Stuck

Driving the opposite direction on a one way street in his clunky '89 Toyota Tercel, he managed to slam the breaks just before his tires ran into the curb. His neck's reaction to the forced stop slid his golden aviators down the bridge of his nose, his thick mustache barely scraping the lens as his sky blue eyes widened. He undid his stretched out seat belt and tossed his aviators to the empty passenger's seat, pressed his black Hawaiian shirt down his chest, and opened the door. A beer can fell off his lap and onto the street, he might have had a sip or two because the beer was just gushing out onto the pavement. He stared at it with his bright blue eyes and a sigh of disgust before walking up the sidewalk and knocking on the mint green half of a half mint half beige duplex. He waited a few seconds before knocking more angrily on the door. It took him a few more knocks before he noticed the buzzer, and he was just about to press it before he heard a woman's reply.
"Just a minute!" She yelled. Her voice instantly calming his breath. He placed his hand on the frame, leaning in and breathing heavily. The door opened, he sprung backwards. She was wearing a bathrobe, her skin was damp and she'd worn a turbaned towel over her hair, brunette locks peeking out from under it.
"Dane?"
"Melissa!" He managed to speak her name and catch her eyes before belching out everything he had to say.
"I just saw your husband, and I heard you fighting earlier, and I just had to tell you that I don't think he's being very faithful right now. I saw him with a woman and his pants were undone and I don't think it's right for you or for me or for him either and I feel bad for the girl he was with and you're actually very special. I hear you put up with him sometimes and I don't know you but you have an amazing body, I mean look at you, and—"
"Stop, Dane." She mumbled with a depressed sigh. Her eyes had watered and she stepped aside, inviting him in.
"This is kind of you, thank you."
"I didn't mean for you to to be sad, Melissa, I just thought you should know, and he should know." Dane, now stumbled onto a black leather couch opposite Melissa.
"I already know." She mentioned with more strength in her voice. "It's just nice that you thought of telling me, it's very kind."
"What do you mean you already know?"
She replied hesitantly. "I smell it on him when he comes back, it's why we argue so much."
Dane just sat there for a moment, slumping into the couch and staring off into the room. There was a large red stain on the carpet. There was a bat next to a baseball mitt on a pedestal, both of them shined. They had a spotlight on them. He could look down the hall from his seat, too. He noticed their bedroom door was open, he saw the bed's wooden frame.
Melissa got up and head for the kitchen. "Can I get you anything? Some water? I was just making myself some leftover pasta if you'd like. Grilled chicken and penne in tequila-tomato sauce sound good?"
"Oh I couldn't. I'm sorry, I'll just leave you alone."
"Nonsense, have a plate with me. I won't have it all."
With a nod; he agreed.
"Let me just change real quick, I'll only be a minute." Her answer was faint, she'd already gone into her bedroom and closed the door. Dane was too nervous to stay put, though. He passed his hand through his mustache and got up on his feet. He paced back and forth, walking right up to the kitchen to see if any of the food was out already. He served himself a glass of water from the sink.
"That's dirty water, you should have just let me grab you a glass" she spoke from behind him.
"It's no big deal." He said as he turned around. She'd made her way around him, opening the fridge door and rummaging around. He found himself spellbound by her simplicity. Her pink tank top draping over her jeans. Her long skinny arms reflecting in the bright light of the refrigerator, the tiniest mole shadows pressing back against her skin, her damp brunette curls falling at either side of her. It all captivated him, and by the time she turned back with Tupperware in hand, she'd noticed.
"What?" She pulled some plates out and had a nervous chuckle. "Don't make me make you leave, now!"
Dane sprung up behind her and felt his arms go down the silk of her shirt. He felt her ribs poke through the cloth, and he felt the softness of her skin as his fingertips traveled lower onto her hips.
With a quiver in her voice, she sighed. "Please leave, Dane."
"No." He whispered back as he pressed his lips onto her neck. She sighed again, closing her eyes and turning around. She pressed her delicate fingers against the rough shadow forming on his cheeks, she pressed her forehead on his lips as hers quivered, and then he lifted her chin and grazed the bottom of his lip with the top of hers.
Thirty minutes later he'd made it to the wooden frame of her bed, her cushioned mattress rocked more than the frame did. Her curls swayed back and forth as she bit what he felt were the juices from her plump lips. Their shared exhausted moans echoed lightly together. His calloused fingers gripped at the bones of her hips as he stared up at her, waiting for the moments where the almond shaped eyes would open behind the curtains of curls, and then she stopped.
"Melissa, honey, where are you?" A deep voice belched from the other side of the house. "I brought you flowers; I was wrong earlier. I think we need to talk."
