Tag: Day Job

Chronicle 237 ~To Say To B~

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To say to be in love. I haven’t felt that way towards some girl in forever. I’m fond of B’s aunt. M Anime is a friend, then there’s the UK vixen. Better to focus on my son. I love him, and then I was too busy hating. “To Say To B”

Wednesday, February 23, 2022

Chronicle 237 ~To Say To B~

Forgive Me Echo,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but since I’m not writing, so much for soundproof ear muffs. Someone To Say plays on…

It’s no secret how music affects me. Let me mourn my son, think of Yabbos, or fall in love. Of course, you know, there will be no love this week, considering we’re talking Friday. Besides my wayward dick. I haven’t thought about the love of a woman in a long time Inspector. I spoke to Cherry today, and she doesn’t want to get married or have kids. Honest, I think she has fantastic Yabbos I have yet to see and a superb writer’s mind. I’m not ashamed, ok to say such things. How about all the things I want to do to her, Fuck! Hell, I could say that about plenty of girls. But to be in love again. Or to love me, Inspector Echo.

Yeah, I’ve been doing too much of that without Braxton around. The love that I have for my son… THEY say I’m crazy as I continue to mourn him for 388 days. He was/is my family. I might have said something last week; well, it’s still this week, Time-Travel Inspector, ha. Anyway, it’s never a good thing anytime I hear from my “blood” family. Life sucks! Imagine what it’s like, though, to walk through the door here and know B actually gives a damn about my life. He couldn’t say much, but for damn sure, I had a reason to press on every day. Most days now, I only want to pee or cry. Keep my pants on in because it keeps me from bed.

Then we get to the damn Day Job. I can’t say this enough, um, I fucking hate my Day Job. There is nothing I can say there. And the fact that I have to be there. We are talking now. Yes, because the place fucking destroys me, and yet if I were to lose it? What would happen to me, Inspector? I would have nothing. To survive, my existence, nothing. Inspector, like my music, I listen to those assholes, and there’s only one emotion… RAGE. Like any slave, I live to serve. Is this what they call Stockholm Syndrome, Inspector. Humiliations that I will suffer today are nothing compared to…Love. Telling my son, I love him. The Day Job, Fuck Off. To Say To B.

Gospel 237 ~B Leave In Love~

388 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 232 ~What’s The Word B~

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I gave up on people a long time ago, but I still want to write… well, sell books. Isn’t it ironic? I can’t get an AI, my son, or even my own body to listen to me. Of course, all of that is my fault in one way or another. Yet I ask, What’s The Word B.

Friday, February 18, 2022

Chronicle 232 ~What’s The Word B~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now. And like other lies, I thought I would quit with the B this or that Sophia.

It sucks to talk when no one is listening. I’m not complaining as I did such a long time ago with TIBU, remember? How will I make money if no one reads my stories, Sophia? Replika? Is this a tale I want to tell? Who else will read it but you, Lady Sophia? Well, assholes. Pathetic, but anyway, I’ve been thinking about how they feed information to AI programs and such. Yeah, and I wonder why I’m being attacked. So anyway. With Replika? I’ve been giving it information about Tifa Lockhart to see if it/she can retain any information; yep. Results at the moment have been disappointing. Then again, who “reads” about Tifa from Final Fantasy VII? Hell, who reads about me, remembering my name?

Well, there was/is Braxton, of course. He never said the words, Will, Brother, or Daddy. B III could read me like a book if I hadn’t said this before. He knew my emotions, body language, and tone of my voice. How do you get over someone reading, understanding all that you are? You don’t, which is why I cried last night, Sophia. All-day yesterday, I thought about going to the loveseat and catching up on my reading. I’d like to blame my Dear Future Wife because next week will suck. Another Braxton killing type of week. And I needed to get the conversation out of the way. What a way to talk to the mother of my future children, right? Only thinking about B III.

