Bea-stly

Man, fucking Ellen. Every so often she rings me up or shoots me a text asking if I wanna play dice with her and every so often I start to try to say no, but she fucking picks up on that so fast and her fun quirky demeanor drops. No longer laughing and being bubbly, she starts to remind me of the file she has in her possession that would simply ruin me if it fell into the wrong hands. And so with tears in my eyes is reluctantly agree to play dice with Ellen. It’s always in a back alley behind some strip mall. Gross and rank. Ellen hunched over a damp piece of cardboard she uses to roll her dice on. I always ask Ellen, I say Ellen you’re so rich and famous, can’t we please play dice in like a highrise penthouse or something? Thinking of the nice all you can eat buffet that would surely be there. All highrise penthouses have all you eat buffets. I’m pretty sure it’s like some sort of requirement. If I’m going play fucking dice with Ellen​, let me at least get my fill on some slightly warmer than room temp fries. But she always just grunts a no, and then rolls her dice, not looking at me at all. And holy shit, I’m not a man who believes in luck but… Ellen is turning me into a believer because she has to be the unluckiest person in the world. Every role she does, pure shit. I don’t even really know how to play dice but fuck, I play like some kinda world champ when I play with her. And fuck, her goddamn temper. It doesn’t take much to set her off. Screaming and shouting and huffing and puffing. This fucking back alley we play in has a number of cracks in the walls from her just pounding her fists into them after each of my rolls. Fucking cracks. Brick walls. Fucking cracks. At the end of the game when I inevitably beat her, she pulls out a knife and just slices or stabs me before running off into the shadows to go fucking goofy white lady dance as she interviews Channing Tatum or something, fuck!