Thursday, October 28, 2010

Want. (from Boom.)

I want to feel your shoulders. I want to run my rough hands along the curve of your biceps while standing far too close to your back. I want you to wonder if the pack of cigarettes in my pocket is something more exciting or something more excited. I want your soft skin to indent under the pressure of my finger tips, your breath to quicken, and your heartbeat to pound in the center of your jeans. I want the cold calluses on my hands to chill your skin, forcing blood to flood the pale white of your arms, warming you and reddening your tone. I want every hair on your body to stand on end as my breath, stale with the lingering scent of the last cigarette, limps across your neck, getting trapped in the dark of your hair. I want to trace the shape of your bra, the bums in your shirt, the edges skewed slightly by the thin fabric on top of it. I want you to whisper my name, your voice shaking as you reach for my hands. I want you to ache, starving and wishing for my firm grip to move its way south, and I want your breasts to feel near fatal anticipation as I hint to my intentions. I want the walls to fall away, and leave you standing alone with visions of us naked in your bed, your head on my chest, tracing the scars with your index finger. Visions of your tiny hands rubbing my clavicle, the bone protruding from years of malnourishment. I want you to snap back from your dreams to realize how close you are now. I want you to know how for so many years you were alone. How all of the other boys that made their passes, all the other men that voiced their urges were nothing. They never held a candle to what I can give you, and the ball in the pit of your stomach wants you to accept that. My slow embrace carries the gravity of a sinking ship, the pull of a thousand suns, and the heat of every last icecap that melts into oblivion.
But I am vile. I am putrid, and the touch of my flesh leads to necrosis only. Your body will go into shock, and before the rapidly progressing rot of your perfect skin encompasses every inch of you, you will look up at me and ask “why?” The puss will ooze from every orifice, natural or eroded out, and your stark white bones will start to decay, and I will say nothing. The black will fill your veins, and as your skin bubbles you will claw at it in terror. There is nothing you will be able to do. Like anything good in life, what I touch will die. Midas wasn’t so bad off, as his ends were quick and painless; trapped for ever in gold, a glinted trophy to excess and greed. My trophies aren’t as beautiful.
I have no feelings. I have no hopes or delusions of a cure. I don’t know why this happens only to me, but I try not to dwell on it for very long.

“And this is a reoccurring dream?” April said to me at last.
“Have you seen a therapist? Because this is some fucked up shit.”
“Why would I see a shrink when I have you, Snookums? You can fix all of my problems. All I ever need is you.” I took a bit of my hot dog. The convenience store hummed its usual florescent hum, and as April looked at me, her beautiful brown eyes had a secret behind them.
“You’re smothering me.”

Thursday, October 21, 2010

The Lube Faerie (LONG!)

Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Bess. She had curly brown hair so dark that if it covered her eyes she was sure that it was night. She wasn’t tall by any of the modern standards, but she could easily reach the top shelf in any kitchen, but didn’t have to duck to get through doorways. She ate what she pleased, but should certainly never be considered heavy, as the amount of work she put into making her home sparkle kept her at a reasonably petit size. Bess lived in a reserved village in the lower missionary mountains called Prudence. In Prudence, all of the women did the cooking and cleaning, their full length dresses brushing the tops of their perfectly polished black patent leather shoes. The grey and black dresses looked elegantly simple next to the men’s grey shirt sleeves with their black suspenders clipped onto their black trousers. The villagers cherished simple traditions, such as communal meals, compulsory voting on all town issues, and church every Sunday. The sense of community was strong, and they intended it to stay that way. Whenever a lonely traveler wandered into the village, the entire population was there to help with whatever they could, be it a pot of food, shelter, or some spare clothes. The village had seen a steady rise in population, due to its strongly asserted belief that sex was solely for the purpose of procreation, and while there were no laws stating such, it was just the way things had always been and always should be. And most of the villagers didn’t dare push those boundaries.
Bess had always been a curious girl. The first person with a question, Bess often asked why the sky was blue, or why rain made a pounding sound on her roof instead of something more interesting. As she grew older she continued asking questions, but a sense of shame that is instilled in all churches kept her from asking them aloud. Why does wearing grey make you modest? Why can’t women work? Who decided that stroganoff tasted good? These were questions that she never got answered, and not wanting to upset the village elders, she kept them buried deep inside her. As she entered maturity, found a young man named Hal, and found herself married and trying to have children the questions got more personal. Why is trying to reproduce so boring? Why does it only feel kind of good? Why can Hal go inside me, but I can’t go inside him? She hoped and prayed that one day someone could answer these questions for her, but never imagined anyone would. Until one fateful day…
A new woman had come into the village from the far eastern town of Tantra. This newcomer had introduced herself as Virginia. Virginia would regale the townswomen with stories from back home, where all sorts of behaviors that would make your grandparents blush took place on a nightly basis. Bess found herself enthralled in every tale, and was amazed to have found someone who she was sure had answers to all of the questions that she had. One day, Bess found herself washing her clothing next to Virginia.
“Oh, Virginia! Do tell me more stories about your home!”
“You don’t want to hear those old stories anymore Bess, you have a great town here. Those vile, vile things they would do at home… oh sure they feel great, but you don’t have nearly the same connection to The Almighty as you do here.”
Bess wanted to shake Virginia by the shoulders and force her to tell all of her stories, but being a good Prudencite, she held back.
“Please! I have to know about… something.” Bess said, not sure of the right way to approach the subject she had on her mind. She immediately shot her gaze back to her laundry, and started scrubbing twice as hard, biting her lip and wondering why she couldn’t just know things instead of having to ask.
“What do you want to know about?” Virginia asked.
Please don’t make me say it… Bess though. After a few moments in silent, both women trying not to meet the eyes of the other for fear of having to be direct, Bess finally cracked.
“I want to know why you had such a good time trying to procreate in Tantra! I want to know why when I do it here, it is ever so dull. Is there anything I can do to make it more enjoyable?”
Virginia sat stunned for a good long time. She fought the smirk that started to pull the corners of her lips towards her ears, as memories of long nights wrapped around countless male suitors flashed through her blond little head. Virginia could tell Bess all of the best ways to make reproduction curl her toes, or how to hold back from screaming while in the act, but didn’t want to ruin the wide eyed and innocent girl. How Virginia longed to go back to the all night town gatherings, everyone naked as the day they were born, and huddled in a seething mass. Virginia’s green eyes started to glisten with the thought of never returning home, and before any tears could work their way out she reminded herself that she was living a better life now. But Bess was right. The way they would “do it” in Prudence was indeed boring for the woman. Lying on ones back for a few minutes was hardly an incentive to get bigger and bigger until the day that one would lie on ones back again, this time in mind numbing pain. Virginia carefully weighed the pros and cons of telling Bess her secrets, but then decided to do it anyway.
“I will tell you three secrets, and only three. If you use all of them, then you will understand why trying to reproduce is worth it. First, use your hand on yourself while it’s happening. Find a spot down there that feels good when you touch it, and keep on touching. Second, wrap your legs around him. This one is simple, but it will help, trust me. Finally…” Virginia looked around to see if anyone was watching them. There wasn’t. “Finally, stick this inside of him.” She removed a small black cone from her pocket. It was real thin on the top, but fattened as it approached the bottom before tapering off at the last second to its original size. It looked like a drain stopper for the sink, but bigger and longer. There was a circular base to it, and it could stand upright if set on something flat. Bess had no idea what the object would do, but after so much help for the first time, she didn’t care. She just wanted to go home and try it out.
“There is one thing I should tell you.” Virginia said. “You must be careful putting it inside of him, otherwise he will scream in pain, and you may never get another chance to use it. There is someone who can ensure that it will all go well, but it is a day’s journey from here.”
“Oh! I will go anywhere! Anywhere, as long as it makes procreation more fun!” Bess squealed.
“Very good. To the east there is a castle. Inside of this castle lives a matriarchal being called The Lube Faerie. She will help you. But know this, it is a treacherous journey. You must go over the Numbing Gel swamp, then through the Vibrator Forest, through the caves of Anal Bead Mountain, and then, only then can you find the Faerie’s castle. Be wary of the dangers along the way!” But before Virginia could explain the perils that lay ahead, Bess was gone, leaving her clothes by the water, stopping only to grab some food to eat on the way.


