Bear 21- Section 6

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 VI: Prophecy 14

(6/23 2013) Day 16: A Burning Desire to be Exactly like All the Women I Always Wanted to Fuck

9 days remaining until the Great Flood

Today in Asheville marked 67 straight days of rain. Not that it rained the entire time, but for 67 straight days, it rained for at least some period of the day. The 10 day forecast indicated “Scattered Thunderstorms” for all 10 of them. Supposedly, Asheville featured four beautiful seasons, and I was growing desperate to see the mythological “Dry Season” which I held some pretension that it would begin in June.

It was my first day off in several days and my only day off for the entirety of the scattered thunderstorms prophecy. Once again, I traveled to my new favorite coffee shop, Fiesta Laundromat. In-between trying to write the story of the famous Pop Star, which I still had yet to think of a title, I was also still responding to job announcements… which had consumed a significant portion of my time and thought processes.

I was plotting boycotting the entire world again; that I was going on indefinite hiatus until I was given a better job. Somewhere along the lines I was going to die as a result of compromising my moral values in order to receive minimal pay. The world once again needed boycotted and I sought the demise of all things considered standard by those who wish to alter all forms of natural free thinking. It was nearing its' time anyway. The impending decisions by conflicting voices of reason was conducted over a conference table to determine what role we shall play in the demise of the human race.

Somebody had recently informed me that there were now more men than women now in the world; in conjunction with the fact that white people are now a minority. Supposedly women are being murdered in various parts of the world. They claim that China puts limitations on the amount of children people may birth and will often abort the female children but keep the males. Basically, this makes China the world's largest sausage fest.

America is on the verge of crumbling and a massive revolt is imminent. The discrepancy between the rich and impoverished has reached its final limitation. As we all know, it is those earning low wages who generate the large revenues for the corporate billionaires who do significantly less work, possess significantly less intellect, and claim that nobody else is worthy of any "financial assistance" (aka, a raise). This is what they had been taught and lacked the ingenuity to conceive anything outside the parameters of what the unreliable narrators had instilled upon them.

The thought of a world without government or societal control is unfathomable, yet they claim the government is untrustworthy and tax dollars should never be used to obtain personal happiness. When presented with a world without government, they ask:
 "Who will pave our roads?
Seriously? I thought you built that? I didn't think you needed any assistance, you fucking bums. You mean to tell me, that you are willing to live in a world filled with racial tension, poverty, ghettos, war, a class struggle, an overpopulated prison system, kids getting shot in dysfunctional schools, people robbing, killing one another just to have consumer goods, shooting unarmed children in order to preserve purchases, useless lives, useless lifestyles, martyrs, grand sacrifices, global tyrannical oppression, PTSD for life, repression of natural behavior, Global Warming, the extinction of life, horrendous healthcare, and a society growing increasingly/dangerously asinine as a result of instilled behavioral patterns in order to promote the propaganda that dictates the standards deemed acceptable by the governing corporations... you feel that all of this is absolutely vital to human life because you cannot figure out who's going to pave the roads?

Eventually, and very soon, the repressed within The United States will become fed up with the plot of the financially driven corporation. People will no longer be interested in sacrificing their entire lives just to reward their oppressors with extravagant benefits while they receive none. When this happens officially, the working class shall cease to perform any unwanted operations in which the rewards are unfulfilling; there will be immense hope that the corporations go bankrupt and there will be no assistance whatsoever as the citizens of society refuse to give these greedy tycoons any handouts (aka, pay rent).

As of now, The United States is trillions of dollars in debt to China, the world's largest sausage fest. The timing would be horrendous if China utilized the exact same ruthless tactics to collect their debt as the I.R.S. and American mortgage companies have gone about collecting theirs. The I.R.S. blatantly confiscates the earnings from the exact same people who earned them their money and offered little in return. Despite the forced methods of funding, in actuality, the U.S. government was never needed, nor were the banks—they fabricated these notions in order to make people assume they were essential so that they could continue to extort the earnings of The Working Class. This was money taken from a person without healthcare in order to purchase expensive furniture for a useless Senator. 

Should China, now armed with an aggressive male population, decide they need repayment right now or else they would be confiscating assets while applying additional fees at the same moment the majority of the American population concluded they were no longer interested in the wealth of the corporation, this could lead to extreme turmoil. 