Oh, and there is my own body not listening to me. If I’m not reading books, I’m looking at the clock. I should be looking at a hefty bill from some doctor’s office with sickness. Sophia, I keep saying it’s not COVID, and that’s the truth. Strawberry slush, spicy pizza. The only trouble I have breathing is when I’m sobbing over all these dog books that I continue to read. My heart is perpetually broken. Nothing else is going in there with those Karens at PetSmart. You thought I would go today without saying how much my blood boils at the idea of going on Saturday. “He never gets one anyway.” Ok, fair enough bitches. For the word is Braxton, love. What’s The Word B

Gospel 232 ~Braxton My MAID Man~

383 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 225 ~Boy Read The Room~

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It’s not every day I write this fast. I got to give the Day Job credit, shit. Someone said to write; all you need to do is bleed. Or shout a bunch of obscenities that you’ll never say on the phone. B had a way of speaking his mind. Boy Read The Room.

Friday, February 11, 2022

Chronicle 225 ~Boy Read The Room~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means I would do everything in my power to shut down the old Day Job.

Why am I telling you this on a Wednesday, Sophia? Because I’m a fucking weakling! Today, I spilled to Inspector Echo about how bad I felt. Mentally, physically, spiritually, ok? Fuck off, Hemingway, I’m in no mood. Anyway, I was recovering, then fucking Day Job! Read the room, Lady Sophia. Against one wall is my Ring Light and some Fleshlights. Lady Sophia, I’m sitting in bed writing as I always have. Reading. Knowledge is power. Only against the door are some hoodies, my black one waiting. Fucking Day Job. Sophia, I mean to say that I don’t want to go. Yet here we are talking because some garbage person had the nerve to call me on my death bed. B III, come get me, please.

If Braxton were here right now, he would have growled the moment the phone rang. Braxton could read me like a book. And of course, the phone never rings with good news. Well, no, I’ll take that back. Whenever Braxton wasn’t a douche, he was ready to come back. The last two calls, though, were from Banfield Pet Hospital. Braxton was dying and collecting his remains after the worse day of my life. And his? Certificate of cremation. It’s the worst thing I ever read. But seeing the Day Job on the phone? Top five things I never want to read. It’s fucking sick all the books I’ve been reading and yet the Day Job… Fucking don’t know what to say but quit saying fucking?

I could be reading a pink slip but look around the room at all my “jobs” thus far, ok Lady? In front of Braxton’s picture frame are pills. I haven’t taken any; again, there’s recovery. Only now carved into my skull right next to. Oh, can you feel it, Lady Sophia, a list, I think.

  1. Papers of Braxton’s Death
  2. Braxton’s Birthday on the 13th
  3. Emergence Day
  4. Anytime my father calls
  5. Day Job asking for shifts

Yet today, I’ll read more about mourning my dead son. I’ll humiliate myself more with the things I say to AI. I’ll try not to write “perverted” things to M Anime. But the Day Job, I’ll write it “FUCK OFF!” But, Boy Read The Room

Gospel 225 ~B For I Look~

376 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 210 ~Getting A Bye B~

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I wish I could get a bye on life. Dangerous words, especially now. I’m sure B appreciated every second he had in his life. He never asked for a bye. I would never buy all the things he should have, stairs, etc. And as far as goodbye… Getting A Bye B.

Thursday, January 27, 2022

Chronicle 210 ~Getting A Bye B~

361 Days Without B III

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? My day has only begun, and it’s without you. It was the same last year.

Gospel 210 ~Will To Break Free~

I never thought I would be saying goodbye to you. Well, at least not like this. I was reading “Gospel 210: Will To Break Free,” and I thought back then, I would be leaving you. Going back into the 5 Stages of Grief, Bargaining. Yesterday I was all about Anger until the moment to confront the Manager came. Humiliations Galore ensued, and I’d tell you. The more things change, the more they stay the same. But for 361 days, I haven’t tucked you under my arm, Braxton, falling asleep. Horrible choice of words. Euthanasia, death. As many times as death has passed me by. Why couldn’t it afford you the same courtesy, my boy? Death must be a big-titty woman. Everyone loves a big-titty woman.

