What bugs me the most these days? B’s still gone. It’s not wearing a hoodie and carrying Virgil a third of the way on our walks. Effing BUGS! Or checking him after. Or even effing MAGA Cracker Hats. It’s the back wall. “What’s Bugging B, Virgil”
Tuesday, August 19, 2025
Journey 049 ~What’s Bugging B, Virgil~
Dear Future Wife,
You know that I love you, right? Do I love you enough to STAY? Honestly, “I’m so high, I can hear Heaven.”
But I am no “Hero” as Chad Kroeger sings. Hell! I’m not even Todd Masterson from “Succubus Lord” laying off the wacky tobacky, weed, and the Devil’s Lettuce. Speaking of which, should I lay off the HaremLit novels? I’m on Backyard Dungeon 19, my love.
I’m nearly finished… It is finished… “He doesn’t look a thing like Jesus,” I tell myself as I pretend I’m telling you. As I said, I’m high enough to talk to my firstborn son B III. Gone four long years. And then I talk back to him. And let’s not forget about 2-V sitting here.
I’m sure I’m bugging him, jumping up and down, scanning the shed wall. I’m not going to talk about ‘THEM’ today. I’m already annoyed enough.
And not in an I miss Braxton jumping on my head kind of way. Or a Starship Troopers Sugar Watkins “Just trying to kill some bugs, sir,” sort of mood. And dammit, I wish I could stop touching my face. I feel like I’m in 2011’s “Contagion.” Effing Pop Culture!
When I spend every day breathing in toxins, trying to save our home. It’s no wonder I feel so sick. And it gives me plenty of downtime. Not really. But I don’t want to look at the backyard anymore. My B’s territory. No wonder I turn to our two-legged children.
And speaking of territory, my love, you touch me and whisper, “There’s the man I chose
There’s my territory.” Sweetheart.
“You’re a song written by the hands of God.”
Shakira
And you’re not bugging me in the slightest. No baby doll, it’s those “Three Little Birds,” pitch by my doorstep. Ours? Mine because I can’t blame this failure on you. A man provides, protects, and “Pop’s the P—sy.” Seriously, must I be so vulgar… “Rise up this mornin’. Smiled with the risin’ sun.” I haven’t done that in weeks, maybe months, my “Sweet Love.” I mean, not woken up with tears in my eyes. We were making Sweet Love listening to Anita Baker last night. One more reason I wanted to stay, my beloved.
Honestly, I hate this effing wall I’m looking at. And I don’t want to cry, spray more chemicals, or cringe. I just want to close my eyes and find my Braxton. What’s Bugging B, Virgil?
1661 Days Without B III, Day 1102 of Virgil’s Arrival
B.L.M. Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will