The Origination of Death

"The Origination of Death"
and Other Short Stories

NC-17 SOUNDTRAXXX is being edited, revised, and published. The literature content is gradually being removed for publication or  being transferred to the upcoming site: MHQ HEADQUARTERS. The music countdowns, however, shall remain here.

In the meantime... our first actual book publication, a dystopian epic: The Mansion 

According to the plant and animal life on Earth, which eventually unfriends the human race amidst bold accusations coming from an oddly-shaped row of trees: the concepts of government, religion, and economics were fabricated by the same sources that devised such absurdity as Black Friday sales, fashionable bowling attire, expiration dates for vaginal lube, and marketing strategies to entice specifically targeted mayonnaise consumers … and these sources obviously did not originate on the Planet Earth. From Prohibition to the dystopian future plagued with revolution, animosity towards society, and farming hippos with growth hormones, characters such as Squirrel Abraham and Jimmers Waffles (raccoon) not only challenge the status quo, but also question the entire history that created it.

Compiling 30 Sections and 68 different themes and storylines, which explore topics ranging from concepts of customer service to victimless crimes to a town in West Virginia that repeatedly becomes a ghost town; and featuring guest appearances from the likes of seahorses, dragonflies, praying mantis, chickens, and raccoon, The Mansion chronicles the plight of the human race, where Primitive Man evolved into the species known as Homo Bowler, and set out to destroy the world in a quest for decorative plates, generic shoes, and non-dairy powdered creamer.

I.  No One Gets Out Alive
II.  Ground Zero
III. Shut t e Fuck Up Fat Boy and Make Your Own Sandwich
IV. Friends on Facebook
V. The Origination of Death
VI. The Pilgrims Vs. The Indians
VII. Distress Signal
VIII. Bam Santa Clause
IX. Homage to Thee Royal Family
X. Identification Crisis
XI. Mating Obsession
XII. Snow Storm in July

"Back before the invention of processed foods, the life expectancy of the average human was significantly lower than what it is now. Before there was ever such thing as high fructose corn syrup, entire villages populated primarily with teenagers and other youthful citizens were being wiped out completely by small-ass trivial piss-ant shit diseases such as malaria or small pox. 
Seriously, in 2014, name one single person who has malaria or small pox. Nobody on Earth has any of that stupid ass shit. 
Remember back before the inventions of growth hormones and other shit they use to jack up the weight of cows and chickens? People would actually die horrific deaths from stupid ass diseases that people these days do not even fret upon catching... such as Scarlet Fever or Rabies. Polio? Like 82% of the work force has that shit and nobody even cares. 
These days, if you catch the Leprosy or The Black Death Plague, you just swing by Walgreen's and pick up a pack of Advil, take it with a Cherry Coke, and get your fucking ass back to work and actually do something... LAZY ASS MOTHER FUCKER! Leprosy is something you catch when the pollen count is high... just take a quick swig of Lepros-ease and it's gone within the hour... you don't be sending mother fuckers to random islands in the Pacific where the only known cure is a visit from Jesus.
Hell, just the other day, I caught Cholera from eating an old greasy cheeseburger from infamous fast food chain The Black Pit of Hamburger Death. Did you hear me crying about it? Fuck no! I just stopped by the croaker's office on the North Side, took two Daytime CholeraBeGones, and went and got me a Frosty from Wendy's. Lunch was 30 minutes-- I was gone 31 minutes.
I truly believe that with the re-emergence of natural foods and various other "natural" products, mother fuckers will be dropping dead left and right all over the God damn place."

I.  No One Gets Out Alive

Elizabeth finished the document, printed it, and then walked to the next office to submit the information she had gathered to some average person who happened to have been appointed the prominent Chief of White Privileges even though he knew nothing of the subject matter. When she opened the door, it appeared he was asleep in his chair again… except there was no movement whatsoever. He wasn't breathing, there was no fluctuation in anything, and Elizabeth soon realized that this mother fucker was dead; him dropping face up on the floor was sort of a dead giveaway as well, being as he was lying on his back in an awkward position with that same creepy blank stare that all dead people have these days. 

Although startled, she was not necessarily traumatized by the sight of this dead person in her office. She did not know him that well and knew nothing of his lifestyle outside of the office. If it were not for the fact that the two of them worked together, she more than likely never would have even met him in the first place. He was not very good at his job and dealing with him was commonly considered a pain in the ass.

There was never any sort of chemistry between the two of them. They never engaged in any sort of conversation outside of official business. At times, she questioned why she had to deal with this person in the first place. 

It was growing even more frequent where she dreaded even having to discuss matters in his office. He was somewhat of an imbecile, and it never appeared as if he had a firm grasp on the responsibilities of his position, let alone showing genuine interest for any of the topics related to the official business.

Yet she began to feel saddened by the fact that she saw a dead person, that he was dead, that somewhere out there, somebody might actually grieve over this mysterious untimely death. Somebody had to have liked him… after all, he did have pictures of random white people in frames in various places scattered around his office.

"Was there any reason to fall in love with this person?" Elizabeth thought. She could not think of anything.  He was seriously that dull and she assumed that the only way any person could ever maintain a relationship with him was for the convenience factor.

But, she had seen a dead man, live and in person. For all she knew, she was the first person to have spotted the fresh cadaver in an unsuspecting place. It never occurred to her that George would be dead in his chair when she submitted the data they had discussed just an hour ago… the fact they had just spoken just an hour ago made the spectacle that more shocking.

"My God," she said out loud this time to nobody, "we were just talking to each other."

Regardless of the situation, the involvement of death supersedes all other elements that define any time period; it ranks #1 on all factors that cause misery. Becoming extremely ill, losing all of your money, having a car crash, the pipes burst causing a flood in the kitchen, having a limb removed, finding your spouse in bed with another person knowing a long grueling divorce is imminent… at least nobody died from this… should somebody die, that surpasses all other aspects of life that induce grief upon another human being… the only other one that comes close would be being gang raped in an alley, and some people actually fantasize about that.

Fuck it… you can find a new spouse. People may even joke about it.

“I’m having a really bad day, my Uncle Marty died today.”

Oh, I am sorry to hear that. One must be sensitive to that matter. It's hard to avoid saying: 

“Well fuck Uncle Marty...  you have other uncles I am sure.”

“My cat died.”

That sucks.

The degree of misery is measured by closeness of the subject.

There are some unfortunate deaths that can change or ruin lives. People do not even want to discuss these matters… do not even want to think of them.  If a child dies, that could drastically alter the lives of the parents who are expected to carry on for over 50 years… they will never forget. Something so natural, yet something so disturbing, one must lead a life with a certain degree of caution in order to merely survive. 

Death can happen at any time… as Elizabeth soon found out.

Just the mere sight of a dead body in her office disrupted everything she had been thinking about the entire day, and there were too many thought processes happening at once for her to keep track of all of them.

There was no way she could have resolved the cause of his death at that moment. She didn't do it… at least she hoped nobody assumed she did it. As she searched for somebody to inform of the fact that George was dead in his office, she could not help but rehearse how to relate the message in a manner that would not seem as if she were guilty of any wrongdoing.

Her brain was so addled that all she could come up with were cliches... such as:

"I went into his office and ol' George was in his chair stiff as a God damn board he was... mother fucker was dead as a door nail."

Who says this shit anyway? Yet anytime somebody dies, those are by far the top two descriptions of a corpse discovered at the work place. It's shocking that something this potentially traumatic is so often faced with two extremely common catch phrases.

She entered the security office to inform them of a death in the office building. However, all three people in the security office were lying dead on the ground. This time, Elizabeth nearly screamed.

Panic began to take precedent; four dead bodies was cause for alarm. Elizabeth ran to the nearest office, opened the door, and there was another dead man slouched over his desk. As she scurried down the hall, there was a dead woman lying on the floor. The break room was filled with dead people lying around the table. (Elizabeth did take a moment in the break room to pour herself a cup of coffee-- someone had just made it and no matter the circumstances, it is nearly impossible to resist a pot of freshly brewed coffee.)

She ran out of the building and noticed that every single person in the office building was mysteriously dead… except her. There were dead bodies everywhere… in the elevators, the parking garage, piled up in the restroom, and nobody knew the cause of it.

It was difficult for her to eat that night.

“What the fuck's the matter with you?” asked her boyfriend.

Elizabeth explained how everybody in the office had died; it was difficult for her to retract the tears. She felt afraid… why was she spared? What caused all of this? She even thought about the future of her employment, job security… will the rent be paid?

Then, she spoke of how horrible it must be for their families.

