Free Burnt by Natasha Thomas

divulged that tasty bit of information. I would have died of humiliation if anyone else knew. Needless to say I graciously turned Arrow down on his super special drunken offer to plunder my goods, and informed him that I would helpfully feed him his cock if he breathed a solitary word to anyone about said conversation. He’s a smart man that one because to date he hasn’t breathed a word to anyone. I would I know by now if he had, because let’s face it, it’s been seven months since I dropped that bomb. Also I have faith in his silence because if he spilled to anyone dad, Uncle Max, uncle Pipe, or Declan would have probably killed him and buried his body in the woods by now. Anyway. Moving on.

    Back to my ultra shitty day. It started like this. My shower wasn’t long enough. My hot water heater is on the fritz, and I’m sure I still have conditioner in my hair for Christ sake, and that’s just not okay. Add to that my hairdryer blew up yesterday, so long ass afro here I come. The thought of how unruly my hair will be today makes me shudder a little. It can get scary enough to make small children cry. I have no milk left. Goddamnit. Who can function drinking black bitter sludge? Well unless you are a tough as nails biker that consumes copious quantities of roadside diner swill that masquerades as coffee?

    My dog Abel, a purebred Rottweiler with really big teeth that weighs in at 120 pounds, and will instantaneously cover you in drool because he loves you, is currently eating my brand new knee high Doc Marten boot. Only one of them mind you. He’s considerate like that. I swear he thinks I’m going to get down there and gnaw on the other one with him. After I retrieve said boot, feed him the correct nutritional diet, and then refill my Blue Macaw, Monty’s seed container, I’m ready to head out. Of course the morning is not complete until I receive my regular good morning from aforementioned feathered friend.

    “Monty wanna fuck?” Oh Jesus Christ on a crutch. Whoever thought it was a clever idea to get one of the world’s smartest birds that has a possible vocabulary of up to two hundred and fifty words as a companion is an idiot. Oh. That would be me.

    I got Monty when I first moved out of home so I had someone to talk to that would actually talk back. That way I wouldn’t end up looking, and sounding like a crazy lady by the age of twenty-one. In hindsight that was a stupid idea now wasn’t it? I didn’t think this decision through very thoroughly, and I’ll openly admit that. Reason being, I constantly have a house full of bikers that think there is nothing funnier than to teach my bird a startling vocabulary of curse words, and phrases that will make most people blush. If nothing else at least Monty makes me, and them laugh. Currently his repertoire consists of ‘Monty wanna fuck’, ‘Oh yeah, tap that big boy’, ‘Woo hoo sexy’, ‘Fuck me harder’, ‘Kiss him, kiss him’, and ‘Big cock, big cock’. That about sums it up, but I’m sure the guys will rectify that soon enough.

    Given that a Blue Macaw’s life span is twenty to twenty-five years and I’ve only had Monty for four, this will make for a long standing love-hate relationship. I can see it now. There are already times I occasionally consider asking Abel to eat Monty, but I’ll never go through with actually letting it happen. I don’t think Abel will do it anyway. Those two make the strangest of friends, but nonetheless good ones. Sometimes I think Monty’s a bad influence on Abel. Okay. So I think he’s a bad influence on him ALL the time in reality. I swear it sounds like Abel is snickering at some of the filth that comes out of Monty’s beak.

    Thankfully Monty’s learned that when Lexi is in the house he best shut his fruit hole, or there are no treats for him. He learnt that after repeatedly saying, ‘Big cock, big cock’, when Lexi was about two. Lexi thought it was fantastic idea to copy him, and run around the