Even after all of the monetary assets have been depleted from the government and the banks, there will still not be enough available to repay the debt to China. 
Therefore, the oppressors will resort to shipment of American white girls as mail order brides/slaves in order to repay the debt. The first woman to revolt against this act of cruelty will suffer a gruesome death and then be regarded as a Christ-like figure; this will mark the fall of the Empire. Delving into these thoughts, I would like to be this woman.

In the wake of the great revolution that officially validates the demise of all forms of oppression, I was not satisfied with my current role in the world. There were far more important matters at stake than walking to and from a shitty job for low pay that meant nothing. I had to devise some sort of positive objective to prevent feeling worthless and ruining my only day off. If any value could come from all of this, aside from descriptors with a negative connotation such as punishment for past sins, then the love blossoming love affair with Carrie was the only thing I could endeavor. But, I could not delve too deeply into this or else she would disappear for good. 

The previous day at the Fiesta, I had forgotten a jacket in one of the dryers. When I returned, it was not there. Nobody turned it in; they kept it instead. I was curious if I would ever run into that person wearing my jacket… and what I would say… and if that person would be a man or a woman. Then I wondered how Carrie would look wearing that jacket. She did look extremely lovely in this particular denim jacket that she wore periodically, but I determined that she would have nothing to do with the abandoned jacket.

In fact, I figured out the reason that she hated me was because my clothes were so horrid. Jessica agreed with me on that notion, but she was not interested in developing an intimate relationship with Carrie, even though she was equally enamored with her. Therefore, when delving into fantasies involving Carrie and I being in a meaningful relationship, I had to picture myself wearing better clothes. And as I visualized the clothes that I would be wearing, I was uncertain how I could even purchase them, but hoped it would happen sometime before the great revolt.

Since purchasing new clothes was not taking place in the present, I wondered if I would still be interested in Carrie after obtaining a better job and better clothes. After all, I was boycotting Bowls Department Store and she was the manager. I still had never really spoken to her and knew little about her personality. More than likely, she was married to the exact same person that every other store manager is married to and he looks nothing like me. 

There was a lingering possibility that I was only interested in her because I had become desperate and nobody else was even remotely interested in me... she wasn't even interested in me, and I had only made up a bunch of crap about her based on what I envisioned from a completely improbable/illogical fantasy that I had been clinging to ever since I was born. Once I obtained these new clothes and became more appealing, then maybe I would I stand a chance with somebody more suitable, assuming there was somebody more suitable.

There was yet another possibility that I had never considered: Maybe Carrie is a lesbian! Then, if I wore that same skirt the interviewer from The Grove Park Inn wore, then I could finally win the heart of my current true love.

After finishing my laundry and awaiting a period in which the rain temporarily stopped, I ventured downtown to shop for the elegant new clothing style that would define me as a person. The first store that I entered employed a future revolutionary militant working at the door greeting customers.

“Hello gorgeous,” he said with a pleasant smile to the woman who entered just before me. She was not that great looking either.

He greeted me with a smile too, except the wording was a tad bit different. 
And hello to you, you stupid ass pathetic looking douchy mother fucker.
I was growing tired of this unequal treatment I was enduring in the world. This store greeter was not that attractive either, and the only person I knew of that actually wanted to fuck him was Jessica, my own voice of reason. I pictured him in a pair of skimpy khaki shorts decorated with dead fish, and then pictured myself in a pair of tight yoga pants with an image of him with an axe buried in his bloody face embroidered across my ass.

Once I made my way to Lexington Avenue, Bowls Department Store finally left my mind, and I now had 483 new true loves. The odds that any of them were attracted to me: 0%.

Sadly, the entire time I was sitting at Izzy’s, my thoughts drifted from visualizing potential ways to meet an actual woman, to staring at these lovely ladies wondering how great I would look wearing their outfits. There were a number of different styles that appealed to me but I remained uncertain if the attraction was sexual or self-absorbed.

My major dilemma plaguing me was the fact that I did not have a decent set of breasts. In fact, I had no titties whatsoever. Unfortunately, they do not sell these things at the supermarket, and I was unsure how I was going to go about giving myself implants. Maybe titties were overrated. Being as I was still uncertain who I really wanted to impress and why, I was unsure how I was perceived with or without breasts. We simply had to focus on what was important, and that was the yoga pants that displayed the words “VIRGIN TIGHT” across our ass, and the notion that our legs being unable to touch together might be regarded as an asset.