Her boyfriend nearly started laughing out loud at her and found it difficult to conceal the smiles; had to constantly keep his hand over his mouth pretending as if he were wiping his face with a napkin so she wouldn't notice him laughing. He abruptly left her alone to grieve in peace while he darted outside and laughed uncontrollably on the sidewalk.

II.  Ground Zero

I knew that once I cleared the trees, that would forever alter everything. There would be no turning back. On this day, I felt certain that I could do it.

Ever since I was a child, I had dreams of flying. It is my most pleasant dream; my most recurring dream; my ultimate ambition. Flying represents total freedom; thus also representing complete removal from all restrictions that only put limitations on spiritual growth.

The people on the ground say it can’t be done. Fuck ‘em, what do they know? They have never been supportive of anything.

Maybe it’s just the mentality of those residing on the ground. Once you get up in the air, there is an entire different way of thinking. Nobody tells you that you cannot accomplish anything. Up there, restrictions do not even exist. Anything is capable of everything. And once The Universe is altered forever, it could even change the mentality of the ground for good.

Owls. You rarely see owls on the ground.

Some birds touch the ground. There are constantly insects on the ground. When they are on the ground, they are plagued by the negative assessment that they may never soar up above again.

Once in the sky, it is a completely different discussion. Birds perched on a telephone wire discuss complicated matters in an atypical fashion than how those pigeons walking on the sidewalk. Doubt resides on the sidewalk, but never in the air.

I knew that once I made it above the trees that nobody would dare tell me that it couldn’t be done. For that matter, there was nothing that could never be achieved.

It was time to try it—as I had been plotting this for a long time.

I ran across the field as fast as I could. Once I reached the chain link fence, I hastily jumped into the fence, sprung to the right side, and then back again so that I had grasped the top rung of the fence facing backwards… facing that direction enabled me to flip onto the roof and land in the forward direction without wasting any motion. From the roof, I ran to top of the slanted shingled structure, leaped from the vertex, and caught the telephone wire that was stretched across the field. The spring from the wire propelled me upwards as I shot into the air up to the next wire. In a standing position, I jumped on the wire once, twice, and even a third time to give myself even more momentum as I soared higher with each spring from the wire. 

And with the fourth bounce from the wire…

Up and over the trees!

Finally, nobody told me that anything could not be done. Up here, there was encouragement. Up here, all things were possible. Up here, the uncertainties once considered unlikely was now deemed commonplace occurrence.

Admittedly, it was scary at first. I suppose if I had of thought about the dangers at hand while springing myself from the electrical wire, I may not have even developed the courage to go through with it. But once I cleared the trees, and was that high off the ground completely unattached to anything, there was no turning back.

Immediately after clearing the trees, I started to descend rapidly to the ground. This fall might have killed me had I have gone through with it. But, the ground people weren’t up here. There was no reason for me to listen to any of their ways.

Almost instinctively, I soared back upwards to the sky. I could fly. I don’t know how I did it or what techniques I used… I just stretched my arms and flew. I could maneuver however I needed in whatever direction I wished to go.

As should be expected, there were a few novice awkward moments where I wasn’t positive I was doing something right. But that high in the sky, there’s no choice but to learn quickly.

The first several minutes, I was uncertain what limitations my newly found flight had. I was not sure how long I could stay in the air. I was unsure just how high I could go. Furthermore, there was the perception of others that needed to be considered. Me flying above everybody would certainly cause an uproar—and for all I knew, it did.

Paths should be followed—what if this isn’t happening? What if this stops? I should stay in sight just in case I needed to fall on something soft.

No paths need ever be followed. Ever again.

A ground person told me to come down. They were large groups of them staring at me. The government might actually shoot me down if I refuse to cooperate.

That’s the mentality of the ground people. The ground got me nowhere.

Up here, there are no limitations.

Soon I realized this and soared even higher to boundaries rarely explored by mechanical devices that man assumed was needed to soar this high.  I was higher than the tallest buildings, the highest trees, the largest mountains. From afar, I may have just been a blip in the air. We no longer have any restrictions whatsoever—we do not even need this so-called atmosphere. Nobody up here claims it can’t be done.

I really don’t have to return to the ground.

It’s highly unlikely that I will ever touch ground again.

III.  Shut the Fuck Up Fat Boy and Make Your Own Sandwich

“Cool story babe,” said the fat boy, “now go fix me a sandwich.” The fat loser thought this was funny.

Obesity and stupidity are both hereditary. If a man is too lazy to even prepare his own food that means that he is fat and stupid just like his father.

Yet, he had the nerve to insult his own mother… and everybody else’s mother. Unfortunately, his untimely comment insulted the wrong mother.

“Shut the fuck up fat boy! Make your own fucking sandwich!”

The fat boy turned around angrily as if nobody had the right to speak to him in that manner. His fat douchy father had taught him that men have the right to dictate women, to dominate, to command—as if it were his world. And it was… and the world sucked.

The world would probably be a better place if voting rights had been denied to fat boys instead of women, after all, name one intelligent fat boy. Albert Einstein would never be seen walking around town in a T-shirt that degraded his mother.

He started to say something, but the slap bashed him across the mouth before he had the chance to mumble any sort of wretched stupidity.

“You’re obviously the one with the fucking eating disorder—and you’re dependent on others to make your food for you? You think somebody needs to “feed you” because you’re too stupid to feed yourself? And you think the ones who are responsible to feed your fat miserable wretched ass are women? When you bring nothing to the world except a fat grotesque appearance and pure stupidity? Fuck you!”

He was slapped across the face again.

His voting rights should have been revoked. The fat miserable slob, and all of those just like him, had only two concerns—war and the economy. Fuck yea! The economy! Mother fucker! I was in the fucking military. A marine!

And you’re a fat miserable douche who accomplished nothing in this world. They definitely never should have held any positions of power. For that matter, they should have all been executed long ago.

They were the original village idiots—not the vegetarian as another saying he likened proclaimed. It takes significantly more skill, mental strategy, and manual dexterity to cultivate crops than it does to hunt or fish. Hunters and fishermen are lazy village idiots who only obtained their food by some sort of sloth behavior such as lazily setting a trap or tossing a pole into a stream—recreation activities. The lazy bums depended on others to cook the food for them. These village idiots went to great unethical methods to obtain the power they coveted. They depended on a government to validate their laziness and utilized cruel tactics to child bearing women to gain dominance. Losers, they were… and it finally backfired.

“If he can't prepare your own sandwich, then the fat boy doesn't deserve to eat.”

He was struck again. And again.

“Knock all of his fucking teeth out—the fat boy doesn't deserve to eat.”

She bashed him in the mouth with a pipe wrench. Once he dropped to the ground, he was struck repeatedly in the mouth with a pipe wrench as she aimed for the teeth. With each crucial blow to the mouth, his teeth were broken or knocked completely out of his bloody gums. He tried to protect his mouth, but she clutched him by the back of the hair and bashed his ugly face into the wooden planks of fence, knocking out several more of his teeth. While he laid there bleeding, a sign was uprooted and used to pound in the rest of his teeth.

Hopefully the fat fuck can learn how to microwave soup on his own since the fat piece of shit can’t make his own sandwich. He might as well have entered public in a KKK uniform.

IV.  Friends on Facebook

Adam ran into Paul at a convenient store... the two knew each other in high school but had no seen each since—that was over 20 years ago. Seeing the two, they looked radically different from one another.

6 months later.

“The most extreme difference I’ve ever seen from a high school friend,” Adam related to a large group of people who were discussing the topic of high school friends, “was my friend Paul. In high school he seemed somewhat normal, but when I saw him at the store, total straight up fucking hillbilly. He was wearing overalls and working on a farm pasteurizing buttermilk.”

Back at the store

“Paul Redford?”

Paul turned around but did not recognize the person speaking.

“It’s me, Adam Haywood.”

“Adam Haywood? Adam Haywood… from Rockville High?”

“Yeah man, what the fuck is up?”

“Oh nothing… just workin’ up at the dairy plant pasteurizing buttermilk.”

“All right. Well I left town for a bit. I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Yeah, it’s been awhile.”

Adam was dressed business casual… the two looked radically different. As they were leaving, Paul insisted he had to get these cows over to the plant to start working on the buttermilk. Adam declared that he should friend him on Facebook.

“Facebook?” Not trying to sound stupid, Paul laughed and said OK.

6 months later.

“Yea, so he friended me on Facebook and it’s really weird. Here, I’ll show you.”

Adam pulled up his Facebook page and showed them the picture… “that’s him now.”

“Aww look,” joked one of the women present, “you’re his only friend. That’s sweet.”