Bess was eager to start her journey, and as she ran down the hills towards the east, she thought of the happiness this journey was sure to bring. Surely anyone from the town of Tantra would know how to make anything feel good, and as the feeling of pleasure already started welling up inside of her, she came to the edge of the Numbing Gel Swamp. It was a dark, wet stretch of land, and the smell made her nose tingle, and then she couldn’t smell at all. The trees that rose like obelisks out of the still waters seemed to erode before her wide brown eyes. Bess tested the water by throwing in a twig, and as it hit the water, it bubbled, then smoked, then evaporated right out of the swamp. This poses a problem, Bess thought. As she looked around for solutions, or at least to see if it was a small enough swamp to walk across, she spotted a rowboat. This boat was not a new vessel worthy of breaking champagne on, but its rotting hull seemed just sturdy enough to make one last journey across the water. Bess hoped that it didn’t belong to anyone, and when she approached it, she saw on the oars a message that had been carved a long time ago:
“Use this boat to cross the swamp, if it’s The Lube Faerie that you want.”
Bess was filled with confidence. She knew that this rickety boat would get her to the other side, and she would be able to keep going! She pushed and pushed, and after working up a sweat and ripping the bottom of her dress on another twig so that it now came up to the knee, she managed to get the old boat into the water. There was a horrible hissing sound and smoke started to rise from the bottom of her vessel, so Bess knew that she should move quickly. Jumping in the boat, Bess landed on the wooden seat with a thud and a splash. Her impact caused some of the swamp to leap out, diving straight at her hand like an eagle hunting its prey. When the swamp water hit Bess she let out a yelp. Her hand had gone numb!
“Oh! What shall I do? I can’t hold boat oars if one of my hands won’t move!”
Determined to find the faerie she had already set out so far to find, Bess bit her lip and thought quickly. Her boat was starting to dissolve, and she figured she only had a few minutes to cross the swamp before she was lost to its numbing waters. As she thought, one of the last branches of a tree fell down into the swamp. It fell straight in, only about 3 feet down, before standing rigidly upright. Bess knew how she could cross! She thrust the oar behind her all the way to the bottom, being careful not to splash her other hand. She then pushed as hard as she could, propelling herself forward. Every push seemed harder than the last, and when she felt she couldn’t push any farther, she noticed the hole that had formed in the boat.
“Oh no!” Bess said “Will I ever make it to the other side?!”
Just then, the boat stopped. She had reached dry land.


The swamp had been dark and ominous, but not nearly as dark as the Vibrator Forest. The strange, brightly colored trees were so high that they blocked out the sun, their leafless, mushroom shaped tops seeming to stare down at Bess. There was an awful sound coming from every direction that sounded like a hive of angry bees. Bess wondered why there were some trees that were covered in bumps and why others were so smooth, but knew she would never get an answer as there didn’t seem to be another living soul around. Bess decided it was best to follow the path that was laid out before her. The path was just wide enough for her to walk down comfortably, without having to dodge the fallen trees that still kept buzzing. She walked for a long time, and each step reminded her of the snacks that she had brought with her. She wanted nothing more than to sit and eat, as she had been on the road for hours, but she felt like someone or something was watching her. And not just the trees. Bess couldn’t fight the feeling that she wasn’t alone in this desolate forest. So she kept on, and the path kept going straight. The forest was getting denser, and the little light there was had started to thin even more.
“Well I shouldn’t eat in the dark. That would just make me messy.” Bess said aloud, hoping someone would hear her sound reasoning, but also hoping there wasn’t anyone that was within ear shot. Certainly, if there was, they would have announced themselves by now, she thought. Settling on the fact that she was indeed along, Bess found a fallen tree and decided there was no place better for sitting and eating. As she walked up to it, she notices that it was shaking, the same with the rest of the trees.
“How dreadfully awful! That is no way for a log to behave! Even if it is a purple and oddly squishy log…” Bess sat down on the soft purple log anyway, as she was quite tired. As she sat down she found herself annoyed with the constant shaking. But the longer she sat there, eating her apple and roll of rye bread, she became more relaxed.
“This isn’t that bad…” she found herself thinking. After a few more minutes, she was quite pleased with the vibrations. She found herself wanting to feel them all over, and without thinking, she was face down on top of the log, each of her thin little legs on a different side. I feel fantastic, like something is building up inside of me, wanting to burst its way out, she would have said. But at that moment, the waves pulsing through her body, all she managed to say was “ohhhhhhhhhh.” This was a feeling that Bess had never had before. The spot of the log between her legs started to get moist, and Bess started rubbing her whole body up and down against the log. The intense feeling was like being in an ice bath next to a roaring fire, the conflicting extremes creating a tingling and happy medium. As her young heart started beating faster and she started gasping for breath, a sweat covering her brow from labor that seemed to come so easily, she was startled to hear a raspy voice in front of her.
“WHO DARES ENTER MY WOODS?!” said a voice that felt like hot coals in Bess’ ears. Bess sprang up from her resting place, panting and scared, but still feeling an odd sense of happiness. There was a woman standing in the path, wearing a skirt made of chains and no shirt. This green tinted woman had two more chains that attached to her breasts, and her long, sharp fingernails played with two metal clamps shaped like crows’ beaks.
“Who are you?” Bess stuttered as she asked.
“I am the Nipple Clamp Witch! Who are you, and why are you in my woods?!” the witch snarled back. Bess was terrified, but knew that she still had a journey to finish, and no horrifying witch was going to stop her.
“My name is Bess, and I am looking for The Lube Faerie.” Bess squeaked.
“The Lube Faerie? That old hag is my arch nemesis! Therefore you must be an enemy as well! I shall cast you in chains and hang you from the tallest of the trees!”
As The Nipple Clamp witch lunged forwards towards Bess, she tripped over the core of Bess’ apple. The metal crow’s beak snagged the top of Bess’ dress, tearing the neck and sleeves, leaving only the fabric around the chest intact. As the tops of Bess’ small breasts were exposed to fresh air outside of her own home for the first time, Bess found her feet tangled in the witches chains. As she started to run away from the witch she tripped, ripping the clamps off of the witch’s nipples. With a ding, the shiny metal slid across the ground, and the witch started to deflate. The hiss of the wind leaving the pruning body of the witch drowned out the buzzing of the trees, and soon it finished, once again leaving Bess alone in the woods.
“Well, I guess that’s that.” Bess said, looking at the greenish pile of skin on the ground, chains pointing every which way. “I should get going if I want to make it through Anal Bead Mountain before dark. But maybe I will sit for a while… I need to get my strength back after fighting that witch.” And she laid back down atop the log, this time staying there until she filled with forest with her own praise to God.


