Everyone at the Bar is Dead(a novella)

(Editor's note: haha i thought that would be funny.editor...i never edit shit. this is all to be read as one piece. but every chapter was written apart from each other. i dont care if anyone likes this. i want people to, but i would also be really happy if people hated it as well. it is a bit of a comeback for me, and i have to give props to one *********** for inspiring me to get out of my writers block. when i finish a chapter i will add it this post right here, so i guess i will jus keep this on top for a while. most of the things written have some basic truths in them, but not all of what is written is true. the thing about the dead ducks and the almost maybe killed cat and the baby in filth is true. everything else, i dont know. maybe. most of it. none of it. )


CHAPTER ONE: Everyone at The Bar is Dead

there are ghosts that stand in booze halls and their spirits bounce off of pictures of dead soldiers and dead presidents. in between these ghosts there are people but they are all dead. they are not ghosts but just dead people and the ghosts get confused and the dead people and ghosts are both tortured by each other. so they keep drinking and drinking trying to figure out who is dead and who is a ghost. ghosts have a purpose. they haunt and roam. dead people do not. they stand there and take up space, not knowing how to do anything besides be dead assholes. the fight for all the anti cerebral things. the fight for what to do next. drink drink drink drink they all drink. sometimes the ghosts buy dead people drinks but dead people never buy ghosts drinks. why should they? ghosts have already been there. mix and drink and mix and fuck and drink and fuck and mix and drink. the only common thing between all of these energies is death. some know it already and some dont. some see it and drink and some can only see what is in front of them and drink. and fuck. have to fuck. what are we if not fucking and death? fuck death in the ass. fuck god in the mouth. anything else anyone says is not truth.

i have nothing more i want to do than fuck something.i bet fucking god's mouth wouldnt be as good as pussy. no way. every action that every friend or foe has ever done to harm you or hurt you or betray you as had something to do with the loss of pussy, the want of a particular pussy, or just the fact that they are pussy-less in their lives. its sad. but that is the way the pussy cookie crumbles. i have had and lost and seen more wonderful shit that most. and still i am sick and lonely when i dont have it. i have done enough shit to coast me on to the rest of my days. heroin naked run from the devil sex pussy death and death.

i have diseases that walk around and tip their hat to me and drink to me.

he killed everyone at the bar and now everyone at the bar is dead. they dance and judge and talk but they are dead because he killed them.

you ever think that you are alone because you are wiser and smarter than you are wrong and sad. you will always need someone. across the waves there has to be a body otherwise you are just floating waiting to drown. skirt less dances of want and impurity raise stakes on deathly pacings of having. no. one. there. if everything is meant to happen for a reason that you are a fucking mistake and an idiot.

there are no mistakes and there are all mistakes.

satan was driving down a narrow and crowded road down the street from wendys and across from the amelia baptist church and saw a man running across 3 lanes of traffic and he was tall and he was bald and he had tattoos of things like prison art and names of children and lovers and dead friends and dead things and he is running faster than the speed of god and he is naked nude nothing and he runs in front of me and looks me in the eyes fear fear fear of something someone found him someone found him maybe he was raping a child or maybe he was assfucking some guy and the wife came home maybe he was ass fucking some whore and the husband came home but here there in front of traffic in front of jesus in front of wendy he runs escaping getting away. across the church parking lot he goes. i say to myself no one will ever believe me. but i believe him. i believe what he is running from. he will get away but one day i wont and i will be running naked down something avenue with all the judgement on my back. and as i run to the church i know i can not go inside.

three weeks later a local asshole dies with a needle in his arm face down. the people on the interweb mourn him and give him gangster ass RIPS. he was a complete and total scum bag loser cocksucker with no moral value to anybody. the fact he is not here is progress to everyone except his mother. but in his death he is a walking tall hero of time and space. death will be good to us all. you will always die a hero. you will always die remembered well. what the fuck else do you have to worry about? if this fuck can die like a junkie after years of treating everyone who loved him and people he met like garbage, man, i should have a fucking parade. see you in hell you fuck. we need to start treating people in death as they were in life. this guy would rob your grandma at knife point for 20 bucks. sure he may have had a shit path getting there, but fuck em, this guy would hold a knife to someone you care abouts throat. there are real tragedies, people who want to live and cant and want to walk and cant, fuck you. come back and stick another needle up your ass and die again cocksucker.

the last great blank slate.

and really, since there is no afterlife or god or anything, what does that say about morality? it does not matter what you do, what you steal, who you kill, who you rape, what you destroy, just die and you will be remembered as an all right guy. that is all that matters, right? legacy. your legacy will always end with something good. you will never die as a junkie rapist asshole illiterate small town inbred fuck face. you will die as a troubled sexually confused difficult learning impaired river side town fuck face.

all hail the bar queens and dancers.

i have diseases that walk around and talk and relate but they never relate. they just do what diseases do. kill and eat. i cant kill them without killing myself. and i can never die.

there is a peak on the hill where people watch the lights down in the town. they scoff. i scoff too. and than i go and roll around in shit for three hours with coffee and whiskey.

home sweet home kids.

you dont leave your father until you kill your father. you dont get away from god until you kill god. you dont get away from home until you burn it down. your town is a heart. you dont get away from it. you kill it or burn it than you learn nothing and kill yourself or burn your face so bad no love or truth will come from it.

home sweet home kids.

the saddest thing about this pie shaped cut of earth and stone is that the people living here are too self involved and ugly to realize how doomed they really are. and even the ones that do dont realize it. who does? i still go out and get lap dances on a tombstone with all my money. i come home with nothing. broke and dirt. dirt and i breathe dirt.

he never hears you. and neither does she. the great death dance of all time. love your time. love the fuck our of it. and than fuck the love out of it. and than post it somewhere. you will find a place. we all know its a dud. but standing up and saying you are breathing it all in does not make it any less of a failure.

read victims and never trust the writer. there is no wisdom in bitterness and words. there is no truth in anything until you strip and rape it and shove it out of your car door naked in the rain while it is crying and you hit the gas and laugh and laugh at your own raping and pillaging and you look in your rear view mirror and for that one fucking second there she stands, the truth, the heart of the situation. you see it now. but you had to lose so much.

everyone at the bar is dead. and at the bar is where i will be. all hail the bar queens and dancers. all hail the ghosts and their battle with the dead.



CHAPTER TWO: Empty Condoms Empty House Eat Coon Eat

in a bed made out of other women and other lust and many a night made out of soulful love and truth and in a bed passed down from a negative space father and passed down from something some other couch or some other sofa in a bed in a bed and i had her and it was good and new for once in a long time. we fucked and than me made love and than we fucked and everything felt better than anything else. sleep didnt happen and it had to happen and the next day i was off marching in the slow motion ghost museum of memories of victories of art and remember whens and tourism and all things ghostly but ah what the fuck else are you going to do ill take two to the believe it or not and fuck i do i believe it. i believe in it motherfucker sign me up.

anyway, i came back and moved back into a mobile home. it smelled and looked like some kind of rodents, maybe raccoons, had made themselves at home, and ate my raw noodles, so i didnt know what the fuck to do. the last time i was here before my descent into the hills i was making love to a wonderful full woman, whose tongue and breasts the size of meaning and body that moved anyway that would have me, the last time i was in this home there was love and now fucking godamn fucking cocksucking raccoons had made themselves at home.

not on this day, motherfuckers.

yeah, i would never go out and shoot a deer or drown a cat out of boredom, but your morals and thinking changes when you are under attack in your own home. its not about anything besides protecting your territory. your bed. your food. your noodles. sometimes you have to do some nasty shit to survive. and the shit was on.

i had few supplies. an ax. a long metal pole. goggles. a chainsaw, but no gas. a shit load of chemicals.

ok. outside of my mansion. i only did a brief recon before i went out and got my tools. i have an ax and a bottle of raid, a flannel on, and googles over my eyes. im ready to go. i kick in the door to my trailer

and OH FUCK there is something there and it about the size of a ten year old but i didnt think long enough to contemplate if it was a ten year old, because it screamed at me a hungry not human scream so slam motherfucker got an ax across the face, no time to think, i see them, i see one eating my noodles or expired pop tarts or something, i dont know, i run after it, the rodent fucking thing, and swing down with all might and force but miss. the theiving bastard makes a run for the door. i could of killed it, i had the time, but you know what, i am not on a mission of death and justice here, i am on a mission of protecting. what. is. mine. so i let the sinner go.

who else? i am only in the kitchen. i see they made quite a party out of my hard earned supplements. is there still cum on the bed? did i even get off? i never get off. condom on the floor. still there. empty. no finality in the condom and no love in my bed. all things good leave here.

let the rats and raccoons and ten year olds eat whatever they want. a peice of my ceiling hangs down. that was where entrance. i dont blame them. they were just trying to eat. and no one was home.

how great is that though? i couldnt make anything up anything better if i tried. i took a wonderful thing home, and real wonderful things happened and when we were in that house, it was together, somewhat, not completely but it was good enough, and we leave and i dont come back for 5 days, and after the wonderful thing is gone, the house is invaded, raped, torn down, rats and amoral thieves everywhere.

i came back and did all the wrong things and with all the wrong people. hatred is real. it is healthy to hate something that is evil. i hate this place. and i hate these people. that is not soul sucking. that is healthy. that is good. it makes my evil good. it makes my murder and my liar and my evil everything good. how can i be evil in a place more evil than i am? the ones less covered in shit are clean. and clean is holy. i am a man of a godless god.

come on down rats. eat up. bathe and eat and shit with me. come on down coons. come on the fuck down.