“I’ve never seen anybody to only have one friend.”

“Yea, it gets even more weird,” concluded Adam, “he was stalking me for a while leaving really bizarre comments.”

6 months earlier.

“I saw ol’ Adam Haywood up yonder at the store. Hell, guess he’s doing good. Told me to friend on Facebook… what the fuck is that shit anyway?”

They were at a family gathering to watch the Daytona 500 and Paul’s niece decided to show him what Facebook was. They created him an account, a profile, she snapped his picture, and just like that, Paul Redford had a Facebook account.

Once he was logged on, they conducted a search for Adam Haywood and found him.

“That’s him.”

They added him as a friend and within moments the two friends were united.

Amanda showed him everything on his page. They viewed all of Adam’s pictures, at one point giggling because Adam had a photo of himself wearing a shirt that Paul owned as well. As Amanda scrolled down, Paul read all of his posts. There were a few incidents in which he wished to leave a response and Amanda wrote all the comments on several posts.

However, Paul soon grew tired of this non-sense and went into the living room to watch the rest of the race. He forgot all about until a few weeks later when he happened to see his niece again and her laptop  was still opened to his page. He perused briefly and left several more comments… many of them irrelevant to anything.

To Paul, Facebook was something that Adam had developed. He had no idea that millions of other people were also on Facebook and assumed that this was Adam’s personal website. Paul also left several compliments and said that it seemed that he was doing really well and glad to hear that everything in his life was wonderful… in a post in which Adam had gone on a tirade about the political philosophies of Chick-Fil-A.

After that, Paul completely forgot about Facebook and never went on there ever again. Hell, he was 60 hours a week pasteurizing buttermilk and the rest of the time was spent drinking Busch beer with the guys at the plant.

6 months later

Adam showed the group the comments and they all found them extremely bizarre. Most of them cracked assumptions that Paul was probably a serial killer and possibly dangerous. They warned Adam that he should be cautious of this person.

Two months after that warning, they met again at the same convenient store… this time wearing the exact same shit—the one in the picture.

When Paul saw it he laughed… “there’s that shirt. I saw that in the picture—got the same one.”

Adam panicked. He assumed Paul had been stalking him and was now trying to dress like him.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” Adam declared in a state of fright and ran out the door.

V.  The Origination of Death

I walked up the street, footsteps perfectly timed with the rhythm of the music. Or so it seemed—it was late and I was stoned again. The pot usage had cured the ailments bothering me, but perhaps it was too good… it reached the point where I’d rather get stoned by myself than deal with anybody. It would just be a phase though… soon enough I would be back to my old social self.

Footsteps walked beside me. It was 2 in the morning on a busy heavily traveled street and suddenly I found myself walking side-by-side with the Grim Reaper… DEATH.

Although this street is filled with traffic in the daytime, at this time of night, it was eerily silent as Death and I walked beside one another.

The Grim Reaper cannot be real. Death is but a fabricated concept that is not natural… or only comes naturally when the time is ready. I did not feel that my time was yet. I did not take Death walking beside me seriously for I figured it was but a figment of my own imagination. After all, I was stoned and this is what stoned people do.

Therefore, I created another illusion… a group of thugs from the mafia standing on the sidewalk. They stopped Death… and as I kept walking I could hear the screams of The Grim Reaper getting beat down on the sidewalk by the goons from the mob squad.

Very shortly after that, I was once again reunited with The Grim Reaper as he/she/it walked beside me stride for stride.

Death is real. Death is very real. And it can happen at any moment. There is no figment of your imagination that can prevent death when the cycle draws your name.

As we walked, Death strayed away from me and entered the house on the right. The upstairs light went out and I was once again joined by The Grim Reaper.

Still, The Grim Reaper say not one word to me.

Death crossed the street and entered another home. Screams were heard from the upstairs window as the natural path of The Grim Reaper claimed another life.

And once, we walked side-by-side.

It was Death who spoke first. “I come in three’s you know. Two down, one to go. It might be you, it might not. Don’t really want you right now… would prefer to have someone else you know. You just don’t do it for me. But, you know… the whole law of 3’s. That street up there… they call it Coleman. When we reach that street, that might be your time. But if a car happens to pass us by… there will be a car accident.”

Death stopped talking. I did not answer.

While I didn’t wish anybody to die, I naturally slowed down my pace to prolong the voyage to the street called Coleman. It wasn’t anything I could help, but I hoped a car would pass… I prayed one wouldn’t pass so that I could spare somebody’s life. That street called Coleman was approaching faster than I had hoped. 

There was a car way up in the distance.

I suppose I should be granted one last dying wish. So, I asked Death a question… one that might possibly save me… save us all. “How long after the formation of The Universe did you arrive? When were you formed?”

Death did not answer, simply looked at me as I slowed down but kept walking awaiting my fate.

“Because,” I concluded, “if you were formed too quickly, The Universe would have abruptly come to an end. That being said, I have no determination as to whether or not you are a natural entity or whether you are a diabolical maniac.”

Death still did not answer. We reached Coleman just before the oncoming car reached Coleman… technically, it was to be I who rounded out the perfect trifecta.

“Oh well,” declared Death as the car passed us by safely without losing control and exploding, “looks it is either you or this thing.”  And Death disappeared.

I looked up and saw what he meant by “this thing”—a huge grizzly bear racing across the street. There are no grizzly bears in this part of the world. It looked angry and raced towards me. I quickly ran across the parking lot of the closed gas station and climbed on top of the trash can.

The grizzly bear roared and tried to attack. It swatted at my legs as I attempted to evade  its’ methods of attack. As it attempted to bite my foot, only gnawing on the boot that I was thankful I decided to wear, I climbed all the way to the top of the Shell gas pumps. I feared for my life, I screamed, yelled, as a random wild grizzly bear mysteriously showed up right here in the city and tried to attack me at the Shell gas station just past the street they call Coleman. The bear was trying to climb the gas pump to reach me, but was struggling to do so.

As the grizzly bear was attempting to gain its reach on me, and as I was attempting to elude certain death by means of being impaled by a Northern Alaskan Grizzly Bear thousands of miles away from Alaska, a police officer raced into the parking lot with its sirens blaring and lights flashing.

“Freeze! And put your hands up,” the cop ordered to both me and the grizzly bear… and both of us stopped and put our hands up.

The Grim Reaper reappeared in the parking lot with a gun and shot the police officer several times in chest… the cop lie dead with blood oozing from his chest while the cruiser lights continued to flash red.

After shooting the cop, The Grim Reaper tossed me the murder weapon and vanished. I wanted no part of this murder weapon as I juggled it trying everything in my power to relinquish any fingerprints or anything that might indicate it was I who shot the police officer. As I juggled it, I tossed it over towards the grizzly bear… who also juggled and seemingly tried to wipe away any fingerprints with its fur.

The gun was flung into the air and then finally dropped to the ground… firing one loud shot upon impact with the pavement. As soon as it fired, the bear ran in one direction, the human in the other.

Police are baffled by the crime.  There is a dead police officer in a gas station parking lot and the only evidence is an unidentifiable handgun last touched by an unknown grizzly bear. If you know of anything, please call the hotline.

The mystery was never solved. Many people were questioned, but there was no motive, no trace of foul play, and nothing that could be traced back to that gun, the bear, or the stoned pedestrian who was never seen again.

As time passed, an investigation was conducted on that gun. This was not a gun sold in any stores. There was no match. No title. No deed. No license of ownership.

A group of scientists conducted a study on that gun. They believe that the elements contained within are dated to be 26.87 billion years old… approximately 10 billion years older than what they originally presumed was the most accurate age for the beginning of The Universe.

VI.  The Pilgrims Vs. The Indians

Surprise—surprise! Fucking Jim Sherman is drunk again. This time the fucker got drunk in the middle of the afternoon and passed out in the park. They found him laid out across the bleachers in front of the baseball diamond.

A coach for one of the teams woke him up and ordered him to leave.

“Fuck you!” said Jim barely awake, barely sober, barely sure where he even was, still reeking of cheap high gravity beer, “I got a right to fucking be here.”

It was like Jim to immediately become hostile. He was nothing but a piece of shit drunk homeless bum and nobody wanted him anywhere. Jim wasn’t even welcome where he purchased those 40 ounce bottles of Hurricane that left him in this condition at 4:00 in the afternoon… he stood out in front of that establishment harassing the customers to give him change in order to feed his alcoholism. Simply put, homeless turd Jim Sherman did not have one redeeming decent quality.

If somebody would have shot Jim right then and there, nobody would have cared.

