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Woman in a Man’s World

July 9, 2014 Leave a comment
By Robin Brox

By Robin Brox

 

It was getting close to lunchtime and I was hanging around my plush office in the uncolored condiment factory sticking some bendable straws into a desk fan. Time was creeping along. I had to shake things up.

Cause I’m a woman in a man’s world.

I called downstairs to receiving. Barry picked it up.

“Hey Bare,” I said (he hated that). “Have you been receiving a lot of big stuff today?”

“Sure, Miss Brox. We got them uncolored bacon bits in.”

“Yeah? Big load? Was it a big ol’ load?” I asked. I was starting to feel kind of flush.

He seemed confused. “Well, the usual, Miss Brox. We’re sorting it out now.”

“Yeah? You moving the load around? Sticking it in where we need it, Bare? Filling that hole?”

Bare was starting to breathe hard. “Yep…I got…all my men on it.”

“Yeah, Bare? You tag-teaming those delicate little esoteric realities?”

“They do make a salad Miss Brox. I admit to it.”

“They make it flower don’t they, baby? It opens up like a bloom in spring, Bare?”

There was a long pause. “Well…I like ’em, Miss Brox. But they are just bacon bits.”

That killed it. I sat up straight. “Fine then Barry. Good work.” I slammed the phone down.

I took off early and headed down to the parking lot where the weightlifters hung out.

Cause I’m a woman in a man’s world.

Woman in a Man’s World

February 5, 2014 Leave a comment

By Robin Brox
https://i1.wp.com/www.yawny.org/resources/photos/RobinBrox_thumb.jpg

The Lankville Daily News is lusciously pleased beyond measure to present a new feature by uncolored condiment magnate Robin Brox which will explore issues of gender and diversity in our modern world.

“Fuck you, you stupid Goombah,” I yelled. Then I threw a framed photograph of my mother at the asshole. That’s when he finally backed out of the office.

I picked up the broken photo. “Oh, Mom,” I said. Then I wept.

On the way home, I pulled into a Meyer’s all-night plantain hut. “I know Shane,” I told the cashier. “I own a hockey team in the Pondicherry Association and he used to. Give me one of those plantains in foil and make it free.” The kid looked at me funny, so I hit him square in the jaw. “Like that baby?” He looked up at me from the floor– he liked it. I told him to lock up.

Afterwards, I sped home at a steady 100MPH clip without braking for a single red light. “Fucking cops. Fucking a-number one fuckheads,” I said to no one in particular. I tried the radio. There was a light little number, light little trumpets. “YEAH, SHITTERS,” I yelled. I don’t know what I meant by it but I enjoyed the Christ out of that song.

When I got home, I kicked the front door so it slammed against the inner wall. There was a big hole there now. I noticed a sickly blue light from the otherwise darkened living room. I stumbled towards it.

Tippy was there. “You gonna’ work on your speech?” he said.
“Your mother’s gonna work on my speech,” I offered.
He sighed.  “You gonna’ work on your speech?” he asked again.
“What speech, asshole?” I countered.
“Your speech on the essence of uncolored condiments.”
“Oh, right, that bullshit mouth party. Give me a pen.”

Tippy and I worked for a few hours. Then he put on a program. There were some guys in space that were shooting at some other guys in space. “Look at this conventional jive,” I said. Tippy ignored me and kept watching.

I collapsed on the couch shortly thereafter. I think I threw up in my mouth once but Tippy just bent me over the edge of the couch and let it run out into a pail.

I’m a woman in a man’s world, alright.