Creative Writing – Page 27

Our Exodus From The Great Southern Swamp Once & For All

As all these stories start we woke at dawn (or the ass crack off dawn for my fellow non morning friends) and proceeded to try to drink Dunkin Doughnuts out of coffee. We had to wait until 11 am before we could pick up the small army of Uhaul trailers the reason being our Slumlord wouldn’t allow us to park the vehicles in the parking lot overnight like an asshole. So we set out to finish “Tidying Up” and do last minute patching, painting and deep cleaning while we waited. I don’t personally have the patience to wait which is why I hate waiting. Patience is a virtue I was born without.

Finally we get the Uhauls lined up out front of the office and for the next 4 hours did nothing but load the trucks up one after the other. We then packed up our office animal and put rubber to asphalt. Just our luck The Great Southern Swamp had one more fuck you for us as we made our final escape. The entire east side of The Great Southern Swamp was hit with a series of brutal tropical storms. The storms were so intense you couldn’t see the tail lights of the car 6 feet in front of you thus slowing down our progress severely. After battling the tropical storms for almost 8 hours we crossed the state line leaving the Great Southern Swamp looming in our review mirrors.

The rest of the trip to the Southern Country went relatively smooth in spite of god knows how many fueling stops, bathroom breaks and other minor difficulties. We reached our new home office (which since moving have decided to dub “The Black Lodge” a tribute to the band Anthrax, what I told you I’m older than dinosaur shit?!) a little past 3 am and were needless to say exceptionally glad to have reached our destination and get the hell off the road. As we started to unload My Wife suddenly informed me the only key we had was missing. We stumbled around road weary and some what sleep deprived (everyone was excited about the move so no one really got any thing resembling actual sleep) looking in vain for the lost key. It was the brought to my attention there was a back up emergency key stashed about 30 minutes away. Not thrilled in the least my Wife and I got in our car, leaving the kids (staff) and critters on the front porch of The Black Lodge. Once we reached the house where our emergency key was at we had to enter the code given to us by the owner to shut off the security alarm. Needless to say in our delirious state we instead of shutting the alarm off we set it off. I can not begin to describe the sound this alarm made it was not only deafening (even with your fingers in your ears so far their tickling your brain) and disorienting in it self. It was so insanely loud we actually could think coherently, it was like the kind of shit the police/military/government agencies do when they blast music to end a standoff.

I managed to hold my shit together long enough to clock the alarm company’s phone number off the alarm box and ran across the street to call them. The alarm company was cool as shit and the problem was taken care of, well that one at least. My Wife then went in to retrieve our emergency key and I shit you not it wasn’t there. I then tried to contact the owner which took awhile being at that point it was around quarter to 4 in the morning. I did catch up with the owner in the end who then informed me they had our key with them. The only issue with that was the owner was on vacation in motherfucking Las Vegas which obviously left us high and dry.

With no other option my Wife and I got back in the car once again and headed back to The Black Lodge. Once we arrived we informed the Kids (Staff) we would be sleeping in the same vehicles we were so happy to get out of in the first fucking place. Fortunately that would only translate to approximately 4 hours or so because it turned out our contractor still had a copy of our key which we retrieved at 8:30 am the next day.

All in All it seems like a fitting end to our chapter in The Great Southern Swamp and our the start of our new chapter here in The Southern Country.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober

The Staff Speaks: Here is WTF is Going On

Hey good readers this is the first (and more than likely the only) time we the staff here at f-yourblog.com will be able to address you directly. Les has given us this unique opportunity due to well a few things actually. To keep things short and concise we will list WTF is Going on here in no specific order.

