My Dream

I had an awful dream about you last night, which compelled me to tell you this.

Last April, when I confronted you about cheating on me and having the audacity to drive the girl around in my dad’s truck, I became a towering inferno of rage.

You, of course, tried to tell me I was “trippin” blah blah blah. When I reached my bullshit quota, I went into the bathroom and looked at the disgusting piss smeared toilet. I could see all the hair that you refused to clean up after you got done shaving your head I could feel the chunks of my breakfast start to rise in my throat because your hair resembled pubes.

I lifted the toilet seat, positioned myself correctly, and waited to throw up. While I waited, I began to examine the underside of the toilet seat. “Disgusting bastard,” I thought. You always pissed in a careless manner, aimlessly disposing of your smelly excretions, oblivious to the fact that it was splattering on, around, and even out of the toilet. You did everything but actually get the piss in the bowl. “You were always a filthy, godless, son of a bitch, weren’t you?” I muttered to myself.

My sudden urge to vomit was replaced by an overwhelming urge to clean. But with what? I glanced around the bathroom, searching for the nearest abrasive-life tool. Something, anything, to teach that nasty toilet a lesson.

And there it was…….. Your motha fucking toothbrush.