Dane looked up at Melissa to find her stunned in place. Her jaw gaping, and her eyes wide. He tried mouthing her to get off, he slid his finger across his neck violently and motioned her away.
"Honey, are you sleeping?" The deep voice grew nearer, though ever so slightly.
"Say something!" Dane whispered angrily as he tugged away at her hips. He tightened his eyes in pain and bit onto his knuckle.
"Oh... Yes Steve, I was just taking a nap. Give me a moment!" She finally caught herself, but her eyes were still full of fear.
"Do you want me to heat up yesterday's pasta? It's on the plate but it's all cold. Honey, did you just leave this here?"
Dane mouthed at Melissa again, this time she held onto his shoulders like a motorcycle. Her eyes had closed and a tear ran down her cheek.
"What the fuck is going on here?!"
Steve's broad shoulders covered the frame of the door. Melissa's sobbing sigh was muffled by Dane's agility. He held on to her hips and spun himself out of the mattress and onto the floor, where he hoisted himself up and looked straight into Steve's eyes.
"Get off him, Em!" Steve yelled, but it only made her tears stream down quicker.
"I can't, Steve. I'm stuck."
"What the fuck do you mean you're stuck? Am I gonna have to fucking pull you off him?"
While she sobbed and he argued, Dane managed to pick up his shirt and stick his arms through it. His bare legs still hooked to her entire naked body, and her body curled up around his.
"Look just leave her alone, man. You slept with Teresa, your wife slept with me." Dane spurted nervously. His eyes shifting from Melissa's neck, to Steve, to the rest of the frame of the door. "Will you get out of the way? I should get home and try to get her off of me. You're not helping."
"Nah, you're gonna get her off right here where I can see the both of you, and you won't be leaving the house soon after that, either."
Steve had mastered this passive aggressive tone so well that Melissa was nodding so much it was infectious. Dane started nodding too, and he walked right up to Steve with a finger pointing at his face and his other hand holding Melissa up by the butt cheek.
"You're gonna let me through right now, man. Right fucking now."
"Or what?!" Steve yelled angrily.
Dane looked Steve dead in the eye, and kicked his shin in with the heel of his foot.
"Fuck you!" Dane yelled halfheartedly as Steve exclaimed in pain and picked himself up from the ground. Dane stumbled towards the front of the house with a sobbing Melissa clinging tightly onto him. Mucus was running down her chin and onto his shirt. He made it back to the leather couch, he looked around, and made his way towards the baseball bat on the pedestal. He pulled at it with his right arm, his entire left side dedicated to holding up Melissa and her clinging body, and the bat just flung in his direction with the metal base still attached.
"What are you doing with my Derek Jeter signed baseball bat?" Steve panted with an air of sorrow.
"I'm gonna kick your ass with it, Steve."
"No!" Melissa squealed as she broke into heavy tears.
Dane stared ahead at Steve with rage in his eyes, and spoke to Melissa with pain in his heart.
"I'm sorry, baby, but I have to"
Melissa moped into his shoulder. Dane's Hawaiian shirt was drenched in salt and mucus by now.
"Please don't. Just put it down, or take it with you!" Steve exclaimed. "Just give it back to me later, send it over with Em. Don't use it. Please, leave the bat alone."
Dane exercised the swing on his right hand. He made an hourglass shape with a twist of his wrist, and walked very slowly to a humbled Steve.
"Look I'm sorry, I did you both wrong. I get it. I know."
Dane sneered at the petty apology. His blue eyes darkened with the shadow of his furrowed brow. The bat swishing away ahead of his sight. A low breath emerging from Dane's mouth, almost like gasps of air. Steve was horrified, backed into a corner. His eyes did all the begging for him. His broad shoulders were humiliating him now, coaxing themselves into his body as he lay in a corner on the ground. Dane's sneer and wrist were in complete control, the bat was just inches away from Steve's chin when Dane turned around and walked away. The bat was so close that Steve lunged for it, Melissa let out a scream. Steve's grip on the head of the bat was strong, but Dane kept his strength. He pulled back, swung himself around and kicked Steve across the jaw.
"No!" Melissa yelled, "No! No no, please no! He's a good man!" her whimpers fell back onto Dane's shoulder.
"Him!?" Dane yelled. "He's nothing." He whispered the insult towards Steve, who was just now slowly picking himself up from the floor. "He's worth nothing!" He yelled as he swung the bat into Steve's ribs.
Steve grunted, and the crack he heard was either discouraging or preventing him from movement.
"He'll be fine." Dane said, before tossing the bat aside and making his way through the door.
Melissa's irregular breath was hiccuping against Dane's chest. He walked down the street to his clunky old car, opened the door, and sat himself uncomfortably with Melissa still stuck on him. He closed the door, peered through her frizzy dried hair, and drove the car back up the street to the duplex building. He parked the car, they both took a few seconds to slide out as painlessly as possible, and he carried Melissa through the door on the beige side of the building
"I'm not going to the hospital. Unless you have a better idea, I've got some Vaseline in the bathroom."

