Wrong Place, Wrong Time

It’s 11:17 am. I’m sitting in a small room that is painted completely white. It only contains a metal table and a few chairs and I’m already over three hours late to work. I was probably going to call in anyway, but I haven’t even been able to do that yet. The only reason that I know the time is because I’ve been asking the two men who have been interrogating me about every twenty minutes. I knew I shouldn’t have gone out drinking last night.

The officer's questions went a little like this, in no particular order:

“What time was it exactly when you “witnessed” this?”

“Where exactly on the road were you?”

“How fast were you going?”

“Were there any other passengers in the vehicle with you?”

“Was your view wasn’t obstructed?”

“Where were you coming from when you saw this?”

“How much did you have to drink?”

“Why should we believe you?”

For starters all of my senses were obstructed. That’s what happens after 6, maybe 9 or more vodka tonics in about 5 hours. Fuck, I don’t even believe myself. And where the fuck is Mulder and Scully when you need them?

The alcohol had almost worn off by the time they dragged me in here, but it still seemed quite surreal. In my hung over state I told them my story over and over trying not to contradict myself and if I did, it was only because I had been up for over 24 hours and everything seems a bit jumbled when you’re trying to work off a drunk. Time lines get skewed and everything seems exaggerated, in this case, maybe not enough, but they already thought I was crazy and I didn’t want to push them any further in that direction.

At the same time, how do you tell a person other than Stephen King that you saw someone’s mid-section rip open up like the mouth of a great white and consume another human being without them thinking you’re crazy?

Apparently, they believed part of my story. They confirmed that someone was missing and an officer did find large amounts blood, flesh and hair on the sidewalk, along with a messenger bag and all of its contents strewn down the street. They used the phrase “foul play” in almost every other sentence.

After leaving me in the room by myself for another hour or so, they came back to inform me that there wasn’t any other eye witnesses at this time and I was their prime suspect until further investigation. I was booked and in a jump suit by dinner time.

And I never even got to make my fucking phone call.

Playing House

The key was hidden under the welcome mat as always, so I let myself in like so many times before. The Crane’s didn’t have children or any pets so their house was pretty tidy. There were only a few plates in the sink from breakfast that morning. All of the appliances in the kitchen were stainless steel and the counter tops were marble. Coffee cups were still on the kitchen table. I helped myself to what was left in the pot. It was still a bit warm.

The newspaper was opened to the business section so I read what the market was doing out loud. I made comments in between each paragraph to recreate a conversation that happened hours earlier. It was mainly one sided as Mary would usually just agree with what her husband was saying to humor him. As long as they had money she tried not to think too much about it.

Making my way into the living room I picked up the remote as I sat down in Milton’s leather La-Z-Boy recliner. Pictures from their latest vacation sat framed on the end tables. They went skiing a few times a year. I was never interested because I don’t like being cold. From the photos they looked quite happy in below freezing temperatures. Then again they were always happy.

With my feet propped up I turned on their oversized flat panel TV. It was on a cooking channel. That seemed fitting since Mary loved to cook. There were always delightful smells coming from the kitchen when you walked in their door.

There was one main hallway in their house and it went from the living room towards the bedrooms and bathroom. In the master bedroom there was a king size bed that was properly made, two bed-side tables, two dressers and a sitting chair. Everything was black and modern. The bathroom was on the opposite wall of a large walk in closet, Mary’s clothes on one side and Milton’s on the other.

Milton mainly wore solid colored suits and had an on going rack of polo shirts. Mary was very stylish and all of her clothes were organized by color and garment. Blouses, sweaters and blazers were on the top rack and slacks and skirts hung on the lower one. Below the racks were rows of assorted heels, flats and boots. She had a very classic look. The more I thought about it she reminded me of my mother.

I skimmed through her clothing and laid out a few different outfits that caught my eye. Once I finished in the closet I made my way to her dresser. An oval shaped vanity mirror hung on the wall above and a leather bound jewelry box sat on top. As I opened it a beautiful pair of pearl earrings and necklace were the first pieces that I noticed. Gently pulling them out I sat them aside and closed the box.

