2013/07/29

Bear 21- Section 4

BEAR 21... The Story of a Man and Her Umbrella

Section 1: The First 6 Days of Terror
Section 2: In One Day Your Whole Life Can Change
Section 3: Dangerous Love
Section 4: The Tragic Demise of Some Loser
Section 5: This Life Already Happened*
Section 6: Prophecy 14
Section 7: The Present That Already Happened Holds Enormous Implications for a Future That Might Not Exist
Section 8: The Yellow Pearl is Upon Us Now, We Must Fight Back



SECTION IV: The Tragic Demise of Some Loser




(6/19 2013) Day 12: Black Cat Friendship

This was an absolutely huge day on my schedule. Today I had an interview for a place called King Bio, a homeopathic pharmaceutical company that featured lucrative pay and full benefits; in other words, a real job.

It was a job that required intense physical labor. This meant that I would not only have real job, but I would no longer be expected to depend on my female voice of reason to better my lifestyle. Also, it opened the possibility that I would be able to attend the Pitchfork Festival with my longtime friends. There would be no more encounters with the bear either.

Too much was as stake for landing this job and it essentially became a life or death situation. When Sam texted me and proposed his wonderful idea for flying me to Chicago for approximately $40, I was embarrassed that I could not even afford that. Bowls Department Store was such a shitty job, and I was barely getting any enjoyment out of life despite working six days a week… there was way more to life than this. It saddened me that I had friends who were actually willing to make sacrifices just for me to accompany them, and I was such a huge loser that I could do no better than Bowls Department Store.

Fuck Bowls Department Store! I decided that if any improvements weren't made soon, that I would simply walk to the Pitchfork Festival in Chicago and remain in Milwaukee until things improved. I have made it home from Bowls Department Store in an hour, and was absolutely certain that I could walk at least 60 miles a day. Barring a bear attack and assuming the mother fucker wasn't willing to follow me this far, I predicted that I could make the trip to Chicago via walking in 10-12 days.

There would be no need to resort to that type of insanity if I did things properly. Upon examining a man at Atlanta Bread Company, all the while wondering how Lard Ass was able to land his lucrative position (even though he was eaten by a bear while inside Bowls Department Store, the worst possible place to die), I considered many of the essentials they had covered in order to obtain their jobs. People who wake up early are the ones landing the real jobs. I studied their behavior patterns and modeled myself after those who have the real jobs; the perception of responsibility and what society has deemed hire-able.

I woke up promptly at 6:04 AM. Unfortunately, I do not own a coffee maker, but I did purchase some instant coffee, and prepared myself a cup of shitty instant coffee—just like the real people do in their real homes. 
"The greatest invention ever is, by far, instant coffee. We as the human race should feel blessed that we have been capable of achieving such luxurious advancements."
~ I'm sure some mother fucker has said this.
Although people with real jobs already have internet at their homes, I instantly walked that half mile up steep inclines to the nearest parking lot that provided high speed internet… carrying my computer with the monitor open because if I close it, the device will not start again until a miracle occurs. Another role model was Jack Nicholson from The Shining, who absolutely nailed his interview—I tried to envision how he prepared himself the morning of that life changing interview.

There I sat, ignoring the picturesque mountain sunrise as viewed from an empty parking lot while drinking cheap instant coffee from my nice mug (which really is nice as I purchased it back when I was making decent money.) Just like Jack Torrance did back in 19-whenever-the-fuck, I browsed the internet and conducted all the research that I needed. I reviewed the products in which they manufactured, researched the history of the company, compiled an extravagant list of questions pertaining to regards that aroused my curiosity, and conducted all the appropriate means necessary to have directions on how to arrive on time.

There were two possible routes in which I could have taken. I was definitely taking the N2 to the bus station. If it arrived early, I could catch the preferred W3… and I memorized the route to walk to King Bio from the W3 stop. This would be tricky because this bus was slated to leave the bus station at 8:20 and the N2 was scheduled to arrive at 8:20. Any slight difference would mean that I would have to catch the next bus, which ran at 9:00. Either way, the interview was not until 10:00, and either bus would allow me to get there on time. And so, I also memorized the route to walk from the 2nd bus just in case I needed to take that one.

Buses in Asheville are always late; they leave the station late, they arrive at the scheduled stops late, and there are currently 17 people still awaiting a bus in the middle of the night that they had assumed would arrive several hours ago—there lies a decomposed skeleton covered in cob webs at one particular bus stop where 2,687 years ago he was told the bus would be arriving "any minute now" ... mother fucker still ain't shown up yet. 

