Anyone who can synthesize a feeling of power and confidence in a pair of ajax cans can share my enthusiasm for total clarity. A person who can honestly shove grapes into three pairs of wooden sox can surely appreciate my hankering for total unclouded ecstasy. Thats why I use Name Brand Products. I used to buy the generic shit. I wanted to save a buck or two. But I was never satisfied. I could barely walk down the street without something looking down their nose at me. It got to where anything with my name on it would make me depressed. I used to pound my head with a melon rind. I went to school in a cardboard box towed by a pack of balding midgets. When I burned out in the parking lot my box would catch on fire. I would have to ninja roll out of it onto the grass. I would be converted to veal loaf in the parking lot by the school bully. Then we’d both get suspended and have to sit in the detention room staring at naked women. Each isolation chamber had its own peep booth. I always had a couple logs of quarters in my back pack. I would pump wads onto the glass until my epidermis was shed like a snake skin. Then I’d lay back and fall asleep until the bell rang. You too can enjoy the greatest gift that your brain has awaiting your every move. And keep smoking those snowcone turbo blunts!
Young and single equals idiot. I am a complete super idiot. I am a fukin turbo drunk. I wake up on street corners or behind dumpsters at least three days a week. I work all week and then when Thursday comes, its time to get fuked up. I’ll start the evening off with a lid in my van at lunch time. I’ll walk in the office and everyone will caugh and look at me. I walk to my cubicle grinning to myself but keeping my cool on the outside. Then I pretend like I am doing work. Or pretend that I’m on the phone for official business. I’ll make one, maybe two sales and then I’m lost in my own world staring down at the phone or up at the cieling. I’ll reach up in there and scrape together some mouse droppings and then put them in my lip as a chaw. After a bit I’ll go to the bathroom and snort a line of frozen chimpanzee piss. Then I’ll head over to systems and see what my stats are. Then when the clock hits about 4:45 I’ll go back to my desk and make a couple more sales and then I’ll wait. When someone leaves I’ll say “leavin early today Phil? or whatever their name is.” It makes me look like an overachiever. Then I’ll wait a bit and then at 5:05 i’ll take off to the alleyway and score some hobo joints. The winos under the freeway make them. They are fukin tits. They make you so fukin high you want to reach up through your nose and massage your brain. Then when I’m coming down off of that I’ll hit the bar around the corner. I enter through the back. Harf usually passes me a shot of THC and Clamato. I’ll take a couple more to the darkest booth. Its in the corner by the vacuum. The middle seat reclines and I can put my legs on the table top. My kit is hidden in a false plate in the wall. I sawed it out once when everybody else was drunk. It was Saint Pattys day and I brought my cousin from Vulture Craps out. He was staying in town for a cannibal workshop. I was roasting on DMT when I picked him up at the launch station. He got in my van and the first thing the fuk hole said was “Rolk tovalsoe tojt camjdo.” I passed him my roach clip and he toked that and the next five snowcones down to ash and then speed bonged two bricks of hash. I immediately locked up my hards and tapped an aphid on the shoulder. Aphids have three speeds. My van had six.
Diarrhea swans paddling down the stream with kegs of prune juice. Greased zebra taking a dump in a plastic bag. Zebra dropping the bag of poo onto swans. Swans pulling out lazer crossbows and pounding the zebra full of poison bolts. Zebra pulling out chain-mail umbrella. Two ogres crawling out of zebra. Ogres running behind the bridge. Swans taking defensive positions behind logs. Swan calling on ham radio. “You were right. Should we take them down?” Voice returning “Affirmative. Bring back the scalps.” Swans whistling. More swans landing in stream. Ogres making hand signals. Ogre pulling out fur-covered periscope. Ogre executing launch code. Airplane with two cat shits on wing launching sharpened jerkey sticks. Beef jerkey slamming into the ground. Swans flying off the screen. Ogres high-fiving. Ogres getting high.
We were sitting at the border waiting for the inspectors to check our luggage. I was wearing a lime green seer-sucker suit with a bear skin ascot. My wife was dressed tastefully in a mesh jumpsuit. The inspector waved us through and we sat down at our gate. I was getting pretty fukin hungry. We had been cake testing all day and the sugar had congealed into a stewing slop in my lower intestines. I asked my wife if she wanted anything. She said just an ice tea so I went looking for somewhere to grab something to-go.
I was walking into the food court when it caught my eye. It was in some sort of exhibition. There were a bunch of them but this one really stood out. I walked over to it and stared. It was made in 1947 by a club-foot wino. He had hand-crafted it out of particles while he was waiting for junk.
One of the security guards walked up next to me. “Its a fukin beauty huh?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“Its the prize of the collection. Everybody comes up and stares.”
“I’ve never seen one like that.”
“Supposedly it was a pretty popular thing to do among the cheap wine and heroin addicts back then.”
“And you thought they were just a bunch of lazy dudes getting drunk and high.”
“Yeah theres some serious craftsmanship that goes into compressing them that tightly and a lot of heat too,” he said.
“Cool. What do you eat here when you eat here?”
“Shit. Stay away from the corn-based woodchuck sizzle.”