Then I checked each drawer of the dresser. I found what I was looking for in the first one though, a pair of black stockings, a black strapless bra that was adorned with lace and matching panties. This is where Mary differed from my mother.

The outfit that I chose consisted of a white fluttered-sleeve tie neck blouse, a black high-waisted pencil skirt and “Shiri” satin oxford pumps. After I was dressed I went in to the bathroom and helped myself to Mary’s cosmetics. I applied a light weight foundation that promised lift, moisture and radiance. The mascara she wore was zero smudge and lengthening. My lashes now had volume. There were a lot of different lips sticks to choose from but I thought the Apricot Sun hydra luster wasn’t too over powering and brightened my complexion.

When I was finished I stepped back into the bedroom and inspected how I looked in the full size mirror. I walked back and forth and did a couple of turns. Everything was perfect. I looked and felt beautiful. I was a new man.

I had spent a lot of time getting ready so I decided I should probably start dinner. First, I needed some music. Mary had an old fashioned record player in the living room. Scanning her old albums I found the perfect one, My Fair Lady. I dropped the needle on “Wouldn’t It Be Loverly” and couldn’t help but to dance through the house singing the words, imagining I was Julie Andrews on Broadway.

Dinner wasn’t hard to get started. There was some ground beef in the freezer and I found some penne pasta noodles in the pantry. Once I had the water boiling I started setting the dinner table. The record had stopped playing so I walked back into the living to flip it over. When I came back into the kitchen I heard someone unlocking the front door.

It was Milton. As he stomped through the house I could hear him say “Something smells good!” I quickly slid back into the kitchen and started tending to the food. He walked right by me without looking up. He went straight down the hall and into the bedroom. From the back room he yelled “Your car wasn’t in the driveway. I didn’t think you were home.” I didn’t say a word.

I could hear him moving around, probably changing his clothes. A few minutes went by as I put the finishing touches on dinner. Milton finally emerged from the back room wearing one of his classic polo shirts and a pair of khaki shorts. I looked up from the stove with a smile and said “Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes, honey.”

At least they're consistent

Cigarette smoke doesn’t remedy blurry eyes
And bottled beer doesn’t fill empty hearts
But lungs are full and so are stomachs

Can’t see the next mistake and won’t feel it either
Smoke burning holes in lungs like money in pockets
No will care until morning

When she takes the money and they wake up with nothing

No Sugar, No Cream

I could here her screaming from the upstairs. The TV was on and I was relaxing on the couch watching a documentary on Hitler’s Obsession with the occult. This had been the norm for some time now. She ruled the upstairs and I ruled the couch, sometimes not just during the day time hours. From the way her voice was muffled she was either in the bedroom or in the bathroom with the door shut. Considering the size of the apartment there weren’t any other options.

We weren’t married , but we were just as miserable. She had stopped talking to me in a normal tone of voice about 6 months ago. Now she had three different ways of communicating with me. Yelling, talking down to me or a fake sweet voice that she would do when she wanted something. I’m not sure which one I hated the most.

She usually just spoke to me like I was the family pet that had just taken a shit on the living room carpet. So I usually reacted like a scared animal by either snapping back at her or just running away. When I left, it usually meant I was going to get liquored up so I wouldn’t care what she would say when I came back. I’d just block her out while I tried blacking out.

The Nazi’s were marching across the screen when she started barking again. It cut to Hitler giving a speech when I decided to mute it and try to hear what the fuck she was saying since she currently sounded like one of the adults from the Charlie Brown Cartoons. As I strained to listen I was still staring at the screen. I started to realize that the noises coming out of her mouth were matching up with Hitler’s lips. It seemed appropriate except that she didn’t discriminate against anyone but me, especially when it came to spreading her legs. I sat mesmerized for another few minutes before I decided to make my way up the stairs to see what her fucking problem was.

