Drowning deep in my sea of loathing, broken

Ever since I joined the football team our love melts like a forgotten Glacier. Love sounds gay. I'm the best QB but instead of "passing" I say, "relinquishing" the ball. Coach says

that I'm awfully uppity for a meathead quarterback who thinks love is gay. I say a guy can have a good vocabulary and still be a homophobe. I'm living proof, afterall.

But I wouldn't say I'm exactly a bigot. Not really. I do think they should be equal, but have their own place to live, and so would we. That way nobody would be uncomfortable and

everyone would stop arguing. Maybe the hippies would finally shut up, and go off on their own to hold hands and share feelings, and quit bothering us.

That is exactly what they did. Each and every moon child, clutching their hands and walking away, their feelings already poised on their lips. I sighed. Good riddance!

At least they left on their own accord this time. It's such a waste of my time to have to kill them individually and stack them like so much cord wood only to leave them at the

landfill where they just bulldozed them under the surface with no ceremony. They could have at least played Taps on a cheep loud speaker. The worst funeral I have ever attended.

I pulled an orange from my pocket and began peeling it, throwing the peelings onto the grave. I gave a mock salute and strolled out of the landfill on my way to

the bus station. There was $10,000 in a locker, a hot babe ready to go, and a 'hound leaving for Cleveland at 3. He had been my partner, but now he was my ticket.