The N2 was slightly late and seemingly taking forever as this driver was old, slow, and more than likely concentrating on the upcoming sale at Bowls Department Store. It arrived to the bus depot at exactly 8:20. Generally, I would have been able to catch the W3 as the other buses always leave late, but this one pulled out right as the N2 pulled in—the timing was off by about 35 seconds.

No matter, I would simply await the next bus and arrive in West Asheville at around 9:20 and make the 15-20 minute walk from there. As usual, the 9:00 W4 left at typical Asheville Bus time, 9:11 precisely… and made it to West Asheville around 9:35. Plenty of time, as I did not panic. However, this walk was terribly sketchy, down streets with no sidewalks, and there was mysteriously a lot of traffic in which I was forced to stand off the side of the road in order to avoid being smashed. These people had no business being on this road, and were only present to make my life miserable. I thought to myself that if I landed this job, I would have to find an alternate route until I was finally able to afford a car—which was in my 120 day plan. And then, these exact same people would soon invade that route, still with no business being there, and inflict misery upon my temporary state of happiness. This has been THE recurring theme of my life.

I turned down a street, stopped at the Hot Spot on Leicester Highway, asked for directions just in case, and nobody had heard of this place—one person claimed it was simply “down there.” So, I walked "down there"—and it wasn't there. I walked the other way, and it wasn't there either. Walking on Leicester Highway was extremely dangerous, and I was nearly plowed down by speeding cars racing by several times. The temperature grew painstakingly hot and I was dressed in nice clothes that were not exactly appropriate for walking in the blistering summer heat down a mysterious highway in which I had no business being and my stalking invaders seemed dreadfully confused by this whole ordeal. Because I was not dressed in the proper attire for the weather conditions, which would have consisted of a white robe, a long stick, and traveling by camel, my wonderful red button down shirt was soon drenched with the type of massive sweat the body produces when nearly being mowed down on a highway while walking in the soft, warm, summer sunshine scorched with a haze that burned the canyons raging with a boiling blister of blackened blood. This highway should have never been built in the first place.

At 10:05, I realized that this place was nowhere in sight and that I had no clue where I was going. Saddened, I surrendered, cursed Google for the bad directions, cursed my life, and felt that I could go home, send an e-mail, and make up an excuse as to why I did not show up for the interview.

But, it was just last night that we watched the Game 6 Miracle. It appeared the Heat were defeated and were about to lose the title—and that Tim Duncan would forever be regarded higher than LeBron James. Miraculously, the Heat willed themselves to victory in the final 20 seconds; Cameron, Abe, and I declared we shall remember that game for life. If the Heat can do it, then I can do it in the heat.

That’s when it occurred to me that it was me who made the error. Somehow, in my addled brain, I had confused the directions, and simply walked from one bus stop to the other bus stop. Once I realized my mistake, I picked up the pace, and determined myself to make it to this interview… regardless what would happen afterwards. This was not the behavior of the guy at Atlanta Bread who obviously was widely respected at the job he held. But, I had seen white girls show up for interviews significantly late and still land the position; the guy from the documentary My Date with Drew Barrymore obtained a job in which he was several hours late for an interview.

I finally arrived at 10:32, drenched in sweat, and bearing much resemblance to a sole survivor from a village that had been conquered by the Romans. Whatever, I made it. The lady asked me if I had an 11:00 appointment, and I apologetically told her that it was for 10:00. She obviously wasn't impressed, said she’d see what she could do, and returned and told me to simply wait until 11:00 when the other interview was finished. She ignored me the entire rest of the time and emphatically let it be known that my mere presence was a great disturbance; she even made me arise from chair so she could spray it with Febreze and then covered it with plastic before I was allowed to sit down again.

This was not exactly what I had hoped for, but at least it allowed me time for my sweaty shirt to dry and to take the appropriate means necessary to improve my dilapidated appearance. When they asked why I was late, I was completely honest, made no excuses, took full responsibility, and told them that I had accidentally memorized two routes and mistakenly altered my directions. Surprisingly, they said that it sounded like it was a legitimate excuse and appreciated my honesty.

Aside from that, the interview went great. Had I have been on time and conducted this exact same interview, I would have most definitely been hired right away; but because I was late, that left a bit of uncertainty. And, I was extremely angry with myself for making such a stupid mistake at an extremely crucial time. Despite being late though, I felt that I still had a 61.7% shot at being hired.

There were some aspects about this position that was slightly undesirable though. The hours were not my ideal time slot (I prefer 2nd shift over 1st shift) and the walking distance was not necessarily my perfect paradise. Had I not been awarded the position, perhaps it was meant to be… but if I were awarded the position, I was prepared to make the necessary changes in my lifestyle… and perhaps that was meant to be as well. It was left up to the powers that be, no longer in my hands, and I even viewed the temporary impairment of mental judgment as a means of the Gods acting for me.

