Hey, sweehah!, how ya doin? Lemme brinin maself, do ya mind? My mum called me Cletus Andrew Ronald James Tom Buck Jack, for the seven handsome nerd-brothas who raped her fohty years ago. But ya can name me Cletus, if ya wannit, babe. Whar ya from? Flagstaff? Ya’re fuckin far away fhom home, sweetie. So ya are a johnalist and ya wanna do a report about red-necks, uh? Then ya comin to the betha place, honey cunt. Actually, I don’t like people fhom cities, neitha news-dudes, but for ya and your dazzling legs I wohd be able to do an exception.
Whattabouh me? Well, flaxen corn, Am a man without dreams. Yep, sounds wiihd, uh? Evehabody wanna dream, evehaone desires somethin oh someone. But I ain’t. Am a simple guy in a complex wohld and I don’t care a shit about it. Fuck them all! Am Amehcan, ya know? Why the fuck I need to wish anymoh? Thoughts are foh faggots, and Am a really man, sugah candy.
What else moh? If I have hobbees? Yeah, but not a fuckin lot, ya can bet. I like some good tunes, to chew tobacco and jerk off maself if I don’t have a chicken to handle. Oh, and I come when anyone try to trespass my proprieties and I shootin him. So relaxin, I tell ya!
But don’t thin oddities about me, uh? Am a pehfect normal fella, and so appeasing. I only wehe mad one time in all ma live with a fuckin crackpot nigga who wantit to sleep in ma granary without consent, so I put a bullet in is black ass, can ya beliv me?
Oh, I know what ya thinkin. Ya thin I suck, amaright, uh? Ya think am a huge piece of shit, a bludy dick, an asshole, a sheep-lova, yep? What canna say? Hell yeah, yar fuckin right! But ya know, it is not ma fault.
Am just a cliché!
Cayetano Gea Martín