We are all extremely psyched with our new home offices in the southern country (which we have already named The Black Lodge), and to be out of the soul sucking great souther swamp. We have almost completely resettled and ready to get f-yourblog revered up to its fully awesome potential
We are aware Les claimed to have our operation up and running by July 15th. Les in all actuality shot a glance at a wall calendar (yes he’s that old) and went with the 1st number he saw that at the time he thought made sense. WE APOLOGIZE for this miscommunication and inconvenience.
We are also aware of the fact the Les has launched the Road Tripping with f-yourblog.com series (posting Navigator rules/regulations for example) without actually explaining wtf it is exactly. So with out further a delayed ado here it is. Road Tripping is an experimental brain child of Les’s in Gonzo-Gorilla photography and videography. The teams consist of two people the driver and the aforementioned navigator. The road trip has no designated destination or itinerary the rules are simple return on time and keep content from the road coming consistently. The pictures/video taken will not feature the usual bullshit such as standing at the grand canyon, posing by the statue of liberty, standing by a star’s star in hollyweird, no disney postcard crap, no posed pictures all subjects must remain oblivious of photographing/filming (people act fake as shit all bowing up and grinning like court jesters while posing in some cliche pose when they even see a camera, man’s natural born vanity) Bottom line: All photos/videos must be viewed through the absurdly insane artist’s eyes to see the bizarre world that they live inside the confines of their skulls.
Fuckbook (facebook) update of sorts?! The fact that fuckbook locked Les out of his accounts (Personal page and promo for f-yourblog.com) because for personal privacy Les used a pen name. Meanwhile on fuckbook live assholes and psychofucks posted murders, bragged about killing people and posted violent police chases filmed by the suspect. ANYWAY the point is fuckbook threatened to dismantle Les’s pages unless he could prove his identification in 2 weeks THEY HAVEN’T. While Les being barred currently YOU CAN STILL CHECKOUT LESS SOBER and f-yourblog.com’s PAGES for shits and giggles or to kill time while your perched on the crapper.

5. Les unfortunately still has the displeasure of selling our old home offices in the great souther swamp, and as of a phone call Friday afternoon, has been virtually unavailable. He’s had a phone attached to his ear and paces feverishly as he remedies whatever the issue is (we don’t honestly know, but Les keeps saying something about a shitty handyman who if Les ever sets eyes on again he will stab said handyman in the face repeatedly with a rusty fork?!)

6. While Les has an affinity for Twitter because its the 2nd most effective form of free promotion, and lets face it we are bout broke (we survive off a steady diet of toilet wine and sardines and saltines) WE HAVE BROUGHT TO LES’S ATTENTION that we should run the road tripping series simultaneously HERE and on twitter. Les agreed with a patented “Fuck it. Do it.” As we already have compiled over 800 photographs and a large handful of videos already we can get the series up and running tomorrow easy as a $2 crackwhore.

7. We have lost SpaceDog along the move and don’t know his current whereabouts as of late. Though Spacedog is not clocked on our radar Les assured us he has caught up with SpaceDog who was pounding Singapore Slings (like his name was Hunter S. Thompson) and killing it at the casino. We look foreward to having SpaceDog back with us as soon as he gambles himself broke

8. Lastly Les is trying to get another chief contributor by the name of Bujo to complete what he is referring to as his “3 pronged trifecta” We have absolutely no further information or details pertaining to this artistic collaboration.

Thats all we have to report now, thanks for reader’s continued support and encouragement.

sincerely the silent staff

Midnight Madness 2017: Textmaniacs Trivial & Torrid Textversations

For what seems to be several years in the early hours on the morning Spacedog and Les Sober have been having extreme, hilarious, absurd, obscene, hardcore, offensive, Lewd, Brain Warping, Crude, Insane, Demented, Ungodly, Disturbed, Severely Mentally unbalanced conversations by phone or text. Les is working on recording and posting said phone conversations, but is dragging his ass post move. In the mean time it was decided that there was NO reason whatsoever not to start transcribing the conversations via text I mean how fucking hard is that?!

Now without further ado here is SpaceDog & Les’s most current Late Night Text Conversation or Textmaniacs Volume 1.

WARNING TO OUR READERS: Textmaniacs by its nature alone is full of Obscenities, Vulgarities, Violent Imagery, Drugs, Blasphemies, Drinking/ Booze, Anti Authority Themes (i.e. Fuck Cops in their Criminal Asses), and is Extremely Sexually Explicit. TEXTMANIACS is for OUR MOST DIEHARD FANS, all others need to think twice and very hard at that before continuing to read further. Thank You and Have A Splendid Day.

Les Sober: We’re so far out in the Woods we had to go old school and get a fucking land line.

SpaceDog: A Landline? Hmmm Should I send you a free AOL Dial Up Trial?

Les Sober: No Next I’m getting into Bootlegging Counterfeit Grits or invent GritShine, Moonshine derived from Grits.