Once again, the Asheville bus was late (this one did not even show up; had I jacked off thinking about this bus and it simply vanished off the face of the Earth?) Therefore, I had to board a later hand basket straight to pits of Hell where I was once again slated to work in Home & Kids.

Once again, there was a terrible epidemic plaguing the city and it appeared everybody employed at Bowls Department Store had contracted some sort of terminal illness and was not able to come into work on this day.

Once again, for the pay of barely minimum wage, I had to perform all of my duties, plus those of at least 3 other people—many of which were paid higher than me to begin with. Once again, I was not compensated for any of the other positions that I filled, and paid as if I were only expected to do minimal work in one department.

Once again, I spent the entire day miserable as fuck plotting to boycott Bowls Department Store if they did not meet my demands by doubling my salary for tripling my work (to me, that was fair.) Once again, the period in which I was delegated to the Kid’s department was spent hating life and despising all children and their miserable parents.

Normally while I am folding children’s clothes, all I think about is someday landing my dream job at Planned Parenthood. In fact, I’ve often considered creating signs and protesting maternity wards. The mere sight of children in the store absolutely disturbs me and I cannot stand the sounds of their loud shrilly obnoxious voices crying in unison with the annoying sounds of Katy Perry, Kelly Clarkson, and Taylor Swift on repeat for hours. I had even vowed to improve the customer service rating at Planned Parenthood by implementing some of the policies from Bowls Department Store, such as ordering Morning After Pills from the Planned Parenthood kiosk. By opening a Planned Parenthood charge card, most valued customers would receive additional discounts for all of their abortion needs. We would even have the "Yes We Can" policy where if a customer claimed that the abortion procedure was priced differently in the sales ad, we would honor that sales price—and even match the sales price of competitor abortion clinics.

Once again, I was in the middle of doing something, and was summoned to the register because the line was too long. Once again, I had to wait on some customers that consisted of a 40-something mother with her damn kid. Once again, I was speculating jacking off thinking about her that night so that I would never have to see her or her God damn kid ever again.

And then, my life changed forever.

Once again, they were buying shit that I had deemed completely worthless. It was a bunch of little bracelets and shit… stupid ass fucking useless garbage that little girls enthusiastically value as essential—shit I could never afford from working at Bowls Department Store. Even though I had the most wretched of thoughts running through my mind, my super powerful magical filter made it appear as if I were being extremely kind to them and enjoying their disturbance in my life.

It turned out that this little girl was buying matching bracelets—one for herself and one for her best friend; and her mom was the one paying for it—showing full support for this act of friendship. The little girl, about age 9 or so, was extremely joyous with the fact that she had done something that would be ultimately substantial to some other little girl that she was hoping to impress. 

“She is going to be so surprised,” she finally concluded with a great deal of excitement, happily shaking her fist while excitedly whispering “yes!” as if she had fulfilled a major accomplishment that she had been hoping to achieve for ages.

After they left, I stood there quietly, doing nothing, pondering that whole situation, before returning to the work that I needed to finish… even though there was currently not a single person in line for the registers.

The only goal that little girl had was to make somebody else happy. She took great pleasure in the fact that she was perhaps going to provide an unexpected joy in another person’s life. This feeling of extreme happiness was not even about her; it involved the happiness of another child.

I prayed that whoever she handed that bracelet to felt the exact same degree of surprised happiness as the little girl had hoped. I prayed that she would not be rejected, or that the other little girl was not some sort of a brat who would make fun of her for purchasing a piece of shit bracelet and then ridicule her in front of a different set of friends… the ones that the little girl inside Bowls Department Store was hoping to be accepted.

For the entire duration of my shift, I vowed that I would never reject another person’s enthusiastic offer of friendship ever in my life. Furthermore, I set a goal for myself that I was going to do something with the sole purpose of making somebody else surprised and happy. Maybe I had not done enough of these deeds for the fear of being rejected… that the feelings of desired friendship were not shared and that the other person actually hated me… I did not want it to seem as if I were attempting to buy somebody’s friendship. Or, maybe I did not have any true friends because I never expressed any of these true feelings… that people did not do these things for me because they feared that I would reject them… maybe people did like me, but assumed that I did not like them in return.

Then it occurred to me that people had done nice things for me, and I had not done enough generous things for others.

