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.

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.

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.

McCoy’s Artistic Chaos

 

Les felt exhilarated and full of self righteousness as he drove as fast as humanly possible towards the freeway. Adrenaline was flowing through his veins like water through a flood gate making his skill feel electrified. His senses were all on high alert. As Less banked a right turn onto the freeway the car to fish tailed slightly. His blue tooth began to ring. Goddamnit Les thought to himself, for he knew it was one of two people. It was either his manager Mortimer, or the goddamn cops, but he’d done a good job at avoiding the police. It’s the goddamn media you can’t out run those vultures constantly circling waiting for tragedy and death to strike. Begrudgingly Les switched his blue tooth on as he felt his undying rage he possessed flare up all over again.
“What do you want?!,” demanded Les angrily.
“Les it’s Mortimer, your agent”
“I know who the hell you are Mort, I sign your goddamn paychecks. Not to mention I pay you to be my MANAGER NOT MY MOTHER. I already have one of those, and I haven’t talked to her in eight years AND COUNTING!” yelled Les at the top of his lungs now enraged that Mortimer has called him in the first place.
“Les your on the news again, thats 5 times this month alone,” Mortimer said in a slow authoritative tone like a teacher or librarian.
“FREE PRESS MORTIMER FREE GODDAMN PRESS!” screamed Les as Les’s driving began to become as erratic as his behavior. Les was preoccupied at that moment punching his steering wheel. This was not at all satisfying Les’s explosive anger. The steering wheel was thin and circular so Les’s fists of fury mostly missed it only fueling Les’s animosity.
“Yes, Les free press is good” replied Mortimer condescendingly as he lost patience for Les’s outrageously unpredictable, temper driven, theatrics.
“Les you’ve really outdone yourself this time. I mean, a hit and run Les? seriously why? Why Les do you feel compelled to create not only fine art but unyielding chaos all around you?”
“DON’T be condescending to me you pion!” Les growled, as emotion started to replace logical thought. “That scum of the Earth deserved what he got, and what he got was hit by a car. I WAS DRIVING! SO WHAT?”
“Les for Christ’s sake you tried to drown a critic in the punch bowl. Then you beat another critic of yours with a lawn jockey. NOW you top it all off with a hit and run. Please do tell why, and how this monstrosity came to be.”demanded Mortimer as he took a long draw from a bottle of Pepto Bismol which he kept in a desk drawer for when dealing specifically with Les.
“I was at my opening Deviants of Art, and Phil Edwards from the New Yorker was there. I over heard Phil telling other patrons that my art is over rated and that this was due to my lack of classical training or some shit.”explained Less occasionally stalling as his mind came up with the words faster than Les’s mouth could say them. “This pompous twit had the gaul to dare criticize my work, my work is goddamn invaluable to the art world. My point, is this Mortimer, art is SUBJECTIVE. If art is SUBJECTIVE, why then do I need CRITICS to comment, judge and condemn, my splendid works? Well, I saw that piece of filth Phil walking to his car, and I jumped into a car the valet had just brought around. I crept up behind him, lined up the front right corner of the car with the back of his leg, pounded the pedal to the metal and clipped him with the car. I wasn’t trying to kill the son of a bitch, though being dead would be his greatest accomplishment. I just clipped him to scare the shit out of him, and send him flying through the air. I figured he’d then land and roll across the asphalt. I cannot turn off the fires of my creative passions just because I’m not painting in my studio, it’s not my fault that my artist passion doesn’t translate in real life.”
“You have a good point Les BUT the way you make it leaves a lot to be desired AND NOW you tell me in spite of the already bad situation that you ALSO STOLE A CAR.,” quipped Mortimer like a peeved off parent. “Well, Les what are we going to do about this? You’ve gone to far. I already called in Art Management’s legal team.”
“Fire them for all I care I detest lawyers they’re the art critics of the legal world. Your right Mortimer I’m done with this shit, the art, the openings, the critics. I’ve decided it is time to retire.” Les said sounding rather insane.
“Retire! I don’t care. I’d live longer if you did,” responded Mortimer “But your in real trouble Les. Assault is one thing. Grand theft auto and attempted vehicular homicide is a totally different animal all together.”
“I DON’T CARE Mortimer I’m headed for the Florida Keys. The police can just TRY and locate me in a chain of 1,400 islands. I’m not a moron I’m not going to the obvious spots like KeyWest or KeyLargo or whatever. I’m going to buy one of the little unknown islands to retire to” ranted Les with growing intensity.
“Well, then it was a pleasure, of sorts anyway, working for you and while you are an artist you need to learn to control your artists passions outside of your studio.” Mortimer said in honesty
“Thanks Mortimer for putting up with all my shit and bailing me out countless times,” said Les ambivalently “It’s five o’clock somewhere and thats where you’ll find me.”

