Time To Pay The Piper

It had been years since she had met the distinguished gentlemen on the long dusty dirt road that ran past her family’s farm. Unlike all the other men she had in her life, the distinguished gentlemen delivered on all that he had promised her.
She graduated college at the head of her class and had a prosperous career. She was introduced to the man of her dreams a tall, strong, ruggedly handsome man with a heart of gold, and they were married in Rio the following year. After marrying they bought their dream house with an impeccably managed lawn, white picket fence, and large oak tree in the front yard. It was as if the house was a Norman Rockwell painting come to life. The happy couple went on to have four fabulous children two boys and two girls just as she had imagined when she was a small child herself. The children were well behaved and never a bother, they were polite and well mannered, loving, and intelligent. Once her children had grown and moved away to start their own families she was blessed with several glorious grandchildren. She retired early with a healthy pension as did her husband. They two spent their golden years side by side as they traveled around the world, bought a new house and moved to Canada. She had time to indulge her hobbies, spending many a lazy day in the garage that they had converted into an art studio just for her. Her life had turned out exactly the way she had envisioned it nothing less than a miracle in her mind.
She only saw the distinguished gentlemen one more time, on her death bed when he came to collect her soul.

Obliterated Sunshine By Spacedog

.One cold and rainy day in September, I layed my head down for a short nap. I had a few plans for that day, no more then most days, but felt a certain comfort and a certain ease in my steps. It was about to happen. The clouds that had gathered in a firestorm around my head were beginning to clear up from their eternal misery and gloom. I carefully placed my head on that pillow. He was next to me. He who could exist only as a dream, as a figment of my imagination was breathing right there. I had to pinch myself to believe that everything that was happening to me really was. It’s always like that pinch or suffocate, pinch or suffocate. The greatest day of my life or just Halloween all over again. I closed my eyes. I thought if I kept my eyes closed that time would stand still. It really doesn’t, you just don’t really age at all. It’s like virtual Botox. Anyway…..time was not standing still it only felt like that illusion, it was that illusion for that moment. I fell face first into that illusion. I didn’t have time to catch myself as my right cheekbone crashed into the tar of the road. I forgot to pack my angel’s wings and couldn’t prevent the cascade of gloom doom richotting down my spine. And then I was awake. I was here typing this blog. Here but really gone. Enigma speaks from her cave atop the highest mountain. The villagers perch their ears to listen. AWAKE? No, it never really was a dream. It was reality. Long obliterrated sunshine. The memories having been forgetten, no longer really exist. They only exist in my own head, only as real as Ebeneezer Scrooge or Hayden Caufield or Anne of Green Gables. They are real, but if you are the only one left that can remember what once was, should we hold on to these things or leave them long forgetten? I am a firm believer in the mind. I know what it is I am here to do (shhhhh I’m not telling) and believe that is something else forgetten. Not obliterated forgotten. I only wish my obliterrated sunshine could rise yet again but that would be like hoping for 90 degree weather in Alaska. The sun may rise again but it will never be warm enough to cascade into where things reach comfort. More of an uneasy chill. Nah. I would much prefer the dark of the moon. The sun can play her games with me another day.

The Deviant Detective Ep.2 : Getting Directions From The Blind

Readers: There are a great deal of Obscenities and Blasphemies in the following Story. Heads up and Have A Nice Day.

 

 

“Rock Hard that you,” asked the stranger as they leaned against the wall for support.

“Yeah I’m Rock Hard come into my office and tell me what the problem of yours is.” said Rock in his authoritative professional detective voice.

Buy the time Rock reached his office door he knew who the stranger was. It was underground punk rock icon and lead singer for The Furiously Fingered Five Ivy Savage.

She wreaked of cheap gin and cheaper cigarillos. Jesus Christ Rock thought to himself she’s a fucking train wreck. It was obvious the rumors where more than true.

The Meth induced orgies, shooting smack in her snatch, drug smuggling, assault, DUIs, countless rehabs, grand theft auto, drug possession, and possession of an illegal fire arm 4 times in 6 months that fucking Ivy Savage.

Rock jingled his key in the office door until it begrudgingly opened.

The door swung open slamming into the wall so hard the glass shook like a new prostitutes on her first “date.”

Rock walked over to his antique solid oak desk he had salvaged when the city demolished the 1930’s repossession power house Snide, Pompous and Braggart back in 1974. Rock slowly lowered himself into his chair as it creaked in protest.

“So if it isn’t the infamous Queen of Punk Ivy Savage, your reputation precedes you,” Rock said eying his new client up and down.

“I’m fucking used to that propaganda puke, its all horse shit a huge fucking load of steaming hot horse shit.,” Ivy replied angrily.

Ivy was pacing like a jack rabbit on a coke bender constantly fidgeting with her hands. As she spoke Rock took note of her eyes and how the darted around his office unable to stay focused on a damn thing. These were the classic signs of a rock bottom gutter dwelling druggie.

“Whats the problem,” Rock asked bluntly.

“My motherfucking boyfriend is fucking missing and I can’t find my bitch,” Ivy replied coldly.

“How do you know he didn’t just split or end up in the ER for overdosing something along those lines?!”

“I’m his goddamn meal ticket and that little scummy shit damn well knows it. I pay for our booze, drugs, food and hotel room down at The Opulent Oasis for christ’s sake. He’s a fucking moron but he’s not that goddamn dumb.”

“Alright then when did you see your boyfriend last Ms. Savage?”

“Call me Ivy for fuck’s sake, theres no Ms. about me thats for sure. I saw him just last night when we were having a private party in our hotel room. I went to take a shit, it was round 3 am or so and nodded off on the toilet. When I came to it this morning it was 11 fucking thirty and he was gone.”