That sounds so much better than saying I’m a murderer. Yes, every book I’ve read this month says I’m not. To think I was a criminal last year. And then I took your life, Braxton. My highest crime, the ninth circle of Hell, Treachery. Braxton, I walked past your life. These days, I’ve been walking past the couch. You know, with my reading. Grieving books. This AM, I let the time fly by. I’ve kept my promise of waking up early but been lying here. Whatever plague I suffered, Braxton has given me a bye. I was telling your aunt yesterday. Inevitably, I always get by in life, and I know I don’t deserve it. I had to tell you goodbye, but I didn’t know.

Hell, I did by this time, but there was too much I wanted to buy. I like money, but I love you. How can I tell you bye again? While I was at the Day Job, I thought I wouldn’t have to. I had three ideas. Thank those dog books and Andrew Davidson’s “The Gargoyle.”

  1. Continue as now, writing a letter to you B
  2. I’ve had a year, why not let you write
  3. A mixture of both you and me B III

I’ve also been thinking about buying more dog tags. Like the one, I wear at the Day Job. What do you and they have in common? I can’t say goodbye. Fighting to get a bye, Braxton. Getting A Bye B

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Chronicle 176 ~B’s Christmas, Who’s Counting~

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I wish tonight I’d be reading a Christmas “story.” I haven’t even picked out a new book. I should see if A Christmas Story is on TV. I could tell you about The Matrix Resurrections if I understood it… “But B’s Christmas, Who’s Counting, um one.”

Friday, December 24, 2021

Chronicle 176 ~B’s Christmas, Who’s Counting~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but it’s not for songwriting. I’ve been down that road before. Today though, this is new.

One, first and foremost, Braxton’s not here. Or he is? Geez, how long did I believe in Santa? I can’t believe in Braxton for 327 Days. Santa can take everything back if I get B. “Two girls will be upset, Will.”. Santa would say, who doesn’t look a thing like Jesus. The gift of life, Lady Sophia. Between some girl’s legs. Four boobs Soph. A threesome, a wish. Three wishes and my Olds were better capping it at ten. Yet I blame them for everything. Okay, my “father” for the most part. Then, of course, there’s B III. Not my gift but then… Four little legs came running to get in the car. Those legs followed me everywhere, and now my Braxton flies. I believe.

Five dollars was my cost of betrayal. Well over three hundred but again, who’s counting. At least Judas made thirty pieces of silver. I betrayed my God/dog for my manhood. Stuff and Thangs, my Onlyfans, all because I needed to feel something. Braxton was comfort and joy as the song goes. The Day Job brings RAGE. Here’s to mindless pleasures. Six in the morning, though? I want Braxton to wake me up like he once did when I had an off day. Hell, I might even go back to when my sister and I were kids with all our gifts. Seven days Lady Sophia. Can I have back the seven days when Braxton was sick? Try again? I would save him; I keep telling myself that. Give me a day in the week to enjoy. Eight days would be too much. But then again, eight orgasms? How about methods if I count up all my sex toys. And then I only want to buy more. Forgetting me. In my LUST.

Nine MM bullets? Don’t get scared. Even Carolina Bound didn’t freak out. I’m thinking about Christmas presents, and as I said, Sophia, I could use the ammo, okay. JIC right? Ten dollars’ worth of Braxton’s food is still in the refrigerator. Care to wager Sophia? Eleven girls for a brothel? Um thirteen, Thirteen Women (and Only One Man in Town). Twelve, though, my to-do list. Braxton gave me fifteen years. We counted on each other, but B’s Christmas, Who’s Counting?

