metaphor is a metaphor for climate change

this story does not contain any metaphors. in fact, metaphors do not exist at all. this story is literally not even a story. it is the world. a man is in the world. he has a perfectly symmetrical face. he has good posture. the man is stone phillips. he is not jim stossel. gimme a break, jim stossel does not even exist. jim stossel is a metaphor for stone phillips. the man in the world who is stone phillips is doing an in-depth news story about climate change, which by the way is a metaphor for metaphors. it does not exist.

stone phillips is not actually a journalist. he works with journalists. the journalists do not have symmetrical faces. they do not have suitable hair. the journalists gather the details. they write words and line them up in formation. stone phillips reads the words and people hear the words. people believe the words because stone phillips has a symmetrical face.

the words are about climate change. this year it was really hot somewhere. and it was colder than usual. there was a storm. people are concerned. is stone phillips getting old? is he becoming more distinguished or is he ugly now. the people think stone phillips is ugly now. they do not believe the words that stone phillips tells them via their televisions. televisions are a metaphor for the internet. the internet does not exist.

people eat their dinner. they go to work. they talk about stone phillips. he's getting old they say. therefore climate change does not exist. they do not realize that not existing is a metaphor for existing. stone phillips does not have a symmetrical face. his face is a metaphor for jim stossel's moustache.

i kill spiders for you

a lot of things are happening. it's chaos. it's a dream. there are waves. it's serene. you love me. but you don't like anything i do. the poetry. i kill spiders for you (i'm scared of spiders, too). the bees in my balls are buzzing. making semen in their hive. they're glad to be alive. they are prepared to die. for you. they won't get the chance, for there's no time to dance. no pants, no slacks. no chance to relax. you bought me a shirt. no chemistry. we have history. psychology and physics. what is this? we are heavy. we are moving. after the things that are happening have run their course. we will remain. together. mass times acceleration = force. 

the germans have robots

i don't feel like doing anything. my throat is sore. i'm upside down on the couch. i'm eating icecream.

but the germans have robots.

i need to stand up. i need to walk over there. i need to alert the taskforce.

the germans have robots.

i need to solve the equation. i must return to the modeling room. i've tried to solve the equation. it is a difficult equation to solve. but before now i did not know.

the germans have robots.

it's too much pressure. i'm watching tv. i want to stay in tonight. i want to watch tv. i want to enjoy my icecream.

but the germans have robots.

the reconnaissance team has completed their mission. they got inside. they took pictures. they were undetected. and now we know for an absolute fact.

the germans have robots.

i'm wearing my loungederwear. i'm settled in for the evening. i don't feel well. i want to call in sick.

but the germans have robots.

how dare they. those stupid people. can't follow a simple michael douglas movie but somehow, all of a sudden.

the germans have robots.

i cannot stand them. i will not stand for them. i will stay right here on the couch and eat my icecream and watch my tv. i just don't feel like doing anything.

let the germans have their robots.

four girls

four girls are in the park. young girls. they scream. and giggle. it's fun. then three of the girls run away from the other one. i am the other girl. it isn't fun anymore. the three girls who run away are shouting things. mean things. they are being mean to me and i am going to cry. i'm crying. the three girls are laughing and still shouting. the things they are saying are not true. i don't understand what's happening. i don't like it. i am feeling very terrible. i'm chasing them now. they are running away from me and i am chasing them. i don't want them to leave me behind. but i don't want to catch them either. what if i catch them? why are they doing this?

now i am climbing a tree. i'm going to climb to the top of the tree. they will look at me and i will fall out of the tree. i will land on my head. if i die they will feel very terrible for being mean to me. if i don't die i will tell my dad that they pushed me. it will be a lie. they will get into trouble for pushing me out of the tree. they shouldn't have been mean to me.

i am at the top of the tree. i can see the three girls. now two of them are running away from the other one. they are shouting at her and saying mean things. the same kind of mean things they said about me. the other girl  is coming over to my tree. she is climbing it. she is crying. we sit on a branch together and we don't say anything. i won't fall out of the tree. i will sit here with the other girl. i will say something to her. we will be friends.

there are still four girls in the park. but they are not running anymore. they are not screaming. they are not giggling. two of them are in a tree. the other two wander aimlessly across the grass.

mr. belding got fat

i guess it was the 20th anniversary of saved by the bell or something and i was reading an article in a magazine and probably half of the article was all about how mr. belding got fat. i laughed because i suppose getting fat is funny on a certain level but then i thought about how it's also kind of mean to ridicule somebody for getting fat.

it bothered me.

so i mentioned it to cleo because she used to watch saved by the bell and also she's pretty fat. she said "eh, the writer is just a cunt and cunts always be cunting."