“Whats his name, whats he go by,” asked Rock as he started to get rather irritated. To calm his nerves he took a long slow sip from his flask and let the whiskey do the rest.

“He goes by Eddie Oi he’s the base player for The Fuck Me Pumps,” said Ivy mattarfactly her voice void of emotion.

“Where does Eddie and his band or friends hang out at. Where do they spend their time? Where do they go? What do they do all damn day?”

“I’m not his fucking biographer. This is the shit I know bout to answer your fucking questions. Eddie doesn’t have any fucking friends just goddamn dope dealers and drug buddies. As for him and his shitty band they spend a good amount of time at The Barfly Lounge down on the skids. He sees his main dealer at least 8 times a day scoring dope and all that drug shit.”

“Eddie got a record?”

“No and thats a fucking surprise and a half. He’s never even been arrested for drunk and disorderly nothing, not a single goddamn thing so that won’t help your search.”

Rock lazily moved the files on his desk around randomly just to look more than what he was a dinosaur and a goddamn drunk with a violent disposition. Rock shunned technology whenever possible unless it was absolutely necessary, but Rock decided to revisit the idea of getting a computer so he could fain interest while surfing the internet.

“Look just find the fucker and let me know so I can bitch slap his stupid ass back in fucking line,” demanded Ivy.

“Calm down I’m taking your case and I’ll find Eddie no matter where he is or where he may be hiding at I assure you of that,” Rock said in total confidence.

“Thank god for that then.”

“I’ll need a retainer of $1,200 plus daily expenses. Take it or leave it I’m not the one with the problem.”

“Call my fucking manager Harvey Schister. His number is 555-7683 and he’s a real son of a bitch but don’t take his shit because he’s full of shit.”

“Alright then I will call Mr. Schister this afternoon and get started immediately after I get my retainer.”

“Well I’m gonna piss off then, but I’ll be on top of you like a 600 pound prison booty bandit, I don’t take shit from anyone ever.”

With that Rock showed Ivy to the door locking it behind her. Rock didn’t want to be disturbed he had to process his meeting with his new client Ivy Savage. Where could he find the best leads he wondered as he lit a cigarette blowing the smoke out of his nose like a exhausted dragon.

This case is going to be a goddamn drunken drugged out insanely dark horror show Rock was convinced of that.

To Be Continued in The Deviant Detective Ep.3 : Finding The Cock Rock King.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Amazon Reviews are for Assholes: My review of Worthington’s “How to be a savvy restaurant Reviewer

I used to be just another average Joe who’s idea of fine dining was eating in at a McDonald’s. That was until I stumbled across Sam Worthington’s book How to be a savvy restaurant reviewer one day tooling around on Amazon killing time before my gastrointestinal doctor’s appointment. This book changed my life transforming a fast food schlub into a refined food critic that is revered and feared in my home town. After reading Worthington’s book I developed an intense ego to a point that I felt almost god like. I started dressing in expensive 3 piece suits, bought a brand new Mercedes and started saying things like “This dish has a nice mouth feel” and started using descriptive words for dishes like acidulated, gastropod, omakase, and salmagundi for example. I developed a french accent out of the blue as well. I started walking in a slow stride with my nose pointed to the sky. For the first time in my life I became overly opinionated, arrogant and pompous. In just a couple of weeks I had built a reputation around town that preceded me wherever I went to dine. Cooks quivered when they were informed I was in the dining room. Restaurateurs waited in angst for my reviews to be published. One bad review from me had the power and ability to cause a restaurant to go bankrupt the same day as the review was published. Nowadays when I order the waiter/waitress comes running to take my order upon bended knee and fawns over me like royalty. The Food Channel offered me a 25 year contract this morning and every celebrity chef such as Anthony Bourdain or Gordon Ramsey are blowing up my phone 24/7. I only urinate Fine Wine, crap Caviar coated Kobe Beef and wipe my ass with Foie Gras nowadays thanks to this 62 page powerhouse.

We’ll Make Great Pets? By Spacedog

The first half of my day yesterday was complete garbage. It consisted of sitting in traffic for an hour, getting two different credit cards declined (special shout out to Wawa and Boscovs), sitting in traffic for 2 hours and contemplating peeing my pants because I had a towel to sit on and was on my way home.

As void of intrigue and drama as I tend to be, I chose against peeing myself. This isn’t about pee though. I mean it felt absolutely amazing to do so at that point but that being the highlight of my mediocre day was not quite mediocre enough yet. I decided to do one of the most boring things that the era of the Internet has ever bought upon us. I decided to clean out my e-mail.

Now I have way too many e-mails. I know of 7 different accounts, but there probably exist a multitude of others at very dead sites. AOL, Yahoo, Juno, Hotmail, Myspace. I’d rather not read the ancient e-mails I sent in my 20s or from the dawn of time (the 90s) because well I mostly sit and think who the fuck was that guy.

So I decided to actually open up an e-mail from a random social media site called Hi5. It is not the greatest site but not the worst unless you take into account the people they tell you to speak converse with. I would show my last recommendations but just imagine a cohabitation of meth users, the morbidly obese, and people who look like an attractive young man but sadly the picture is clearly on 1970s quality film.

There is one bizarre thing this site does have. I really have never seen anything quite like it. While Facebook has (or had?) pokes, the gays have their woofs, every site has likes and Myspace has ghosts Hi5 has pets. What is the point of pets? I haven’t the slightest idea. I bought my first pet about six years ago in that time period when Myspace just died and your mom wasn’t quite on Facebook yet.