“I’m watching the fucking game! What the fuck do you think I’m doing?”

“Then don’t be sleeping on the bleachers… we’re scheduled to be here today. And don’t bother anybody.” 
The coach shouted his commands and was prepared to call the police. Several people in the stands were prepared to call the police.

“I ain’t bothering nobody!”

A woman in the stand—one of the boy’s moms asked if she should telephone the police. “Hopefully that won’t need to happen,” the coach said.

Jim received a rude awakening to say the least. One minute he was passed out drunk sound asleep, the next moment he was surrounded by a bunch of kids and their families in the area he was sleeping. Perhaps both had a right to be there, it was public property; it was a public event… rules were made accordingly.

In general, Jim did not give a flying fuck about baseball—let alone Little League Baseball with all these God damn kids running around here acting like idiots. He was bound and determined to sit through some of this game to prove a point… all the while wishing hateful things upon the coach who awakened him.

The Pilgrims batted in the top of the first. They were on the other side as homeless drunk Jim was seated on the side rooting for The Indians. It was a blowout as The Indians couldn’t pitch, catch, throw… they couldn’t do shit. After the bottom of the 1st inning, it was already 11-0.

Jim was heard grumbling, “hell, these kids fucking suck! They can’t do anything. Talking about me.”

He mumbled a few more incoherent statements until finally one of the mothers gave him a death stare and he shut the fuck up.

After watching the onslaught that took place in the top of the first, homeless Jim prepared himself to leave this shithole of a baseball game and do something more useful with his time—which consisted of bumming more change for more 40 ounce bottles of shitty beer. But, he was still pissed at the coach and opted to watch the rest of the inning.

They tried, they really did, and mustered 2 runs of their own. The effort was there as they continued to encourage one another. However, it was obvious the other team was bigger stronger faster and more athletic. Furthermore, they led 11-2 after the first inning and was coming up to bat again.

Before the game, Jim Sherman was so drunk that he could barely walk. He stumbled into the park, and could not even remain conscious long enough to walk through the trail up to a more secluded area. At the time, there was nobody around and he simply passed out on the bleachers. After being woken up with an abrupt adrenaline surge of confronted hostility, the rush faded and Jim Sherman suddenly found himself tired and still extremely drunk.

That said, he had no choice but to sit there and sober up a bit because he was not even sure if he could even walk straight as of yet.

The Pilgrims stepped up to the plate again and this time around the first kid hit a fly ball that was surprisingly caught by a kid who generally drops the ball. His parents were so proud of him that they stood up and gave him a standing ovation.

However, The Indians defensive woes continued as The Pilgrims continued to pour it on. They scored two more runs and had the bases loaded for the best hitter in all of little league. He hit a line shot down the 3rd base line. The 3rd basemen dove for it, somehow caught it, tagged third, and threw out the kid at home who was attempting to run back to third for some unknown reason. Despite the awesome defense to finish the inning though, the damage had been done and The Pilgrims were now up 13-2.

Homeless Jim had started to doze off in an upright nodding seated position until he was woke up by the roar of the fans after the dazzling catch. Jim had forgotten about the hostile confrontation, forgotten where he was, and pretended as if he knew what was going on and acted as if he were clapping too.

He soon realized that he was in the middle of a crowd of Little League parents and needed to be on his best behavior or else they were calling the police. Therefore, he made it seem as if he were actually watching the game and shouted, in a drunken voice, “yea! Helluva a play kid. God damn! God damn good play.”

Fucker didn’t even see it. The crowd looked back at Jim and made jokes to themselves. It became a spectacle that some drunken homeless man was in the crowd now mumbling things.

The kid who made the dazzling play at 3rd base was due up first and beat out a grounder to begin the inning with a single. It was a controversial call at first as the opposing coach assumed he was out. The next kid hit one to the wall and the 3rd basement rounded third and headed home. The throw to the plate was on time, but the runner beat the tag… the umpire called him safe.

This made the score 13-3.

Despite the still blowout, the coach for The Pilgrims held a conference with the umpire anyway. A couple of the parents booed the coach’s actions. Heck, just them play. Finally, after a heated confrontation with the umpire, he returned to the dugout. It was an action filled inning and The Indians actually scored 3 more runs, making the score 13-6.

Seven is considered a high score, and this was considered a way high scoring game.

Jim was gradually beginning to sober up but was still too tired to actually leave. Some of these moms were fairly attractive and at least there was that going on at the time. However, he knew that he needed to appear alert or else the cops would come and take him off to jail—which meant that he wouldn’t be able to drink any beer for at least a few nights. He got up and walked over to the fountain to take a drink of water. On his way back to the bleachers, he said something stupid and meaningless to a little girl. The mother of the girl grabbed her hand and pulled her away from drunk ass stupid mother fucker Jim.

It would appear as if the game was over, but The Pilgrims continued to put people on base. In fact, after an errant throw by the 2nd baseman, The Pilgrims scored yet another run. The Indians changed pitchers and the new kid did much better… getting out the final two batters back-to-back. In the middle of the 3rd, The Pilgrims now led 14-6.

Most of the spectators were discussing what the record amount for runs scored in a game was. Only a certain few of them had ever seen an instance in which a team had scored 14 runs in a single game. The topic of discussion was whether or not The Pilgrims could break the record… or at least score 20 runs. None of them had ever seen a team score 20 in a game.

However, this was rumors that The Pilgrims would stop trying in order to be considered good sports and not run the score up on The Indians.

But, that soon faded as The Indians mysteriously found a nasty streak of offense of their own. In general, The Indians were not an offensive powerhouse and no kid on the team was capable of hitting the ball over the fence. However, for this one half of the inning, they kept  finding the little gaps in the field and singled and doubled their way to 3 runs that inning. The score was now 14-9 which could be considered that they were making a game out of it. They could potentially score 5 runs in the last two innings, but they would have to prevent The Pilgrims from scoring any more runs.

That was quickly dejected as the first kid up for The Pilgrims blasted a home run over the fence. This   proved which team had the most power, the best hitters, and talks once again turned as to whether or not The Pilgrims could score 20 runs in one game. After the home run, they did score another one which made the score 16-9… they left a couple on base too.

In this particular Little League, the games consisted of 5 innings. This meant that The Pilgrims would need to score 4 runs in the last inning to break 20. Four runs is hard to do in an inning, but being as they already had 16, and were averaging four runs an inning, there was hope.

As if four runs was the magic number they were all waiting for, The Indians did generate four runs in the bottom of the 4th. That was a lot of Four Coincidences. Nonetheless, the score was now 16-13.

This was considered an exciting game at this point. Furthermore, four was the magic number. If The Pilgrims scored 4 runs, they would break 20, which may or may not have ever been done before. If The Indians could somehow hold them, and then somehow score 4 runs of their own, they would come back and win the game. That would be impossible as most people assumed that there was a better shot of seeing The Pilgrims break 20.

Fans over there on the other side were getting noisy as they anticipated seeing their lovely children demolish this little team and break the record of scoring 20 runs in a game. Some of the fans for The Indians were getting a bit annoyed with the parents of The Pilgrims.

Homeless Jim Sherman was sitting in the bleachers with the parents of The Indians. He had become somewhat coherent at this point had watched the last inning moderately attentively. There was still a debate raging in his head as to whether or not he should leave to go buy another 40, go somewhere and sleep, or… hell, he doesn’t fucking know what the fuck he’s doing half the time.

He just stared out there into the field. What had become of him? Once upon a time he was a child—what happened? It seemed as if there was a time where he could have been on this field… and once upon a time he was. Jim once participated in a game of baseball. He sucked. His team got blown away and it wasn’t even close. Jim just gave up and went and did something else.

And everything else he did sucked too. He was beginning to get agitated sitting on those bleachers thinking about all of the bullshit that had happened in his life. Couldn’t somebody just help him out with 39 cents to make everything better.

Jim had completely lost concern for his own appearance and the way he conducted himself in public. He hated everybody… and everybody hated him. The fucker didn’t listen. He had poor social skills. And because he never listened to anybody or properly observed his surroundings, he never said anything interesting. All he cared about was getting drunk enough to make up poor excuses for his shitty well-being in a meaningless existence that needed to hurry up and end.

Due to the fact that he was still fairly drunk but needed to pretend to be sober, Jim did manage to sit in a crowd of people without creating a nuisance and had been relatively quiet.

Then the crowd got loud. The Pilgrims came up to the plate, and jacked up more offense. They had scored 3 runs with only one out. Sitting at 19 runs, The Pilgrims had a runner on second and nearing the heart of their order.

