Halloween (For Monsters)

On October 31, 2008 Satan had a costume party. This is how it went down...

10:31pm - Satan (dressed as Screech) puts the finishing touches on his appetizer platter.

10:36pm - There's a knock at the door. It's Frankenstein (dressed as the Joker - how freakin' original). He's embarrassingly early, as usual.

Frankenstein: I brought pigs in a blanket.

Satan: ...thanks.

Frankenstein: Who are you supposed to be? Topher Grace?

Satan: I'm Screech.

Frankenstein: ?

Satan: From 'Saved by the Bell'?

Frankenstein: ?

Satan: Jesus Franky, have you ever watched TV?

Frankenstein: I like that show, Two and Half Men.

Satan: You would. Help yourself to the punch.

11:15pm - The Werewolf (dressed as The Burger King) arrives with The Mummy (dressed as the Stock Market) and The Thing (dressed as Garth Vader, which is essentially a Darth Vader costume with a cowboy hat and an acoustic guitar).

Satan: Hey guys, come on in. LOVE the costumes.

The Thing: I'm ready to get wasted and make a mistake.

Satan: That Burger King costume is genuinely creepy. But I thought you were coming as a Sexy Nurse this year?

Werewolf: I was, but I didn't have enough time to go get a bikini wax.

Mummy: ...awkward....

Werewolf: (stage whisper) Oh god, is that Frankenstein?

Satan: (louder stage whisper) I swear I didn't invite him. He must have overheard at the River Styx mixer.

The Thing: This could mean trouble if "you know who" shows up...

Frankenstein sulks by the punch.

11:42pm - Dracula (dressed as a pencil) arrives with Bride of Frankenstein (dressed as a pencil sharpener).

Satan: Hi guys, come on in! Oh, matching costumes...TOO CUTE!

Dracula pretends to put his pencil in the sharpener. It's awkwardly sexual. From across the room...

The Thing: OMG, can you believe they had the nerve to come here together?

Werewolf: Franky is going to LOSE HIS SHIT.

Frankenstein looks up from his appetizer plate. He sees Dracula, poking Bride of Frankenstein with his pencil. The plate drops to the floor SLOW MOTION STYLE.

Frankenstein: I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU PALE, GREASY-HAIRED, BLOODSUCKING BASTARD!

And with that, Frankenstein charges Dracula. But before he makes contact, The Thing smashes Franky in the head with his acoustic guitar. It puts Franky in a momentary haze.

Satan: Woah, woah, woah there. Everybody calm down. Now, this is a party! Let's all try and get along, please?

Mummy: No, Satan. These men need to settle their differences, once and for all. Let them have at it.

The Thing: If you don't, this sort of thing will continue to happen. And it will make our parties SUCK.

Satan twirls his pitchfork as he contemplates.

Satan: Fine. But I want you two to use your fists, not your words.

After a moment...

Frankenstein: Fine.

Dracula: Fine.

12:01am - The two monsters face off. Frankenstein has the height advantage, but Dracula has the grace. Franky rears back, ready to deliver a vicious blow. But before he makes contact...

Bride: WAIT!

Franky stops just short of Dracula's face.

Bride: It's high time I said what needed to be said...

Bride of Frankenstein comes between Dracula and Franky. She tenderly takes Franky's hand.

Bride: Franky, when we were together, it was amazing. I mean, we just connected, you know? But I realized that we just became two different people. I love you, Franky-wanky, but I'm no longer IN love with you.

Frankenstein: But...

Bride of Frankenstein puts her finger up to his lip.

Bride: Shhh. If love something, set it free.

Frankenstein sheds a single tear.

Bride: We'll always have the cemetary...

Frankenstein wets himself.

Mummy: Oh that's unfortunate.

2:36am - All the monsters have left the party. Satan speaks to his parrot.

Satan: Well Beatrice, I think outdid ourselves this year. What do you think?

Beatrice squawks.

Satan: You're right, Beatrice. A bubble bath IS in order!

2:56am - Satan takes a bubble bath. It's...weird.

The End?

Updated Resume

Martin Tinkleberry
634 Liptia St.
Bartfotter, NM 91236

Objective: To find a job making money whilst listening to the song of my heart.

EXPERIENCE

Mrs.Dootpooter's Bakery
Cashier - Jan 2008- Feb 2008
I worked the cash register real good at this one. The customer would ask for a scone and I would giveth. Mrs. Dootpooter wouldn't take no crap from nobody though, and my big mouth got me fired. But I have to listen to the song of my heart - and at this joint, it went "Mrs. Dootpooter's a big 'ol bitch"

Clagman's House of Crayons
Sharpener - May 2007 - May 2007
At Clagman's, we had over a billiondy crayons, and it was my job to sharpen the dull ones. I was fired from this one for "putting my dangle where it didn't belong".

Turkman's Lumber Yard
2004 - 2006
On my first day, I got stuck under a log. I stayed there for 2 years, keeping myself alive by eating bark and drinking my own pee.

