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Doomed to Obscurity Issue 15
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+ doomed to obscurity + issue fifteen + october 24th, 1996 +
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"hey, ma, look what i got! acid bath, and it's really hot!" -- quarex
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>> INFORMATION or SOMETHING <<
>> AUTHOR: MURMUR <<
welcome to the fifteenth issue of doomed to obscurity. this issue is
being simul-released with the second issue of BUCKET, the dto music e'zine.
check it out. there's also new ftp sites for dto and BUCKET. check out the
large info file at the bottom for all pertinent site info.
as is often the case, it's been a wild month for doomed to obscurity
productions, largely culminating in the formation of doomed to obscurity
enterprises. if you care, you can email us and ask. i'm available at
phuckelb@sun.iwu.edu if you feel like sending me anything. damned if i know
why you would.
anyway, have fun, and don't die.
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^"T&$$bggd$$$$ "T$$bgd$$T' ^"T&$bggd$&P" -> DOOMED to OBSCURITY 15
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[01] -> "INFORMATION or SOMETHING" >> BY: MURMUR
[02] -> "the CONTENTS of DOOMED to OBSCURITY 15" >> BY: MOGEL & MURMUR
[03] -> "an AMERICAN SARTORI" >> BY: SWEENEY ERECT
[04] -> "DTO and the CONTINUING WAR against DUMB PEOPLE" >> BY: MOGEL
[05] -> "ADDENDUM" >> BY: MURMUR
[06] -> "that DEEP, DEEP LAKE CALLED LIFE" >> BY: JUKE
[07] -> "DR. COHEN, HIS MINION, and the GAMES WE PLAYED TODAY" >> BY: STYX
[08] -> "DOOMED to OBSCURITY NEWS BRIEF" >> BY: MURMUR
[09] -> "QUAKE ROCKS MIDDLE EAST" >> BY: JAMESY
[10] -> "KITCHEN HELPER" >> BY: OREGANO
[11] -> "the $10,000 TAB" >> BY: YUMAS
[12] -> "VAMPYRE" >> BY: MURMUR
[13] -> "the SHADOW" >> BY: SWEENEY ERECT
[14] -> "the HARLEQUIN" >> BY: BASE
[15] -> "CONDIMENTS CHAPTER 818: RIND" >> BY: MURMUR
[16] -> "the BIGOT DANCE" >> BY: SHADOW TAO
[17] -> "I DRINK, THEREFOR" >> BY: PUCK
[18] -> "MEGAN (an ABRIDGED STORY of TWO FAILURES)" >> BY: EERIE
[19] -> "a STORY about a TWELVE YEAR OLD BOY NAMED SAMMY CAGNOBALIA who
NEVER MADE SENSE and WENT to DAN'S HOUSE ONCE to HELP HIM with
HIS TRASH" >> BY: STYX
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>> an AMERICAN SATORI <<
>> AUTHOR: SWEENEY ERECT <<
julian simmons through his own devices and a bit of luck was a rich
man. he married. his wife and he lived in bliss for a while and there was
always plenty of sex. but then towards the end much of the sex was going on
between julian's wife and his accountant which never made any sense to
anybody in view of how chunky and lacklustre the accountant was.
so one day julian killed his wife.
now he got a good lawyer and the lawyer arranged to have a jury of
formerly prosperous divorced men and a divorced judge and called the
accountant up to the stand just to establish that THIS was what julian's
wife cheated on him for. julian was acquitted and given a citation and the
prosecutor was lynched a few days later for being a dumb broad.
even though our fine legal system saw fit to acquit julian he felt a
little guilty, having killed his wife and all. so he sought out the wisest
man alive.
wise men have a nasty habit of living in treacherous, inconvenient
places and this one was no exception. julian climbed mountains, braved
rains, and dodged crocodiles to get to him.
"master," said julian when he had finally arrived, "i have braved
rain, dodged crocodiles and climbed mountains to get to you."
"they were alligators my son but tell me, why have you come all this
way?"
"i need forgiveness."
"what sin have you committed my son?"
"i killed my wife."
"and?"
"and that is it .. i killed my wife."
"wasn't this a lot of trouble over a dead bitch?"
julian heard the words and was enlightened.
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>> DTO and the CONTINUING WAR against DUMB PEOPLE <<
>> AUTHOR: MOGEL <<
i guess some people need to lose their individuality just like some
people like to have their penis slammed in a car door. if you get one main
idea out of this article, get this one: if you've got half a clue, don't
join a frat.
we're well into a new college year & i'm reminded once again that
everywhere in this country, the almighty patheticness that is the fraternity
system exists & thrives.
i refuse to beat around the bush or disguise the point of this
article in any way, nor will i pretend that this topic isn't cliche & my
point of view isn't biased. however, it's my duty as mogel to tell inform
the world of that which sucks & wipe attempt to wipe it from existence.
dto is against all things that suck -- & you, frat-boy, suck.
don't get me wrong, now. frats can be a good time -- especially for
me. they provide me much entertainment. yeah, it's all really funny in a
kick-myself-in-the-groin sorta way.
let's not fool ourselves. most frats do fit the stereotype of jocks.
this is not a prerequisite, of course. but let's give a classic example.
you're in fall sports. being involved means you have to show up
*early* to practice for a week (or more) before classes begin. & who are
you surrounded by? other athletes! other frat guys on the football team.
a couple take a liking to you, they're both from the 'elite' alpha beta
gamma delta sigma zeta pi pi pi fraternity -- a month later, BOOM, you're
rushing for them.
"why not?"
your first 'friends' on campus are alpha beta gamma delta sigma zeta
pi pi pi guys -- preserve that. it's a cycle that feeds itself, &
transcends the pure stereotype of jocks rushing.
as a new person to a college, there's nothing wrong with that logic,
of course.
& that's the very element that fraternities harp on to continue
their existence. "we're brothers."
don't you just love the most commonly used recruiting phrase?
"it's a great way to meet people, man!!!"
"wow, this frat has the best parties! i can meet drunk girls
here!!!"
oh, wait! please don't misread me! it's all fine & dandy if you
want to have an elitist little "we are special" club where you can drink &
act completely moronic. that's fine with me. but on the same token, let's
not pretend they're anything but stupid.
do you need to have a frat to meet people? do you need to join a
frat to have friends? do you need an institution (that costs hundreds,
usually) for that? of course not.
please tell me that i'm not some kind of GOD that i can actually go
make friends without the help of an intravenous kegger? no. i'm not.
pointless? yes. but they still somehow exist.
let's take a quick gander at some logic, shall we?
