Structural-Functional Theory Vs. The Conflict Theory

Note To Reader:

Before or while reading the following article you must remember its based on a random photography of a “Typical American Family”.

The photo is a simple one, a family portrait.

The Mother and Father are standing side by side with their arms around one another. Positioned in front of them are their 3 children. The eldest child their son, 2 young daughters one around 10 years of age is the middle child, and a the youngest child a girl aged about 5 years. Also in the photograph are the family’s 2 Golden Retriever sitting in the lower right hand corner.

The 2 sides of the photo’s story:

The family in the photograph are an example of an American traditional nuclear family. It consists of a father, a mother, the son (the eldest of the three children) ,and the family’s two young daughters ( the middle child and the youngest/baby) along with two golden retrievers. Now the question at hand is how would this family in the photograph stand up to The Structural-Functional and Conflict theories, what could they tell us about this family?

The Structural-Functional theory would champion the family in the photograph, as the Structural-Functional theory believes that the traditional nuclear family is the only family that provides social institution, social solidarity, shared values and socialization. The biological father is the bread winner/sole income, the biological mother stays at home raising the children and managing household duties, and they have three biological children. The parents are providing (at least as we can tell from this single photograph) the three essential functions of a family which are raising their children responsibly, providing economic support (from the fathers work outside of the house) and giving emotional support. The traditional nuclear family is so instrumental in the structural-functional theory that according to said theory all other family models are considered to be detrimental to society and smooth functionality.
On the other hand, the family in this photograph would detested by the conflict theory specifically due to the fact that it is a traditional nuclear family (though 77% of all American households are not the traditional nuclear family model). Conflict theory would state the problem with this, or any, traditional nuclear family lies in the gross power imbalance between the father and the mother. Conflict theory would say society gives the father more power outside the home as the sole bread winner, but also the father subsequently has more power in the home as the “Man of the house” while the mother is resigned to being a second class citizen who’s only responsibility is to take care of children and clean the house. Not only is there a definite power imbalance between the two parents, but there is also an unfair power imbalance between the family’s three children. Traditionally male children are given significantly more freedom and female children have many more restrictions placed on them. Thus according to the conflict theory all other family types are far more preferable as opposed to the traditional nuclear family.

The Deviant Detective Ep 3 : Looking For The Cock Rock King

Rock kicked his feet up onto his desk with a solid thud. Rock picked up a copy of the local paper “The Fanatic” because you’d be surprised what ideas one can come up with by just reading the paper.

Rock flipped through the pages casually until he reached the back of the paper.  At the back of “The Fanatic” was the local entertainment/art scene.

Rock never paid mind to the entertainment section it was all shit. Today though Rock realized he’d not only have to read the entertainment section, but also pay struck attention looking for any possible leads. His new client the underground self proclaimed Queen of Punk Ivy Savage had little patience and a huge fucking drug habit.

Rock scanned the concert section and found Ivy’s missing boyfriend Eddie Oi’s band The Fuck Me Pumps were scheduled to play that night down at a small hole in the wall called The Boozehound Lounge. The Boozehound was only a couple of blocks from The BarFly Bar which Ivy had mentioned as a possible hangout of Eddie’s.

Rock placed his feet back on the floor, downed 4 fingers of Kentucky White Whisky, lit a cigarette and exhaled with a labored sigh. Rock knew what he had to do. Rock called a cab and headed down to what was referred to as the dive district.

The dive district was a run down part of the city with abandoned factories, dive bars, shitty clubs, Soup kitchens, Hobo Haven (a tent city of sorts consisting of the cities many homeless), methadone clinics, the county mental health hospital, mom and pop liquor stores, Pawn shops, Strip clubs, Old school Porno theaters most converted into sex shops, the slums run by lecherous so called land lords, and the solid waste authority.

On the ride Rock decided it be best to pick the cabbies brain. Next to bartenders cabbies were the unofficial information sources of street knowledge the who’s, what’s, when’s and where’s the life blood of the city.

“Hey buddy how long you been driving the dive district route?,” inquired Rock

“22 years and thats 20 to damn many,” gripped the cabbie

“I’m looking for some punk rock guy named Eddie Oi. You know the prime punk scene hangouts and clubs?”

“Fuck that shit. The Fuck Me Pump’s aren’t punk rock, their fucking cock rock. your looking in the right neighborhood but wrong street if ya know what I’m saying pal.,”

“What in the name of Christ is Cock Rock?,” asked Rock as he reached for his trusty flask.

“Cock Rock,”said the cabbie “Its like punk rock, 3 chord shit played as fast as humanly possible. Instead of politics or social commentary Cock Rock is  essentially a shitty porno put to music. Think 2 Live Crew but with guitars and all that shit.”

“Shit and I thought Punk was the soundtrack of the gutter but damn just like always theres something worse than what you think. Wheres a good place to start the search?” Rock wondered aloud.

“Easy you go to The BarFly Bar. When you get there ask for Bloody Sod Bollocks he’s the godfather of underground hardcore scene. He used to be in some famous British hardcore punk band back in the day called Shit Out of Luck or something like that. He’s been here in the city so long he knows every-fucking-body. You looking for a musical you go talk to Bloody Sod.” claimed the cabbie in utter confidence as he pulled up to the curb outside of The BarFly Bar.

Well isn’t that convenient as hell thought Rock. All signs seemed to point to The BarFly Bar and that would be Rock’s jumping off point. Rock exited the cab making sure to give the cabbie a hefty tip not for the ride but the information. Any asshole can drive a car.

