A Fools Philosopher by John Patrick Robbins

 

 

He never wanted to be that guy, Frank thought to himself.
The one caught between two women caring for one and simply using the other.

He sat at the cluttered desk he didn’t even know the fuck why.
He was a writer in title only.

The bullshit always gets in the way of the page.
And the best at this game were all loners at least that’s the bullshit they sold you.

We are all suckers and there is no better con artist than the writer.

He hadn’t turned on his phone for days.
He knew no sooner than he did it would be one fucking message after the next.

And in that swarm not a damn one would be from the one person he truly wanted to hear from.

Frank poured a scotch and turned on the music.
He didn’t check his emails but that was nothing new.

Besides if he started playing nice his agent Simon would probably drop dead of shock.

Frank turned on the phone.
And as usual the texts began to pour in.

There were his friends and they were few like Richie and his usual.

“Hey you asshole you dead or just on your period? If dead don’t reply I am haunted by enough ghosts.”

Frank cracked up at that one.

Richie was a first class prick maybe that’s why Frank and him got along so well.

And then there were the barrage of messages from Victoria.

He didn’t bother reading any but the last.

Victoria would run the gamut of emotions well minus sincerity.

She would start out horny then turn sour when she felt she was being ignored.

Then inevitably curse Frank out saying she hated him and never to call her again.

Then an hour later a mile long message would come through.

Speaking of why he was such true bastard.
Once he had to admit she did in such an eloquent way.

It really takes a lady to call you a cocksucker in a classy sort of way.

Then she would wait for a few days.

And when no other returned her affections or his friends wouldn’t pass along messages she would cave.

“Look Frank we have to talk !”

Then another barrage.

Then midway she would somehow get herself horny and mention fucking.

It never ended till Frank either blocked her number or joined the witness protection program.

Frank turned up the stereo and listened to his bird chirp along.

Tink just sat there looking in her mirror mindlessly chirping along to the music.

Bobbing her head either going off or having a blast fuck if Frank could tell the difference .

This little parakeet rattled on the lone bird after her two male companions had passed.

Frank poured another scotch.
And was happy just to forget about the bullshit.

As Tink rattled on from cage hanging from the ceiling.

He realized what Victoria needed more than a simple fuck was a full length mirror.

So she could speak to her one true love,

Herself.

Frank ordered one had it shipped that very same day thanks to Amazon.

He would have loved to be a fly on the wall when it arrived at her house.

And to see her and her husband’s reaction.

As she opened her present with attached note.

“Dear sweetheart I think I found your perfect match, well that is until the government lifts the ban on the whole human cloning thing that is.”

“Until then go fuck yourself!”

sincerely yours

Frank.

 

©2018 John Patrick Robbins

 

Follow John

 

John Patrick Robbins Is the editor in chief of The Rye Whiskey Review, Under The Bleachers and Drinkers Only. He is also the author of Once Upon A Nervous Breakdown from Soma Publishing, and Sex Drugs & Poetry from Whiskey City Press. His work has appeared here at Blognostics, The San Pedro River Review, The Mojave River Review, Ariel Chart, Punk Noir Magazine, As It Ought To Be Magazine, Red Fez, and Medusas Kitchen. His work is always unfiltered.

 

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