Every member is up for sale with virtual cash. I don’t know if I started with it or watched a video or two or to earn more but I just started buying cute guys. I wanted a decent amount from each country to diversify I suppose. It was basically just a bunch of clicking and clicking and clicking and I grew tired of it rather quickly.

The entire site as a matter of fact. It is like the Craigslist of social media, an odd blend of when MySpace was legit, old school AOL and creepy guys that lurk in oversized vans. The pet thing made me take the opposite approach though when I got unwanted attention. I would just buy people instead of block them.

And oh I bought them. The straights, the gays, the ladies, I even bought myself a big boned lady with a great big retard smile. I only wasted maybe 2 hours of my life doing this in total of my entire life. I really wonder though what was the point of all of this? I was owned by some lady (or man pretending to be a model, this lady was unreal looking Brazilian goddess). There were many messages of I love you and I love my pets on my page over the past few years which only make me laugh my ass off. I mean I like love and all, who really doesn’t when it comes to it, but this woman took the pet thing all too seriously.

I mean I could message all these pets of mine or meme them to death, but I feel more connected to the people I met on a Greyhound bus 15 years ago, despite not having talked to them in 15 years. I’m clicking on links right now but I am not even really sure why. I could be eating, exercising, masturbating, actually texting more then one person, actually paying attention to my TV or my music which are inexplicably both on for some reason.

I mean I guess it could have been worse. I could have bought only blacks and dreamed of my past life on a plantation but I’m Polish and the only black things we’ve ever owned are prune babkas. I could be a peddler of midgets. This seems like a fantastic type of journey I suppose, except I can’t search for people by height and would probably have to click no about 1,000 times to find one midget let alone an armada of midgets.

I could collect the deformed. I’m pretty sure this would involve way less clicking but since you are the company you keep I would just be the product of looking at ugly people, become incredibly hideous, and 400 pounds while clicking faster then any sized person barring maybe a handful of Korean Starcraft players.

Long story, long… this shit is weird as fuck. In some virtual reality type mall where I could see these people it would be funny to go up and buy people in a window but frankly I’d buy someone naked. So rest assured, I know too will get naked and become one with the night.

If you want to check out these oddities for yourself, head over to hi5.com. Check out the meager selection from the dating pool, the dead accounts, and waste an hour or so buying some pets. I can promise they won’t give you rabies over your connection, but carpal tunnel may be in your future if you happen to be riding the tsunami of boredom.

The Insanity in Editing Revision #3

 Revision #3 for The Butchers of Backwater

The Butchers of Backwater:
“The Thrill to Kill to Spill Blood so Fresh, The Toll Your Soul shall PAY IN FLESH.” – Asher Leviticus 1803

The pungent odor of the smelling salts filled Joel’s nostrils as he snapped awake like he was hit by a lighting bolt. His vision was blurred and he strained his eyes to the point of pain, squinting to make out where he was. Joel’s head was pounding like there was a giant metronome banging away in his head. His eyes adjusted to the dim candle light of the chandelier and various candelabra’s which sent shadows dancing on the walls with wild abandon. The wall paper was so old it had become yellowed and as brittle as parchment. Large pictures of grim stoic figures which Joel assumed where family ancestors in dingy gaudy gold frames lined all four walls of the dinning room. Some of the people in the paintings looked somewhat deformed but Joel dismissed this as a characteristic of the stone faced portraits of the past where no one dared smile. The black and white old photographs had faded in various degrees from whitened smudged edges to almost fully faded and black in appearance. The subjects of photos as well as

the paintings wore emotionless poker faces.There were two medieval looking candelabras on the table placed at each end these in combination with the chandelier did little to combat the darkness which encapsulated the room.

Joel’s eyes came slowly into focus he could see he was in a rather large dinning room that was reminiscent of the kind one might find in an Old Southern farmhouse. Joel was restrained with thick chains that bound his feet together, and secured his arms to the arms to that of an old oak chair. The chains were coiled around Joel’s torso like a metallic python as well. Joel was positioned at one end of the table opposite the designated head. He strained against the chains to no avail as it became a reality that he wasn’t going anywhere, and was being held as some sort of hostage. There was a full place setting in front of Joel consisting of a antique china plate that was chipped around its perimeter. There were three forks, two spoons and a knife laid out as well that were very old and genuine silver. The cutlery showed it age. Oxidation over years had left its trade mark patina giving the utensils a tarnished appearance. Joel became a deep commanding voice with a distinct drawl coming from behind him.

“Ah, I see our company has risen from his prolonged slumber. I was beginning to fear that you might never be returning to this world of the living, but look at you now. A true testament to a man’s will and his perseverance over that which is problematic.”

Joel was still struggling with all his might to come fully back to his senses. Questions swarmed Joel’s battered brain like enraged Hornets adding to his continued confusion. Where the hell am I? Who’s house is this?” “How’d I even get here”,but most of all at this particular

moment the primary question was “Who is this man and why did he restrain me with an excessive amount of chains?”

“Mr. Joel Fletcher you have a definite look of confusion as to where you are and to that which is going on.”said the voice with a slight tone of mockery.

Joel then heard the distinct sound of a centuries old wooden floor sighing with long groans. The foot steps were coming closer and closer from behind Joel. Joel tried to hide his increasing anxiety and fought to keep his voice from wavering.

“Who are you? What in the name of christ is going on here? What do you want?” Joel said as his speech increased its rate of speed. Damn it Joel thought to himself I can’t show weakness, I must remain calm and as focused as possible considering the current circumstances.

“Questions abound don’t they Mr. Fletcher? You shall have all the answers you desire shortly I assure you.” The voice said from directly behind Joel so close that Joel could smell the stink of cigarette smoke.

