Jazzy Secrets

When Harold received word of his daughter's death, he ran barefoot into the forest behind his house. Aided by a flexi-straw, he farted up into a bird's butt hole, and passed out. He awoke hours later, ashamed and miserable. Some say he died of grief shortly after, but others say he still wanders the woods, tooting a funeral dirge on his enchanted sax.

Bisou is a Dog

So I'm taking care of this puppy, you see. And she is the cutest little fluff of white fur you'll ever wrestle with. And I can't sleep, so I watch her sleep. And when she scratches her ears, her nails get caught in mats. And she looks at me, and I help her untangle. And she crawls up my chest and gratefully licks my face. And then I initiate a long conversation about personal boundaries. And she sniffs her crotch, triggering a mini sneeze. And I call my lawyer.

I Got Drugged

Personal/True Story Time...


Well, I'm back to normal after some unpleasantness, losing 2 plus days in a maze of narcotic haze. I took a sleeping pill/antidepressant I was iffy about. Remeron. My uneasiness was based upon internet research involving people's experiences with the drug, which were mostly negative. But, being a dumb bastard, I had to see for myself if a little yellow tablet could help me fall asleep. It did. And then it fucked my world up.




After swallowing the pill late Monday night, I slept from 2:30am to 12:30pm Tuesday. During which, my dreams were pure visual chaos. Swimming in fluid behind the lens of a giant eye is one of the scenes I recall. Yeah.




Waking up was hard as fuck. I just stayed still, staring at my sheets. I didn't move until about 1:30, when my bladder bulged to the max. I got up and was unsteady on my feet. I thought my head was too high off the ground, so I slumped, like an old man shuffling to the toilet. My legs were weak.

Every inch of my body was heavy. My blood replaced with Ragu. I didn't feel real, and I didn't feel anything, really. My emotions were removed. I tried to panic, but nothing happened. I figured I would just have to wait until the pill left my system. It couldn't last into the night. I'd be fine by dinnertime. Wrong! I had a whole 36 hours of dazed immobility to look forward to.

Also, whenever I got dizzy and had a falling sensation, which was often, a shock wave tore through my body. A pulse pounding, heart racing, over the top adrenaline rush gripped my chest; only to be subdued by the medicine immediately. Like an engine being revved and shut off simultaneously. It felt exactly like when you wake up from a bad dream. One of those awful nightmares with a fucked up ending.




I felt trapped within my own body and hopeless. Total malaise. My body was so weak, and my mind was so fuzzy. I surrendered and fell asleep again at 7pm. Woke up at 10pm not feeling any more alert. Went to the store to get some ice cream, because I hadn't eaten all day.

I was convinced that a cop would pull me over and send my ass to jail for DWI, or that I'd fall asleep and cruise off a bridge... but I ended up safely at home, spooning ice cream into my mouth feebly. Fell asleep at 6am, woke up at 3pm Wednesday. Still mildly under a spell, I hung out and watched TV, not really focusing on anything for too long. Still emotionally removed. Still heavy lidded. And my left eye started twitching, which sucks because now I'm aware of my eyes. I don't want to be aware of my eyes.




But late last night, I laughed for the first time in days. There was a sketch on Human Giant where some guy's girlfriend is having an affair with a killer whale, so he orders a bunch of fish sandwiches from Long John Silvers and punches the shit out of 'em. That show is funnier than I thought.

And this morning was the first time I felt like myself since the drugging. But I'm quite worried about taking any new drug now. My system is more sensitive than it was a few years ago, and can't handle that much these days. I'm only 27, and I plan on disappointing people well into my 70's. But it seems that the older you get, the more medicine you have to take. Which is a problem. I'd like to think that I'm strong enough to go without meds, but as winter shows me again and again, I'm not that strong. I need a little help sometimes.

So what the fuck am I supposed to do, just deal with the horrible side effects? That's bullshit.
Seek a shaman? I don't trust shamans.
Why do I always project a negative future for myself? God, I need pills.




Also, a word of advice to the general public: Don't fuck around with Remeron (Mirtazapine). On the real.

Minor Beef: Obama Hope Parody

On my way to the suburbs for my bi-monthly (bi-weekly in the winter) visit to my folks' house, I noticed this billboard. And I shook my head clean off my shoulders. This is a real billboard promoting a local TV station's evening "comedy" block.




I pulled over and cried for a good 15 minutes. A passing motorist stopped by and asked if I was alright. I dried my eyes, shot the driver a homicidal stare, and silently pissed in my pants. Yeah, I'm fine.

ILL EFFECTS

At midnight, I find comfort in a tall glass of whiskey con carne. Afterwards, I grab my pistol, and walk out into the dark. The weather is medium cool. A stiff breeze causes the trees to sway; the frenzy of windblown leaves masks my heavy footsteps upon the dirt. Down the road, I spy a vehicle partially hidden under a willow tree. I walk towards it casually.

