Poof. I am an ex see I A Special Ops agent, now a paraplegic. Scratch that. Now a quadriplegic. I type by punching the microphone button on the keyboard with a pencil, then quickly spitting out the pencil and dictating. Then I use another pencil to stop recording. It works pretty well but still gets some of the worms wrong. I can live with it, but then again, I don’t read it either so it’s no skin off my teat. The other downside is that I can’t delete worms, so you’ll see an occasional “scratch that” or “ignore.” I have a cupful of pencils at the ready. If I can’t get help, my story ends when I run out of pencils. Most days I just lie here in pain but today I have hired a man to pleasure me.
Hey! I am not a
Poof. He says he’s not a man. She looks like one to me. The last one gave me HIV. So I advertised for
You don’t have
Poof. She says I’m being disrespectful of people that really are HIV positive. Stupid idiot. What about people who really are quadriplegics? Wait. Scratch that. Oh hell, it’s already out there. I’m really just a paraplegic.
Come on! You’re not even a parrot reject. Just two broken arms and a wrist and
Poof. As I was saying, prior to joining the see I A I was trained as a Navy seal. So it came as nose apprise to me that I was chosen to assassinate the second cousin of hosanna been Lawton. I am a top notch shark shooter. I’ve killed more men than you’ve slept with. For that mission we boarded the age-64 Apache chopper at 0300 hours on a moonless night. We had all geared up by the time we reached the drop zone. Some of my buddies had played a trick on me by switching out my goggles. The last thing I did before grabbing the pope and jumping was to pull on my night goggles. But they weren’t night goggles they were military x-ray goggles. What the fuck. I could see through anything except meddling concrete. Still, I wasted no time. I scanned the cinderblock building and saw an open doorway. I ran like hell for it. I knew there’d be guards just inside but I could be past them and into the next room filling my target with lead before they could moo. I was moving fast when I hit the solid wouldn’t door. I couldn’t see the wood with the x-ray goggles. The last thing I heard was the crunching of my bones. Yeah. Brutal. For two months I’ve been trying to get my insurance to cover my extensive medical bills because I haven’t got a penny—not one reticent.
Hey! You better be able to pay me Want to hand me You bastard. I’ll break this bone if you A pencil from the floor Right now you mother It’s still recording our
Roger Sharp is a quasi-retired technical writer who navigated back to creative writing (which started in college when two of his poems were published in the literary journal). During his career he published articles in technical journals (Intercom, Technical Communication) before diving into oil painting for fun and profit. Most of his time now is split between these two creative outlets. Find him at https://twitter.com/sharpras.
The Dirty Pool