Nests

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This post might read better with Tell Him by The Exciters playing. Here's a link if you're interested.

Do you remember that young couple you passed by at the park a while ago? Or, well maybe you don't. They kinda just blend in with everything else, don't they? They were cute, and who really cares if they're buried into their faces. Eskimo kisses are adorable, let the young ones do what they do while it lasts. When was the last time you held someone at a bench, just because? Enjoying the beautiful day, existing within a bubble of happiness.

They're probably having some really in depth conversation about a topic they won't remember in 2 days. She's probably saying something like "Macy's being real mean at work lately, she reminds me of all the adults on that one movie we just saw... What was it again?"

Which is probably followed by "Oh, you mean The Santa Clause? Wait, how does that even work? I was too drunk that night to remember what they were like.." and it goes on and eventually they look dead into each others eyes, slowly lean and do that cute thing you probably haven't done in a long time. Hey look, there you are, passing by. You were kinda far, it's no wonder you didn't notice. You should be glad though, you didn't wanna witness this.

It was intimate; a gentle parting of lips. That initial moment they had there, within the middle of the rest of the world, right before she sunk her tongue in an attempt to meet his. But she didn't. She'd been with him for 6 months and this was just not how he kissed. For starters, he never had his eyes spread open in fear during these ever intimate moments. And no, there was no serial killer with an ax standing behind her. He did realize, however, that he no longer had a tongue.

He shoved her off of the bench. A rude gesture to which she stood up and gave him a well deserved slap. Her hand then quickly made way to her chin, where she dusted off an inch long spider. And then picked one out from of under her lip. By now, her eyes were as wide as his.

And he was just, you know, laying face-down at the bench. Trying to empty the cavity of hundreds of carnivorous spiders who'd rapidly devoured his tongue. The same spiders that made his throat seem like it had moving hives. The same spiders who had nested in his stomach for months, and finally found their way back out to light.

Sources here and here

Centipede

I saw a centipede in person for the first time a few days ago. It was about 4 in the morning. I had just finished writing, I was in bed, the lights were off, and I felt something tickle my thigh. Usually when I feel that, it's the fan hitting my leg hair and all is well. But that night my legs were under the covers.

I lifted the covers, but before I could even lay sight on my legs there it was. All wiggly and fast, speeding up my shirt, working its way to my mouth. Maybe it was the silent yelp, or my legs kicking around, but the centipede decided it was time to head in another direction.

It crawled under my bed, where the boogeyman hides. It stopped being so quick, it was just there. At first I figured it should be harmless. It's lost; that centipede isn't even supposed to be indoors. I set myself back onto my pillow, and curiosity took over.

What if this centipede had evolved mentally? What if it decided to seek revenge, crawl into my mouth, refuge in my intestines, and breed? My every following shit would be infested with tiny centipede babies, scraping the edges of my colon with it's wiggling leg-claw-things.

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It took me a second to realize it'd probably die in my stomach before any of that happened. Unless it really did evolve, and its outer shell became impenetrable by those acids lining and eating away at my stomach. If corn can do it, why can't an arthropod?

It was at this point that I figured I'd check underneath the bed, just in case it was still there. It was. I saw it; laying there. Wiggling its little claw things at the wall, pretending it was trying to climb it. I knew it was actually etching a blueprint of my body, trying to take it over. To appropriate my soul.

And then I squashed it with my slipper. The bottom half. It was stuck to the ground, but it was still alive. Left to die slowly after thinking such cruel thoughts over me, a poor random nobody in this world. I watched it die from the edge of my bed afterwards, just to be sure.

Paul - 1 • Centipede - 0

Aftermath of a birthday party

It was a beautiful day at the park. Mary was just cutting up the birthday cake and giving it away to the other parents, leaving the slice with the big '5' for herself. Her twins aren't toddlers anymore; a smile runs through her face.

It's late though, nearly 6. Their father hasn't shown up yet and he was supposed to take them to the movies. The party starts to deflate and they're left waiting. The twins, hyper, running through the park by themselves, when their dad finally shows up in his pick-up and takes them away.

Mary waves and smiles, turning away to the mess she has to clean alone. She's cursing. Upset. Throwing the remaining bags of chips away in an attempt to speed the process. The night is approaching, after all.

It's not too long before she's done though. She starts walking away with her tinfoil wrapped cake before hearing scurried movements. Probably rats or something, she looked around and put a spring on her step as she hurried away. She's far from the park by now, making a turn at the church and coming to a halt.

There's a moment of pure humanity on her face. A bewildered curiosity. A silenced scream of a stare when you see and expect a cat, but know that in that dark corner, those red tinged eyes aren't feline.