CHAPTER THREE: The Little Duck That Could and The Clermont County Cat Killer

there once was a duck that lived on the river, in a sleepy quiet river town. the duck loved his life. people came down and fed him all kinds of bread and shit. he chilled out on the river, didnt worry about jack shit.

that duck is still fucking down there, still getting fed everyday, still relaxing, and up until the day that he or she is sucked into a boat propeller or stomped on by the neighborhood 12 year old sociopath in training, he is going to have it great. sometimes, and mostly with animals, and mostly with people, you never really grow or learn shit. you just keep doing the same thing until you are stomped on by forces stronger and more mechanical(propellers) or more evil or more powerful (sociopathic teenagers, government). either way, you know?

but on a serious note, it was an odd and weird and odd (those three words are all different asshole) growing up around so many psycho fucking people my age.

chad was the one stomping on ducks and killing cats. chad was the one beating the shit out of anybody and everybody since he was five. chad was/is a total abyss of the soul, a creature born out of other abysses and just got by doing what he had to do. i watched this kid kill, well, maybe not kill, but at least fuck up for life a cat, by smashing a brick against its head as it was running away, and i saw him shoot four or five baby ducks with a b.b. gun. now, the parts about me killing a ten year old earlier and other things i have written and the whole part about me loving woman and respecting them was all fiction, but fuck if i didnt see that shit. sometimes i lay awake and just think about it...but for some reason this kid liked me. my town was about who liked you. if the consensus around the area was that you were a whiney little faggot than stay inside, for the love of christ, do not come out, you will be beat and shot at and drowned and lord knows what else. i came here and they liked me and the most and worst accepted me and i was so young and dumb enough not to know any better so i went along with most things and never judged or argued.

but on the inside, HOLY SHIT THIS GUY IS KILLING LITTLE KITTIES FOR NO REASON, you know? what the fuck was i going to do? and what the fuck else was he going to do?

i will never forget the one time i went into his house. i have drank so much of my memory and done enough drugs to float downstream on stupid for the rest of my days, but i will never, ever forget the nightmare tour i took. just once. upstairs of a two story apartment.

walk up these stairs, made of old and dusty wood. every step was a ceeeeeeeeeeeeekkkk

why was i there i dont know. to get a football or something i dont know. one open living room. a couch with a tiny fuzzy tv on a nightstand right in front of it. three or four filthy kids on it, eating something, all looking like third world country little fuckers. they all had to be under the age of ten. they did not even notice me.

chad walks into the kitchen, and this whale, this nasty whale of a black frizzy haired mother starts screaming and screaming at him screaming for no reason. this duck and cat killing i see now, he has to control something because as the oldest in this nightmare he gets beat and hurt more than anyone.

but what makes this a horror show is the tiny room that you go through to kitchen to see. nothing shit everywhere. a baby, well, maybe, two or three, sits there, crying, black fine hair, with some kind of trash or filth or something around him, a baby carriage right next to him. no toys. sitting there crying, in the corner. chad didnt notice. no one noticed. did the mom have it and forget about it? take a snap shot of trash and doom and put a baby in the middle crying and then stupid skinny ugly me(this was before the handsome set in) slack jawed and horrified. it was all i could do to run out

now my brain has never seen anything like this before so how do you judge it. how do you chad says lets go and i want to run and jump out...

that baby. who is he now? in jail. raped someone. stole something. maybe he is the dumb fuck that overdosed on heroin from the genius chapter one...maybe he is allright and got out.

who cares really. the only reason it is important is because that image is stained in my head forever. because of people living in trash like that i havent been innocent since i was fucking 9. fuck them. its not ok. its not ok to do that.

how much pity do you really give people like that? how much compassion does trash get? if i went in there with an AK-47 and mowed down the whole family would that cause much damage?

fuck that baby. for ruining me. where it is at i am sure it is just as filthy and still screaming into the abyss for someone or something to save it or at least notice it. keep screaming buddy. keep on keeping it. when you are the bringer and carrier of all things misery and you walk around with it you can be amazed at the slowly descending gauge of compassion you have for other miseries in the universe. you can not carry and shoulder others when you have to sit through what i have had to sit through. so fuck it.

anyway the duck went on to live happily ever after.



CHAPTER FOUR: Nigger

what do you call a nigger in college? yeah right nigger!

what do you call a nigger with a white woman? rape

what do you call a good nigger? dead ha

what do you call a nigger who can read? rape!

what do you call a nigger who just smoked weed? prolly wants some chicken!

where is the best place for a nigger? a tree...dead...kill them!

what do we hate? niggers

nigger

whats the best thing about being white? not being a nigger

whats worse than a nigger? nothing

whats worse than a nigger? two niggers

whats worse than a nigger? a woman bitch nigger

whats worse than a nigger? three niggers

whats worse than a nigger? the devil

whats more ugly than a nigger? a nigger baby

whats the best thing to do with a nigger baby? drown it

nigger is the john lennon of the world

what do you call anne frank? dead jew nigger

what do you call helen keller? nigger

how many dead babies does it take to equal a nigger? no white ones

what do you call the president? a nigger

all work and no play makes what? no a nigger, because that implies that a nigger works

what do you get when you get 5 white guys drinking at a party in a white suburban town who know that no black person is within 50 miles so they all start sharing their clever nigger jokes loud and proud like their fake racism is the funniest shit ever heard and the shock the shock well i guess anything to feel something i am not judging but oh man its never going to get better?........niggers



CHAPTER FIVE: The Sea of Love/Blood

he loved. he loved her. two people in the same rhythmic machete cuts across veins and muscles. blood love. every bite taking another bite of her and every bite taking another bite of him. bathing in bodily things loving all that was shared. when you cum it is blankness. it is nothing but angelic whiteness and a numbness and nothingness that feels like the best because it is a void.

an orgasm is the closest thing we have to death. its the closest we can get to it. that momentary delete button.

she bit and swallowed and clawed and went places no one else would and no one else would again. every thrust and every expression from that point would be a ear mark, a memory to something else someone else did better.

weddings. cakes. babies in the upstairs room. she is drunk and drunk and she sees the baby and starts to cry. she says it is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. weddings fake stupid weddings but we werent fake and we would never need an empty celebration such as that. save those for the drones. save those for the ones who wanted to be a princess. not mine. she wanted to be marlon fucking brando when she was a girl.

we go home and i am naive and i am pouring some cheap fruit drink and i turn around and she is naked coming towards me and she wants me and i want her. i kiss her and she takes her hands and undressed me and reaches into my chest and she doesnt tear our my heart but she stretches the tissues around it. it makes the noise of a soft crunch as these tiny little vessels are pulled and than released. i kiss her neck. she takes her nail and cuts open my jugular slowly. my baby knows what to tear open.

i put my mouth around her nipples. they were never too sensitive, so you could suck on them until your mouth was sore. her body is perfect, smooth and curvy and the best thing i have ever seen or will see. my blood all over her only makes it better. i look down at the hole in my chest. my throat feels wet. i know i am dieing and i put her on the kitchen table and we make love for hours and hours all over the house blood everywhere her screaming me screaming me dieing weddings cakes blood babies cum blood.

machete cuts on muscles tearing the veins out of my arms wrapping them around my neck she loved me more than anyone else ever will she loved me and she took it anyway i wanted it and she took from me anything she wanted i had her body and she wanted mine so i let her have it neck bleeds out i feel it i feel it coming she left my heart beating it is always going to even after i die she says cum wherever you want and she means it she loves it wherever and i cant think about it because the sea is red and i am swimming in it, i am swimming upstream in a river of blood and chunks of meat and limbs and screaming faces and up ahead she stands, on a rock amongst the storm in a white dress with ridges at the bottom and black straps with just enough cleavage to make me swim harder and blood everywhere and i cant swim but i am finding a way and back on the earth she is saying cum in my mouth and still i swim she stands on a rock and she is so calm so pretty so comforting and gore and death and blood in my mouth and in my pores and my neck is like a can of tuna and my heart is tore and she says cum on my face and i cant swim but i am closer and i find her and i get her and she takes me all in dominance no compassion she takes it and doesnt stop and as she swallows me she touches her breast as if my cum has made her body feel good as it goes down down crazy bloody aimless amoral sex the best kind the only kind you can have with someone who loves you that much.

and than i die. i die and float away on the stream. she is not sad because she knows that i have her forever in my memory and that i will wait for her. the body stays. the mind has died.

the body stays. but she is gone. and no one knows but me. no one saw no one swam down that river like i did. the orgasm was death and it still is. every time i am swimming but she is not there anymore. she went away. the body stayed. bodies bone and blood. of blood and bone. empty vessels. like empty weddings. like empty people. emptiness. never understand what the good shit was. keep on keepin on. ill go to your weddings. i will swim nowhere anymore and neither will you.

pick up the pieces. of a broken heart. and i have lost everything.

The Dead Things That God Made Part Four: Rebirth and Green Things

Elliot slams the door to their apartment hard. Jack walks in from the living room eating a burrito.

What's your fucking problem?

My god damn car is all fucked up.

What do you mean your car is fucked up?

It keeps stalling on me. I almost died at the stoplight by Wal-Mart.

The one by Wendy's?

No, not the one by Wendys, the one past Erlanger, by the McDonalds and Home Depot.

Oh yeah and there is an Arbys right around the bend.

Yeah. Across from Burger King and The Verizon superstore.

Didn't that used to be a Thriftway?

No, Jack, You are thinking about the old shopping mall across from Taco Bell and Popeyes.

Oh yeah, that is right, no wait...

Wait, I am sorry, I meant to say the KFC. My bad.

The Thriftway was behind the KFC and Taco Bell, and there is a ToyRUs there now.

And I heard they are thinking about putting up an Ihop, Waffle House, Bob Evans, Dennys, Roy Rodgers, Chucks Cut and Cropped Chicken Fry Sandwiches, Chick Filet, and maybe even a Blockbuster Video and a Starbucks.

Anyway, your car stalled?

Yeah I was at the stoplight and it just died and it wouldn't start and there were all these trucks coming up behind me. It was fucking scary man.

Well let me eat my burrito and then I will check it out.

Groovy.


***


Jack, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, is wearing a pair of huge goggles, gloves, and a tie with the hood popped on Elliot's shitty car. He knows what he is doing when it comes to cars, although the use of the goggles remains a mystery. Elliot comes outside drinking a beer.

Man I am stressed out.

Why?

Because my car always fucks up. Fuck. I can't afford to deal with a fucked up fucking car. Everything is fucking ruined now.

Jack flips his goggles off his eyes for a second.

You need to relax. It could something as simple, like a fuse or something. I will fix the thing. Re. Lax. Go inside, drink some beer, watch some TV. I got this shit, all right?

Ok. Fine.

Elliot pouts back inside. He finishes his beer and throws it across the kitchen while going to the fridge to get another one. He plops down in front of the tube and turns it on.

He flips until he reaches a show called The Documentary of the Man who Refused to Give it Up Even as He Turned into the Earth He Came From.


Elliot shakes his head.

How about a little fucking brevity these days?

He turns the volume up.

A smooth women's voice narrates.

The unnamed man stood stationary on the pier for months. Whatever object he was protecting was never to be discovered. His face was not scared or in pain, he was completely emotionless.

The man is crouched down bear hugging a dark unseen object. He is standing on the very end of a board walk. People walk by him and don't really pay attention.

Weeks passed. His skin slowly turned a dark grey. His bones grew out of his skin. Dark green plants started growing out of his exposed bones. No Pain. No fear. Earth returning him and his gift protected.

Elliot grimaces.

Who writes this shit?

Time lapses on the show. The man becomes darker and his face seems to disappear into muscle, where little green pieces of plant grow out of every crevice of his face. His posture becomes poorer and poorer. It is becoming difficult to tell that he was ever a human being.

When the scene was over the green died and the dust blew all evidence away. No one saw where he came from or who he was. Some people were furious with the complete disregard of answers regarding what occurred there. Others were ok with the ambiguity and admired the act itself. The difference in opinion has caused a major debate on the internet, where the opposing teams, Team Greenface and Team Stand Up and Show Us What You Were Hiding in the First place, constantly argue each other's point of view.

Elliot flips the station.

***

Jack slides out from underneath the car. He has dirt and oil all over his face and goggles and shirt. He has a wrench in one hand and tiny screw in the other. He stand up, dusts himself off, and smiles.

I am the shit.

He gets inside the car and starts it up. It sounds good. He lets it run for a minute and presses down on the gas.

Jack walks into the living room.

I fixed yo shit.

Really?

Yessir.

What was wrong.

Nothing major my friend.

I love you.

I know it. Come out I'll show you what the fuck.

