Tuesday, May 29, 2007


The sun was blinding and the way the clouds were circled overheard it appeared like a light at the end of the tunnel. But I could tell this wasn't a supernatural experience due to the squawking 5 year old splashing around on his dragon shaped flotation device, ruining this spiritual moment. The kid would be considered holy communion for a dragon if they still existed.

For being the apartment's community pool, the water was as clear as the conscious of a newly "saved" convert who just had all of his sins forgiven by the power of Benny Hinn.

As I baptized myself in the lukewarm water, all of my transgressions were washed down the drain never to be seen again. If you dragged the concrete pond you'd probably find more skeletons lying on the bottom than most people have hiding in their closet, it was a cleansing ground of sorts.

Redeeming their minds through Holy literature - People Magazine and US Weekly sprinkled truth and enlightenment on the congregation as they were encouraged by the life styles of their role models. The followers bathed in the great white light from above, mesmerized by it's power to alter their outer appearance by purifying pasty skin and farmer tans.

Our lawn chairs become altars to the Almighty and we, the sacrifice, as we patiently waited for our flesh to burn.

Monday, May 28, 2007

I keep hearing things.

It's been a hectic week, a lot going on. I haven't had a post drought like this in quite some time now. Anyway, I wrote a weird little story.

Read at your own risk!


After he slammed his bedroom door he started doing what he did best when he was ticked off; pacing. The carpet was worn like the path along the fence in his backyard that his dog would run back and forth on when he was barking at the neighbor’s kids playing in their backyard. He sat on his bed and closed his eyes and thought to himself, “What the fuck is your problem?”

"The expectations that you have placed on yourself is your problem. Who do you think you are, Jesus Christ? Relax."

That sounded like good advice to him, but he had never thought of it before. Where did that came from? Closing his eyes once more he asked himself another question; “What will make you happy?”

And there was silence.


As he laid back on his bed he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. It was covered in glow in the dark stars that he had put up years earlier. He rarely paid any attention to the them, but today he just let his imagination go and pictured himself flying amongst them like an astronaut or even better, an alien. It didn’t matter to him. He just wanted to be abducted.

In his daze he started nodding off to sleep when he heard a voice. “You know what makes you happy.”

He shot up out of bed like a bottle rocket on the 4th of July. “Whoa…”

“That definitely wasn’t me.” He said aloud.

Closing his eyes once again he uttered words through his mind, ”Anyone there?”

“I Am.” Boomed a quiet voice from within.

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am” The voice said.

“I do? Then why haven’t I ever heard you before?”

“You’ve heard me before, you just never realized it until now.”

The voice seemed to be getting closer.

"So even though we've never met and I've never heard you before, you say I do know you, I have heard you and I already know the answer to the question I already asked you? That doesn't make sense."

"It never does." Replied the voice.

“Are you inside me? He asked.

“Kind of. I’m actually all around you. I’m everywhere.”

“Are you the Force?”

The voice laughed. “No, but there are similarities.”

“I thought Star Wars was only made up.”

“Where do you think George got the idea?”

“Holy shit! You know George Lucas?”

“Yes I do, very well actually and he owes me royalties.”

He could tell the voice had a sense of humor and maybe even a light saber.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

This seems oddly prophetic.

Rolling with the punches comes easy for someone who’s always been picked on, not only do you have to roll, but sometimes you have to dodge, block and even run away or in a lot of cases run to it.

Sometimes the punches don’t roll, they hit you square in the jaw. Black eyes and bloody noses paint that canvass. Once the initial shock is gone you realize it’s not that bad and the more it occurs the less it stings. It gets to a point when you can walk right through them. You see them coming and you take it like a fucking man.

Overcoming is never easy though, but isn’t that what life is, overcoming those situations that fucking hold you back, the fights that try to take you down? If you learn anything in life, it’s that you have to not only choose your battles, but you have to fight them wisely.

Sometimes your aggressor has a familiar face.

You learn to relax though. Panic appears to be non-existent when you clench your fists and defend yourself. The first punch always hurts, it catches you off guard as much as it does your target.

“He’s supposed to stay down, not fight back.”

That‘s what they think, but you learn to prove them wrong.

Life is like a bully, it will usually shrink back when you throw the second punch.

If it doesn’t?

Throw a fucking combo.

Let em’ know that you got their number.

Get to it!

Thursday, May 17, 2007

My haikus are X-Rated!

How unfortunate
The sun is so bright today
I have been cubed

Who doesn’t love porn?
Ass to ass, interracial
Everybody wins!

He was old and died
Many mourned, others rejoiced
He had his own toy

My days are numbered
Like I really fucking care
Let’s fucking party!

People talk a lot
I think we should listen more
Please shut the fuck up!