But what could it be? The shade is overwhelming, it's low. If not for the eyes, the size and location would make her believe it really is a cat. A few, very cautious steps in the direction, she feels a grin form. The rugged forms of clothing. Is that a hood?

She steps back. It's too small to be a dwarf. Its grin is insincere.

She falls.

She doesn't know where, but she feels a sharp pain. It runs through her body and chills run down her spine as she strikes the ground. She sees the tiny being walk into the church, and she feels her ankles grabbed. Another sharp pain.

She looks down to her legs. The crimson on the sidewalk, the dark stain on her jeans, the rip on the stain of the denim, directly underneath her ankle, the knife at the end of the rip. Tiny hands tugging at her wound; pulling through the gates of the church. The pain so strong, she's crying but it can't stop. So many little hands now tugging at both her legs.

Her screams were many, as were her kicks, and hence as were the wounds on her skin. Tied down to the floor. Gashes on her arms, thighs, and her ankles. The gnomes, playfully flicking their knives on the bare tendons and cartilage.

They laugh as her tears dry. She turns paler, nearly a soft shade of baby blue. Shivering, trembling, flinching.

The church doors open. Her eyes widen, hope strikes her fasting heart. She opens her mouth, attempts to scream, but her lungs collapse.

The footsteps draw nearer, she closes her trusting eyelids as the gnomes around her run away. A set of old hands slowly reach out to her cheek. She whimpers as she realizes the minuscule feel. These aren't human hands.

A cage slams on the floor next to her, metallic clinging echos. She scrunches up her face as she feels the tip of a knife entering her ear canal. Silence, but she hears something. Softer than the crackle of paper.

She soon feels it. Something in her ear, walking around. Going deeper. And another. And another behind that one. Too weak to move, she feels dozens of insects enter her ear until they're so deep she can't feel them any more.

The gnomes stare at her. Smiling. Each drinking crimson from their goblets, and enjoying from a big plate of cake with a 5 on it.

   ---   ------------------------------------------   ---   

I was feeling that Halloween spirit recently. Does it show? This was inspired by a friend, it took some time and thought. Kinda.

Unless blogger ends up compromising my picture space (they did), the above poster should be official movie poster size (27"x40") and because of the use of a Creative Commons licensed photograph (thanks to mararie), the poster is legal to adapt, remake, or print out and enjoy under similar rules to hers. Just contact me somehow if you want it in original size, I don't bite strangers. Usually.

All other pictures used were taken by me at some point.

And yes Hollywood, I would love to write the remainder of this and turn it into a movie for a reasonable sum of cash. I do, in fact, have the rest of it pretty much planned out. It's just long and time consuming to write. You know how it is.

Paul's Cereal

I don't like people. Okay, it's not that bad. I don't like people when I'm not around. I can't see what they're doing, I don't know what their actions are. I can't monitor. I lose control.

It's not that I care what they do. Usually it doesn't even involve me, but on those occasions where someone wants to be at my home while I'm not there, or when I'm showering, or before I wake up (never giving anyone keys to my house again).. there's just reason for me to worry.

It might seem paranoid, but it's justified.

Like the other day, I was gonna go out clubbing with my friends. I specifically said I'd be ready at 9:30, but this one imbecile came for me at 8:20.

"I have to shower.." I whispered.

"It's okay, I'll just wait and watch TV or something" was his response. The sly dog.

I was hesitant, I didn't like the situation but what was I supposed to do? Shoo him away? I just nodded my head and went in for my shower.

But what was he doing while I showered? Was he really watching the crap on my basic cable, or was he doing something worse? Something I wouldn't like. Something he wouldn't be able to tell me, so at the same time something I would never know about.

I'd rub shampoo on my hair and think. Maybe he's spitting on my socks. Maybe scratching my DVD's with his keys. Or mayb-

Maybe he's fucking my cereal.

Before getting out of my room I took the time to draw a few illustrations of what my friend was probably doing. That way I'd get to show him that I knew, and when his eyes open in fear he can know that I know he betrayed me.

But you've also gotta give it to him, it's a genius idea. I'll be out for at least a couple of hours with him, when I come back the semen will have dried out and when I add milk to the cereal I'll never notice any of the crust. It'll all mush down.

I paid $7 for that cereal too. Terrible.

He just laughed at me. It's confusing, because at this point he should be surprised I caught on. It's not even nervous laughter, it's roaring. Who does this cereal fetishist think he is? He ruined my cereal, it was expensive. I wasn't even halfway done with it.

As D4, I'm actually quite proud of the box of cereal I drew

And what's worse, she probably liked it too. Oh I know her well, with her arrogant gluten free rings and her delicious cinnamon spices. She was probably all over him before I even stepped foot into the shower, and yet he denies me of his truth. Almost as if I didn't have all the evidence I needed right there on my hand! I drew it a mere 4 minutes ago, the blood is still wet on his hands. I can smell it.