I attempted to ponder whether or not there had been times when I rejected a display of friendship or dampened another person’s enthusiastic offerings. For the most part, I could not think of too many. There was a time when some little girl was showing me all of her favorite Barbies and I sat there the entire time listening to her attentively, “and this one is my favorite Barbie,” she said about each of them. Even when the mother of this child asked if I was bored hearing about Barbie Dolls, I defended the child and declared that she had the right to have interests and share them with people.

There were a couple incidents in which I was not proud, and a few in which I was downright ashamed. I had made some comments in Confessions of a Confused Douche that angered some loved ones, and I am not exactly proud of that. Also, there is the horrendous Jen incident that occurred on my birthday. Finally, I recalled in an incident that happened when I was a child that made me sick to my stomach.

When I was about 8 or so, some of the kids from our neighborhood were prone to do terrible/destructive things. A friend and I were walking around, and I had an egg that I wanted to throw at a car. This old man passed by in his car and I viewed that as an opportunity to throw the egg. After he passed, we stopped, and the man stopped his vehicle at the stop sign just past us. At that moment, I launched the egg at his car.

Right as I threw the egg in his direction, the elderly man of about 80 years old turned in our direction and smiled at us. No sooner than he turned and smiled, the egg plastered the driver’s side window and completely covered it. The egg had splattered perfectly and completely obstructed his view. Darnell and I took off running, laughing about it the entire way.

For whatever reason, I always remembered the look on this man’s face just before the egg exploded on his window. And the entire 5.4 mile walk home, I reflected on how he must have felt after we egged his car. The fact that he was already old could have been depressing enough. But, because I stupidly egged his car, the poor man must have felt rejected by the youth of society that he was no longer a part of.

Once upon a time, I attempted to satisfy myself by claiming that the egg exploded so perfectly because we were carrying out a punishment on him for some crimes that he had committed in his past, or that he had only smiled at us because he was a pedophile. Unfortunately, that no longer satisfied me. I felt that if I were to be eaten by a bear on this very night that I would not even attempt to run or defend myself… that I deserved to be eaten for the crimes against humanity that I had committed.

Finally, I stopped on a side street and spoke out loud to God. (Despite the fact that I staunchly oppose all facets of organize religion and question the validity of the God mentioned in The Bible, I am NOT an Atheist.)

God, I do not ever wish to be forgiven for anything. Instead, I would rather be reminded that I have done horrible things in my past. Rather than ask forgiveness, I wish to regret these incidents for the rest of my life. I shall wish to vividly remember all of these regrets forever, and these feelings of remorse shall make me a better person. With the strength of empathy, I will take into consideration the feelings of others, learn from my mistakes, and never commit these horrible crimes ever again.

And to the old man whose car I egged as a child. There is no justification whatsoever for my actions. The reasons in which I threw the egg in the first place have no validity and are now deemed equally shameful as the act of throwing the egg itself; attempting to impress people at the expense of others is the worst sinful violation a person can conduct. I am not asking your forgiveness. Instead, I am offering you my most sincere apology and expressing the guilt associated with the remorseful regret that I have endured since committing this horrible act of inhumane cruelty. To you, I am indebted 100 acts of generous kindness should we meet again on the other side; I am obligated to do something in order to compensate for the grief that I had once caused you.

No sooner than I finished my prayers, the black cat of the neighborhood approached. There is some unfortunate superstition related to black cats. This is commonly misunderstood, but the original urban legend stated that black cats represent luck: if they run away from you, it is supposedly bad luck because the luck has ran away for good. On the other hand, if a black cat approaches you, then that is good luck because the luck is coming towards you. There is nothing related to the altered wise tale about a black cat simply “crossing your path.”

Usually, this cat runs away from me. One night, this cat remained put and I felt that meant that my luck was unchanged. On this night, the cute little black cat enthusiastically approached me and rubbed up against me.

And I stayed true to my word that I would never reject another person’s enthusiastic display of friendship. I stopped, stooped down and petted the cat for several minutes. When I stood back up and walked away, which is what I assumed the cat wanted, the little kitty followed me.

I was extremely tired, had just walked approximately 5 miles, and it was starting to rain. Furthermore, I had to be up early in the morning for I had another job interview tomorrow. However, I stopped, in the pouring rain, and petted that little black cat until he/she was satisfied to the point of rational logic. We sat underneath a tree for nearly an hour, just hanging out… the cat wished to be petted and needed some companionship.

Unfortunately, I could not take the cat home because it was technically not my apartment; I could not allow the cat to follow for too long because Merrimon Avenue was approaching and I did not want the cat to be struck by a car; also, it was a housecat and I did not wish to steal it from its family; finally, it was pouring down rain, and most cats hate rain.