EDUCATION

BD in Circumcision studies at Psoriasis College (not recoginized by the Princeton Review)
GPA: 9.43 (out of ???)
Expected Graduation: As soon as my professor gets out of his coma.

BA in Stenciling at Berkley (school of stenciling)
GPA: pass
Graduated 1997

SPECIAL SKILLS

Stenciling, Circumcision, making a pot roast, airbrushing tee shirts at the beach.

references NOT available upon request.

Gary had a little 'stache

Gary had a little 'stache
the strands were red like fire
and everywhere that Gary went
his 'stache raised manly ire

He wore his 'stache to school one day
which was against the rule
it made the girls unsnap their bras
to see a 'stache so cool

"Why does his 'stache cause such a fuss?"
They asked an ancient relic;
"Because my dears," the relic replied
"he's like a young Tom Selleck"

Daily Paper Retractions

THE DAILY PAPER RETRACTIONS SECTION

In our ongoing quest to maintain journalistic integrity, the Daily Paper would like to correct some factual errors made in the recent weeks pertaining to several of our breaking stories. The editors of the paper would like to retract the following statements...

On June 30th, we wrote that Abraham Lincoln assassinated John Wilkes Booth during a fraternity Toga party. Oops, we were wrong. Apparently Booth assassinated Lincoln, and it was...somewhere else.

On July 2, we ran an article that attempted to debunk the idea that cats have nine lives. Although we were successful, we engaged in what some group calls "animal cruelty". Sorry guys! :/

On July 6th, we printed the entire paper in wingdings. We apologize for the inconvenience.

On July 7th, no one decided to come in to work...so...there was no news. But we assure you that anything that happened on that day was not really relevant. ...so...whoops.

On July 22nd, our Op Ed columnist urged readers to get out of the house and enjoy the summer by going down to the local "glory hole". He meant to write local "watering hole". The Daily Paper claims no responsibility for subsequent trauma maintained by readers who took his advice.

On July 25th, our weather forecast predicted that the sky would ejaculate. In our defense, it did rain.

On August 1, the letter A on our keyboard didn't work, making most of the paper read like gibberish. Luckily, we had a warranty on the equipment, so its all good now.

On August 11th, we ran an article claiming that arson was good for your skin. Apparently just because you make a statement doesn't mean its true. I realize that now.

On August 23, our Arts and Entertainment editor reviewed the fifth grade production of Robin Hood. Calling it a "theatrical abortion" may have been a little harsh, but they play truly was shit.

I hate you so much

I hate you so much. It's incredible how much I hate you. I hate you from the top of my head to BELOW my feet. In fact, I hate you from SPACE to the CENTER OF THE EARTH. Scratch that. I hate you from Pluto to China. NO - from the very leftist edge of the universe to the very rightist edge of the universe. If I was Rubberman, I would say, "I hate you THIS much" and then stretch my arms beyond the limits of any mere mortal.

I love how much I hate you. I want to sleep with how much I hate you. Actually, I want to date how much I hate you for several months and then sleep with how much I hate you's sister just to piss you off. I hate you so much that Satan thinks I should see a therapist.

I wish only the worst for you. You know when people say, "I wouldn't wish that upon my worst enemy"? I want to wrangle all of THOSE things up and wish them on you. If somebody told me you were homeless, desperately alone and disfigured, I'd say, "Well, he isn't being mauled by a bear, is he? He should consider himself lucky".

If this were Ancient Rome, I would ask the various Gods to smite you. Especially the guy with the lightning bolt. Coincidentally, I would also ask him if he wanted to be friends, cause I mean, come on, who wouldn't want to be friends with that guy? He and I would drink a beer and then I would casually suggest that he split you in half with his kung-fu lightning.

I hope you feel my hate. You know how people say that when someone is talking about you that your ears burn? I hope that every time I direct a hateful thought your way one of your hairs falls out. That way, I'll know my job is complete when you're bald and blubbering.
Someone should hold a hate contest because I would win, hands down. And I've never won anything so that would be a plus for me.

I hate you so much it makes me want to commit a hate crime. I hate you so much I subsist only on hater-ade. I'm going to build a roller coaster that requires each rider to hate you THIS much to ride. If I could feed people with my hate, I would solve world hunger. If you looked up HATE in a dictionary, you wouldn't see a picture of me - but only because I don't photograph well.
How do I hate thee? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS. You're so worthless the Bard wouldn't Shake his Speare at you. If your name was Raymond, I would give you a 30 minute sitcom and call it "Everybody HATES Raymond" - it would be non-fiction.

My friends say that if I used this hateful energy to do something productive that I would actually be going somewhere with my life...



I HATE my friends.

Leslie Boggs

Did you hear? Leslie Boggs' nipple slipped out of her tank top during gym! Craig Turner said it winked at him!

Did you guys know that Leslie Boggs set all the frogs from science class free? And she did it using only her sense of smell!

