#i sound like such a boomer .bury me in the yard

[quirkle2]

i must be a little tumblr baby born in the tumblr cave cuz i am Not understanding how twitter works

[beliefbeautyizwithin]

Good Girls Writers You Can’t Really Be Serious?!

This may be long but I must let this Out . * Me SCREAMING AT THE TOP of MY LUNGS*. So many things to unload after this Season finale. I have several different senerios and a couple points.

1. Have you noticed the parrells between some of the lines between Agent Turner and Rio these last couple of episodes. Similar lines such as “funny money”, “monopoly money”, “let’s see how you do”( ep 5 Rio says : “let’s see how all this goes”, then Agent says the same thing in the last scene during the season finale) . Agent Turners whole deal with Beth is how she lives in this “perfect” bubble. Agent Turner also tells Beth in the season finale while he sits around her table: how he’s from the projects ( which is the hood). I think there’s some resentment there and there is also a possibility that RIo and Agent Turner come from the same hood. The similarities in lines could be some potential foreshadowing for S3.

2. If the season finale is exactly how it seems , then everything that has happened between Beth and Rio, means absolutely NOTHING. They want us to believe that Rio is this villain 🦹‍♂️ , whose been setting Beth up to take the fall for everything. But in the scope of things it doesn’t make any sense. How did she get involve with all this if it wasn’t for Rio, S1 he wanted her out but she still wanted to play ball. The storage locker had all of Rio’s things in there along with the fake money . When the FBI raided Boland motors why would RIo give Beth a heads up and remove all the pills from the cars. If anything it makes him look just as much guilty as her. If not more. Villianizing Rio’s character would be a cheap sleazy way to get a thrill out of us. For that reason I can’t believe it. I won’t accept that storyline. Then have Beth casually shoot him 3 times with NO remorse shown, for the man she made love to several times, for the man she trusted, for the man that made her partner, for the man that for the most part has been looking out for her??? Really. Let’s cut the bull. 😕...... people have been circulating this Jenna Bans interview regarding the finale but in no where does it say everything is as it seems. These ARE the same people who made us believe for an ENTIRE season Boomer was dead 💀.

Alright... So here goes what I think is the true scenero: Rio has for the most part known what is going on with the Fed investigation before Beth does. Therefore, he had to know about Boomer still being alive, the girls trying to negotiate with him, and the status of what Turner knows. Now the reason I believe Beth and Rio planned this whole last scene. Rio couldn’t have known about Jeff’s body unless Beth told him about it. When I say Jeff’s body , I mean the fact that Beth buried it in her backyard. He makes it slip out during the last scene with Turner tied up . I believe that was purposeful; but we’ll get back to that. Rio gives Beth possession of ALL his things including furniture, clothes, etc, why do that just to set her up? Boomer is still ALIVE a big piece of the puzzle 🧩 and he is now in police custody.Which means he will be talking , but he can’t be deemed a creditable witness if the entire investigation has been botched by Agent Turner. Let me tie this all in before I go on forever(bc I could). When the scene cut after Rio throws the bag over Beth’s face. I think a conversation is had between Rio and Beth on their way to his apartment where he had Turner tied up. The coversation entailed how they were going to do this. The only way to get Turner off their back and mislead the entire investigation was to make Turner a dirty FBI agent and making him believe that their not on the same page. Beth and Rio yelling at each other seem completely out of character for both of them. At least not after all they’ve been through. I think the deal was for Beth to shoot Rio several times( in her eyes you could see she didn’t want to do it) but he looked at her and said “ just like we practiced” ( it’s meant for us to believe Rios talking about the I’m gonna teach you moments we weren’t privy to) but I believe he was referencing the areas he told her to shoot him. Remember Rio shot Dean and purposely did not kill him. We all know Rio knows how to shoot a gun to kill a person.

Beth and Rio now have incriminating information against Agent Turner to portray him as a dirty cop who can’t be trusted. Let’s not forget it ALL happened on camera 🎥, Rio was recording the Whole thing. Beth knew about the camera in Rio’s apt. Agent Turner telling Beth to leave the scene of the crime after she shot Rio and finding out she has a buried body in her back yard, not to mention him Blackmailing Rio before dialing the cops/ ambulance. Their setting him up.

Also noone thought it was highly coincidental that now Beth all of a sudden figured out how to make the fake cash. She couldn’t have known if Rio didn’t tell her this . It sounds simple but who would think to make fake cash with nail polish and whatever else is used. Rio this entire season has been grooming Beth to be a Boss Bitch. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t plan for her to take over the empire ( which I predicted in prior posts).💁🏽‍♀️..... Now if S3 goes in a different direction the writers may realize we figured some ish out and try to throw us a loop. But Rio being the villain I will NEVER buy. I won’t watch if that’s the case.