Simply put, I was concerned with the cat’s safety, and opted to sit with it underneath a tree until the cat was ready to return home for its’ own benefit… and that I would see you tomorrow. We are friends for life, I declared, as we said our goodbyes.






(6/20 2013) Day 13: Bombed Interview #2

The days leading up to the interview for the Grove Park Inn were filled with puzzling developments, unusual schedule changes, and a bizarre sequence of supernatural telephone exchanges.

First: Puzzling Developments. As previously stated, the initial interview was supposed to be conducted over the phone. However, the first sequence of the supernatural telephone exchanges took place when they never called. While my mother was in town visiting, they called me and left a message stating that they were no longer conducting these mysterious telephone interviews. Even more puzzling was the fact that the message stated for me not to answer the phone should they call, or at least that's what it sounded like on the message.

Two: Unusual Schedule Changes: Mother fuckers said this interview was going to be held a few days ago and it was cancelled without notice. Then it was rescheduled for the following Monday. But, the message they left while I was eating indicated that interview was canceled as well. I had to reschedule this interview yet again, and was unsure when this was going to take place.

Three: A Bizarre Sequence of Supernatural Telephone Exchanges. Part 1: They never called me for the telephone interview and that was absolutely creepy to the extreme that I had nightmares for an entire week. Then came the strange call while I was eating. After that, I tried calling them 2,476 times and nobody answered. Each time I called, the ringing of that phone sounded more grim and I pictured a phone ringing in an empty room with a woman lying dead on the ground with blood smeared all over the wall. When she finally called me back, I was in the shower. I called right after I got out of the shower, and there was again, no answer. That day, I attempted to call her back 683 more times, and there was never any answer. Therefore, the only logical thing that I could rationalize was the notion that the woman who called me was a ghost, and she had been dead for 237 years. Each year, just before the sullen sun churns through the constellation of Cancer, she calls some random mother fucker who she had been spying on and then disappears back into her grave. When she finally did reach me, and we spoke yet again, I was on board the bus that I immediately assumed was going to crash into the dark crypts of her Tunnel Road tomb where she had been murdered in 1876 while trying to confiscate a stolen wig from the butcher shop.

Finally, the interview was set for 10:30 AM and I was prepared for it to take place in a cob-web filled mortuary where I would be summoned by the ghouls of the deadly dark side to conjure the spirits of all of those who had been buried with a stolen wig throughout the entire history of our imprudent existence. Tom Bradford told me that this was going to happen. However, Tom Bradford does not exist and I have never met no such person with this name. I have contemplated numerous incidents where I have felt the presence of the evil wigged incubus, but remain uncertain how exactly this information was brought to me, even though I remain certain that there is a hellion out there wearing a wig who seeks the demise of rejoiceful sanctity as it applies to my own personal quest for that special place in which I ultimately belong. This is the fiend who is trying to prevent everything, to stop the world from changing, there need be no balance in The Universe—it was all just a dream that I had back 477,893 B.C.E.—that day I arrived to Earth and caused the one continent to burst into seven.
  
Just as I had done yesterday, I awoke at 6:03 AM, had some of that sweet and savory instant coffee, and conducted some research in the desolate parking lot before the interview. I was absolutely determined to arrive to this interview on time, and it was within walking distance; I actually showed up for this one nearly an hour early. Before I announced that I had arrived, I utilized the time to walk around the Grove Park Inn and investigate the scene. Even though it slightly reminded me of The Overlook Hotel from The Shining, and the clientele was not exactly my preference, I felt this was more at my comfort level than King Bio… primarily because of the location and it was for a bartender position.

However, I encountered yet another deadly omen, the same recurring dreadful admonition that had been plaguing for some years—and further proof that I am being stalked by some mysterious supernatural entity that is causing an abnormal coincidental providence in this proverbial life. While I was conducting my own grand tour of The Grove Park Inn, I stopped in a remote hall to use the bathroom. Once again, I was stricken with the exact same tragedy that happens every single time that I enter a bathroom in a public place. The moment I walked in, some other person intruded, infiltrated the closest stall, and then proceeded to take a noisy, grotesque, absolutely fucking horrendous fart laden shit right when I began taking care of my personal needs. 

This is an odd occurrence that should happen only every great once in a while. But with me, it's every God damn time I use a public bathroom. Every time! Some mother fucker enters the facility and rudely ruins any possible hope for personal decency. I do not do this—ever! Because, I have dignity and respect for others. These people grotesquely violate my personal space, make absolutely gross noises in the commode, and stink up everything so profoundly that I cannot even breath. Seriously, people need to conduct this disgusting matter elsewhere in privacy rather than wait for me to enter so they can ensure that I carry out a miserable destination.

