Candy and Pizza

1. Get a girl pregnant.
2. Panic.
3. Rollercoasters.
4. ???
5. Relief.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I’m not going
to let anybody see
you.
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he’s
in there.

there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there’s a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I’m too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody’s asleep.
I say, I know that you’re there,
so don’t be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he’s singing a little
in there, I haven’t quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it’s nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don’t
weep, do
you?

I want to work as a middle-management employer at a sugar factory. 

So that whenever I came home, I’d smell like pastries and glaze.

Animals would gather from miles around to lick my shoes and sniff my hands.  

So that when people asked me what I do I would say, without shame, that I am the frosting on their cake. 

So she will finally let me take her out to a movie and then to that 24 hour diner on 8th avenue.

Then when she orders coffee, I’d take a sample of the day’s order out of my pocket and put sugar in her cup. 

I want to be the one who makes everything better, so I can smirk to myself when my mom calls me a sweet person. Being a middle management employer of a sugar factory would open up a world in front of my eyes and I would learn the politics of flavor and why certain demographics of people prefer brown sugar to white—and how confectioners sugar shaped America.

People would pat me on the back for being selfless enough to give up my dreams of being an astronaut for a far more noble cause. Because sugar is why people are happy.

I don’t want to be greedy, though; I’d hire a capable team of employees.

I would treat them well, too. I’d meet their families and take them on company outings—if my boss let me. 

I’d make sure our kitchen was fully stocked at all times with fruit, granola bars, and soda and readily take suggestions on how to keep our microwave clean.

I would give each of my employees nicknames, like

Scout

Big Guy

Jet

Tiger

Dynamite Joey

and Captain.

Life in the sugar game would allow me to finally relax. I would sink into my full-sized bed every evening in my tiny apartment covered in vintage sugar advertisements and smile. 

Yeah.

One day…one day I’ll be a mid-management sugar man. 

Alright, so here’s the deal. I’m moving to Brooklyn on Sunday into my brother’s apartment. I have JUST enough money for the first month of rent. But after that, I have zero.

So I’m looking for a pleasant, normal, stand-up lady or dude to share a room with me. Maybe you’re here for the month and need a place to stay, maybe you’re in it for the experience. It doesn’t matter, just don’t murder me in my sleep.

It’s a medium sized square room with a bed. I’ll lend you my air mattress and we can be roomies. 

This isn’t going to be weird or sexual - unless, for some reason, we become insanely attracted to each other…but I’d rather just have both us be in it for the cheap price. 

I’m a 24 year old guy who likes writing, TV, beer, and pizza. You can be whoever you want. But if I catch you beating off over my sleeping body, the deal’s off. 

We don’t even have to become friends - if you want the room to yourself to clean, cry, or have sex in - hey, that’s cool. But don’t do it all the time. I’ll adhere to those rules also.

Hopefully you’re in my age range, a little older or younger is totally fine. If you walk into my apartment with your ex’s dismembered limbs in a plastic bag, we’re going to have a bad time.

The other roommates are nice guys. They often make bacon at 5AM. 

So send me an e-mail and we can chat. If you want to attach a picture of yourself, go for it. If you want to attach a picture of Tom Hanks, knock yourself out. 

If you ARE Tom Hanks, the room is yours. 

Don’t make this weird. 

Please refresh my memory as to what this is about. Who are your parents and when did they speak with me?

And I’m clearly not your uncle as I have no siblings.