Thursday, June 30, 2011

One Hour Before You Die

Nono is a model of sorts. A model of socks. Her ankles are slender, not bony; athletic. Her feet wear the socks well: high arches, long toes, slightly narrow body. Nono is charismatic. She is busy and she is popular.

You is a photographer of sorts. A photographer of hands, of feet. He brings a unique aesthetic to his art; the angles, the juxtapositions, the light. He is not happy in his work or in his life, although it does not show in his body or in his manner. In fact, You is known by his friends and colleagues as Mr. Sunshine. You is a professional. He is busy and he is in love with Nono.

"I will take a photo of you," he says to Nono. "One hour before you die."

"I may well die today," says Nono. "Have you a decent camera in your trunk?"

"A new one," says You. "It is a half frame with automatic film advance. And it is very small. It hasn't left my person since it arrived."

You pulls the camera from the inside pocket of his coat. Nono thinks maybe it is a handheld movie camera. It appears to have a telephone dial attached to the front.

"It looks like a miniature time machine," she says.

"It's a Canon Dial 35," says You. My other cameras cannot keep up.

Nono kneels upon a zabuton. She snorts a line of cocaine from a hand mirror that rests on a table in front of her.

"This is Japan," she says. "This is 1964."

"This is Manhattan," You replies as he snaps pictures of Nono. "And these years of yours, they are days for me."

"I cannot sleep," says Nono, unaware that there is now blood smeared across the back of her hand and underneath her nose. "What time is it?"

"You are outside of time," says You.

"I am struggling to understand you," says Nono. "I am very high right now. I have a shoot. My car will be here at 4pm. It is written on my palm."

"You still have 59 minutes left," says You, as he lays his Canon Dial 35 down beside an empty bottle of whiskey. "We should make love."   

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Tomorrow is a Love Song

"I'm right now," Mason says to his girlfriend Joey (although he calls her Lawrence on account of she says "Whoa!" a lot).

"Right now you're being a dick," Joey says. "A limp dick with scabs on it. And gross balls."

"Hey, this is me, you know, this is Mason. This is who Mason is. Mr. Right Fucking Now!"

"You're not listening to me," says Joey, looking down at a recently uncrumpled piece of paper.

"Come on, not the list again," says Mason. "If you want to cram bullet points down my earholes why don't you just load up your daddy's gun and blast me dead right here in the Pizza Hut."

"If I thought it would get you to listen I would, trust me. Look, I know you've heard all of these points a hundred and one million times but I'm going to keep reading them to you until they sink in. This is important stuff Mason, excuse me, Mr. Right Fucking Now. This isn't just about you, this is about us."

"Here, let me save you some time," says Mason. "I can summarize that whole sheet of paper into five key action points:

  1. Mason needs to stop getting drunk all of the god damned time and vomiting on carpeted areas of the apartment and people
  2. Mason needs to clean up his vomit within a reasonable time frame of vomiting because by morning the stench is unbearable and the carpet has been ruined
  3. Mason needs to buy Lawrence some flowers once in a while and take her out to a nice restaurant and wear cologne but not Old Spice and seduce her instead of just mashing her tits around whenever he's horny
  4. Mason needs to stop calling Lawrence's friends cunts because if he actually had a conversation with them he would realize they are really smart and funny and cool
  5. Mason needs to completely change his personality to suit the whims of his dumb girlfriend who doesn't understand that he is always, and has always been, right now"

"Whoah!" says Joey.

"You know what Lawrence?" says Mason. "Tomorrow is a love song. And you're buying into that B.S. We, us, you and me, we are right here, inside of today. There is no tomorrow and I will never change for you."

"Whoah!" says Joey again.

"Right now," says Mason.

"That's bullshit," says Joey. "No tomorrow just means no consequences."

"No. No tomorrow means accepting and living what is now."

"Well accept and live this buddy," says Joey as she shoves a slice of pizza down Mason's pants.

"You know, you're not perfect either," says Mason as he fishes the pizza out and eats it.

Joey balls up her piece of paper and shoves it down Mason's throat.

"Eat shit," she says. "I'm going to stay at my folks' place tonight. And when I come back to the apartment tomorrow I want you to be gone."

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Grown Man Holding a Teddy Bear

There's a painting of a grown man holding a teddy bear. It's hanging in Trevor's local gallery.