They both walk outside. Elliot, with his white t-shirt and blue jeans. Jack with his filthy white dress shirt and filthy black tie and oversize goggles that look like they belong on a pilot, approach Elliot's car. Jack lifts up the good. They both stand there and stare into the open hood with their usual blank stares when something fucked up happens. Jack tilts his head the way a dog does. Elliot sips his beer.

That was not what was wrong with it, by the way, Jack nonchalantly says.

Inside the hood of the car there is no engine or anything that should be there.

Instead there are hundreds of tiny perfectly round little faces. They are lined up in perfect rows. They are all yelling some unintelligible language. Although there are many faces, they are so small that the sound is not loud. The faces all seem to be a woman's face. Some are mad, some are calm.

Behind them on the street two cars crash into each other in a horrible head on collision. A truck and a minivan. The woman driving the mini-van is thrown out of the front window at about 50 miles per hour. She skids on the street and the impact removes most of her face. The truck driver is slouched over the steering wheel. He is wearing a cowboy hat so it hard to tell how bad it is. Jack and Elliot slam the hood down and run at full speed towards the wreck. Jack runs towards the truck and Elliot runs towards the van.

There is smoke and glass and blood everywhere. Jack runs around to the driver's side of the truck and pulls the door open. The man in the cowboy hat is not moving. Jack slowly cups the man's chest and pushes back slowly. He sits the man up. He is an older man with a goatee and blood all over his face. His eyes are open but he doesn't look aware. He starts coughing really hard, as if he is struggling to breath.

Come on buddy, take deep breaths, in and out, you gotta breath brother, in and out, nice big deep breaths.

The man makes eye contact with him. Jack is calm and maybe even in a heroic mode, but to the man he looks like the craziest thing he has ever seen. The man starts to think maybe he is already dead. He starts to control his breathing.

We need to get you out of this fucking car right now, all right? Can you walk?

The man, slow and drowsy, nods his head. Jack lifts his arm under the man's armpit.

Jack helps him get out of the car. Jack walks him over to a front yard. Carefully helps him lay down. Jack screams. SOMEONE FUCKING CALL 911 GODAMN.

Elliot tries to slide the van door open. The door seems to be jammed. He sees something moving around inside, but he cannot make out what they look at. With some absurd adrenaline fueled strength he pulls the door open.

He looks in. At first all he sees is black and smoke.

Then he sees them. They look to be the size of a child, but they are not children.

His mind flashes back to the man on the pier. There are three creatures inside of the van. Two on the seat, and one on the car floor. They are skinless things, but their muscles all look black and decayed. Every crevice of their body is growing tiny little trees, with branches and leaves. Their eyes are freakishly huge and their pupils are a light green. They are chattering their teeth nonstop in a chaotic sound like a cartoon. Their hands consist of three large round finger shaped like an oversize talon.

Elliot takes a baffled step back. He turns around to look for Jack. Jack is in the yard cradling the man's head. A women runs out and starts helping Jack take care of the badly injured man. Jack looks up at Elliot. Elliot motions him to come here. Jack says something to the women and runs over. Goggles still on. He looks in the van. The creatures teeth start chattering faster. Jack turns to Elliot.

I saw some fucking show on TV with some dude who looks like these fucking guys!, Jack yells.

So did I. Holy shit is that guy all right.

Yeah I think so, he is talking and shit so that is a good sign. Oh shit that women!

They both run around to the front of the accident to find the women. As they are running towards her they hear the hood to Elliot's car burst open. All of the little faces rush out at an unbelievable speed. They are all screaming and rolling towards the women. Jack and Elliot try to out run them.

There is a skid of blood and facial tissue leading up to the women's body. A piece of her cheek. Half of her eyeball. Some teeth scattered about. That might be a tongue. Two skinny pieces of lips.The body is face down and there is a huge pool blood all around it.

The tiny faces in the hood of the car slam the hood open and start shooting out towards the bloody pool in a mob. Hundreds of balls of big eyes and teeth. The faces start pushing the women over on her back. Jack and Elliot get to the scene but they can only stand there and watch whatever it is they are watching.

The women's face is completely torn off. There are bloody craters and bone but no discernable human face can be made out. Elliot says out loud that that is the most fucked up thing that he has have ever seen. Jack shrugs.

The tiny faces start screaming louder. One by one they start bouncing on her face. When they touch her they explode like a raindrop made of skin and paint. One by one, her face begins to reconstruct. One splashes an eyeball. Another one splashes a part of her lip. Eventfully her face is completely restored. All of the tiny heads are gone. The blood and face matter are still splattered everywhere. Her body twitches and shakes and she stands up by herself. She shakes her head. She just stares at the two of them. Her voice is serene and pretty. Looking at her now Jack realizes that the little tiny round faces in the hood where actually her face the whole time.

Did you see my boys?

Behind them the two cars explode. Jack and Elliot are pushed down on the ground by the blast. All the windows on the street, including their apartment, are blown out in the shockwave. The blast is huge.

The woman remains standing. She lowers her head in a very melancholic manner.

I refuse to give up. It's what they would of wanted.

She starts walking down the street with her head to the ground, like some kind of sick real life Charlie Brown parody.


***


The fire trucks and paramedics arrive. The firemen put the car fires out. The paramedics take the old man away. They tell Jack that he is going to be fine and that Jack saved his life by opening up his breathing passages. Elliot and Jack talk to the police for about an hour. Neither of them mention the lady or the tree monsters in the van. Jack keeps his goggles on the whole time. Finally the accident is cleaned up and Jack and Elliot return to their windowless home.

They both go straight for the fridge and both get a beer out and drink it.

They sit down on the couch and just sit there, tired and jaded and confused.

So what was wrong with my car.

Spark plug.

Oh.

It's no big thing. I'll go get the part tomorrow.

You saved that guys life.

I guess so. I'll have to call the hospital later on and see how he is doing.

What a fucked up thing to happen.

No shit.

You maybe want to change your fucking shirt? You got blood and oil and shit all over it.

Oh man your right.

What do you want to eat?

I don't know. How about Applebees?

Nah, I am no huge fan. Maybe we can cruise down to Steak n' Shake?

How about Jack in a Box?

Yum. Fucking Chipotle?

That will do. And we can stop by the Auto Savers Auto Deluxe Store on the way back.

That sounds great. And maybe I can hit up the Game Buy and Trade and get the new video game out today called Star Runners.

Well if you are going to the Game Buy and Trade then I will have to go into the Dicks Sporting Good store right next door, and maybe go into the Best Buy afterwards.

Or we can just go to the Sonic burger joint right in front.

Whatever.

Hey Jack.

What.

What the fuck is going on here?

With what?

What the fuck were those creatures?

I dunno.

What the fuck was up with the ladies face?

Beats me.

What the fuck is the point of all this? Why us?

...

...

How about Pizza Hut? We can just order something...


End, Part Four

The Dead Things That God Made Part Three: Skin, Bone, and Dead Love

Part Four: Skin, Bone, and Dead Love

Elliot is loading a bag into his shitty car. Jack comes walking out with his hands in his pocket, face to the ground. He looks very sad.

I just don't know what I am going to do.

I think you'll be fine Jack.

Oh yeah. Sure I'll be fine. I guess I'll just... I don't know. Hang out.

You are so fucking gay.

No. It's ok. Just me by myself. Alone. Scared.

I will back on in a day or so. Don't fucking break anything.

Tell momma E I said I love her.

I will.

Jack and Elliot give each other a hug. Elliot gets in the car and starts it up and drives away. Jack stands there waving like the end of some drama movie. When Elliot is out of sight he drops the sad facade and runs back inside. He walks in and closes the door behind him and immediately starts taking off his tie, his shirt, and eventfully his pants in a haphazard and clumsy manner. He runs over to the fridge and takes out a bottle of Wild Irish Rose and opens it and knocks it back. He screams in a primitive caveman like howl.

WOOOOOHOOOOO!!!


***


Elliot is driving down the road. He is excited to see his mother and not that excited about seeing his stepdad. He loves his mom, he always has. She has taken a lot of psychotic shit from him and she has been right there with him through the thick of some horrible shit. Since he moved out a while back he doesn't see her as much as he would like but that is life and he is doing all right and it will be fun to spend the weekend at his old house. Compared to the constantly trashed and thrown beer can frat house of an apartment he shares with Jack, his mother's house will be warm and comfortable.

He turns up the radio. The news is on.

Today in an unnamed and unknown country, thousands of house wives living in second floor apartments, commited a mass act of suicide this morning. While details are mostly unknown, there are reports that some housewives set themselves ablaze, hung themselves with a clothes line, jumped off the top of their building, and in a graphic and somewhat creative way of checking out, made cute little brownies in the shape of bunnies and laced them with cyanide. More details as we get them.


Elliot turns the channel, bored. A cheesy power ballad comes on.

I have been searching for so long, everything has gone so wrong, everything is black and white, but I know I will find love tonight.

Elliot shudders in horror and turns the channel.


***


Twenty five minutes later Jack is sitting on his couch drinking his bottle of cheap wine and is working on getting pretty buzzed. He is eating a bag of chips very messily, spilling crumbs everywhere. He has some heavy metal album on and his nodding his head in agreement at the ass kicking coming out of the stereo. He bangs his head for a few minutes and then stops suddenly. He contemplates something serious. Then he shakes his head. Then he thinks some more. Then he shakes his head again. And then he contemplates hard and deep for the last time. He runs over to his cell phone and looks at it, still thinking. He dials a number. He looks nervous. The call rings and rings. Finally a comforting and rough and sweet voice picks up.

Hello?

Hey this is Jack.

Um, hi Jack...

I am in my underwear getting drunk.

Nice to know...

Do you want to hang out with me tonight?

No way.

Do you have plans?

No.

Then come over.

Oh my god...

Get the fuck over here! Do you know where I live?

Yeah I do. But you can't just call me and order me around.

Please, get the fuck over here.

Jack.

Just come over. I will behave.

Oh my god. You are an asshole.

I know it. Pleaaaaaaaaassssseee.....

There is silence for a long time.

Fine, ok, but I have to get take a shower and get dressed.

Come over as is! I like you dirty and unbathed!

I will be there in two hours. Don't play any of your usual bullshit.

Two hours? What the fuck...

She hangs up.


***


Elliot pulls up into his old drive way. His old home is an old, big nice house. Three stories, and his room used to be the attic/top floor. His mom comes rushing out. She is wearing an apron and has short frizzy red hair and is very thin. She is excited to see her boy. Her husband, a slow and lumbering dour looking man, slowly walks out behind her. He looks like a person devoid of joy. Elliot gets out of his car and is almost tackled by his mother.

Oh my lord I missed you so much!

She kisses him on the cheek.

I missed you too mom. How are you?

She doesn't say anything, she just squeezes him.

His mom finally lets him go. His stern stepdad walks over and extends his hand.

Elliot shakes it and smiles.

How's it going Steve?

Pretty good Elliot. How about yourself.

I am good. I am going to be really good once I have some of Momma's cooking in me.

Oh well come on in! I am making chili because I know how much you love it.

Awesome. Is Janey here?

No I am afraid she isn't going to be able to make it. Bless her heart. She is very busy, it is exam week.

Well that sucks.

Let's get inside!