[queennicoleinboots]

Peter Walks Away Out of Stress and Anxiety

Jamie was screaming in severe pain.

"No!!! I'm not doing this today!!!" Peter screamed as he jumped out of his Toyota Highlander in a torn up white shirt and jeans his mother made him. "No!!!" He stomped into the house. He was uttering swear words. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Sigh!!! Fuck you!!!" Peter said as he slammed the door to the inside of his house.

Godiva was also arriving home from her doctor's appointment with groceries. She was struggling to get them in the house because her back was hurting.

"Do you need help?" I asked.

"Yes. And get Peter. Some of the items are heavy," she said as she put what she had down and sat down to do paperwork.

"Oookay," I said. I didn't want to bother Peter really. He was irate as is. I might die today.

I knocked on Peter's door.

"WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?!" Peter yelled as I heard something hit the door. I think he threw an object at the door.

"Your mother and I need help with groceries???" I said with an awkward smile on my face.

"I didn't know she was buying groceries today! I just got home from weeeeeerk. What the fuck?" Peter yelled before he opened the door. There were severe red circles around his eyes and a tight frown on his face.

"Sorry, Peetie," I said as I helped him with the groceries.

While Peter and I were unloading groceries, he sang, "Fuck Fuck Fuck I don't want to do this! Fuck fuck fuck I hate my life! Fuck fuck fuck fuck it all." All I could do was chuckle. He was sighing, slamming shit, and dropping shit. I laughed the whole fucking time.

Peter dropped a boxed pizza on the ground. He tried to pick it up and put it on the counter, but it kept falling back on the floor.

After the third time of that bullshit, Peter said as he stared directly at the God-forsaken pizza box, "You know what fuck you. You can fuckin' stay on the ground. That's where the fuck you want to be. Fine. Stay there. I'll fucking eat the box when I feel like getting on the ground AND EATING. Fuck baking. I don't give a fuck!" He stormed outside to get more groceries.

I cracked the fuck up and picked up the pizza box before putting it on the counter. The box stayed in the counter for me. At that point, I rolled on the floor and laughed.

"What is so funny, Xara? What are you laughing at?" Godiva asked as she shook her head. That woman has been on edge lately.

"Peter! Peter! Peter! Hahaha. He's so goddamn funny! Hahahahahaha!!!" I said between laughs.

"He isn't funny today. He's more on edge than I am," Godiva said.

Peter sighed as he carried the groceries. "You know what I am?! I'm a walking source of goddamn entertainment for every fucking body. I have been laughed at all goddamn day. Paul is an asshole and doesn't help. He is a big fucking clown himself fucking asshole," he bitched as he put the groceries down and put them away. "Fuck everybody. That's all I have to say. Fuck everybody and fuck everything."

I continued to laugh because I had no other way to respond to the chaos going on in Peter's life. "Is this any indication of how your life is going at the moment?" I asked with a huge smile on my face.

"YES!!!!" Peter screamed as he put his hands near his head. He finished putting groceries away and smiled at his mother. "I'm done." He walked away with angry whistles as he retreated to his side of the house.

Apparently, he had a terrible day at work and in general. Poor bastard.

Godiva pursed her lips together and nodded. She looked like she was done, too.

My phone rang.

"Bae WHUHhhhh!!!!" I screamed.

"I am going to break my computer and destroy the world," Joebear said.

I chuckled uncontrollably. "What the fuck happened?"

"I did a virus scan on my computer because I just recently put a new hard drive in. Well, I didn't think I was going to have a virus... But I had a few viruses. Anyway, one of them is causing my computer to restart over and over again.... Sigh. Okay, I'm trying to reformat the drive. I have to clone the drive once I'm done with this bullshit..." Joebear was saying.

I heard something being smashed into Peter's wall over and over again. Yep. Peter was pissed off.

"Oh Jesus," I said.

"WHAT THE FUCK?! IT'S RESTARTING AGAIN!!! BEEN TRYING TO FIX THIS FUCKING THING FOR THREE HOURS! I'M READY TO MOVE ON!!!!" Joebear yelled with a sigh of frustration.

"OH WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT NOW?????!!!!!!" Peter screamed from the other side of the door. His phone was ringing.

I tried not to laugh. "I'm sorry, baby," I said.

"There should be a special place in hell for people who create viruses!" Joebear screamed.