"that's true. cunts do always be cunting," i agreed. "but i'm not a cunt and i laughed when i read it."

she laughed and said that actually i am a cunt. "maybe a douchebag," i said to cleo, "but i am not a cunt."

"a douchebag deluxe," she countered, "with cuntish tendencies."

"bullshit," i said. "whatever. at least i'm not fat."

the article also implied that mario lopez is as awesome as he seems.

he climbs through windows

the boy has obsessive compulsive disorder. the obsessive compulsive disorder compels the boy to climb through open windows. the boy firmly believes that if he does not climb through open windows then tv shows that he likes will be prematurely canceled. tv is important to the boy. he tries not to leave the house too much because there are a lot of open windows out there.

his doctors and his parents and his friends tell the boy that the fates of his favourite tv shows do not depend upon him climbing through open windows. the last time the boy did not climb through an open window, however, terminator: the sarah connor chronicles was canceled. the time before that journeyman came to an end. the boy is convinced.

the compulsion to climb through open windows is not a safe manifestation of the disorder to have. it comes with many side effects:

1. falling out of windows that are hard to climb into
2. breaking bones after falling out of windows that are hard to climb into
   
3. stumbling into awkward situations such as 15 year old girls sitting on the toilet with blood stained underpants around their ankles
4. being arrested
5. being late for appointments
   

it can be exciting at times. the boy enjoys discovering and exploring new places. recently he has begun bringing a camera and has developed an affinity for photographing people with surprised looks on their faces.

overall it is not a positive situation, however. he lacks control. he does not enjoy putting people in the tv industry out of work. he would like to overcome his obsessive compulsive disorder. he tells himself that he will not climb in any more open windows. he tells himself that his favourite tv shows will remain on the air.

but then a man parks his car across the street. the man leaves the driver's side window open. it is a hot day. the boy sees the car. he tries to turn away. but the boy cannot resist the allure of the open window. he walks across the street. he will take a look at the window, the boy tells himself, and then move along. but the attraction of the window is too strong. the boy finds himself sitting in the front seat of the car. the man who owns the car shouts something, then comes running. he has a mobile phone in his hands and he is dialing and shouting. the boy grabs his camera and snaps a picture of the man. the man is close now. he punches the boy in the face and drags him out of the window.

the boy lies on the footpath, bleeding. he can see an open window up high, on the second story of a house. there is a tree. but the man still stands above him, with his foot on the boy's chest. the boy wants to break the man's ankle and make a run for the tree. the boy hates himelf for wanting to hurt the man. he hates himself for being so weak. the boy cries. the man lets him go. but the obsessive compulsive disorder hangs on. its grip tightens. and the boy is already at the tree.

richie benaud is still alive

 
the story is about richie benaud. or really about how richie benaud is still alive. i worry, though, that richie benaud will die before the story is finished. not for his sake, because he has surely led a full and good life. but for the story's sake. a story about richie benaud being still alive hinges on the fact that richie benaud is actually still alive. his death would certainly kill the story.

the story describes richie benaud's face. how it has changed over the years. sunken in. how his eyes have evolved from tadpoles to frogs. eyes can be frogs, contends the story, and a recent photograph of richie benaud confirms the story's assertion. the photograph accompanies the story. what the photograph does not illustrate is how richie benaud's voice has remained steady. the same. perhaps because, as a young man, he already sounded old.

richie benaud is still alive, in the story, and hopefully in the world (for the sake of the story) as friends gather to watch the cricket. they reminisce about their childhood. they do impressions of richie benaud, commentating each other's actions. beer from the fridge, etc. They remember hot days, taking classic catches with a tennis ball as they leap into the swimming pool. They remember ducking their heads inside to check the score. They remember tv ads for kit kats and solar powered hot water systems. They remember richie benaud being alive, and they like that he still is. the way he holds the microphone, his football shaped head, the inflections that make his voice his. richie benaud is just a man. but the fact that he is still alive is comforting to them. i hope he doesn't die.