He finally started realizing that I knew when I started shouting and went to look for the cereal box myself. I saw his eyes widen as I opened the cabinet and saw that he placed her exactly the same way I did. Sneaky.

"Paul, stop being so paranoid!" He yelled at me. In my own house, after sleeping with my cereal.

I took the box and tossed it into the garbage, ordered him to either fess up or leave right this instant, and the coward left. I'll never trust him in my house again, and for good reason too. Forget about the taste and consistency, think about the germs! Some nerve.

I didn't go out clubbing that night. I did however run out to the supermarket and get me some cereal. It was cheaper this time. She looks faithful.

My Relationship with Roaches

I've had a lot of experiences with these things throughout my life. Roaches. Even the name is ugly, they're hard to get used to and real easy to hate. It's not like they do anything, of course. Usually they're just germ transmitters. Like flies, lizards, mice, cats, dogs...

But then sometimes.. things happen. Sometimes, they're just cruel motherfuckers. I'm not prejudiced, they're just assholes.

When I was 5

I had to go to the bathroom. It was maybe 9 at night so everything was dark. Of course, I waited until the very last minute of whatever cartoon I was watching to quickly run down the hall and make a right at the bathroom. Commercial breaks are so quick, there really is a need to hurry.

I open the bathroom door, slide my bare foot in and put my hand on the switch. I don't flick the switch, though. No, there's a rubber band under my foot. It feels funny, I roll it around, play with it a little while and smile. I realize the cartoon is gonna be on soon, so I hurry up and turn on the light.

From here it all happens so fast. The light is on, I lift my foot and see this big brown thing, practically drunkenly wobble out from under my foot. My teeth grind, my eyes widen, and this foot-fucker decided to fly its way up my leg.

Fuck that shit. Nearly pissed myself as I darted out of there.

Ok, it wasn't this creepy looking. But it flew.

Fast forward a few years to-

When I was 15

It's early morning this time. Getting ready, the whole routine. I'm the first one awake. It's time for breakfast, maybe a hard boiled egg. Maybe an egg sandwich. Classy stuff. I was always classy.

I open the fridge, I get an egg, put it on the counter top. So far so good, life is pretty fucking sweet. Lower a pot, fill it up with water. Put that pot and water on medium high and wait for it to boil. Fuck yeah I'm a pro.

So I wait a few minutes, the water is boiling, I stick the egg in it. All that fancy stuff, and then I pull a glass out. To drink from it or something. Of course, under that glass was a family of cockroaches, staring up at me blankly. Their fancy little antennae twitching like they've been caught in the act.

"That's awfully rude, man. We're here making these babies come out and you're fucking interrupting us. Why don't you go squeal like a little bitch and forget about making breakfast? Eating sucks anyway." - Roaches

I took their advice. Later on that night I found them eating my toothpaste. It's a surprising detail to note that I never got a cavity after that point.

Less than this. Still.

Two days ago

I was emptying out a closet. This closet has always had a big hole that leads to the tub on the bathroom on the other side. It's for easy plumbing purposes or something. You know what whatever. It's got big piece of plastic on the wall and that's where the hole is. It's just wide enough for a basketball to fit through.

Well in the process of clearing the closet out and re-realizing that hole was there, it just seemed logical at the time to satisfy my curiosity and attempt at tugging it off. Right there, on that chewed-off rust-black floor that's most likely corroded by the never ending tub leak. With little brown marks up against the walls, and the faint smell of dirty mop.

I was pretty curious. I mean, I tugged at that plastic bitch hard. I don't know what it is that I did wrong, but apparently my feet were doing a better job. I fell.

Usually when something looks shady, you stay away from it. I however decided to stand on it and sink 5 feet into the ground all of a sudden. That cheap closet floor decided to give out, right when I needed it to work, and it was disgusting. I scraped my right arm on the side a bit, but that's fine. "Just a graze" says my inner macho man.

What wasn't fine was the hole on the bottom, near my knee. Maggots around the rim as far as I could see, the occasional flying insect zooming out, and you can't ignore the giant (about 16 inches long and maybe 6 inches wide) cockroach. I could see it too, looking at me with those fucking giant beady eyes. Its fucking antennae poking out from its hole/nest. It's at that point that I took my battle-axe, which I have on me at all times, and swung it right across its "head". It's not clearly defined, but I took the top chunk off in one swift crunch of a sound.

Bigger.

Oh it kept moving though. The fucker.

Groceries

So there's this guy, right. Single dad, baby mama is a batshit crazy crack-whore, he's got custody of a 9 year old son, so on and so forth. Obviously the guy's made some bad decisions in his lifetime. That's not the point today.