1. fraternities have a lot of drinking. in fact, that's what their
entire social collective is based upon. parties & alcohol. let's not
deny it.
2. colleges strongly disapprove of underage drinking. not only because
of the law, but because of their own "reputation."
3. fraternities pay large sums of money for a university's "endowment"
which allows them to exist as a house on the campus.
can you put two & two together? do you think the college staff
DOESN'T KNOW what's going on? years & years of the fraternity system &
they have been tricked for all this time?
of course not. it all comes down to the fact that colleges let
things go on because they're getting paid off to not throw their frat
people in jail. "if they're in jail, how will they pay us?" money talks.
"loosen up, mogel! frats are fun!"
you gotta love that whole pledging system, too.
"i would love to lick the dirt off your shoe, my brother."
let's not pretend hazing doesn't exist. let's not pretend that laws
are broken because of a few bucks. let's not pretend that frat guys are
generally stupid. let's not pretend that frats are a group of idiots that
are are PROUD to be idiots.
most importantly, why even bother? you're more than able to make
friends without a special-ed.
so there.
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>> ADDENDUM <<
>> AUTHOR: MURMUR <<
i think we can take it a generally accepted thing that just because
you're in a fraternity you're an idiot isn't really acceptable logic. and,
certainly, we realize that stereotyping isn't necessarily a good way to get
major points across.
but, uhm, so fucking what?
i've had five roommates in my five semesters of college due to
various housing reasons (and i'd be happy to elaborate if you cared) and two
of them have joined fraternities. high school friends of mine have joined
fraternities, and in many, many cases, i know plenty of frat guys that are
simply *good guys*.
but if you're one of those few, those frat guys of a different color,
well, i sure as hell think you can look up there, point to stereotypical
behavior and say, "that's not me," and, well, be done with it.
you know who you are, and you know who we're talking about if you're
not one yourself.
the thing i really want to talk about, however, is the hat.
now, don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with hats. even james
bond wore a hat sometimes. the pope wears some sort of head adornment.
hats in and of themselves are not evil endeavors. but ..
let's say you go to the university of montana, and some big guy is
walking around with a hat that says "NOLES" on it. yeah, go, go, go, our
MONTANA NOLES!
i don't think so.
the hat is almost as important a statement as anything else might
possibly be. big guys wearing hats. woof.
dirty fucking hats. they can't wash their precious hattie-hats, now,
can they? they've worn the same fucking hat for five years. there's a nice
big-ass layer of brown filth right around the very rim that leads up to all
of those pretty taus and epsilons.
what kind of self-respecting person would do something like this?
it's especially mind-boggling to see some rich, dumb frat guy from the
suburbs of some big-ass town that's gonna vote republican because he don't
like them poor people a'walkin' around in his $60 tommy hilfunderburg or
whatever the fuck sweatshirt and $60 designer jeans and however ass much
those fucking shoes must have cost dear old daddy and then he's wearing a
hat that has a VISIBLE LAYER OF FILTH. give me a fucking break.
and those fucking t-shirts.
"co-ed naked lacrosse: rough and tough and in the buff!"
"co-ed naked hockey: on the ice is twice as nice!"
"co-ed naked text file writing: i have angst please fuck me!"
you get the idea. who came up with this shit? who's responsible for
this? and, most importantly, is he (yeah, i'm assuming a he) paying all the
taxes he should rightfully pay or does he have old frat buddies who are now
top-notch accountants that have found him a loophole in the tax code section
3598743 paragraph 215 sentence 45: "deductions may be claimed up to $40,000
if you were in the alpha beta gamma delta sigma zeta pi pi pi fraternity and
you can recite the pledge of the holy goat-fucker."
and you still wonder as to the TRUE reason you join a frat?
pah. we don't need it. sure, we'd be happy to wholeheartedly
apologize to any and all that we've offended this evening, but, well, just
because you're offended doesn't mean you're not a blithering idiot.
as for me, when the local chapter of rho epsilon zeta finally gets
formed, expect to find me there. i'll even be in first in line.
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>> that DEEP, DEEP LAKE CALLED LIFE <<
>> AUTHOR: JUKE <<
"you know, it's a magical world out there."
"why, because i'm crapped on continuously by everyone except you?
that's pretty magical, isn't it?"
"it's still magical. haven't you seen that collective soul video?"
"yeah? well you cry too much."
"i don't really cry, i just express my feelings."
"one day i will wake up and all i have waited for will be there, all
that i have dreamed for will be in front of me. no more torturous days of
mental anguish, nothing but clear skies."
"tee hee. you and your built-up anger are so funny sometimes."
"look, i've got no time to lose, we gotta do this now."
- --( -
i'm going to fall again. mmph. changes. i hate them. you build
your life. then you have to rebuild it. and sometimes you even have to take
what you built your life around before and integrate it into what you are
building this time. it just sucks.
eternal moments. these are the moments where you realize something
is wrong. wrong with yourself. wrong with the world. wrong with society.
wrong with the universe. wrong with god. whatever, something is just
wrong.
the eternal crash. this is the bad one. the eternal crash is kind
of like a cyst. like blood vessels all crapped up together, the eternal
crash is a bunch of eternal moments that have all built up and have finally
caused you to just, well, have a mental breakdown, to be blunt. you can
prevent this moment from happening, but a lot of times you just can't. kind
of like this time for me.
- --( -
"well, are we going or not?"
"yeah. okay. let's go. wait, i need my green hooded sweatshirt."
"that's all the way back at your apartment, i don't want to go all
the way back there."
"we're going."
- --( -
i'm not sure if i'm glad if she's here. well, yeah, i am. she's
good for when i can't talk to myself. what they say is pretty true. you
can't talk to yourself all the time. you really do go a bit looney. after
a while, sometimes i feel like i'm talking to someone else. when that
started happening i decided that, yeah, i needed her.
- --( -
"this is pretty deep you know. pretty drastic."
"i'm going to do this, i don't care if it's drastic."
"mind telling me why you're doing this? maybe i could actually help
if i could actually understand. but, since i know pretty much nothing at
all -- i just know that we're going down to the peer and we're going to drop
every possession you have, except for the green hooded sweatshirt, into lake
michigan. i don't mind helping you, but it's just that i don't know why."