“Anything here that would settle my stomach?” I said.
“Probably not. You’d have to go over to concourse C for that. There’s a health and beauty store that has all sorts of shit.” And then the skid-blast shot out my cornhole and set off an alarm. The security guard got swept down the hall in my fart slick. He stood up and tried to run but he just slipped back down and started snacking on corn. I grabbed the piece and ran off into the parking lot. Nobody followed.
Lumpy sat on the curb building a dam for the gutter water. He set up his army men on the top of the dam and had a couple snipers aiming down from the curb. The water came slowly. It was still three houses away. Lumpy just kept adjusting his men’s positioning.
Two bullies on BMX bikes rode up to Lumpy and pissed on his army men. The plastic figures melted in a stinky smoke. The bullies rode off laughing. All the army men had been ruined.
Lumpy went back behind his house and reached into a froghole and pulled out some ninja stars. He got dressed up in his ninja suit and opened the shed. The recumbent hydrofoil growled back at him. Lumpy strapped himself in and flipped a couple toggle switches. The hydrofoil lowered to the ground and let out some steam. Lumpy punched the accelerator and the thing took off in silence.
The two bullies were crossing the bridge over the river of chicken diarrhea. Lumpy swooped up to them and sliced their bike tires. The bigger bully dressed up like a unicycle and took off down the bridge. The other bully just sat there. Lumpy had given him an electroshock. Lumpy took off after the unicycle and finally caught up with him, but it was too late. Lumpy had flown into the bully’s home turf. Twenty more bullies surrounded him.
Lumpy pulled out a fukpile of ninja stars and started throwing them at anything that moved. There were stars flying everywhere. Three-prong, four-prong, curly ones, ones with tigers and dragons on them. A couple foam ones.
Lumpy was soon out of ninja stars and he started to take off. But one of the bullies shot him down with a bunch of frozen cauliflower. Lumpy dove off the wing into the bullies and dropped into a knee-spin. He lazered them in the dicks with his chewbakka crossbow. Then the king bully walked out of his garage with a pull-up bar. Lumpy hit a button on his cod piece. A beer seeking missle shot out his butt.
The fukin guitar was screaming its bloody lyrics. I was fukin headbanging this RV. My forehead felt like it was gonna explode but it was worth it. The fukin music was driving me out of my head. I just kept smashing the RV. Finally my head broke through and I was looking into the little bedroom. There was a couple in their mid-forties kicking back on mushrooms. They were in easy chairs lined with cabbage leaves. Some kid came out of the bathroom with his grogan on the end of a hook. He slopped it into the microwave and threw a couple staples onto the plate. “You’re gonna cover that right?” the lady said.
“We don’t want the place smelling like broiled kid shit.” she said.
“Thats right son.” the man said.
I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Don’t listen to them little brother. My parents said the same thing and a day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of all that hot fart gas we wasted!”
“Shut your fukin poon,” said the man. He picked up a cheese rod and made a threatening motion. I had worn out my welcome.
I pulled my head back out and went over to the next RV and started banging my head against the door.
Darfzox was jettisoning some cargo when his light-spackler coughed to a stop. He didn’t see the service cannibals doing knee spins on his roof. They zip lined down and put him in hand cuffs. He was under arrest for speed loitering and illegal dumping. Darfzox gave them his drivers license and he stuck a leg to the bottom of it with a couple bugurs. Well they didn’t take the bribe well and they started chewing on Darfzox. They were almost up to his knee when Captain Domestic skated by on a foot board. He put his loafer to the ground and stopped. He walked over and kicked one of the cannibals in the ass and lifted him into the sky and kicked him into his trailer. The other cannibal was all the way up my other leg now. Captain Domestic reached over and grabbed the cannibal by his nose ring and punched him in the temple. The cannibal fell over into the river. Captain Domestic took off and all I have is this bill. I don’t know where he got this chips and salsa charge. I didn’t order any food. Sixty two bucks for getting the cannibals off me, but he’s fucked in the ear if he thinks I’m gonna submit to this kind of larceny. Luckly my insurance should take care of the whole bill. Its just the idea of it that pisses me off.
Have you noticed any signs of the coming apocalypse? Anything you are trying to keep secret? I am. I saw something last week that scared me shitless. I was up late powering down the lids. It was probably three thirty in the morning. I had just finished waxing a bowl of triple chronic. And slowly my hand started shaking. I dropped the lighter. The shaking started moving up my arm and into my brain. “I am in your head now.” It kept repeating “I am in your head now.” I took an empty mustard bottle and filled it with THC juice and slammed it into my ear hole. I squeezed the shit out of it and this small bald guy crawled out my other ear. My shoulder started shaking and I was chuckling uncontrollably. I leaned over and rested my forehead in my other hand. My whole body was shaking now. The small bald guy ran over and jumped into my VCR. I heard a ton of noise coming from it and he started throwing little gears and plastic sticks out of it. He emerged a second later with a chrome wheel on his back. He slid down the cabinet and cornholed a mouse.
2-4-6-8 Hookers. Prepare to herneate.
