Trying to do a conference call while my meth neighbor screams and throws a couch down the stairs. I gotta post something. Just write something that sucks. Break the seal and post more freely. And here’s the squirrel out back going after my squash. Not eating the ripe ones he ripped apart already. It’s the young green new squash. Fucking prick. Fucking dick ass squirrel.
My neighbor was gonna shoot that squirrel. His name’s Eugene. The squirrel not the neighbor. My neighbor was gonna shoot Eugene with a pellet gun. I talked him out of it. Eugene was picking walnuts from the neighbor’s tree. He’d sit on the rail of their deck. It’s pinewood or Doug fir with a matte varnish. And the squirrel sits on it. Chews the green rinds off the nuts. The rinds have an inky black substance. It stains the wood. But I told him look man, you have walnuts growing. Shit like this will happen. Animals are gonna eat the nuts. If not him someone else.
The raccoon brings them over to the water bowl I put out for the cat. The raccoon peels and washes the nuts in the bowl. So I wake up and there are inky black rind fragments in the bowl. And the squirrel cracks open the hard sharp shells and drops them where I walk barefoot. I forget what I said that worked. But he didn’t shoot Eugene. This is how you repay me.
I picked 96 pounds of squash. I eat squash every day. I promised some to people. Have to pick which ones to give them. I don’t give the best. The huge blimp size squash bigger than the professional ones from the grocery store. Don’t give small misshapen ones either– you want to give a good representation. I carefully pick medium squash that should be in a still life painting spilling out of a cornucopia.
But I have this covetous Rumpelstiltskin feeling. I shouldn’t give any of it. It’s mine. Don’t want them to pretend to like it. And then they don’t cook it. It just rots. I want them to prepare it carefully. I want them to savor its golden color. Think of me and how great I am.
Eugene sits on the fence at dawn in winter. I’m out there to pray and he reminds me of God. My insignificance. God, I say. Please help me remember I’m just one of your creatures. Just doing what you made me for. Whatever I have, take it.
delicioustacos 
You inspired me since https://delicioustacos.com/2013/04/17/how-to-write/ But I have not written much since.
then I guess he didn’t inspire you enough. just write more you fuckin milkytoast kraut fag. you’re not even using your real name so why are you shy? life is short. go out, do stuff, live, experience, and then write about what habbened. that’s what tacos did. he lived first then wrote about his experiences. and people loved it. ate it up. bought his books which were just compilations of old posts. women sent him their used panties. it’s that easy. get outta your head. stop jackin off so much.
Sunak on deez nutz
Beautiful post
strong ending. if there were a thumbs up icon feature to upvote this, i would click it. if Lizzo were to read this, she would shed a tear and that tear would contain the formula to end racism.
Eugene represents disenfranchised BIPOC.
The squash are reparations.
This is why DT doesn’t want to give free squash away to his friends and family, who are probably privileged white folx. They can afford to go buy their own squash at Trader Joe’s or the local Organic farmer’s market for $5.99/lb. They wouldn’t appreciate free, tasty, nourishing gibs.
if Tacos gave me a squash, I would thank him, eat 1/3 of it, and then fuck the hole of the remaining 2/3 portion. then I would scoop out the squash seeds which would be covered in my seed, and bury the mixture in a dirt mound. isn’t it interdasting that we bury seeds, the starting point of life, but we also bury the dead? anyway, the seeds will sprout, grow and create new squash, and I will pick one and hold it up to the sun like Rafiki held up baby Simba. then i will give this first-harvest squash to Tacos to complete the cycle. this is what it means to be a good neighbor. love thy neighbor, Jesus taught me that one.
Like folloing the descent of a dude with some potential, into a rambling, sad, aging single man.
It’s f*cking sad.
Squash get squashed under car tires;
Death-defying like high wires.
There is no cure for the common squash
It just won’t hold; it just won’t wash
— Great Vampire
http://www.friendsofthegreatvampire.wordpress.com
feminists commonly like to assert that God is a woman. given how badly this world is run, I am starting to see how they are correct. God is our absent mother, who sometimes shows up high as a kite, and She acts fackin’ abusive.