The Absolute Insanity In Editing: The Original

I was talking with my Brother god knows how long ago and I was ranting about how my editing is insane. I’ve actually started editing a piece only to have the end result being a completely different piece all together. I told my brother that extreme editing being part of my writing process takes a good bit of time, and I’m aware people have virtually NO ATTENTION SPAN. My Brother suggested to address my concerns about it by posting an example say an original version, and the the final version in a compare and contrast scenario. Like so many of my Brother’s excellent ideas I fully agreed that would be a perfect solution. I then immediately did nothing about it I just put it to the side. In true fashion though I doubled back and FINALLY have decided to do it.

This is the ORIGINAL version which I wrote for a local writing competition for shits and giggles. There were some CONDITIONS to be dealt with. The rules stated while it could be a horror piece it COULD NOT exceed 1,000 words. Thats not all theres more such as no horror cliches. That meant NO Teens in the woods at a cabin or camp for example. Car/mechanical break downs, eerie/scary sounds, the group CAN NOT split up in anyway, AND the killer had to be human were almost all the rest of the limitations. I honestly don’t remember the rest as this was written a while of go.

Personally I think this piece is just that a piece of shit. The 1,000 limitation wasn’t so much the issue as while I respect and understand why  the people throwing the competition banned cliches. the PROBLEM with both of the aforementioned issues cliches are cliches sometimes for a reason. This is one of those times as all those horror cliches are key tools to build suspense and build tension. Without suspense and tension a horror story is at best a shitty thriller (Horror I love, Thrillers are complete shit ,but thats a different story so I digress for now)

I will only post EVERY OTHER Revision as to over burden the readers nor bore them. After I post this I will post the 2 REVISION. I’m current working on the 3 revision currently. Revision 3 will NOT be the Final Version not by a long shot, and I’m not fucking psychic so I have not idea what so ever how many more revisions there will be.

With that said here is the original (in my opinion is childish and utter shit) of:

The Butchers of Backwater

As the pungent odor of the smelling salts filled Joel’s nostril he snapped awake as if 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 in fact he was. Joel’s head was pounding like there was a giant metronome was banging away in his head to no end. As his eyes adjusted to the dim candle light of the chandelier and various candelabra’s that sent shadows dancing on the walls with wild abandon.The wall paper was so old it had become yellowed and as brittle as parchment over the countless decades. Large pictures of grimly stoic what Joel assumed where family ancestors framed in dingy gaudy gold frames that lined all four walls of the dinning room. Some of the paintings subjects looked some what deformed but Joel dismissed this to the stone faced portraits of the past where no one dared smile. The black and white old time photographs had faded in various degrees from whitened smudged edges to almost fully faded to the point of being almost black in appearance, and the photos as well as the paintings were emotionless poker faces.There were two medical 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