"life turned its back on me, and now i'm going to turn my back on
it."
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>> DR. COHEN, HIS MINION, and the GAMES WE PLAYED TODAY <<
>> AUTHOR: STYX <<
i'm on twenty milligrams of valium. it feels good. i really don't
mind that i stubbed my toe, like, hard, a few minutes ago on the kitchen
table leg. i didn't feel it. i winced, though. i mean, when you're so
used to wincing when you stub your toe, and then you stub your toe, you
wince. you know? even if you're on twenty milligrams of valium.
the dentist gave me the pills. i had an appointment earlier today,
the 27th of september, at 8:30 a.m., sharp. as in, definitely at 8:30 a.m.
and not sometime in november maybe when i was feeling better; as in, sure i
can take the needle if it's at 8:30 a.m.
it was for cavities. so i got there at 8:30 a.m. sharp. that's what
i did. i walked into the waiting room and the cardboard cut-out maybelline
dental assistant said to come right this way matt, right this way. that's
what she said. dental assistants always call you by your first name.
that's dental etiquette. that's what they do.
it was difficult for me to walk the twists and turns of the halls
into the room with the tables and the lights and the posters on the ceiling
and the electric chair that goes up and down and side to side if they push
the button right because i was on twenty milligrams of valium. that's what
valium does. dental offices look pretty small on the outside usually, but
they're spaceships on the inside, aren't they? it's very peculiar. they
want you as confused as they can get you by the time you're laying back on
the chair that you really won't mind when they say open wide and you open
wide and then they do what they do because you're still trying to understand
how you got where you are from the waiting room. that's what they do.
so having learned this from past experiences i did not wonder how i
got to the room i was lead into by the dental assistant from the waiting
room because if i wondered then they would have had me where they wanted me
and where they wanted me wasn't where i wanted to be. instead, i sat on the
chair sideways and let the dental assistant strike up a conversation about
where i lived and what the weather was doing at that particular moment and
why i wasn't leaning back. i told her that i wasn't wondering how i got
into the room and that it was helping very much. she asked me how many
milligrams of valium i had taken and i said twenty.
the dentist came into the room and told me to lay back. i find it
very interesting how dentists and their assistants operate. it's an
organized team, really. the assistant butters you up and says and does
things that make you think they're very nice people that you really would
lend money to at some time or another even if they didn't say please,
especially when you're doing great, just relax. then the dentist arrives
and sinks his teeth in while the assistant hands him a bib and some
silverware and it's really a very successful procedure.
so having learned this from past experiences, and having forgotten
that i really _should_ be figuring out how i had traveled from a waiting
room that was at least maybe three or four miles away in less than half a
minute (because it's just a very odd thing for one to go through under the
influence of twenty milligrams of valium), i told the dentist that i wasn't
going to lay back because i had figured out how i had arrived in the room
and nobody was fooling me in the least and that i'd much rather just go
home, even if i hadn't really figured out just how i got there. he asked me
how many milligrams of valium i had taken and i said twenty.
he offered me some nitrous-oxide to calm me down like an animal
scientist tranquilizes a bear before tagging his ear with a hole-puncher
only to be shot and killed by some hick with a lot of wall space and a lack
of dead decorations and i was cooperative because free drugs are hard to
come by these days so i took the mask and i hit the nitrous like a bong and
when i was so high i almost threw up all over the dental assistant i
notified the dentist that i was finished using his nitrous-oxide machine and
he said lay back and i said absolutely not. he was frustrated because he
wanted a touchdown and i kept sacking him and who wants to lose? especially
if you're making $7,000 an hour to fill holes in people's teeth or to carry
balls or what not and so he was frustrated and said that if i didn't lay
back then he couldn't make a touchdown and it required team cooperation and
the taxidermist was looking for a bear and his office was just down the
street a little bit so if i would only lay back.
i said just a little more nitrous i'm very scared so i took more hits
and said okay i'm done with your nitrous-oxide machine and he got very tired
of the bit and walked out to get my mother who was in the waiting room that
i had no idea how i had come from after getting to where i was.
my mother came in and the dental assistant talked to her about what
the weather was doing and how her baby had a chest cold and how i really
should be laying back and the dentist came in and agreed and so did my
mother because the baby did have a chest cold, after all, and i should
really be laying back.
"how will i know?" by whitney houston was whispering through the
speakers in the ceiling next to the posters of brown people with bright
smiles when i requested that i get more valium for the next visit because
this simply isn't going well and i said that i'm too anxious to lay back and
how the weather was doing and that i had decided it was time for me to go
home now and he agreed, after all, the weather was doing nicely. i left
with a hundred milligrams of valium in a ziploc bag because i'm sure he
didn't want this to happen again.
now i'm on another twenty milligrams of valium so there's only eighty
milligrams left and here i am at fourth and goal padded and stuffed like a
stiff overpriced bear expected to make the play and on october 18th at
8:30 a.m. sharp i won't be laying back again much to the dismay of the
dentist and his assistant and not exactly but somewhere around april of 1997
i am going to be in excruciating pain due to the fact that my teeth will be
rotting out of my skull because that's what rotting teeth do and what
dentists and their assistants do not and i would very much prefer not going
to disneyland at a time like this.
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>> DOOMED to OBSCURITY NEWS BRIEF
>> ANCHOR: MURMUR
thanks for tuning in to doomed to obscurity. we interrupt our
regularly scheduled text files for a special news brief from our in-field
correspondent, jamesy. take it away, jamesy!
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>> QUAKE ROCKS THE MIDDLE EAST <<
>> FIELD CORRESPONDENT: JAMESY <<
israeli prime minister benjamin netanyahu and palestinian leader
yasser arafat took their quarrels to the united states last week, in what
became an impromptu summit by president clinton. clinton surprised both
leaders, however, by having them work out their differences over a game or
two of quake, a new multi-user role playing game.
"this game is great!" netanyahu was quoted as saying. "this game
could bring the entire israeli and palestinian populations together!"
the version president clinton had set up contained an edited .wad
file, with all of arafat's enemies being leprous jews, while netanyahu's
opponents were unwashed palestinians.
arafat enjoyed the game immensely, although in the middle of one of
his sessions he screamed in arabic at the monitor, pulled out a .44, and
shot the screen. clinton showed no thought of backing down on his position,
however, and said arafat's action was "hindering the peace process."
arafat cooled down, and made it to the inferno level.