SpaceDog: Ok I was completely different types are a bit of that shut shut shut shut shut down to get in on the water with me at the casino in a week trying PvP is it to be honest. Will also tell them they are a bit drunk in love and will also be there was an old people drink in celebration of me. Know a time pause onion on with a silver cock, Silver Cock, SILVER COCK in his mouth and the reason why the men, and will be a fugitive this is is guaranteed to get your ass flagged or vomit to get in with a Silver Cock in in his mouth, and I have, have, have a Citi MasterCard. The reasonI wanted you traveling journey with me emails from people bit drunk in luv with a Silver Cock in his mouth of a bit drunk too many of of the casino in a week trying PvP. Is it to be honest I was completely sober, but I’m not sure if you want to go to to go to to go to s and the reason I was, was an awkward pause awkward you are not, not or

Les: Did you say Fugitive Night at some fucking point?? Fugitive Night sounds liken of those Lady Porno Smut Books at the checkout line at the fucking grocery store LMFAO.

SpaceDog: Like the kind you used to have in your car? LOL

Les Sober: Thats Me Baby 55 years old, and Thats Me Baby.

If You Want To Be a Navigator You’ll Have To Navigate This

Who doesn’t enjoy the freedom provided by a good old American road trip? A communist thats who!

Here at f-yourblog.com have just launched “ROAD TRIPPING with f-yourblog.com” Our objective is to scour the land looking for art and artists in places no one cares to look. This project is still somewhat in its infancy only being approximately 4 months since its inception.

As per usual we have a shoe string budget and are currently in need of volunteer Navigators to accompany our tireless drivers. I know your thinking volunteer means for free, but f-yourblog.com will pay for gas, repairs, food (hope you like rest area vending machines) ,and lodging as to avoid volunteers from paying for anything out of pocket.

So if your still reading and interested in becoming an f-yourblog.com volunteer Navigator here is a list of the duties preformed by a f-yourblog.com Navigator.

f-yourblog.com’s Navigator To Do List:

You will be in charge of snack (again no worry it all goes on f-yourblog.com’s tab) so you must be a Snack Master. What does being a Snack Master mean exactly?! Heres an example: The driver requests meat orientated snacks. At that point you should already know that “Meat based Snacks” include but not limited to Slim Jim’s, Vienna Sausages, Beef Jerky, Hot Dogs (hot off the roller), microwavable Hamburgers/Burritos, Biltong, Pepperoni sticks, Salami, Spam, pickled sausages, Pork Rinds, Epic Exotic, and Protein Bars.
You will be in charge of all tech. That means GPS/Paper Maps, Stereo, Camera, Video Camera, Walkie Talkie (used to communicate with other members of the group), Phone, updating social media with photos on the go to f-yourblog.com/Twitter/Instagram/FaceBook etc.
A Navigator is also responsible for keeping the driver aware of traffic jams/tie ups, construction zones, highway accidents, Police presence, rush hour and other assorted delays
You will be the sole companion for our driver so NO SLEEPING on the job/road
You will be responsible for keeping tabs on basic mechanical issues such as Tires (do they need inflating? Is there a leak?), making sure at a quarter tank your driver refuels and lastly checking the oil to make sure the level is correct, and replacing windshield wipers if they become worn out.
You are responsible for keeping tabs on the drivers driving. If he/she is excessively speeding, driving recklessly or violations traffic laws you are required to call Les Sober and report said behavior immediately. Remember its ALWAYS SAFETY FIRST!
If there is a mechanical or medical emergency again call Les Sober IMMEDIATELY for help and instruction.
If your driver gets into a confrontation its your job to back them up and if shit gets outta control its your job to call the Cops (use your own discretion)
If at any point along the trip you feel like tapping out call Les and he will send you transportation back/home and a replacement asap.
You will be required to keep tabs on the driver to insure he/she is safe and sober. NO DRINKING or DRUGS while driving and to make sure they aren’t too tired to be driving.

So after reading this if you are still interested in being a f-yourblog.com Navigator and can handle the various responsibilities listed above Please let us know by leaving a request in the comments section, and we will be in touch.

Thanks Again to all our readers for their help,support and encouragement we truly do appreciate it.