As I left, bitterly angry with this person and wishing hurtful things upon him, I recollected the exact same thing happened at Cheddars prior to conducting my interview at Bowls Department Store. Too many resounding issues left me uncertain as to whether this was a good or bad thing, but it meant something, and this is something that has to stop immediately or else I am boycotting all establishments that have public bathrooms equipped for multiple people to be in the facility at once. I concluded that all people who enter the bathroom the same time as me just to grotesquely violate my personal happiness were demons; and these demons had been sent from the pits of Hades to misguide the course of my ultimate destination and prevent the outcome that will follow should I officially consummate my official purpose in life. 

I waited nearly an hour while suffering my first bit of television exposure since moving to Asheville. Tony Soprano had recently died and that story dominated the news that morning. There were other people also awaiting an interview and I was not impressed with any of them. One of the guys in the waiting area was an absolute wretched eyesore wearing dirty ill-fitted clothes with paint blotched all over them; he was there with his girlfriend who he apparently had driven there. He could have dressed better for her interview or waited outside like a professional; and I was unsure how he even had a girlfriend in the first place. This person even sat on the sofa as if he were at home. I doubted that Carrie required assistance from any man to land her managerial position at Bowls Department Store.

Finally, the woman came out to interview me and just as I hoped, she was stunningly gorgeous. She was wearing a short skirt and her shirt was halfway unbuttoned. It was the ideal fantasy that every man hopes for when picturing how the interviewer will look. She gave me a quick tour of the courtyard, which I had already taken, and rather than conduct the interview in an office, we sat in the primary lobby of the hotel with several people passing us.

The heavy traffic of people did make me slightly more uncomfortable, and I was already nervous for the interview to begin. Also, we sat directly across from each other, with nothing in-between us, and were approximately one entire foot apart. Ideally, we would have met like this without having to worry about the interview at a nightclub… or at my house. However, for the interview, it was growing increasingly difficult for me to not cop a glance up her skirt… which was right there in front of my face. In fact, that was all that I could think about was not looking up her skirt. “Focus on eye contact,” we kept reminding ourselves.

It began very well, but in my opinion ended rather abruptly as I did not even have the opportunity to ask the questions I had been planning. She asked about a situation in which I resolved a customer dilemma and I shared with her the exact same example I used at the Bowls Department Store interview—the part in which I feel I was ultimately hired there. However, she didn't seem to understand what I was saying and claimed she was confused. I must not have told it very well, which was possibly because I was suffering severe lapses in concentration due to the short skirt.

I left there with a 48% chance of being hired.

Bombing two interviews in a row is depressing, especially since working at Bowls Department Store has been the cause of most of my grief. I was angry with myself, downtrodden, and went into a state of severe self-doubt while at work. Furthermore, I was sick of these customers, sick of children’s clothes, and sick to death of my whole life. It was obvious that I was a loser and destined for failure; that I should expect nothing more out of life other than misery and suffering.

After work, there was still time to catch the bus and I declared that I was taking the bus home. While I was sitting at the bus stop, feeling sorry for myself for being such a shitty person in an interview, a lady exited Wal Mart and sat at the bus stop. To make matters worse, she talked to me the entire time. She asked me to help her with her shopping cart, her grocery bags, and all this other shit that made me realized that I had been reduced to the greatest imbecile in society.

We were conversing about the dangers of Swannanoa River not having sidewalks and being unsafe for bikes; she informed me that she knew this for a fact because she had lost people from both. 


One got ran over walking, one on a bike, heart attack, car crash, murder (laughed)
After she said murder, and laughed about it, I contemplated adding: 
Eaten by a bear.
Upon boarding the bus, she and another older woman engaged in a heated argument in which a variety of threats were exchanged. After that brief scuttle caused a delay, I declared that I was walking home. If I’m destined for misery and failure, I do not wish to carry out the death sentence that had been imposed upon me by the shitty writers. Furthermore, I am going into the woods and finding the bear on my own. This bear and I will settle things once and for all… either way, all current matters would be temporarily resolved.

Darkness quickly prevailed and soon I couldn't see anything. This forest was uncharted territory and I was equally familiar with the pathways on the surface of Jupiter as I was these woods. There was a fire brimming in the distance, and that was the only recognizable difference between this rough patch of Appalachian forestry and the climactic descent down the gaseous terrain of Falminzingorloidilitchz. I approached to find a creepy looking man sitting near the remote campfire in a wheelchair.