The kid batting was a slugger and easily the biggest kid in the school; the pitcher was a bit intimidated by his presence, but had a sly little curve ball as well. He threw that curve ball and the kid swung at it so hard it was as if he wanted to crush into 50,000 tiny pieces. (change that to something better) The bat slipped out of his hand and soared into the outfield hitting one of the kids in the leg as strike 3 was called. Coaches rushed out to the field to ensure the kid who was struck with the bat was fine. Just a bruise… he will be fine.

Another kid got on base. Runners on first and third, 19 runs, 2 outs. The crowd really desperately wanted to see 20. The pitch, the hit, the fielder ran it down… and caught it. No 20 runs this game.

Oh well, they almost did it.

Many of the parents began to pack up their belongings as it was getting late. The parents of The Pilgrims congratulated each other on another fine victory. 19-13 was still a great game.

The first two batters for The Indians struck out. At that point many of the parents began gathering their items and discussed what to have for dinner. A few still had interest… particularly Kimberly Meadows, whose son was up to bat. She sat closest in proximity to Jim Sherman who actually seemed to be watching the game.

Randy Meadows hit the ball over the 3rd baseman’s head and ran to first base.

A few more batters reached base and the team was still being noisy—cheering each other on. One of them scored a run and they still cheered for each other. The kid was greeted with high-fives in the dugout.

Most of the parents were standing up talking to other parents about events not involving this game.

More shouting was heard as they scored another run.

Parents of The Pilgrims were loading up the car awaiting the game to be over. Some had talked to the other parents of The Indians.

Who the heck is that guy?

Some homeless guy. I think he’s drunk.

Jim Sherman actually looked interested in the game.

All right, we about ready to go.

It was mysteriously now 19-17. A hit scored yet another run. More cheers, more shouting. Suddenly, everybody had to stop and pay attention.

The bases were loaded, two outs, the score was 19-18.

Parents who thought they were leaving were now gazing in awe standing at the fence. They were in disbelief as to how this happened. Most didn’t even pay attention.

The littlest kid from both teams was up to bat and he hit a sharp grounder that shot past the diving shortstops reach. The first run scored easily as it would be at least a tie game of 19-19.

They waved the kid around third… the outfielder’s throw wasn’t even close and run #20 was scored easily. It was a remarkable come-from-behind victory as all the kids from The Indian’s bench rushed out onto the field and piled up on top of each other in celebration.

The loudest cheer of all was heard from The Indian’s bleachers, from one drunken homeless guy, Jim Sherman.

“These kids hung tough,” he said out loud in a state of excitement, “they never gave up.”

He watched the kids celebrating at home plate with a smile… there were a lot of questions that needed answered. Those kids hung tough, why couldn't he?

VII.  Distress Signal

We received an unusual distress signal from a planet we were uncertain even had life. It was a difficult planet to even locate, and even more troubling was how received this bizarre distress signal in the first place.

There was no life on any of the neighboring planets and we grew increasingly suspicious as to whether or not we had received this signal in error. But, there did appear to be life on this planet, so we landed our cruiser, gathered our tools, and set forth to resolve the issue.

Everything was illuminated with a glowing mixture of red and purple lights. The plants did have a lively green pigment and seemed to be prospering in this particular atmosphere.

Our tracking device led us down a path near a stream in a loose batch of forestry. This was not a thick forest at all as it was easy to maneuver through the paths down by the stream.

As we walked, we did not see any life forms that would constitute as an animal being or what would be considered intelligent life forms with mobility. The landscape was mainly trees, grass, and various other plants growing from the ground soil of the planet. There was a stream flowing which indicated that this was a planet that could possibly be inhabited by the type of life forms that require water for survival. (This is the category that life on Earth is in.)

The sounds of the forest were mystical and extremely bizarre. There was something unsettling about this area as fear was beginning to resonate with the both of us. We followed the tracking device in search for whatever it was that sent this strange distress signal as we hoped to resolve this matter quickly and leave.

There were some strange creatures across the flowing stream. They may have seen us as they observed, but it was difficult to fathom whether or not they clearly spotted us.

They did see us and they stopped and watched. However, they seemed unwilling to cross the stream.
We continued upwards following the signal. There was a series of extremely unusual trees in one isolated patch of this forest. While all of the other trees was covered with the rough bark most commonly found in water residual planets, these trees had elegantly smooth surfaces. The first one we spotted we actually stopped and observed it, rubbing our hands along its surface. Then we saw the second one, and then there was an entire patch.

The noises grew louder as the natives across the stream appeared to be growing more concerned… they were deemed a threat though.

There was something on our side of the stream though.

The branches of the smooth trees began to sway. Some of them had fallen. There was something very unusual about these trees, to the point that we feared them. Were they an object of beauty? Or were they parasites that destroyed other plant life. These things kill one another. But they seemed to be telling us something as the signal grew stronger.

A terrestrial being approached. It had a red and white phantom clown looking face with odd colored eyes—they had no arms. They, meaning, there was more of them. We suddenly found ourselves in the midst of several of these scary looking alien creatures.

This was when the signal grew intensely strong. However, it wasn’t any of the alien beings that sent the signal. It was coming from above—it was these trees. The trees were trying to tell us something. And that’s when we spotted it:  one of the trees, the biggest one of the entire patch, was trapped in-between to fences. Something had built a fence, a new fence, but never completely tore down the old fence. It was simply a tree trapped in-between a “man-made” (or whatever these things were) device and was dying. This particular tree was turning black near its base and was enduring a slow painful death.

We had to save the tree as it was peculiar how this thing was capable of sending a distress signal across the universe. These strange beings represented the opposition. But we had more company as some other form of life was crawling on the ground—about the size of dog or gila monster. These seemed a bit more aggressive as they seemed to want to bite us (the other life forms watched creepily).

I kicked at one of the crawling creatures and tried to ward it off—we were joined by another one. There were now several creatures with the phantom faces and an array of natives across the stream. My partner removed the cutters from the tool box and began cutting the fence wires that were taking the life from this tree.

The alien creatures went into disarray as the fence was being cut. We had to constantly swat at the crawling creatures as it continued to bite and assault us. Fortunately, it was slow moving and not very graceful—although it was powerful. The red faced phantoms had no arms and it appeared no way of attacking—even though they were extremely frightening.

We finally freed the tree and rushed to escape. One of the crawling creatures chased after us, caught us, and tried to eat us. It was a struggle, but we were able to fight  it off without killing it. We returned to our vessel and left abruptly without saying goodbye. Those creatures we had no desire to even meet.

VIII.  Bam Santa Clause

Fishing in the pits of Hell, it was a clear cut case of bam Santa Clause. There the fat bastard burned… having been dubbed the Ultimate False Prophet, the fucker will burn for eternity.

Meanwhile, up above in the real world, Santa continued to struggle. The corporate big wigs didn’t want to pay Santa any benefits for just a part time job, nor a decent living wage—just shitty minimum wage. Next  thing you know, Santa couldn’t speak a lick of English and nobody knew if he was Mexican or Indian or Japanese. This is why we dial one to hear our options in English… and most Americans have no idea what the fuck the rest of the message implies.

Labor Day… that’s fucking where it’s at. We can start something new. We fucked up with Santa Clause, with Christmas, with Christ our savior, our Black Friday savior, our corporate office.

This is clearly an open and shut case of Bam Santa Clause, as it has been clearly defined in your handbook: Page 112 Section 247-A.

“Well,” said Santa to one news reporter, “haters are gonna be hatin’.”

That much is for certain. That’s the one definite in this life. The one thing that is for sure: Haters Gonna Be Hatin’.

You can print that in any paper—and most of them have. Just like the catch phrase, “sky’s the limit,” haters gonna be hatin. It’s the new wave of journalism—just a bunch of stupid catch phrases and quotes from Twitter as tweeted by random white people who have no clue what is actually taking place.

But playa hatin’ might have been the demise of Santa Clause after all.

“Fuck that mother fucker,” said Daryl Adams, a 7 year old from Dorcester, Iowa.

Apparently young Mr. Adams was fed up with the antics of Santa Clause refused to partake in any Santa related events.

“You better be good,” some of the adults warned, “you better watch that language, or else Santa Clause ain’t bringing you shit for Christmas.”

“Fuck Santa Clause! Tell that fat sack of shit I don’t want anything for Christmas.”

Daryl wrote Santa a letter:

Dear Santa,

Why you gotta be hatin’ all the time?

He sat on Santa’s lap at the mall:

Yeah man, just don’t bring me shit. If all you gonna be doin’ is player hating, then I don’t want shit from you.
Presents and shit are cool and all, but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna kiss somebody’s ass for some mother fucking toys… especially some fat fuck at the mall with a red suit. Just keep your fucking presents—HATER!

