July 4, 2021
Never trust anyone that says, "Trust me." I don't give shit if they descend from the clouds floating on coagulated baby giggles. Tell them to fly their fancy ass some place where trust is cheap. Because where I'm from, that shit can coast you your life. Fuck that. Excuse my French but—Fuck that.
People don't know shit. They say, "Trust has to be earned." Yeah right. If trust is some kind of social currency in this greedy capitalistic country, we're fucked! The elite will monopolize that shit and have us walking into clinics for voluntary vasectomies. I don't trust anyone. Kiss my ass.
Well, Fuck you too and whatever you think of your trustworthy self. Excuse me, if this fulmination offends your senses. I'm sorry that you think so highly of yourself. Who the fuck are you? Nobody. You're no different, just another human. Some kind of species that accumulates confidence like a gluttonous rodent. You're just another rat in god's maze ready to bite the cheese as soon as I turn my head. Trust who? Hmph.
That's what I anted to say. Fuck you. But no, like some tender putz I fell for a soft word and a three dollar Colgate smile. In my defense, her cleavage was amplified by the sweet scent of citrus. Her touch was tender. She knew what she was doing. Sly little bitch. In slow motion she pushed her blond locks away from her eyes and used them as weapons. You know, she was talking with her eyes.
"Just a second," she assured me.
Y'okay, I know how this goes. "Trust the system," my lawyer said. He was a special piece of shit made from all of the empty corn kernels that make turds look like Baby Ruth bars. "It's a breeze." Fed my wife a crock of shit which she inhaled like a sweet Georgia peach. Trust, I know one thing: From here on out, I'm only trusting me. That way, if I lie to me I know at least I meant well. If I steal from me then dammit, I should be paying attention and if I kill me then dammit—I deserved it.
Trust and believe, I don't trust any of you pissants.
"See." said the nurse, a seductive smile plastered on her porcelain face. "I told you it wouldn't hurt." Sh tossed the empty syringe into a red wastebasket. "You want a lollipop?"
Fuck you. "You're just trying to charm the pants off me."
"It wouldn't be difficult," she winked. "Look how easy it was to get you out of one sleeve."
Sneaky little buzzard made me blush. I uttered some garbled form of elderly lexicon, a mish-mash of geriatric indigence and juvenile chortle. I shook free of the nurse's spell and hastily made my way through the double doors where my daughter and grandson waited.
Six year old Jamar was pacing as if I were under the knife, his face a ball of anxiety. I wondered what he would do when I died. He spotted me and darted into my arms, "Pop Pop!"
I felt like a soldier returned home from behind enemy lines. "Hey Gus." I hugged him tight.
My daughter Tawanda stared at us, hands on her hips, one of them cocked. "Really?"
"What?" I asked confused.
"It was just a vaccination."
"And I made it home."
"Shoot ma," Jamar chimed in, "Hospitals kill more Black people than any disease." He looked at me for approval. "Right Pops?"
"You trust and believe that's the truth."
"Daddy, don't teach my son that ignorant negro mindset."
"A healthy dose of distrust never hurt anyone," I assured her.
Jamar asked, "Did it hurt, Pops?"
"Not at all."
"I betchu it didn't," my daughter said. "The nurse made sure if that."
"Hey!"
Tawanda smiled, "Hey, what?"
"Trust and believe..."