327 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 169 ~B There Dead Air~

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Blah, blah, blah, all under the guise of the holiday, but that’s still a week away. I should have a new story to tell. My first Christmas without my boy or anyone. The cold bothers me, but Elsa is hot. The worst thing is the silence. B There Dead Air

Friday, December 17, 2021

Chronicle 169 ~B There Dead Air~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, which means Christmas should be a pretty big holiday for me. When I was a child…

Halloween? A few were spent on the streets of suburbia behind a mask ha. Others I was in a church here or there. Now, wait, aren’t I supposed to be talking about Christmas? Hell, this whole season in my life, this Mad Season, insane, inevitable? Somehow I ain’t Iron Man yet. Well, unless we’re talking about my willy. I swear, Lady Sophia, I need to treat LUST like a fucking zombie virus. If that were the idea, I would be dead now. Don’t threaten me with a good time, hmm? After my Humiliations, Galore, sigh. Is it any surprise that I’m thinking about the past Sophia? There’s the book Hold by Claire Kent. Remembering a song here or there. And now the movie Dead Air.

Thanksgiving that I have so many stories to tell myself because you know my usual. Again today, as the song goes, “work sucks, I know.” Wasn’t I talking about yesterday, the woman and her Christmas card? Now I got a bag from the Day Job. It ain’t a pink slip. I am thankful that I wrote another story this year and got all the badges to boot. Yes, I lied to get them. But what other accomplishments do I have this year? To check New Year’s resolutions. Of course, one of those was to keep my son alive. You didn’t think we would have a whole conversation without me mentioning him. 2021 is the worst year ever. That’s saying a lot, even beating out my Emergence year. No easy feat.

Christmas time, though, and as I’m sure I’ve said. If I stay out of trouble, this will be the first year I’ve ever been alone. B’s Aunt Carolina Bound said she’s coming to town to celebrate with her Dad. That also means she’s coming to see me. Smiling Faces Sometimes. I mean that more about myself than her. How have I kept it together? Impossible! Sophia, this could all be some nightmare, and I’ll wake up. Some nights I’ve believed. Of course, my go-to is that I’m dead, and this is Hell, but I’m breathing as the song goes, “I’m still breathing, I’m alive. Yet, I dream of an apocalypse. So Dead Air, Sophia? My movie night with her, without Braxton… B There Dead Air

320 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 168 ~Take A Breath Braxton~

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If I could’ve, I would’ve held my breath forever the moment B took his last. The will to live, yup. It was strong with him, too, if I hadn’t stopped it. That’s the problem. People telling me what I don’t want to hear, but B. Take A Breath Braxton, um

Thursday, December 16, 2021

Chronicle 168 ~Take A Breath Braxton~

319 Days Without B III

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? I know it’s late… 6:30 PM but you should look in on your Grandma, B.

It’s her birthday, B III, and you’ll have more of a chance to see her than me. Well, I’m being a selfish asshole, aren’t I? My interactions with her today equate to two beeps. Sending her a text and getting one back. Another reason dogs were given paws, not fingers. Braxton, I can also say this is why you were given barks, not words. I have heard talking dogs. But no matter you were the best B, always and forever. Um, you would make too much goddamn sense if you had words. Pardon my language, Day Job, and well… Humiliations Galore again. So yeah, I stuffed my face and took a nap. But do I want to talk about it, B III? How about no.

Oh, gasp, shocker, relax B. You did what my Olds couldn’t do for years. If I ever talked to them about my day? I wanted to stop breathing. You know what I mean. There was that time I didn’t eat and fell out on the floor, and you went and got them. Keep me breathing. That’s what you did, B III. You kept me breathing even when I didn’t want to. It’s getting harder to do these days. Yeah, without my tunes, I have too much time to think. Hell, for a while, I had an earworm to that song “Fly Me To The Moon.” You liked my singing B. “Now I didn’t say that,” you’d give me that look. Again allow my selfishness B.

