I was always a natural slob
I liked to lay upon the bed
in undershirt (stained, of
course)
(and with cigarette holes)
–
shoes off
beerbottle in hand
trying to shake off a
difficult night, say with a
woman still around
walking the floor
complaining about this and
that,
and I’d work up a
belch and say,
–
“HEY, YOU DON’T
LIKE IT? THEN GET YOUR ASS
OUT OF HERE!”
–
I really loved myself, I
really loved my slob-
self, and
they seemed to also:
always leaving
but almost
always
coming
back.
-The Great Slob by Charles Bukowski