It’s like the ultimate level of conformity. Every year, they try to bribe you into behaving like a fat white guy by bribing you with rewards. They start this shit as a child with intentions that they can groom you into yet another complacent fat white guy.

You should have known that Christmas was going to be all about playa hating—look what they did to Jesus. You see Jesus up there nailed to a cross and that’s the ultimate display of playa hating in the entire history. Like, why you gotta be hatin’ on Jesus.

Now it’s his birthday, and they still be hatin’.

You think Jesus would  be all actin’ like a fat white guy? Like Jesus needs to promoting sales at the store so the corporate guys be getting rich? Jesus wouldn’t be doing none of that.

“Yo,” said the CEO of the most major corporation ever, “why you gotta be hatin’? Yea, mother fucker, I’m rich. I’m rich as fuck—and you—you just be hating on me cuz I’m rich. “

Santa ain’t rich. Shit, this nigger’s unemployed. Why don’t you go ask fucking Santa?

And so we called the official call center and asked Santa over the telephone:

And Santa replied:

Jā rihā pakha nafarata karana dī.”

IX.  Homage to Thee Royal Family

If I ever met the queen of England, I’d slap that bitch right in her stupid looking face.

“Yea, but she’s a good queen… done a lot of good things.”

No. She still believes there is such thing as a royal family and her stupid ass is part of it. The queen was never even an actual part of the royal family—she simply was complacent enough to appeal to biggest douche on Earth—The King. Homage to The King!

The so-called royal family is a long line of royal idiots who despite an infamous history have produced minimal useful contributions to modern society. Their contributions have been the burdens of stupid laws, tyranny, oppression, and war. Homage to The King!

They have invaded every nation on Earth and forced them to succumb to their ridiculous laws. In fact, their laws are so ridiculous that it requires force in order for people to listen to them—a militia of tyrants is absolutely necessary in order for people to obey. Homage to The King!

Corrupt politicians originated with the first king. Who crowned this loser king anyway? All kings have been losers. All members of the royal family have been losers. The current staff consists entirely of losers. The royal palace must be burned to the ground—evacuated then excavated. Make that bitch get a job like everybody else. The queen has done nothing her entire loser—nor has that loser prince—nor has that loser child they just spawned. A king is born? No.

There was never any respect paid to the queen. Most of them met a fate that was downright cruel and inhumane. One tyrannical loser order his own wife to be murder by means of chopping off her hear… just because she gave birth to a girl. Homage to The King!

Imagine how that must have felt. That was somebody’s daughter. The king murdered my daughter… chopped off her head publicly. A murderer. The brutality of this act is far more ruthless and unethical than any crime ever committed by an Islamic terrorist. All complacent conformists paid homage to the king while a man watched his daughter be unjustly executed.

Losing a child is the most grueling painful atrocity one could ever experience. The father of the beheaded woman had every right to burn the castle back then. We the people still have the right to do so now. In the name of tyranny and oppression we are no longer willing to withstand, the castle has been burned.

If she really were a good queen, she would have beheaded him and forced the forced the fat miserable douche to make his own fucking sandwich. The castle should have burned at that moment. The royal family lost all respect, all dignity. There is no reason to listen to them ever for anything. All deeds, doctrines, orders, and acts ordained by the royal family are hereby voided. The royal family has no credibility and therefore shall be awarded no special privileges. If anything, being a member of that definition of “nobility” should be considered a negative attribute.

Burn the royal throne. Burn the silly crown. Burn the suits. Burn every capitol of every nation. Homage to The King! Hail Hitler! Caesar! Bow to The President! Andrew Jackson!

Obey ALL systems of government—they are working for you! Homage to The King! The king will send their brutal knights (the fucking corrupted police) to bash in your door and kill your family if you do not obey.

Queen Elizabeth II should receive an eviction notice, ousted from the property which should finally be put to some good use, and the bitch can get a job washing dishes at Waffle House—assuming they would even hire her given her checkered background.

All remaining members of the monarchy shall lose their titles immediately.

This not only applies to England, but to every nation who assumes that some mediocre minded attention whore has adopted any sort of special privileges and claims to have the right to dictate others. They all stem from the monarchy of the royal family, the Caesars or brutal Rome, and all other barbaric Neanderthals who obtained their positions of prominence by displaying cruel inhumane acts unto another human being.

Two kids got into an argument. The little girl grabbed her sister by the hair and declared that if she wore her dress again that she wouldn’t ever talk to her ever again.

The royal family settled things differently. The king stabbed the little girl in the eye and then buried a hatchet in her face. This is the proper way to settle a dispute. Homage to The King!

If it is the proper way to settle a dispute, then invade the palace and bomb the corridors. Drop missiles on all governing offices. Homage to The King!

There is no longer any need to follow any of their laws of foolishness. There is no need to ever pay taxes. If there is a cure, then I am going to smoke it regardless what the foolish imbecile in office thinks… it is my life and none of his/her business. If it stems from orders of the king, then it has been deemed irrelevant.

The King, The Queen, The President, whoever… oust them all.

X.  Identification Crisis

I could have been anybody and should have at least been somebody. What happened next was revolting. I became the poster child for the term “it’s complicated.” Never in my life did I have any ambition to achieve this goal.

Due to numerous circumstances surrounding this particular image, once aspirations dwindled to uncertainty. I never felt as if I were actually being myself and I felt as if I constantly had to pretend to be something else in order to appeal to whatever figment of fabricated fiction reality created for me.

Everything I had ever done in the past reflected the current conditions of the present. I had never done anything and therefore am doing nothing now. My goals cannot be achieved because I do not have the necessary experience required  to appeal to those who consider these things. As a result, I had not achieved anything other than the same dead end position I’ve held ever since I was first incarnated back in the good ol’ days.

My job meant nothing. These people around me—who the fuck are they? I don’t know any of these assholes.

All of my belongings gradually began to disappear as my pay scale diminished. I was reduced to a poor paying job that would essentially hire anybody, a downtrodden apartment in the worst neighborhood in the city, no girlfriend, and but a few acquaintances I called friends.

More and more things began to disappear and I had no means to replenish them. My favorite drinking glass broke in the dishwasher… ditto for the good plate. I sold my car because they took my license. Those shoes I had been wearing finally bit the dust. The bed wasn’t anything to invite anybody over to sleep on with any sort of intimacy. Some fucking asshole stole my last cigarette.

The bill collectors kept harassing me. Fuck my phone. I was on the verge of getting rid of it too.

One day, just out of the blue, my passport disappeared. This had been my only form of ID ever since the state confiscated my license for petty shit that should not even be considered crimes. I had a clean driving record and a suspended license.

I was tired of the same shitty ass hangouts, the same shitty ass job, all same old same old shitty ass routine that makes mother fuckers grow old and answer “same old same old” to the frequently asked question “how are you doing?”

Finally, I met a girl. She said we should meet at this club. They wouldn’t let me in to the club without an ID.
It dawned on me that I couldn’t get into any place without an ID; I couldn’t even change jobs. Therefore, I decided that perhaps I should obtain a new ID. The problem was I had no form of identification whatsoever. 

My birth certificate disappeared years ago and my social security card vanished the day after I received it in the mail. It was as if I didn’t even exist at this point… just my phone, some various things on the Internet, my job, and the few people who knew me.

Officials from the bureaus of identification agencies do not take any of this into account. These agencies only hire diabolical assholes who strive to make me miserable.

My phone rang… it was the collection agency again… damn those student loans will never be paid at this  rate. I had a college degree? Why the fuck wasn’t I living like others with a degree?

Then came the greatest idea in the history of my existence. If only I would have done this sooner, all of my problems would be resolved.

I simply allowed my phone account to expire and threw the phone in the garbage. I refrained from posting anything on the internet… did not even check my e-mail… for all I knew, that shit expired too. Finally, I quit my job. At that point, I officially did not exist.

Since the state I live in is still backwards and stupid, marijuana here remains illegal. I spent the entirety of my last check on a massive supply of marijuana and started dealing as a means to generate income. Once I sold most of it, I stashed the money in a place where only I could find it. With the remainder of the surplus, I purposely attempted to sell it to an undercover police officer and placed under arrest.

They asked my name… I told them the name I always wanted to have… Bert Jenkins! It just rolled off the tongue naturally. They had no way of knowing otherwise.

When they asked for my ID, I told them that I didn’t have any. They asked my Social Security number, which I knew they would ask and therefore conducted an extensive amount of research… I gave them a social security number of one that I knew would not be on file.