"How is this art?" he asks his wife Sophie. "Some dumb asshole has just painted a picture of a grown man holding a teddy bear and some other dumb asshole has declared that it's art. It's bullshit. Oh, nine hundred dollar bullshit by the way."

"Look at his eyes," Sophie says. "Something has happened. In his life I mean. He's sad. And lonely. And angry. God, look at his face. He's angry."

"I'm fucking angry," says Trevor. "Some dick faced dickhead is going to make nine hundred dollars from that. Do you know how many hours I have to work to make nine hundred dollars?"

"About fifteen I guess."

"Yeah, well. It probably took him about five minutes to paint that shit," says Trevor.

"It's haunting. I think his wife has left him and she's taken the kids. Or they're dead. Look at his fists. His hair. Jesus, this is really affecting me."

"Yeah, it's affecting me too," says Trevor. "Makes me want to stab some bullshit artist in the face with a hammer."

Sophie is silent for a few moments. Her eyes are fixed on the painting. She's crying now.

"Here we go," says Trevor.

Sophie turns to her husband. Her hands are shaking.

"I know about her," she says. Her voice is not strong.

"Nothing's going on," says Trevor. "I swear to god."

"I'm not talking about that skank slut Julie, Trevor. I'm talking about the woman in that painting."

"All I see up there is a grown assed man and a teddy bear. Not a woman in sight."

"That's our daughter's teddy bear," Sophie says.

"Our daughter's what?"

"I'm leaving," Sophie says.

"Hold up," says Trevor. "Let me grab my coat."

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

"We Didn't Start the Fire" by Billy Joel

Billy has called the Quilton customer support hotline. He has called this number before and he knows that you can circumnavigate the interactive voice response system by pressing "0".

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Good morning, may I have your first name please?

Billy: Billy Joel

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Thank you Mr. Joel, My name is Veronica. I notice that you gave me your last name in addition to your first name. Would you prefer that I call you Mr. Joel.

Billy: I'm not sure, Billy is kind of childish I suppose, but it may feel more like I am talking to a friend if you call me Billy. But Mr. Joel probably commands more respect. Can you please hold on a moment.

A moment passes.

Billy: I'm back. You can call me Billy.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Thank you Billy. Can I have a contact number just in case we are disconnected during our call?

Billy: Yes. 0488-029-967

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Thank you Billy. May I ask why you are calling today?

Billy: It's regarding your Quilton Gold brand toilet paper.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: So just to confirm, you have a concern relating to the Gold line of toilet tissue.

Billy: Toilet paper.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Yes, here at Quilton we refer to our products as toilet tissue. Our research shows that people, especially those within our key demographic, have a negative association with toilet paper. They tend to find it boorish or uncouth. Vulgar even.

Billy: It is what it is. Can I ask what your key demographic is?

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: I am not permitted to be too specific but I will say that our products tend to appeal to the highly successful career woman.

Billy: I don't know how I feel about that. Is there some kind of user group? I feel like I would like to associate with some highly successful career women.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: There is a guest book on our web site at You can read other people's comments and add some of your own. It is moderated.

Billy: I'm not sure if that is really what I had in mind. I'll check it out though.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: So Billy, what can I do for you today?

Billy: Prior to purchasing the Quilton Gold toilet paper...

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Tissue

Billy: ... yes. I did a lot of research. I like to make informed decisions when making large purchases.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Do you consider toilet tissue to be a major purchase?

Billy: Yes. I buy a lot of toilet paper at one time.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Well, I like a man who knows his toilet tissue Billy.

Billy: Yes, well I read up on it on the Internet, chat rooms, message boards, etc and in Choice magazine and I looked at the information on the packaging and on each company's web site and I did a touch and smell test at the Supermarket and it was quite clear that Quilton Gold was the one for me.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: What did you like most about the Gold line?

Billy: It is everything a toilet paper should be really. Soft, smooth, durable. And the fragrance is appealing but not overpowering in any way.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: So it sounds like you have found the right toilet tissue for you Billy. What's worrying you about this purchase?

Billy: As soon as I started using the Quilton Gold I experienced a small amount of chafing. I applied various creams and balms and salves but over the weeks it has deteriorated to the point where it is very uncomfortable. I can't wear pants. I can't not wear pants. I can't walk or sit or sleep. It is really ruining my life.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: That sounds like a real problem Billy and I will do everything I can to resolve this for you today. Just to make sure I am hearing you correctly, are you saying that you believe the Gold line is causing your bottom to chafe?