Suddenly a very tall and lean elderly man strode out from behind Joel’s seat and quickly crossed the vast dining room in only a couple of strides stopping at the head of the table. The old man was dressed in a crisp brilliantly white suit complete with a bolo tie. For a split second Joel wondered if he had fallen victim to the demented relatives of Colonel Sanders from the KFC advertisements of his youth. The old man had a full beard that was as white as his suit and long shoulder length hair that for some reason was as black as the bottom of an abyss. The old man pulled his chair out and took a seat. He slowly lowered his long and thin body into a chair.

The old man crossed his legs and rested his arms on the table at either side of a second place setting. The old man reached into his suit jacket and removed a cigarette case. He opened the case, removed a cigarette and tapped it lightly and deliberately on the exterior of the case. The old man took a few minutes, which seemed like an eternity to Joel, to locate his Zippo lighter which had the Leviticus family crest on it . The old man lit his cigarette taking in the first couple of drags with gusto before exhaling. A cloud of lingering smoke hovered around his head like a demonic mist.

Once Joel’s eyes met the gentlemen stranger the man began speaking. “You must pardon our lack of light for dining. You see with my condition, I’m an albino you see, I’m afraid my disadvantaged eyes are rather sensitive to light, thusly we forgo the harsh light of electricity in favor of the softer less offensive light of candles.”said the Gentlemen as he puffed away on his cigarette like it was going out of style.

“We? We who? I only see you and me sitting here.” Joel asked nervously, his voice now quivering uncontrollably.

“Well then, as you are my honored guest allow me to explain. My family name is Leviticus and we have kept our bloodline pure for centuries even before my family made their way to America. My family was of great wealth and status until the civil war tore us asunder. War is hell Mr. Joel. War is hell indeed.” said Mr. Leviticus in a slow and steady tone before a brief pause. “After the war my family was banished into the backwaters of the Mississippi were they eked out a meager living hunting Alligators and selling their skins. Then came the unfortunate great depression and the rural people of this land left this place to find greener pastures in bigger towns and even the cities. My family being tougher than the gator skins they sold decided to stay put for we would not lose the rest of our family to the industrial world beyond the boarders of the bayou.” Mr. Leviticus said with pride as he stared off into oblivion.

“Now alas, my brother and I are all that remains of the once great Leviticus Family lineage.” continued Mr. Leviticus who at this point seemed to be talking to himself as he didn’t acknowledge Joel’s presence as he spoke.

“Due to the family tradition of keeping the family bloodline clean and pure, there have been some issues of health with the later generations such as the deformity of both body and mind. My brother being the last offspring born into this family suffers egregiously from these afflictions you see Mr. Fletcher.”

Just then the massive silhouette of a man filled the immense doorway behind the seated Mr. Leviticus.

“Ah Yes dinner is served I do hope you enjoy pork Mr. Fletcher” declared Mr. Leviticus with great pleasure.

“Where is my brother?” Joel asked anxiously as he suddenly remembered they had been traveling together. They were documenting the impact the oil spill had wreaked upon the Gulf of Mexico and those whose livelihood as fishermen had been destroyed.

“You see Mr. Joel when my brother and I happened upon you as well as your aforementioned brother. You were both being beaten mercilessly by a group of roving bikers outside a rather unattractive bar in Bella, the text town over from ours. I phoned the police at

which point the bikers fled. My brother and I collected y’all, brought you to our family home, mended your wounds and have been caring for y’all ever since.” answered Mr. Leviticus promptly.

Before Joel could get the next question out of his mouth the monstrous silhouette standing in the doorway made its way into the room carrying two dinner plates, one in each hand. The mountain of a man was covered in a thick layer of sweat and he had gnarled twisted up limbs like that of an ancient live oak. He stooped and placed a plate in front of Mr. Leviticus delicately. The grotesque giant was wearing grimy dirt encrusted over alls without a shirt. As Mr. Leviticus’s younger brother made his way over to Joel was the floor boards strained to support the weight of his extremely large frame. Long greasy unkept hair obscured the titan’s face. This was accentuated by the fact that Mr. Leviticus’s brother tended to walk with his head lowered as if in mourning. The large man made his way over to Joel where he unceremoniously dropped a plate on the table. The plate crashed down upon the table with a loud clatter which caused some of the meat juice to splatter.

“Eli!” yelled Mr. Leviticus outraged, “You know quite well this table is a family heirloom and must be treated with the respect it deserves. Must you be such an uncouth savage brother? Your just lucky that what you lack in mind you make up for in body. Now leave us and don’t let playing with your food to even enter your minuscule mind.”

Eli who had frozen into a statue at the mention of his name cocked his head sideways with his back to his brother, Mr. Leviticus, as if he was struggling to control his own outrage. His gargantuan muscles tightening at every word that came out of his irritated brother’s mouth. It seemed that Mr. Leviticus’s brother was physically affected by his the harsh reprimanding. When Mr. Leviticus was done chastising his younger brother Eli promptly bent down and wiped the meat juice off the table with one of his hotdog sized fingers. He then hastily exited the dining room utilizing the door behind Joel. Joel’s nostrils were overcome by the smell of rotting flesh that wafted off Eli as he lumbered past on his way out of the room.

“Please excuse my brother’s lack of manners. He is not as civilized as your aforementioned brother. His appearance is quite off-putting especially upon the in initial meeting.” said Mr. Leviticus apologetically before continuing “Dig in Mr. Fletcher you need to regain your strength.”

