Cha - Ching!

February 13, 2009
Hello! I am green, smelly, and George Washington is with me everyday. We're pretty much best friends. Right now I am under the control of a mother of five. All of her children are so demanding of money it's unreal. Tomorrow starts a new week and I hope to God I don't get handed over to the 16 year old daughter.

The next morning, I get slapped on the kitchen counter and get scooped up by, ugh, the 16 year old daughter, of course. The purse I'm put into smells like sweet pea lotion and a mix of spearmint gum. It is okay for now I guess.

It's about noon and I'm handed over to the school lunch account lady in exchange for a chicken sandwich. At least she's eating healthy. As I slide into a plastic slot, I see a huge metal clamp coming down to press me even closer to another George Washington. Two minutes pass and the clamp is released off my chest. I am carelessly shoved into an 18 year old boy's linty, smelly, sweaty pocket. I hope I'm removed by the end of the day, but unfortunately I'm not so lucky. The pocket I'm in gets thrown on another pile of clothes as the day ends and I realized this will be my bungalow for the night.

The next morning, four huge fingers came digging in to awake me. I'm removed and crisply placed into a brown leather wallet. Much more comfortable! It's Wednesday morning and I think we're on our way to school but, to my surprise the car engine shuts off way to soon. Where am I? I'm being spent for a pack of Marlboro cigarettes. Not a very wise decision young man! Once again, I am compressed under the metal clamp. But, what is soon to happen is a complete turn around for my life. I guess I should always expect the unexpected.

After being clamped down overnight, I am released and shoved into the rough dirty hands of an alcoholic. Great! Wonder where I'll end up tonight. It's Thursday and I know the bars will be busy. As I'm being shoved into yet another dirty, stinky jean pocket, I see I have company. With me sits a lighter, .42 cents, and a set of Ford Taurus keys. As the hours pass, and I'm untouched, I wonder when I'll finally be handed over to the hands of Bill Gates, or Paris Hilton, or even Tom Cruise. Like I'll mean anything to those people anyways.

Sitting at the local Blue Moon Pub, I begin to give my hopes up for ever making it to the celebrities. I'm getting so kinked and wrinkly as I'm thrown to the bartender, back at another alcoholic, back to the bartender just so the drunken men can have another round. As the night whines down, I come to land in the money bag with three tears in my lower left corner, a crumpled right edge, and I'm soaked in Captain Morgan. If my life were of any lesser value, it would be worthless.

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