Alfonso Mango

by Horror Sleaze Trash on June 17, 2017

 

Alfonso Mango is a degenerate old man living off of Flamingo in Vegas. He spends his free time drinking Steel Reserve and yelling at god for not paying his rent. He would like to thank his three fans for supporting his literary journey.

 


 

 

ALFONSO MANGO

Buttons

Buttons. Yeah buttons. It’s all just a bunch of buttons. That’s right. We’ve moved millennia through time and shit show space to just create a bunch of buttons. I wake up and hit the snooze button. Ten minutes later, snooze button again. Then again and again. Then I hit some more buttons and I check my condensed virtual social life. Socializing is important you know. Then I hit a few more buttons and some Thai food shows up at my door. My mother calls and I hit a button that says I’m busy. My ex-wife calls and it’s all too convenient. I just hit the button again. 3:30 rolls around. I hit the shower and hit some buttons and the water is hot. I wash away all my sins. I watch as it all pours down the drain. The dirt, the whiskey, little shooter bottles, cigarette butts, a hamster. All goes right down the drain. I eat the Thai food in the shower. I drink a shower beer. I pray to Jesus. Praying is important you know. I always hit the like button on those Jesus posts, you know the ones. Hit this or go to hell. Better safe than sorry. I look in the mirror and I’m fat. There’s no button to change that. I throw on some bermudas and a button up and I walk my fat ass to the liquor store. I figure if I kill my stomach, I’ll be thinner. I buy a carton of cigarettes. The holy cashier hits a bunch of buttons and magic green numbers show up on the screen. I put my card in the reader. We sit silently, we don’t talk. I hit a few buttons and I’m on my merry way. I stop by Sam’s Town. I hit the ATM buttons and take my last forty bucks out. I put my last forty bucks in the penny slots. It disappears. The colors are pretty though. I literally took forty bucks out of a machine, paid six dollars to do so, then fed that forty dollars to another machine. This is how my life has been. Maybe I’m the button. Maybe the big guy is pushing me. Testing me. Hit this or go to hell. I get home and drink more. Hit the remote buttons, watch the dancing girls dance. Watch the jewelry channel. I stop watching. I stare at the ceiling and I sink into the couch. One million miles deep. All the way to Chinatown. Before I disappear completely, I hit the alarm button on for the morning, so I can hit these here buttons again tomorrow.

 

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