You won't believe what I heard - Leslie Boggs ate all the silverware in the cafeteria! She's gonna be in the bathroom for like 3 days!

Dexter told me that Leslie Boggs' middle name is Peenus.

Once I went to a slumber party at Leslie Boggs' house. The inside was made entirely of broken dreams.

Leslie Boggs has a very strict policy about dating - if there's turf on the field, then the game is on.

Meghan Blatt said Leslie Boggs once gave a book report that was 2 days long - the funny thing is, no one can remember what it was about.

Legend has it that Leslie Boggs lives on a 25 hour day. What she does with that extra hour is ANYONE's guess. Mike Brooks thinks she does yoga.

The Iranians have a new virus to be used in biological warfare - only Leslie Boggs has the antidote.

In Albert Einstein's personal notes, a early draft of his famous equation went as follows - E=Leslie Boggs. When applied, the equation did not quantify the theory of relativity. Instead, it made the document burst into flame.

Peter Sweller dated Leslie Boggs for 6 months. He though the breakup was amicable. But 2 weeks later, his genitalia withered away.

Leslie Boggs says she plans to run for President. One day, a fellow peer asked, "President of what?" He was never heard from again.

Roses are red, violets are blue. LESLIE BOGGS.

Julie Fisk once said "Leslie Boggs" three times in a mirror. Now when she looks in a reflective surface, she only sees Leslie Boggs.

Leslie Boggs can read minds. She chooses not to.

Billy Seeger said that Leslie Boggs once told him how to solve world hunger over IM. He accidentally deleted the conversation.

To Kathy, Love Miles

Dear Kathy (sp?),
Hi! Welcome to Hillcrest High, home of the fightin' dogwood trees! I hope your first day of class has treated you well so far. I know that moving to a new school in a new town can be tough, so I'm here to offer you a friendship - no strings attached! Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Miles Pinkus and I would like - nay - LOVE to be your friend. I have lived in Hillcrest my entire life, and know the names of all the major intersections in town. I also have an extensive knowledge of all our local congressmen and did you know I can also read backwards? Anyway, if you want to be my friend, you can meet me tomorrow by the soda machine at 2:30 - I'll be the guy by the soda machine. LOL!
Hoping for a friend,
Miles

Dear Kathy,
So I couldn't help but notice that you didn't come by the soda machine today...what happened? Did you get lost or get caught in some barbed wire or something? I just can't imagine that you would have skipped...I mean, who wouldn't want a friend? Especially when they're new in town and probably don't have anyone to hang out with. And if you're thinking that I'm a loser, you are totally wrong. I don't need you. I'm just trying to be an upstanding citizen. So don't be such a raging bitch...LOL! Oh wait, I just realized in my other note I said 2:30 - maybe I should have been more specific and said 2:30 PM - gosh, I hope you don't come by at 2:30AM! I will feel like such a goof! But, just in case, I will be at the soda machine at 2:30am if you wanna meet up. I can show you my animal fetus collection! You bring the chex mix!
Living for the moment,
Miles

Dear Kathy,
I have to say that I'm beginning to lose my patience. Two times I've been at that soda machine waiting for you and two times you've disappointed me. Three times and I kill you...LOL! But seriously, where were you? I can only take the fetuses out of the fridge once a month and I just wasted it. So if you want to see them, you're gonna have to come over to my place...oh, why don't we just do that? I'll tell my cousin to make Liver for 3! Yes, I live with my cousin but its only cause my parents were murdered or something. So what'dya say? 7:30PM, my place? Be there or be DEAD! (kidding)
Giving you one more chance,
Miles

Kathy,
Well now you've really gone and done it. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG MY COUSIN SLAVED OVER THAT LIVER FOR YOU!? I'm so mad I could dig up my parents and murder them all over again...JUST JOSHING! but not really. Look, I don't know what I've done to offend you Kathy, but you have NO RIGHT to mess with people's hearts like this. I've been nothing but good to you and all you've done is shit all over me. Are you shy? Is that it? Because I can be very accommodating. If you feel awkward, or like I won't listen to you or make fun of you, let me assure you - I won't. Here, how about this. Tomorrow night, let's meet at the butcher store on Sycamore lane - I interned there last year so I have a key. We can talk this over in privacy.
Also, in anticipation of our conversation, please find attached a severed finger.
Looking forward to our chat,
Miles

Dearest Kathy,
You probably think I'm mad at you for calling the cops on me. I'm not. And I want you to know that that guy was dead before I cut off his finger. Did I murder him? Well that's for 12 of my peers to decide, isn't it? Anyway, I've been thinking it over and I think that I was too hard on you. You were new in town and probably overwhelmed by all the attention! So I'm going to extend an open invitation. If you need someone to talk to, or just have an urge to cut someone, I'm here. Hope you're excelling in class and give the fightin' dogwoods my love!
Yours truly,
Miles

Hitting it Off

BAR

Man: Hi there.