His ghastly appearance reminded me of the alien predator I encountered while backpacking across Jupiter and finally developed the courage to take that plunge into the infamous gas chambers of Falminzingorloidilitchz. The human-like forest creature had pale white skin and one glass eye that reflected the shimmering image of the campfire mirroring the image of The Final Dance of the Souls Macabre burning in agony in the flames. Silence frosted the wicked forest and the only sound of the night was the rustling of the fire.

There was a great danger that he warned about; there was terror lurking in the forest. He pointed a sharp stick towards my torso, which immediately erupted into flames, “You better not go around here, there’s elements in the forest that doesn't like your kind.”

Something about that wheelchair looked familiar; I knew that I had seen it before. Perhaps it was in a dream, and this was yet another revelation in which a past dream had become a reality. Did I die in this dream? This is him… this is the writer.

If the script of life was written for my happiness, the woman who interviewed me at The Grove Park Inn would be here with me right now, all alone in the forest. This fucking asshole should have been the one who interviewed me for the bartender position. Everything in this world was completely backwards. More displeasing evidence that I was not residing in my own world quickly unraveled. I should be at home in my bedroom with the woman who interviewed me, and this guy should be back at his home in the gas filled trenches of the dire world called Falminzingorloidilitchz.

This fucker kept going on and on about something that was lurking in the forest, and that we were about to be killed, and it totally reminded why I fucking hate people from Jupiter. The whole time I was on Jupiter, that was all I heard, “you’re going to die in the pits, blah blah blah, don’t breath that gas!” Poisonous gas, schmoisonous schlas! I made it out alive. That was 479,906 years ago; these days, there are seven continents and no jobs available for stupid assholes like myself.

What he didn't realize was that I came here to die; that I had been constantly reminded of an unknown voice that repeatedly instructed me: 
You can’t be afraid to die.” 
I hoped there would be something in these woods, hopefully the same bear that killed Batman and the others… and that I would be next. In return, I stared back at him coldly, trying to emit the same frightful creepiness he was attempting to convey. “I done survived the pits of Jupiter, nigga! These woods ain’t shit.” I took a deep hit from a cigarette and blew the smoke directly in his face.

Then I remembered that I had become a “yes man” and was never going to reject anybody’s friendship. He wasn't offering me any friendship though. Furthermore, that notion somewhat subsided the moment I heard “Stuck like Glue” by Sugarland at Bowls Department Store earlier that day. For one brief moment, I felt sorry for the people of Sugarland—after all, they were but ordinary people who were gleefully happy with their pathetic douchy relationship. I decided that I would be kind to them if I had ever saw them; but I was unwilling to grant International Stardom to anybody who simply wrote bad 2nd Grade poetry and had no talent whatsoever. Let’s face it, that song fucking sucks and hearing it every day only enhanced my desires to finally commit suicide.

I asked if he wished to cruise up to the store and grab a 6 pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon. As he stared at me with ominous intensity, he reached between his legs, took a drink from a cup with a straw in it until it made that annoying slurping sound, and then tossed the Styrofoam cup into the woods. It was a Chick Fil-A cup—these fuckers litter in the woods too.

He was talking senselessly and I now stared at him with the same murderous intensity as a woman on the bus delivers upon me should I happen to sit next to her. I couldn’t believe this fucker had the nerve to simply trash a Styrofoam Chick Fil-A cup out in the woods. Maybe it had been him this whole time—he was the cause of everything wrong in this world. He littered all 35 cups at Bowls Department Store, he put the hole in the ozone layer—and did so because the terrain of Falminzingorloidilitchz had haphazardly sprung a leak and was depleted of its’ resources.

Two things happened at once. As I bent down to retrieve the cup, I heard a loud rustling from the woods. Also, my anger intensified when I saw the back of the wheelchair and realized where I had recognized it. Written plainly in bold white letters was the word “B-O-W-L-S.” This mother fucker stole the Bowls Department Store wheelchair. What a son-of-a-bitching lazy bastard this cock sucker was! 

I was so sick and tired of degenerate assholes doing absolutely stupid things in that store that I was ready to vomit. I mean, who the fuck enters a store and steals the damn wheelchair? It had been missing, and I suspected that he also had an abandoned cart in these woods with miscellaneous shit still in it. Fucking asshole! Dickface! Cock sucker! Mother fucker!

The bear jumped out of the woods and was like, “roar!”

Mother fucker was all roaring and shit, and I’m just like, “dude, somebody stole the Bowls Department Store wheelchair.” Then it dawned on me that the bear was probably equally pissed about this miserable fucking asshole stealing the Bowls Department Store wheelchair. So I plopped the mother fucker right out of it and dropped him face down on the ground… then took off running. The bear pounced on his monkey ass and I heard that shit the entire time I was making my getaway.

