So get this, some motherfucker in some motherfucking room told me I was motherfucking allergic, ALLERGIC, to motherfucking alcohol; and the only motherfucking thing I have to say about that is that that motherfucker is as motherfucking full of shit as the motherfucking judge who made me motherfucking sit in that motherfucking room in the motherfucking first place, like my tippling way was his own personal issue and not my own. Fuck em both’s what I says to all that shit.
He prays supine, in bed next his wife when his eyes first open. He says the things he wants for his day in his head, but his lips do move. She doesn’t wake. He tries to sleep again, it’s early, 0300, but he fails, to sleep.
Alright, these motherfuckers told me to do it so I did, and I feel like shit, fuckin thanks, motherfucker.
END
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Scott Mitchel May is a writer living in Vermont with his family. You can follow Scott on Twitter @smitchelmay.
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image: Lindsay Hargrave
Rejection Letters 