Woman: (turns her back to man)

Man: Can I buy you a drink?

Woman: (no response)

Man: I like your shoulder tattoo.

Woman: That's a mole.

Man: I'll see myself out. (man downs the rest of his "Tequila Mockingbird")

BOOKSTORE

Man: Self help, eh?

Woman: (turns back to man)

Man: A can't imagine a woman as beautiful as you needing any "self help"...

Woman: (silence)

Man: I seem to have gotten lost. Do you know where the bodybuilding section is?

Woman: (annoyed sigh)

Man: Do you want to feel my muscle?

Woman: (death stare)

Man: I'll see myself out. (Man Rollerblades away)

AIRPLANE

Man: You can lean over me if you want to see out the window.

Woman: (blank stare)

Man: Are you going to eat your peanuts?

Woman: (puts headphones on)

Man: I'm a tad nippy, could I borrow some of your blanket?

Woman: (ignores)

Man: You know, what happens under the blanket STAYS under the blanket.

Woman: (death stare)

Man: I'll show myself out. (Man jumps out of plane)

HELL

Man: Boy, it sure is hot down here.

Woman: (silently burns)

Man: You know, if you undo the buttons on that sweater you'll get more circulation. Just saying.

Woman: (not amused)

Man: You don't have to be embarrassed. It's not like I haven't seen boobs before.

Woman: (curses man with demonic incantation)

Man: I'll show myself out. (Man joins Hitler at the social mixer)

SPACE

Man: Would you like the rest of my freeze dried ice cream?

Woman: (stares out at the vast emptiness of space)

Man: Suit yourself. How about some Tang?

Woman: (adjusts the compression in her space suit)

Man: You wanna join the 600 miles high club?

Woman: (enters hypersleep in defiance)

Man: I'll take that as a maybe. (man tries to enter hypersleep, but accidentally hit's "hyperspace", sending him light years out of his galaxy)

XENON 9

Man: Back on Earth, I was a king.

Alien: (indecipherable Alien gibberish)

Man: And I had many beautiful women as mistresses.

Alien: (drools)

Man: What I'm trying to say is that I've pleasured many, and would like to continue to do so.

Alien: (covers man in bile shot from its tentacle)

Man: Oh you frisky minx.

Alien: (eats man)

Later, when the Alien sits around with her other Alien friend....

Alien friend: So you ate him?

Alien: Yeah, but he didn't go down well.

Alien friend: Does any man?

Alien: Oh, you are TOO MUCH!

(the aliens toast their martinis)

PRODUCED BY PETER ENGEL

Mystery of the Fincher Mansion (Part I)

Little Jimmy Fincher found himself at the foot of the those stairs again. Every summer, his parents left for an extended vacation in Boca Raton, leaving poor Jimmy to crash at his grandfather's Gothic, dusty old mansion on the outskirts of Boone, North Carolina. Now for most kids, this would be a dream. Hundreds of rooms to explore, and a kitchen and wait staff handy at the drop of a hat. But most kids didn't know the truth about that mansion. The truth that haunts Jimmy every time he shuts his eyes, like it was painted on the back of his eyelids.

Just four steps to the door, and then there's no turning back.

Jimmy picked up his hefty duffel bag and shuffled up the stairs. This year, young Fincher was going to fight back. Face your fears head on. That's what the psychologist on the TV said. That's the only way to conquer them. And that's just what Jimmy was going to do. Just as soon as he got comfortable and spent some quality time with Grandpa Claude. Yikes. Just the mere mention of his name made Jimmy uncomfortable. It wasn't that Claude was evil or mean or even crotchety - he was just...unnerving. He always spoke in a whisper and never looked anyone in the eye, like he was ashamed of something. Jimmy never thought that Claude had any clue what really happened in his old house.. Actually, the thought never occurred to him. But maybe that's the secret that Claude kept. The thing that he wouldn't dare expose - the thing that those weathered grey eyes might give away.

Jimmy opened the great oak door. He was immediately greeted by that old, familiar musk. It's funny how you can smell something, and it will take you right back to the moment you last took in that scent. For Jimmy, it wasn't pleasant.

"Claude?", Jimmy yelled into the foyer. "Grandpa?"

Jimmy's voice echoed into the great hall. This place was like a museum, with great wooden structures and vast open spaces. Jimmy didn't know how old the mansion was exactly, but he did know that it carried with it a lot of history. It was exactly as he had left it.

"Jimmy, my boy, is that you?" Claude limped into the foyer, putting most of his weight onto his magnificent mahogany cane. He called her Jessie - god knows why. "I thought I heard you, you little scamp!" Claude leaned down and tussled Jimmy's golden brown hair. "Come on, let's get your stuff into the kid's room".

Jimmy hated that he still had to stay in the kid's room. He was 12 now, and a room wallpapered with cartoon dinosaurs was no longer appropriate. It was also a little creepy, sleeping with a Tyrannosaurus right over your head - not that Jimmy was scared, Jimmy's not scared of stupid kid stuff like that.