Handyman Herb the Heinous Handyman’s Man

As my Wife and I were prepping/ repairing our little house in the Great Southern Swamp we had a list of certain handyman jobs (i.e. Hanging a Door, Patch a Wall, Replace some damaged base boards etc.) very basic tasks. Awhile back when we had a similar list we had contacted a local general handyman named Handyman Herb. Herb obviously didn’t graduate at the head of his class, but he was capable of doing elementary tasks with decent prices. So when we found ourselves in need of handyman services again we called Handyman Herb. My Wife talked to him via the phone and told him what we needed done and then scheduled for him to stop by on the coming Monday at 9:00 am.

My Wife was working that Monday leaving me to handle Herb which made me a bit wary. I have no illusions about my unruly behavior at times with other people especially if they annoy or disappoint me. Little did I know that Monday would test all of my strength to keep from going absolutely bat shit crazy on the entire known fucking world.

9:00 am Monday comes and no Handyman Herb. Twenty minutes later I have to hit up the shitter and did so as fast as possible incase Herb finally decided to show the fuck up for work. As I was walking back from the crapper my cell phone went off, it was Handyman Herb.

Now I thought Herb was calling to apologize for being late and would then give me a realistic ETA, but that wasn’t the case. Handyman Herb had brought a belligerent attitude with him, and as soon as I answered he demanded to know if someone was indeed home. Well I thought to myself your talking to me and theres a car parked out front so yeah I’m fucking here. I informed Herb that I was the only one home and I had to hit up the pisser (not to mention HE was now 30 minutes late but asshole didn’t want to talk about that shit) Herb responds by grumping like a gimp that he knocked and that he was now in fact here.

I already felt my blood pressure rising as a serious pet peeve of mine is if I’m paying you DO YOUR JOB (i.e. SHOW UP ON TIME) and BE A FUCKING PROFESSIONAL. You come to work for me leave your bullshit at the door. I instinctively started to text my Wife to channel the increasing irritation and shitty speculation of the Handyman Herb situation.

I opened the door to let Herb in (apparently he had brought a sidekick assistant who resembled a English Bulldog in both looks and mentality) as Herb entered it was BLATANTLY FUCKING OBVIOUS by the SCOWL on his face and agitated body language that this shit show had just begun. I gave the repair list containing 10 issues that needed to be addressed/remedied hoping at this point that Captain Crap-a-tude would just shut the hell up and get to work. Nope that didn’t happen.

Handyman Herb and his Sidekick proceeded to slowly pace around my house aimlessly assessing the project list. Not only are Herb and Sidekick wasting more time but their actively bitching about the jobs on the list like what a pain in the ass they may or may not be. This horseshit went on for 10-12 minutes as I continued to text my Wife updating her on the on going circus of shit as it unfolded.

Then shit really started to go down hill. Every fucking job that was on the list (which my Wife discussed with him one on one via the phone) in his opinion wasn’t an problem/worth fixing. The biggest issue was his total lack of preparedness. Herb read down the list while he moseyed around my house like a vagrant informing me that he didn’t have the tools for each said job. Around number 7 on the list Herb try to switch the blame for his grossly unprofessional bullshit was actually my Wife’s fault. Blaming my Wife (not to mention like I said I was in the room when the 2 of them talked on the phone so he’s lying to my fucking face) was a massive mistake.

Even then I was still straining with every fucking fiber of my being to get something productive done and not shit all over Not So Handy Herb and his wide eyed, mute, mouth breathing sidekick. As I mentioned earlier I was feverishly texting my Wife about not only what the hell was going on but my reaction(s) to it all. Losing my composure bit by bit I had started to fight fire with fire. I tensed up my body language to match Herb’s, started to angrily glare, and started to say things with a bad attitude. Example “I don’t give a damn about why nothing can get done, I need someone to fix this shit because I’m getting the fuck out of this shithole state.” Herb remained oblivious.

She was very cool about the whole deal as usually in these situations she is the one struggling to get me to chill out. When it got to the point that I texted her “I’m SO fucking done with Herb, I’m about to kick him and his shitty attitude out of the fucking house, she wrote back “O.K. kick him out then and we’ll call someone who appreciates the work.”