cabbage moth

a single ponytail at the back of her head. a gold chain with her name, still sweating even though she took a shower after the game. you're a cabbage moth, i said. not a butterfly and she asked me why. she didn't cry but i could tell she'd rather be a butterfly. your face is your face, it's beautiful, i replied. and you know the square root of pi. butterflies are plastic and stupid and they're all sluts who probably fucked that guy she works with that one time in orlando. she turned her back and grabbed her bag and i told her that mandy moore got married to bryan adams. it was ryan adams she said, and i fucked your brother. i walked behind her in silence, watching the ponytail jump. she high fived a friend and then turned back around again and i asked if she really fucked my brother because no way, i mean he'd probably do that shit, but. she pushed me in my body, playfully, and said no and i think she called me a stink bug but i fell backwards over a bench and i landed on my wrist. she asked me if i was alright and i said no i think i broke my wrist and she said she's not any kind of disgusting bug. i said i was sorry and that i really did think that i broke my wrist but actually i didn't because at the hospital they took an x-ray and said it was okay and she laughed pretty hard right in my face. just like a cabbage moth. that night we watched condorman on TV and then did it on the couch.

crispin (lover)

"i could do this all day" i said, basking in her glory.

"do what?" she said, "we're not doing anything."

"be with you."

"oh" she said, "but i've got class."

two guys

to the two guys with a bulldog and too much cologne, why are you so happy; why am i alone? walking and touching and talking on the phone. high fiving, thriving. more than just surviving; why am i alone? smiling, eating, sucking the marrow from the bone; i will die alone.

hail bus

he drives along the bus route and picks people up. he takes them where they want to go and he doesn't rape them. he offers them chocolate. it is cheap chocolate but most people enjoy it all the same. he engages the riders in conversation. sometimes they don't want to talk so he switches the radio on. he gestures at the radio and offers to switch the station. he lends people umbrellas when it is raining. i sit at the bus stop and watch other people get into his car. they tell me how nice he is. they encourage me to accept the ride. i wait for the bus.

she is

she is (something)
without me

she is not (anything)
with me

i am selfish. also she wears tube socks and short shorts even when she is not rollerskating. i'm not giving that shit up.

her dad

she shows me a polaroid photograph from when she was a girl. it's cracked and her dad is in it. she does not look happy. her mum is in the background. unintentionally a part of it. holding a spoon and looking off to the side. why did you show me this, i ask. there's something i need to tell you, she says.

a metaphor for breastfeeding/breastfeeding as a metaphor

he dates anorexic girls. not because they're skinny, but because they don't get their periods anymore. they don't bleed on his penis. they don't taste like rusty coat hangers. these girls, the ones who do not get their periods anymore, are sometimes cunts. not bleeding cunts, just cunts. being hungry all the time makes them mean. and some of them pass out at inconvenient times. "in the middle of it" or at the movies. people worry about these anorexic girls. he tells the people that it is okay. the girls are just sleeping. he tunes out when they are being very cunty or he calls them fat and they go away. he likes the peach fuzz that covers their bodies and their faces. he smooths it down.

his friend does not date anorexic girls. he likes tall girls or short girls. his opening line is "do you want to give me a haircut?" a lot of girls do want to give him a haircut. he is nice to the girls who give him a haircut.

these two boys, they have a friend who is a girl. she is the perfect girl. they don't want to fuck her. they like her. the three of them are friends. the girl, she likes boys who play music. she likes boys who play the violin. she wears a t-shirt that says "i like the way you fiddle." at the university she studies the mathemathical method known as Free Induction Decay Deconvolution for Lineshape Enhancement in nmr data processing because she likes the acronym.

something happens and the group go their separate ways. down the line somewhere they all meet in a coffee shop and catchup.

the boy who dated anorexic girls is fat now. he is married to a nurse and he is happy. he has kids. one of his kids is a girl and he worries about her.

the boy who had hair, the boy who offered his hair to the girls, that boy is a lawyer now. he is divorced but his ex-wife still cuts his hair. he is dating again. he still likes short girls or tall girls. he bought a kindle.

the girl, the perfect girl, she taught herself how to play guitar. she has a job but the two boys don't really understand it. it has something to do with mathematics and she likes it. she is married to a guy with a moustache. he does not play the violin and the three of them laugh about it.

she liked something

she liked something and he wondered how she could like it. he didn't like it. he didn't like that she liked it. how could she like it? it bothered him. he didn't like being bothered. he didn't like being bothered by her. he asked her about it. she said that she likes to like things and that was it. she was flippant about it. he didn't like that she was flippant about it. he told her that he didn't like that she was flippant about it. she told him to fuck off. she doesn't like him any more. he doesn't like that she doesn't like him any more. he tried to tell her that he doesn't like it that she doesn't like him any more but she would not answer his calls.

she likes french guys

they were talking in bed and he said something about tennis skirts and she said she always wanted to do it with a french guy. the next time they made love he shouted out "i'm french, i'm french" when he came. she thought it was funny but it did not turn her on.