The sun was bright as Bess exited the woods. She was still tired, despite resting on her log for much longer than she anticipated. She trudged across the fields, the ominous Anal Bead Mountain growing ever closer. The sun was in its slow decent, and if she didn’t navigate the treacherous caves quickly it would surely be dark before she found the castle. The village would be worried, and they would all find out that she was out searching for The Lube Faerie. That would cement her as an outcast, and she would have to go live among the wild hillbillies of the Tang clan. As she drifted off into thought, she approached the base of the mountain. The mouth of the cave stood before her, open and inviting, with strangely warm air blowing out of it. She quickened her pace, trying desperately to speed her journey along, but didn’t notice the rock shards that guarded the path. Catching the bottom of her dress on one of the shards, and scraping her leg, she let out a yelp as her dressed ripped up to her mid thigh, and before she had time to check if she was bleeding, she her the low rumble and quick pitter patter of an avalanche. Living in the Missionary Mountains, she was accustomed to how to survive in these conditions, but decided to brave it and ran into the cave that she didn’t quite know how to navigate. The falling round rocks closed the mouth of the cave behind her, and soon she stood in the dark, the warm, damp walls surrounding her. Unsure of where to go next, she decided to put a hand on the wall and started moving forward.
Bess kept groping her way down the cave for what seemed like an eternity. After what she assumed had been years in the dark, there was a point of light up ahead. She started moving faster and faster, the light becoming brighter and brighter. She finally reached the orange glow, finding a huge colony of small grey creatures with giant pointy ears.
“Goblins!” Bess tried not to yell. They were busy working, building houses, and farms, and catapults, because goblins love catapults. She knew that they had a short temper and hated outsiders, so she hid behind a rock, and tried to plan her next move. The goblins seemed to crawl everywhere. She grew steadily more nervous as she couldn’t see any way out of their lair.
“Maybe if I offer them something they will show me how to leave. I’m sure they can be reasoned with.” Bess said to herself, trying very hard to sound convincing. But she had nothing, except for her ripped dress. Even goblins don’t care for ripped things, and they are creatures that spend all day working on machines that will throw them into walls. They are terribly unintelligent, and hate reason. All of these facts left Bess in quite the bind. She started to wonder if she had been too brash in wanting to find The Lube Faerie. She started to worry that she would never see Hal again, and that the… THE BLACK THING! Suddenly she was filled with hope as she remembered the black object that sent her on the quest in the first place. The goblins might find it interesting, and be willing to trade for it, but she didn’t care. She would fight a thousand goblins if it meant being able to put that black plug inside of Hal. She readied herself to fight, but didn’t even stand up before noticing a wooden sign, scrawled in undercommon (the language of vile creatures such as goblins). She had learned a little undercommon from her grandfather, and made out that the shaky handwriting said “out” with an arrow pointing down a narrow, barely lit cave.
“Oh. How lucky!” Bess said as she walked straight down the cave, finding the exit in no time.


