There is a place near me and R. Girls shackin'-up shack named the "Old Fishing Hole".
Sometimes as I drive by it I sighingly imagine or don't that I am sitting on the banks of that ol' fishing hole. I have a string tied to my toe, 'cause I can't afford no pole. My straw hat covers my face as I nap. My overalls are from The Gap.

Maybe I'll sneak out to the Ol' Fishin' Ho' tonight as R. Girl has to work the night shift.

R. Girl had to work from 6 a.m. until 10 p.m. yesterday thanks to a non-showing co-worker.
Then she had to wake up at 6 a.m. this morning for a day-long C.P.R. class.
Then at 6 tonight she has to go in until 6 in the morning tomorrow.
She told me all of this over the phone last night as a baby was burping in her arms.
"I'm sorry, babe. "

Last night my beer tasted like butter.

We all have our crosses to bear.
My cross is buttery.

Violent Stick People
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