Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Because He Pilfered My Bliss

My cousin threw a Christmas party the other night, and I initially didn't want to go, because he has a drug problem, and is often in the company of vaguely dangerous men. I was gonna blow it off and tell him I had a migraine, but feeling somewhat reckless from the built up boredom of winter, I put on my thrash face and went over.


Upon arriving, I felt overwhelmed by the amount of people already there. Dozens of beautiful women were walking around, and I could tell that most of them had drug problems, too, which somehow made them even more attractive. On the flip-side, a gruesome slut gauntlet guarded the kitchen, glaring at me through overly made-up eyes as I grabbed a beer from the fridge. I was able to avoid a conversation with them, but couldn't avoid their smell, which could only be described as a vortex of swordfish and rubber cement.


I stood by the stairs, drank my beer, and spied on a passionate conversation between a terribly skinny girl and a coked up Korean man. He kept yelling at her about not being respected, and how he couldn't stand it. She just stood there and took it with a weary face.

"No! I need more money! You still owe me 6 dollars for the meatball sub you threw in the fireplace!" he frothed. I couldn't control my laughter. The 'Rean dude saw me laughing at him, came over, and mumbled something in my ear about how much pain he could inflict upon me, about honor, and some other abstract macho bullshit. His face was bright red and glowing with sweat.


He poked his finger hard into my chest, which triggered the instinctual rage he desperately wanted me to feel, and I took a swing at his head. My fist connected with his left temple and his eye popped out. It didn’t even bleed. The eye just lay there on the hardwood floor, while the party-people stared. Time stood still and everything went quiet for a minute. Then the terribly skinny girl screamed, which caused time to start up again, and the empty socket vomited red gravy. Party over.


I finished the night alone in my apartment, with the lights off, eating ice cream from the pocket of the bathrobe I was wearing.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Carl Winslow's Corner: Mescaline Matters

Hello dream childrens! It’s your ol’ violent buddy Carl! Carl Winslow! It’s been awhile since we last spoke, and I’ve been mighty busy in the forest with my experiments. So far, I’ve successfully given 12 badgers Crohn's disease and drank a beaker full of meows. Cat meows enhance my animal communication skills, which are pretty good anyway. The other day, a caribou was talkin’ shit, going on about my eye pimples, so I pushed that motherfucker in front of a train. Ol’ Carl knows a thing or two about trains.

Also, I've been shape shifting, baby. Gotta be careful, though. Last time I got caught in a rusty trap. What can I say? The hunters loaded the trap with my favorite food - Dots. I couldn't help myself.


I was in the forest conversing with squirrels the other day, and an itty bitty medicine man tackled me to the ground and force fed me some mescaline he pulled out of a condom. I got high, children. My shirt burst off, as well as most of my back skin. During the first 3 hours of my trip, I suffocated six hikers in my armpit.


I was inside a floating cloud of clear smoke. I destroyed every tent in my path. Met some women whose tents I smashed. When they defended themselves, I laughed. Popped some rattlesnakes at 'em. Wuppaa!!! I’m not proud of it, but also, I am. My spiritual advisor, Neck Bubbles, demands blood. I obey.


Then I ate some sand and had to go to the hospital. Have you ever tried to chew sand? It fucks your teeth up bad. And your insides. My guts were in a state, children. Luckily, the doctors were able to open my stomach up and get that filthy sand outta me. Turns out I ingested four pounds of it. They also found a bunch of super bouncy balls in me, but I made the doctors put 'em back in. Most doctors are shameless thieves. They just want to take what’s inside of you, and those bouncy balls are mine! They can keep the sand.


Let’s see, what else?
-Burned a hole in my bed so the floor can see my ass when I sleep.
-Hid a bunch of money somewhere secret.
-Tackled a polar bear down a flight of stairs.

Oh, I almost forgot! I’ve been writing poetry. Here’s one I call ROBOTS CAN'T GET PREGNANT ...

Gonna dick your coochie hole!

Gonna make your ass explode!

Gonna take a dump, unload!

Gonna bake your face, Nicole!


Time’s up, kids! But don’t worry, I'm in your closet right now, wearing your clothes.