Jan 072008
 

Mama always said God planted my seed in her for a reason, that I was born to do something great with my life, maybe even the whole entire world. First I tried to end world hunger by not eating so many handfuls of chocolate chips from the pantry; but people still kept on dying over there in that Somalia place. Papa said maybe I was gettin’ too ahead of myself, reaching for too many stars right off the bat, he said. Aim a little lower, Mama said as she brushed burrs out of my hair before bed. My dreams  fizzled for a few years after I discovered Internet slash communities and I lost several jobs because I’d rather stay in bed with some Hot Pockets reading about Snarry shipping. Just last night, Jesus Christ himself came to me, he done near slapped me in the face with a dildo and he said, “Bertie, get yourself together, girlie. Get up, take a shower, put on a pair of underwear that still has the crotch intact and go out and get youself a job. You need to change the kitty litter. There are maggots festering among mountains of fossilized feces.”

I listened to the Lord because the Bible I use to swat away flies tells me so. I got up this morning to find myself a job. I went to that there mall, thinkin’ I’d like to find me a way to be closer to hot fryer oil. While I was walking through the food court, a gang of hooligans slang pebbles at my ample behind and were fascinated by my unflinching reaction to the torture of my posterior cushion. “It’s like rubber, ya’ll,” I explained, demonstrating it’s durability by stabbing my right cheek with a Bic pen.

And that’s when Jesus appeared to me once more, smiling from a box of Trojans I passed in the drug store, and I realized my calling. I’ll be honest: it didn’t really dawn on me until an hour later when I was eatin’ me some Chik Fil-A. So please, doctor, what I’m gettin’ at is that ya’ll need to surgically remove the layers of my buttocks and have them sent off to be manufactured into prophylactics for white whales. There’re too many of them living underneath that sea and I would be lying if I said it wasn’t unnerving; it was all over the lastest issue of ZooBooks that my baby brother uses to cover up his titty magazine, and I’m frightened. I was born to stop whales from overpopulating and potentially taking over our great American cities like Trenton and Terra Haute. Im’ma change the world.

Can’t fit through your doorway,

Bertie

  7 Responses to “dirty pillows”

  1. i’m so glad you posted this here.

    i missed bertie.

    • I’m trying to get all the gay stories in a lump so it’s easier to find them. I didn’t realize how super bad some of them are, though, lol.

  2. Yes, Bertie!

    I had forgotten about this, but I remembered the picture, sad as that is.

  3. It always feels a little surreal to me when people outside of the Snarry fandom mention it. Like the authorities found my stash of pron or something.

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