Joel was starving. He tore in to his meal. His body craved the sustenance. He and Mr. Leviticus ate in silence. Joel couldn’t help but notice the pork chops were fresh and succulent unlike any he had eaten before. The meat was so tender it melted in Joel’s mouth coating his tongue with the fantastic taste of the meat. The smell of the meat was intoxicating just on its own.

“Pardon me Mr. Leviticus but this pork is delicious. I hope you have treated my brother, Zander, as kindly and also treated him to a wonderful meal like this.” Joel said honestly.

“Don’t worry Mr. Fletcher Zander is here in spirit and on the plate I assure you.” Mr. Leviticus said matter of factly with a slight sneer.

“What the hell are you talking about? What are you saying?” Joel asked in full blown panic his heart pounding as if it was attempting hammer its way through Joel’s ribcage.

“You see Mr. Fletcher when times are tough and food is scarce my family’s motto is “If there is no meat there is always man” and this motto has gotten us through many a lean time in our history. We are you see cannibals of conviction and convenance . My family acquired this trait after my ancestor Barnabas Leviticus spent some time in the Fiji Islands back in 1839.”announced Mr. Leviticus as he leisurely chewed his meal with an air of great satisfaction.

“You have to understand that a key piece of Fijian history revolves around cannibalism as my illustrious great granddaddy four times over found out first hand himself.” Continued Mr. Leviticus with admiration. “The indigenous tribes that inhabited the Fiji Islands back then had adopted cannibalism from their long voyage at sea with the lack of adequate nutritious food. This forced the sailors to consume the flesh of the dead for survivals sake. After the land the indigenous tribes cannibalism became a normal part of their diet as more people arrived the competition for natural resources, property and most of all women. Also warring tribes devoured their slain enemies not just for food, but in celebration of their mighty victory.” Mr. Leviticus took a long sip from his mason jar that most likely contained Moonshine.

A growing grin of sadistic delight let Joel know that Mr. Leviticus was enjoying the torment which he was subjecting Joel to. Joel tried with all his might to process the horror of what he had just been told.

“Barnabas was the great explorer of our family. In the Fiji islands he met and befriended Udre. Udre was the chief of one of the more predominate tribes. Barnabas and Udre spent many years together and their bond only strengthened over time as the two became like brothers more than friends.” said Mr. Leviticus triumphantly again taking a long sip from his mason jar of Moonshine before continuing his terrible tale.

“Now the most prevalent part of this story is chief Udre udre, according to the 2003 Guiness World Record, held the title of “most prolific cannibal” having eaten between 872 to 900 people. So as you may of surmised Barnabas learned an extensive about of knowledge on the subject and culture of cannibalism before returning home many year later.”

“Thats fucking insane, your insane!” screamed Joel at the top of his lungs, “This is bullshit!! Your a liar! Your fucking lying you sick son of a bitch!” Joel struggled relentlessly with the chains that confined him to the chair trying desperately to free himself.

“Do not act so surprised Mr. Fletcher as this is not the first time you have heard of cannibalism I’m certain of that,” said Mr. Leviticus in a mocking tone. “Eli can you summon Mr. Zander to the table please I would appreciate it so.” Mr. Leviticus said in a booming voice that dominated the room.

Joel was terrified, completely confused and disoriented. His pulse was racing like that of a jack rabbit on meth. Sweat was rolling down his face like a midsummer rain shower. His eyes frantically searched the room finding nothing to hope for. Joel was trapped alone with two cannibal brothers one of which claimed they killed and cooked his broth er. There was also the mentally crippling thought that he may have indeed dined upon his brothers flesh. This drove Joel to the point of lunacy.

The slow solid steps echoed down the hallway as Eli returned to the dinning room. Joel’s racing mind was flooding his head with horrible scenarios of torture and death. Joel was so wrought with panic it seemed that he could actually feel his hair growing. Finally Eli’s imposing body once again filled the doorway behind Joel his shadow loomed over Joel like a storm cloud waiting out the calm. Eli crept up behind Joel stopping directly behind him. As Eli lurked behind him Joel could hear his labored breath. It sounded steady and deep and ended more or less in an exacerbated sigh coming from directly above his head, but Joel was too terrified to even entertain the idea of looking up into the face of the monstrosity standing over him. Joel felt Eli’s rancid breathe ruffling the hair on the top of his head each time Eli exhaled.

“Where is my brother you demented, backwoods, inbred, hillbilly, son of a bitch? Where is ZANDER?” demanded Joel in frustrated anger struggling so hard that the chains with which he was bound rattled like wind chimes in a hurricane.

“Eli if you’d be so kind” said Mr. Leviticus in a monotone voice indicating his boredom with the matter.

Without warning the immense arm swung around in front of Joel and slammed something on the table before drawing itself back to its owner standing behind him. It happened so fast that Joel was initially too startled to comprehend what was happening. He sat transfixed by fear like a deer in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler barreling down upon it. Then Joel saw what Eli had deposited upon the table in front of him, his brothers Zander’s bloody severed head. Zander’s eyes were fully open, and his face was twisted in sheer agony as if he had seen the angel of death himself before dying.

“JESUS CHRIST! ZANDER!” exclaimed Joel in a fevered pitch as he gazed upon his brothers decapitated head. The shock paralyzed his body and mind.

“Collect yourself Mr. Fletcher your bordering on hysterical,” commanded Mr. Leviticus who was now scowling in absolute disgust and bitter distain.

“Eli, Eli come collect what remains of Mr. Fletcher’s brother and take it back to the processing building quick as can be,” said Mr. Leviticus waving his hand royally back and forth through the thick smokey air as he spoke.

“I think its imperative that you understand. The Leviticus family uses every viable part of the carcass, the last of your brother Zander’s remains will be processed into head cheese,” Mr. Leviticus said sounding more like a man rather than the monster he was.