I can not BEGIN to explain how INSANELY HAPPY that text made me. I immediately tracked Herb down where he was lingering in my house like a foul fart. I then addressed Herb and the current crap shoot by saying the following:

“Obviously this ISN’T working for ME or YOU so the best thing for you (Herb) is to GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE and take Sidekick Shitkicker with you.”

The immense relief and total wave of satisfaction in absolving myself of these two wannabe handyman half wits was the definition of utter bliss.

To Our Readers Our Absence Explained

I would like to apologize to our faithful readers for the vanishing act. I’m aware that we here at f-yourblog.com were committed to doing our best to increase new content, and we still are. I know it seems ridiculous that once we here at f-yourblog.com started to ramp up content all of a sudden everything came to s sudden halt. I feel that I owe our reader’s an explanation for this counter productive seeming behavior.

I have almost completed an out of state move (and as we all know moving is a bitch from beginning to end), but it was overdue and utterly necessary. I set down roots in the Great Souther Swamp for the past 13 plus years, and shit is getting way to far fucking outta hand. The quite blue collar family oriented town I moved to 6 years ago (which I made because I was already in The Great Southern Swamp and moved farther north to avoid an increase in chaos.)

Now unfortunately the small family town I grew to love has as of recently been falling the fuck apart. The cops used to be bored as hell driving aimlessly up and down the main road. Things have definitely changed for the fucked. People are getting stabbed to death and cannibalized in their own fucking homes, Uber drivers are raping their fares, and there shoot outs infant of Home Depot and Walmart (both a 5 minute drive from my house.)

So Heres a run down of events of the move:

Obviously for number one was my wife and I deciding it was time, but weren’t being pro active (this went on for 18 months)
My wife was tooling around on reality sites and stumbled across an interesting possibility.
My Wife found a house listed for $70,000, BUT it needed approximately $60,000 of work to bring it to a proper house.
The house had been sitting on the market for 1 year already before we came across it.
NOW the plan for the move my wife and I formulated was A) to buy a house for cash so the banks can fuck off and take their mortgages with them. B) NO HOA’s I’ve had more than enough of the extortion which is an HOA.
So my wife and I made an impromptu trip to the Palmetto state to look at the house.
We decided our strategy was to low ball the shit out of the owner, and were willing to go up to $60,000 cash but not a fucking penny more.
We met the seller’s reality agent who struck me as a bit ditzy and quite incompetent. ( in all do favor this house was located outside of her territory so to speak.)
The house was about what we expected and mad an shitty offer of $50,000 to try and exploit the seller’s problems (see and her family moved 2 towns over BUT she still had to pay taxes on the property, and the house had been sitting on the market a year without a single offer.)
The seller responded with a so called counter reducing the sale price $1,000 to $69,000
The counter was as shitty as our offer so we came up to $51,500 because I’m wasn’t coming up significantly because it would compromise my position.
This bullshit tit-for-tat game went on for 10 days before my wife and I walked. The house has since had several price reductions and no interest. The house is currently off the market as of now.)
My wife and I went home and started scouring the reality sites and compiled a hefty list of 20 different properties . We also hired a realtor.
The realtor was a lazy and moronic ineffectual asshole so we let that useless son of a bitch go, and hired the biggest and best realtor in the area we were looking.
The new realtor informed us that the house we were initially considering was in a SHITTY neighborhood. Apparently there was a white trash family that liked to get sloppy drunk and proceed to have knock down drag out fist fights. We also learned the small apartment building at the end of the street were constantly frequented by the police combating drug dealing/drug addicts.
I was enraged, why the hell didn’t the seller’s reality agent tell us about the shit we were about to move to. Thank God we dodged that bullet. My wife believes the agent was just ignorant of the situation being out of her regular territory. I believe she was desperate to sell the house as the owner was an irrational and demanding lady whom she had been working for a year straight.
My wife and I then took another trip to the Palmetto state with our list and met up with our reality agent.
The reality agent warned us that the end of 2016 was different from the regular market at this time of year. Thats to say from November through December the housing market usually is slow because people are saving their cash for the holidays. This year though people were still actively and aggressively buying properties. Not only that but large reality corporations were also snatching up as many properties as fast as they possibly could.
This unusual trend in the reality market was attributed to the simple fact with Trump taking office and no one having a clue what he would do were buying properties to be grandfathered into the 2016 criteria.
To prove point #18 we would see a property on or off our list, and half the time by the time we showed up a day or less later the house would be under contract.
Finally my wife and I decided on the purchase of a Lake House, and started negotiations.
Now the house was a bank foreclosure which meant the bank owned it so we would be negotiating with the Bank (an institution) not a private seller (a person or persons).
At first I was thrilled by this fact. I HATE negotiating with sellers because they think their family history in the house has monetary value. It does not as I’m buying your house and you take the memories with you.
Unfortunately a Bank is the exact opposite. They have NO emotional attachment so they treat it only as a business deal. They don’t give a shit about the buyer they are there to make the Bank money.
After a month or more of negotiating (and I use that term loosely as possible) the Bank had sat back without countering and shot down every offer we made.
Then after the month of so called negotiations the Bank suddenly gave a real shit about the deal. The sale was done in 1/2 an hour.
In spite of getting one hell of a good deal on the Lake House we knew there were repairs to be done before we could move in. Examples include replacing the A/C unit, replace the hot water heater, get appliances (there was no stove, kitchen sink or refrigerator) take a wall out, landscape the neglected yard etc.