"Really! There are plenty of better things to do, like being a firefighter, volunteering for a homeless shelter, working in a soup kitchen, helping a church group, working in waste management," I said.

"Yeah, I know, but all they accomplished was wasting my time. Great! Fucking assholes!" Joebear shouted.

"Aaahhhhhhh!!! Paul, you FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! It's your own goddamn fault!!!!" Peter screamed through the door. "You put yourself in this goddamn mess! Of course your client isn't going to like you showing up drunk!!! DUH!!! Are you stupid?!!!!" Peter punched the door and screamed.

I cracked up. "Yeah. Viruses are a waste of time."

"Steam is coming out of my eyes!!!" Joebear yelled before he growled like a bear. He kept growling over the phone.

"What do you want from me?!... What do you want from me?! No, mother fucker, I'm not... Live with me?! Why the fuck-you're married!!!! My house is cursed. You don't want to live here! You don't want to live here!!!" Peter screamed as I heard some more banging.

I chuckled. "I'm sorry, BaeBae," I said. I was ready to roll on the floor again. The two angry men in my vicinity were cracking me up.

Joebear growled loudly before he said, "Stupid assholes. Why would you make a program that just restarts itself? This is some low IQ shit!!!!"

I coughed, muted the phone, and laughed while doubling over.

"What the fuck, Paul? Why do you ALWAYS DO STUPID SHIT?! Every day, it gets worse!!!! Why does my boss show up drunk?! I look like a fucking asshole!" Peter screamed in the other room before he stormed out and went to the kitchen. He was snarling and using hand gestures. "No you cannot live with me. You can live with my parents BUT. NOT. ME. I am going to live in a cardboard box near the liquor store with a GLASS OF WATER!!!" Peter was pouring himself a glass of water.

I unmuted the phone. "Bae, I'm sorry your computer is fucked up," I said as I looked at an irate Peter who downed a glass of water before pouring himself another glass.

"No. I'm pretty calm for how I feel right now. If I were any iota less sane, I would destroy the world right now and terrorize the neighborhood. Oh God I hate these people," Joebear said.

I laughed. "Me, too. Today is retarded. Peter is walking through the house with a large cardboard box and a glass of water."

"Paul, you are by far the dumbest mother fucker I have ever met, and holy fuck I met a lot of dumbass people. I can't talk to you. I can't know you. Fuck you right now. I'll talk to you later," Peter said as he hung up the phone.

I kept laughing as tears were forming in my eyes.

"That sounds fucked up. Let me beat my computer with a hammer. I love you. Talk to you later," Joebear said before he growled.

"Love you, Baeeeee!!!" I sang.

Joebear growled before he hung up.

"Hey, Peter. It sounds like you had the worst day ever," I said cheerfully.

"YEESSSS!!! AND IT'S GETTING WORSE!!! And I am going to bury my cell phone in the yard before I take my cardboard box and glass of water the fuck away from this world," Peter said as he walked outside. Of course, I followed him.

He put the cardboard box and glass of water at the end of the driveway before he came back and went into the garage. He grabbed a shovel. He turned off his cell phone and set it on the ground next to a toilet.

"Hey Peter. How are you?" the toilet asked him.

"Fuck you. That's how I am. Fuck everybody. Fuck every thing," Peter answered as he dug a hole next to the toilet.

The toilet laughed at him. "Has anyone ever told you you're fucked up?" she asked.

"Yes. Every fucking day of my fucking life," Peter answered as he continued digging that hole.

"I just wanted to remind you that you are fucked up," the toilet said.

"Thank you. I appreciate that," Peter said as he slid the cell phone in the hole he just dug before covering up the cell phone. He then beat the hole with the bottom of the shovel.

I cracked up. "Peter, why are you doing this?" I asked.

"Because I am done with everyone and their bullshit," Peter answered as he walked away and picked up the large cardboard box and glass of water. "I'm done. I'll see you later."

"Okay, Peter," I said as I followed him.

He was carrying the cardboard box and the glass of water down the street. This man no longer gives a fuck.

I was chuckling hard as I followed Peter down the street. He took sips of water as he continued walking away from everyone.

When he saw me follow him, he sighed. "Please, Xara, I had a bad day. I just want to be alone with my cardboard box and glass of water," he said.

I walked next to him. "Well, I have to leave in a few anyway, but I'd like to know where you are taking your cardboard box so that I can locate you when I need to torment a middle-aged man," I said with a grin.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" Peter asked.

"Because your generation deserves it," I said as I poked his arm.