So about 8 months or so ago he met this lady while his son was at a birthday party. He's a single dad, he doesn't really have time to date but, come on, he's a guy. So he tries to get laid, uses the kid to his advantage, so far so good.

7 months later and what do you know, he asked for her hand in marriage. Kay, he's made some mistakes before but this time it's different, this lady loves his son and they all get along (kinda) and flowers and fucking unicorns shitting rainbows all over the place. Things are nice, it's like a 50's sitcom.

Gotta pop one of these bad boys out

I think I gave you the gist of the background, right? I mean I could give you the names but that complicates things. Let's call the dad Dad, the lady Lady and the son Kid. I'm a fucking genius here. Try to keep your brain in its container.

The newly pieced-together family has been living together for about a month now and things are good. It's different for Lady; living with someone. It's intense. I mean sharing space with a kid, waking up and serving that thing cereal. She almost feels like a mom.

Well today she made the kid chocolate chip pancakes. This kid really loves her now, and Dad's cool with this except he feels the kid is getting a little too excited. He also wants to get laid tonight so he doesn't say anything because he's terrible at speaking. Because he's the average strain of man.

So far this is a pretty realistic story isn't it, guys?

She ends up making food and baked goods the rest of the day. So far she's made blueberry muffins, brownies, pumpkin seeds (which are fucking delicious by the way, have some sometime) and she's making stir fry for lunch. Stir fry. I'm making this woman up and I love her. How sad is that?

She's also drowning out the food supplies, and Dad's realizing it. Now he really wants to get laid tonight, but he can't help but feel like flipping shit. Maybe he'll get a sorry-fuck later, but he has to set things straight. He wants to tell her to ease up on the food consumption and to go easy on the cooking, to relax a little, watch a movie together on their day off.

Instead he says something like:

Fucking stop that. You're wasting all the food and making Kid hyper, what the fuck is wrong with you? Jesus, you haven't even made me a sandwich while you're in there, what kind of woman are you? 

Then he shuts up and realizes that that went differently than he thought it would've. Well shit. He could still apologize but, no. It's his house, fuck, he can say what he wants.

This is man-logic, ladies.

And we're proud of it too, aren't we guys?

Shit gets real intense now, but you all know that so I'll save you the blah-blah. Kid is stuck in the middle of everything and is just confused. Why are people angry when there's food on the plate?

So Dad storms off in his car, parks 2 blocks away and just thinks to himself. So he kinda fucked up. And he wants to get laid. Naturally the best thing to do right now apologize for his action without actually apologizing. He's not quite sure how he can do this yet, but he has money in the bank and that's a good enough start. He'll fix things because he has the money to, and because everything that sprouted out of his mouth wasn't really necessary. He was silly.

Meanwhile, Lady is thinking similarly. But she's also crying. Kid finds her and well, he just asks. Bless them, they're so blunt and stuff. It's amazing. She shakes it off and says it's nothing, but she figures everything he said was right. Probably because she's emotional and she can't think straight. I don't understand women so I don't know why she thinks that, I just know that she does.

Don't argue with me.

She decides to tell Kid to accompany her to the groceries. They pass Dad on the street and she worries a little, but she's gonna make it all better. She's paying for food out of her wallet, she's going to make nice. They go, buy a shitload of food and come back. Dad's not parked in the same spot anymore but he's not home either. He's probably at a bar or something. Smart man.

They're getting the groceries into the house, they open the fridge and fuck. It's not gonna fit. Lady bought a gallon of milk, a frozen pizza, fucking bagels and an assload of other foods she didn't need to buy and doesn't have room for.

So Kid decides to let her weep on the couch for a while as he stares at the ingredients on the counter top. He opens the fridge and gets to business. 15 minutes later and he calls Lady in. Her eyes are swollen red and her nose is a shade of pink, but she's fine. She swore to him. She steps into the kitchen and see's nothing in there. She can't believe it, he must have thrown something away or hidden something under his bed. This can't be.

She opens the fridge and it's definitely crammed, but it's all there. Everything. That's amazing too her, she picked up the kid and she's hugging him real tight. He copped a feel. He's happy. 9 year olds, you gotta love 'em.

So he's sitting there with Lady being happy that he achieved something, watching some cartoons, something about a stretchy yellow dog, stupid shit really but he's laughing when suddenly Dad walks through the door with two bags of groceries. He just looks at them and says "Come on guys, there's more in the car help me get it to the kitchen!"

Lady is tearing up, standing up and heading to the car. Kid just stands there looking at his father bring the groceries out. He's on his way back out when he sees Kid there just staring at him. Dad asks him what's up and Kid replies but only two words.

And with narrowed eyes he sighs

Fuck you.

Kung Fu

Today's story revolved around a child. An adorable little 4 year old that only wanted to impress the superior beings that are called adults. Let's call him David Force. Yeah, that works. Little David Force.