"i am glad the american people have taken us into their arms and
embraced us with their technology," arafat said after 33 consecutive hours
of playing. "i hope we can bring this technology home to our peoples,
showing them there are other ways of dealing with conflict."
clinton declined, calling arafat a "fat smelly bastard."
- --( - - )-- -
thank you for the report, jamesy! reports coming in from our field
stations in quebec and sri lanka reveal that armed insurgencies in those
god-forsaken parts of the world have been foiled today by the american
"quake diplomacy". should "quake diplomacy" continue to be a big hit,
there's no telling to what corners of the earth it might spread. from even
as far away and as troubled a land as cambodia, rumbles of working out
tension via quake have surfaced. says an undergraduate student at the
university of illinois at champaign-urbana about the potential of finding
lasting piece in cambodia, "he was a good man."
now it is time for a break from our sponsor.
- --( - - )-- -
>> KITCHEN HELPER <<
>> SPONSOR: OREGANO <<
a kitchen in the heartland of america:
"mmmm, something smells good. i didn't know you could cook," says
the husband after a long day at work, who expected to come home to another
bland meal.
"i had a little help" says the wife with a gleam of perfect
satisfaction in her eyes, " .. from the lord!"
- --( -
now you too can have the lord help you cook, with the all-new kitchen
jesus.
the kitchen jesus is a 14 inch tall statue of our savior made of food
grade plastic that helps with all your kitchen needs. use it to stir chili
as hot as the fires of hell, tenderize meat to be as soft as the lamb of
god, break bread in one easy stroke -- the kitchen jesus does it all.
it's heat-proof, stain-proof, rust-proof, shatter-proof, and
naturally, sin-proof. this is one utensil that can't be used as a tool of
satan.
and best yet, it saves you time; there is no more need to waste
moments at the dinner table saying grace while your food gets cold; when you
use the kitchen jesus, the lord's blessing is cooked right in!
buy kitchen jesus today and put the lord to practical use.
- --( - - )-- -
thank you for tuning in to doomed to obscurity. stay tuned for more
late breaking developments, and join us for the late news when we spotlight
bored angst-ridden teenagers "fucking shit up."
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
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>> the $10,000 TAB <<
>> AUTHOR: YUMAS <<
perhaps it's the oh-so cleverly constructed title that has lured you
further into the body of this text. or, perchance, your fascination with
large debt. well, chap, it's time to stop with all of the charades. we
both know that you have come here out of sheer boredom, that you are
presently sitting on your squeaky swivel chair, wearing your very favorite
pair of looney tunes briefs, and munching on a bag of doritos. well, you
know what? that's okay! and why?, you may ask .. well, because i said it
is. and because the fact that you are sitting there nicely in your little
chair, placating your growling stomach, means that you are not out somewhere
getting drunk. (is that a can of miller lite i see in your hand? shame on
you!)
"what possibly could have inspired this tirade?" (you ask -- yes you
do! shut up, the text doesn't go anywhere without it!) let me tell you a
little story.
it was a gray morning. an intermittent drizzle spittled upon its
unsuspecting passerby. light pierced the sky at unfamiliar angles. sleep,
wafting from its hiding place, left its heavy scent upon the damp lawns,
dripping trees, dormant light fixtures.
a watch ticks. a mouth opens, then closes quickly. a well disguised
yawn. the daily procession begins. i trudge towards my intended. a
familiar face. small talk ensues.
the destination arrives.
doors, a corridor, windows, the chatter of hurried feet.
instructions, information.
i glide my precious envelope into its container and wait for its
resounding thud. making my way through the herds on the other side, i slip
quietly into the afternoon.
on the way home, remnants of the night before present themselves to
me. broken beer bottles, a shoelace, soggy pizza boxes, a small chunk of
gum.
i smile.
scurrying up the two flights of stairs, i pause to observe my
reflection in the decidedly one-way glass. the door opens. ah yes, no need
for keys. the girlish abandon of my cohabitants is ruler in this domain. i
step briskly inside, careful not to trip over the overflowing "recycling
box", our version, i suppose, of a welcome mat. its innards revel in
noxious odor. dead gaieties, evenings of intoxication, here they lie, for
the world to observe.
a voice greets me. salad and smoke. the blonde's entente shares a
common leafy origin.
i scurry to my room.
later that evening, the ritual ensues. raucous laughter echoes into
the night. the air fills with its customary odors. music, the strains
unrecognizable amidst chatter, permeates tiny pockets of silence left by the
forgotten rain.
an errand.
"it's so beautiful tonight."
streets littered with beer cans. packed with groups of anxious
adolescents. cars navigate through the crowded intersections. the glare of
neon. more music. this time its pulse is unmistakable. lines. alleys.
my step quickens.
a new day. class.
for some. the older one stays in bed, watching soap operas and
chewing on a caramel bar -- her body fraught with that unmistakable
headache. i smile.
somewhere. in an administrative office. someone. opens my
envelope. discusses my future. takes home a paycheck. next year his son
will go to college. he hopes that the young lad will have time for some
recreational activity. after his studies are completed. of course.
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
>> VAMPYRE <<
>> AUTHOR: MURMUR <<
things hadn't been going all that great in the romance department
for harry as of late. he'd been jilted by a girl significantly younger than
he was, and the cybersex wasn't doing it for him anymore.
he was talking to his friend alan about his situation, and alan, not
exactly the luckiest guy in the world himself, was understanding completely.
eventually the conversation got away from romance and got to music. harry
was mentioning that he had just heard the latest anal cunt album and was
impressed, and alan burst in.
"wait, anal cunt? hey, you know who's a big anal cunt fan?"
"wait, that one girl, sandy, that you know, she really digs them,
doesn't she?"
"yeah, some anal cunt album is her all-time favorite."
"man, next time you see her, you've gotta tell her i'm looking for
an anal cunt girl."
"well, okay. but i only see her as often as i see a butler."
"a butler? what do you mean by that?"
"i mean, i see sandy about as often as i see a butler."
"what the fuck does that mean? for all i know you HAVE a butler.
besides, i thought you saw her quite a bit."
"i last saw her about a month ago, okay? a butler. hah."
so harry went off on his way and alan went off on his way. alan and
sandy had actually known each other for a long time because their fathers
were both firefighters.
two days later harry runs into alan and starts talking to him about
that guns 'n' roses punk cover album, you know, _the spaghetti incident?_
and then alan digressed:
"oh yeah, i guess i see butlers more than i thought."