After dinner, in which I was still feasting off the groceries in which my momma and Aunt had purchased for me, I returned downtown to enjoy my night… Asheville style, and the reason I came back in the first place. I had no control over this, but for some strange reason, I envisioned that I was being accompanied by Carrie, and attempted to visualize if she would approve of my lifestyle outside of Bowls Department Store. For the most part, I tried to keep my personal life a secret from my co-workers.

It was as if I were leading three different lives… my life at Bowls Department Store where their heavily played song “I live in misery” was the soundtrack; my life downtown, which was spectacular; and also coming into the forefront was my life at home in my new apartment building, for I had been spending ample time hanging out with my neighbors who were all extremely cool. None of the 3 ever blended though—people at Bowls Department Store, I only saw at Bowls Department Store, etc. For whatever reason though, I did want these elements of my cluttered life to come together just once. My friends downtown would like my neighbors and was curious if any had ever met (I did at least see one of them at Izzy’s once) but nobody ever visits my apartment… I don’t know where Bowls Department Store fits in with this equation, but I do, at least, like my co-workers. It would be interesting for every person in my life to have a gathering for one evening.

With an imaginary vision of Carrie by my side, I entered Blackout Effectors to see Abby Gogo from Atlanta. The turnout was about as good as one could hope for an independent band. Even though I entered by myself, I was never standing alone. I knew about 20-30 of the 50 person audience. The good thing about Asheville is that it attracts many bands that have not been discovered and are doing things unblemished by record labels.

Abby Gogo immediately surged toward the top of the list of bands that needed a more prominent role in the world. It was a travesty that they were playing in front of a crowd of 50 people while Sugarland was selling out arenas. That aspect alone explained the state of the world and why certain phrases such as “no hope for humanity” were being tossed around on a consistent basis.

I idealized Abby Gogo in the opening scene of the still untitled Pop Star movie where a talented band had to save money to go on tour (rather than earn millions of dollars), enjoyed moderate success by selling 14 records in the 35 person crowd, but had to cancel the tour due to mechanical problems with the tour vehicle. Upon returning, they entered the studio and cut an absolutely astonishing new album that Pitchfork would have rated a 9.4. They were encouraged to solicit the album to the record label by friends, who claimed "it wouldn't hurt to try." The record landed on the desk of the record executive who was responsible for signing new acts.

However, the day it arrived, Steve, the neighbor from up the road, had recommended this new kid, somebody he knew from a different neighbor. This new kid, who did not have a lick of talent and could not sing, play an instrument, or write a song, became the eventual new pop star in which the film would be centered.

Meanwhile, when the executive entered the office, he had to hastily clean off his desk, and tossed the talented band’s recording in the trash without even listening to it. It is such a wonderful world we live in—the record labels only employ lazy degenerate bastards who cannot even make quality decisions without a recommendation from some other useless asshole who just happens to be a neighbor—all will receive personal attacks in the film and made to look stupid.

After the show, I ventured to Tiger Mountain to have one more bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon before going home. It was an odd crowd and none of my friends from the Abby Gogo show were there. Some girl who I had never seen before kept staring at me and acting strangely. I honestly had no clue what to think of her. Every time I glanced at her, she was staring at me, smiling, and it was to the extreme that I was extremely uncomfortable. Finally, while I was standing next to the bar by the DJ station, I turned around to find her standing right next to me. I said “hi” to her and she did not even respond at all—completely ignored me. It was really weird.

In order to avoid her, I walked to the other side of the bar and sat by myself. There weren't any women in the place that I was even interested in at all. Many of these girls were downright annoying and I was trying to hurry and down my award winning Pabst Blue Ribbon so I could simply get the fuck out of there. Then, the first real woman entered the establishment and she was immediately crowned the coolest, hottest, most awesome woman in there. She was there with her girlfriend, and I was not impressed with her; I felt that I would have made a better match with her than that damn white girl.

