Shoot Away

The intangible assets will be divided according to brain function; those with more developed frontal lobes will be rewarded accordingly. Those who neither ponder nor dream nor realize nor regret will be left in Montana. The entire state will be fenced off and there will be no chance for escape. Each individual left in Montana will be given their choice of a sidearm and rifle and all the ammo they can carry or pull in a stolen shopping cart. When the referee blows his whistle the shooting will begin. Each individual will have the right to defend him or herself against their own kind. Let the fun begin…

Brats

I was reading an article by Frank DeFord on SI.com about the fact that many schools have banned TAG! Yes, they claim it is dangerous and demeaning. Gee, what would happen if someone scraped a knee? Worse yet the article points out what if someone was “IT”! Can you imagine the stigma of being “IT”? We are raising the biggest bunch of pansies in history in this country. It’s no wonder kids are fat and out of shape since they’re not allowed to do anything anymore. Well, I take that back. Evidently they do get stuck inside those crane machines in arcades that you try to snag a stuffed animal with. I read an article about another kid climbing up into one of these machines because he wanted a Spongehead Bob doll. The mother said, “He’s a character.” He’s not a character he’s a fucking brat. If I would have gotten myself stuck like this as a child I would have gotten my ass smacked and rightly so. Let me take that back I would have NEVER had the audacity to climb into a machine to steal a stuffed animal. The article went on to show many other pictures of kids stuck in these machines across the country. Do people really think this is cute? Earth to bad parents, it’s not fucking cute, your child is an
undisciplined brat. I have an idea. Why don’t we stick broccoli in these machines? If the kids can’t pick up the broccoli it falls out onto a plate and they have to eat it effectively making them “IT.” They will be “IT” until they clear their plates and then when and only when their plates are cleared will they not be “IT”. If they refuse to eat the broccoli they will remain “IT” and they have to run laps around the machine until they’re gasping for air. These broccoli crane machines will make kids healthy again and help with self esteem. “Gee, Johnny you ate your entire plate of broccoli. You’re not it and guess what? You’re not a fat slob anymore either.”

Thief

Someone must have sneaked into my house and stolen my words last night. I had them hidden under the chamber pot (yes next to the rope ladder that leads to the cave where I keep my underground circus). If anyone has seen my words please contact me. Some of my words shouldn’t be seen by amateurs. They will surely be misconstrued and then there will be a lot of explaining to do which frankly I don’t have the energy for at this point. So, please, I’m begging you (the person or persons in possession of my words) please return them ASAP. If you are a hot woman then I will sleep with you to get them back. Thank-you and good-bye…

In the transverse plexis of the deepest muldoon you will encounter much more than the flipeye can contravolute.

Big Splash

The frog trumpeters blew in a hollowed out log which was quickly capped on either end with giant toilet plungers. BIG SPLASH. The alligators awoke from nightmares in which they battled giant shoe horns and human feet smelling of vinegar. The swamp queen slurped mud from a Pepsi can as the snails clinging to her barnacle laden ears whispered to her that everything would be cool. The crawdads scaled the Cyprus in a conga line shaking their hard shelled booty to the rhythm of the waves slapping against the shoreline. Somewhere deep in the thick swamp bottom, where the swamp king oft thrusts his crooked shower rod trident searching for full beers lost by drunken fisherman, there lays a projectile with USA stamped on the side. The heirs to the swamp throne are now born with extra toes which make it easier to dig for mollusks and to scratch their four low hanging testicles with….

Idiots

I’m often embarrassed to be part of the human species and this was never truer than when I was watching CNN this morning. A senator from some southern state was rallying supporters at a sub shop or some such place. The senator threw his arms in the air and pivoted on the heels of his alligator shoes. “I believe marriage is between a man and a woman.” The people around him went nuts. Being a heterosexual male I can honestly say that I was relieved to hear that senator support the sacred institution of marriage. Nothing is closer to God’s heart (I know because I know God personally) than marriage and it should not be desecrated by sinners coupling in unholy union…okay, yeah I’m fucking with you. When I see some fucking senator using the marriage ticket to garner votes it just plane pisses me off. These voters don’t understand that this senator doesn’t give a flying fuck about the institution of marriage he’s only trying to get their vote. What is so sacred about marriage anyway? Married men and women cheat on each other all the time. Men beat there wives. What’s the fucking big deal if two women get married? Aren’t there more important issues? Like global warming, over population, and the rich stealing from the poor? Small minds and greed will be the end of this earth and human beings.