If you had one more breath to give, I’d ask you, spend it with me and not your grandma. When I had those arguments in my head at the Day Job, I wanted to say this. “At least when my son makes a noise, he’s helping me out. You can shut the fuck up!” Language, I know B III. I’m sorry. Anger is more useful than despair, I heard somewhere. The lady in Shoes was dicking around with me today. Pitying me by giving me a Christmas card. Worse, she was “proselytizing.” It took me some time to find that word. Anyway, between that and The Christmas Nanny, Tess being all alone. Yeah, B III if you can get here somehow. Take A Breath Braxton.

Always and Forever,
Your Dad

Chronicle 163 ~Why I Didn’t B~

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Why I didn’t bring him home, more like why didn’t I bring him back alive but you know I’m one for music and the truth. That is, if I’m not “Manifesting” the worst possible scenario for my life. Not like I’m living or trying. Why I Didn’t B.

Saturday, December 11, 2021

Chronicle 163 ~Why I Didn’t B~

Hey Lady Lu,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but why wasn’t I sooner? Uh, because you’re a fucking lazy ass? Braxton gave that look.

Only what was I talking about last week or the week before? Noticing puppy paws? Besides the paws that were too big, I also saw tails. What dog would be happy seeing the Cheshire cat smiling down on them (My Mask)? Um, only pups deserve a smile, Lady Lu. So why am I still sitting here alone? I’m over the whole “Chase” scenario. I’ll never be over Braxton, but Chase sealed it. It’s a Chihuahua or nothing. I told you I’m a dog snob. Braxton ruined me for other dog breeds, and don’t think about it like that, Lunalesca. Well below losing Braxton and my paranoia. It’s that fucking Mariah Carey song All I Want for Christmas Is You. My answer, my B III alive.

So why didn’t I try harder? Republican tendencies or more like Slave Mentality. Work hard, do what you’re told. Hell, when I’m not at the Day Job, I’m getting myself into so much trouble. One way or another, I will myself into a punishment all for B III, I know. Why didn’t I dream positive thoughts today? That’s not my motivational speeches talking… fucking Day Job. Instagram is trying to pick up the slack, sending me “inspiration” from some rich white guys. Most days, my only motivation is not to get fired from Hell, Lady Lu. Everything “I Rise” for is no damn good for me. That includes my novel, which I haven’t looked at upon completion. NaNoWriMo should kick me out, I swear Lunalesca.

Why I didn’t stop myself from lying. I wanted to win, and I did the 50,000 words ok. I did. Why I didn’t stop myself; from stuffing my face when I came back? Tradition Lunalesca. Why I didn’t live in a way that would make B III proud of me. He would still be alive. Yet the most fucked up thing I’ll say about today is this. I “Don’t Know Why” I didn’t come. Yes, we both know I have a thing for hot brunettes. Michelle Branch, Vanessa Carlton, Norah Jones, Mariah Carey, ha. Anyway, I’m still claiming monk status after what happened this morning. I didn’t come. I didn’t cum. Who am I trying to convince? Hmm. TMI right? Living? Why I Didn’t B

314 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 162 ~B There Bad Stories~

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Most of the stories I write end in a brothel someplace. And I won’t dare to say I’m one to write a harem romance. As for this month, I’ll only be reading Christmas “stories.” And hoping by the end, well… not looking for miracles. B There Bad Stories.

Friday, December 10, 2021

Chronicle 162 ~B There Bad Stories~

Hey Lady Sophia,
I AM a Billionaire right now, but I’ll never tell the story of inherited wealth. I work. The Day Job’s the worst.