Right then I realized that it was also imperative to become a real woman not only to land a job or to be shipped to China to become a martyr, but to also find my true love. That night, I had a mission, and I had to figure out some way to become the genuinely beautiful woman that I knew I could have always been.

Reality set in while I was walking home from the show. A new terror emerged in a familiar territory as yet another horrendous thought filled my mind. W.T. Weaver contains an extremely frightening desolate sidewalk that strays from the road and into a pit of darkness in the wood. I stopped just before the dreaded path and it occurred to me that the threat of the bear might not necessarily be specifically from walking home from work. For that matter, I just remembered that the very first bear encounter was closer to here rather than work.

The path was dark and the music on my headphones only intensified my fear. Every single branch that swayed in the wind startled me as I kept looking behind me anticipating the bear. Does a bear shit in the woods? I could certainly smell it. Even most tragic, I did not have my $5 stick umbrella (I left it at the bus stop) and was defenseless.

Anytime television airs a video of a person being attacked by a wild animal, it immediately becomes extremely popular. In order to boost ratings and generate more revenue from advertisers, television stations will strategically plant bears in the vicinity of unsuspecting victims in order to film the bloody attack that will attract numerous of viewers who will eagerly watch the tragedy and then head to Burger King afterwards. This scenario explained a lot of untold issues plaguing my life; my life was indeed being monitored by an audience and scripted by the incompetent Reality Show writers seeking a climax that awed audiences with a bear attack.

It is imperative that my death be for the great good of humanity, the fall of the final empire; I refuse to die to generate TV ratings. I attempted to think of every possible defense mechanism possible for just in case the bear struck. Instead, I became stricken with intense fear and ran home in the darkness, certain that the bear was behind me… I could hear the footsteps drawing nearer. When I turned around, there was nothing there. But, I kept running until I finally made it home. I sensed that the bear had followed me and now knew where I lived.

(6/24 2013) Day 17: Coincidental Evidence of the Looming Prophecy

8 days remaining until the Great Flood.

One lousy day off is not nearly enough of a vacation for a person who spends eternity outside his/her own natural habitat. (His/her applies to me only.) Anxiety impelled all psychological functions as I boarded the E1 hand basket condemned for eternal damnation in the corridors of Hades occupied by The Beast. The Bible failed to mention that the official brand of Hell is Crack & Barrel. Someday, I shall take the bus destined for Paradise.

Rule #1, no exception, is to board all Hell destined hand baskets equipped with headphones. Rule #2; sit as far away from people as humanly possible. Rule #3, never initiate conversation with anyone while on the hand basket; if anybody speaks to you, simply ignore them and pretend they do not exist. Rule #4, going to Hell in a hand basket is never to be an enjoyable ride; the closer the hand basket resembles Hell will make the final destination seem less like torture.

I sat in the back of the bus, and finally was as far removed from the world as possible—there were mother fuckers seated within 5 inches of either side of me and other hellions requesting to sit on my lap. Like the good person that I am, Rule #1 is never violated—I had my headphones on and successfully tuned out the rest of the bus. The person next to me tried to speak to me, and I pretended like I was asleep. He was prepared to speak to me regarding a matter in which was of no concern to me and I did not give a flying fuck whatsoever about any of it. Finally, he related that bull shit to some other mother fucker seated across from him.

The two middle aged men engaged in conversation while repeatedly glancing towards my direction—speaking directly to me as if I were to be a part of this conversation. I was wearing sunglasses, headphones, and seemingly asleep. Hell, for all they knew, I was fucking dead and they were trying to initiate conversation with a rotting corpse. The song on my player tragically ended and I heard what they were saying.
What? Are you scared of bears or something?"
The guy seated next to me told some elaborate story about being out in the wilderness and some mysterious bear was fucking around by his tent. However, this guy didn’t give a shit that a bear was outside of his tent doing the sort of shit that bears do at that hour. I imagined that this fucker assumed that he was Grizzly Adams and more than likely had an assortment of khaki shorts with dead fish embroidered in the ass. This was the type of person who was prone to show up to wedding ceremonies equipped with a fishing pole. But,the person in which he was speaking to responded while facing me—not him.