I bite

I started bouncing at a bar downtown Friday night. I think the experience will be invaluable for writing. I just ask if you come to visit that you have your ID ready because I can’t let you in without it. And please for the love of God don’t start a fight. I may only weight two hundred pounds but I can bite really really hard and I find everyone is extremely attached to their index fingers…

So long for now

Being alone is the thing I’m best at. Togetherness is too much work and so I uh…I’m leaving. I think you’ll understand when you find the letter I left under your windshield wiper. Really, it is for the best. I don’t want to go through the arguments and the boring dinners at your parent’s house and I can spare you from my grandfather’s 86^th birthday party and the gravy dripping off his chin. We can save ourselves a lot of time and energy and heartache if we just end it now…oh, you were thinking the same thing? Well, let’s not get hasty…maybe we can work things out…maybe you not loving me will make me love you. Yeah, I think that’s how love works. It’s no good without the pain…ah, hell I’m just fucking with you…let’s go up to my bedroom and discuss this like two full grown naked adults…

That smell

I read online that people often have a heightened sense of smell after influenza or some other illness. Well, I’ve been feeling under the weather for a week or so, nothing serious but just generally not like myself. The other day I walked out into the receptionist’s office and was overcome with the smell of shit. It was as if I suddenly had superhuman nose holes. “By God what is that stench?” I asked. No one else could really smell anything except the faint odor of maybe a fart or methane gas. I dismissed the incident until I was in the gym that night and I noticed the body odor of some guy on a treadmill. He smelled like he’d been swimming around in a cesspool. I almost puked. Suddenly it seemed I’d been given superhuman smelling ability and it was frightening. Of all the damn senses to be heightened mine had to be smell.

That evening working as a personal trainer at the gym was Hell to get through. The woman at the front desk smelled like cat pee so much that I had to put a towel over my mouth so I wouldn’t smell her. The locker room smelled like rotten fruit. The guy I trained smelled like a compost heap. I had to breathe through my mouth for the remainder of the night at the gym. By the time it was time to leave I was weak from holding my breath so much. When I got home I dropped on the couch and my dogs jumped up on my chest. All was well until my old dog farted while sitting on my chest. Now, I can only hope this superhuman smelling ability will go away before I have to go back to the gym. Why couldn’t I be given superhuman eyesight…no, of course I would looked through your bra and g-string…

The Supermarket

I was at the supermarket two nights ago. I only needed a few items and so when checking out I chose the automated checkout counters so I wouldn’t have to wait in line. I chose a checkout counter and began to scan my items. A minute or so later I felt someone brush up against me and say, “Jesus fucking Christ,” under his breath. By the time I turned around I saw this guy in a cheap dress shirt and crap dress pants throw his stuff down at another automated checkout counter. He ran his hand angrily over his flattop. Evidently he’d set his basket down next to the checkout counter I was using and had gone to fetch another item or two. I guess he was angry because he thought I took “his” spot. He was bigger than me, confident in his bulk, a bully. I wanted so badly to take him out in the parking lot and beat the living shit out of him. I turned and stared at him. The attendant at the automated checkout station looked nervously about. I continued to stare. The guy gave a half look out of the corner of his eyes in my direction and proceeded like he didn’t see me. If the guy had any balls he would have said something to me. Fucking coward. I was so tempted to follow him out in the parking lot. Oh boo hoo did this guy have a bad day? Everyone had bad days but only jackasses like him take them out on everyone else…

The writing gods

The writing gods want my mojo but I won’t give it to them. Sneaky little bastards have tried without success to sabotage my every word. I ply them with Turkish Delight, ceiling wax, imported chocolates and Budweiser. . Sometimes they’re on your side and sometimes they’re not. They are very temperamental and so it is best not to insult them unless you decide you want to cut all ties with them and venture out into the harsh writing world on your own…

And you thought I was being paranoid

Multiple Deaths Feared in Overpass Collapse

By PHIL COUVRETTE, AP

Ah ha, I knew it. And all this time you thought I was just being paranoid. I hate sitting under overpasses. When traffic is bad and I'm stuck under an overpass I always look for the best route of escape if the sucker starts to collapse. Being crushed like a gnat would really really suck. I chose life and therefore have decided to never park under an overpass again. Thank-you for your time...