Parlez-vous français? (Do you play guitar?)

there were two french girls and they were sisters and they were ugly all over the outside of their bodies. sideways faces, upside down knees, inverted nipples. busted nose. hammer toes. but inside in their brains and in their hearts and in their whole la façon d'est they were wicked fucking sexy.


i didn't know them. i saw a poster on campus and it said "parlez-vous français?" and it was stapled half on top of another poster but i didn't realize it was two separate posters and the other poster had a picture of a guy playing guitar and i always wanted to play guitar and i was with melvin so i said hey melvin what does "parlez-vous français?" mean and he said "do you play guitar?" and i said no. not yet.


the poster had a meeting room and a time on it so i figured what the hell and i bought a guitar off some kid in my dorm and i showed up at the time and the place and there they were. etienne and philippine. they were very ugly. a bunch of other folkers were there too. mingling around and eating cheese and speaking french and i didn't speak french and so obviously i was in the wrong place. but then etienne pointed at me and said something in french and everybody stopped what they were doing and made some kind of weird "yay" sound and then they all started clapping like i was somebody who was about to do something that they were expecting to enjoy.


so i walked up to the front of the room and stood there with my guitar around my neck and i sang enter sandman by metallica. it sounded kind of weird because i didn't play the guitar at all but they thought it was great. afterwards phillipine came up to me and i remember thinking how ugly she was and she said oh i thought you were going to play some french songs and i said well i only know frère jacques and she said oh ok and gave me twenty bucks. then another guy came in with a guitar and i ran away.


next time i saw etienne and philippine they were playing ultimate frisbee on the quad and i was drinking a coke and etienne stopped me and asked if she could have some and i usually don't like to share too much and especially don't like it when the person looks like they will probably leave their drippy spit all over everything and she definitely looked like that type on account of how ugly and drooly her mouth was. but there's something about etienne, no matter how ugly she is all over the outside of her body, she's the type of girl that you want to do things for. and to. oh god that probably sounds disgusting because she's so ugly but i'm telling you, i've never wanted to crawl all up inside a girl's vagina as badly as i wanted to crawl all up inside etienne's vagina. except maybe philippine's.


i never did though. neither/nor. but somehow i wound up in their circle of friends. they started teaching me french and in the summer a group of us went to paris for study abroad. it was fucking insensé in the membrensé. they took me to parties and i met a girl and we did it in the bathroom of the musée du louvre okay it wasn't the louvre and we didn't actually do it but we kissed in a museum and it was nice. and the girl, her name is natalie, she was a singer but not just a singer because she had a record deal and she taught me how to play guitar and she wrote a song about me and i married her.


then just this past week, natalie and i were back in paris because we live in the states but we spend a month in paris every year in the summer time, and we were eating crepes and then we saw etienne and philippine strolling right down the street in front of us. just as ugly as ever. we said hello and they remembered us and we all got drunk and they came up to our room and i sang enter sandman for them and this time i played the guitar parts, too. it was the best night of my life.

and i liked it

i found a cigarette and i smoked it. i kinda liked it. i'm glad i tried it. so i bought a pack and i smoked it. i didn't hide it. until i met a girl who would not abide it. she said if i smoked i couldn't ride it. so i said i quit then i smoked (a little bit) and when she asked i denied it. she opened up my mouth and smelled inside it. and that's a bit weird right? i mean she put her nose all up inside my mouth hole and i wanted real bad to just bight down on her nose but then i was all what if i bight her nose off, the blood would probably get all over my t-shirt and how would we explain it all in the emergency room. too much drama so i just said orble whorble like i was choking and then finally she took her snot garage out of my mouth and said something like smells like smoke down there. yeah well that's because i'm too legit to quit although i didn't actually say that i think i just said something like yeah, sorry and then she said she was serious because her father died of lung cancer or actually it was her uncle i guess but either way she said she hated cigarettes and so i said okay i really will quit. and i did but then things happened and by things i mean she did it with her tutor at the university and i was all oh come on i quit cigarettes for you and she was all yeah well you should have quit anyway and now it's been 19 years that i haven't had a cigarette and i didn't die of lung cancer and now actually i think people who smoke are kind of lame. like that guy outside the restaurant and he was just smoking right there and i said douchebag but to my friend not right to his face but he heard it because i did say it kind of loudly and then he punched me right in the guts. that's fair enough i guess. he probably likes it.