As I got to the top of the stairs I couldn’t tell where she was because both the bedroom and bathroom door were closed. I sat and listened and could hear her gasping and crying in the bathroom. “Fuck is she really hurt?” I started thinking to myself. I tapped on the door.

“You Fucking asshole what took you so fucking long!?!” I immediately started to tune her out.

“Waaa! Waaa! Waaaa! Waaa! Waaa!”

I started realizing why Charlie Brown was so depressed.

When she calmed down I decided to open the door to see what the problem was. I popped my head in and was violently struck in the ear by a small, hard object. It bounced off of my head and landed in the sink.

Who throws a toothbrush?

While she spewed obscenities I realized that she was sitting on the toilet and her pants were down. She started scolding me like an animal as usual, but this time she was the one who had taken a shit. I’d been yelled at for many reasons over the last 6 months that weren’t my fault, but this time she was right. This was all me.

I forgot to buy toilet paper.

I started thinking back to the last week trying to remember why I hadn’t made that purchase. It was still very clear in my mind. That night as I was picking a cart out at the front of the store this amazing blonde walked in the door. She wasn’t beautiful, she was hot. It was porn star shit. She didn’t have the kind of face you just wanted to kiss. It was something that you wanted to fuck. My cock wanted to destroy her uvula. I wanted her measurements tattooed on my forehead.

We both proceeded to shop and I tried to move through the aisles as incognito as possible. My thought process was we had both started shopping at the same time, so it wouldn’t appear like I was following her if I just stayed at a distance. Sometimes I’d go to the aisle before hers on the opposite end so I could walk by her from the front and catch another glimpse of those fucking coconut melons.

My plan seemed flawless and overall I think it would’ve worked if I hadn’t skipped the same 5 or 6 aisles that she passed over. Apparently, I wore out my welcome when we reached the Napkins/Paper Towel/Toilet Paper aisle because she abruptly turned around and said “Fuck off pervert.”

It felt like the time my mom had walked in on me masturbating to my cousin's picture in the family reunion photo album.

Obviously embarrassed and caught off guard, words would not come out of my mouth. With one head down and the other one managing to somehow stay at least half way up, I quickly pushed my cart on by and straight to the check out line, without any fucking toilet paper.

So little Hitler was screaming again and I started to laugh as I reminisced about my only moment with a porn star that I will ever have that didn‘t involve a computer screen and monthly subscription. I turned around and started walking back down the stairs to find some form of ass wipe. The kitchen seemed like a good place to start, but since I missed the entire aisle containing any paper products we were out of napkins and paper towels as well. It was summer time so I couldn’t seem to find a box of tissues either. I could still hear her doing her best dog in heat impression in between sobs and it almost sounded like she was speaking in tongues, maybe she was reading from Mein Kampf or Acts Chapter 2.

And then finally, there it was, the solution. It was just sitting in the cabinet between the tea and the extra bag of sugar. I quickly grabbed it and ran back up the stairs to remedy the bitching.

I didn’t even knock this time. The door slammed against the wall as I kicked it open and with a maniacal laugh I tossed them at her feet. I must’ve looked insane because as I stared at her she was cowering on her toilet seat so much that she almost fell off.

“You’re welcome!” I smiled and walked down the stairs and out of the apartment.

As I was getting in my car I could hear her screams once again. I had never heard them from outside the apartment before. This is what it must’ve sounded like outside of Ed Gein’s house I thought to myself. And just as I was shutting my car door, through all of the sobbing and Charles Schultz gibberish she let out one last cry.

“Fucking Coffee Filters?!?”

Memory Retrieval

For obvious reasons, these poems make me feel like I'm in Sunday school or in a training session at some lame ass job. So I decided to make the content anything but. Enjoy!

Finally, they were alone
Underneath the covers
Crotch to crotch
Kids ruin everything

-

Always on time
Nothing to come between them
A look speaks a thousand words
Let’s do this!