As Joel’s eyes came slowly into focus he could see he was in a rather large dinning room that was reminiscent of the kind of dinning room one would find in a Old Southern Planation farmhouse. Joel was restrained with thick chains that bound his feet together, secured Joel’s arms to the arms of the old oak chair he was situated in. The chains were also coiled around Joel’s torso like a metallic python. Joel was positioned at one end of the table opposite the designated head of the table. Joel 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 looked like they were old enough to be genuine silver. The cutlery showed it age as oxidation over years had left its trade mark patina giving the appearance that it was tarnished.
Joel became aware of someone talking behind him in a deep commanding voice, and with the distinct drawl like that of a “Southern Gentlemen” from an era long gone.
“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 still 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 was he? Who’s house was this?” “How’d he even get here”,but most of all at this particular moment the primary question was “Who was this man and why did he restrain Joel with an excessive amount of chains?”
“Mr. Joel Fletcher you have the definite look of confusion as to where you are and to that which is going on.” the voice said with a slight tone of mockery.
Joel then heard the distinct sound of centuries old wooden floor sighing with long groans and loud creeping sound of someone walking across it. 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 in its rate of speed. Damnit Joel thought to himself I can’t show weakness, I must remain calm and focused as possible considering the current circumstances.
“Questions abound don’t they Mr. Fletcher and you shall have all the answers you desire shortly I assure you.” The voice said from directly behind Joel so 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 wonder if he had fallen victim to the demented relatives of Cornel 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 odd reason was as black as the bottom of an abyss. The old man pulled his chair out and took a seat slowly lowering his long and thin body into the chair. The old man crossed his legs and placed rested his arms on the table on either side of a second place setting. The old man reached into his suit jacket and removed a cigarette case like the ones from the 1920’s. He opened the case, removed a cigarette tapping it lightly and deliberately on the exterior of the case. The old man took a few minutes that seemed like an eternity to Joel to locate his Zippo lighter that had some sort of military insignia 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 again.
“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 stranger 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.” asked Joel, his voice now quivering uncontrollably now.
“Well then as you are my humble quest 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 if you will, 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 or perhaps the city. 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 longingly 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.
“Now due to the family tradition of keeping the family bloodline clean and pure there were 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 they had been traveling together 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 and your business partners as well as your aforementioned brother you were all 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 post haste 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 with gnarled and twisted limbs like that of a ancient oak coated in a thick layer of sweat placed a plate in front of Mr. Leviticus delicately. The grotesque giant was where grimy dirt encrusted over alls without a shirt. As Mr. Leviticus’s younger brother made his way over to where Joel was seated the floor boards strained to support the weight of his extremely large frame. The long greasy unkept hair obscured the titans face especially since Mr. Leviticus’s brother tended to walk with his head lowered as if in mourning. Mr. Leviticus’s brother made his way over to Joel where he unceremoniously dropped the plate in front of Joel. The plate crashed down upon the table with a loud clatter which sent some of the meat juice to splatter upon the table.
“ID!” yelled Mr. Leviticus outraged, “You know quite well this 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 the mind you make up for in body. Now leave us and don’t let playing with the food to even enter your minuscule mind.”
Id 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 as the case may be. His gargantuan muscles tightening at ever word that came out of his irritated brother’s mouth. It seemed that Mr. Leviticus’s brother Id was physically affected by his brother’s harsh reprimanding. When Mr. Leviticus was done chastising his younger brother Id promptly bent down and wiped the meat juice off the table with one of his hotdog sized fingers. Id the hastily exited the dining room utilizing the door behind where Joel was seated.
“Please excuse my brother’s lack of manners for he is not as civilized as and your aforementioned brother we and I did warn you 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 and Mr. Leviticus ate in silence. Joel couldn’t help but notice the pork chops were fresh and succulent unlike any he had had before. The meat was so tender it melted in Joel’s mouth coating his young 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 divine I’d hate my brother to miss such a grand meal.” Joel said in all honesty.
“Don’t worry Mr. Fletcher your brother is here in spirit and on the plate.” 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 .” announced Mr. Leviticus with a growing grin of sadistic delight as Joel processed what he had just been told.
“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 fought relentlessly at the chains that confined him to the chair trying desperately to free himself.
“Id can you summon Mr. Fletchers brother 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 a jack rabbits on meth, sweet was rolling down his face like a mid summer 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 that they killed and cooked his brother. Not only that but the mentally crippling thought that he may have in deed dined upon his brothers flesh drove Joel to the point of lunacy.
The slow solid steps echoed down the hallway as Id 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 Id’s imposing body once again filled the doorway behind Joel his shadow looming over him like a storm cloud waiting out the calm before the storm. Id crept up behind Joel stopping directly behind him. As Id lurked behind Joel could hear the labored breath of Id with the steady deep inhalations that ended more or less in a exacerbated sigh coming from directly above his head, but Joel was to terrified to even entertain the idea of looking up into the face of the monstrosity standing over him.
“Where is my brother you demented backwoods inbred hillbilly son of a bitch? Where is HE?!” demanded Joel in frustrated anger struggling so hard the chains that bound him rattled like a wind chimes in a hurricane.
“Id 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 withdrawing itself back to its owner standing behind of Joel. It happened so fast that Joel was initially too startled to comprehend what was happening, and sat transfixed by fear like a deer in the headlights of an eighteen wheeler barreling down upon it. Then Joel saw what Id had deposited upon the table in front of him, his brothers severed head.
“JESUS CHRIST ZANDER!” exclaimed Joel in a fevered pitch as he gazed upon his brothers decapitated head.
“Don’t worry Mr. Fletcher you aren’t long for this world yourself so the time of 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 how would you like some dessert?”

