Sobre o autor Sobre o autor
Pé de Buceta Buceta Monstro Casa das Bucetas Inferno de Bucetas: Paraíso
A doce arte de Nana Caribenha
Mesmo em noite quente há coisas piores que cerveja choca
Mergulhando no ar
Deep into the Air
Blog Spectro Editora
Bukowski - Vida Desalmada
Next chapter
Previous chapter

7


- Don't you see? I told you. Look at this!

- What now?

- This son of yours, you're always spoiling. I was clearing his school books out and look at what I've found. Disgusting. Is this something for a child to think of?

- He's only ten years old, it was probably some friend of his who gave it to him.

- It doesn't matter. it's sick and vicious. Anyone who writes such a poem has to have a sick mind, this is made by someone insane.

- ewl, Marta, you are overreacting.

- Don't start with this "ewl, Marta" bullshit. You're gonna promise you'll seriously talk to him as soon as he comes.

- Allright, allright...

- I mean it!

- I know. I said I'll talk to him, damn shit! Now fuck off and let me finish my beer.

- Hmmf... don't ever tell me I didn't warned you.

Damn men. They're useless, that's what they are. My granny always said, men have no utility, they only bring money and fight in war. Man inside the house, damn god, it is only meant to bother, they only drink and bother us all day long. The president has even said, retired man are useless scum, the police should beat'em. And they do.

   
  Topo da página