A middle-aged husband and wife are sitting in a Chevy pick up, eating fast food. I approach, tapping on the driver’s side window with my gun. The husband jerks with a startle, looks up to see the barrel of a pistol in his eye line, and stiffens. A strand of shredded lettuce, drenched in mayonnaise, dangles off his mouth. His wife screams. Her burger falls to the floorboard. I let this go on for another 30 seconds, then I calmly tell the husband to roll the window down. He complies, trembling.

“What do you want?” he asks.

He is met with silence, the gun directed at his forehead.

The wife’s screaming subsides, replaced by wide nostrils and wide eyes. Her hands shake. Very dramatic.

“Please don’t hurt me…us.” says the husband.

The wife shoots her husband a hard eye, then fixes her gaze upon the lower half of my face, which is all she can see.

Nothing moves.

A deep gurgling sound emanates from my belly, followed by another. I lower the pistol and hunch over, leaning through the open window. A moment passes, everything is still.

I inhale deeply. And I vomit square in the husband’s face. A generous pool of whiskey and meat gathers in his lap. His face twists into a kabuki mask of repulsion and agony. The wife starts screaming again. The husband glances at his screaming wife, his puke soaked pants, and then at me. But I’m already gone.

Down the road, I tuck the pistol into my jeans, and wipe my mouth with a handkerchief. I head down to the convenience store. And I buy more whiskey and ground beef. For tomorrow night.

Xenadrine Zidane

Heroes







Fashion Hero







Hero Storage







Hollywood Hero

Old Style

It begins in November and lasts through March. The cold. The reclusiveness. Leaving my apartment is a struggle. And now it's the bleak month before the thaw. And still, the cold lingers like a fart in an elevator. Throw in a couple nice days of false spring, and then back to misery.

I crave warmth. I long for this...




Yeah, I'm complaining about the weather. I'm a lonely old man in failing health, sitting on the porch waiting for the grim reaper to take what's his. And as an elderly man, I have opinions about everything. For instance...

Gay marriage - Best thing that ever happened to me was when my wife got snakebit and fell dead.

Immigration - If you're cool, come on in. No Filipinos.

Flag Burning - Keeps me warm.

Sean Connery - I bet he smells nice.

Construction workers - Stop building shit. Go to law school like everybody else.

Whiskey - Makes tennis really fun.

Getting dizzy - Falling down.


Want my opinion? Just ask. I've got all fuckin' day.

Oh Wolverine, Why Can't You Be True?

Squeeze the air out. Blow it back up. Squeeze the air out. Blow it back up. Squeeze the air out. Blow it back up.

Last Laugh

When disease carves a path through the heartland, and bodies lay strewn in parking lots, who will gather the spent carcasses?

When the time comes for humankind to settle its debt with the Almighty, and bloated bodies of afflicted men choke the coastline, what will survive?

When primeval quietude returns, and feral vegetation reclaims the abandoned cities, the movement of beasts shall cease forever...

Except for the robotic corpse trawlers roaming the empty planet, converting our remains into electric pulp...


(photo found by Sugaragus)




If you think that's ominous, check out what my sister wore at her sweet 16 party...

Atheists with Arthritis

Go ahead, girl. Lay them eggs!




I'm worried about her nest, though. It offers minimal protection from coyotes and seems to be crafted with unnatural polymers... God, I love nests...

Scuttler's Dirt Wagon

Yeehaw! I ain't dead from the constipations! Reckon I unloaded 6 pounds of pack-iron in the terlet this afternoon. Damnedest thing I ever saw.

Ain't no grave gonna hold me down. Paw-Paw saw to it that I wouldn't die. He went into the darkness and broughten back a child. Me. I saw him by the fire one night movin' his mouth, talkin' to nobody. He shot me a crazed look and asked if I was ready. I said no. He nodded a thinker's nod and went to bed. He never woke up! Ahahahhaaa!






Smell Y'all Later

Can't Shit for Nothin'

Waiting

Angry

Unreliable guts
I wish would spill

Little sips of coffee

Waiting

Doing the math

3 days since
plus 2 days laxatives
plus 1 day pleading
equals fuckin' dick!

Why won't this happen?

Forever waiting

Staring at the enema
a last resort
bullet in the chamber
just in case

Still waiting

Dumb
desperate
defeated

Thinking about
the countless days
I've surrendered to my bowels,
an orphan-strength sadness
overtakes me

Jesus Christ!
Imagine what it'll be like
when I'm 20 years older,
stiffly wading in
the shallows of
a park district pool

With a can't shit grimace
that can be seen for miles