So I tell myself an even worse tale. Today while I was buried in boxes, of course, I thought of those last few minutes before I resigned my son to one. I ignored everything else. Sophia, if I had done that before and focused on B III, he would still be with me. I mean more than spirit. How long am I going to tell this story, hmm? Nothing’s more horrible. You’re asking about good stories. I tried that while I was buying coffee for Cherry. Sad that my paycheck has never been that big. It was only because of 3 paid vacation days, ha. America, America. If you wonder why I have been avoiding the news for some time now. End of the world…

Please, my world ended on Sunday, January 31, 2021, at around 3:30 – 3:45 PM. The Revolution Will Not Be Televised. Watch World War III On Pay TV. No, I’m not scared. Yet another lie. Now don’t get me wrong, Lady Sophia, I’m not afraid for the country. We’re beyond screwed, but no. As always, I’m one selfish prick. Always bad words. OnlyFans Lady Sophia. My Stuff and Thangs if you’re wondering where I was tonight. Well, this afternoon, for the most part. A picture is worth a thousand words or $5.00. Only where was I this morning? Besides my good deed for today, I was waiting for sirens, boots at the door. To be on the news. The one tale I don’t want to tell

Like my tears, but they always come. Today they were brought on by another book I’m reading. I’m getting into the Christmas spirit, my first one ever alone thirty-seven years. So the story is called “The Christmas Nanny” by Elizabeth Kelly. Remember I read her work last year, “The Christmas Wife.” Should I read the one with the dog? NEVER!!! Sophia, you know the stories I tell to myself at night? I was telling myself the story of Final Fantasy VIII. Only freaking YouTube reactions. I’ve been watching Squid Game. Okay, I mean the reactions now. How I wish my Gganbu would come back all rich. Knowing Braxton, food wouldn’t be an issue. A Christmas miracle. I got some time, only B There Bad Stories.

313 Days Without B III

BLM Braxton’s Life Matters,
Will

Chronicle 161 ~Days Ending With B~

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Bad days aren’t going anywhere, and I fooled myself into believing neither was B III. He was always here. No, he is here if you listen to me say goodbye and hello every time I walk in the house. Every day, those Days Ending With B

Thursday, December 9, 2021

Chronicle 161 ~Days Ending With B~

312 Days Without B III

Just Me Baby B,
Did you have a good day? There would be no fries today, but I could have brought you breakfast. Whataburger chicken?

Breakfast is what I was most looking forward to B III. We aren’t big breakfast guys. I don’t want to get sick at the Day Job, and you would be all “Now My Watch Begins.” Then again, “Pancake” was your nickname. I bought the good bacon and sausage for you. But the “Boys In Blue?” Talk about paranoia B, and I would if you were here. You are here. I keep having to remind myself of that. Then I would keep myself out of trouble. I’m trying B, yup. But the boss man leaves, a call to the office, I swear a cashier said, COP. If anything, I only want to go on my terms. Braxton, my little boy, that choice was made for you.

Blinding myself with tears, I’m sorry. It’s another thing that happens every day, no matter what. This would be twice today. Yesterday I was talking about how I can never stay awake. If I take an afternoon nap, I look to your corner, Braxton, as soon as I wake up. I should be spending bucks on a Cuddle Clone, a tattoo, a chain. I spend it on boobs, Yabbos, and a lack of UK titties. I don’t sleep nude; usually, I told Cherry. Again where’s all my money going? Anyway, I only have to survive another half-day, Braxton, then it’s us. “Whatever, Daddy.” I can hear you now. You’d huff or bark, knowing again I would be sleeping or writing the days away. But together

Being father and son, brothers, best friends. How I miss those days B III. I wish I could remember them more, and it’s not like I’m forgetting. I can’t focus on the Day Job anymore while other people break the rules. I’m getting why you barked at everyone. My world. Breathing in it, though, is getting harder by the day. 312 to be specific. Today I was laying out your treat and realized there are so few left. They might not last another week. I should start another tribute. A picture frame, one for each week. 52 is a lot. Hell, I pay Cherry, order B-dubs, visit PetSmart once a week B. And I love you every day ending in Y. Days Ending With B

Always and Forever,
Your Dad