“Don’t worry Mr. Fletcher you aren’t long for this world thus grievance over eating your brother will be short I assure you.”said Mr. Leviticus leering as he bent forward running his tongue over his yellow nicotine stained teeth.

“You see Mr. Fletcher whats on tomorrow night’s dinner menu is you, but until then would you care for some dessert? No? shame Eli makes a splendid cherries jubilee.”

Business Can Be Hellish

Mrs. Newham had been standing on the curb nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot for the better part of an hour. Finally, an elegant, streamlined, shiny black stretch limo pulled up in front of her and parked. The rear door opened slowly giving an ominous feeling. Mrs. Newham bent down to enter the limo and took a seat next to an impeccably dressed thin man. The door shut with a solid thud as the car pulled away from the curb and headed down the road.
“I think its safe to assume you’re Mrs. Newham,” said the man in a low emotionless tone. “Yes, yes I am.” replied Mrs. Newham meekly.         “What can I do for you then Mrs. Newman?”

“I want to discuss your business dealings with my husband Edgar,”
“Why would you wish to do that?”
“Well Sir…”
“Vondire My name is Vondire,” said the thin man rudely interrupting Mrs. Newham.
“Well, Mr. Vondire my husband has been under a great deal of duress as of late, when it comes to his family’s business.” continued Mrs. Newham nervously.
“I am aware of your husbands business troubles. He told me all about it when he came to seek my council.”
“Then you know exactly what I’m talking about?”
“ I do, but it has nothing to do with me or the arrangement I made with your husband, Edgar.”
“ Mr. Vondire the arrangement you made with Edgar is utterly unrealistic not to mention preposterous.”


“It’s not preposterous or unrealistic; if a man agrees to the arrangement as your husband did. I’m not one to go back on my word, as it’s not good for business, especially in my line of work I assure you Mrs. Newham.
Vondire leisurely leaned forward so he could reach the limo’s bar. He took a crystal tumbler from a small cabinet. He then selected a bottle of scotch and poured 3 fingers into the lavish crystal tumbler before leaning back into his seat.
“You see Mrs. Newham,” said Vondire pausing to take a sip of scotch “I’m a businessman who abides by a strict rule of conduct. If someone, be they sound of mind or under duress like your husband, barters an agreement with me it’s iron clad.”


“But Mr. Vondire you can surely see that my poor Edgar was at his wits end. He hadn’t been eating or sleeping well for several months. The thought of losing his family business was more than he could bear,” Mrs. Newham said franticly, on the verge of begging.
“My agreement with your husband is not different from any other agreement I have with any other client. The damage is done Mrs. Newham. I suggest you thoroughly enjoy what my arrangement with your husband has provided for the two of you. Worrying about the inevitable will accomplish nothing.”

“Please Mr. Vondire my husband had no idea what he was agreeing to. He was too frazzled to make a sound judgment, more or less one of this magnitude.”
“Begging and Pleading will not change my mind and serves only to annoy me Mrs. Newham.”
“ But you haven’t left me any choice as I’m at your mercy” said Mrs. Newham doing her best to not give in to the impulse to bite her nails which she did when she was truly scared.
“ Isn’t there anything, anything at all I can do to change your mind Mr. Vondire?”
Mr. Vondire took a long sip of his scotch almost finishing it before he spoke.
“No, Mrs. Newham there is absolutely nothing you can do to change my arrangement with your husband. The deal was done as soon as your husband agreed to my contractual arrangement. People’s personal problems are just that, personal.”
“You can’t be serious! No one is that cold and unyielding. I can’t stand the idea of having my beloved husband by my side only to lose him forever, I can’t bear the thought of it, it makes me physically ill.” said Mrs. Newham fidgeting uncontrollably in her seat.


“This matter though it affects you greatly is no concern of mine. All you and your husband will do is honor the arrangement your husband and I made. “ said Vondire before finishing his scotch in one giant gulp. “I’m done with my drink and this concludes our conversation on this matter.”
The limo slowed down and came to an abrupt stop. The door once again opened itself slowly to allow Mrs. Newham to exit the car. Mrs. Newham feeling dejected and totally hopeless exited the car once again standing upon the curb. She then heard the low hum of the limo’s automatic window. Mrs. Newham looked up from the sidewalk and saw that the rear window of the limo was rolled down. She bent down and came face to face with Mr. Vondire whose eyes were such a brilliant shade of green, that for a moment it looked like someone actually removed his eyes and replaced them with real emeralds.
“Remember your wedding vows?” asked Vondire with a wicked grin sprawled across his weather worn face “It’s until death do we part. Remember that when you’re lamenting the loss of your beloved husband Edgar.”

Centralist by Spacedog

I am not a fuckin’ savior. I peel away at people like onions. We all do. Some of us are the peeled and we cry. Some of us are the instruments that scalp. Away. Away. Away.

 

We peel away the layers.

We peel away the sunshine.

We prefer it this way. Peeling away until there is nothing but barren terrain. Nakedness of the soul.

I see that barren flesh. I run. I hide. I capture but I do not seize. I growl at myself. I cannot kill the already dead. I cannot usurp what is already fallen at my feet. I plot. I ponder. I smile, I beckon them forth.

 

Centralist

I have always stood in between time and reality. I have always liked my part in this pathway towards truth, towards honesty, towards good.

I have always hated my lack of proofreading, my lack of utter care over things that most writers would throw hissy-fits about. Is this proper grammar? Am I spelled this write? Yes I know right.

I play dumb for the prey to think I am as such. It is not a very nice thing to do, but do it I shall. It was how the wolves conditioned me. Maybe I’m still just a wolf.