***


Jack, with his clothes back on, and maybe his black hair combed a little bit, paces back and forth in front of his door. He has the bottle of wine in his hand and it is about half gone.

Why did I do this? I am so fucking stupid. But I love her. Fuck her. Godamnit. You don't love her. You always do this. You are crazy. Drunk ass. Drunk ass psycho. No, you are fine. You are ok. You pull people out of flaming cars and shit. Your all right. Relax.

A knock at the door.

Jack stops pacing, chugs back a huge drink of wine, sets it down, adjusts his tie,
and opens the door.

She is beautiful. Her hair is long and brown. Her eyes are small and piercing. Face a perfect shape, the right size. She is wearing a tight black and grey striped shirt. Skinny and perfect. He falls in love with her again completely for a whole 3 seconds and then remembers who she is. She looks irritated.

Hello Miranda.

Hi Jack. Don't pull any bullshit or I will kick you in your balls.

Come on in! It's nice to see you too.

She walks in right past of him.

Do you want a tour?

I've fucking been here before.

When?

Are you serious?

When were you here?

I ran into you and Elliot at a bar. We got drunk. I drove you two drunk assholes home. Me and you fucked. You passed out on top of me.

I don't remember that.

Asshole.

You want something to drink?

Well hell yeah I do.

Jack pours her a glass of half vodka and half cranberry juice. She smiles.

My favorite.

I know. Your the only reason I keep cranberry juice and absolute vodka here.

She laughs

That is pathetic.

I know. But I am not ashamed.

He takes a drink of wine. She takes a drink of her vodka. Jack smiles.

Let's go out in the living room, huh?

I guess so.


***


Miranda sits down on the couch. Jack walks across her and stumbles, almost spilling his drink.

You all right their chief?

Shut up.

Jack sits down right next to her. He slides his arm around the back of her neck. She takes it and throws it back across his lap.

I told you no bullshit.

Jack smiles.

How is your drink.

It's strong as fuck. You always make it so strong.

I am sorry. That's how I do.

They sit there silent and awkward for a very long time, sipping their respectable alcohol. Miranda sighs.

So what?

What?

Why did you call me?

I don't know. Elliot is out of town.

You and him are so gay together.

Fuck you.

It's true. Ever since I have known you.

I am sorry that I have a real honest friendship with another human being. I know you are used to the vain and shallow stupid whore girls you run around with.

Miranda sips her drink and says nothing. Jack laughs.

Yeah go ahead and do that. Elliot has been nothing but nice to you. Even when you didn't fucking deserve it.

I was just kidding around. Chill out.

No you weren't.

Yeah I was.

Well don't make jokes about my best friend when you don't have a one friend that is worth a shit.


***


Elliot and his step father sit across from each other at the dining room table.

Elliot can hear his mother in the kitchen. There is a huge pot in the middle of the table and salad and little bowls with crackers and cheese and chopped onions. Elliot is doing everything he can to not drool all over the table. His mother walks in and takes her apron off and throws it over her chair.

Well dig in boys!

Elliot almost frantically jumps up and cups himself a bowl of chili and pours a lot of everything all over it and sits down and stuffs his mouth. He chews and swallows and his eyes roll back in a quasi-orgasmic fashion.

Momma, oh my god, this is so good.

His mom modestly tells him thank you. She gets up and goes back into the kitchen and returns with a small bowl of soup. She crunches up some crackers into it and starts eating it. Her husband rolls his eyes.

I just don't understand.

What?

Don't you ever want to just take a bite of meat? You know you want to.

Elliot keeps chewing but stares his stepfather a quick but all encompassing glare of hatred.

I think it is rad you still don't eat meat mom.

Thank you.

How long has it been?

Well let me see, I stopped eating meat when you were about 12, so, hm, twelve or thirteen years i guess. Wow.

His stepdad stiffly shakes his head and starts eating his bowl of chili.

So how is work, Elliot's mother asks.

Elliot swallows.

It's good. I could use a little more money per hour but I get by ok.

You need to get back to school, is what you need to do.

I know mom.

Such wasted potential...

If it's all right I would rather not talk about those kinds of things. I haven't seen
you in a while.

Ok honey.

They sit and eat in silence.


***


Jack's face is red. Miranda snaps at him.

Don't invite me over here and get all mad and try to start shit like you always do. You are such a fucking baby. Always so sensitive. Even though you talk all tough and badass to everybody and everything, you are the most sensitive person I know.

Jack sips his drink and says nothing.

Big old Jack. Always the alpha male. Watch out for this guy! He will run his mouth off to anybody! And if you call him out for being a total prick, which he is, he will knock you out! Oh my god, what a badass.

Shut the fuck up.

Unless you are a girl.

Shut up.

Unless you are a girl who sees through the bullshit. Like me.

Jack shakes his head.

Fuck you Miranda. I love you so much.

Oh don't do that. You might be drunk enough to say that shit but I am not drunk enough to sit here and listen to it.

I think about you every day.

Stop it Jack.

Why? I mean it.

I can hear it now. You are going to do your whole drunk 'I love you" speech and then you'll wake up tomorrow and hate yourself for saying all of this shit.

So what.

Jack. I cheated on you.

Jack takes another chug of his wine. Silent.

You cheated on me. It was such an ugly nasty relationship. Three years of warfare. Be honest with me Jack.

What the fuck...

That night, the night when everything ended, when the shit hit the fan...

I remember, Jesus...

The next morning, after that night, how did you feel?

I felt like shit, Miranda. How the fuck...

But in the back of your head, the secret part that you don't say out loud, how did you feel? Really? One word. You felt...

Jack doesn't say anything. He sits there, angry. He knows the truth of what she is saying. He feels in his bones the truth of what she is saying. He just doesn't want to acknowledge it.

You felt relived didn't you? You felt relived of the false ground that we were standing on, the false and hollow rug being pulled out from under us.

That is not true. (He knows it is)

You know it is. Right now, everything after that night, well, everything after the night me and you ended is an aftershock. Remnants of what we had.

Stop. You are full of shit. What me and you have together will not go away, and you know that. It is a natural fucking, what do you call it, chemistry or something.

Even right now.

Me and you have a chemistry that few people will ever have.

Then , the fuck, why won't you give me another chance?

Are you fucking deaf? Are you fucking stupid? You are just saying things for the sake of saying them. It is empty lust and empty words coming out of your mouth. You don't want to get back with me. You know what a nightmare I can be, and we both know that you are the most difficult human beings on the planet...

Jack is silent once again because he knows it is true.

You want back what we had when we were two years younger. You want the joy and innocence of when we first met and when we first fell in love.

Yeah I do, so what. That was the best time of my life.

That time is over, Jack.

No it isn't.

Yes it is. We are both different people now. It is over. I don't want it to be over, and you don't want it to be over, but is it. We have to face that truth and deal with it.

Jack stares off into the abyss of his own regret and the past he had and the longing and the disdain he has for Miranda. They sit there and drink in a numb and neutral silence. She inches closer to him and lays her head on his shoulder. He smiles and shakes his head and takes another drink.

Jack and Miranda are watching a movie called Six String Samurai. A man dressed like Buddy Holly is beating the shit out of a bunch of bowlers. Miranda is asleep on Jacks shoulder. Jack is zoning out on the movie. He is very drunk. He looks over at her for a long time. His face is regretful and sad. He wants to put his arms around her.

Instead he slowly stands up and lays her down easily. He goes upstairs and gets his most comfortable pillow and his most comfortable blanket. He wraps her up in the blanket and rests her head on the pillow. He bends down and looks at her one more time, still wanting to kiss her or lay down with her or something. Instead he lightly kisses her forehead and goes upstairs



***



Jack says hi.

Oh you should of brought him with you. He is so nice.

His stepdad rolls his eyes again.

Did he get out of that legal trouble he was in? With the assault charge? His stepdad asks.

Yeah. He did. Like four years ago.

Hm. I hadn't heard that.

I am pretty sure he was here and talking about it.

Silence.

Well tell him he is welcome here anytime, his mom says.

Oh he knows. He had some stuff around the house he had to fix. The bathroom lights were fucked up or something.

His stepdad slams his napkin down but doesn't say a word.

Watch your mouth Elliot.

Sorry mom. Elliot smiles.

This chili is so good.

He loves his mother, he hates his stepdad. There is a rift of awkwardness when the three of them are together. His stepfather is stiff, uncultured, afraid and dismissive of anything he doesn't understand. His mother is free and smart and funny. He takes a bite of his food and looks at his stepdad and calmly thinks to himself that he will hate him for the rest of his life. He wants to talk to his mom about some movie he saw, or a song he thinks she will like, or about something funny him and Jack did when they were drunk, but he doesn't say a word, just because he knows if he sees his step father roll his old and stupid fucking eyes one more time he is going to take them out with his fucking spoon. The rest of the dinner is eaten in silence.


***


Elliot gets his bag and heads up the stairs. His mother stops him at the bottom.

Are you doing ok?

Yeah Mom, really, I am doing fine.

Are you drinking a lot?

No mom.

Be honest with me.

I drink on the weekends. Me and Jack have a good time.

I was half way an alcoholic when I was your age.

I know mom.

It is a disease that runs through our family. Promise me you will keep it under control. My life was a living hell for 6 years because of the bottle.

I promise mom. I only drink on the weekends.

Come here.

She grabs Elliot and hugs him tight. He hugs her back.

I love you so much.

I love you too mom. I am glad I am here for the weekend.

Your room is ready for you. I will see you in the morning.


***


Elliot walks into his old room and sets his bags down and smiles. He doesn't think about a particular memory or certain scene from his wild and free and wild teenage years, he just lets a general wave of nostalgia wash over him. His desk where he used to write horrible teenage angst song lyrics is still there, his bed is the same, only everything is different. The walls are painted, there are no posters up, he does not live here anymore.

He sits at his desk. He puts both of his arms out on the desk and rests his head on them. He thinks about his mom, his stepdad, and his usual wave of dread washes over him. Thoughts about this leads to thoughts about that and that leads to what are you doing with your life, why are you doing this, you can do better, you are a failure.

He lifts his head up. He wishes he has a drink.

He notices a little scab on the inside of his lower left arm, right above the elbow.

It is pink and fleshy. He has never seen it before. He pokes it with his finger. It is soft. He flicks it. A little slab of skin peels open. His eyes widen.

All his life, he his worse habit in life is that he picks everything. He picks the skin off of his lips, his fingers, scabs.

He slowly takes the little slab of skin and pulls slowly. The little slab turns into a bigger slab. It widens.

Like a bad habit, he keeps pulling.

His first layer of skin on his arm starts unraveling around and around. He would scream but his mind hasn't processed what is going on. Like a bad habit he keeps pulling.

The skin is soft and he after a couple rounds he is look at the muscles on his arm. The bones leading up to his finger tips weave in and out between the dark red slimy bloody matter.

His mind tells him that it looks like meat weaved together.

Finally he stops pulling the skin of his arm and reacts. He kicks back against the desk, making a loud bang, and grabs his arm and starts looking around confused frantically.

Why the fuck is my skin falling off?!?