The dank, dark cave stood in contrast with the beautiful landscape that now laid before young Bess. The brilliant sun danced across the sky, leaving trails of blue and purple and gold, a royal sky fit for, well, royalty. The green grass held pools of white viscous liquid, small semi-transparent rabbits drinking from them, and vibrating in tune with the far off forests. The center of her view was a tan castle, huge in comparison with anything from her small village. The castle had two large masses on the front, small red doors in the center of each. The other walls also seemed to have small entrances, some pink, some just darker tans, and some shaped like giant mouths. Bess had a tear come to her eye as she saw what she had traveled so far to get to. She started to run towards the castle, her exposed legs moving faster and faster until she was a tan and grey blur in the fields. When she arrived to the castle doors, she picked the mass closest to her, and flung open the door, not bothering with traditional manners, as she was too exhausted to care. When she entered she saw men, naked and ripped with muscles. They seemed to sparkle as if coming out of water at high noon. They gave her a friendly smile, and she felt her dress get moist between the legs once again. She asked loudly “Where do I find The Lube Faerie?!” and the men simply pointed down a long corridor.
Bess ran down the hall, before finally coming to a large door marked with a heart. She flew open the door, and was amazed at the beauty sitting before her. Not only was it the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, but she had striking green eyes; eyes that seemed too familiar.
“You made it Bess! I knew you would!” the Faerie exclaimed.
“How do you know my name?” Bess asked.
“It’s only been a few hours Bess, but you’ve been through a lot. And I do look a little different when I’m not wearing those dreadfully dull colors.”
“Virginia?” Bess asked, knowing the answer for the first time.
“Yes dear.” Virginia responded “I am indeed the Lube Faerie. I show up to small villages to find those in need of what I can provide, and then, after they prove their devotion to finding answers, I fill their needs.”
Bess was trying to figure out what all of this meant. She had trekked across such a vast distance, and was so very tired. She knew she had come to the right place, even though the fact that her fellow Pudencite was the one she was trying to find. Before the slew of questions that had come to her mind were able to come out of her mouth, Virginia spoke and interrupted her thoughts.
“Dear, I will answer your questions. I know you must be confused, and tired, but let me explain some things before I let you sleep. First, your village lives under the false pretense that God will only love you if you prove yourself with humility and reserve. This is not true. God loves you and wants you to be happy. She wants you to be happy, and to have physical happiness as well as mental. Second, all of the knowledge in the known world is in our library. We do indeed have answers to most of the questions that you ask, and it’s the answers that we don’t have that drive us to get more knowledge. Finally, sex, procreation, reproduction, “doing it”, all of this can be fun, it can be free, and it doesn’t have to end in 9 months of salmon cravings and a day of extreme pain.” Bess was swimming in a sea of extreme ecstasy with all of the answers she continued to get, but still wondered about Hal. He still lived in the boring town she left to find pleasure. She found it, but could she bring it back to him?
“You have a choice now, Bess” The Faerie said. “You can go back home, the Horny Pony, a relative to the unicorn, can fly you there in mere minutes. Or you can stay here, and enjoy your life without the boring colors. What will it be?”
Bess thought about it. She had a life back in Prudence. She grew up in the Missionaries, and loved them so. But The Faerie had a point, it was far more… interesting here in the castle. And Bess always hated the color grey. So in a flash Bess ripped off what was left of her dress, and yelled “Teach me more!” The Faerie closed her grand door with a wink to the men in the hallway and Bess never left the castle.

The End.

Monday, October 18, 2010


Tommy woke up. Everything in this house is gay, he thought. His room was gay, it was way too small. His dog was gay, it wouldn’t shut up. His sister was gay, she took too long in the bathroom. His breakfast was gay, eggs. Before he got onto the gay school bus (the gay driver always told him he wasn’t going to wait if he was late again) he kissed his mom, which was so gay. Through the first gay periods he drew pictures of his gay teachers. He walked down the gay hallways before reaching his gay locker, opened it, and grabbed a different set of gay books. The next gay classes dragged on, and soon it was time for lunch. Lunch was a bologna sandwich, which was gay. He only had enough money for gay milk, so while all of his gay friends were drinking pepsi, which is so gay because coke is better, he drank milk. Gay. He went to gym, where he put on his gay uniform, and did gay laps around the gay gym with the gay picture of the school mascot painted on the wall. The Vikings: gay. A few more gay classes, and he got back on the gay bus, and went to his gay house before finally getting to the computer. His internet was being gay so it took him a long time to connect to instant messenger. This computer is so gay sometimes, tommy though. When he heard the gay “ding” that meant that he was connected he finally smiled. His boyfriend sent him a simple message, “Hey babe! Hope U had a good day! Luv U!” and it was the first not-gay thing that Tommy had happen all day.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

beer. boobs.

“I can’t fucking stand these young assholes. Fucking surfers…”

Mike had had a few too many Coronas, judging by the eight empty bottles scattered around his beach chair. The oversized green umbrella over him cast a shadow large enough to cover his bright red skin. As he let the beads of water run off his bottle onto his burnt, protruding stomach, he watched his daughters laugh and wave to the bronzed teenagers with their fiberglass boards. They were too young to be flirting with boys. They were 16 and 17 respectively, and their matching curly brown hair reminded him of their mother when she was their age. High school sweethearts, Mike and Sheryl had been each other’s first relationship, and only one since. Twenty four years of only fucking one woman. This is why Mike had been stressed on their vacation. In Hawaii, women were half naked and gorgeous. In Nebraska, women were more masculine than half of the men. Especially in Omaha. What a bunch of fucking pussies. He remembered working on the family farm ever since he was young. Then, after his parents died, he sold the piece of shit, and every goddamn inch of corn for a good chunk of change. He just wanted his kids to have a chance to be kids, so he bought a house in the city and got a job advising a pesticide company on how to get around environmental protection laws. Now, eighteen years later, he had a stagnate marriage, a dead end job, daughters when he wanted sons, and an over-priced trip to Hawaii. Fucking paradise.

