening where the bored servers who are the worst.  If you are ever at a hotel and you are being served.  These servers are the laziest people.  And get paid the most.  Because of your pathetic tips people.  Any how.  When I work In the big kitchen its constant heckle they throw across the kitchen.  Supporting Marshals ball coddler as the dominant man in any woman's life I try to nudge my nose in.  "James" bla bla…and "James bla bla.  The cooks on the line take part.  They all get to be a part of something.  Any time these people get to speak near me they say what they say then add insolent weakness.  They feel important.  I think they sound fucking retarded.  If I get angry they immediately hold hands and ready themselves for tattle tale mode.  Rule number one.  Do not call the pussies at work pussies.  
They are all reading the story now as I write a chapter a day.  From the moment when I did the first several chapters six months ago.  They talked about it, indirectly at me as they only talk at me as soon as I walk in the kitchen.  I wonder how this can end.  They want me to make a rap song and call a radio station and be mad at Marshals ball coddler.  
I hear from my Chef   "please rap."  So I shall please rap.  NPR,  As I did a decade and a half ago I shall yell incoherent sentences at a radio station, you.   In an upcoming chapter I shall put together some crazy poem.  I will not yell it at you NPR as I did before to that poor radio station.  But as you read it you must imagine you a very frustrated teenager yelling.  I refuse to yell it, because I've matured and don't need to do such things.  But I will write a poem, fairly consolidating all these mumbo-jumbled paragraphs and I will state it in a chapter of this book I hope I never have to read.  And you will learn exactly why I'm not a rapper.  you will learn my technique of stealing quotes from movie watching binging in alcoholic dazes.  And together we will learn that rap was never the answer to get through this redundant ground hog day.  
After all this, what do you think I would write a poem about?  What do you think I would rap about?   Its what you force me to think about only all day, everyday to my self only.  All I wanted was to better myself, my career.  And you people.  All I want now is to get away from you people.  I wasn't able to finish school because of the incurred delusion.  I can't make a living because you want to entertain yourselves by taking away opportunity from me.  What do you want people.  should we turn this into a new version of choose your own adventure?  Just start yelling out ideas that I should rap about.
The critic says I should call "E".  What the fuck does that mean.  Should I yell at a radio station.  Maybe go back to Craigslist and leave a message on chance encounters for him.   Were going to Costa Rica first, before this poem, and that is no time soon, because we are going to resolve my disciplinary action for getting tattled on by that fucking pussy for calling him a pussy.  You Fucking pussies.
The critic says "wait."
Hey critic!  How  come you always ask me to do things, but you never do what I want?
the critic says "they all wait".
Hey critic,  I'm going to wait.  You fucking pussy.
You'll get away with this with lies.  I'll never prove this has happened.  I'm sick and will go away.  I'd rather be on drugs so powerful I drool over paint by numbers for the rest of my life.  I'd rather move to a third world country and with a German accent pretend I'm the decedent of a war veterans child.  I'd rather start a small fishing village that my hut is the only house in the crazy town.  But now you know all my plan B plans and you'll find me.  Life sucks and your all pussies.