The Slob

by Aron Beauregard

“Children aren’t supposed to die before their parents. It’s not a natural cycle,” she’d cry to me. All I could think was that there wasn’t a tremendous amount that was “natural” about our family.

she never asked to be part of the world we were born into and, in turn, held hostage by.

The horrors, violence, and despair that I tried so many times to wash away. It was like an endless juggling act, everything needed to be just right for me to remain one step ahead of my past.

Whether we like to admit it or not, girls always look for a little piece of their father in the men they seek. Something that can hopefully bring back the memories of youth and a feeling of comfort and protection.

what’s worse; missing a piece of yourself, or having an even larger piece still there but rendered completely useless?

When they smiled and their mouths looked like a broken piano.

His tiny manhood had been spliced down the middle like when a hotdog overheats and cracks open on a barbecue grill.

It was my female stash spot that The Slob hadn’t accounted for. The one that left his pathetic cock in ribbons looking like streamers at the handle-end of a child’s bicycle.

if I just let him sell the damn thing, none of this would’ve happened. Instead, it just became another ingredient in the perfect storm.

While I wasn’t here, he needed someone, anyone. So, he was hanging out with Jim again.