He woke up early this morning. Stretching in bed, opening his eyes and letting ideas roam through his mind. Improvisation isn't even necessary when you're 4 years old and have an imagination as active as a prostitute's sex life. He knew what he wanted to do, and he was happy with this idea.

This is what a happy young David Force looks like.

The poor little thing picked up his magic marker and paint set and headed straight for his mother's mirror, which was inconveniently placed in her room. This was fine, he managed to wake up without her noticing and so he got into her room without her noticing either.

Finally at his destination, he was only about 15 minutes away from success. He looked straight ahead at the mirror, picked up a yellow magic marker, and got straight to work.

15 minutes later he was done. He slid out of his parents' room and headed straight through the hall in the hopes of finding someone to appreciate his masterpiece. And then his mommy walked her way up to the hall and saw his face.

And mommy was not pleased. Quite the opposite, her eyes lit up for half a second before blinking a few times and calming down.

The shock left her with no words for a little while. Stutters, many blinks and a few deep breaths later, she managed to cross her arms and form a coherent sentence.

And little David knew exactly why he did it. It all made perfect sense in his mind, so he didn't even hesitate to answer.

"Because Kung Fu"

She just stared at him blankly, probably already contemplating how she could go so wrong so fast. He was only 4. And kung fu? Really? All this and much more could be seen in her eyes.

"What do you mean, kung fu?!" slipped out of her mouth. Poor little David, with much less confidence than before started to whisper.

"BecauseofthekungfumoviemommyI'msorry"

But he wasn't sorry yet. This was something she couldn't handle on her own, she didn't know what to do. She tried to get him to explain, but he was obviously in the mood for jokes. So she took him outside to explain himself to his father.

His dad wasn't alone, he was taking a break from adult-man-work outside with his creepy cock-eyed cousin. They both just stared at the poor little thing, and there to break silence was the poor kid's mom.

"Tell them what you just did"

"....kungfu...."

My inner 12 year old drew this.

The roaring laughter that came from these two adults would be enough for poor little David Force to reject anything kung fu related for years to come.

But the story doesn't end here! It's important to know the roots of little David's thoughts.

See, a week before this whole thing David saw a movie. Or rather, he saw the first 5 minutes of a movie, followed by bits and pieces whenever he woke up. This movie was something about To Wong Foo, which was easily switched in his mind with kung fu. He would later find out what men in drag were.

Kung fu was something David's dad was into. Anything about the martial arts, it was part of the rainbow of subjects that this guy couldn't stop talking about, so naturally, little David wanted something to do with this amazing kung fu stuff.

It all makes sense in the end, doesn't it?

Also, this totally wasn't based on true events or anything. Come on and stuff. Geeze.

About the whole nose thing

It's hot out. The few clouds on the blue sky are like misshapen moons shining about. A sudden breeze hits you again, just like it does every 40 seconds. It makes the thin layer of sweat on your brow tolerable, but you still wipe it off.

You wish you'd just stayed on the open field next to the sea, but it's too late now. A 10 minute walk, some simple instructions, and you know you're almost there. You pass the church as instructed, and you turn at the next street. So far so good.

This street is different, though. It almost sounds abandoned, silent. You're submerged in a light scent of bar-bathroom. Of piss. You just walk through it. You're careful not to twist your ankle like you almost did a few seconds ago, the street is made up of these old blue/gray bricks that are too slippery and too crooked for human use. You're pretty sure they're carrying a lot of that urine stench too.

"Street"

You're looking at your left now. You were told it would be an orange place with a small entrance, that you wouldn't miss it. You didn't.

It's an old building. The paint is faded, eaten away, but what's left of it is rust orange. Ahead of you, a wooden door that looks like it was literally made out of 6 2x4's put side by side. It's dark, carved, and tall. There's two holes, one at either side of the door, and they'd be just big enough for your head to fit through if not for for the black protruding bars that guard them. Right above the door you see a wooden sign, the paint is scaling off, but you can just make out the words. Club Dudua.

This is it. There's no knob, so you walk up to the door and attempt to push it in before it's opened for you from the inside. The man at the door greets you with nothing but his eyes as you take your first step in.

(If you're not skimming, you might wanna click here or here to better suit your imagination.)

Immediately the music hits you, the silence of the street finally broken as you stare at the dimly lit area. This place is made almost entirely of dark, polished wood. Nothing like you were expecting.

To the right you see what you could call strippers. There's 3 or 4 of them entertaining about half a dozen men scattered about. They move like silk. The well dressed men respond in tones no higher than whispers. Further behind them there's the live music you've been hearing. A pianist, a drummer, a double bassist, and a saxophonist who's currently rhyming. Next to them there's two more, it's dark and you can barely see them but you know they're talking to each other.