The Death Rattle

Settle in to that death suit, the one with straight black pant legs and a starched lapels. Lean back in your coffin and let the dirt weevils work their tiny toothed magic. They will gnaw tunnels in your bones, yodel in your nose holes and listen to the echoes, chew on your hair like tobacco and spit it in your eye sockets. In short you will be an amusement park for the parasites. They will use you up and then move on to the next fresh corpse. In this way they are like people and death will be much like life… .

Throwbacks

The greasy haired throwbacks with sleeves of blue and green come knuckle scraping into the downtown. On donkeys of manufactured steel that gurgle and spit the blackest of breath they come roaring into yesterday--lances bent and Viagra spent. I cover my ears as the amplitude of their rolling carnival cracks the glass of Red Bull and vodka in the hand of the fair porno maiden. They sneer and spit, the rebels that understand only the old heave ho, the rebels that have nothing to rebel against but their own stupidity. The world must be a beautiful place if you see it in one dimension, wind cutting through what’s left of the hair, eyes fixed on the yellow lines, the mind a pickled remnant of something that apes once used to build great tree dwelling civilizations.

The Lurkers

The lurkers, the shirkers, and the down right dastardly nestle in the creases at the murky bottom. I want to drain the oil drums, pour them out onto the hot pavement, watch them fry up into vapors and mix with the black car exhaust hovering over our city. I picture them then floating, choking, sucking in their mistakes as they head straight for outer space and that jagged red star code named Alpha.

the Virgin Festival

I went to the Virgin Festival on Saturday at Pimlico in Baltimore. The Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Who, the Killers…you get the point. The music was great but by the end of the day I was growing tired and one too many people bumped into me and didn’t say excuse me or sorry. When the Chili Peppers were playing some kid smashed into my back and almost knocked me down. I grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around before he could run past me. I said, “You fucking little cocksucker. Who the fuck do you think you are? You rammed into my back and then kept on going. You say excuse me or sorry.” He stood there with a blank look on his face. He was too drunk, rude and dumb to know he should have said “sorry” and walked away. He stood there and my fists tightened. I wanted so badly to punch him in the face but I knew it would only get me arrested. What is wrong with people? Why the fuck can’t they say excuse me or sorry or acknowledge in some way that they’ve bumped into you? Ugh, people are so self-centered, such gluttons and foolish uncaring jackasses. I am sad to report that in upwards of 75% of the people at the concert were rude idiots. This isn’t an age related issue either older people were just as rude. Yeah, I still had a good time anyway but I’ll remember every single one of those people when I take over the world with the death ray I’ve been working on. Really, it’s almost done? Have you been rude lately?

Scraped

The bug eyed beasts with scaly intentions keep swimming through my midnight. Upon rising (at dawn’s earliest light) my ears echo with liquid not of bodily origin. I shiver-- they have broken through—against my driest wishes. My intentions are to sharpen my prized spatula (yes the one I wear in a holster on my hip) and scrape them and their slime from the insides of my head. This will require surgery of the type performed on ones self which of course would be a medical first and a good excuse to garner sympathy from attractive females. Whilst I recover I will allow select female recruits to spoon feed me beer and chapters of Hunter S. Thompson novels. In the end I will grow stronger and be better schooled in Gonzo journalism. Everyone has to have a plan right? Good, I’m glad you understand because you might be one of the beasts that gets scraped…

I was driving to work yesterday and up ahead I saw a car parked crookedly—half of the vehicle on the sidewalk, half of the vehicle on the road. In front of the car I noticed a guy standing up against a trash can. I wondered what the fuck he was doing so close to a trash can. As I drew closer I noticed he was glancing over his shoulder as if he were worried someone would see him. As I drew still closer still I realized the source of his concern. His dick was hanging over the side of the trash can. He was pissing. He wobbled and then fell back onto the hood of his car, piss flying everywhere. Now, this wasn’t on a country road but in town on the way into the city just passed a busy intersection. I hope this guy got arrested because there is no way in Hell he should have been driving at seven o’clock in the morning or any time for that matter.

Yes, of course I’m still writing but I haven’t had much time to put anything online lately. I’m gaining momentum for a new book I started. It will be a story about a personal trainer much like myself but of course everything I write about will be fictional…

I'm going to the beach. I think I'll have a few beers. I think I'll jump in the ocean late at night with all my clothes on and watch my wallet wash up ont he shore...nah, that's been done before...