Sick Leave

It was a job. Working 12 to 6 AM

on X2580 “More Corporate Radio.”

Two lines out of fifteen flashed and took flight every time Frank gave out the station number.

“X2580, more corporate radio for a nation of rubber chickens and disposable items get on those micro fiber phone lines . . . and tell the poor to pull themselves up by their boot straps.”

Frank searched the parking lot for a sign of life.

Nothing.

Frank punched the button on the speaker phone.

“X2580!”

“I’m lonely on a ranch 125 miles outside of town. You’ve got a sexy voice. My name is Little Dolly
Vixen,” she breathed in to the phone.

“Really?” Frank asked his throat tight becoming a taught drum.

“What do you look like . . .naked?”

“Have you ever seen Nicole Smith?”

Frank felt the blood banging against his temple. He was dizzy with lust.

“Frank?”

“X2580, sometime this hour be the 10th caller to beat The Rubber Chicken and win…”

“Frank? You still there? My lips are moist.”

The phone crackled an coughed static and bleeps.

“Dolly?”

“Frank?”

“Yeah, Miss Dolly? Look, meet me at 7th and King”

“See you in 3 hours,” Frank rasped. He could feel the bulge in his pants.

Driving to the meet her, Frank had visions of burning red hot sex, steel meeting a taught hard body; hotness;blond hair spreading across his chest.

Frank turned on 7th and… There she was. . .tsunami size waves of fat wrapped around her stomach. She was standing gnawing on a chicken bone dribbles of juice and fat dripping on her blue Ready Man overhauls.

She was the picture of a broken down wrestler. Her arms were like 2 whales with a red heart tattoo and a black dagger thought it.

The word “Baby” were inked on the right arm.

Frank punched the gas hard. The car made the corner on 2 wheels trying to throw Frank into the passenger seat. Frank held on to the steering wheel and kept going.

The next morning Frank crawled out from under a bottle as usual.

Lights blinked in the studio that night; Frank ignored them.

If they had a first date, he could have brought her a box of chicken parts, and she’d love it, Frank thought, laughing.

How about taking her to a KFC and ordering a king sized box of dark meat chicken necks. Let her stuff her triple chin face with hot apple pies and tubs of gravy

She’d burp and tell him she didn’t put out on the first date.There’d be a sour smell to her breath.

Frank loved the speculation. It made him laugh. No more groupie phone mutts for him.

He’d go home, suck off a bottle and get smashed, and pull the trigger.

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2 thoughts on “Sick Leave

  1. Hutch says:

    Oh wow. This is some crazy writing. Frank makes for an interesting book character.

  2. detectivetom says:

    She sounds like mad Dog Vachon in drag!

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