I was on the picket line early this morning. Before I joined my motherfucking brothers outside the plant gate I stopped into my favourite restaurant, Ma Kelly's Greasy Spoon. Ma looked at me cross as I joined her five minutes after she bounced down the potholed riverside roads to light up her restaurant in the foggy black of a day like any other.
"Why you no come my restaurant? On strike. Lazy. Almost every day you come my restaurant smell like whisky. What your boss think stink like whisky every day? If I your boss I kick you in the ass. Hard kick. What for breakfast this morning? You want egg, sunny side? Or maybe you too hungover just want coffee?"
Ma's husband Kelly works the grill. Never says shit. When there is nothing to cook he smokes in the alley sitting on a Dairyland crate. Between heaves on his rollies he spits, he spits his guts out, he does not complain. On Friday, the busiest day of the week in any greasy spoon, in the slow afternoon, he goes over the Racing Form, looking for the longshot to shut Ma the fuck up.
The coffee tasted great and breakfast always tastes great when you do not have to work. The eggs were runny as Dope City Downs' racing surface in November; the hash browns greasy as the highway the biker and his bitch got decapitated on under today's October sun; the bacon saltier than a Newfoundlander's tongue; the jam on the toast as tasteless as the motherfucker who chooses the music at Canuck home games.
I was finishing up my toast and jam with my third cup of coffee when Poops walked in the door. "Motherfuck Beer," he shot, "How the fuck does a drunk cocksucking son of a fucking bitch like you get up early enough to have been drinking coffee for fucking near an hour before the rest of his striking brothers gets here? What the fuck is your fucking secret you motherfucker?"
"If you started your day with the fuck I get every morning you would know brother. When's the last time your hairy lipped old lady said hello to your dick in the morning Poops?"
"My wife does not have hairy lips. They are fuzzy. When she sucks my ding-dong it is like being sucked by a pair of my favourite slippers."
Ma Kelly came over and gave Poops and I a disapproving look. "All you talk is suck and fuck, fuck and suck. I bet my restaurant you no suck, no fuck long time."
"Why you no come my restaurant? On strike. Lazy. Almost every day you come my restaurant smell like whisky. What your boss think stink like whisky every day? If I your boss I kick you in the ass. Hard kick. What for breakfast this morning? You want egg, sunny side? Or maybe you too hungover just want coffee?"
Ma's husband Kelly works the grill. Never says shit. When there is nothing to cook he smokes in the alley sitting on a Dairyland crate. Between heaves on his rollies he spits, he spits his guts out, he does not complain. On Friday, the busiest day of the week in any greasy spoon, in the slow afternoon, he goes over the Racing Form, looking for the longshot to shut Ma the fuck up.
The coffee tasted great and breakfast always tastes great when you do not have to work. The eggs were runny as Dope City Downs' racing surface in November; the hash browns greasy as the highway the biker and his bitch got decapitated on under today's October sun; the bacon saltier than a Newfoundlander's tongue; the jam on the toast as tasteless as the motherfucker who chooses the music at Canuck home games.
I was finishing up my toast and jam with my third cup of coffee when Poops walked in the door. "Motherfuck Beer," he shot, "How the fuck does a drunk cocksucking son of a fucking bitch like you get up early enough to have been drinking coffee for fucking near an hour before the rest of his striking brothers gets here? What the fuck is your fucking secret you motherfucker?"
"If you started your day with the fuck I get every morning you would know brother. When's the last time your hairy lipped old lady said hello to your dick in the morning Poops?"
"My wife does not have hairy lips. They are fuzzy. When she sucks my ding-dong it is like being sucked by a pair of my favourite slippers."
Ma Kelly came over and gave Poops and I a disapproving look. "All you talk is suck and fuck, fuck and suck. I bet my restaurant you no suck, no fuck long time."
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