The dude was talking more stupid gibberish then I had ever heard in my entire life. Right as my natural survival instinct kicked in and demanded I run from the bear, so did my outstanding work ethic which required me to return the wheelchair to the company I am currently employed. His screams echoed across the deserted streets of the Swannanoa Valley of Darkness, as did the meandering diatribe involving some stupid religious bullshit he shouted the entire time the bear was attacking him. What a prick he was!

I ran through the forest, pushing the wheelchair, imagining that Franklin was still in it, and that the capricious bear was armed with a chainsaw. Once I safely made it to the road and back into Bowls Department Store parking lot, I realized that I had an opportunity to never have to deal with Bowls Department Store again and ruined it. Instead, here I was, off the clock, returning their God damn shitty wheelchair.

The words from “Main Girl” by Quasimoto sounded over the headphones on the 2nd attempt for the voyage home: “Anyhow, it’s like the man said, what will be… will be.”

And maybe it was all meant to be—we’ll soon find out, because all of this had to mean something. You’d think anyway. I grew extremely angry with myself for even giving the slightest remote fuck about that Bowls Department Store wheelchair.

But I had no idea what was meant to be and what was occurring through random chance and what incidents were being devised to either construct my demise, to guide my path of destiny, or to torment my death sentence with prolonged suffering. I personally had to have been meant to be, because my very conception defied all logic and too many coincidences could neither be explained nor avoided. The fate of the entire Universe depended on the outcome of my ultimate destination and it became obvious that there was conflict as to whether or not the world was yet prepared to endure this sort of revelation or the disciples of Satan were willing to embrace such change. 

And where did this capricious bear play a factor? We were surrounded with dead dogs, dead hookers, dead fat bastards, and a dead wheelchair thief. These were the people some assume represented the obstacle and the prevalence of the oppressive forces. Or were they? This could all be a misinterpreted delusional consequence that resulted in the non-immaculate conception that spawned the jihad; a war between the wonders of the world and some symbol of what had been deemed as the evil entity, the unholy, the sign of the beast within.




Section: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8




Section IV Soundtrack Listing:


1. The Durutti Column
"Royal Infirmary" 4:20

Circuses And Bread
1986

2. Coma Cinema
"Greater Vultures" 3:15

Blue Suicide
2011

3. Polyrock
"Green for Go" 3:43

Polyrock
1980

4. The Flying Lizards
"Russia" 6:38

The Flying Lizards
1979

5. Pylon
"Danger" 5:38

Gyrate
1980

6. Daisuck & Prostitute
"M.U.R.A" 8:01

Continue To Dance Until I Die
1981

7. Van Morrison
"When Heart Is Open" 15:06

Common One
1980

8. Charles Bradley
"Victim of Love" 3:29

Victim of Love
2013

9. Destroyer
"Trembling Peacock" 4:16

This Night
2002

10. Deep Purple
"Space Truckin'" 4:33

Machine Head
1972

11. Royal Baths
"Sinister Sunrise" 5:15

Litanies
2010

12. Public Image Ltd.
"Banging the Door" 4:50

The Flowers of Romance
1981

13. The Sound
"Silent Air" 4:14

From The Lions Mouth
1981

14. The Feelies
"Slipping (Into Something)" 5:59

The Good Earth
1986

15. Tubeway Army
"My Shadow In Vain" 2:59

Tubeway Army
1978

16. Cockney Rebel
"Death Trip" 9:49

The Human Menagerie
1973


17. Eternel Docteur Nico et L'African Fiesta Sukisa
"Talaka na Miso" 5:56

Merveillles du Passé
1967

18. Kevin Drew
"Gang Bang Suicide" 6:22

Spirit If...
2007


19. That's A Thing
"Indifferent/Deaf" 10:27

That's A Thing
2013

20. Zeni Geva
"On Suicide" 5:57

Maximum Money Monster
1990

21. Liars
"Scarecrows On A Killer Slant" 4:15

Sisterworld
2010

22. Vágtázó Halottkémek
"Ki Vele, Az Istenért!" 4:09

A Halál Móresre Tanítása
1988

23. Slaughter
"Disentegrator - Incenerator" 5:33

Bloody Karnage
1984

24. Monoshock
"Crypto-Zoological Disaster" 8:20

Walk to the Fire
1995

25. Föllakzoid
"Rivers" 7:31

II
2013

26. Quasimoto
"Maingirl" 2:26

Further Adventuers Of Lord Quasimoto
2005

27. Venom
"At War With Satan" 19:57

At War With Satan
1984

All Sections Written, Designed, and Music Compiled by Tony J. Neal


©2013

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