Blows For My Bros

I’d been working for Donna for about five months and the web site was up and running and now had over a thousand products for sale and she was happy enough with my work that she’d given me a small raise to show her appreciation.  It was right around this time that her daughter, Ashley, had started coming to work for her.

Ashley was a few weeks away from graduating high school, but she’d just recently turned 18 so her mom decided it was time to put her to work.  She was a bubbly young girl, who suffered from frequent attacks of The Giggles and who, like many teenage girls from the upper middle class, had an over-developed sense of entitlement and absolutely no idea of the reality of the world she lived in.  Her language was as bad as her mother’s and she spoke even louder, which made for sentences like, “My teacher’s basically just being a scabby cunt and I want to stab her in the face,” which would then be followed by manic laughter.  Still, she was smarter than most kids her age and she enjoyed a good laugh, which made working with her bearable.  On more than one occasion Donna would claim that she’d always kept her children safely away from what she did for a living, but Ashley knew enough about cock rings and butt plugs that I have to assume that wasn’t entirely true.

On several occasions, Alex would ask for my help with prepping DVD’s for one of our stores.  This involved removing the cellophane wrapper from the DVD case and slapping a label on it.  As we did this, one of us would shout the title of the movie we were handling and then the other would do the same and we’d alternate back and forth like that for pretty much the entire time we labeled the cases.

“Blows For My Bros!”

“Swallow My Children!”

“Shut Up And Blow Me!”

“White Meat On Black Street!”


“Suck All The Cum Out Of My Balls!”


“Man I hate it when girls only suck some of the cum out of my balls.”

“Yeah, that shit’s fucked up.”

It was not the most intellectual conversation I’d ever had but it was a fun way to kill an hour.  Ashley found this hysterical and decided to join in, which was fine until she grabbed a stack of DVD’s out of the pseudo-pedophile pile and started yelling out the names of those films:

“Just Turned 18!”

Alex and I both stopped what we were doing and looked at each other.  This was disturbing as hell because she had literally just turned 18.

“I Was 17 Yesterday!”

I’d had enough, “Is anyone else hungry?  I think I’m gonna go grab some lunch.”

“I’ll go,” said Alex.  In my truck, on the way to lunch, he said, “Well, that stopped being funny really fast.”

“No shit.  What kind of parent would let their 18-year-old daughter handle barely legal porn?”

“A shitty one?”

“Okay, stupid question.  Seriously though, if I had a daughter her age I don’t think I could sell those movies.  Other movies, sure, but not those.”

“I don’t think she thinks it through that far,” he said.  “She’s in business to make money, I’m pretty sure the only motivation she ever has is profit.”

“I guess.  But then again, that’s exactly the sort of thinking that leads to things like Wal-Mart fucking over entire towns in the Midwest.”

“Well, we can’t all be as noble and self-sacrificing as you, Tim.”

“No, that’s true, I am an awful lot like Jesus that way…”

As we walked back in the office from lunch, we were greeted by an obnoxious, high-pitched whining coming from an obnoxious, high-pitched little dog.  It was one of those horrible little Teacup Chihuahua’s that probably wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for rich women.

“Check it out,” said Donna, excitedly, “I just bought a new dog.”

“You bought?” I asked, “Couldn’t you have just got one for free at the shelter down the road?”

“Yeah, but he was only fifty bucks.”

“Where did you buy it?”

“In a parking lot,” she said, “It’s probably stolen.”

“He’s so cute,” chimed in Ashley, “Don’t you love him?”

“You can pet him if you want,” Donna offered.

“Actually, I can’t,” I said, “I’m allergic to pets.”

“Oh.  Do you think you’re going to be okay with him here?”

“I should be fine for today, I took an allergy pill this morning.”

“Yeah but what about the rest of the week?”

“You’re gonna bring him in with you every day?”

“I have to, he’s too small.  My other dogs are assholes, they’ll eat him.”

“Wow.  Yeah, I really don’t know if that’ll work for me or not.  I hope so.”

She thought to herself for a moment and then, “You’ll be fine,” and she marched off to her office.  “I’ll shut my door, that’ll help.”

“She paid fifty dollars for the ‘Yo Quiero Taco Bell’ dog in a fucking parking lot?”

Alex looked over at me and said, “Dude…”

“I know.”

“Let’s just finish up with these damn movies, I still have a ton of shit to do today.”

I was trying to think of someone – anyone – I’d worked for in the past who was more selfish than she was and no one was coming to mind.  I decided to leave it alone and a few minutes later we were back to our normal routine.

“Sloppy Whores With Big Fat Titties!”

“Gushing Cunts!”

“The Jizz Father!”


Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.