She came home with a cold watermelon and sat it down on the back porch, her sisters were home. Being the prettiest of three, but divorced, Babs had quite a bit going for her. That's why when it came time to do something special she would dig down deep into her beaded coin purse to pay for family fun. It didn't make much sense, it was never appreciated, but Babs was a martyr of sorts, a whiner. She smoothed her rumpled, short, brown hair with one hand, and scratched under her arm with the other. The day was hot in Waller, Texas.

Petty theft was a problem with the Smith family. Almost all of them had been caught up in some kind of bookkeeping fraud involving the modification of a financial document. Since the latest mess had been featured in the local rag, Babs was now keeping a pretty low profile even though she wasn't the recently accused. She watched a roach run across the cabinets and thought about the problems she had caused for a neighbor down the street.

For the first time in her life Babs was beginning to regret some of her lies and gossip. Her sister Joe was about to spend some time in jail, and Babs was thinking more and more about karma, God, and the limitations of mundane verbality. She swatted a fly off of her sweaty arm and grabbed a knife from the drawer.

"Come on Joe, come on Carol, let's eat some of this watermelon out there at the table!"

Two very unattractive and not very intelligent women strolled into Babs cheaply furnished kitchen. The moment was sad, and a clock clanged noisily from the living room, while the three middle aged matrons stood apart looking at one another with worn eyes.

"Joe, why did you take the money?"

"I don't know Babs, I just had to have it to give to you. I don't even feel sorry about it, they owed me."

"Nobody owes you nothin' Joe."

The three Blab sisters sat down at the table together with their watermelon and nervously chewed its flesh and spitted seeds onto cheap ceramic plates.

The silence was heavy.

Today I feel sorry for the unemployed and disenfranchised,

sitting at the television watching dreams they cannot join in.

The pitiful soldier returning home to nothing, lied to and used for the monetary gain

of the Neiman Marcus, Saks crowd, still believing his sacrifice was to protect Americans.

Working class men and women are now working much harder for less...they should be grateful

some greedy business owner can throw them a job, like throwing a dog a scrap from the table of

broken

dreams.

I feel for the ridiculous follly of the young and uneducated, wasting valuable time, having babies (want and ignorance) hiding in society's robes.

Unable to earn, they will simply soon take....what they have no right to possess. Or do they?

All around us, and in our own family, we look upon the self entitled twits of everyday judgement.

The curtain calls.

This year I believe I will waive the office holiday party joining ranks with the likes of Goldman Sachs. After all, I have made such an indecent amount of money, and my opportunities have been so abundant, it just isn't decent of me to flaunt all of this wealth. For once, I wasn't sold out like the proverbial step child for some petty amount of money, or ridiculous hollow favor. I was held in reserve like the finest of wine, my efforts and complete honesty appreciated by all.

My unwavering patience and fair dealing, was noticed and applauded, as well as my own requests for honesty and respect. I couldn't be luckier; the finest of people have supported my efforts.

I can see one of them now...sitting in his shorts in the middle of the night with his fat arse hanging over the side of a cheap chair playing 'farms on Facebook' like a mindless meth sniffing idiot. Of course, taking this guy's business advice can be compared to eating raw chicken: risky. But if you are in the mood to gamble, then let me suggest you question him closely about the character of your employees. Even if he has never met an individual, or been witness to some incident concerning a person's integrity or technical skill, he is still a completely reliable source of information. He is, in fact, clairvoyant. His whole family has mental telepathy!

As for me, I don't really belong to an office anymore, I am just making this all up, the way people who love to write do. But if I did have a job, and I was invited to the holiday party, I would probably pass anyway. Even though my character playing Facebook games in the middle of the night isn't real, he is a symbol for a larger problem. Hollywood has made films, authors have written award winning books, and art has depicted the agonizing pain and misery caused by controlling adults with this type of personality disorder. They hate women, Jewish people, and anyone else who is not just exactly like them.

Sparsely talented, and financially vulnerable, it's possible the office party would offer me the highest form of entertainment available this dreary holiday season. I should count myself lucky to even get invited. But, no, I will stay home with the dogs and my child, and pray for better prospects next year.