"Ugh. If I have to hear how the baby boomers destroyed the fabric of society one more time, I am going to destroy the world," Peter said with a scowl on his face.

"Well, it kind of did. No generation after you is doing better than you are," I said as I reached over and pinched his waist.

"How is that my fault?!" Peter asked as he made grinch noises and tried to push me away.

"Because you were born, jerkwad," I said.

"I didn't cause the economic and societal failure that occurred in 2001!!! Leave me the fuck alone!" Peter yelled as he threw his hands up and walked faster to try to get away from me.

I sighed. He was right. I was just blaming him for something he himself was at the tail end of. He was a younger baby boomer who acts more like a part of Generation X: edgy, non-conformist, likes grunge rock, and did drugs when he was younger. (I'm not sure if he still does drugs.)

To tell the truth, the downfall of American society was planned since the 1940s... or earlier. At the end of World War II, the Chinese said they would win the next world war without firing a single bullet. So, it isn't Peter's fault at all. I just say that to troll him. I blame Peter for all of the world's problems. Why? Because he is a perfect scapegoat. In that respect, he is unlucky.

I probably should admit that some of the things happening around me are my fault and that maybe Peter isn't the sole reason why the whole world is fucked up... NAH FUCK THAT! Let's blame Peter for everything. Life is easier and much funnier that way. Fuck it.

[nickgerlich]

Mama Said

I remember my Mama telling me every time I said something that kind of mocked folks more senior than I. “You’ll get old too...if you live long enough.” Of course, she was right, and had been right long before I realized it. Back when I grew up, which would be in the late-Triassic, otherwise known as the 60s, kids either went off to college or not, then...in no particular order, although this is probably best...got a job, got married, and had kids. Somewhere in that jumble you were supposed to buy a house, all emblematic of not just the American dream, but also settling down for family life.

I should know. I did it, although one could argue that in more recent times, I have done anything but settle down. I have desettled. My house is where I keep my stuff, or so I have been told. I like to cover the breadth of the US at least once every year.

But while Baby Boomers and even Gen-Xers fit into that handy little formula, there has been much concern of late that Millennials were not abiding by the rules. Perhaps you have seen the headlines proclaiming that our young adults are not buying cars like we did, as well as houses. Millennials are wont to live in densely-populated urban centers without a car, renting and shacking up as much as needed in order to pay bills.

Even today a headline screamed that Millennials are so buried in student loan debt that they cannot afford to buy into the American dream. It’s a story I have heard for quite a few years now, and it’s a story that, if it is absolutely positively true, could have lasting implications for, and repercussions on, the US economy.

But wait just a second now. Stop with the gloom and doom! I have also seen a recent report completely debunking the legend of Millennials and their resistance to doing what previous generations did. In fact, once a slew of demographic and other variables were controlled for, they showed virtually little difference at all from previous generations. As it turns out, they are flocking to the suburbs just like their parents did.

The funny thing is, both of the headlines may indeed be true.

How’s that, DrG? This sounds like two witnesses on opposite street corners describing an automobile accident. They are both describing the same event, but from different perspectives, yet you would think that they were entirely different collisions.

And herein lies the rub (and also my Mama’s snappy little remark). We may very well be talking about people at opposite ends of the Millennium spectrum, which spans from roughly 1980 to 1996. Yes, those in their 20s are saddled with thousands of dollars of student loans. They have put off marriage (and probably wisely so), and are bootstrapping their way through life, even boomeranging to Mom and Dad in some cases.

But once they do get married (because vows of celibacy have never really made headlines, in spite of Tinder-induced depression), that’s when things start to change. And that’s when they start to do just like I did, which was the slow, inexorable transformation into becoming my parents.

At least I lived long enough for that.

Sure, there will always be some folks who choose to live in center city, and even raise families there. As it turns out, though, many opt for a house, which, in most cases these days, is out in the suburbs. And when you live in the ‘burbs, a car is pretty much a necessity, if not two of them. Just wait until your kids turn 16 and you need to buy them a car, too.

The findings to the contrary are actually good news for the economy, because each purchase of a house signifies dozens of related household purchases, including furniture, appliances, drapers, and more. Each car means a few more autoworkers are employed, even if it means our roads are more congested.

The trick for marketers, though, is figuring out how work with two very divergent ends of a generational cohort. As with all cohorts, the young and old within it are often very different. I came near the end of the Boomers, which ran from 1946 to 1964. Those who were born nine months after their Mom and/or Dad returned from WWII grew up in the Happy Days of the 50s, whereas I grew up in the Vietnam era. Woodstock, anyone?