He looks at his other arm to see what else is falling off, checks his chest, his legs, he balls. No skin falling off anywhere else. In a mad rush he tries to wrap the skin back around his arm, but it doesn't quite fit. Blood starts to ooze out over the floppy skin. His mother calls from downstairs.

Elliot, are you all right?

YES MOTHER I AM FINE.

Elliot?

MOM I AM GOOD THANKS I AM GOOD.

His voice sounds uneven and loud. He is sweating. He stands up and looks around for something, anything to do anything about what is going on. Tape? Bandages?

Elliot what is going on?

He ingores his mom this time and runs over to his dresser and opens up the top drawer. There is nothing but socks in it. Fuck it, oh god, whatever, what is going on?

He sits back in his chair and takes two socks and lowers his hand and starts wrapping the socks around his arm, covering all of it. As he starts to do this his mother slams the door open.

Elliot what are you doing?

MOM. Get out!!!

His startled mother slams the door shut.

Elliot turns around and looks at the doors from a long time in the same embarrassed way he did 7 years earlier when pretty much the same thing happened. Only then he was thinking about Katie from Biology class, whacking off in the same chair, but now his body is falling apart on him in some horror show nightmare. Everything goes wrong, everything changes, everything stays the same.


***


Elliot pulls up to his and Jack's apartment. It is the next day, and after a very awkward and anti-climactic goodbye with his mom and stepdad, he is back home, and glad to be there. He is wearing a long sleeve shirt with the left hand puffy and swollen from the all of the socks he had to wrap around his arm. When he pulls up, Jack is outside, in his boxers, drinking a bottle of cheap wine. Jack looks upset. Elliot gets out of his car.

Hey Jack...

Jack gets up and they hug each other.

Hey Elliot.

Hey. How was your weekend?

Bittersweet. One of those days where you think about what could of been, and what is, and they crash head on into each other and leaves you lonely, pissed off, and in the mood the punch something. What about you?

Well, last night I peeled the skin of my left arm, and my mom walked in and thought I was jerking off.

Holy shit.

Yup. She says hi.

Aww, your mom is such a sweetheart. What did she make to eat?

Chili.

Holy fucking shit I wish I would of went, your mom makes the best chili in the world...

End. Part Three.

everything is/nothing is

i stood in the middle of a street with snow coming down and snow on the ground and everything is white and cold and i dont know this town and i am standing there drunk and at the end of the street, way far down, almost out of sight, i see five black long and skinny fingers stretching out like shadows over all living things. there was no body and no really hand and no really shape, just deaths black bony fingers touching everything.

a couple hours/days later i was in the same place in the same town still drunk but i was inside and there was new skin all over me. it felt good so i didnt stop it but i knew what the skin looked like on the other side. there wasnt blood and muscle there, just empty lines drawn in pencil. i couldnt say a whole lot and faces that from the tall and ugly past kept staring at me from the other side of the bedroom. they didnt judge me because they knew they didnt have to. i already knew.

a couple hours/years later i run back outside to see if the fingers of death/truth are still spreading out over our humble country side, but this time its just shadows of people walking home from bars. i bummed a cigarette off one of them that walked by. he gave one to me and i asked for a light as well. he pulled out a lighter and flicked it and pushed it towards my face by i grabbed it out of his hand and told him that i light my own cigarettes, thank you very much. i light it and give him back the lighter and he looks at me like i am an asshole and walks away. sorry dude i got my rules, ya know?

when you go through things and grow up and see through the other side of the tunnel, events that would of been a life impacting soulful happening are just another weekend, another thing that happened. when are really young and artful/stupid you try to make everything out to be like the movie garden state. every time you stand out in the rain or kiss a new girl or run across the street drunk or whatever idiot fucking thing you do, you make it something important, a big golden bookmark on your journey to make your life a wes anderson movie.

then you see past it. all of these things turn into nothing but what they are. you just standing in the fucking rain getting wet. that girl you kissed, well, big deal, everyone kisses everyone else. and your lucky you didnt get run the fuck over. these moments are big golden nothings, statues of you being a moron. you see other younger people running free and living their own indie movie and you are standing there smoking a bummed cigarette with rage and hate in your eyes and bitterness in your blood, who is the problem? well its them, duh, it is so them. i dont want it. i want it killed.

the weekend is over and your friends are gone and you are alone and fucking up. good job.

in the morning a cloud unease and doubt was grey and hanging over the city like a solemn ghost of judgement. there were a few people in the city that saw it but most people were too hung over and in love or alone to pay attention. but i saw the motherfucker. i saw it and i knew what it meant. time to leave. bad things are coming and no one knows about it and even if you sat down and tried to let them in they would look at you like you are just some crazy melodramatic freak. so i say i want them to burn. fuck em. they should of known better. they should of not followed zach braff. all they would of had to of done is look up, or look down their street. it was all there, and it was big and visible.

i wont feel sorry for them. in fact, i hope that i get a few seconds before the fingers take me, i hope i get a few seconds to watch all of the stupid ass drones get theirs before i get mine. that would be the perfect finale for me. i want to see them all get it. and dont get me wrong, i will get it too. i will get it worse then most, but if i can just make sure that everyone was a fucking accessory after the fact.















but there are sweet things out there. sweet innocent people and ideas that are untainted by the misery and anchors that keep me floating at the bottom of the deep blue. they work hard and do good and they dont lie and they dont fuck people over. they like good art and they like good people. my bitter side would call them naive because they are not bathing and dining in the misery buffet that i call the truth, but who is winning that battle? who goes to sleep at night without a problem?

the good is out there and i hate to admit it. no matter what happens, these people are quiet in their dignity. they dont do anything to make a point or to look like a good person. they are what the are the same way i am what i am.

so is that the fight? is that what there is to defend? they dont need it, there is not fight for them. wake up and do what you have to do, keep moving a couple paces on the board even though you dont know what you are doing, keep moving and treat people good and try to carve something out of the fat chunk that is this bitch of a life, crave something good and successful for them selves. there is no fight. its love and moving forward. idiots or the good guys? the enemy or the answer?

die and get done with it. live and get done with it.

music from a crazy, heartfelt, and bloody weekend

it was a blood soaked bodily fluid overflowing hectic mess of a life and a weekend, maybe the past 5 or six days. but as always there was a musical something flowing out through the ears and the souls of every body involved. here is the soundtrackn to the stories i will never write or tell:

battery:



someday you will die and somehow somethings gonna steal your carbon:



i will stay if you let me stay, and ill roam if you say roam, but i wont go far away, because your my only home:



go off to sleep in the sunshine, dont wanna see the day when its dieing:



color the era, film is historical:



more dread and drunk tales of hopelessness to come.

I am a failure and everything i do is trite and cheap

i am doomed to fail as a writer.

i am ok with this, and this is not a fact that makes me depressed. the idea of success and art and art and commerce and competition between art school students and all of that shit makes me sick. people write whole fucking books and shit about the subjective nature of art and the definition and what it means and what it doesn't mean. to me it always made sense. art is something somebody creates to express themselves. if it is honest and there is truth behind their medium then that is considered 'good' and thats what attracts me to it. pretty easy. i can tell when someone is full of shit. i can tell when someone is trying to hard. i can tell when someone is being a pretentious asshole who is just throwing words or images down with no real meaning or thought behind them.

i guess that is a pretty broad way of looking at things but it works for me. i dont feel a need to defend anything i like. i trust my tastes. out of all of the chaos and despair i feel on any given fucking day about any given fucking thing at least i know what a good song is. i know what a well written movie or a well written television show is. art makes me happier then anything. its a selfish thing.

kind of like writing. i love writing. i fucking love it. its what i am pretty good at. and i really dont give a shit who reads it. i am writing for myself and me and also I and maybe me as well. thats it.

but a tiny part of me wants people to read it and just experience the whole crazy trip i am trying to take. and that is why i am doomed to fail as a writer.

books and the written word itself are about dead. maybe not dead but they are certainly out of fashion. look at this stupid new fucking stupid ass thing called the IPAD. you can read books off it!!!! books!!! you know what else you can read books on? fucking books! and instead of paying 600 dollars for a big clunky thing that you can read books on, how about you go down to the fucking library, sign up for a godamn library card, and see how much that cost you. ill give you a hint. nothing. it will cost you nothing.

but our mindset and culture is about the quickest. every one has fucking ADD. i read an article about how the internet has changed the way major label artists write songs. they make the first 30 seconds the most interesting and catchy because they know people click through songs after hearing like five seconds worth. now dont get me wrong, major labels are the fucking problem in the first place, but that kind of thinking is so prevalent among EVERYBODY. i cant imagine what the kids think about bands like Pink Floyd nowadays. the first seven and a half minutes of Shine on You Crazy Diamond has no words! what the hell is this shit? i hate kids.

what i am saying is i cant hand out the shit i do on facebook. i cant fucking put it on a digital mix cd and hand it out. even people i know and admire, shit, they dont have fucking time to read through the stuff i do. i write long fractured narratives that either build on themselves and require you to pay attention, or i write long rambling fractured narratives that dont build to anything and dont explain shit.

one time when i was young i went to a therapist, and this guy was a fucking idiot. i would just make shit up to him and lie to him and ate it all up. i was probably about 13 or 14. anyway this guy talked to my mother and told her that he thought i had ADD. my mom shook her head in disbelief and asked "is there anything that is like, the opposite of ADD?"

my point is that the things i have to express and write are things that are not going to sell easy. i am not bitching. i really dont care. i am just pointing out the fact that this site and everything i do is me screaming at a brick wall.

and i blame it all on the hip hop and the lady gagas! godamn kids!

(a little credit to bright eyes for the title. i never steal shit without admitting) it!

The Dead Things That God Made Part Two: Wormholes in the Eyes of God

Jack comes to on the floor of his apartment kitchen. His tie is untied and hanging off. There is an empty bottle of whiskey and a plate of half eaten sesame chicken and spaghetti by his head. His head hurts really bad. He gets up and dusts himself off and picks up a piece of cold chicken and bites into it.

ELLIOT! ARE YOU ALIVE?

Elliot wakes up in his bed, in similar rough shape as Jack. He sits up and shakes his head back and forth. He blinks his eyes and for a split half second he sees someone in a suit standing in front of him but he blinks and the image is gone.

JACK I AM ALIVE AND NOT WELL.

From downstairs: ME NEITHER. WE GOT HAMMERED DRUNK.

YEAH WE DID.

DID YOU DRIVE HOME?

I DON'T REMEMBER. I DON'T REMEMBER MUCH.

YOU MADE CHICKEN. IT IS PRETTY GOOD.

I WILL BE DOWN IN A FUCKING MINUTE. STOP TALKING TO ME.

FUCK YOU.

Elliot gets out of bed and stretches. His head throbs and aches. He feels like he is going to be sick. He thinks about it for a second, looks up, and runs into the bathroom to throw up.

Jack finally stands up, still eating some chicken. He feels like there is something weird. The air feels different. It is morning but the outside looks a little more dark and cloudy than usual. Whatever, he thinks.

He walks into the living room and stops dead in his tracks. Right above their television set up, there is a silent swirling whirlpool that keeps changing colors, moving at an incredible speed. There are formless and inhuman claws around the rim of the hole. The little claws are pulsating back and forth like a heart beat. Jack cocks his head and examines it. He takes another bite of chicken.