Most likely though, I fall in between. I am a centralist or centrist. I care not to look up spellings in dictionary.com. Usually words flow in my head that don’t make sense. Nine out of ten times, they are real words and I do a little spellcheck and poof they become what they were intended to be. Microcosisms of my head spewed out to the masses herky-jerkedly like a disenfranchised orgasm at a self-righteous porno store.

Yes. yes. YES. !!! I would think if I had a bigger ego, that yes I am the fuckin’ Dr. Phil of the next generation. I have been in the middle of many things. I somehow italicized my shit and have no clue how. I havent been in the middle of any bi relationships but if I could have would have just so I could enlighten you all further. But that is not the point of this blog. The point is this………………………………………

there comes a time…….. when we as people need something more. I need more. I hear my friends call me after many a beer and I hear my friends after many a sober evening. I do not hear stability call. I hear everything but.

I write and write and write some more. There is no sense to the melody. There is no reason to the rhyme. Perhpas if I could hear the music. I could tell the tale better. But I have equal melodies of those captured by the waves of the substances and I hear equal melodies of those not captured by such.

What road should I travel? What road will hurt me less? I care not. I care to live.

HOA’s The Legal Mafia

For those who are lucky enough not to know what the hell an HOA is allow me to explain.

What does HOA stand for?

It stands for Homeowners Association.

The History of HOA’s: HOA’s started very simply. Everyone who has or hasn’t owned a house is aware there is always a neighbor who’s a complete shit, and their house/yard reflects this shitty attitude. You know the house with the over grown lawn, mattress on the porch, car or some major household appliance rusting away in the yard etc. point being their house looks like a true dump. HOA’s used to be a basic agreement amongst the residents of a neighborhood that everyone should maintain their houses and lawns in a proper and respectable manner. If a neighbor’s house started to look shabby then the other residents would address it with the owner to resolve the said situation.

What Happened then to make HOA’s so detestable?

Thats an easy answer what happened was basic human behavior. People have a great knack for taking something simple and good and bastardizing it to death until its complicated and a MASSIVE pain in the ass. Homeowners self policing evolved under the force of human behavior into having HOA boards with Presidents (and vice presidents, treasurers and the like), childish elections, moronic monthly HOA meetings (imagine a town hall meeting where everyone is clinically insane and hopped up on Bath Salts.), idiotic infighting, and bullshit newsletters. Again we learn peoples desire for power makes them act like bastards and if they get a modicum of power it goes straight to their fucking heads, and thats not all by a long shot. The HOA has given themselves the right to dictate such things as what color you can paint your house, the type of front door you can have, if you can fly a flag, when you can water your lawn, demand you replace your roof at their discretion, demand that you paint your house again at their discretion regardless of peoples personal finances (example a new roof cost between $15,000 to $17,000 so most people plan to reroof years ahead of time so they can save up the money needed. Its a real fucker to have some asshole tell you out of the blue that you have to reroof your house immediately or else.)

Can I avoid buying a house without an HOA?

In most cases no unless you want to live in the shitty ghetto at the corner of Crack and Heroin because the neighborhoods are such utter shit no one living there gives a damn about petty shit they just want to stay alive. The other place you can buy a house without an HOA is the middle of the fucking boonies where there so few fucking people no one cares because out in the sticks there houses not neighborhoods.

HOA’s gave themselves the power to demand quarterly payments under the pretense that all the dues collected will go to the betterment of the neighborhood like repaving parking lots, roof repair, and landscaping to name a few. Not only that but if you are in violation of the set rules the HOA can fine you (usually $100) every day until you fix the issue at hand. HOA’s also have the self appointed authority to put a lean on your house if things get batshit crazy outta control as it were.

HOA is Legal Extortion. If I buy a house in a certain neighborhood why should I have to pay them quarterly? Thats a play right out of organized crime’s handbook. You see if a new store opens in a particular Mob family’s territory then the shop owner has to pay “Protection Money”. If a shop owner refuses to pay  the Mob will destroy their business, make their (along with friends and family) lives miserable, beat up/ torture the owner, and possibly murder them. All this because of the geographical location alone.

There 2 types of HOA’s The HOA Nazis and The HOA Do Nothings.

The HOA Nazi’s patrol the neighborhood daily looking for infractions of the mandated rules of the HOA. They are brutal and extremely judgmental. They believe they are superior to their neighbors and enforce the rules as forcefully as they can over the smallest infraction. They write nasty fucking letters, set high daily fines for offenders, lecture about “Those Neighbors” (those who didn’t comply) at HOA meetings reminiscent of Adolf Hitler’s speeches in tone and intensity. They are hated and disposed by the rest of their neighborhoods.

The HOA DO Nothings collect they dues BUT don’t use them to improve a damn thing. They do the absolute base minimum and they do that begrudgingly. They are lax on the rules (so you can get away with shit like having 2 dogs when the HOA rules say only one dog not to mention the HOA decides what breed and size of said dog) but theirs a lot more childish drama. At one point my HOA meetings got so emotionally intense the local Police were present to keep order. The bitch about Do Nothing HOA’s is they change their minds more than parents change their new born baby’s diapers. The only fucking thing my current HOA is responsible for is maintaining/ replacing the roofs. Well they just sent me a bullshit letter stating that for the next 7 years they are instituting an ADDITIONAL $500 payment because they are going to replace the roofs. My point is this why the fuck should I pay them an additional $500 when I already pay them quarterly AND THAT MONEY (from the quarterly payment) IS FOR PAYING FOR NEW ROOFS, thus I’m being double billed if you will. There is a SHIT LOAD more infighting amongst the board members resulting in raucous HOA meetings and TONS of bullshit letters because they have much more free time than the HOA Nazi’s.