We were lined up in stalls. My nutsack only weighed 2wo pounds. I slipped a quarter in the machine and punched in the code for a triple. I closed my eyes and flipped the switch. When I opened them there were a half dozen triple-breasted pixies tenderizing my pud. Then she walked up. Somehow she knew my name and she whispered into my ear.
“Cave Man. I know something you don’t.”
“Join the club.”
“How would you like the most painful feeling ever?”
“How long would it take?”
“A couple minutes.”
I closed my eyes again and I was floating in pure ecstasy. And then all of a sudden my hips gave out and I fell to the ground.
I tried to get back up but I couldn’t bend my waist. I slid out under the door on my back and hit my head on the trash can. The judge jumped down from the counter top, hooked my balls on the scale and yelled out the increase.
“Ladies we have a winner. The new national champion of the fifth annual GUTS-IN-YOUR-NUTS sweepstakes …”
Jerry was just hanging out by the river reading a soft-core porn novel. Jasmine was the heroine in the novel. She solved crimes by boning winos. Jerry was sitting there chuckling with a boner. This lazy fukin afternoon was going by good and slow. Jerry had to work that night. He had one of the worst jobs ever. He would drive people around the mall in a shuttle van. Luckily Jerry knew all the good smoking spots so the night went by pretty fast. And the money was ok. He had enough for food, beer and soft-core porn novels. Jerry heard a squelching sound lowering out of the sky. A space copter landed on the river and the window rolled down. A bald guy with a green members-only jacket leaned out the window with a five dollar bill in his hand.
“Hey kid. You got any those books about the chick private eye?”
“Yep. I’m reading one right now. But you’re fuked in the head if you think I’m gonna let you have it. This is the best one I’ve ever read.”
“How many have you read?”
“Every one one in the modern library.”
“I’ll give you fifty bucks if you rip that book in half and give me the beginning. I gotta know what happens.”
“Yeah. If you give me a ride to the desert. I’ve got a chick out there that keeps callin me wanting me to go out there and breed her llamas.”
“I hope you’re wearing protection.”
“Yeah man. They got all that stuff. Do you have any grass?”
“Just a couple turbo lids in the trunk. Hop in if you want. I’m going that way anyway.”
Jerry put his backpack into the back seat and hopped over into the front. When he sat down there was fifty bucks on the dash board.
“Tits bro. Where’s the buds?”
“There’s a snow cone under your seat. Hit that thing and then when we get to a rest stop or a scenic lookout we’ll stop and I’ll pull out a half lid.”
Jerry tore into that doobie and filled his lungs full of the devil weed and then exhaled out the window.
“Man. That is some mean fukin super dope.”
“Yeah my cousin grows it hydroponic in his bath tub.”
“Whatever he did to it, I’m frying pretty hard.”
“Do you think you can walk?”
“No. I’ll stay in the car when we stop.”
“Well we’re stopping pretty soon cause I have to piss.”
“Why don’t you piss in a raquetball can?”
“Last thing I need it to slice my dick before I hit the brothels.”
“You going to the ones out at that man made oasis. That place is supposed to be good for you. They make you soak in oil and then they. Well you know.”
“Yeah. I do that all the time. Its called the Kings Cram. It’s at that place above Fucky’s. You gonna get out?”
The bald guy with a green members-only jacket shut down the space copter and pulled out the keys. He walked over to the bathrooms and blasted a ton of diarrhea into the greedy porcelain throat. He flushed the thing and stepped out of the stall. Some dude was standing at the sinks pakin his wife.
“Murmok. What the fuk? I thought you were working today?”
The dude turned around and smashed the bald guy with a green members-only jacket in the ballsack with a rubber frog leg.
Jerry was still waiting in the car. The dude and the bald guy with a green members-only jacket’s wife came out of the mens room. Jerry noticed that she was wearing a green members-only jacket. Jerry popped the trunk and pulled out a lid and sat on the hood of the space copter smoking the fuk out of the weed. He smoked through most of a lid and then the moon started getting closer. It kept coming closer and then an excalator lowered down and three one-legged frogs hopped off and handcuffed Jerry to the bumper. They popped the trunk and put all the grass into their backpacks and then hopped back into their ship.
The sun came up and people started to slow down to look at Jerry. He was waving his arms and yelling but they could not understand him. He had forgotten how to speak and could only make sounds. His lips felt heavy and numb. His tongue felt like a dead rat in his mouth. He kept yelling and flailing and nobody stopped. One space gopher stopped long enough to take a picture next to him. Jerry decided to work on getting out of the handcuffs. He reached under the car for a wire or something that he could stuff down into the lock and turn. He finally broke off something that felt like a wire and when he brought it out it was a syringe filled with pure THC. Jerry knew that he had hit the mothership if he could just get out of there with the drugs. He started kicking and jumping on the bumper until he could loosen one of the end nuts with his butthole. Then he pounded the tie rods apart with his limp dick. He slid the other end of the handcuffs off and then got in the space copter and started it up. It wouldn’t start. Jerry pissed in the gas tank and ripped a couple farts on the coil. It coughed to life and Jerrry took off into the sky. He never stopped.