His daughters were named after their grandmother. The eldest, Rose, didn’t look like a teenager, but a mid-twenties waitress, most likely at a Hooters. Her over-developed chest barely fit in her tan and pink striped bikini top, and every shore break made every man in a thirty foot radius start praying to their gods that she would fall out of it. The younger girl, Mary, didn’t get the same endowment. Instead, she had hips that would make childbirth a walk in the park. And a perfect ass. Round, but not bulbous, the way those black chicks had. No, Mary’s ass was a respectable size, a size that would make you want to lay your head on it and fall asleep. These are thoughts that respectable men stay clear of. Thoughts about your own daughters’ bodies. He looked down at his half empty bottle and started wondering where that Filipino waiter bitch was so that he could get another beer.

After a few hours Mike felt worse. His wife was “walking the beach” which meant she was in the white rented jeep crushing Xanex and snorting them. She had been doing it since they stopped fucking and they stopped fucking shortly after Mary was born. Mike had since dreamed of finding a young, skinny woman, preferably one not addicted to prescription pills, but had only managed to fuck his hand. He blamed his kids for his lack of sex. He blamed his kids for his terrible marriage, cold dinners left in the microwave, and having to deal with corporate pricks all day. He wanted to get revenge on his own flesh and blood. He made them, he could destroy them. His thirteenth beer made seeing a chore, and even though he had his chair reclined so that he was lying down, he was having a problem not falling out of it. Through the glaze in his eyes he was pretty sure he saw his Rose making out with some little surfing bastard. Soon they would be under the water, thrusting and humping and making more mouths that he would have to feed. Not only that, but her huge tits would be grabbed, and Mike wouldn’t be the one doing the grabbing. He wouldn’t be putting his face between those two giant orbs, and he wouldn’t be squeezing Mary’s perfect ass. He wouldn’t be taking either of them to the hotel room, wouldn’t be tying either of their hands to the bed posts, and most certainly wouldn’t be fucking either of them. He thought of his wife in the car, half passed out, head on the steering wheel, with her thinning brown hair reaching to her knees. He didn’t know that she had crushed one too many pills, and fell asleep, never to wake up again. He didn’t know that a passerby had noticed that she hadn’t moved in close to an hour and called the cops, who called the paramedics, who pronounced her dead at the scene. He didn’t know, and he wouldn’t have cared if he did. Instead, Mike decided that he had to go kick that surfer asshole’s ass. As he wobbled his way to a standing position, he lost his footing in the loose white sand. Mike’s front heavy body, cursed by years of carb intake and lack of exercise, started falling forward, and he never saw the empty beer bottle. He never saw it, but everyone else saw it after he landed on it, the long glass neck completely hidden in his eye socket. As he rolled after the impact, and as the last of his breath left his lungs, he begged God:

“Please don’t let me die without tasting my daughters’ skin. Please be kind.”

And God must have been busy, because he never got another breath.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

August 07

James sits at his desk in his dorm room. What was once a dirty janitor’s closet was now an elongated single bed bedroom with enough room to fit the standard plain wood bed frame and the matching desk in, assuming you didn’t mind using the bed as a desk chair. The one, small window that didn’t quite open wide enough for an average sized college student to fit though faced the side of a brick apartment building, heavy amounts of ivy snaking up the walls, trying to find a hint of sunlight. His room is dark, too dark to read in, even at high noon while the rest of the campus sparkled in the mid September sun. His desk lamp, it’s cheap black metal covered in pealing stickers advertising bands that don’t play music together anymore, is always on; the artificial light cast squarely on a blue CD case of some forgotten artist, the back too scratched up to read the track list. The shallow grooves held a pale residue, and nearly microscopic specks of white dotted its sides. A rusting straight razor lay just beneath the ritual stone of plastic, a single orange and silver corner poking its ugly head out, desperate to find the artificial sun and dive into the next snowy landscape. A reflection of the plastic shines on the stucco white ceiling, next to the circular overhead fixture that had been covered with a bleach stained green bandana, darkening its offensive glow to nothing more than a faint ambience. James likes the lamps controlled light, cast only where he wants it to go. He likes the control. A faint hum of his refrigerator, the sound much bigger than the squat machine itself, drowned out the repeated thuds of his neighbor’s headboard on the shared wall but the muffled half screams, half coos snaked around the mechanical white noise. The obnoxious bird that is getting railed next door kept getting louder and her obviously overstated pleasure is as enjoyable to listen to as the grinding spin of a dental drill. Oh, the fucking college life.

