Thinner Drink for Jars

Stephen King work/film adaptation of a 'cinematic' expression of the psyche-ties between bad relations and lifestyle fog for social check.

Thinner adaptation featuring a life-reference to Horlicks. Happy Xmas December, all 

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Of course, I felt like I had it all on Earth, especially after meeting a gorgeous sari-fashions world lady in the East and settling down with her in Chicago and making sports cards marketing with my Wall-St. earnings for comfort pillows. However, that was before my life was weighted with a curse linked to a stranger woman wandering with angst and hatred in her heart and my troubled father thinking I was drinking too much Horlicks for Facebook-commentary culture (hmmm).

STRANGER: You were smoking a cigarette, and I walked by and you blew smoke.

ME: In your face...I apologize, young lady (sorry).

STRANGER: You fancy a special lifestyle ingestion substance that's not drugs?

ME: Horlicks (why you ask?).

STRANGER: Well, you're now officially to be cursed for cinematic punishment!

ME: What's it?
STRANGER: You'll see, cigarette smoking-man (ha).

ME: What, Facebook-like?

This stranger woman I crossed paths with while trying to quit smoking cursed me with her gypsy hair or rings or something; every time I drank Horlicks, I thought about dad's weird omens of superstition that the lifestyle-nutrition drink was going to make me drawn away from normal nutrition-infused foods (like bread, wow). I started coming-undone in my brain and gave up bread altogether; the curse was real (damn).

FATHER: I'm watching this parody on Nazism, so please be quiet in the TV-room.

ME: I had more Horlicks today, daddy.

FATHER: Damn you.

ME: I feel weird...like I need a psychiatrist, a shrink, man.

FATHER: This movie about Nazi-humor should be a therapy, surely (not Horlicks).

ME: My life's becoming black-and-white, father.

FATHER: Good (Facebook-like).

There I was now, living with my lady I met in the East (Esmerelda), drinking Horlicks, sharing living-space with my father, and worrying about that Horlicks-curse that made my brain come apart (damn). I didn't know what to do now, so I went back to that same walkway where I crossed that stranger gypsy woman; and I saw her again and promised her I'd quit smoking if she'd remove that Horlicks-cleat. She agreed. I haven't smoked since that promise was made (wow). I don't feel weird about father's stranger Horlicks whispers either. I still live in that same Homeland suburbia area town-house with Esmerelda (Facebook-like).

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)