Batman is a drunk
Superman thinks he is God
Wonder Woman: Slut

God created man
Man created computers
Add me on Myspace!

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Abnormal Voyeur Paranoia

It was just one of those kind of evenings, something was slightly off but you couldn't pin point it. It was that same kind of feeling he got when he found out Macaulay Culkin and Michael Jackson had sleepovers, creepy.

Lurking shadows seemed to be stalking him like prey and every indistinguishable noise was translated into the sound of foot steps trailing behind, waiting for him to stop or make a sudden move.

He was being watched from everywhere, but not anywhere specific. If he looked over his shoulder to see what was behind him it was already in front of him. If he hurried his pace it was just going to close in on him that much faster. The lights kept dimming.

It was like driving down a lonely dirt road. You don't see any headlights, but someone is following you or maybe they're already sitting in your backseat, smiling. Waiting for you to notice them.

Don't look in the rearview mirror. Keep driving. Run to the door. Don't look back.

Lock it. Bolt it. Chain it. Barricade it.

He turned off the lights.

On second thought, he turned them back on.

Still not alone.

"Did the knob just turn? Are the windows locked? What was that noise? Am I fucking crazy?"

He couldn't shake the feeling of someone hiding in the closet or maybe under the bed, breathing heavily outside the door as he turned the porch light on, maybe watching though the curtain while he was taking a shower.

Sometimes, there just aren't enough doors to lock and blankets to hide under.

Monday, May 14, 2007

Serial Elitism

I’ve always been capable of being an asshole and when I say asshole I mean fucker and by fucker I mean one of two things:

1. A Jerk


2. An Elitist

But I just can’t cut it. I always feel bad about being a jerk, ask anyone whose ever crossed me. I usually by them a beer after a truly heart-felt apology. It happened last week.

And I really can’t bring myself to care enough about possessions and popularity to be an elitist.

Elitism seems like an advanced justification of personal consumerism. All of this expensive shit has been bought and instead of allowing yourself to feel guilty about blowing so much cash the decision is made to make others feel bad because they‘ve maintained their sense of responsibility.

Gizmos and gadgets, discographies of bands you’ve never heard of, books no one reads for enjoyment or education and clothes that look like they’re from the future, but only according to “Back to the Future II”.

When considering elitism as a way of life, a few problems arise for me, I still listen to Weezer’s Blue album at least once a week and wear shoes that are barely a step up from Velcro. Not to mention I really don’t care for Bret Easton Ellis‘s writing. I enjoyed American Pyscho, but more so on the silver screen and could care less about reading 300 pages of narration from an elitist murderous scum bag’s point of view, even if he is fictitious and that was the point.

Plus, I‘ve never really like Phil Collins.

Patrick Bateman: There is a moment of sheer panic when I realize that Paul's apartment overlooks the park... and is obviously more expensive than mine.

Friday, May 11, 2007

I talk a good game.

“I’m sorry I’m talking about religion.”

I acted like I hadn’t heard what she was talking about, so I lean in from the other side of the hall to say “Excuse me?”

“Oh, I was just saying I’m sorry for talking about religion. It’s just that I went to church today for the first time.”

Shrugging my shoulders seems like a good idea.

I’m just glad that she didn’t say anything about me eaves dropping on her conversation. So that’s what I planned on doing as long as I could.

“Church on a Wednesday?”

“Yeah, it was my first time ever.”

I think about sex.

I nod. “It’s OK. I’ve never been either.”

Lying makes me feel like a Christian again as well as thinking about sex.

She keeps talking to her friend who seems not so interested in her topic of conversation. As he towers over her, he’s obviously more intrigued by her mountainous range. Carmel, maybe Sinai?

Moses was given the Ten Commandments on a mountain and King David, a man after God's own heart, broke all of them by being distracted by the same humane mounds that this random bar fly seems to be swarming around.

We all succumb to the flesh.

The old right wing religious zealot inside of me has been contained. There is no desire to “witness” to this girl or try to lead her down the path to the Lord.

Then again, I’ll always be interested in hearing the thoughts of those regarding the Way, the Truth and the Life, especially if it can get me laid.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Make a wish

When I say I feel spent, I mean the complete transaction. The switching of hands only to be deposited into a large pool of currency that is ready to be spit right back out, just to go through the whole God damn routine all over again.

Break me for change and throw what remains into another pool. But let this one be the sort that grants wishes and allows me to quietly rest at the bottom of the drain while some one else's dream comes true.

Monday, May 07, 2007

Identity Crisis

Amongst many things, identity theft truly is a bitch.

I’m not sure if someone was going through my trash or maybe I left it at the bar. Maybe some cocaine addicted beer wench thought should take me for all that I had. Who knows.

Since I didn’t use credit cards very often it wasn’t until I got my next statement that I noticed I had been providing someone food and gas money for the better part of the previous month. Mother Fucker maxed it out!