Claude was surprisingly spry and energetic for an 87-year-old. But even so, he was still an old man, and dinner was always at the unbearable hour of 4:30pm. Tonight (if you can call it that), Jimmy would order his favorite - grilled cheese and banana sandwich. But fate had a different plan. Tonight, Jimmy wouldn't make it to dinner at all.

Jimmy dropped his bag in the kids room. He took in the familiar scent - the bookcase, the dresser, the outdated and dusty TV. Did Claude ever have cable? Jimmy couldn't remember the last time he watched television in the mansion. With no A/C, the estate could get pretty stuffy. Jimmy walked over to the window to let in some air. Three valiant pushes later and the window was open. The young boy was greeted by a powerful breeze, strong enough to knock the rail thin boy right on his butt. SLAM! The bedroom door closed behind him. Circulation was the key; if the door was closed, the open window would do little good. Jimmy pulled the knob. No luck. Harder this time. Still no luck.

Suddenly, Jimmy's stomach dropped. He was locked in. Bad things were going to happen.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "It's probably just stuck. I mean, this IS an old house". I don't blame you for thinking such a thing. But you also don't know what I know....and what Jimmy knows.

The room went dark. A rush of wind chilled the room. Jimmy felt very alone. He looked to the closet. Where would it come from? Maybe Would one of the dresser drawers bring him forth? Jimmy prayed it was a false alarm.

But then, from underneath the bed, he saw it slither out....


TO BE CONTINUED.

I Destroyed Man's Greatest Gift

Tyler was the bane of my existence. He was smarter, funnier, and far more attractive than me. Can you believe he won the Purchase Country Talent Show 3 years in a row (including last year when I successfully burped "Funky Town")?! He was so smooth with the ladies, and you should see him on the dance floor - he's a god damned marvel!

That's why I had to kill him.

It was a crime of passion, really. If I had premeditated it, it wouldn't have gone down like it did. You know how someone will annoy you, and you just keep letting it slide, until, one day, that random thing they do just knocks you off your rocker? Well Tyler did that very thing when he brought Julie home. HE KNEW I LIKED HER! ( I always said she had the prettiest ankles of any girl I knew - she also has a mole that looks like Christian Slater but that's a WHOLE 'NOTHER can o' worms).

I couldn't contain my rage. When Julie excused herself to potty (her words, not mine), I let him have it. First, I Ninja Turtled him right in the eye! Then I Matrixed him all up and down the living room! Finally, I used all my karate knowledge and just went apeshit on his tummy (my words, not his). But the weirdest thing happened - he just took it. It didn't even seem to phase him. And I was using all my deadliest skills too! So I knew I would have to get CIA intense. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a butcher's knife. Tyler just laughed - but the laugh was off. It was like he had a mouth full of gummy bears (which I knew he didn't because he's allergic to GLUTEN).

I was determined that laugh would be his last. Then I would laugh. I would laugh last.

Without hesitation, I drove the knife into his skull. Just then, Julie walked in and she was all like, "OMG, you just knifed Tyler in the head!" And I was like, "Do you want me to knife YOU in the head (I immediately regretted saying that when I gazed upon her curvaceous ankles)"!

ANYHOO

I was like, "Holy shit, I just committed a crime". But then, out of nowhere, a voice came from on high. It was God and he was all like, "No my son, look at his cranium" (I knew it was God because he said Cranium - fancy, as is the way of God). I peered up at his dome and beheld a sight - all these wires and doodads where protruding from the wound!

Tyler Benson WAS A ROBOT.

A dying robot. If you kill a robot, can you get in trouble? As Tyler's robot body began to shut down, I decided it was time to high tail it outta there.

But that's when I heard the sirens!

Shit! The secret service is after me, I just know it! Before I could even grab my shit, those assholes descended upon me like the wrath of God (and I know his wrath - remember how we were just talking?) They just started Steven Segalling me left and right. I was doomed for sure. One of 'em - THE REAL FAT ONE - was like "You just destroyed man's greatest creation". For a second he really got to me. What had I done? But then, when he started giving me the Vulcan death grip, my fight or flight kicked in. I was like BAM! all up on his turkey neck, but it just wasn't enough. This guy was FAT and I was doomed. Just as I started lose consciousness, I saw a beautiful sight. There was a fist sandwich aimed at the fat dude - and the owner of that fist was none other than TYLER, back from the junkpile! POW POW POW and the Fat dude was out.

One late night visit to the shop teacher and Tyler was back in working condish.

My best friend. My worst enemy. A robot.

A Few Words About Nourishment

What is so wrong with vanilla ice cream? Why is vanilla plain? Who decided that? It's a flavor - just like chocolate or rocky road. Honestly, what's the difference between chocolate and vanilla - why is vanilla the nerd? Chocolate is like the misunderstood bad boy from the other side of the tracks - that's such bullshit. Vanilla could be bad too - but instead he decides to work on his calligraphy. Good for vanilla, that's an honest hobby.

