Thomas loves Jazz

    Thomas was your average black, middle-aged insurance salesman. In retrospect, I can’t really figure out what the average black, middle-aged insurance salesman looks like or can I surmise any other distinguishing attributes he may have that may help with the comprehension of this short story, so I’ll skip the bullshit. Thomas loved three things. He loved jazz, whiskey drinkin’ women who were compliant, and taking a "mornin’ shit". You see, anybody who’s anybody loves or at least likes jazz, and I don’t know a son of a bitch out there who doesn’t dig a whiskey drinkin’ woman who is compliant, so that leaves us with those who don’t consider the "mornin’ shit" the best damn shit of the day. I know that was a run-on sentence but I don’t care, so why should you?

    When I reproduce, God willing, my kids had better shit in the morning or I’ll kick their asses back in the mothafuckin’ womb, back to pre-conception if I have to. At some point or another you gotta learn to respect your movements, even if they’re pinner. You see dumbshits, Thomas was cool, not only because he loved jazz and loose whiskey drinkin’ women, but because he respected his shits. My friend took a shit in a gas station sink back in high school.