The BarFly Bar looked like the kind of establishment one would expect to get stabbed in. The bar smelled foul like a locker room and a well used port-o-potty combined. Jesus Christ Rock thought I’ve been in shitty bars before but this is by far the shittiest. It’s like every other shitty bar came to The BarFly and took a massive shit in it.

The windows where blacked out to spare the bottom dwelling patrons having to face the light of day. Cigarette smoke hung in the air wafting around the lights like restless spirits. The bar was located to the left of the main entrance. The bar itself was lined with decreped and wobbly stools patched together with duct tape.

The bartender/owner was a stout man in his early 60’s whose collection of tattoos had deteriorated into sloppy blurs over the decades. His large gnarled hands with thick calluses spoke hard life of manual labor and long hours. The wrinkles in his face where etched through time like the feordes  and ran just as deep.

The handful of patrons were spread through out the bar all of them alone. The exception being a middle aged couple who seemed oblivious to the world around them as the slobbered all over one another. It was the equivalent of watching a extremely shitty home made sex tape.

Rock saddled up to the bar preferring to stand over sitting on one of the STD ridden bar stools.

“Hey Bartender let me get 3 fingers of Westminster Whiskey and an ash tray while your at it,” Said Rock slowly rescanning the bar.

“I’m Gunny bartending is what I do.”replied Gunny as he angrily pulled the cork from the whiskey bottle “Ive got no problem letting you know that I don’t like dicks in my bar private or otherwise.”

“Well at least you didn’t say cop. I’m looking for Eddie Oi he owes my client money. Thats where I come in.”

“Who doesn’t that grimy little shit owe money to? I haven’t seen him since I 86ed his bar tab, and told him until he repays it all drinks will be on a cash transaction.”

“You have any idea where he might be Gunny?”

“Hell no. But Justin Sane the drummer in his little shit band is in the stock room.” said Gunny as he started to wipe down the warped bar top.

“What the hell is he doing in the stock room?” Rock asked downing his drink in one gulp before signaling for another.

“Some junkie groupie took him back there, sad the high light of this pitiful girls rough life will be sucking Justin’s baby dick in the back of a shitty bar.”

Rock downed his second drink in the same fashion as the first. Turned to face the stock room door at the back of the building. Rock steadily approached the stockroom door preparing for whatever maybe behind it. Rock stopped right in front of the door, grasped the greasy door knob firmly, and shoved it open like a steroid ridden line backer.

Stockroom more like storeroom is more like it Rock thought the instant the door gave way. None the less there was Justin propped up against a pallet of beer boxes with his red liberty spike mohawk, tattered leather vest infested with a collage of various band’s pins and patches, generic white t-shirt with a anarchy sign spray painted on it in a sickly green, slew of amateur India ink tattoos that gave way to the track marks beginning to establish themselves. His cut off jean shorts around his ankles while some skanky bleached blonde was on her knees in front of him her head bobbing like she’d been infected with a potent fast acting poison, and the only cure was located in Justin’s cock.

Before Rock had a chance to react all hell broke loose. Rock was grabbed from behind and thrown violently backward into the door frame . Ivy Savage came barreling past Rock in a goddamn flash, then she snatched the groupie by the hair and tossed her aside like a fucking rag doll. The instant the groupie was sent tumbling into a near by liquor rack Ivy dropped to her knees. She grabbed Justin’s massive member at the base with one hand and the tip with the other. What happened next defies logic. Ivy now with Justin’s huge lap hog in her hands bite down on it full force like she was rabidly attacking an ear of corn. Inspire of Gunny’s disparaging comments pertaining to the size of Justin’s “baby dick” Justin was hung like a goddamn donkey. The kid was 5′ 9″ and a 100 pounds soaking wet and 10 of those pounds were due to his dick Rock thought sarcastically. Justin’s porn star sized cock was inevitably too thick for Ivy to bite it clean in half which seemed to be her true intent.

In spite of Justin’s unforeseen girth Ivy earned her moniker of savage. Ivy gleefully started biting mouthfuls of Justin’s schlong spitting them out one after the other while screaming like a blood thirsty banshee “I’M IVY FUCKING SAVAGE! I’LL POISON YOU LIKE IVY AND BRUTALIZE YOU LIKE A FUCKING SAVAGE!!!!”

Rock had had enough of this bullshit for the day. The groupie cowering in a corner kicking and screaming, Ivy’s genital based cannibalism, and Justine guttural growls as blood splatter covered the entire room. Rock reached over and took a bottle of cheap rot gut booze and brought it crashing down upon Ivy’s head knocking out cold. Rock turned and exited the storeroom shutting the door behind him.

“Holy Hell what the fuck is going on in there?!!,” demanded Gunny scowling at Rock intensity.

“Gunny, your closed for the evening,” replied Rock with calculated calm before promptly leaving the confines of The BarFly for the soothing insanity of the city streets. Then it suddenly occurred he had failed to locate the so called underground godfather Bloody Sod Bolloks.

“Goddamn it! Shit,shit,shit!! Goddamn Bloody Sod!” Rock said aloud in utter frustration.

“You looking to find Bloody he’s at the Methadone Clinic everyday at 5pm to hook up his daily dose.” commented a disheveled homeless kid who was  lurking in a dark doorway like a ghost of society.

“Thanks for the tip,” Rock said handing the homeless kid a twenty “Buy some fucking food. Don’t spend all this on dope or drink.”

“Sure thing,” the homeless kid chirped excitedly at the sight of the twenty.

Sure thing my ass thought Rock as he turned away from the kid and headed off towards the City’s sole methadone clinic at a quick clip.

To Be Continued…

In

The Deviant Detective Ep.4 : Shit Sandwich Lunch Special

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.”