The officer re-entered and informed me that the social security number was not on record. That’s when I decided to lose my cool (intentionally.)

“See!” I exclaimed as if I was thoroughly sick and tired of hearing this shit, “that’s what they keep telling me at the Social Security office. I’ve been trying to get a new fucking card forever and they act like it’s not even there.”

Calm down, they told them.

I proceeded to elaborate on how all of the belongings were stolen from a Greyhound bus luggage debacle and whoever jacked my shit more than likely fucked up all of my records. Furthermore, because I didn’t have no ID, I had no choice but take a job selling pot because it was the only way I could survive.

They placed me in the cell and conducted a search on everything I had left. There was nothing that could indicate I was lying.

Somebody testified on my behalf. “You know this nigger?”

“Yeah man, that’s Bert Jenkins. I’ve been knowing him.”

I was put on trial. The judge announced: The State vs. Bert Jenkins and I stood up proudly.

“Your honor, I am Bert Jenkins and I am guilty as a mother fucker.”


I was given 30 days at county.

You can’t just sentence anybody. They had no proof they had just detained Bert Jenkins and brought down a local drug dealer. Therefore, they made me go to the social security office and get a social security card… they made a new birth certificate… and they stopped by the DMV on the way to dropping my ass off in the county clink to get an actual ID…. My photo ID is a mug shot depicting me in an orange jumpsuit, apparently I have no restrictions on my Class D driver’s license.

During those 30 days being locked up in a county, I spent all of my time alone… becoming myself, Bert Jenkins. Everything I could possibly think about would go on to define the personality traits of Bert Jenkins. The old me had vanished along with my various possessions.

They finally let me out and I exited the gates a new person, Bert Jenkins, who had an ID, a social security number, a birth certificate, and a new phone. Whatever happens today was meant to be.

XI.  Mating Obsession

Life officially began for this species with the invention of clothing. Ancestors who walked the Earth naked are considered too huge of losers to ever take seriously. The mere sight of a hairy naked cave man is sickening. However, in the early phases, that is how it began.

Somewhere along the lines, clothing became a necessity for protection against the nature in which the human race could not adapt. Clothing is the one element that evolved faster than the species itself. The thought of a person removing clothing became such a desirable attribute that clothing in turn changed the world.

Although the concept of clothing is unnatural, female human beings are often paid large sums of money simply to strip off the clothes that had been designed to enhance the sexual appeal. Most men do have such sex appeal, yet they want nothing more than to see a woman not wearing any clothes. They will do anything to achieve this ultimate goal except improve their own personal appearance or attempt to engage in intelligent conversation.

This has been able to work successfully because many women have responded accordingly to the conditioning they received from society. They feel as if the primary goal in life is the ability to successfully land a fat boy to pay the bills. Some girls are so desperate for this type of attention that they will do anything to achieve other than improve their own intelligence.

In addition, many girls will fail to become an individual. Girls will simply become whatever their fat boy male counterpart expects them to be. They will adopt the same belief system, the same opinions, and develop similar likes and dislikes. Once they have broken ties with that fat boy, they will take on an entire new belief system during their single period fraternizing with other females, and then take on whatever mannerisms the next fat boy requires from her.

The girl will paint her toenails, soften her feet, shave her legs, shake that ass, reveal the sexiness of her firm tummy, expose the pleasures of her bare cleavage, doll her eyes, cover all blemishes with the best make-up, and gloss her lips so that it would appear she is capable of giving the best blow job in history. She ascertains that she is sexy from head to toe with every single aspect of her body perfectly refined to promote sexual lust.

Once she has made herself extremely beautiful, she will flaunt around town clutching the arms of some miserable fat boy who can’t even pull his pants all the way up; his shirt is wrinkled, he’s fat, hairy, and out of shape. He wears sandals that expose grotesque blemishes capable of making a starving man lose his appetite.

The discrepancy in beauty between men and women has reached a dangerous level equivalent to that of the rich and the poor.

Despite half of the race failing to achieve any sort of physical attractiveness whatsoever, the human race remained obsessed with mating. (And eating.) Throughout most of the BBC series “Planet Earth” as well as various other informative features depicting the lifestyles of various animal species, the focus is primarily on their mating habits (and their eating habits.)

I just want to fuck and eat all day.

For most, including the guilty parties, the sight of most men engaging in mating is nauseating. Most people will downright refuse to even picture the man in line in front of them at the grocery store having sex with another human being. It happens, obviously, and most people feel either pity, remorse, or even anger for the woman this hairy ass sack of shit might happen to be banging at the time. The thought of his cock inside of her is gross; the noises he makes are hideous; don’t even think about his ball sack bouncing around; or even worse—where the fat one might ejaculate.

On the other hand, there is nothing more arousing than the sight of a sensual woman experiencing lustful sexual pleasure. (The sight of a man experiencing this is fucking nasty.)

The female will often pretend to be in a state of lust in order to obtain free merchandise from the ugly ones. In most cases, the female will not consume enough of the alcohol content contained in those free beverages to become desperate enough to mate with the ugly. Therefore, the ugly one will go home and mate by himself—a ritual called masturbating. During this ritual, the male subject views photographs of females dressed accordingly in various clothing styles as she strips them off and then pretends to be in mating position.

Many men would rather stay home and mate by themselves than venture out into a social gathering to mate with another member of the species.

Females masturbate also. Their ritual normally does not consist of viewing males pretending to be in a mating position. Although the many females claim to not need visual aids, the primary reason for this is because most members of the male species do not look appealing in the mating position. However, the subject of every woman’s fantasy involves those males who do look appealing in the mating position.

Many women would rather stay home and mate by themselves rather than have another one of these filthy disgusting creatures on top of them again.

Some women find all men attractive and beautiful. These women are fucking weirdos.

Even though less than 10% of the male species actually look appealing during the courting/mating process (as opposed to 78% for the females) the human race is obsessed with mating. It is the most common topic of discussion and the primary reason many people attend social gatherings in the first place. Ideally, every single person on Earth would simply have sex with each other at all times… perhaps that would stop them from constantly engaging in warfare (males often resort to violence when they feel another male has attempted to mate with a female he had previously mated with—even if the mating ritual took place 27 years ago.) 

Therefore, the female most make adjustments to adapt to the environment that simply does not contain the subject of her fantasy.

Once the woman has dolled herself to look as sexual presentable as humanly possible, the female then proceeds to consume alcohol at a dangerous rate until she has drunk herself into a stupor. This eases the pain of having to mate with a fat ugly douche when the female is having her gestation cycle and absolutely has to fuck somebody. Furthermore, the heavy alcohol consumption often makes the males appear as if they are not as hideous as they actually are. Some females have reported that after consuming just over a half gallon of straight whiskey, the most average looking fat boy will mysteriously have a perfectly toned body.
The morning is a different story. The morning is often a period of regret.

Fortunately, many females have adopted numerous rituals to ease the pain of having mated with an ogre… these include Morning After Pills, Suicide, Ridiculing the size of the male’s reproductive organ, and Symptoms of Delusional Schizophrenia where she may truly believe she experienced something magical with an entire partner altogether. She might become a hippy and assume all of this was actually beautiful.
Or, there may possibly be accusations that the fat boy violated her against her will or took advantage of her because she was drunk and passed out and possibly also under the influence of narcotics.

Sleazy behavior is accepted in many circumstances because people believe that the system which defined what roles was delegated to males and females. A girl is supposed to be this; a guy should behave like this… and therefore, they must become that typical grotesque couple that mates and gives birth to other hideous looking people.

However, it is not acceptable because some people feel that it negates the intellectual potential of a woman. Also, some feel that there are two commandments involving this behavior.

What happens when exposed at bar?

A jumbotron was erected at the bar and exposed various male human beings attempting to court females for mating. An audience booed loudly at the stupidity of the lines conveyed by the men; booed even louder at the stupidity of the girls who fell for them.

Were they a good couple that stood out among the crowd? 89% voted NO—they were too typical and too much exactly alike everybody else. They might of well have sang a karaoke duet of Don’t Stop Believing or Total Eclipse of the Heart… that would have been equally appalling and unoriginal as their bland make-out session they hideously put on display for everybody else to have that one image needed to induce vomiting in an emergency situation.

XII.  July Snow Storm

They said it could get cold tonight—possibly nearing the record low for July. It’s amazing how quickly the weather changes around here. Just two days ago, it was 97 degrees; tonight could get down into the 40’s with the overnight low predicted to be around 48.

