Old Spite

If it's impossible to create a tidal wave
With my breath and a glass of water,
My stubborn mind will try to find a loophole to prove you wrong.
One day, I'll figure it out,
But your challenge remains.
I enjoy our arguments
Because we end with a smile and a reason not to end our lives.

Bonus post:

The Most Ridiculously Stereotypical Redneck Representation Mike Carrozza Can Muster


Luke sat in his chair, looking at his darling Darlene. She was pregnant, God knows how many months. Her momma came over to help out with the chores.

The couple had decided to name their child Caleb, because they liked the sound of it. Caleb Ackers.

Luke would always protect Darlene from everyone. Hell, even if her momma looked at her crooked, he’d give her a crooked look right back and get up from his chair, which he rarely did.

He beat his own brother for shaking Darlene’s hand when they first met.

Darlene called Momma over. She took Momma’s hand and brought it to her belly. “He’s kickin’!” she said.

Luke rose from his chair and gave a look to Darlene’s pregnant belly. The kicking didn’t stop.

In fact, Luke kicked right back.

One solid connect between boots and belly created a mess on the floor and Momma’s crooked stare.

“Hell, I don’t wan’ go to prison,” he said, sitting back in his chair, pulling out his shotgun. “Goo’ night, baby.”

Luke slid the barrel of the shotgun into his mouth. All the while watching the rest of Caleb mess that poured out of Darlene as she leaned against a wall.
Momma was so shocked, she just stood there, eyes as wide as her mouth, frozen.

Click, boom, splat. Luke painted the wall behind him the red of his brains, with pieces of skull sliding down the drips that kept racing each other to the carpet.

I don't know who is going to clean that mess up, but I'm happy I ain't got to.

The ceiling fan kept spinning, drying up the bloody mess while Darlene finally sat on the carpet against the opposite wall to Luke. She was sitting in Caleb.

Momma went over to Luke's corpse and grabbed the shotgun.
"Well," she said, her back to Darlene, "ain't no way we makin' money now."
She turned to her daughter, the horror and panic slowly creeping into Darlene's face as Momma raised the nose of the shotgun.
"Oh, Momma, don't!" Darlene pleaded, "Just take me to the hospital. We'll figure this out later on."
"Oh, no, baby," Momma said, "if we ain't got a plan, we sure as shit can't think of one now."

She walked over to Darlene, still sitting in Caleb. She put the gun to Darlene's forehead.

Click, boom, splat. More red paint on the walls.

Momma stood in the middle of the room and performed the sign of the cross.
"Jesus, forgive me."
She placed the barrel beneath her chin.
"Lordy, here I come! Hallelujah!"

Click, boom, splat.

Damn. I came this close to not having to clean that mess up.