HEY ELLIOT.

Elliot lifts his head up from the toilet.

MOTHERFUCKER YOU KNOW I HATE HAVING CONVERSATIONS ON DIFFERENT FLOORS, I WILL BE DOWN IN A MINUTE!

I THINK YOU NEED TO GET DOWN HERE. SOMETHING WEIRD IS GOING ON.
OH CHRIST.

Elliot cleans his mouth off with a piece of toilet paper and stumbles up off the floor.

He comes down stairs.

Where are you fuckin at Jack?

I'm in the living room.

Elliot walks in and looks at Jack, who is just staring at the hole in the wall. Elliot follows his stare to the same thing. Elliot blankly looks at it, trying to figure out what the fuck it is.

What the fuck is that?

I don't know.

Did you get close to it?

Hell no, I don't want to get sucked into it.

Well, what do we do?

Shit man I don't know.

Do you remember this being here before you passed out?

No. Do you?

No but I don't really remember anything about last night.

You made some chicken. It's really good.

Oh yeah? What kind?

Sesame.

Mmm. Is there any left in there?

I don't know, I didn't look. I woke up on the kitchen floor and there was a plate right beside me. Then I got up, came in here, and saw that black hole looking thing, so, there may be some chicken in there.

Elliot shrugs and walks into the kitchen. Jack follows.


***


When they enter the kitchen a man in a suit is standing there. His forehead looks to be slighter larger then a normal persons and he is bald. His skin is an odd greenish color. He is smirking and looking down, although his eyes are looking straight at the two guys.

Jack is startled. He throws his chicken at the guys forehead.

GET OUT OF HERE FREAK!

The man doesn't respond. Elliot thinks that he looks familiar, but can't remember where he saw him...

Hello gentlemen, my name is Melvin. Please do not be startled.

Melvin's voice is comforting and menacing at the same time. Elliot is reminded of Vincent Price when he speaks.

Jack is all ready to fight this guy.

Nah. Fuck dat. Get out of our house alien.

I am no alien. I am a Representative of the Metaphysical Council.

Elliot asks what that is.

I am afraid that those words are the closest your mind can get to understanding who we are and what we do. Think of me as, well, an Investigator.

Where do you come from?

The other side of the universe. Another dimension. A place beyond sound and light.

Jack lunges after Melvin. Elliot holds him back.

Calm down Jack, jesus he isn't trying to hurt us.

I don't like him!

Melvin remains calm.

I have to insist on you behaving and cooperating with me. I am afraid the fate of the physical world that you inhabit may or may not be at stake.

Fuck.


***


Melvin sits down at the table in the kitchen. Jack and Elliot do the same. Melvin interlocks his fingers and rests them on his chin. He has a very sophisticated demeanor about him.

I am going to attempt to explain this to the best of your comprehension. Please try to keep up.

Jack and Elliot both look at him with the same blank hung over confused expression.

Allrighty then. Like I mentioned previously, My name is Melvin, and when there is a small tear in the fabric of space, time, and the universe they send beings such as I to come investigate and hopefully repair said disturbances.

They both nod.

Sometime last evening, inside your location of residence, a topological rift in the fabric of your dimension was somehow opened, creating a small, how would you say, a wormhole in your world.

Jack has no idea what the hell Melvin is saying. Elliot understands a little bit.

So your saying we have a black hole in our living room?

Not a black hole, per say. The hole in your living room will not suck anything into it. Items can be passed through, but it is incapable of suction. The rift does however alter the reality of whatever end of the universe it opens up at.

Jack thinks. The air when he woke up...hmm...

That is why I am here. I may be able to close the rift up, but the changes to your plain be altered forever. I am here to investigate thoroughly.

Jack snaps again. Fuck dat!

Melvin ignores him.

Elliot raises his hand.

You can just speak, Elliot.

How do we know what has changed? Everything looks normal. Everything feels normal. I still woke up with a hangover.

Well sometimes the effects can be as huge as a catastrophic event, such as total cataclysmic destruction of time itself, to something as small as physical perception or societal and cultural norms.

How do we tell?

I recommend the television.


***


The three of them return to the living room. Elliot sits down and turns on the television. Jack stands beside Melvin and mean mugs him. Melvin motions him to sit down.

You don't fucking tell me mutant!

Jack, please just sit down.

Fine!

Jack sits down. Melvin sits down beside him. All three on the couch together in a very uncomfortable sight.

Elliot slips through the channels. At first everything seems the same. Commercials of fast food places. Talk shows. He flips to the Today show and Melvin informs him to stop there.

Why here? I can't stand the today show. It has gone to shit ever since Katie Couric left.

Jack chuckles. Yeah Katie Couric is smoking hot.

Both of you be silent and watch.

The host stands in the studio. Her smile looks a little too big for her mouth, but the guy figure it is just the TV. She starts to speak and the first word comes out in a satanic growl that fades after the first syllable. It grabs Elliot and Jack's attention.

Today on Today we have a special piece on fashion. But fashion for the young ones! The top designers from around the world have made special fashionable clothes for the young ones, and we just have the cutest little sweethearts from around the nation on the model these new and exciting clothes!(applause) Our first little mini-model is Charles, from Washington D.C! He is wearing a three stunning three piece suit made by
Argenio Danies from Paris! Come on out Charles.


Charles walks out from behind a curtain. He is a little black boy. He is very excited and adorable. He is wearing a nice black suit. The only thing odd is that a small baby arm is growing out of the top of his head, waving around as he walks on the little run way.

Jack and Elliot's eyes almost explode.

Very cute, Charles. You can get this stunning suit on Danies website for only 700 dollars if you go in and order it within the next half hour! Our next little bunyan is named Trisha, and she is from Chicago, wearing a gorgeous velvet dress from elusive designer Claudette Verginstein.


Little Trisha walks out in her blue velvet dress. And just like Charlie, she has a small baby arm waving from the top of her forehead.

Jack screams what the fuck is wrong with their heads!

Well it looks like they got a fucking little arm coming out of their heads.

Shut up Elliot.

Melvin speaks.

This is not as bad as it could of been.

Not as bad, little kids have a third arm on their face!

Please turn to another channel.

Elliot switches it to another station.

There are a line of skanky looking hooker looking girls standing in a row. In front of them is a long haired rocker guy.

Tonight, I will choose one of you to be my love. Whoever I give this rose to will be my new soul mate.

He takes out a guitar and sings a song.

I have been searching for so long, everything has gone so wrong, everything is black and white, but I know I will find love tonight.

Some of the girls start tearing up. Others smile and nod their heads. He puts his guitar down. He then pulls out a meat cleaver and throws it down in front of the girls. They all start jumping up and down and screaming in excitement.

the one left standing with the newest flesh will come with me forever to become one with our future BEASTS.

One girl with huge extensions and fake lips and fake breasts picks up the cleaver and starts trying to saw her breast off. She only takes a chunk out before another shank takes the cleaver away from her and cuts the first ones throat. She puckers up her lips and cuts them off, throwing them at the rock star. He nods his head as if she just blew him a kiss. The other girls start clawing at each other and kicking and biting and pulling hair out and blood is being splashed in the air. It looks like some kind of roman blood orgy. After a while the cleaver gets thrown into the crowd and the blood bath gets bigger and louder and worse.

Jack and Elliot's eyeballs almost explode.

Melvin tells them they can turn the TV off now.

It is silent for a few moments until Jack breaks it.

That is actually not the worst reality show I have ever seen.

Elliot nods in agreement. Yeah me neither.

Melvin stands up in front of him.

Well the good news is that it seems the alteration have been of the societal and cultural kind, which is reassuring. Now we must close this...

The doorbell rings.

Elliot grunts.

It is probably Paul. You answer the door Jack.

Fuck you.

I answered the door last time and it was awkward. I am not getting it.

Fine. I'm not either.

He is just going to keep ringing the bell until you get the fucking door.

Jesus fine I will open the door. Make sure he doesn't see Vincent fucking Price here.

Really? You think he sounds like Vincent Price? That's exactly what I thought!

No way.

Way man.

They bump fists.

Melvin looks irritated.


***


Jack opens the door.

Paul is not standing there. He is floating there. There is a golden glow surrounding him and he looks Zen and Christ like.

Hello Jack.

Jack doesn't really look interested.

Hey Paul what is up.

I woke up today and felt the universe inside me.

Ok...

I can see all living things at the same time. I feel atoms die. I am one with the
life stream. Do you see.

Um, yeah Paul, I see. That is pretty cool.

I can see your truth. I can see my future. They are all connected and all the same.

Neat. Well listen man we got some company so I better get back...

So in the eye of your own creation you would deny me?

I am not denying shit Paul. I see you. I am, um, happy for you. I just need to get
back to my guest, all right? Stop by later or something.

Later will cease to be now, which is happening in the past.

Okie dokie see you later.

Jack slams the door on Infinite Paul.


***


What was that about?

Oh nothing, Paul was just talking some bullshit.

So what can we do Melvin?

Well it would help if you gentlemen recounted every step you made before falling asleep.

Jack and Elliot look at each other.

Um that may be a problem.

Why?

Considering I woke up on the kitchen floor with a plate of chicken and an empty bottle of whiskey, my memory isn't that great on last night.

Yeah me neither.

Melvin looks even more irritated.

Well what can you recall?

I remember being at the bar, drinking mad Jamesons on the rocks, chatting with some cute girls.

Elliots eyes light up.

Oh shit I forgot about them!

He pulls out his cellphone.

Look man we got numbers!

Focus gentlemen.

Jack continues.

Ok, i remember now that Elliot drove home, which he shouldn't of done, I admit that.

Yeah! That's right, we came home and you said you were hungry, so I made some food!

You made some chicken! And it was great!

And while I was making food, you turned on the TV. And the stereo!

That's right! And it was loud as fuck!

Melvin's eyes perk up.

Now this is really important. Can you remember what song was on the stereo and what show was on television?

Jack thinks really hard.

Um...Ok! I remember! I put on King Crimson, In the Court of King Crimson.

Elliot fake coughs.

What was that about?

I hate your fucking prog music.

Shut your mouth Elliot! Don't ever talk about the King that way!

Focus, you ingrates!

Ok.. and I think I was watching, um...

You put on the old Doctor Who episodes.

No I didn't.

Yeah you did. I called you a fucking nerd about it.

I would never watch that shit.

You watched it last night.

You lie.

You watch shitty nerd shows and listen to shitty nerd rock.

Fuck you!

Jack throws a pillow at Elliot's face. Elliot throws it back even harder. Jack stands up ready to wrestle Elliot.

Melvin's voice booms.

SIT DOWN!

Jack does as he is told but mumbles something under his breath.

So you listened to this King Crimson, and watched this Doctor who, and Elliot here made chicken.

Sesame chicken.


Hmm... Let me process the information.

Melvin puts his hands on his huge forehead. His eyes roll into the back of his head. Weird things start happening.


***


Suddenly everything in front of Jack and Elliot becomes pixilated like a cartoon or a video game. Block by block reality starts to deconstruct in front of them. The hole gets bigger and starts to warp in on itself. Time fast forward and backwards as two plates of time and space fold on to each other. Throughout all of this Jack and Elliot remain on the couch, eyes wide, but they stay the same. The earth is created and destroyed. They witness the answer to everything. Creation and death. All existential questions answered.