James sits in his usual black workout shorts and a t-shirt that is a size too large. The worn, burnt orange shirt used to feel tight against his developing muscles, the emblazoned logo of a hardware store from his southern Wisconsin border town stretched across his chest. Now it flowed in the breeze. He tugs at the bottom hem, his sunken brown eyes searching for the loose seam that must have caused the stretch. The walls of his cheeks, leaving their resting places against his molars puffed and flapped as he sighs at his failure. Nothing seems to fit anymore for James. He looks back, away from his window, to see if the heavy wooden door was locked. With so much wood in these buildings, no wonder they have fire plans tagged on everything. Safety first, planning last. The metal lock was indeed thrown closed, as it always is. Rarely did it ever leave its locked position, usually only long enough for him to run to the bathroom without his keys. Other than that, the door stayed closed and latched. He moves his gaze now to the electric clock on top of the refrigerator. 4:50pm. The dull glow of the red numbers lets him know that the last of the days classes are about to get out, which means show time. He thinks about the classes he is missing sometimes, but never for too long. As the last thoughts of political science mysteries he isn’t helping solve leave his head, he raids his desk drawer, searching for a small baggie. It’s smaller than it should be. It was almost full this morning, what happened? He dumps the powder contained inside on its usual resting place on the CD case, the razor filling its purpose as it dices the powder into a more manageable gauge. Finding a syllabus that he never really needed in the first place and especially since he stopped attending “Collegiate math II”, he tears off a third of the front page, rolling it into a tube. He inhales, the powder soaking into his sinus membrane, and leans back. His pupils start to dilate, his breathing and heart rate speed up, and the narration in his head stops.


A knock at the door sends James back to reality. Not the reality that most people live in, the one that actually exists the way we see it, but a fogged reality of paranoia and anger. A second knock and James springs into action, throwing the CD case under the bed a small toxic mushroom cloud erupting from the impact. The razor landed haphazardly behind the desk, falling with a ding next to the meshed metal rubbish can. As James felt like he was in two places at once, cramming what was left of his precious powder into the desk drawer, and hiding all the other evidence in what he assumed was better way than that amateur Ann Frank ever could, he managed to knock over his prized lamp, the bulb popping and going dark as it hit the floor. Unfazed, James reached up and grabbed the cover off of the overhead light, its putrid white glow filling the room with a light that made him shield his nearly all black irises.

“Hey man! What the fuck? Are you gonna help a bro out, or what?”

The overly familiar voice let James relax a bit. The sense of impending doom that was sure to befall him left as soon as it came, replaced now with an urge to hit someone. He unlatched the door, and stared at the boy before him. He referred to most people his own age as “men”, but this guy could only be a “boy”. The round, hairless face betrayed the stench of a cologne that was popular only with middle age men, the musky aroma reading “I have lead a life of strife and hardship, and all I want is to get my dick sucked by some eighteen-year-old girl. Preferably blonde.” As familiar as the boy before him was, and as often as their paths seemed to cross, James couldn’t stand him. Maybe it was the backwards hat and pre-ripped jeans that he always seemed to wear, paired with the “So Cal Drinking Team!” or other such shirts, all from the same over-priced clothing company. Maybe it was the way he always called James “Man”. Or maybe it was how he liked to be called “C-dawg”. This boy’s god given name of Clarence didn’t “get the ladies wet” but the first letter and a misspelled animal apparently did. James knew the only way C-dawg could get ladies “wet” was to throw water on them, and the sexual innuendo was certainly not lost on him. C-dog was just too… douchey… to get women. And the ones that were willing to lose part of their dignity for three minutes of passionless drunk sex were certainly worthy of the “awesome bro-itude” that C-whatever possessed. James was faced with the unfortunate position of loving money, and having things that C-child wanted, so they had a relationship that was stronger than most of the others that James had. He hated that.

“I was hoping you could cut me a deal, Man. I’ve got mad hunnies coming from back home this weekend, and they all wanna trip with the C-Dawg! I bet this broad Suzy would totally suck your dick till it hurt! I can set you up if you give me ten for eighty…”

C-twat was pathetic in his naiveté, and James hated that as well. His molars were grinding, and his purple eye sockets were twitching, the euphoria gone and replaced with a bitter rage. But thinking of the last packet of dried, chicken flavored noodles that he had, and practically drooling over the idea of dinner with a side dish, he decided not to break C-bitch’s jaw.