In spite of it all, we all kind of grew together as we got older, just as the Millennials will do. For now, though, it means emphasis on an urban lifestyle and its trappings for those just starting out, those weighed down with debt, and only a few bucks for Uber and public transportation. And for those who are finding their stride and family ways by their 30s can be marketed to like generations before, with the same kinds of things I needed 30 years ago.

Starter homes of 1800 square feet. Two-car garage. Small front and back yards. Sufficient tech conveniences to keep it relevant. Enough indoor and outdoor space for the kids to play and the adults to be neighborly. Doing just like their parents did, but with lots more plugs and USB ports. They lived long enough.

Which sounds remarkably like my Mama predicted. Now you younguns reading this, just remember to keep your nose to the grindstone, and if you listen real carefully, you might just hear my Mama’s voice. I know I do, each and every day. And it’s OK if I became my parents.

It may be the American Way, but it’s also my way of blessing them even after they are gone. They did well, and so did I...but because of them.

At least that’s what Mama said.

Dr “She Was Always Right“ Gerlich

Listen: https://soundcloud.com/nickgerlich/mama-said

[frecklefaceb]

Trouble 13

Genre: Fan Fiction (Suicide Squad) Pairing: George “Digger” Harkness/OFC-Donna Warnings: Angst, Language, and Smut. NSFW! Rating: Mature Disclaimer: This a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line.

*Donna and Captain Boomerang continue to keep secrets, but one of them gets upset about it.For those that are interested in the playlist you can find that here and here is the previous chapter of Trouble. I hope you enjoy! As always, your likes, reblogs, messages, and comments are always appreciated.*

“I’m seriously going to burn those pants. They are an abomination,” Donna promises, eyeing the zebra stripes of Digger’s favorite loungers which were now dipping dangerously low on his waist as he gingerly stretches his arms above his head.

“So you’re saying you prefer me pant less?” he teases and Donna winks, enjoying the way his abdomen and pectoral muscles flex as his arms lower. Her favorite part of his morning appearance was the adorable bedhead, his sandy curls wild from sleep and their early morning quickie. She can’t help the small smirk that appears on her face as she recalls rolling onto him at 4am and riding him in a blissful, half sleep euphoria.

Growing suspicious he asks, “What’s got ya grinning like a canary eatin’ cat?”

“How cute our future children will be,” she jokes while pushing past him for a banana. “But until the day you make me an honest woman, I’ll just have to settle for handling the babies at the party,” she adds with a wistful sigh. Boomerang’s face contorts in disgust at her joke and she quietly laughs.

“Don’t take their innocent souls,” he grumbles into the cup. She scratches his mutton chops with a kittenish smile.

“We both know that’s not how a succubus works, George of the Jungle. Why do you think I rode you so early?”

“How long are you gonna be at this party?” He questions with ulterior motives.

She shrugs, “Who knows. It just depends on how it goes. Sure you don’t want to come?” Her question insincere.

“Nah. I’m good. I got some stuff I’ve been meanin’ tah take care of,” Boomer responds cagily, rubbing his nose at the lie.

“Okay. Well, I’m out,” she says before kissing him on the cheek. The Captain looks at Pinky perched on the headboard.

“If I didn’t know bettah, I’d say she’s hidin’ somethin’ from us.” The toy blankly stares back, but George chuckles to himself. “Ya, I know. That’s not a fair complaint, considerin’.” He says while walking to the closet. “Time tah get ready fah work.” _____________

Digger hurries across the manicured lawn to the canopy tent. The men are moving flowers away as they prepare to lower the casket.

“Oi! I’m terribly late,” he says to the two gravediggers. The men exchange glances as the large man approaches them wearing a beanie with a long black wool pea coat.

“Sorry buddy, but we’re on a schedule here.”

The Captain musters up the saddest expression, big, tearful eyes and quivering lip.

“I know, it’s just been a shit day,” he squeaks out. The Captain moves to one of the chairs under the tent to sit. He removes his beanie hat and begins wringing it between his large hands. “I had a hell of a time tryin’ tah get here. Me car broke down and I had tah wait for tha tow, then me mate had tah bring me his car, and aftah that there was an accident on the express way, shuttin’ it down.” He uses his hand to wipe at his eyes. “I just want tah pay me respects tah the Mrs. She was me neighbor, like a second Nana tah me really, taken me undah her wing when I first moved here from Oz.”

Then men’s shoulders slump as the visitor buries his face into his palms, visibly upset, causing one of the men to speak up. “We’ll give you a few minutes to yourself. I could use a cigarette anyways.”

