Simple Physics

What’s wrong with swigging a bottle of Old No. 7 Black Label and singing along to “Sweet Leaf” by Sabbath at maximum volume at the top of my lungs as I’m cruising down the highway? It’s not like I can’t handle it. I once drove from Dallas to Austin with a head full of high powered acid. The trick is to keep your eye on the yellow centerline, even if the road itself ceases to exist.

According to quantum physics, matter is an illusion anyway. If nothing exists but the luminiferous aether doesn’t it make sense to ‘open the doors of perception’ at least a little while traveling by car? What could be more irresponsible than operating heavy machinery while blinded by sober delusion?

Just try explaining this to a California Highway Patrol officer. I did, and it just seemed to make matters worse. The cop mind is not made to wrap around the subtle truths of quantum mechanics, and such intellectual challenges just seem to make that taser trigger finger itch like crazy.

In any case, I find myself with a little extra time on my hands in a small cold room with a stainless steel toilet.
Good thing matter is an illusion.


The First Commission

I’m not gay, but I am Catholic.
And we’ve all heard the distressing tales of Cannibalistic Glory hole dwelling homunculi, lurking in the darkness, blood and semen dripping from their jowls, hungry for more tidbits of vile, bloated flesh.
But Father MacGregor knew; and I, Congressman Craig Lichtenstein, knew that these aberrations not only feed violently and unsolicitedly on the most tender of male organs, but they also detest the concept of free enterprise and dismiss the teachings of Our Lord  Jesus Christ. Cannibalistic glory hole dwelling homunculi hate America. And with such knowledge comes great responsibility.

The children needn’t know these grisly truths. The children needn’t know that cannibalistic glory hole dwelling homunculi possess two rows of short and hook-like teeth on each upper jaw and one row on each lower jaw. The children needn’t know the torment of a slow, painfully excruciating death as a result of penile amputation or mutilation. The children need only be warned of the lethal perils involved in engaging in homosexual acts.

I sat across from old Father MacGregor in his dimly lit study. Dusty books filled the shelves that lined the walls of the darkened chamber. The old priest gummed a soggy cigar and spoke gruffly between strained, feeble breaths.
“You mustn’t fear the homunculi, my child.” he explained.
“These vile creatures embody the Seven Capital Vices, and are therefore weak in their very nature. They are frail in character and their very existence is an abomination.”
A long stream of slobber dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Disgrazia!” he cried.

The priest tried desperately to calm himself. After a wild fit of coughing and hacking he put his handkerchief to his lips then pulled it away in order to examine the consistency of the bloody discharge. He groaned and stuffed the fouled square of thin fabric into his coat pocket and fixed his pious gaze on me.
“Will you be the one, my child?”

An awkward silence followed while the priest attempted to clear a stubborn, gurgling gelatinous ball of mucous from his throat. I cautiously moved to the edge of my seat, unsure of what to do or say.
“Well Father, I…” my response was interrupted by a shower of righteously indignant spittle as he continued.
“Will you be the one…” he leaned forward and pounded both fists on his heavy, mahogany desk.
“To hunt down these retched beasts?”
He shrieked excitedly.
“To exterminate these filthy vermin? To rid the world of this, this, this evil depravity and wretched demonic scourge…”
The old man was red in the face and
slavering with rage. I knelt at his feet and clutched at his robes, weeping, desperate to calm his crazed, yet righteous passion.
“I will Father! I will do what you ask of me!”
And I fell into his lap sobbing uncontrollably. And his turgid erection throbbed against my cheek, a sign that he could now rest in contented ease.

The burden was mine now, and mine alone.

“From this moment forth, my child,” Father MacGregor warned. “We shall not speak of this.”
And with a kiss on my forehead from his saintly lips, he sent me on my way. I strode proudly through the halls into the ornate cathedral, my footsteps echoing throughout the vast structure. I flung open the church doors and marched into the starless night. A soldier, a crusader on a mission from God.

Boycott All Advertisers

The best thing about watching TV online and on demand has always been the decreased likelihood of being inundated with annoying advertisements, but in these darkest of times when even youtube videos have commercials I feel that I have no choice but to take action..

What good reason is there to advertise a product, anyway? If you have to push and hype a product, it either means there is no demand for the commodity or the market for it is so over saturated that a pathetic desperation to be noticed has set in.

It’s the same with voting, it only encourages the continuation of a ridiculous, concocted mechanism that has no good reason to exist.

It has become clear, after watching an ad for a product specifically manufactured with the sole purpose of cleaning my testicles, that I have no choice but to launch a boycott of any and all products that insist on standing in the way of my god-given right to be entertained without fear of irritation, aggravation and ultimately, exasperation.