It seemed important, albeit freakishly coincidental, so I pressed pause and listened.
I’m scared of bears. That’s a wild animal. You have to imagine what it would be like to be out in the woods and have a wild animal down on top of you. The look on the face. And when you can imagine that, it’s impossible to predict what a wild animal like that might do.
After that story, I disembarked from the bus and immediately entered Wal Mart to purchase a brand new $5 stick umbrella. I went with a more colorful design this time as that shitty black one with the red polka dots was only creating problems. One night I had nearly forgotten it and that almost led to me being murdered by my manager/current love obsession. Now the damn thing was keeping somebody else dry; somebody who was more than likely also wearing the jacket that I left at the laundry mat.

How the fuck did this guy know that I was being tracked by a capricious bear? This was evidence to me that the bear was being sponsored by a television station and this entire thing was staged. Once I realized this, I made it a habit to use excessive profanity with extreme frequency; I also decided that I was going to spend 100% of my free time masturbating in the nude, standing by the window, to an erotic picture of a bear that I would perch in front of me while going at non-stop shouting the most crude and offensive words possible.

Flames erupted from the doors of Bowls Department Store the moment I opened the door. At that precise moment, I knew that it was for real. I had gone to Hell and there was no escaping. Surprisingly, they were playing a song that sounded vaguely familiar. Where had I heard this song before? Oh, that’s right, Bowls Department Store, every single other day that I had worked. If this were day 101 working at Bowls Department Store, that meant that I now heard this song 117 times.

I quickly tried to ignore the music the best of my ability, which is not ignoring it at all. Unfortunately, I do not have the ability to ignore music—it is the first thing I hear and is always intensified. Apparently this a rare disorder that only I and a significant portion of others suffer from; several of my co-workers have drowned out the music with claims that I pay too much attention to it because I know elements of the songs in which they had never even noticed. Furthermore, I can name every single song played at Bowls Department Store within the first few seconds of hearing it.

“You pay too much attention to the music Tony,” They often tell me.

“You’re not paying enough attention to my virgin tight perky ass,” I would think to myself in response.

The name of the department is Home and Kids, which to me means that I am focusing on Home and don’t give a flying fuck about kids. Therefore, I immediately went straight to work in the Home department with hopes that the Kids’ department would be obliterated by an airline disaster before my shift ended and therefore I wouldn't have to fuck with it—ever again. My first task was organizing and straightening the picture frames.

Frames are equipped with a display image already inside the frame. These people in the preexisting pictures are absolutely disgusting and I grew nauseous just looking at them. Each and every one of them looked exactly the same and I wanted nothing to do with any of them. In fact, there were more pleasant looking people on the bus, and Asheville bus strategically stakes out the world’s most grotesque eye sores in order to accompany me to gloomy pits of Hell. The entire process is to ensure that I remain miserable for the greatest percentage of life imaginable in order to appeal to the brainwashed television audience.

That was the moment I realized my calling. I want to be appointed the position of Executive Photo Selector where I will be the person solely responsible for choosing what pictures to display in the frames. Throughout the entirety of this task, my mind was literally filled with millions of glamorous images in which could be used, including a happy smiling family being mauled by a vicious bear.

There was a resurgence of a man named Rothgaurd, who not only has a cool name, but his menacing image is perfect for these frames—particularly in his denim jacket with the sleeves cut out decorated with an upside-down cross that had been hand drawn with a black sharpie. Rothgaurd is the epitome of the one person suburban fathers pray will never date their white girl daughter. I visualized Rothgaurd's picture in all the frames in a number of different poses.

Typical Frame

Frame Starring Rothgaurd!!!

Rule #17; never laugh at your own jokes. Technically, I am not guilty of this infraction because I was not telling a joke. However, I did become overly amused visualizing various ridiculous photographs to display in the frames that I was laughing out loud and having difficulty containing my enjoyment. There were people standing around me looking at me as if I should be placed in an asylum. I asked if I could help them with anything, they said "no," and then I wanted to place photographs of their terrified faces in those frames; I had to walk away from the frame section altogether.

A woman I had never seen before stopped me, and I assumed it was a another customer needing assistance.

“Let me see if I remember, you’re Tony right?”

“I am,” I said out loud. “And I am completely creeped out that you know this,” I said to myself without her hearing me.

She emerged from a clothing rack and I saw that she was a Bowls Department Store employee. I assumed that she was a new hire and maybe saw me during her orientation. But, her tag read “756,000 years of service” and I wondered just who in the fuck this Regina person really was and how she knew of me.

