h2>Dating : Mr. Greene’s story, Part 1
Mr. Greene was eating garbage again.
“I just can’t get enough of this shit!” he mumbled, chewing through a slice of decomposing bread and a plastic bag from Staples, the office supply store.
The greasy dumpster creaked and groaned underneath Mr. Greene’s weight. It smelled like shit and puke. It also smelled like a slice of decomposing bread and a plastic bag from Staples, the office supply store. It also smelled like Mr. Greene. It also smelled like Mr. Greene’s shitty underpants.
“AAAAAAaaahhhh!” screamed Mr. Green, as he spit out the slice of decomposing bread and a plastic bag from Staples, the office supply store.
Thick, purple blood spurted out of Mr. Greene’s mouth in waves, spilling all over the greasy dumpster and onto the pavement.
A single staple stuck out of Mr. Greene’s mouth, gleaming brightly in the sunlight. Mr. Greene shat his pants some more.
Just then, Mr. Greene’s son showed up. Mr. Greene’s son was fourteen years old and recently figured out how to masturbate but he hadn’t figured out washing his hands yet so his hands always smelled like fourteen-year-old semen (not, however, like semen that is fourteen years old). Fifteen-year-old semen smells completely different, and is both unlike fourteen-year-old-semen and semen that is fourteen or fifteen years old.
“Daddy! What’s wrong!” yelled Mr. Greene’s son.
“Aaaahhh….” moaned Mr. Greene as he slumped over, vomiting out last night’s garbage all over the place.
“Daddy!” yelled Mr. Greene’s son, as he rushed over to prop up his dying father.
“Son… My son…”
“Yes, daddy?”
“I always hated your mother. She was a whore. A dirty, cheatin’ whore. But goddamn, could she suck dick.”
“I know. She used to suck my dick all the time when I was little. But then I learned how to masturbate, and now I don’t need her for that anymore.”
Mr. Greene nodded. “Good boy, son. Good boy. Some day you’re gonna grow up to be a fine man like me, and you’re gonna eat garbage, straight out the dumpster, and you’re gonna shit it all in your pants and you’re gonna smell like shit and garbage. Just like me.”
Tears crept down Mr. Greene’s sons face, spilling onto his father’s greasy combover.
Sirens wailed behind their backs. The ambulance door slammed and three paramedics came running out. “We are here to help!” they yelled.
