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reading time: 2 minutes

Written By: Travis Knight

“I just blew the show with this flow…

…just like Brad blew blow,

and didn’t show.”


A crowd of a thousand, hands up in the air, swaying back and forth, chanting in unison. All the while, I’m on stage, spotlight epic, shirt off, Tubody pumping hard. With one hand on the blunt and the other on the mic, I move the rustling beads below like a mighty Tundra breeze. 

Then I wake up…

…and realize that Brad is calling me–calling me to flake–to call out of HIS OWN job.

Reality hits.


I get discouraged, and maybe even a trickle of “depressed” furrows my brow at a certain point. Then I get up, make a grilled cheese sandwich with EXTRA sharp cheddar and homegrown jalapeños on some kind of delicious nut bread that my wife buys; something that I rarely eat and strangely a large contributor to many household arguments.

Oh, that EXTRA sharp cheddar.

Extra sharp like a knife of goodness slicing across your taste buds…

…or a knife of badness slicing across your ass; immobilizing your day, chuckling and galloping away like a dainty faun on LSD, but high as shit on cocaine.

Galloping away to go fuck over HIS OWN job. Like Brad. And so,

so high…

…just like Brad.

Fuckin’ Brad.


“I just blew the show with this flow…”


“…just like Brad blew blow,

and didn’t show.”

I get sad again. Then I go rent a truck, take half of Brad’s money–plus his mileage–and go get a $5 Bloody Mary at Effie’s; an old timers’ karaoke bar that I am no longer welcome at.




…that wouldn’t be right. Its fiendish nature would surely offend my principles. Instead, I man up and take responsibility. It’s not just Brad’s job, it’s mine too! No general contractor here; just us taking the reigns. Suddenly, quick planning and cunning optimism kicks in–even a splash of genius–and I overcome the fact that,


Fuckin’ Brad,

pulled out his soft, coke-dick—snottily scrunched up like an ashy pig snout—and tried to cram it into HIS OWN job; into OUR job! Conclusively, I prevail, and yet another job-well-done fills my eager pockets with illusions.

I killed it today.

In fact, I fucking crushed it.

I am amazing.

“Yes you are!” exclaims a mighty, God-like voice.

“God, is that you?”

“Yes, my son. It is me, and I have come here to tell you that you are amazing. You have overcome the many obstacles you faced. Obstacles made possible by,


Fuckin Brad,

not showing up to HIS OWN GODDAMN JOB!!!

I wake up again.

Four o’clock. Afternoon.

Early evening.


Look at that.

It looks like I didn’t show up, either.

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