DMV @ Tennessee

 
 
   "DMV @ Tennessee"
 
   I was dreading it for months--driver's license renewal.  Thank the shimmering stars, step-daddy took me.  I was quacking like a fifty-cent milkshake, fueled by anticipation concerning facing the angry masses--a public scenario, way more disorderly than me.  People rushing, texting, glued to computers, thinking about nothing save sex and money, me too sometimes, but I get over it; regardless, Bubba Cheese was my bodyguard, and having a motley synergy of anti-sophistication seemed good-old-boy enuff.
   Where the hell did all the Americans go?  One dude with kids from wherever, and the DMV folk were garbed in the bling of bounty hunters, looking more like rogue law enforcement than ordinary people--what a great movie; I love Alan Alda.  
   There was a blonde lady in front of me.  Nice.  But she wasn't even from here, coming in by way of Switzerland, and the dude that waited on her lived in Germany.  What the hell?  It's okay Mark, breathe, and wash your hands when you get the hell out of here.  Do I have to pee?  Is there a booger dangling from my myriad of nose hairs?  An elderly man got his CARRY permit, and my gun-slinging step-dad grinned.  It only takes one shot.  Don't spray prey.  He frowns on the 9-millimeter.  Says the Germans don't know what kinda bullet puts a man down.  The 9 is too high velocity--no stopping power.  Goes right through you, like my mother's old lamb roasts.  Holy Fire, Bubba Cheese is a rhinestone cowboy.
   We got the hell out of there.  I took a Duck Dynasty photo.  I don't need guns though.  Got a bullwhip from a hot bartender years back in exchange for giving her the favor of a nipple fling--women are weird, always hoping men are looking, save the nice ones.  So, that's it.  Boring.  Her breasts are waiting, fella . . .