"huh?"
"i saw sandy yesterday. she gave me her email address. let me see
if i can remember it .. "
and so alan gave harry sandy's email address and as soon as he got
home harry sent her email. she responded within the next four hours and
over the next three days they corresponded back and forth. not only was
sandy an anal cunt fan but, like harry, she was into pet rocks, diapers, and
rattle. harry thought things might actually be going his way for a change.
"man, alan," said harry, meeting him for lunch a day later, "i sure
thank you for getting me that address. sandy seems great. i remember what
she looks like, a little, and i remember her being really cute too. things
are definitely looking up."
"well, she doesn't look exactly the same."
"yeah, but how much can a person change? besides, it's not the
exterior, it's what inside that truly, truly counts."
"i mean, she looks significantly different."
"we all change, alan, it's no big deal. i'm sure she looks fine."
"well .. "
"don't fret. it'll work out; you'll see!"
harry and sandy finally agreed to meet the next friday. in the
meantime harry was juicing himself up for the encounter. she was going to
pick him up at his apartment and they were going to go for dinner. nothing
big, but, something, nonetheless. harry was excited.
that friday harry was waiting in his room, getting anxious. the
phone rang, suddenly, and he swooped to it.
"hello?"
"harry?"
"yeah?"
"this is sandy! i'm downstairs!"
"alright! i'll be right down!"
harry sprinted from his room until just near the outside door to the
building, then gathered his composure, and, gallantly, approached the door,
opened it, and there was sandy.
"you're a motherfucking gargoyle! what the fuck kind of shit is
going on here? excuse me@? hello@? WHY ARE YOU A FUCKING GARGOYLE? WHAT
THE SHITFUCK IS GOING ON HERE? NO WONDER YOU LIKE ANAL CUNT SO MUCH, YOU'RE
A FUCKING GARGOYLE. I'LL BET YOU LISTEN TO CONSERVATIVE TALK SHOW HOSTS AND
EAT WALLPAPER TOO."
sandy was visibly crying now. true, she was a gargoyle, but she had
really hoped it didn't matter. after all, harry told her that it wasn't the
exterior, it's what's inside that truly, truly counts.
"YOU'RE FUCKING MADE OF STONE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND THIS? YOU ARE A
FUCKING WALKING SCULPTURE. THIS IS FUCKING LUDICROUS."
"harry," sandy whimpered, sobbing profusely, the tears slowly
rolling down her granite face, forming imperceptible ridges upon which she
would one day erode, "harry, just because i have a heart of stone doesn't
mean i don't know how to love!"
with this, sandy grasped harry with her incredible stone arms and
tried to hug him, but instead merely broke some of his many ribs.
"OW! YOU CUNT! YOU FUCKING PIECE OF STONE! LET GO! YOU BROKE
SOME OF MY MANY RIBS!"
sandy let go, and, crying, flew away to go sit atop a library
somewhere.
next day alan paid harry a visit, not aware that harry had broken
some of his many ribs.
"alan," harry cried, in pain from having some of his many ribs
broken, "why did you not tell me that she had become a FUCKING GARGOYLE?"
"well, harry, i have some information to share with you. i'm not
actually alan at all. i'm really WINK MARTINDALE, and you're on
TIC-TAC-DOUGH!"
the crowd roared like a lion.
"wink, i'll try 4.'
"let's see what we've got there.." (cheesy 80s effects are heard)
"and, you've got TIC! now all you need is either another 300 or to find
that TAC and you've won the subaru!"
"wink, let's go for number 6."
"number 6.. 200! harry, any number you choose that that pesky
dragon isn't behind will mean a brand new subaru for you!"
"whew. well, wink.. i think i'll have to go with the lucky 7."
"here we go.. 7 shows.. TAC! you've won a new car, harry! now, i
want you to get up off the ground and kiss my feet, bitch. you heard me.
lick 'em clean, you wily mother."
"fran tarkenton? formerly of the minnesota vikings?"
"no, you piece of shit, i'm jack lemmon. of course i'm satan!"
satan fired a hot bolt at harry and scorched him good. oh boy,
did that hurt, and harry died.
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
>> the SHADOW <<
>> AUTHOR: SWEENEY ERECT <<
tabloids are a vicious game stateside. if you can't grab a reader by
the balls (or corresponding parts) and keep his attention all the way
through you'll never make it in the days of the mtv attention span. what
you need is sex, graphic violence, and more sex. the shadow was a wholly
remarkable tabloid in that less than a year after it started it was the
premier tabloid in the us.
most of the success of the shadow was due to the bastardliness of its
executives and much of their bastardhood was centered in one man, julian
brown. brown was their hotshot reporter. he came from unlikely roots for a
tabloid hack, yale, princeton and then six or seven years of wandering
abroad. but now he was stateside to stay.
brown had two unique gifts. in the first place nobody could smell a
celebrity or political scandal like julian. he seemed to be waiting, camera
in hand, where a story would break out. the shadow, thanks to brown, would
occasionally scoop even the new york times in especially raunchy political
scandals.
his other gift, now that was even more special. he could go to some
chicken-shit town where somebody thought they'd seen a ghost or a bigfoot or
little green men. no matter how nutty that person was usually held to be he
could make their story believable .. help them out a little, planting a
subtle suggestion or two in their impressionable little heads during the
interview. by the end brown would have a whole town in a panic and towns in
panic lead to states that are enthralled and any story that enthralls a
state will interest a nation. brown would build up some pathetic little
town in iowa, sell the story and be long gone in a week or a month when
somebody debunked the story.
today julian was on his way to use his second talent. a man named
minor pierce who lived in a town called flatville, illinois had seen a
flying saucer, or so he had claimed in a deposition to local law
enforcement authorities.
the story he had told brown over the phone was that at about 11 p.m.
on a sunday night he had been out looking at his beanfields. he saw a
bright light fly overhead but he didn't think much of it. then about
twenty minutes later he had heard rustling in the beans behind him. he
turned around just in time to see a little gray skinned creature, about five
feet tall or so, with no ears and big eyes staring at him. the creature hit
him with some sort of rod that paralyzed him.
what pierce remembered beyond that was having a bunch of the little
men poking and prodding him as he lay on an operating table. they implanted
something into the back of his neck. when he woke up it was several hours
later. he was in his field and very sore.
brown's porsche sped down the road toward the old nut's farm. he
hummed along to his _filthy lucre_ cd and tried to figure out how to make
the story sell; the details of it were already pretty hackneyed like an
x-files episode. he pulled into pierce's drive, noting he'd need to wash
the dirt and shit off his car as soon as possible. he went up to the door.
pierce invited brown in and re-told the story which julian listened
to without falling asleep.