In Summation HOA’s are fucking unAmerican and operate on the principles of extortion. HOA’s only have power because they gave it to themselves and everyone else instead of calling bullshit bitched about it and then complied. I have no fucking idea why neighborhoods don’t unite and dismantle their HOA’s. HOA’s are comprised off cranky, over opinionated, better than you, mean, depressed, vengeful, nosy, moronic, idiotic assholes who get their rocks off with the power they get being on the HOA board. FUCK EVERY HOA AND EVERY BOARD MEMBER. It’s the fucking American dream to buy your own home, but now with unnecessary HOA policies and institutional horse shit can crap all over your dream, extort money from you, harass you constantly, spy on you, and fine you or even putting a fucking lean on your dream home. The entire HOA system is as corrupt as any government on the fucking planet.

Good News I’m moving in a couple of months to a different state and managed to buy a house WITHOUT AN HOA and I can’t be fucking happier.

HOA should stand for Huge Outrageous Assholes because thats who runs them.

 

 

The Delinquent Detective Ep.1 : Screaming at a Deaf Dog

Heads Up For Readers: There is a good bit of obscene language and blasphemies contained within this piece.
Rock Hard woke with a startle one hand one his set of bulbous brass balls, and in the other empty bottle of Lithuanian Whisky.
The goddamn phone was ringing relentlessly BRING! BRING! like a goddamn banshee. Rock sat up and wearily rubbing his face trying to dispel the thick fog of yesterday.
Rock was no stranger to the endless trials and tribulations of life not by a long shot. Bullshit was his bread and butter.
Rock slowly made his way to the phone his feet shuffling across the thick scummy orange shag carpet barefoot.
Rock lit a cigarette irritated that some dumb son of a bitch had the fucking nerve to call him this early in the goddamn day. Rock reached the phone and unplugged it. Whoever it was fuck them thought Rock to himself.
Finally Rock thought to himself. Rock found people to be unbelievably irritating at best.
Rock proceeded to get ready for the dismal day that lay before him. Once Rock had shit, showered, and shaved Rock headed out to the office.
Locking the door behind him he started down the hall of The Royal Hotel lined with various delinquents. The monthly crew of cantankerous characters that inhabited The Royal Hotel, one of the BigCity’s finest flop house, was an unending revolving door of debauchery.
Rock tolerated these assholes because in a flea bag shithole no one sees shit, hears shit or says shit especially the police.
The residents of The Royal were the lowest of the low. There were junkies, hookers, pimps, cults, drunks, drug dealers, shut ins, welfare cases, white trash, Neo Nazi’s (that hangout at the lobby bar), traumatized Vietnam vets, thieves, bikers,and the mentally ill with no family.
It wasn’t always that way though. Back in its heyday The Royal played host to musicians, writers, artists, film makers running the entire gamete of the art world.
Business men booked suites for their corrupt conferences where they found ways to fuck over the working man. The staff was professional and proud to be part of The Royal.
Now Tina “Two Tits” Earner the local hooker was constantly prowling for pricks in the Hotels shitty dive-like bar. Homeless Hank the blocks beloved gutter dwelling bum was living in the lobby. The rest of The Royal was a fucking freak show a goddamn insane circus.
Ignoring the nasty noises of fighting and fucking that bled through the paper thin walls Rock made his way to the downstairs. Rock stopped briefly to shoot the shit with the front desk clerk.
The clerk was an anciently old man who worked the front desk and had for 52 years named Barnabas.
“Whats going on you nasty old bastard?” Rock asked casually with no real interest.
“I’m just a goddamn gargoyle perched on this goddamn stool watching the derelicts and dopers coming and going, it’s an endless parade of the broken and disheveled . Once the sun sets the city streets flood with sinners,” replied Barnabas weirdly staring off into space.
Rock stared at Barnabas wondering if he was senile or just being a mean old shit .
Rock walked briskly to the front door to escape the scum of the Earth confined within the rancid Royal.
Before exiting Rock checked to make sure he had his two faithful companions with him his flask and his revolver. Once he had established he was in possession of both Rock burst out on to the street.
Rock waded through the littered streets coated in filth and grim. The bums lurking in doorways like living corpses that had abandoned all hope in humanity.
The hookers were returning home after a long cold night on the street selling their souls as well as their snatches.
Junkies posted on the corners heckling change from the few regular folk who hadn’t fled the dying neighborhood bathed in decay.
Over laying graffiti adorned the street plastered across walls and any available space was now coated in spray paint.
Rock didn’t mind the dereliction in fact he welcomed it. People are parasites that don’t belong in palaces was his opinion.
At least when your deep in the shit surrounded by the dregs of society you know where you stand.
There is honesty in hooliganism. You can take everything at face fucking value, no bullshit required.
Rock chain smoked a whole pack of cigarettes on his wayward walk to work. So what if smoking led to fucking cancer Rock didn’t give a rats ass what the Surgeon General had to say on the subject.
Rock picked up a couple of new packs of smokes at newspaper stand around the corner from his office. Rock’s office was a located in the Burner building within walking distance from The Royal.
The Burner was a small building sandwiched between to sky scrappers. The Burner had always been a mega for unorthodox and unconventional professions such as psychics, weapons dealers, and in Rock’s case Private Detectives.
As he approached the front door of his office on the 3rd floor of the Burner he saw a person pacing in the dimly lit hallway.
Rock was already wondering what the stranger was all about when the stranger turned towards him and said……………

To Be Continued in
The Deviant Detective Ep.2 : Getting Directions from the Blind.