FURTHERMORE

I hate when people say that water doesn't taste like anything. Of course it does! It tastes like WATER. If water didn't taste like anything, how would you know you were drinking it, asshole?

AND IN THAT SAME VEIN

Vitamin water? Flavored water? FLAVORED WATER! HELLO! If water has another ingredient, I'm pretty sure it's not water anymore - so let's quit with the misnomers people.


Sincerely yours,

Thomas Jefferson

Time Travel

Time Travel can be such a hassle
Gonna rip the Universe a new asshole

Try not to let it all unravel
but that's what happens when you
TIME TRAVEL

The Monster with the Selfish Grin

You said you would love me forever
but forever was more than you cared to endeavor

You said 'til the end of time
I guess you had a different frame of reference in mind

You said we were meant to be
meant to be discarded so selfishly?

You "claimed" that you would be true
but liar's lie - a lesson I just learned from you

So which lie would you have me believe
that all this time, hidden up your sleeve
the you that you inhabit now
was a you I had never seen somehow

and if that's true, then who did I know
The blistering Sun melts away the snow
It's ugly under all that skin
The monster with the selfish grin

What Happened?

Julie had never seen anyone punch a wall before. Jason must have been really angry.


She had to get to the bottom of this.


But first thing's first...



SHOPPING SPREE!

Walter and Sneed

Walter Mitts was a lonely boy
without a friend to be found
frail and pale, and slow as a snail
with a voice that barely broke sound

Walter's home wasn't broken
at least not in a visible way
but upon closer inspection, a keen eye's detection
would show there's dysfunction at play

Walter's father was angry
And mother ignored the small boy
and with no affection, there grew a collection
of affectations that Walter'd employ

Walter began having visions
of the things that his heart did so need
toys, noise, and other small boys
his favorite of whom was named Sneed

Walter's delusions were stronger
than the usual infantile fare
His pose, nose, and even his clothes
No denying that Sneed was right there

Walter's creation was ugly
reflecting Walter's self worth
Surly, girly, and in no way burly
with attitude exceeding his girth

Walter began seeking counsel
and Sneed would dole out advice
and his phrases like mazes, evolving in phases
were aggressive and often not nice

Walter soon found his nightmares
were one part of Sneed's greater plan
Hives, knives and the taking of lives
Sneed was crafting this man

Walter started with insects
unhooking the things limb by limb
then rats, bats, and even small cats
But Sneed longed for something more grim

Walter, alone with his parents
at dinner, one on each side
grabbed the steak knife, and took both their lives
and that's how the Mitt family died

Walter examined the mess that he made
the blood that seeped from their gashes
and felt a sensation, pure as elation
killing's as easy as plucking eyelashes!

Walter then felt a sorrow
His heart was a tea kettle hissing
the taking of life, the causing of strife
THAT was the thing he'd been missing!

Walter Mitts had a mission
With Sneed there right by his side
That he'd try his best, and he wouldn't rest
Until every last Walter had died!

Walter just looked in the phone book
And picked them all off one by one
A though Z, no Walter set free
Until Walter's a name held by none

Walter then found himself finished
But Sneed still whined and complained
Walter confused, he'd paid all his dues
But Sneed said one Walter remained

Sneed then held up a mirror
Walter had one final task
The tea kettle hissed, he slit his own wrists
Sneed would have no more to ask

For years there would be no Walter's
No Wallie, no Waldo, no Will
But here's the crook that they all overlook
It's the SNEED's not the WALTER's that kill.

Your Life.

"I'm...your density"

You recognize that quote. What is that? Where is it coming from? Your head is pounding and you're in a spinning black box. Open your eyes. THE SUN! You close them again. Too bright. Head still pounding. And not like a light thump. This is a thunderous beating against your skull.

You are hungover.

Open the eyes again? No, too painful. That's an arousing sensation against your manparts - wait, it's straight-up blanket to skin - you are naked. That's odd. Where are your clothes? You grope blindly around the bed.

You hit something. Warm, soft, supple? That's a thigh, and it's not yours.

Okay, there is someone in the bed. Please let it be a woman.

Crack open the eye...

It's facing the opposite direction, but it has long hair. You see that as a good sign. But what if it's a hippie?

You pull down the covers ever so slightly, and turn its body to face you. Careful, careful not to wake. Okay, those are definitely breasts.

Thank god. That was almost boy scout camp all over again.

Well, she is definitely well-shaped. You wonder if she's a butterface. Best not to check.

BACK TO THE FUTURE! You realize that's where the quote is from. It's your room mate's favorite movie. You bet he's downstairs right now, engaged in a little "wake-and-bake", taking stock in last night's debauchery. It's not every day that YOU get chosen to be on THE REAL WORLD: TUSCON. A party was certainly in order.