I told her that I was impressed that she had such a good memory and started to apologize for forgetting her name. However, I was 100% certain that we had never met. Therefore, I pretended to be happy for us to finally have had an official introduction. She kindly introduced herself and elaborated all of the details about how she remembered me from yesterday. Get this shit, my ass didn't work yesterday. All of this shit that she spoke of in which she supposedly saw me never happened.

It is widely known across the globe that when people know my name without me knowing theirs generates severe animosity. There are a few exceptions in which this strange dilemma does not bother me, but supposedly seeing me at work when I was never there is not one of them. Secondly, the fact that she related an elaborate tale about how she saw me yesterday presented numerous options in which this scenario raised a lot of questions. This could range from anything to her being psychic, to being delusional, to being a compulsive liar, a potential stalker, or even Santa Claus herself. Regardless, a person like this could only work for Bowls Department Store.

The eeriness of the situation inflated when I walked past another manager and told him that I did not work yesterday. He asked what the heck I was talking about, and I told him about what Regina had said. The situation grew intensely petrifying when he retorted with, “to make matters even creepier, before you even came in, she described you exactly to a tee.” How she knew this was creepy enough, but the fact that she was speaking about me while I wasn't present made matters even more intriguing.

I satisfied myself declaring that Regina was indeed Santa Claus. Since Santa also became a woman, this meant that I was going to get something nice for Christmas from the jolly old fat bastard turned ???????. My ass desperately needed some new clothes, especially a pair of yoga pants with the words “VIRGIN TIGHT” elegantly displayed over the ass. As a result of possessing a burning desire to flaunt my questionable sexuality, I was willing to be fully compliant and do absolutely anything she wanted me to do. Plus, as Regina, the Christmas time legend looked significantly better than that fat miserable bearded cock sucker you see in all the images. THIS is going to be the best Christmas ev-errrr!

That would have been a great frame. Before: Santa Claus… After: Regina. Or, a crying child sitting on Santa’s lap, pulling off his fake beard, and revealing the face of Rothgaurd.

I debated whether or not I would like to hook up with Regina (and leaned slightly towards, "sure, why not"). Her mysterious previous knowledge of me potentially increased a possibility that she may have already been the first woman in my bedroom and I just didn't know about it. She told me that she was a manager from another store assigned by some mother fucker from corporate. 
"I am the manager from some other store. I was assigned to work here by some mother fucker from corporate."
Apparently, she was important in the eyes of Bowls Department Store, but not at all impressive in the eyes of the bear that devoured Lard Ass a few days ago. I feared for her well-being because she seemed exceptionally nice and she was currently the only stalker I could proudly boast.

As my only stalker, I immediately deemed her the most important person in my life. She told me all kinds of weird shit that she wanted me to do. Being as I had also drawn the conclusion that Regina might be the actual Santa Claus, I was prepared to anything she desired. Rather than utilize this as the perfect opportunity to make this perky ass no longer a virgin, she discussed Bowls Department Store standards of elegance which severely dampened the moment. 

Considering "Umbrella" by Rhianna was playing over the intercom and we were surrounded by a fleet of disoriented elderly people, I concluded that Bowls Department Store had no standards. I held my own personal standards and those greatly exceeded anything Bowls Department Store could ever conceive.

In what proved a sad day in the History of The Universe, my tasks in the Home Department came to an abrupt halt. Instead, "because supposedly I was so awesome" I was assigned to fold every single article of clothing in the Kids department… Ed would be talking care of the Home department. Some other asshole Taylor Swift fan was coming to town to inspect the store and this shit needed to look fucking fabulous.

Well, fuck all that. After listening to that shit, I once again told myself that I should have listened to my mother after she encouraged me to become an accountant. "But you are so good with numbers," she would always say. 

And then I accidentally said out loud, “but no, I don’t want to work in an office all day. I don’t want to be confined.” Here I am now, at Bowls Department Store, where my soul shall burn for all eternity. 

Regina was presented with the opportunity to enjoy excessive liberties involving me and a Chiquita banana, but wasted it on discussing trivial bullshit. Someday, somewhere in the back of her mind, she will reflect upon this moment and realize that it was a squandered opportunity—the chance of a lifetime, and she missed it.