Time stops and starts again and Jack and Elliot are sitting on the same couch. Melvin is gone. The wormhole is gone. Jack and Elliot both look like their mind is blown.
Elliot gets up and stretches. Jack looks like he is trying to compute what he has just witnessed.

That was weird.

Yeah it was. Oh wait!

Elliot grabs the remote and turns on the TV back to the Today show. The fashion show is still going on, But the children no longer have arms on their heads.

Well I guess everything worked out in the end.

Jack nods. Yup. Everything worked out.

No loose ends. That is the important thing.

Nope. Everything is wrapped up nice and tidy.

They stare at each other confused for a very long time.

Unless you have any questions.

Nope.

I do.

What?

Why the fuck do you watch Doctor Who? That show sucks and every one besides nerd like it.

Jack jumps up and tackles Elliot. They start wrestling on the floor.


***


Outside Paul is still hovering, watching molecules and light dance around him, in pure bliss, a God among mortal men.


End, Part Two.

music, more wonderful soul apeasing music

i am hard at work at all kinds of Jello stories. they are the best things i have ever written and shit gets weird. but until then how about some tunes:

i am on a major daft punk kick this week. this song is the best.




i fucking love that song!!!!

i am also on a major mastodon kick. check out this guitar riff:



epic indie rock time! these guys are called surfers blood:



hey everyone, remember that band i cant shut the fuck up about? magnetic fields? well they have a new album out this week and spoiler alert, it is pretty great. this is the first song off of it:



also, my love, my women, the harp playing pixie joanna newsom is releasing a new album at the end of february. this is the first song she released off of it, i think it came out monday:



if there are five better songs you can come up with, then fuck you. i dont believe you.

next up is a tale about Jack and Elliot and wormholes. it is very funny and gory. stay tuned.

The Dead Things That God Made Part One: The Death of Jay Grinning

Jack and Elliot walk down the street in downtown somewhere. It is the middle of the day and the sky is overcast and everything is dark and grey. Jack is in his mid-twenties, dark hair and dark features, tall, wears a tie and a nice suit most of the time, and is smoking a cigarette. His friend and roommate Elliot is very average joe looking, shorter and less dark looking then Jack. They are both the same age. He has short light brown hair and genuinely looks cheerful and nonchalant compared to Jack. It is cold outside and the tall buildings are trapping in the air. They both look freezing.

Suddenly Elliot's eyes get big and he snaps his fingers.

Holy shit Jack, I completely forgot to tell you!!

What?

Jay Grinnings died last night.

Jay? Shit man, your shitting me. What happened?

Fucking drug overdose, what do you think.

What did he overdose on?

I don't know. I know he was into oxys real band for a long time.

Jack puff his cigarette and somberly shakes his head.

That's a real shame. Jay was a goofy fuck but he was a nice guy.

Yeah I know. Remember when he got suspended for throwing pudding at the lunch monitor?

Yeah that was some funny shit.

You know what is going to be really shitty?

Huh.

Jamie Ormes just broke up with him a couple months ago.

Oh jesus christ.

Yup. I can't wait to hear this drama parade.

Oh dear lord. She is going to milk every ounce of sympathy she can from it.

We will never hear the end of it.

Fucking Jamie. Never liked her.

Anyway Greg called me and said they are all getting together tonight at his house for a little party for him.

I guess I should show up. All of the people that live there are so fucking shady.

I know, but hey, we grew up with these guys.

Well fuck, how much money do you got on you Elliot?

I got about 7 bucks and some change.

Perfect! I got 7 bucks!

What are you saying?

We can get a ten dollar bottle of cheap tequila and some beer and go to this party and get fucking hammered.

Ugh. Why tequila? Why the worst of the worst?

Where is the nearest liquor store?

There is no liquor store downtown.

Shit.

We are going to have to cross the bridge. It's cheaper over there any way.

What time is that party?

I don't know, I think people have been there all day.

Ok, let us go get some devil sauce and celebrate the short and sad life of our friend Jay.


***


The two walk and walk across the city. The wind is cutting their skin to pieces with its frigidness. They cross a huge bridge that leads them into another state. They are the only ones on the bridge besides a homeless man walking the opposite direction. He is very old and dirty and he is pushing a shopping cart. When Jack and Elliot get close to the man he blocks the walkway with his cart. He smiles a big wide toothless smile. His eyes are blood red for some reason. Jack and Elliot just stare at him without much of a reaction.

Excuse me sir, could you please get the fuck out of the way. Jack snaps.

The old man tips his head back and laughs.

You boys see the death rattle more than any other jack rabbit can jump!

The man starts shaking his arms and legs in some weird vibrating dance.

Man, listen, we need to get some fuckin booze. We don't have time for your crazy. And we don't have any change.

The old man is humming and vibrating his arms and legs and doing a weird vibrating dance in a circle. Elliot tries to move his cart and the man stops it with his foot.

The old man starts singing.

Oh lord gonna come back from the sun, lord gonna make us number one, the child of the dark will be unborn, and dance with the until the resurrection is worn!

Jack lets out an annoyed grunt.

The only thing worse than a crazy is a bible beating crazy. Man, get the fuck out of the way!

Jack takes the cart and pushes it towards the man. He knocks him down. They both rush over to help him.

Jesus I didn't mean to hurt the guy...

Jack and Elliot help the smiling man get up. The man is still singing all the while.

Oh lord tell the children don't be afraid, let them watch their brothers arise from pain, and the hollow man who dances will sing, lord let your love and light shall bring!

Jack and Elliot watch the man for a few seconds more, both shrug and walk past him. Elliot shakes his head.

That is so sad.

Poor fuck.


***


The man stops dancing when they walk away. He smiles even wider and takes out an old cowboy hat from his cart. He watches the two walk off the bridge and out of sight. He gives them a salute and nods his head. The old man, still smiling, jumps on top of the rail that separates the bridge and the river. He joyously jumps off it to his death.


***


They get off the bridge and cross the street to the cheap and clunky looking liquor store. Elliot says that he can't believe it.

Why not? How many people do we know have died from the same shit around here?

I know but it still kind of bums me out.

I don't know, I guess I sort of got numb about it.

Oh fuck!

What?

I bet Jenny will be there tonight!

Damn I haven't seen her in a long time.

She has been sending me emails and shit. I think she wants me back. Me and her never ended on bad terms.

So I guess you are so upset by Jay's death that you are going to hook up with some girl you used to go out with at his memorial party?

Yeah why not? Isn't that what Jay would of wanted?


***


They walk into the liquor store and scan the bottom shelf, where all of the cheap shit is. Jack finds a cheap bottle of tequila and goes Ah Ha! This shall do the trick! Go over there and grab a six pack, will ya?

Elliot crosses the store and passes the register desk, where an overweight and bearded guy is stomping on something on the ground. He looks up at Elliot, who has stopped to stare at him, stops stomping for a second, and looks back down and continues. Elliot shrugs and walks over to the beer cooler and pulls out a six pack. He meets Jack at the desk. The fat man ignores them for a few seconds. Jack coughs loudly. The fat man lunges at the register, sweaty, eyes and face looking like some caged animal.

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?

Jack doesn't flinch. Or seem to care about the sweaty outburst. Elliot's eyes get big.

I want you to ring me out my fucking booze.

FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER.

Hey, there is no need for that.

I WILL FUCK WHAT I WANT.

Ok...

WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT ANYTHING? YOU AND YOUR FAGGOT FRIEND FUCK HIM TOO!

Elliot looks offended.

Hey don't call me a faggot!

Wow this crazy bastard is perceptive.

Elliot punches Jack in the arm. Jack chuckles and punches him back. The man behind the counter yells even louder.

DON'T FUCKING HURT EACH OTHER IN HERE! DON'T TOUCH HIM.

The two guys just stare at him blankly. Jack slowly pulls out his cash. Elliot does the same. They both put the money on the counter. Elliot takes the booze and walks out. Jack stays there and stares.

Listen bud, all of the money is there. You can keep the change. Use it to buy some benadryl or something. You are tweaking the fuck out.

I WILL TELL YOU WHAT.

What?

IT USE TO BE A LOT EASIER AROUND HERE. EVERYTHING DIDN'T USE TO BE SO SAD.

Jack laughs in agreement. I hear that buddy, I hear that. You have a nice day with your stomping and what not.

FUCKING DIE MOTHERFUCKER!

Jack shrugs and walks out and meets Elliot.


***


So how are we getting over to Greg's house?

I don't know. I guess I can drive.

Man that sucks.

Why?

Because I hate it when you drive. You are either worried about driving the whole night so you don't have as good of a time or you get fucking hammered and drive us home and risk our lives. Drunk driving is no good.

Well what do you want to do then, Jack?

I guess you can drive.

I will drink right when I get there and then sober up a couple hours before we leave.

Who knows, maybe I'll end up going home with Jenny.

And leave me to drive home? Fuck.

We will figure it out. You ask too many fucking questions. Jesus, always asking what we are doing and how and what and why and who and shut the fuck up, jesus.

Fine.

They walk back the way they came.


***


They return to their apartment. It is an old house that is split into two sides. Jack and Elliot live on one side while a single business man who reminds them of Ned Flanders lives next to them. His name is Paul and he is outside getting his mail when the guys come home. He smiles a big white yuppie smile and waves very excitedly.

Hey guys? How's it hanging!

Jack ignores him and walks right into the house, leaving Elliot to fend for himself.
Elliot tries to fake a smile but it barely works.

Hey Paul what is up.

Nothing much pal, just getting the mail. These stinking bills, you know what I mean!!

Paul lets out a cheesy laugh that makes Elliot grimace in irritation.

Well all right man you take it easy.

You too! Don't party too hard!

He laughs again.

Elliot all but runs into the house and locks every single lock on the door.

I swear, Jack, that man has a whole fridge full of bodies. He scares the shit out of me!

Jack is on the couch, flipping through the channels.

He is a nice guy. Just a little too, I don't know, enthusiastic.

He is a creepy fucking guy and I am on to him!

Elliot runs up stairs. Jack leans back and flips on the television. There is a show on called Runaway Ankle Destroying Capitalism.

When the going gets tough the heart of the nation gets running. Dance more average, and be more agile!

Fast clips show a horse being whipped by a circus trainer, a monkey throwing feces at tourists at a zoo, little kids sliding down a slide, and a parade with hundreds of elderly veterans.

Jack yawns.

Every year we get closer to our mark, but this year the tide will turn over to America. Invest. Spend. Be. Just Be.

An old man with a nice suit on standing behind a podium. He starts laughing a menacing laugh and his face begins to melt.

Jack changes the channel to a blind dating reality show. He looks at his watch.


***


Elliot is changing his shirt in his room. He stops and looks in the mirror. He sighs a deep and heavy sigh. He starts to think about his friend Jay. He thinks about how he fell out of contact with him, and how long it had been since he had talked to him. Could I have done anything different somewhere along the way, even a little bit, that could of changed the situation for this poor prick?

