So here’s what happened, internet. Varenka’s boyfriend Rory is in town for the 4th and I was working yesterday eve, so tonight we made burgers and pineapple and drank MANY BEERS.
Rory challenged me to write a story about the 4th of July in under 500 words, and I started it… 4 beers ago.
Here’s that bit:
Henry took another long sip of his mango margarita and shifted in his cheap Walmart lawn chair as his friends came around the corner of the house.
“What’s up fuckers?” He yelled, waving his arms and accidentally spilling burrito grease down his Bald Eagle™ shirt.
“Why the fuck are you eating Mexican food on the 4th of July?” Barnabus asked, throwing Henry a lukewarm Sam Adams. Henry reached for it, but the throw went wild and bounced off the lonely inflatable pool that was sitting half-full on the dead lawn.
“Because being American means I can eat Mexican food whenever I want!” Henry replied jubilantly, taking a huge bite of the soggy, leaking carcass of his chicken Supreme Supreme.
“It’s written in the constitution,” their other friend Freddie said, plopping heavily down onto the dead grass. Barnabus remained standing with two freshly opened beers in his hands.
AND THEN I DRANK MANY BEERS.
AND SO HERE WE ARE.
AND I’M GOING TO WRITE THE REST NOW.
Some time later, Henry set down his 15th beer.
“Fuck!” he said. Freddie groaned, throwing her flimsy plastic shotglass across the yard.
“The fuck are we doing?” she groaned.
“Fucking, drinking, and shit” Barnabus chimed in. He was lying on the ground with his legs on a chair.
AND THEN A METEOR CAME AND THEY ALL DIED THE END.