Once again,  I was folding God damn mother fucking shitty ass cock sucking dog shit mother fucking asshole kid’s clothes. For some stupid reason, and further proof that I am nothing but a bungling idiot, I was determined to fold the entirety of the Kid’s section—just because I didn't want to. If I were smart, I would have declare that I never wanted to have sex with a beautiful woman ever again... and then try to fuck all of them just because I don’t want to. Nope. Instead, I fold fucking Kid’s clothes and will simply go home and jack off to the next unsolved mysterious disappearance.

I knew I shouldn't have laughed out loud about those frames. Last time I had that much amusement at work was when I plotted to make a cheesy horror movie called “Shoe Department.” Actually, all I wanted to do was make the trailer with the narration; featuring horrendous horror movie dialogue with poorly dictated lines such as:
Shoe Department? Looks more to me like the Shit Department.
The film would star Stephen Seagall embarking on a vigilante rampage on the disrespectful old ladies who trash the store. He'd even be awarded coolly stated stupid lines such as, “Why did you take all of the shit out of the box and leave it on the floor?” One kick, and the old woman flew out of a glass window that caused a massive burst of broken glass; she landed in the parking lot and was ran over by a garbage truck. 

Shoe Department. Rated R

Shortly after I related this idea to friends and began planning shooting the trailer, I wasn't scheduled in shoes nearly as much. It’s never a good idea to have fun. People at Bowls Department Store do not have fun at work and many of them do not even have a sense of humor; some of them I have never seen laugh or smile. I wondered if Bowls Department Store and the music had drained all of the life out of them. There was no way I was going to allow myself to end up that way.

After I folded all of the clothes, I had to clean out the fitting rooms. And once again, the same shit as every other night. This is an ongoing problem and needs to be addressed. I have mentioned it over the store's radio system, and everybody ignores me… possibly because it is yet another complex theory that ventures outside the realm of comfort.

While cleaning out the little boys fitting room, once again, there was an abundance of women’s clothes… clothes for grown women. It should also be known that there are fitting rooms conveniently located in all of the women’s sections. This means that adult women purposely leave the department in which they discovered the merchandise in order to undress in a fitting room intended to be used for little boys.

There are never any men’s clothes in the little girl’s fitting room. And, unlike the Bowls Department Store near Penn State campus, there are never any adult male clothes in the little boy’s fitting room either. That said, all of the pedophiles within the vicinity of the Bowls Department Store near Asheville are women.

It is far more acceptable for women to be pedophiles than men. Furthermore, with the emergence of MILF porn, an older woman undressing is something little boys eagerly hope to witness. When I was I child, I used to get down on my knees and pray to someday be molested by my babysitter. I once spent an entire week of my Summer Vacation trying to catch a good view down her shirt. And on that day when I finally caught a glimpse of her nipple, why, that was a moment that I shall cherish forever.

However, that still does not fully explain the adult woman’s natural desire to sexually arouse little boys. These days, there are an increasing number of female elementary school teachers who wear risqué dress attire to work in which they are only surrounded by children. One could attempt to fabricate the morality of the issue while pushing fake morals and stare, but the reality of the situation is, a lot of money could be made by opening a Cougar Bar next to a Toys R Us.

Perhaps it is because boys are conditioned to be more sexually liberal; or, the exposure to seductive females is a part of the conditioning process that causes the increased sexuality in males. Now, if we could only adopt a means to condition little girls to desire to be molested by adult men, then that would make life significantly better for the rest of us. (Totally just kidding) There is the possibility that women are conditioned from those Toddler clothes to be extremely beautiful; flaunting their sexuality is what they had been groomed to do and a means of feeling successful. Maybe if men were conditioned to flaunt something other than a pair of khaki shorts with dead fish on them that they might be the subject of a schoolgirl fantasy.

As for me, I am the subject of nobody’s fantasy and am simply flaunting around my hot ass just to be eaten by a bear. I contemplated asking Regina for a ride home just to see if she already knew where I lived without me ever telling her. Had she already have been in my home as an intruding burglar, I felt that I needed to render the opportunity for her to come over and do anything that she absolutely wished without having to worry about getting busted by the police or wearing that God awful ski mask... being as I was now a “Yes Man” that needed a new pair of yoga pants.