Boomerang remains still as the men walk to the truck. He slowly rises, nodding to the two men now standing around the bed of the truck taking their break. As he approaches the casket, Boomerang unbuttons his coat and shoves his hat into a pocket. He knew he had to act fast; luckily the truck was several yards away, parked on the drive that winds through the cemetery. The casket was slightly angled towards the road and a large oak was positioned between him and the truck. His fingers nimbly unlatch the top half of the casket closest to him, and then he dramatically drapes himself over the casket and shakes his shoulders as if he were crying, so his fingers can reach the other latches. By now, the two workers were lost in their conversation, no doubt attempting to provide some privacy. Boomer lifts the lid enough to reach a hand into the coffer, blindly feeling around. This time, the regret expressed on his face wasn’t for show as his fingers were skimming fabric and searching for jewelry.

“Ooh, let’s see what we’ve got,” he murmurs once he finds her hands and starts massaging them. He barely winces as he slowly pries the hand from a clasped position, swiftly pulling off the rings and bracelets to pocket for himself. Using the position of the woman’s hands as guidance, he moves up her torso to find a brooch at her collar. Boomerang rips the pin off, the fabric making a small tearing sound. Noticing the men stirring, Boomerang pulls out with broach in hand and discreetly and singlehandedly latches the casket. He keeps a closed fist as the men approach.

“I wanna thank ya blokes fah allowin’ me a few minutes. It means tha world tah me,” he offers a small smile before continuing, “I won’t take up anymore of ya day now.” The men nod as he turns, shoving his fist into his pocket to deposit the brooch and retrieve his hat. His feet swiftly carry him out of sight as he cuts through the graveyard.

Digger chuckles to himself, enjoying the temporary high of the theft. Glinda Templeton-Gleason was a very wealthy woman, and once he saw her obituary, he decided paying his respects was the right thing to do, especially knowing she would be haughty enough to insist on being buried with valuables. Why should such pretty things be buried like treasure?

As Digger descends the hill, he’s taken aback at the sight of Donna lying on a blanket near a grave marker. She’s diagonally position on her back, with knees bent and head near the stone.

He swallows his annoyance at catching her in the act of a blatant lie, setting aside his hypocrisy since he wasn’t completely honest with his own intentions for the day. He simply justifies it by determining he only omitted a few details and didn’t outright lie. Keeping his distance, George manages a wide perimeter as he works his way closer to secretly observe the woman. Positioning himself behind a tall obelisk, he peers around it with a clear sight line to Donna. His brow knits when he realizes the grave she was visiting, has a marker he can clearly read with Ronan “Ronnie” Devlin.

His eyes trail downward to Donna, appearing relaxed as her fingers reach overhead to trace the letters of his name in the stone. He strains his ears once he notices her lips were moving, although he wasn’t surprised, Donna would talk to anyone or anything.

“So remember that guy? You know, the hillbilly looking one? Well, things have been rather tense. I’m pretty sure the bastard has the hots for me,” she giggles and Boomer scoffs as she continues, “Actually, I think it’s more than that, but he’s not going to admit it outright. He kind of indicated it when we fought; at least I think that’s what he meant. So now I’m trying to figure this all out because I don’t know. It just seems wrong. I know we never really got the chance to be, so why does it feel like betrayal? It’s not like it was with Sergei or the others.“

Her voice fades as she bolts upright from the blanket. Her expression stern, “Did you do this? I know you sent him to me as some kind of sick joke?! You always had a fucked sense of humor.” Donna bites her cheek as she crosses her legs and places her hands in her lap. Picking at her nails, Boomer can barely hear her voice as it shakes, “I miss you.” ___________

George made a beeline for the bar after leaving the cemetery. The afternoon quickly fades to evening as he sits and drinks beer. He was grappling with Donna’s thinly veiled confession in regards to him, and then to top it all off, Ronnie was an ex-lover that she clearly wasn’t over.

At some point his eyes drift shut, and he gives into the beer induced slumber. Boomerang’s snores barely audible over the crowd, his head swaying and nodding from the arm propping him up. The Captain jerks away after his head leans forward too far and he scowls at Donna’s smiling face greeting him.

“Glad you could join us, Sleeping Beautiboomy.”

Digger ignores her by motioning for the bartender.

“You really think that’s a good idea?” she questions into her own beer.

He grunts and keeps trying to flag down the server.

“It’s a good thing I’m here to rescue you, seeing as they’ve cut you off for the evening,” she side eyes him.

Without making eye contact he replies, “Thought ya were hangin’ with ya old mates, or did they die of boredom?”