3/7/07 Hooters Bar and Grill: Butt Fuck, Georgia - $52.37

3/9/07 Chester‘s Gas and Snack Shack: Deliverance, Georgia - $36.22

3/13/07 Conquistador’s Tex-Mex Extravaganza: Buford Highway, ATL, Georgia - $44.57

3/16/07 Peek-a-Boo’s Adult Love Lounge: Cheshire Bridge, ATL, Georgia - $69.69

3/20/07 Scent -O-Rama Discount Perfume Palace: Lawrenceville Highway, ATL, Georgia - $71.54

“Lemme ask you something.“

“What is it?”

”Does Hooters have good wings?”

“How would I fucking know? I didn’t eat there. I’ve never even been to Butt Fuck before! Why don’t you believe me?”

I was lying. I’d been to Butt Fuck. Only once though and it wasn’t to make a visit to Hooters. The girls may have big jugs there, but I’ve never found pregnant teenagers attractive, especially when they’re outside smoking in between shifts.

“But no… They don’t have good wings.”

“You’re going to have to file a fraudulent charges report with Identity Theft.”

“I thought this was Identity Theft.”

“ No, this is still Customer Service.”

“Ok, transfer me then.”

“I’m sorry sir they closed at 5pm. Try back tomorrow.”


“Sometimes I get the feeling that all of these assholes are working together. “

Friday, May 04, 2007

Too hot for TV!!!

It's late. I'm walking back to my car. There are some young upstanding citizens congregating on the corner diagonally across from me. One of them and tries sees me coming and tries making eye contact. I stare at my feet as I cross the street.

"Hey man, wha's goin' on?"

My pace quickens "I'm good."

"KEEP MOVING" flashes through my head like a warning sign on the side of the road deterring me from an approaching car wreck.

These crack heads see me every week and seem to forget that I don't do drugs or at least crack, for that matter. The answer is obviously in the question.

"You're a rude mother fucker, turning your back on me."

His eyes are burrowing into my back. Hopefully, he's not pointing anything at me.

"I'm just heading home." I shake my head.

He relents.

I turn the corner.

She steps out of the shadows like a caped crusader, but the only thing wrapped around her neck is a bright green scarf. Maybe she's Irish? I can't stop thinking about how hot it is this evening. She apparently can't fly, but seduction seems to be her super human ability, until she steps into the light.

Her face is attractive, but she's obviously a man. She bares a stunning resemblance to every member of Poison from the cover of "Look What The Cat Drug In". The irony of this metaphor makes me laugh under my breath. He introduces herself as Ginger and appears to have a boner. Mine runs away, as do I.

My car is in sight.


As I approach, it appears that some new club has opened and plastered my windshield with flyers for their grand opening or maybe it's "Guy's Night" tomorrow at Bull Dogs. Then again, this is Midtown. It's always "Guy's Night" at Bull Dogs and I could use a drink.

When I lift my wiper up I realize that I'm not getting VIP treatment tonight. These flyers are actually parking tickets from the Atlanta Police Department.

Apparently, you can sell drugs on this street and even get a hooker, but your bumper can't be two inches over the yellow line.

"Sometimes I get the feeling that all of these assholes are working together. "

Wednesday, May 02, 2007

Extended Vacation

It’s seriously excruciating. The pain is inward and throbbing, kind of like having multiple heart attacks in rapid succession, which would more-less make it one BIG heart attack.

He called me into my boss’s office with a grin on his face that only Ronald McDonald could sport and shook my hand like I just won the lottery. Acting like he owned the place, he put his feet up on the desk and shot me a wink out of his left eye. It seemed like he was going to start doing cheesy magic tricks. I told myself that I was going to walk out if he pulled a coin from behind my ear.

He’d only been here for two weeks, but this is how consultants are supposed to act though, right?

David Hasselhoff would make a great consultant or magician. Then again his whole career has been one big illusion.

The bad news had spilled out across the office a few days earlier, but that still didn’t keep me from having an anxiety attack in the middle of the meeting. I blamed it on diarrhea.

What’s the big deal anyway? Everyone knows I hate my job and would gladly leave if given the opportunity. Sometimes, it’s good to be forced out. No one is being fired, but the company is conveniently being moved across the country a month after we were referred to by the owner as a “fixed expense”. I’ve been called worse.

Craig Anderson called me a “fag” once. It was the early 90’s and he didn’t know what it meant either, but it still kind of hurt, like that throbbing pain that sticks with you for a while. What was more painful though was not being able to jump on his trampoline until he forgot that he didn’t like me anymore.

I guess if you believe in Karma, it was inevitable that he would tear both of his ACL’s jumping over trash cans in his front yard and that he’s now a “branding” consultant.