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Barbed Wire and Razor Blades


Chapter One: St. Louis



I thought I was going to miss my train again…that would be typical. Last time I got wasted and ended up spending the night in Oklahoma City because I got caught up in watching some kind of freestyle BMX ballet competition. Oklahoma fucking City! What a nightmare.


The train was already moving and picking up speed when I hopped on. I slumped into a seat in the front of the car next to an elderly Asian woman with a startling amount of facial hair. Maybe she was a sex change case, who knows.


“Keep your hands to yourself young man”, she grumbled as she clutched her bag to her chest. Guess she didn’t like the looks of me. I closed my eyes and thought about how pissed off my asshole of a roommate, Penis, was going to be when he came around and realized I took all the smack with me when I left. Thats Penis, pronounced Peh-ness by the way. An interesting guy to say the least, his parents named his sister Vagina (rhymes with Regina). No wonder they’re rotten individuals, you would be too if you went through life with names like that. I always wondered why they didn’t just change their names, maybe because they’re morons?


Ah fuck it, I had an addiction to deal with.


After a few minutes I stood up and made my way to the bathroom to do a quick bump. I’m not shooting up anymore, just snorting. Hey, baby steps…gotta start somewhere. Maybe I’ll kick tomorrow. Fat chance. The bathroom smelled like shit, big surprise, maybe because there was about a pound of it smeared on the wall next to the toilet. How does that happen? I shrugged and pulled the bag out of my pocket and dipped my key in. I couldn’t help taking a long look at myself in the mirror before I breathed in the junk. I looked painfully thin, deep dark circles around my eyes. No wonder old Korean bitches didn’t want to sit next to me on trains, I looked like a fucking monster. Oh well, in a couple of seconds I wouldn’t care.


That feeling of warmth washed over me, all the bullshit melted away in an instant. I felt like Paris Hilton at a cock festival. I slid down the wall, sat on the floor and lit a cigarette. When I woke up I was in St. Louis.


I must have been out for at least 15 hours; the guy who carried me off the train had set me down on a bench outside the St. Louis station, he was slapping my face. “Hey! Hey kid! You OK? What’s your name?


He had a round pudgy face with a wide mouth and a body like a toothpick, he looked like one of those scarecrows with a pumpkin for a head. He must of had a stomach banding or bypass surgery or something, where your body deflates and you’re left with your same old fat head. Wonder what he did with all the excess skin?


“You can stop slapping me now dude”, my eyes focused on his, then drifted to the crowd of assholes that was swiftly gathering in a circle around me. Someone yelled, “Give him some air!” The self-appointed head numbnut in charge told everyone to step back and ordered his wife or girlfriend or whatever to go fetch some water, I was pretty thirsty. My savior was beaming. He stood up proudly and stumbled a little, I guess he was still getting used to balancing his enormous melon on his new, thin frame. The woman ran over to me with a bottled water, barely able to contain her excitement. She seemed to be getting a kick out of being so helpful. “Here ya go! Take a drink”, she insisted. She was breathless, and she felt of my forehead for some reason…the motherly type I guess. I snatched the bottle from her quivering hand and took a long swallow and felt around in my pockets for the dope. I kept searching frantically long after I realized it was gone. “I’ve got your wallet right here, son”, declared gravy head, “and your ticket is inside. Looks like you’ve got a two hour wait for your bus, going to Chicago huh? I got a cousin in Chicago.” “Thanks”, I snapped as I grabbed my stylish nylon, velcro billfold out of his hand. I picked myself up, made my way through the crowd and yanked open the glass door; as I stumbled into the station a massive head rush hit me and I fell flat on my face, luckily my chin struck the vinyl tiled floor of the train station lobby and broke my fall. I tasted blood. I jumped to my feet, ignoring the gawkers all around me and headed for the bathroom.


I turned on the faucet and splashed some water on my face, then made the mistake of looking in the mirror. I looked away real fucking fast. The monster was still there, a ghoulish reminder of what I used to be when I was alive. The beast’s chin had already begun to swell, adding to it’s already charming allure.


“Fuck me!”, I pulled my cigarette pack out of my pocket and lit up the last one. It was broken in half so I had to pinch it together in the middle so I could smoke it. I sat down in an empty stall to gather my thoughts. Assessment: No dope, no money, no smokes, no self-respect, no dignity. Ah ha! A bus ticket to Chicago! And two hours to kill.


The bathroom reminded me of the institutional style washrooms in high school, minus the sweet smell of weed but the stench of excrement was still plentiful. No doors on the stalls, a sink halfway ripped off the wall…nice.