It's no surprise to you that you made it on the show. Your think about your chiseled features, your toned swimmers body, and your rad Sublime tattoo. Of course you were chosen. You are what women want, and what men want to be. But no one NO ONE can know about your condition. It would ruin you. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT. DON'T THINK ABOUT IT.

You want to get out of bed. If only that light weren't there! You swing your legs off the bed and onto the floor. You decide to blindly navigate to the window and shut the blinds. You sit up. Your stomach turns and a wave of nausea hits you. The liquid rises into your throat. You suppress the urge - for now. With all your strength, you lift yourself off the mattress and use gravity like a bounce board to propel you to the window. You fiddle with blinds. You can never remember which way opens them and which way closes them. Lefty loosie, righty tighty? Trial and error. Finally, darkness. You make slits out of your eyes. Just enough to see.

Okay, this is an exposure you can handle.

You search the floor for boxers. Beer cans, McDonalds wrappers, TONS of ping pong balls. You can't find anything to wear, but you desperately want to bounce before this sorostitute wakes. Fuck it. You walk to the closet and put on the Kimono you bought for the "I think I'm turning Japanese" kegger. You creep across the hardwood floor, avoiding the creaks and cracks that could rise the sleeping slambag. You make it to the door. Success.

Down the stairs and into the common room.

"1.21 GIGAWATTS!"

Sure enough, there's Travis on the couch, eating a chick-fil-a chicken biscuit. Stoned out of his gourd. Reciting all the dialogue. Right now Doc Brown's flipping his shit.

It's now two weeks until you head out to Tuscon. But first you've got to go back home and prepare your parents for what will surely be some scandalous fuckin' television. You also need to stock up on the medicine for your...condition. Because NO ONE NO ONE must know. You have to be careful to conceal your meds and to take them when the cameras aren't spying. Luckily you've had years of experience keeping it a secret - so far only one person knows. Dr. Foster. And he can't tell. Doctor - patient confidentiality. And if he ever quits his practice - BAM! Lacrosse stick to the face!

That reminds you. You better take your meds now. But SHIT, they're back up in your room with that sorostitute. Whatever. You would rather brave the bitch than let it flare up. Okay, back up the stairs. Slowly, quietly. You make it to the door. Okay, open like a ninja. If you were opening this door any slower it wouldn't be opening at all. Finally, you make enough space to slide in.

WHAT THE HELL?!

Long hair is gone. How the hell did she get out? Whatever. She served her purpose. You walk to the dresser. Open it up. Where are your meds? I always keep them under the Maxims. You toss the magazines out, search frantically. oh shit shit shit. Where are they? I NEVER MOVE THEM. FOUR YEARS THEY'VE BEEN RIGHT HERE! You're on the floor, throwing the beer cans aside. Under the bed. NOTHING. SHIT. Everything is whirling. You're back in the black box. It feels like Vertigo. NO. NO NO CAN KNOW. NO ONE CAN KNOW ABOUT MY CONDITION.

You can barely stand up. The liquid's rising again. You grab your stomach. You notice, out of the corner of your eye...

There's a note on your bed.

You propel yourself with the mattress again. To the note. Your head pounds. The last thing you want to do is interpret these squiggles into coherent phrases BUT YOU MUST.

Todd,

Good luck in Tuscon. I know you'll be a hit.

xoxo

Me

PS - I was looking for some altoids in your drawer. Made an interesting discovery. I'm sure the guys in Pi Lambda Phi would LOVE to hear about your...condition.

Let's just say THIS is payback for last September.

You can't hold it in anymore. You puke.

It doesn't help.

She'll Be Comin 'Round the Mountain

"She'll be comin 'round the mountain when she comes
She'll be comin 'round the mountain when she comes
She'll be comin 'round the mountain
She'll be comin 'round the mountain
She'll be comin 'round the mountain when she comes"

Do you know HOW LONG I've been waiting on this goddamned mountain for that bitch?! 63 days! I was told by the other Sherpas that this broad was high maintenance but COME ON! I took this job because of the flexible hours - I did not expect to be sitting on this putrid rock for 63 days smelling like the inside of an old pickle jar, waiting for some hussy who has some real issues with punctuality. I feel like I'm waiting for Godot up here!

First of all, who needs a Sherpa when you've already made it 'round the mountain? That's the hardest part - the round! Navigating the terrain of a mountain by yourself is not only dangerous, it's stupid. But this chick, whoever she is, was BRAIN DEAD enough to take on the task. Fine. I'm not one to judge. But do you really need someone to wave you in during the home stretch?! What assistance could I possibly provide at this point? I'll be a fuckin' bell boy! Can I take your bags, ma'am? Shall I freshen up your donkey? I'm a Sherpa, not some acne-riddled teen at the Marriott.