I don’t Know What I Am, But I Know I’m Great

I live in live in the back right corner of the Cardboard Neighborhood with its four tall walls and retractable ceiling located in the Southern territory of The Closet.

I’m not Alone, though I wish I was.
My neighbors are a bunch of troglodytes to say the least.
Who are my Neighbors you ask? Well, fine I’ll tell you though it’s a waste of both of our time.
The first of my neighbors is a rather large pocket knife. PK as I call him because I don’t know or want to know his actual name.
He’s a bore. He never talks. He just periodically blurts out military slogans such as ‘Death before dishonor” and “Remember the Alamo”.
There is a gang of condoms that while still attached to each other like siamese twins are without a proper box like a bunch of savages.
All the condoms want to do is talk to the small army of naked women in the large stack of magazines where apparently clothes are forbidden.
The magazine girls and the condoms just hit on each other all day in an endless string of “Ohs” and “Ahs” .
I don’t know any of the condoms names, or the army of naked ladies names, but if I had to make an educated guess I’d say that they all appear to be called “Baby”.
I can survive my asinine neighbors because I am special.
Those outside the cardboard confines of the neighborhood call me The Big Bad Boy.
They claim I can take your head off like a shotgun.
Thus I think its safe to assume I am in fact royalty.
Yet if you’re not convinced of my awe inspiring greatness then you can choke on this.
I’m the only one in the neighborhood who gets invited to the land of giants.
At least twice a day the giant named Tim comes and collects me.
I believe Tim is the leader of this particular group of giants.
Once in a while it’s just me and Tim hanging out, this again proves my greatness as I’m the only one the giant Tim consults in private behind the curtain of his court.
Most of the time though when Tim comes to collect me he is surrounded by his fellow giant friends who play second fiddle to Tim.
Tim lifts me out of the cardboard neighborhood and carries me to the bathroom, as it is called, yet I have not seen a single giant taking a bath in all these long years.
The Giant Tim turns on a metal appendage protruding from something called a sink.
Tim then fills my belly full of cold, crisp, clean water.
The cool water flows directly down into my awaiting belly via my mouth which is always agape.
Then Tim takes me back to the land of giants which I like to refer to as Timsland.
Tim places me on a low circular table which his friend giants are sitting around so that they may admire me.
I’m the most stunning centerpiece these giants have ever known.
After a few minutes of idle chit chat the giant Tim along with his friends take turns filling my belly button with various exotic and quite aromatic plants with names like “Grape Ape” or “OG Kush”
I suppose these are gifts paying tribute to me and all that I am.
Then the truly grand party begins.
Giant Tim lights sweet smelling sticks called Intense I believe due to the pungent trails of smoke that drift from its end when exposed to fire.
Tim then plays the music of other giants I’ve never met with strange and exotic names like Metallica, Slayer, and Anthrax at a rather high volume.
Tim then sits down with his fellow giants around the table.
He takes a small combustable device and creates a small flickering flame.
He then holds the small flame up to my belly button and sets the exotic plant, given to me as a tribute, on fire.
As the plant smolders in my belly button Tim inhales the smoke through my entire body and out through a rather large hole in my head.
After I make my rounds the giants are pleased with me and agree I am something referred to as “Cool as shit” which is obviously another dubious title for me affirming I am royalty even more so.
The giants then lounge around Timsland eyes half closed in satisfaction.
They giggle, laugh, smile and thoroughly enjoy themselves in my company.
Still, things are not always so copacetic in Timsland.
Timsland is under constant threat by an even larger female giant known as an Adult.
Sometimes during the parties the Adult summons Tim and Tim makes a frantic exit while the other giants look on anxiously.
But it can get even worse I tell you.
Sometimes the Adult storms into Timsland and crashes the party she wasn’t invited to.
When the Adult invades Timsland Tim immediately hides me from view.
I believe this is because the larger Adult wants to capture me for my endless greatness and take me far away from Timsland to serve only her.
Tim being the smaller of the two giants would not fair well in a physical confrontation so he must hide me so I can’t be confiscated by the Adult threat.
One day the Adult found where Tim was hiding me.
The Adult was enraged at Tim keeping her from me and she then kidnapped me.
I was thrown into a prison known as The basement were I was confined to an old luggage trunk.
I spent my days longing for Tim to come and steal me back and take me to Timsland to be properly celebrated.
Days turned into months and I was convinced I was abandoned or perhaps exiled by the angry Adult.
I had given up all hope as my days of glory were far gone.
That was until the Adult came to collect me and fill my belly with cold, crisp, clean water.