"they put somethin' in my neck .. but i dug it out."
now there's a sight, thought julian. maybe an angle. "you uh dug it
out?" with any luck the old nut had mutilated his neck .. a few pictures of
that would be worth a thousand words .. nevermind that he didn't have
anything to show for his efforts.
"yup", said pierce, his eyes gleaming with delight, "and i got out
their microchip." and at that he produced what did indeed seem to be a
little microchip.
julian took the chip and looked at it, amused. then he looked some
more .. pretty authentic. he checked the back .. engraved in an odd
language. julian had seen this before ..
"can you show me the back of your neck so i can see how deeply in
this was?" asked julian.
pierce was glad to comply, standing up and turning around for julian.
god the old fart had dug deep. then julian used his third skill; he reached
up and grabbed pierce's neck and snapped it with a sickening crack. pierce
lay on the ground dead. julian took the chip and went over to use the
phone.
"yeah, simmons there? yeah turned out to be genuine, yeah he's taken
care of. yessir, everything will be torched before i go."
brown whistled to himself. it was dirty work, sure, but it paid
well. and the real money behind the shadow was interested in keeping the
flow of real information very very limited.
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
>> the HARLEQUIN <<
>> AUTHOR: BASE <<
the flickering singular bulb was suspended from the ceiling of the
man's room, which dimly illuminated his gaunt and slender figure from above.
"this .. filth." his teeth clenched, his dirt-encrusted mouth spoke,
"what has become of me? i have been tossed about like so many .. worn-in
rags. why do good people get dealt a poor hand?"
his hands fiddled with a playing card. one he had found as a boy in
a deck that belonged to his grandfather, a hoyle's joker.
" .. and some hand this is." he shook his head and cried a laugh,
"this wretched city, these wretched people... any reason for me being here
eludes me, but there is nowhere else to go and even if there was, no way for
me to get there."
the man stared at himself in the half-darkness, looking into the
cracked mirror that hung askew on the cement wall. his face was painted
white on one side, and the other, black.
"i do not deserve this. no one does."
he walked to the window, and smearing away the layers of dirt on the
window pane, looked out upon the sprawl that he hated, and that hated him
back.
"i want to go amongst mad people, gay and happy people who have no
care in the world!" .. he stopped short, gasped in air. "surely they must
be somewhere, they can't have all disappeared!"
"i will go amongst these people. someday i will. and everything
thereafter will be wonderful. a glorious future lies ahead. i am a good
person!" he smashed his hand against the glass, cutting his finger.
a silence came over him as he stared at the new blood.
"this .. oh, my dear sweet sweet pleasure!" he exclaimed, licking the
blood from his wound.
"ah. it tastes like megan. or wait, no, the girl i discovered walking
along the lake that night .. what was her name? no matter," he giggled.
"i wonder where my mother is today... what pain she must have in her
heart, for i know she wishes me to be with her, in her arms," he said
solemnly.
"if she could seeeee me now! waa hooooo!" he danced about the cement
floor, humming a showtune melody still fresh in his head from the last show
he attended, many years previous.
his dancing became slower, his face more solemn, his gleeful mood
leaving him gradually but surely. exhausted by nothing apparent, the man
collapsed onto his boxspring mattress and stared at the ceiling. he pointed
absent-mindedly in the air to one of the numerous circus posters above. they
were nearly all ratty and torn, the print once vibrant with color now faded.
the words they spoke, once inviting and full of hope, gone.
"ah but what a wonderful group of people i did meet. and what
wonderful places i did visit. only the lord above knows why i am not still
there .. travelling. the tamed lions? the freaks? the aerobatics? hah!
they came to see ME, and only ME. *i* was the freak they so desperately
fought tooth and nail to get tickets for." he shouted, and his voice echoed
across the walls.
he smiled smugly. "my tricks were too much for them near the end, i
guess. i mean, reeeeeeeealy, who can't stand the sight of blood? heh heh!
the kids, really, they *MADE* the act near the end, oooh did they ever!
little megan. such a pretty face. and those beautiful blue eyes .. WOO!
that's how it always happens isn't it? you try something new .. and you get
hell for it! remember that when i'm gone, toots!" he patted the head of
one of the many female dolls strewn across his bed, each in various states
of disarray and dismemberment. "they can't say i didn't try!"
"i could leave if i really wanted to! this is my home, the door's
wide open, i'm freeee to go!" he laughed maniacally, slowly sat up and off
of the bed, and walked back over to the window, staring into the darkening
sky. a tear, his only real possession, like a bee's sting, welled from his
eye .. his face paint ran down the length of his neck.
"you're the ones trapped! you out there! in your desk jobs and your
selfish relationships and your unfulfilling spouses and your wretched
wretched children!" .. his tears streaked down his cheeks and neck in
rivulets of black and white. just then he heard the slide-window on his
room's steel door creak open, and the food tray clattered to the ground. he
turned and bolted towards the sound. just as he approached the panel, it
slid shut again, and he heard footsteps becoming more distant with each 'tap
tap'.
"DON'T YOU WALK BACK DOWN THAT HALLWAY. i'll have done to you what i
have done to the REST!" he screamed, becoming hoarse with anger. his nails
scraped the metal as he collapsed to the floor in a sobbing puddle of man.