The door opened and I jumped, I was already twitching from withdrawals so it wasn’t all that hard to give me a jolt. A guy in jeans and a jacket with elbow pads walked in, college professor maybe? I always hated those stupid looking jackets. He muttered something under his breath, something like, “Loser.” He at least had the balls to make eye contact. I glared at him as he strolled over to the urinal, unzipped his pants and struggled to get a stream going. He was nervous…stage fright. He laughed and said, “Lost little boy?”


I looked around and spotted a stainless steel trash can by the door, the kind with the foot pedal at the base so you can open it without getting your precious little hands dirty; then wrap those sparkling clean fingers around the feces laden door handle on your way out.


I picked the can up and bounced it off the back of his head, driving his face into the brick wall in front of him. I kicked him in the back of the knee and heard a snap and a pop, but no crackle. I thought of the little faggoty Rice Krispies mascots as I watched him fall to the floor, I kicked him in the soft spot beneath his rib cage first, screaming at the top of my lungs, “Where the FUCK is Crackle, mutherfucker? What have you done with Crackle???”


His nose had exploded when he hit the wall. He may have been a handsome devil when he walked into this train station bathroom, but now he was downright unpleasant looking. I crouched down and grabbed a handful of his hair in one hand and pummeled him in the face repeatedly with the other, laughing maniacally and demanding to know the whereabouts of my dear friend Crackle. The prick sniveled and wailed and begged for mercy and insisted he’d never heard of anyone called Crackle, he even accused me of being some kind of lunatic! Said I was “out of my mind”! Can you imagine?


I slammed his head into the floor and got back on my feet, I cracked his ribs with one more swift kick and I shouted out with glee, “There he is!”


My new friend on the floor appeared to have passed out and could not share in my relief, what a shame. What would Snap and Pop do without their beloved Crackle? A team is a team, and a team sticks together. I rummaged through his pockets and pulled out his wallet. “Fourteen dollars!!! Fourteen FUCKING dollars??? You fucking asshole!!!”, I howled as I kicked him once more in the side of the head. I slammed the door hard as I left the bathroom and wished I had taken the time to wash my hands before leaving.


The sun was setting, and I stood there in the middle of the station wondering what people carry on about when they rave and gush romantically over the awe inspiring beauty of a sunset. Every night, since the beginning of time, what’s the big, fucking deal?


Blood dripped from my knuckles as I trudged toward the exit, I could almost hear the drops hit the floor over the sound of little brats screaming and the dull roar of the crowd that echoed through the station…almost.

The Crime of Obedience

Obedience \O*be”di*ence\, n.
The act of obeying, or the state of being obedient;  submission to authority; dutifulness.

Autumn – the leaves are changing color and falling, the fruits are ripening, the kids are back in school, learning the lessons necessary to become happy productive members of this society. Wars are raging on many fronts, with yet another looming on the horizon. It is the season of attack ads and vague threats of terror, signaling that elections are imminent.

The people will once again demand change, perhaps more ‘movements’ will arise, more rallies, more protests.

What will it take to turn things around? Demonstrations? Assassinations? It’s all been done before, the results are the same. So what haven’t we tried?

What about disobedience? What about total and utter rejection of authority, rulers and officials? Sure, throughout history there have been advocates of civil disobedience – Percy Bysshe Shelley, Henry David Thoreau, Gandhi. These people accomplished great things, but how many of us grew up listening to the words of John Lennon? And how many of us have held on to his philosophies and internalized those beliefs? In contemporary times, how many citizens have stood in the face of government and said, “No, I will not pay your taxes and tolls.” How many soldiers have said, “No! I will not kill for you!” How many cops have said, “No! I will not enforce your laws!”

It happens, but never on a large scale.

Maybe its time to seriously reevaluate the value of government, weigh the benefits against the detriments. What is it that we receive in exchange for allowing ourselves to be deceived, oppressed and exploited? Safety? Security? Public order?

How secure are you feeling lately?

Do you REALLY need to be led?
Like a dog?

Trust me, roads would get built, our children would get educated, and we just might experience true freedom.

I have nothing new to say, people have been deliberating these issues since the beginning of civilization. All I ask, if you’ve read this far, is to consider what would happen if we all put our pet causes, objectives and ambitions aside, and simply disobeyed.

In the words of Percy Bysshe Shelley:

“Stand ye calm and resolute,
Like a forest close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war.
And if then the tyrants dare,
Let them ride among you there,
Slash, and stab, and maim and hew,
What they like, that let them do.
With folded arms and steady eyes,
And little fear, and less surprise
Look upon them as they slay
Till their rage has died away
Then they will return with shame
To the place from which they came,
And the blood thus shed will speak
In hot blushes on their cheek.
Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number,
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you-
Ye are many — they are few”