next wednesday

sometimes you have to write a story that is good or that isn't good just to get an idea out of your head. to stop it from infesting your brain. like the idea about a boy and a girl. the boy says i'm going to fuck you into next wednesday and the girl is all do you mean tomorrow or the following wednesday and the boy says well, tomorrow i guess because we're going to visit my mum on saturday and i probably shouldn't be fucking you all up in her house. and the girl rolls her eyes and the boy says what, come on, she's okay with you now, she likes you, i just think it would be disrespectful and the girl says yeah i'm calling bullshit on that because your mum hates me, i heard her telling your sister that i'm a scabby girl and i don't even know what a scabby girl is but i don't like the sound of it.

a scabby girl is a girl who has no class says the boy. just because i hold my fork in the wrong hand or whatever doesn't mean i have no class the girl says and plus your mum doesn't think i'm nice enough to you but i am. you should tell her how nice i am. like sometimes when we fuck i'm not that into it but i keep it going so that you can still have a good time and feel like you are man enough to satisfy me. you should tell her that.

what? says the boy. that's crap because you do like it otherwise why would you scream and that neighbour guy told me he can hear you sometimes when he's trying to watch the gossip show on tv. i know i do like it the girl says. it's just that, sometimes ... sometimes i wish your mother wouldn't be such a cunt all the time.

look, says the boy, that's my mum and i kind of wish you wouldn't call her a cunt because i hate being in the middle of it all. you should stand up for me sometimes says the girl. you should just talk to her yourself says the boy. she's really okay when you get to know her, when you figure out how she operates.

whatever says the girl, are you still going to fuck me into tomorrow? maybe just into about 11pm says the boy. i want to hit the gym in the morning.

At the Movies

(click the links, okay)

Girly Boy

Back to the Eighties

What the Critics are Saying
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#1 Recommend

“Would be better if there was not alot of drug addiction and confusion.”

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#2 Pass

“I thought this film was hilarious, and starkly original. The only thing keeping me from recommending it is that it crosses the line of decorum (makes 'Something About Mary's' hair/semen scene look like a church sermon). “

“The writer had a great concept and has a wonderful comic touch. Extreme potential here, but it would never reach Hollywood in it's present form.”

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#3 Pass

“This script was by far, the most hilarious one I have read yet.”

“There are so many other parts of the script that I laughed so hard, I had tears in my eyes, but I would be hard pressed for space to list them all.”

“Although, I laughed hysterically at times, while reading, I feel that this type of movie would not appeal to the general public. This is the most original script I have read yet, and I applaud you on the effort you gave to it.”

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#4 Pass

“Wow. Where to begin? This script is disturbing on many levels. Don't we, as a society, usually try to stay away from naked teenage sex scenes in movies? I thought the scene with Vagina and "Juicy Lucy" was disgusting. And does the author honestly think anyone's going to make a movie where the main character's name is "Vagina?"”

“The sad part is, this script is really funny in some places, and downright hilarious at times.

The script makes a great statement about being yourself and making people accept you for who you are.”

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#5 Pass

“I could not believe that someone who is obviously talented with writing would spend time writing this film and then submitting it. The author can write, but his story was so incredibly crude, disgusting and unrealistic that I really felt like my time was wasted reading it.”

“The name alone is ridiculous. No lead of any movie would be named Vagina. Virginia accidentially spelled? Not even remotely funny.”

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#6 Recommend

“A funny, ironic, mataphorical observation of life.”

“Probably the funniest thing i have read or 'seen' in a really long time.

You are brilliant!”

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#7 Pass

“A disgusting sexual comedy.”

“It's just gross.”

“This was very imaginative. It was like nothing i've ever read before. Very sick and twisted.”

“It's too bad that you spent all your time on such a nasty story. You have a unique imagination you should use it to produce a quality script.”

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#8 Recommend

“This is, by far, the best script I've read so far... ATTN: Greenlight: this script should be one of your finalists... It might be a little controversial, but it is brilliant!!!”

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#9 Pass

“He's befriended by two wierd twin girls (everyone's wierd by the way)”

“What is this story about? It's the most ridiculous thing I ever read -- I really had to force myself to get through it. A for Originality though, but it's pretty sick also.”

“Please don't force me to read another like this one. I'll do anything, please!”