"mommy .. "
"what has become of me .. "
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
>> CONDIMENTS CHAPTER 818: RIND <<
>> AUTHOR: MURMUR <<
my arms were so limp and my brain was a gimp and i but owed an
embrace to your beautiful face when you could take no more and you walked
out the door and you left me right here with a lukewarm draft beer and since
i'd fucked up so i felt like the fuck-up pro so i rose from my chair and i
moved over there and it wasn't too far before i grabbed my guitar and i
started to sing about this and that thing and i can not conceal so i must
now reveal what through all this dung i have gone and sung: SHE WAS GONNA
DIE!!! SHE WAS GONNA DIE!!! SHE WAS GONNA ROT IN HELL!!! AND SHE WAS
BETTER OFF!!! and with that anger expressed i no longer felt so repressed
but enraptured by pleasure in ire it done lit my songwriter fire: SHE WAS
GONNA DIE!!! SHE WAS GONNA DIE!!! SHE WAS GONNA ROT IN HELL!!! AND SHE
WAS BETTER OFF!!! and then after reflection and no personal objection i
looked to the floor and said WHAT A FUCKING WHORE, SHE WAS GONNA DIE!!! SHE
WAS GONNA ROT IN HELL!!! OH, SHE WAS GONNA DIE DIE DIE!!! AND SHE WAS
BETTER OFF!!! SHE WAS GONNA DIE DIE DIE!!! SHE WAS GONNA DIE!!! SHE WAS
GONNA ROT IN HELL!!! AND SHE WAS BETTER OFF!!! those words now spoken,
shan't be more evokin', 'cept for me to say in my own unique way that SHE
WAS GONNA DIE DIE DIE!!! SHE WAS GONNA DIE!!! SHE WAS GONNA ROT IN HELL!!!
AND SHE WAS BETTER OFF!!! SHE WAS GONNA DIE DIE DIE!!! DIE DIE DIE!!!
DIE DIE DIE!!! ROT IN HELL!!! YOU WERE BETTER OFF!!! DIE DIE DIE!!! DIE
DIE DIE!!! YOU WERE BETTER OFF OFF OFF!!! OH, YOU'RE A GONNA DIE!!!
moral: she was better off.
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
>> the BIGOT DANCE <<
>> AUTHOR: SHADOW TAO <<
chad got up to change the channel. the remote had been crushed in a
party the week earlier. sid, one of marya's boyfriends, was hanging out
with him, watching tv and drinking leftover beer from the rent party.
"check 12. i wanna see the news."
chad punched in the number, the amber glow of the numerals lighted
the room with their orangish light.
" .. provisional irish republican separatists bombed a british-held
section of town, killing 12 and wounding 109. three children were
killed in the blast, which reportedly originated from a suicide
car-bomb passing outside the restaurant. the splinter PIRA forces
claimed responsibility for the blast, citing the fact that there
were mostly english casualties in the process."
the screen reflected blue and white on sid's face, dancing in a
mirrored pattern of life.
"that's fuckin' insane, man. all those people killin' each other."
chad looked down at sid, grabbing a bag of chips that was resting
against the couch leg.
"i don't know, man. britain's held northern ireland for too damn
long, in my opinion. this is their fight for independence, their freedom.
this is a holy war against oppression. i support 'em, and i hope they blow
britain all to hell."
eck. the chips were stale.
...
sid looked up at his couchmate, eyeing his sudden fervor cautiously.
"whatever."
he took a drag of his camel. the smoke of his exhale covered the
glare of the tv, obscuring the anchorwoman in a hazy filter of light.
"the pro-choice movement suffered a devastating blow in court today,
as christian coalition lawyers lay the groundwork for an almost
impregnable .. "
"baby killers." chad rummaged through the bottom of the bag, feeling
for the orangy nacho crumbs.
sid casually puffed away at his camel. he didn't feel like arguing
with some guy in his house, and he certainly didn't feel like sleeping on
the street. too cold out.
getting up, chad flipped through the channels. the patterns on the
dark walls blinked and danced as he moved, one by one, through all the
channels.
"agh. nothing on."
the tv fell dark. the light from the receiver and cd player clicked
to life. the sound of plastic cases sliding against one another kept the
darkness alive. finally, with a small motor hum, the room became brilliant
with the pound of a tribal dance track, bass pounding at the walls. chad
began to catch the hooks of the melody, swaying in the rhythm.
"what the fuck is *this shit*?!" sid propped himself up, and rose
to his feet. throwing his cigarette onto the carpet, he squashed it out
with his boot and huffily left the room.
"stupid fucking ravers and their stupid fucking techno shit."
...
"stupid punk."
chad danced, but only in the least enjoyable way.
neither was really valid, anymore. they now knew what the other was.
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
>> I DRINK, THEREFOR <<
>> AUTHOR: PUCK <<
rene descartes'
ass is ice
fucking cold
but sometimes the urge to shit
is stronger than the oath
of avoiding the public stalls.
black plastic against
philosopher ass .. chilling.
he pulls a green marker from his
pants
down there by his ankles
and
squints
aches
struggles
"i think, therefor .. " gets
penned down across the door
in front of him but he quickly
scratches it out,
as he is inspired ..
scrawls a line,
flushes the toilet,
yanks his trousers back up around his waist,
"i've got the beer shits" .. his gift to the
world,
or at least to the next lucky shitter.
ain't it hard,
rene?
ain't it so
fucking hard?
sometimes as hard
as scraping a booger off
a coke can when ya just cut
your nails.
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
>> MEGAN (an ABRIDGED STORY of TWO FAILURES) <<
>> AUTHOR: EERIE <<
"i love you!" she'd scream, her eyes filled with tears. "what the
fuck are you doing to me?"
as cheesy as it could get. she wouldn't accept "what do you know
about love?" even if it would have fit well in the dialogue - & as a
matter of fact, she actually didn't know shit about love.
that's not how it started, though. first time i saw her, she was with
her token biweekly boyfriend, & out of the blue she turned down the volume
of my stereo while "100%" was playing. you don't do that.
"damn, that was pretty heavy! i can't hear anything!"
"put that thing back up."
"but we don't even hear each other!" her boyfriend sort of agreed
with a subtle nod. i'm not exactly sure what they were doing in my room at
that time.
"well, i'm not sure i want to hear you at all, baby."
five minutes later, they were gone, & i skipped the tracks to
"orange rolls, angel's spit". pumped it up. i was pretty much a bastard
back then. but that's okay, i guess.
two years later, i had to meet her again, & it would get me sick,
the way she would wear that baby tee just to show her belly button. belly
buttons are evil. that was a party & god knows i hate parties; go figure
what the hell i was doing here.
so she sits on that bed with a pack of coolers, drunk already, & i
don't know exactly what i was doing in that room - i was just chilling,
basically, & this was the only place i could breathe, & well, at first i
didn't even recognize her.
"whoa, that's you .. hehehe."
"oh .. you."
"dontcha remember? 'i'm not sure if i wanna hear you at all' .. oh
my, that line pissed me off so bad i think i'll never forget it."