“Oh, wow.” Donna laughs, placing her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off. “What happened to the nice black coat you had?”

His jaw tightens as she cups his chin and pulls his face towards her. With a smirk she announces, “Busted.”

Digger bats her hand away to steal her beer. He chugs the contents and burps as he slams the mug onto the bar.

Donna slides off her stool, trying not to laugh at the amusing pout on his face and the childish behavior of his drunken state.

“Let’s go work out our obvious trust issues,” she purrs into his ear, but he doesn’t move.

“I ain’t drunk,” he complains and adds, “and I ain’t goin’ anywhere with the likes of ya. Tryin’ tah lure me away with ya crazy.”

Boomer reluctantly bites his lip when her nails scratch his scalp and work through his curls; he fights the shudders when her tongue caresses the shell of his ear.  

“You seem to like my crazy when…”

“I don’t need ya fuckin’ reminders!” He cuts her off as she jolts forward when the man next to her falls off the stool.

“Sorry sweetheart,” he apologizes while attempting to steady himself.

Donna pushes back on the drunken patron while yelling, “I’m trying to talk to my date here, you asshole!”

“This ain’t a date!” Boomerang insists and doesn’t miss the mirth in her eyes. It was one of her favorite jokes to rile him up.

“Oh, hey there! I didn’t realize you were such a pretty thing,” the drunken man says to Donna, but she simply ignores the advance. Captain Boomerang is discernibly irritated with the new development as the man continues to ogle the fiery woman.

"If this chap doesn’t want to date you, I’ll gladly take you out and show you a real good time,” he persists, and Donna sighs with annoyance.

“Piss off,” Boomerang asserts and Donna smirks at the sudden change in his demeanor. The Captain is off his stool as soon as the drunk wraps his arm around Donna’s shoulder. The man’s mouth drops as Digger delivers an icy stare.

“I said, piss off!” he growls through clenched teeth and the man drops his arm before scurrying away.

Donna pats Digger’s shoulder and jests, “Down boy.” Boomer shrugs away from her touch, still angry and contemplating whether or not he wanted to chase after the man.

Walking her fingers up his arm, Donna moves closer with a confession, “Do you have any idea how sexy you are when you’re jealous?”

Without a second thought, Boomerang guides Donna through the crowd to the back of the bar and straight into the small bathroom, quickly locking the door behind him. Before she can speak, he’s pressing himself against her back and into the sink, caging her in. Donna’s breathing hitches as she watches him in the mirror, his eyes dark and wild as he stares back at her. He strips off his jackets and then lifts her arm, hooking it around his neck. His fingers trailing down the under flesh of her arm, and Donna tries to suppress a giggle.

“Quiet,” he growls into her ear as both hands work to unbuckle her pants. Donna whimpers at his command, her thighs squeezing together at his dominance.

“No. Keep ‘em open,” he orders while sliding her jeans down her hips. Digger delivers a devious sneer at her lack of underwear. Donna tilts her head to the side as he bites at her neck, the fingers of both hands hooking into the collar of her shirt before pulling the fabric apart. She bites her lip while watching her shirt being ripped away from her body. Turning her face to him, Boomerang ravenously kisses her, swallowing her moan when a finger slides over her dripping sex.

“Ya cunt is always so wet for me,” he says, Donna attempting to bite his lip as he speaks against hers. Nudging her forward with his thigh, she braces against the sink as he frantically unzips his pants to free his erection. She jumps forward when he backhands her ass, hissing from the sting.

Her eyes grow big when he covers her mouth with his hand and asks, “Do you feel how hard my cock is?” Donna whimpers in response as he teases her entrance. “That’s what ya do to me. Ya tight cunt,” he pauses as he thrusts into her with a groan, “it gets me hard.” He bites his lip as he slowly pulls out until only the tip is remaining, “And that smart mouth of yours, drives me fuckin’ mad.” Donna’s back arches when he slams back into her.

“I only want tah hear ya moans and the sound of me fuckin’ ya,” he says into her hair as he leans over her, his hand still over her mouth and fingers digging into her hip. Donna rocks along the cool porcelain sink as Boomer roughly fucks her. Donna feebly pushes her hips back to meet his fierce prods. Digger’s grunts getting louder as he increases speed, his thrusts becoming erratic. The sink slams into the wall with each movement.

“Fuck, darlin’. Just like that,” his breaths short as he encourages her. Boomerang’s head drops between her shoulder blades as he suddenly cums, no longer able to restrain himself at Donna’s willing submission, which was to him, a compete turn on. Digger studies the woman as hoists herself up on the sink and spreads her legs.

