That stupid bitch I was married to never heard me come in. Probably she has so much of that greasy white cholesterol crap oozing out of her arteries and spilling into her alviolies or excrusion tubes or whatever the hell those little pipes in her ears are. I never bothered paying attention to that crap in school. I knew the damned tubes were there, and hers had to be plugged because she never heard a god damned thing. That was good enough for me.
I was behind her stupid beaded curtain. Of course, the thing was pink... everything was pink. She had that fringe shit with the little hairy balls hanging down on everything... the bar stools, the bar, the window sills. It was a blessing she didn’t know her ass from a hole in the ground when it came to cleaning; the windows were so filthy no one could see what a god damned pink nightmare they were walking into, and when you walked in here? It reeked of that horse piss smell of marijuana and stale beer. All the people who came in here smoked that crap. It was probably the only way to survive seeing god damned Bambi. Maybe I should try it? It wouldn’t be hard to score a little weed around here.
Still, she had a pretty good business going. It was the only place to get something to eat for miles around, and Antonio made a killer burrito, so people did come back. It sure as hell wasn’t for the ambience or Bambi’s bubbly god damned personality.
She leaned over, shaking her massive, disgusting tits at that guy. She thought she was god damned Charo down here, shaking and wiggling and trying to roll her Rs. Her tongue was too fat for that and she ended up sounding like Sylvester. What a stupid god damned cat Sylvester was. Every time I watched that cartoon, I was praying he would catch that damned shithead Tweetie bird then eat the annoying yellow piece of crap.
“When the hell did you get in here?”
I love you too, Darling. “None of your damned business. I still own half the business. I have to make sure you aren’t scaring away all the customers.” I never took any of her crap.
She pushed past me. “Antonio, make a couple burritos for Jose.”
There it was – nails on a blackboard. “Why in the name of all that is holy does everyone have a name that starts with a god damned J?” It was true. We never had a Fred or a Mike walk in the door. “And when the hell are you gonna just say their names normal instead of sounding like some stupid cat horking up a hairball? HHHosaay? What the hell is that?”
“Get yer sad skinny ass outta my way, Sugar britches. I got work to do and a hot man waiting to get at it with me.”
Apparently the wacky tobacky smell had fried what was left of a brain in that fat head.
“Right. Good luck with that.” I looked at Jose again. Jesus Christ, he was a mean looking son of a bitch, and for me to see that was something. They didn’t come much meaner or meaner looking than me.
Antonio set the plate on the counter for serving. Bambi pulled down her top, let those damned saggy basketball boobs dangle a bit more and rolled up the waistband of her skirt to shorten it up, flashing a calf that was about the size of a normal man’s waist. Holy crap. This was not going to be good.