Before I scaled the mountain, my Sherpa buddy Craig said to me, "Well, maybe she's hot?". No. No way. If she was hot, I would not be up here, flagging her fat-ass down. Where's the husband? Where's the boyfriend? I'll tell you where - NOWHERE. Because she's obviously a troll. And beyond that, she's clearly a bitch. She'll be coming 'round the mountain WHEN SHE COMES? Really? What an inconsiderate piece of shit. Well, I'm glad the whole world revolves around YOUR schedule, lady! It's not like I have anything better to do for 63 days than wait for you to GRACE me with your presence!

So here I am, on day 64, whisky in one hand and a straight razor in the other. Don't think I haven't thought of doing it. I have. But fuck me if I don't keep holding out hope, thinking that maybe, off in the horizon, as the sun sets on another day, that she may actually be coming 'round that mountain. Part of me thinks I don't ever want her to come. Because, then what? Return to my shitty life at the bottom of the mountain? Let me tell you, it may be agony up here, but its a dreamworld compared to the valley. Do you know the last thing I heard before heading up? My sister's younger cousin Gary was raped by a goat. That's the kind of world that the bottom of the mountain provides. Goat rape. Some people say it was consensual, but I knew that goat. And he was a whore.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'Why don't you just leave?' Don't you think I've asked myself that question a million times?! But what if, at the very moment I leave, she arrives? What kind of incredible douche would I be then? Waiting 64 days, and then leaving, only to find out I JUST missed her?! No way. I'm sticking this one out. Because I may not know much, but I do know this. She will be coming 'round the mountain. But it's when she comes. So now, it's just a game of chicken. Who will blink first? Certainly not me. All I have to do is stay alive. And avoid that horny goat.

Why I slept with your mom.

Listen Blake.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for so many things. I'm sorry I shanked you in gym class in the seventh grade. I'm sorry I killed your parrot (in my defense, you shouldn't put your dart board so close to the cage). And Jesus man, for the last time, I'm sorry I slept with your mother.

But dude. If you had been there, you would understand. But you weren't. You were too busy backpacking in Europe and "exploring yourself" to see that back home, in the quiet town of Cary, your mother was suffering. IT'S NOT EVERY DAY HER LITTLE BOY LEAVES THE NEST!

I was suffering too. Come on, you've been my broseph since the sandbox. Since before the sandbox. I swear dude, my earliest memory is of YOU - get this - in the hospital! You were several days older than me, and several days wiser. The doctors had barely gotten me clean from the birthing when you turned to me, and you said, "these colors don't run". And then you WINKED at me. You WINKED at me dude. Have you ever seen a baby wink?! It's fucked up.

TWO THINGS.

Firstly - You're right. These colors DON'T run.

Secondly-er (And more importantly) - that day was when I knew we would be best friends.

And we were. You helped me get over my cabinet phobia and I told you why it's NOT ok to smell a lady's purse. Remember the time we laughed for hours? Remember the time I dared you to eat season one of The Andy Griffith Show on dvd? Remember when we wanted to watch season one of The Andy Griffith Show on dvd but then remembered you ate it? And then you tried to throw it up, but you just coughed?

That's the Blake I remember. But you changed, dude. And it came out of nowhere. I mean, suddenly you're off, "doing homework" and "studying". Oh, and nice glasses by the way - you wear those, and yet you don't do what we used to do under the covers because you "aren't gay"?! Nice logic, Einstein.

So you changed. Whatever. But then you applied to college?! Whatever happened to opening the mini golf course? Remember? We were gonna have a mini country club and a mini suburb, too? And then we would walk around and destroy the buildings, like on Power Rangers?! A dream differed, I suppose.

AND THEN YOU REALLY FUCKIN DID IT.

You grabbed that gay little satchel and you went to Europe. "I'll be back in a year", you said, smiling all smug and reeking of your mother's potato salad. And that was the last time I saw you.

But it wasn't the last time I thought about you.

Weeks passed, and I didn't hear from you. I began to forget your voice, your face, and your smell. And I missed that smell.

So I went to your house. And there was your mom, wearing that old velvet bathrobe that displayed the most BEAUTIFUL sideboob. It's like your mom's left nipple was just ITCHING to be free. She looked at me. And I looked at her.

And we both just started crying.

Mine was like a faint whimper. But hers, they were racking sobs. And then, it happened. That nipple finally broke free.

I couldn't help but stare. And she couldn't help but feel a slight breeze. She noticed my wandering eye. I thought I'd be shamed for sure. But no. She was intrigued. Stricken by grief, we both took solace in the others arms.

That means we banged.

I'll spare you the details, but let me just say - woah.

Afterwards, it was a little awkward. I mean, it was fun calling her Mrs. Pennyworth in bed, but now it seemed inappropriate. She wrapped up some potato salad and swore never to speak of it again.

But here we are, nine months later, in the hospital where you and I first met. And I think it's time we bury the hatchet. We're older now. I have a son! And soon, you will be my step son. So let's fuckin let this go, shall we? I'll tell you what, you do this for me, and your mother and I will think about getting you a new parrot.

But no promises.