-

First time?
Everyone should try it.
Let’s just do it once.
C’mon, you know you want to.
How come?
I promise you’ll like it.
Now that’s what I’m talking about!
God! Why are you gagging?

Sweet Nothings

Sorority girl

Fuck that, I think you had me

At “That girl’s a cunt.”

Bruce Lee: A Haiku of Exceptional Physical Feat

Knee deep in pussy

Up to elbows in assholes

Life is Yin and Yang

I've also included a list of facts that you might not have known about Bruce Lee:

Physical feats

• Lee's striking speed from three feet with his hands down by his side reached five hundredths of a second.
• Lee's combat movements were at times too fast to be captured on film at 24fps, so many scenes were shot in 32fps to put Lee in slow motion. Normally martial arts films are sped up.
• In a speed demonstration, Lee could snatch a dime off a person's open palm before they could close it, and leave a penny behind.
• Lee could perform push ups using only his thumbs.
• Lee would hold an elevated v-sit position for 30 minutes or longer.
• Lee could throw grains of rice up into the air and then catch them in mid-flight using chopsticks.
• Lee performed one-hand push-ups using only the thumb and index finger.
• Lee performed 50 reps of one-arm chin-ups.
• From a standing position, Lee could hold a 125 lb (57 kg) barbell straight out.
• Lee could break wooden boards 6 inches (15 cm) thick.
• Lee performed a side kick while training with James Coburn and broke a 150-lb (68 kg) punching bag.
• Lee could cause a 300-lb (136 kg) bag to fly towards and thump the ceiling with a side kick.
• In a move that has been dubbed "Dragon Flag", Lee could perform leg lifts with only his shoulder blades resting on the edge of a bench and suspend his legs and torso perfectly horizontal midair.
• Lee could thrust his fingers through unopened steel cans of Coca-Cola, at a time before cans were made of the softer aluminum metal.
• Lee could use one finger to leave dramatic indentations on pinewood.

Burn Baby Burn

Got laid in the baptismal
Wiped off with a choir robe

Dined on unleavened bread
The communion wine flowed

Paper airplanes out of the Old Testament
Origami from the New

So many different uses from stories about a Jew

Baptists say I’m evil
Charismatics think the worst

Athiests are probably jealous
Because I wrote this poem first

So I’m probably not going to heaven
I hope I don’t go to hell

It’s probably just made up anyway, but only time will tell

Fortunate Son

I could hear Creedence crackling through the record player in the house when he started talking. I can’t quite recall what he was saying though. It might’ve been something regarding a study he had recently read concerning heroin over doses or maybe he was explaining Hegel’s theory of Absolute Idealism to me.

The bottles I had just pulled out of the fridge were cold in my hand as I passed one of them over. He in turn tossed me a cigarette. We were both enjoying things our parents had always told us not to do.

Through the whole exchanging of goods the conversation never stopped. After I took a quick shwig of the beer he suggested that I try some years earlier, I stood there and listened as he continued with his story, briefly interrupting himself every few sentences to comment on Fogerty’s song writing ability.

And then out of nowhere it felt like the ground was starting to shake, maybe a 3.2 on the Richter Scale. I choked on my cigarette and almost dropped my beer as I entertained the thought of earthquakes in Georgia. I quickly regained my composure. The tremor seemed to have only affected me, but in all reality I had barely moved a few inches. He didn’t even notice and kept going.

This convulsing of mine was like a scene out Highlander. Something had changed within and it affected me not only physically, but more importantly, emotionally and spiritually. It was a quickening of sorts. Thankfully, it didn’t require any beheadings.

In a matter of seconds my perception had been altered. I was no longer guarded or anticipating the preconceived notions of how I was told our relationship was supposed to work. Nothing had really changed in that moment yet everything was different. It had been a gradual process that finally led to a stunning revelation.

We had evolved.

Neither of us ever noticed it before, but we were always reminded of it at the end of every visit.

Not only was he my best friend, but he was also my Father.