Soul Daughter

Sometimes, I am simply bitten by a bug to write.  I suppose this is better than being bitten by a bed bug, or the HIV bug, for that matter.  It kills me when I get this way, but have no subject to rant about.  I decided to try rambling through my thoughts.  This will prove to my psychiatrist that I truly am crazy.  In turn, I'll be able to quit my day job, collect disability, collect cats, take up a meth habit, wear moo-moos, and eat Popeye's Chicken everyday.  I think I'm on to something here.  Good life, here I come!

I was asked to take care of my "soul daughter" next Saturday.  My soul daughter is, in my eyes, the most beautiful and amazing soul ever.  She is in the fifth grade.  Because I have no knowledge of what children are into, I decided to think this through to plan out the best day EVER.

The first thing we're going to do when I pick her up, is run to the convenience store.  We are going to buy cigarettes.  I figure, if she's going to fit in with the cool kids, she needs to start smoking early.  I wanted to start her on this habit when she was four, but she threw tantrums anytime I'd try to take her near a 7-11.  Afterwards, I have to drop off my resumes to Pandora's Box and Mons Venus.  I hear strip clubs are more likely to hire you if you drag a child in with you.  But before I do that, I'm going to push her down into a pile of dirt, because if she looks clean, I'm sure as hell not going to look poor enough to need a job at a titty bar.  When we leave there, we're going to head to the red light district of downtown.  The pool at the Mosley Motel is really nice, and you can pay by the hour.  I'm going to take her swimming.  There's a liquor store right next door, so I'll leave her unattended in the pool with a bunch of Johns and their ladies while I retrieve some refreshing 40's for us.  When I come back with the 40's we'll have a chugging contest.  I will bet her a new Littlest Pet Shop animal that I can beat her.  Hopefully she can hold her alcohol, because I'm going to be too damned drunk to drive.  I'll have the address to the closest shooting range programmed into the GPS so she can drive us there.  She is going to learn quickly that real girls shoot M16's.  If she gets injured from the recoil, I'll just crush up some roxies for her to snort.  By then, she'll probably be ready for a nap.  I'll run her through the line at Taco Bell, fill her up with nutritious items, and then give her bus fare to get home-hey, I have shit to do.

Okay, not really.  Actually, we're hanging out at the mall, then going to the beach, where I'm packing us a picnic lunch.  C'mon, people, I'm not that sick.