To the left is the bar. There's dramatic lighting facing directly towards it, so you can see that it's fairly light compared to the rest of the club, a cherry wood tint maybe. You spot the bartender, shoulder length dark hair, a tight fit black t-shirt makes him look almost like a bouncer. He's facing away from you, about to grab a bottle from the glowing yellow shelf, probably for the only person sitting at the bar.

It's all expensive

You hear a gunshot. Your attention goes back to the right where it came from. You start stepping back. You see nothing going on, everyone is still in their general positions. It's as if only you noticed. It might be making you feel a little nervous, you can't tell right now, you're not sure what's going on. You look back to the left, the guy at the bar has his drink in hand, a brownish red liquid in a whiskey tumbler shines with the light above the bar. Or maybe you're seeing things, your heart is feeling a little tense right now.

But he's calm. He's wearing a light blue button up and jeans. He's the most casually dressed, he's out of place. You start to realize you're out of place too, and you don't feel like drawing any attention to yourself right now. He sits there, sipping still. Short black hair and a half grown beard, he's not even clean cut. You're not comfortable anymore. You spin on your heel and take a step in the direction of the door, but you're stopped.

Hey, come over here.

Shit.

You're frozen now. But you came here for a reason, you turn back and face his deep set almond eyes, they're dark brown, almost black. He's not half as nerve-wrecked as you are. You're still thinking about the gunshot. Maybe it wasn't a gunshot, maybe something just fell. Maybe it's a special day and there's firecrackers around or something.

You're thinking too much now. You didn't even notice it, but you're up at the bar right next to the man in blue. The bartender puts a glass away and walks up to you. He opens his mouth but words don't come out, I waved a hand to call his attention and he nears his ear to my lips. You catch the beginning of what I whisper, something about pee or Pete or something. Your mind was jumpy, you don't remember.

I ordered for you; hope you don't mind. You'll have a glass of very fine rum, you'll like it. Just sip it slowly.

Well this is shady. You could object but you didn't, you don't remember why. You don't even remember why you even bothered getting here anymore. It feels like a bad decision now. The bartender comes back from another room and brings you a whiskey tumbler with a liquid similar to the one I'm having. You hadn't even notice he had left. Your rum might be a bit more red than mine. I told you it was a fruit of some sort, maybe cherry or strawberry, you don't remember anymore. It was a detail, but you took a sip and it tasted good. You remember that.

I like noses. I said. You're sure of it. You're not sure why you remember those words so clearly, but as soon as you heard them you took a very large sip of the forbidden rum at your hands. I had to pull your arm back down, you would've hurt yourself.

Don't do that. That's dangerous, sip it slow. You just remember my lips moving a little slower than my words. Whatever you're having, it's strong, but it's loosening you up.

You asked about the whole noses thing. I knew it was a great ice breaker, it always is.

Well I mean, it's not like a fetish or anything. I've done some research and all I can find about nose fetishists is they tend to like big noses. I just like how they look on people, or how they'd look better on others than on their respective owners.

You're not drunk enough to take this seriously. You see me taking a sip from my rum and you stare down at yours. It's easy to drink, but you want to keep control. You want to wait a little bit.

Not much left, anyway

There's just a sip or two left, but it's strong. You still have the tart taste lingering in your tongue. You're thinking too much, you've just felt my hand on your back. You're pretty jumpy and you scared me off, but I've got your attention now.

Are you alright?

You're wondering whether or not you should answer. You just nod your head. You don't remember why you didn't speak, you had a perfectly logical reason. Probably.

Okay, good. So it's all about the shape. An elf nose is mostly suitable for people of fairer skin, darker skinned people have a wider variety of noses to suit them, you could say they're luckier. But you know, it's about the same amount of luck since how good a nose looks on you depends on your facial features too. You've got a pretty alright nose, by the way. Don't feel self-conscious.

You're really having this conversation. Were you supposed to? Is that why you came? That rum tastes good, it doesn't even taste like rum. Who talks so much about noses anyway? The music sounds better after a few sips.

So the first girl I ever had  a chance with was pretty. Her nose was really round, it matched well with her hazel eyes-- hey are you gonna drink the rest of that?

You look back down at your drink. There's just a sip left now, you might as well. You lift the glass to your lips and tilt your neck back. Then I order you another.

You remember taking that next sip. You laughed at something, you don't remember what but you fell off your chair, you were crying. You're outside, the moon is out and it's shining, it's beautiful. You're walking on the sand now, your body stings. Now you're in an ambulance. Everything is dark. You open your eyes.

Where are you?

It's warmer than you're used to, but the breeze chills. The sun is rising. You don't know how you got to where you are, but you're alone. You focus hard, but the last thing you remember is the flashlight from the medic at the ambulance.

What happened?