“I’ll give you ten for a hundred. And never offer to have one of your friends give me syphilis ever again.”

His resolve was made plenty clear by the fire that sat deep in his eyes. His stoic face twitched at the cornered of his dried lips in his desperate attempt not to find the knife that he kept hidden in his microwave.

“Ninety and I’ll let you watch her suck MY dick.”

The negotiations were making James empty stomach turn, and as visions of C-unt bleeding out on the carpet flashed before his eyes, he decided it was better to have money than a court date. James went to the miniature freezer and remembered the panic that set in by the boy’s unannounced arrival. He thought about shorting the young asshole, or soaking in as much of the acid off of the tabs through his fingers as he could, but decided that he just wanted to get the transaction over with as soon as possible so that he didn’t do anything that he would later regret, like contracting one of the many, many diseases he was sure swam in C-dawg’s blood. The freezer opened with a hiss and fog spilled out into the room. The tiny squares of paper, covered with Scooby Doo, were plucked from the icy terrain, wrapped in foil, and handed to C- in exchange for some folded bills. C-kid tried to be smooth and sneaky, but ended up looking like a crack addict in an alley, trying to get a fix, when he could have simply made a trade. James thought he was finally done with this kid’s annoyance, when C-dawg said, rather loudly,

“What the fuck happened to your leg?”

James looked down at the bottom of his thigh, exposed by his shorts, scars that spelt out “This is” and “faul-”. James wouldn’t look Clarence in the eyes.

“Get the fuck out.”


A few hours later and James room was a different scene. The light was covered by half of the bandana, hastily thrown up on the ceiling in an effort to stop his eyes from burning. The baggie that was filled at the beginning of the day was now turned inside out, covered with still bubbling saliva from being licked more than once. James laid pant less on the floor, tracing his scars with his fingers over and over and over again. He was seventeen when he put them there. In his parent’s basement, he stood in the bathroom, staring in the mirror as he swallowed pill after pill after pill. His mother’s addiction to Quaaludes made her life more bearable, or at least she said, and after two years of feeling totally alone, he decided that they would help him too. Except instead of the two she would take every morning, he tasted every last one of the almost full bottle, washing it down with the rust flavored water that ran freely from the bathroom sink. As his stomach dissolved the first few, his vision started to blur. The purple walls of the bathrooms seemed to breathe in time with him, each inhale made the room smaller, and the exhale made it vast and made him feel small. His father’s whiskey sat unopened next to him on the back of the toilet, the porcelain pedestal immortalizing the bottle for the rest of what was to be his eternity. He only had a few minutes left to leave his message for whoever found him, and with the straight razor that he now used to cut up his new found joy, he carved his note straight into his thigh.

“This is no one’s fault but my own. I love you, but I hate me.”

When he tried to ensure that this would be his end, and tried drinking as much whiskey as he could, he found his stomach was too young and not used to alcohol. He sat retching, the grey ovals filling the toilet, and while he hoped there would have been enough of their chemicals in his blood stream to do the job anyway, he work up the next morning with a headache and a set of scars.

As he traced each letter, James thought of how far he had come since then. He now had a crippling addiction to coke, a failing acid dealing business, no friends, and thousands of dollars in debt for a school he didn’t really attend. There was a knock on his door, but he didn’t get up. He looked over at the clock; 10:32pm. The red glow was muted by the horrid white light. The interloper knocked again. James muttered to himself that he didn’t give a fuck. The serial knockist now yelled

“Jay! Don’t be a dick! Open the fucking door! You’re going to ruin my weekend you prick!”

Let him yell, James thought. His body had started shaking with a craving around seven. At eight he laid down and didn’t get up since. He had money, he had a contact, but the pain and anguish comforted him. It reminded him of being a teenager. There was so much to lose back then. He wanted that back. As the angry customer continued to knock and yell, James reached for his razor blade that had once again made it onto the floor. He dragged the edge across the scars, opening them back up, and enjoying the razors sting. The knocking started to fade out, the sound of James’ heartbeat echoing loudly in his head. He smiled, knowing that whoever was trying to get to him, whoever needed him right then, would be disappointed, not just at the lack of product, but at the fact that something they wanted was being taken from them. Now they knew how he felt. Something was taken from them, and while it was just some LSD, to James it was the same as his loss of heart. The soul crushing emptiness was short for this world, and as the razor made its last incisions, cutting from his wrists down towards the elbow, each cut following the purple guidelines of his veins, James felt content. The knocking slowed with his heartbeat, the warm, sticky wetness producing the same rust scent that the sink had years ago. James had a familiar hum in his ears,

“This is no one’s fault but my own. I love you, but I hate me.”