Nobody ever would have guessed it from the bright afternoon sun. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and it was 92 degrees Fahrenheit.

Around 5:00 PM EST, some clouds rolled in, wind gusts, and the temperature began to drop. Within minutes, it was a bit chilly outside… although some people welcomed this because they had been complaining about the heat just moments beforehand. And not long after that, it was downright fucking cold. 

People shivered, clutched their shoulders, clinched up… the temperature dropped from 92 degrees to 37 degrees in a mere 10 minute span.

The wind gusts dropped the temperature below freezing considering the wind chill factor. Snow started to fall… in the middle of July.

People were out and about as usual for a hot pleasant day; too hot for some… they complained, bickered, smoldered, sweat, sat in front of a fan trying to cool off from the torturous heat.  Most people were dressed for hot conditions—not one person in the community dressed for the snow. Scantily dressed females frolicking the beach, guys with no shirts on, even a commune of naked hippies. It was cold and snowing on this hot summer day.

The sight of afternoon flurries in the middle of summer was a puzzling sight; especially considering it was such a surprise and nobody predicted it. However, when the flakes grew larger and began sticking to the ground, that was borderline shocking.

“It’s snowing in fucking July?1?!?!”

“Fucking July!”

The roads were quickly in bad condition. It was slick and icy. Furthermore, people were operating their vehicles in swimwear and various other summer apparel. If the vehicle got stuck in the snow, that meant the operator had to get out in the now blizzard like conditions wearing shorts and a tank top to push the car out of a snow pile.

There was over a foot of snow on the ground in July. Nobody thought to equip the city with salt trucks in the middle of  July. For the most part, people were left with no choice but to pull over and remain in the car. Many couldn’t even walk for too far because they weren’t dressed properly and the wind chills had now plummeted to below zero.

Crazy weather!

The weather man did not seem too alarmed, even though he found the July snowstorm freakishly marvelous. Even more enticing was the fact that it was seemingly snowing everywhere. Many cities were reporting snow at that time.

Nobody was too distressed about this storm because it was July. Even with the cold front moving in, the high for tomorrow was predicted to be near 80.

Most assumed it would pass quickly. Some thought it would be gone any moment now. Many feared the temperatures would soar near 100 after the snow subsided and the melting snow would totally obliterate the humidity index.

Because it was July, and because it was so rare, many people opted to play in it. They ran outside and built snowmen as quickly as they could—knowing it would all be melted snow. Sadly, Facebook was obliterated with selfies and various other photographs of people playing in the snow.

Totally snowing in July. Crazy. (897 people like this.)

Annabelle went online to post her picture and the internet was down. The power went out. Lights  flickered and then perished. It was nearing dusk and the city appeared black.

However, many people still had their windows opened for it was so hot outside but a few hours ago. They made it home safely, just to discover the house is freezing, the floors covered with snow from the gusts pouring in from the open window, and no power for the heat.

The family walked inside wearing shorts, flip flops, and nicely tanned. It was now -8 degrees and there was over 2 feet of snow on the ground. They simply broke out the winter clothes from the closet and bundled up with the clothing they hoped to not have to wear for at least another month or two… maybe three depending  on location.

It was totally dark outside. A few lights could be seen that ran on generators, but this was a full scale blizzard in the middle of July. People here and there put forth some effort to leave the house, but to no avail. The roads were too treacherous, it was too cold, too windy, too icy, and in some cases, the snow had barricaded the door shut.

Once inside, there was no longer any communication with the outside world. The power was gone, no internet, and most phones did not receive a signal. Crazy ass fucking weather.

Tomorrow it would all be melted, and everyone would remember the crazy ridiculous July Snowstorm of this year. Hell, it was an even worse blizzard than even back in 1977. Most just tried to fall asleep… while it was crazy and cool, it was a bit too much. Fuck snow… especially in July.

Others wanted to witness the miracle. They waited up to see just how much it was going to snow on this summer night… when it would begin melting… and how quickly the temperature would soar back to summertime conditions.

Snow continued to fall for the entire evening and on into the morning. By morning, it had snowed nearly ten feet. It was daylight outside, but most could not see the sun. Piles of snow had adrift onto porches and most people were trapped inside their homes.

What a way to start a July morning!

Just outside that snow drift, it was 85 degrees… hot fun in the summertime. When this snow melts, it is most certainly going to flood the basement.

There still wasn't any power though.

He opened the door and shoveled off the porch. There was snow everywhere. It still felt cold outside… especially with the snow drifting across the ground. The snow was up to the 2nd floor bedroom window. This was officially the most snow this town had ever seen… and it happened in July.

A tree had fallen over and nearly crushed the porch. Once he maneuvered around the  tree to see the damage, there was the outside world. It was actually still snowing. It was freezing cold. It was July.

He simply went back inside and awaited the melt… the defrost the would occur any moment.

There was no knowledge what the others were doing. The power was still out. There was no internet. There was no way of communicating. There were literally billions of different perspectives as to what was happening at that particular moment… those who were stuck at work, those on camping trips, vacation, home… you name it, the July blizzard had effected them.

Hopefully everybody was OK and too terribly stuck somewhere. As soon as the weather warms up, all will be well.

Being as it was July, most people awoke and assumed they could go on about their business as usual in the summertime. It was hard enough getting the door opened. Those who were brave enough, it was extremely difficult tunneling out of the snow and onto the road. It was still snowing. It was freezing. The car was buried. The roads had not been touched. A few vehicles seemed stuck, with the sounds of engines high revving for no avail. Many cars were stranded. It looked like disaster had struck. Returning home was treacherous. 

Disaster had struck.

And it still snowed.

And it continued to snow all morning. All afternoon. All night. It did not stop on this day either. Meaning: this was two consecutive days of constant snowfall—in mother fucking July.

By this point, there was no getting anywhere. All vehicles were completely buried in the snow. All homes were completely buried in the snow. Many places had over 50 feet of snow on the ground.
It would not stop snowing. That heat wave was not coming.

Many people were losing supplies, sanity, and with no power, there was no means to prepare food or drinks. The average indoor temperature was 0 degrees. Several homes had collapsed due to the snow.
There was no telling how many people were dead. There was no telling how many people needed emergency services. Once again, there were billions of different scenarios playing out and nobody knew of anything else other than their location that was buried in snow.

Some felt they had to escape. It was July—not far away would be summertime.

Remember summertime?

They peaked out the skyscraper tower. Snow had reached the top floor.

There was no escape… those who tried it died.

The skyscraper was now completely covered with snow.

It snowed for 9 more straight days… hundreds and hundreds of feet, thousands of feet… wind chills delving into the negative 100’s.

Finally, the snow stopped. The sun peaked. It was finally a normal day in July. The high was around 86 under mostly sunny skies.

All the snow melted. The power returned… and everything seemed normal… to an onlooker, it would appear as if nothing peculiar ever happened… except all life on the planet Earth was now extinct. 

Soundtrack Listing:

1. Jozef Van Wissem / SQÜRL
"Only Lovers Left Alive"  3:31
Only Lovers Left Alive
2014  Sweden

Film Score / Noise Rock

2. Sabina Sciubba
"Cinema"  3:51
2014  Italy

Indie Pop / Neo Psychedelia / Art Pop

3. Mac Demarco
"Jonny's Odyssey"  2:13
Salad Days 
2014  Canada/Brooklyn

Jangle Pop / Psychedelic Pop

4. Datashock
"Obsidian Karavan und die acht Drachmen"  11:46
Keine Oase in Sicht
2014  Germany

Krautrock / Experimental / Drone

5. Chausse Trappe
"Grandgousier-Mars-Partie I"  12:37
Chausse Trappe
2014  France

Drone / Noise Rock / Experimental Rock

6. Aram Bajakian
"Cat Squirrel"  7:58
There Were Flowers Also In Hell
2014  NYC

Experimental Rock / Noise Rock / Blues Rock

7. Guardian Alien
"Tranquilizer"  9:54
Spiritual Emergency
2014  NYC

Experimental Rock / Psychedelic Rock

8. Juçara Marçal
"Canção Pra Ninar Oxum"  3:25
2014  Brazil

MPB / Math Rock

9. Ben Frost
"Secant"  4:55
2014  Iceland

Industrial / Electronic

10. Maria Minerva
"Deepest Darkest"  3:24
2014  Estonia/London

Hypnagogic Pop

11. Psalm Zero
"Undoing"  6:11
The Drain
2014  NYC

Experimental Rock / Industrial Metal

12. Bohren & der Club of Gore
"Ganz leise kommt die Nacht"  8:22
Piano Nights
2014  Germany

Dark Jazz

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