No, not really. I know what this town means and I know what it is all about. Jay was nice and sweet natured but he was an idiot. He spent 75 percent of his life looking for drugs and then doing drugs. He made his bed and everything, but Jesus. Me and Jack have had to go to at least ten funerals since graduating high school five years ago. Ten of our classmates. Either a car crash or an overdose. Fuck. It happens so often I almost forgot to tell Jack about it. Are we any different in our constant and daily consumption of alcohol?

His eyes start to tear up a little bit. But he shakes his head and smacks his face.

Fuck it.

He charges on downstairs.

You ready to go man?

These blind date shows are so awkward.

Yeah I know. I can't stand shows that make me cringe.

Who would want to put themselves in situations like that?

The doorbell rings. Elliot goes to answer it. Paul is standing there with a six pack. Smiling wide.

Hey guys, just wandering if you wanted to drink a few brews and watch the game tonight?

Um, yeah, well, listen Paul we would love to, but we have to go this thing for a friend of ours. A friend that died.

Oh my Lord, well, I am sorry to hear that. I just thought since you guys are usually over here partying, maybe I could, well nevermind.

Hey man any other night, yeah for sure, but we are kind of on our way out the door.

I bought this beer and I really don't even drink it...

Well we can all drink it another time. Thanks anyway Paul.

Paul smiles and walks back to his front door, slowly and very awkwardly.

Elliot walks back into the living room. Jack asks him what that was all about.

Oh nothing. Stupid Paul wanting to hang out.

That is sad.

Poor fuck.


***


Elliot and Jack pull up to a small house with a lot of people playing beer pong on the front porch. elliot drives an old piece of shit Buick Oldsmobile. He sighs.

What?

Do you ever feel like people around here will use any excuse to throw a party? Jay just died last night. I mean, shouldn't everybody be mourning?

I don't know Elliot, who cares. What else do we have to do tonight? And I thought you were all excited because your crazy ex girlfriend was going to be here, what's her name...

Jenny. I don't care about her anymore

Jack senses that Elliot is depressed. He puts his hand on his shoulder.

Listen man, We are already here, so we have to at least go in. Let's check it out, say hi, talk to a few old friends, and if the place starts to bum you out too much then just come get me and we will leave on the spot, all right?

They have known each other for a very long time. They grew up together and went through a lot of shit between the two of them. Jack is the stronger of the two, and Elliot is prone to depression and impulsive behavior at odd times. Jack knows about Elliot's moods, how he will start talking about the end of the world, death, meaninglessness of life, and other morose things in front of anybody anywhere once he gets it in his head. And while Jack always thinks it is funny, he has had to save Elliot's ass more than a few times.

So buck up buddy, come on, we have death to mourn and tequila to drink!

Jack slaps Elliot on the back of the head.

All right fuck it let's go.


***


They walk up to porch and are greeted with a variety of JACK!! and ELLO ELLO ELLO!!!. They exchange hugs and handshakes for a good five minutes before they even make it in to the front door. The people there are various ages, mostly very young girls right out of high school.

Jack walks in first and the first thing he sees is Jamie, in the living room, weeping on the couch, with a crowd of her girlfriends surrounding her. She is holding a picture of Jay and caressing it with her finger. Her girlfriends rub her back and massage her shoulders and do what they can to appear 'there for her'. Jack thinks the whole scene looks disgusting. Jamie has always been nothing but a drama whore, and every tragedy or event that happens around this small town she finds a way to include herself into it.

Elliot walks up beside Jack and examines the scene as well.

I fucking told you. She is already milking it. I bet you five dollars she stops the party to give a big speech later on.

There is no way I am betting against that.

They walk into the kitchen where their friend Greg is fake swinging a baseball bat around for some pretty girls, trying to tell him how good his swing is, although it is obvious he has never played a sport in his life. His eyes light up when he sees the two.

Jack! Elliot! What the fuck is up guys?

He gives both of them big hugs. He is a skinny guy with long hippy hair and hippie clothes. He throws the bat down on the floor.

Man it's a bummer all have to meet up like this, but its rad to see you guys!

Elliot takes the tequila bottle out of Jack's hands, opens it, and starts chugging it like its water. Jack grabs it from him, pouring tequila down Elliots shirt. Elliot doesn't seem to notice or care. He grimaces in pain from the nasty cheap liquor. It is a quick and awkward scene. Jack smiles at Greg, who seems concerned about Elliot's behavior.

Yeah it's nice to see you too, Greg. Our friend Elliot here is just having a rough time dealing with things, you know.

Yeah man I feel ya. I thought, what would Jay want more than his dudes getting fucked up celebrating his life. You know how Jay was, ya know?

Elliot grabs a beer off the table and starts drinking it. Jack keeps talking to Greg.

Yeah I know. It is a real shock. You want to do a shot?

For sure man!


***


Elliot, Jack, Greg, and two young girls with their boobs popping out do a shot of tequila. And then another one. The party gets louder and drunker. In two hours time half of the bottle is gone. Elliot lightens up a little bit. Jack and Greg flirt with the two girls. Greg keeps trying too hard, and both of the girls are all over Jack.
Elliot is on the front porch playing beer pong when a females voice calls his name from behind.

Hey Elliot!

He turns around and it is Jenny, his ex. She is there with another guy, a guy Elliot knows and can't stand, Robert.

Hey Jenny what is up?

They exchange an awkward hug. Elliot shakes Rob's hand.

Rob how have you been?

Rob sighs. He is a very smart hipster type of guy whose sole purpose is compare how smart he is with everybody. Elliot has been looking for a reason to dislike this kid for years and now he found one.

Oh I guess I could be better, I am in my third year of English Literature and it really takes its toll, I am also..

No one gives a shit Rob.

Excuse me?

You guys want some fucking tequila?

Elliot grabs Jenny by her arm and drags her inside. Rob is left outside, confused and fuming.

Elliot drags her into the dining room table where the tequila has been moved to. Her pours two shots. Jenny smiles at him, a smile that is both angry and attracted.

That was rude.

I didn't know you and fucking Poindexter were an item, you forgot to mention that!

We are not dating, we have just been hanging out.

I hate that fucking guy.

You are drunk. And you are an asshole.

They both take their shots.

I was excited to see you, Jenny says.

Yeah I could tell by those emails.

Well don't get any ideas. I am here with Rob.

That fucking guy...

Don't be rude. He is my friend.

How can any woman date a fucking guy like that? with the smarminess and the snobbiness and the always talking about fucking books...

You love books.

But I don't talk about it all the time!

He reminds me of you sometimes, if you want to know the truth.

Oh fuck, why did you have to say that? Oh god.

He takes another swig from the bottle.

You are really drunk aren't you?

I am fucking working on it.

Jenny leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

We will sit down and talk soon, ok? There is a lot that I want to say. I need to get back to Rob.

She leaves Elliot standing alone in the dining room. He smiles a bittersweet smile. Jack comes in, who is a lot more drunk then Elliot, surprisingly.

What was that about?

Jenny came with Rob.

Jack throws his beer bottle against the wall, shattering it.

What? That's it I am kicking his ass, I have wanted to kick his ass since he told on me for kicking him the balls in second grade, that motherfucker.

Nah, don't worry about it, it's ok.

Fuck you Mr. Positive! When we got here you were all 'aww i am going to cut my wrists waaa waaa' and now its all another, um way. fuck you!

You want another shot?

Yes fuckin sir!


***


As the boys finish their shots, Jamie calls everyone into the living room.

Everybody! Everybody outside! I have a few things I would like to say!

Jack and Elliot look at each other and both try to grab the bottle at the same time.
People slowly and quietly fill up the living room. Everyone looks high or drunk out of their minds. Jack and Elliot jump over the couch to sit on it. Jamie is standing right in front of them. There is already a person sitting at the end of the couch, and he has a hood up and his face cannot be seen. He is rocking back and forth.

Elliot is sitting closest to him. Elliot looks at the guy and gives him a drunk what the fuck look. He whispers to Jack.

Who is this guy sitting next to me?

Jack leans over and looks at the guy. Dark hoodie, rocking back and forth. Jack shrugs.

It looks like he is about to puke. I would be careful. Don't get to close.

Everyone sits down in the living room. Jamie is the only one standing and she loves it. She talks in between sniffles.

I don't know what to say, but this is the hardest thing i have ever have to go through...

She starts weeping. One of her friends stands up.

No, it's ok, I can do this.

The hooded kid sitting next to Elliot starts shaking his shoulders in small jerky motions. Only Elliot notices. He takes another sip and looks uneasy.

Jay was a great guy. He was sweet and caring. And the last couple months I spent with him have been the best time of my...of my...life...I miss him so much!

The man in the hoodie shakes a little more violently. Elliot can't tell if he is having a seizure or dancing, or both. Other people start to notice this. Jamie keeps going.

Jay! I know you can hear me! I miss you! Why did you have to go! I remember the time you rode your...

The kid in the hoodie stands up. His whole body starts convulsing and shaking, as if he has no bones what so ever. The hood falls down.

Someone from the other side of the room screams. Elliot and Jack stand up quicker then god. Everybody stands up quicker then god. Someone yells.

OH MY GOD THATS JAY!

Jay Grinning, who died about 24 hours earlier, is dancing and shaking in front of everybody. His face is a detached smirk, no really grinning and not really frowning, some blank face that no one has ever seen before. His skin looks a little pale, but other than that he looks the same as he did before he passed. Long hair, little goatee, skinny. He is convulsing and shaking and dancing and moving closer to Jamie.

Elliot, horrified, runs behind the safest place he knows, Jack. Elliot hides behind his friend in an almost cartoonish moment of terror. Jamie is speechless. Some people run outside, others stay, too shocked to move. Jay keeps on doing his dance, his joints looking like there is no bone or muscle, just jello like limps flailing about.

Jack surveys the scene. He is freaked out but not frozen. He grabs the bottle from Elliot and chugs it back, and runs out into the kitchen. Elliot screams.

JACK DON'T YOU DARE LEAVE ME YOU FUCKING COWARD, JACK JACK FUCK!!

Jay stops walking and the convulsing gets worse. He just stands and shakes so hard that it is clear that he is not human anymore.

Jack rushes out of the kitchen with Greg's baseball bat. Without even a moments of hesitation, Jack jumps over the couch and lands on the other side nailing the baseball bat into Jays back. He goes down and starts laughing a mutant warped laugh. He keeps doing his shaking dance. Jack lets out a battle cry.

FUCK YOU ZOMBIE BOY!

Jack bring the bat down and crushes Jay's skull. At this point, everybody has ran outside in horror. Everyone but Elliot, who just stands there with his mouth on the floor. Jack starts bashing and hits him over and over again the there is brain chunks and skull matter everywhere. Finally, after about 2 minutes of nonstop bashing, Jay stops shaking. Jack is bloody and out of breath.

Him and Elliot look at each other, asking each other what the fuck with their silent expressions. Jack throws the bat down, goes back into the kitchen, returns with the bottle of almost gone tequila, downs another shot, throws it to Elliot, who in turn downs another shot. Elliot throws the bottle at the bloody zombie alien corpse of their dead friend, Jay. Jack asks Elliot, Are you ready to get the fuck out of here?

End, Part One