That brings us to the bottomline:

Currently for the past 3 months every 2 weeks my wife and I have rented a Uhaul trailer and moved our belongings our selves. Why you might ask? Well we decided to move our selves because A) We wanted to save money B) I’m far too paranoid to turn over all my possessions to a complete stranger, I don’t have the faith. C) It allowed us the time to pack/ prep our current house and repair/fix up the new Lake House without rushing in an anxious panic.

Thusly I’ve been ping ponging between the 2 states every couple of weeks for as I said earlier several months. As you may suspect we have been battling Murphy’s Law the entire way as unsuspected issues/problems occurred. An example returning home from our last trip to the Lake House found our A/C wasn’t working, and in the end (considering resale value) we replaced the entire A/C, and got a decent deal at $4,500.

In all the chaos of the move I fully admit I have neglected f-yourblog.com, and believe me I’m not happy about that in the least. Yet I can only do so much in a day, and with the on going move I’ve been stretched thinner and thinner.

I here by promise our reader’s that by July 15th things here at f-yourblog.com will not only resume active

Hmmmm What That Smell?! By Spacedog

MARIJUANA!!!!!

When times are tough and times are dull, I think back to the life I once led in the south of Columbia. Sure it was difficult. I mean there was enough cocaine to help me stay awake for weeks upon end. That was always fun. Even just chillin with Pablo and Juan Valdez made for some good times I’ll never forget. There is one person though I will never forget. Her name was Mary Jane.

My own personal Mary Jane was a big, tall strong woman. Sure I don’t have much of a proclivity towards women but she was twelve feet tall and smelled like no other woman I have met since. I even liked her seed and well that’s not the kind of seed that ole Jeffy usually takes a likin too.

She kept me safe and warm. Whenever I got home from a night at the theatron de pelicula and had bad things squirt in my eye, she was there to heal my infection.

The night I saw all of Pablo’s men get mowed down in a rain of gunfire, Mary Jane was there. I just put her in my bong and smoked her down and off I went to the club. I could already taste the rainbow even though well that was for later. Shhhhh…… And she never told any of my secrets.

She was my mother, my sister, my dominatrix, my bulldyke, and my fag hag all rolled up into one great big, bright ass spliff. She let me tolerate more Britney Spears then any human could just so I could bring the next Juan or Carlos or Juan Carlos or fuck why not all of them back to my humble mud hut.

Eventually though we grew apart. My funds in Colombia were confiscated and back off to New Jersey I so went. That was in 1980. Oh how I miss 1980. Those were the days.

Mary Jane?

So then I was walking down the street yesterday and saw this midget girl (aptly named Midge) I knew from the club. She was a fun one to know, I mean anyone who smokes out of a bong taller then them is alright with me.

Midge introduced me to her friend. His name was Kyle. He smelled of dirt, he smelled of mud, he smelled of naughty things. So he smelled like Mary Jane. So then we smoked and then we went back to my place and Midge took pictures. She wanted to join in but I have a moral code up in this bitch. If I can teabag you standing up it’s a no go. That is my number one moral in life.

You may say I’m a dreamer. I’m not the only one. I hope someday you’ll join us. And the world will live as one.

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…

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.