“I didn’t get my finish,” she breathily purrs, reaching out to tug on his tank top. The Captain cups her swollen sex, slowly rubbing his palm over her sensitive bud. Donna clenches her fingers around his throat, causing a crooked smile from the man. She moans as she grinds against his palm, his finger teasing at her entrance.  

She pulls up her bra, so she can tease and knead her own breast. Tired of his game, Donna’s grip tightens on his throat and Digger inserts two digits. He swiftly works his fingers while curling them, and Donna wraps a leg around his torso to pull him in closer, and then cries out in pleasure when he pinches her clit before adding another finger. It all becomes too much and with a few more pushes, Donna is coming undone.

Gripping his wrist while he pulls away, Donna guides his hand to her mouth and individually sucks on each finger. An animalist rumble comes from within his chest as he watches, “Ya gettin’ me worked up again.”

She smiles, releasing his fingers with a pop and scoots to the end of the sink. As she jumps down, there’s a creak before the sinks falls off the wall with water suddenly spraying from the broken pipes. The two laughing as they hastily dress, Boomerang offering her the trench coat since he destroyed her shirt, and they head out the door laughing at the mayhem left in their wake.  

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Carl’s Blog: SONS OF WAR; carlsblog.online; Arkansas-hillbilly.com; http://sbpra.com/CarlJBarger

5-28-19, The Battle of Iuka; The death of Henry, PART 6:  Some of the soldiers began to creep, firing and loading as they went toward the muzzle flashes, which now seemed as many as the stars on a clear night.  James, with three others, grasped Boomer's limp form and began to drag him through the brush toward the rear.  Only after two hundred endless yards, did they feel safe enough to stand up, and carry their fallen leader.  A few hundred feet further, and ambulance was encountered.  Boomer, still unconscious was placed on the wagon, built for four stretcher cases. The wagon now held twelve wounded men piled in three deep.  It jolted off to the rear, with each bounce bringing a chorus of groans.  James turned back to the fight, but paused, exhausted, to catch his breath leaning against a tree.  The firing had slowed considerably, he noticed.  The moon was high in the sky.  It had been hours since the battle had begun.  He gradually became aware of many figures plodding and limping from the woods to the rear.  The firing played out, except for an occasional scattered shot.  One of the figures passing in the darkness, suddenly drew James' eye. It was Jesse.  "Jesse, over here," he cried, then was embarrassed at how loud his voice sounded in the newfound quiet.  Jesse glanced up, as if awakening from a trance, and focused on James.  "Henry is dead,” said Jesse with a lack of emotion born of exhaustion.  "He was standing right beside me.  He grabbed his chest, and I got splattered with his blood.  And he said, 'Jesse, help me' and there was nothing I could do.  I tried to carry him to the rear, but he was too heavy, and it hurt him so to pull him on the ground, James.  But I tried, James! I tried." Jesse suddenly broke down in sobs." "I hollered for help, but nobody heard over the noise.  He grabbed my shirt and he said, 'Jesse, don't leave me.  I know I’m not going to make it.  Please promise me you will send me back to Moniteau County. I don't want to be buried here in this strange place.' I wouldn't promise him, because I did not want him to think he was dying.  Then he said, 'Promise me, Jesse.  You got to promise me.' And I promised him.  I promised him, James.  Then he says 'Please tell Pamela that I loved her with all of my heart.  Tell her I want her to be happy and not to stay a widow.  She will need someone to take care of her.  Promise me, Jesse.' So, I promised him this, too.  Then he just put his head down and died." "He's still back there, somewhere, James.  We've got to go and look for him. I promised him, James."  James, choking back his own emotions, said "I know, I know, but there are Rebels in the woods and it's dark.  We'll go get him in the morning.  I promise, too." Together, the two brothers staggered in exhaustion and grief to the rear.  As James lay down to sleep, he could not get Henry off his mind.  He agonized with pain.  His heart felt it would explode.  He had never lost a relative and it hurt like hell.  What he hated most was knowing he was in a dry warm bed and Henry's body lay cold and lifeless on a bloody battlefield.   He wondered if Henry's body would be disturbed by wild dogs before they could find him. His father and mother's words kept creeping into his mind.  He could hear them both saying, "I'm against this war. I'm against you boys going to war.  War is for the rich folks not us poor folks.  Soldiers will kill other parents' sons, women's husbands, brothers." Everything his father had warned against was true.  He asked himself over and over, could this be a mistake. Continued in PART 7