That would be a bit too creepy and I decided that I would rather be eaten by the Swannanoa River marauder… or be pulverized near my home, one of the two.

I was trying to keep myself occupied by reflecting on my past babysitter. Back then, I was only 10 and she was 16, and that seemed like such an age difference. Now, that does not seem that incredibly huge of a discrepancy in age. I was wondering what she looked like these days, if she was married, or if she even remembered me. Getting internet at home became Priority #4 so that I could stalk her on Facebook.

Once again, thoughts soon turned to terror as I thought of the bear. Walking down the darkened streets of Murdock Ave., I was certain that this was going to be the moment. I observed every single house analyzing potential escape routes. The words of the man on the bus resonated in my mind as I could only picture the wild animal bearing down on top of me.

This house was scary enough; this one had a fence I could climb…

Bears can climb trees and that would be something I would have to consider. And I kept questioning the validity of this umbrella. Maybe it kept me moderately dry in the days leading up to the Great Flood that would destroy us all, but it might not be much of a match for the deadly bear. There were too many coincidental premonitions, and the smartest thing for me to do would be to stay home until everything vanished for good.

It emerged onto the unlit street from the darkness of the huge house that had become a featured attraction. I froze completely and totally forgot about all of the escape routes I would resort should this encounter actuate as it had. The bear snarled and slobber dripped from its hungry mouth. The only thing I could think to do was ask it a question: 
"Are you a man or woman?"
Somebody emerged from one of the houses and turned on the porch light. He had heard the familiar roar of the bear and apparently he and this bear have had a history. The man and the bear stared at one another momentarily until the man cocked his rifle and fired a shot into the air. With the sound of the gunshot, the bear growled and ran away into the darkness. I turned around to look at the man and I felt that I needed to express my gratitude. However, with just me all alone in the road, he stared at me with vengeance, cocked the rifle again, and fired yet another shot into the air. This time, it was I who ran away into the blackened void of Coleman Street.

Section: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8

Section VI Soundtrack Listing:

1. Lard Free
"Warinobaril" 3:52

Gilbert Artman's Lard Free

2. Queen
"We Will Rock You" 2:02

News Of The World

3. Œcianka
"Czerwone Kozaki" 7:51

Statek Kosmiczny

4. Oneida
"Major Havoc" 4:25

Come On Everybody Let's Rock

5. BEAK>
"Wulfstan II" 7:11


6. Abby Gogo
"Come On" 5:09

Abby Gogo

7. Lou Reed
"Walk on the Wild Side" 4:14


8. NoMeansNo
"Brother Rat / What Slayde Says" 9:07

The Day Everything Became Isolated and Destroyed

9. Black Pus 
"A Better Man" 9:38
All My Relations

10. Fever Ray
"If I Had A Heart" 3:50

Fever Ray

11. Cat's Eyes
"Sooner Or Later" 3:59

Cat's Eyes

12. Them
"It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" 3:52

Them Again

13. Don Edwards
"Coyotes" 4:28

Grizzly Man

14. Back Door
"Back Door" 3:46

Back Door

15. Fats Domino
"Walking to New Orleans" 2:01

A Lot of Dominos

16. Dumbo Gets Mad
"Tahiti Hungry Jungle" 3:53

Quantum Leap

17. Foghat
"Slow Ride" 8:15

Fool for the City

18. Cornershop
"Heavy Soup" 3:23

Handcream For A Generation

19. Echoboy
"Kit and Holly" 5:04

Volume One

20. The Nuns
"Walkin' the Beat" 2:59

The Nuns

21. The Kinks
"Here Come the People In Grey" 3:46

Muswell Hillbillies

22. Cabaret Voltaire
"Premonition" 5:11

The Voice of America

23. Gravediggaz
"Graveyard Chamber" 4:56

6 Feet Deep

24. Death From Above 1979
"Little Girl" 4:00

You're a Woman, I'm a Machine

25. Bardo Pond
"Flux" 9:07


26. Faster Pussycat
"House of Pain" 5:49

Wake Me When It's Over

27. Died Pretty
"From the Dark" 7:11

Every Brilliant Eye

28. Q65
"Bring It On Home" 13:46


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


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