"it's been two fucking years .. "
"i know. people change in two years, y'know."
her belly button was literally cornering me to a point where it was
aggressive. i left the room in the second when someone entered, sat on the
chair next to the desk to snort a track of white shit.
i met her sister a few months later, & she was crazy. always
wearing long sleeves in the middle of the summer. i once discovered why --
there had to be something that would hide the scar on her left wrist. when
i mentioned the fact, she decided i was worthy of knowing the whole reason
why, the "secret", & thus she told me. i got the whole story, tons of
personal matter that i wasn't sure i wanted to know about, all the abuse,
the sex, the drugs, & whatnot. some directors makes tons of money telling
stories like that in their pseudo-teen movies. but i live in the suburbs -
shit like that actually happens.
we could have fucked that night, but her stuff was so pathetic i
didn't want to bother.
that girl was definitely nuts. we had pillowfights, crazy arguments
about near surreal topics, all sorts of little world wars. she didn't
really ever made sense -- but that was okay, because that's what we were
into -- senseless craziness.
months after, we had fucked many a time & finally broken up -- as
insanely as it could -- she found "someone else", broke up again, etc. &
next thing you know, i get this call saying "she's dead, she's slit her
*other* wrist."
me & some guys were at the funeral, & i did my best to stay away
from the corpse, so that when i'd remember what it was to fuck with her, i
wouldn't see her dead face appear all of a sudden. her death could have
been predicted -- the wrists were part of the game, & i often wondered:
"how does one live with a proof of a failure on their left wrist?" no
wonder she finally cut the other one.
i met megan there for the third time, & said "hi", & she didn't
seem all that sad.
"i've had enough crying in the last three days, that'll be enough."
"umm, okay." actually i had cried, too, a little. can't help it.
"but -- why?"
"why what?"
she stared at me, attacked: "why did she do it?"
& then i just remembered that i knew.
"i, she --" no, wait, does she want to know that? the answer came out
as no. "nevermind."
"wait, what were you gonna say?"
silence. "you don't want to know."
we went to the same college the next year, & started dating. she
told me i was "not an asshole, like the other guys." we had sex. i met her
friends. people i've never met before, for the most part.
every time we fucked, she came back to the question. "why?" it was
pervert & sick. a very "her" thing.
"when did she tell you?"
"some night."
"i want to know, dave."
"goddamnit, i am not going to talk about your fucking sister!"
"you're just afraid!"
"yeah, right, & you're a wacko. it's a damn *secret*."
"if i had a secret about your dead brother, you would want me to tell
you."
"i have no brothers."
"oh, that's so clever. congratulations."
then, out of anger, one night: "she slit her fucking wrists because
she was a lesbian, okay?"
she kept her mouth open, but stopped talking. "oh .. okay," she said,
with respect.
"happy about it?"
"that -- that explains some things."
i asked, "like what?" but she wouldn't tell.
she ran away from college the day after, got back in southborough.
the "i love you" scene took place way later, one night she got in the
dorm, drunk. her parents gave her the boot from the house & she was
driving around with her car with sunglasses & four hundred fifty bucks in
her pockets. she said, "i mean, *fuck*. let's go! let's have a trip!
now! while we *can*!"
i said, "you went away. are we still in any way related?"
"i need you, dave, & we gotta go. let's go somewhere. now."
"what the hell happened with you lately megan?"
"oh *shit*, you *jerk*. we can go anywhere & you persist on
sticking in this fucking dorm room. let's fucking *move* out of this
place."
"yeah, let's get involved in some cheap road movie imitation."
"let's just go & die, dave."
silence.
"your sister said that, once."
"to you?"
"i think if she actually decided to do it, i would have done it too."
"i want a trip."
i used the most serious tone i could, & said, "i don't want to die."
she went away, & life for some reason started being boring. a month
later i heard she had came back at her house & flipped out, sort of became
like her dead sister.
coincidences prove nothing, but "100%" was playing again when i got
the call about her death. slit her right wrist. 'cept she got it right the
first time.
& even though in a sick way this story makes me smile, i sometimes
wished i had been on that trip with megan - but then again, i've been on
trips on my own & i figured out what will drive someone nuts like that.
at that funeral i couldn't help but taking a deep look in her face,
& it screamed: "this is what you become when you fail." her sister said,
once, "if you have to fail, might as well do it good."
as if failure was avoidable.
- --( - ------------------------------------------------------------ - )-- -
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>> a STORY about a TWELVE YEAR OLD BOY NAMED SAMMY CAGNOBALIA who NEVER
MADE SENSE and WENT to DAN'S HOUSE ONCE to HELP HIM with HIS TRASH <<
>> AUTHOR: STYX <<
"sammy cagnobalia?"
"yeah. he's at the door."
"throw rocks at him, dad! he's a crazy idiot!"
"how about _you_ throw rocks at him, dan? your father has work to
do. our shipment from sears came in today."
"daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
"dan. answer the door."
"fine."
dan paused mortal kombat and hesitantly made his way downstairs.
sammy cagnobalia had never, ever stopped by his house. as far as dan knew,
he never even left his bedroom except when he was in school. sammy
cagnobalia would always get called out of class by the nurse to take pills
or to talk to his mom on the phone and he was never at lunch and he would
wander around during recess talking and agreeing with himself and saying
"yes, yes, that's how it is" and "i feel just the same." when teachers
would call on sammy cagnobalia to answer questions he would say "oh, i'd
prefer not" and "thank you," and when the teachers would call on sammy
cagnobalia to read a paragraph out of a textbook he would say "oh, that's
quite alright" and "yes, some other time perhaps." sammy cagnobalia never
got angry when the kids spit on him or kicked him, he would just disagree
with the discomfort.
this all ran through dan's head as he approached the front door, took
a deep breath, and opened it. sammy cagnobalia was there, on his doorstep,
retarded and smiling.
"what?"
"hello, dan!"
"why are you here, sammy?"
"you left your washer and dryer on the curb!"
"they're trash, you fucking sped. trash for the trashmen."
"do you want some help bringing them in?"
"what?!"
"should i bring them back in by myself?"
"no!"
"but how come? you lef.."
"WE'RE THROWING THEM OUT, SAMMY. THEY'RE TRASH."
"my, indeed a sore one, in fact! not at all!"
sammy cagnobalia slammed the front door on dan's face, spun around,
crawled inside the dryer on the curb, and shit all over himself.
s$
$$ $s .d""b.
.d""$$ $$ss$$ $$ $$
$$ $$ $$
$$ $$
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"Tss$$ "TssT" "TssT"
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