Billy: Yes. There is chafing right around my anus and it spreads about a quarter of the way up each cheek. The skin is very irritated.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Are you rough with the tissue Billy?

Billy: Excuse me?

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: When you wipe, do you really dig in and scrub around? Do you apply a lot of pressure to the tissue and grind it all the way into your anus? 

Billy: No, not really. I try to be quite gentle but I do keep going until I get all of the gunk out.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Good, that sounds like you are an average wiper and I think we can rule out abrasive wiping technique as a cause of your problem.

Billy: It's quite red, too. And extremely itchy.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: I'm sure it is. You should try not to scratch, though. It will just make things worse. Have you introduced any other products to your buttock or anal areas in recent weeks? New brand of underpants, lubricating jelly, lotions, or anything similar?

Billy: No, not that I can think of. Oh, I did buy a new leather office chair for my computer.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Do you generally wear pants at your computer? Stop me if I am being too personal Billy.

Billy: Yes, I usually wear pants. Sometimes I, well I feel like my bum is always covered while I am sitting in the chair.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Are you allergic to anything Billy?

Billy: I am allergic to bee stings. My arms and legs swell up and I get itchy all over.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Can you hold for a moment Billy? I'm just going to check our allergen database.

Billy: Okay

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Okay, thanks for holding Billy. We might be onto something here. There is nothing officially documented by our product design or science divisions but it looks like there have been three or four isolated incidences that sound a lot like your chafed bottom. And it says here that all of them have reported bee allergies. It could be a reaction to the fragrance.

Billy: I'm not sure how to feel about that. I did a lot of research. My garage is full of Quilton Gold. I can't even park my car in there.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: What kind of car is it Billy? 

Billy: It's a Honda Odyssey. Minivan.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: That's a big car Billy. Do you have kids?

Billy: Oh, no. I just, you know. You can take the seats out and I buy in bulk a lot, so.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Oh yes, of course.Well Billy, you have been very patient on the phone with me today. I'm going to consult with my manager about our little situation here and we'll find you a Quilton line that does not cause your bottom to chafe.

Billy: I look like a monkey.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: I'm sure that's not true Billy. We'll find the right tissue for you and I'll make sure you get every single roll replaced. We won't be satisfied until your bottom has been returned to its former glory.

Billy: That's very sweet of you Veronica. You are the nicest customer service person I have ever spoken to. Are you married?

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: I'm not married Billy. 

Billy: Do you think maybe you'd like to grab a coffee sometime?

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Billy I might just remind you that this call may be recorded for training purposes. On a side note, as soon as your new shipment of toilet paper is authorised I will call you personally to arrange a delivery time.  

Billy: Yes, thank you Veronica.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: Okay Billy, it has been a pleasure talking with you today. Have I resolved the issue to your complete satisfaction?

Billy: Yes, thank you.

Quilton Customer Resolution Specialist: That's good to hear. Have a great morning Billy. I'll be speaking to you soon.

Billy: Good bye.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Nothing's Easy

Elliot Gould's wife died died died did Judge Reinhold have a brother god rest her soul. The doctors the connectors there are connectors in my my what a brain you have that can not not not function keyboard keycard kitty kitty kitty kitty correcters. I am so lone lone the money to be alone forevery bodies there is blood inside things the things the fur my thoughts are back in side in my thinking finking fingers are bleeding and your terrible lick lick purr personality disorderly conductor. Cat a cat a tonic is sick a stick a knife a life is nothing is easy bake a baker on the highway in the microwave oven on without any fire your gun at me headcase briefly briefcase. Organise your papers news papers electrical fires with my life is in trouble and nobody no body can listen to list them how the things to order you can list them but it's not a pen is a penis a knife it is not right to write to left your life without a love a love the love of a left me when I was nine. I mine I might I have killed Elliot Gould is your cat my brother don't judge me please oh please are asking as king to list them with a pen and I cannot listen to the blood is on my shirt and I can yell a yell a yellow is the word the words a colour to stop the red they said to think of yellow and yellow and yellow and yellow it is yellow it is yellow it is working now I can what have I done.

Friday, June 10, 2011


I am not a vegan on account of:

  • I like to eat meat 
  • I am a terrible person
However, I have noticed that a lot of the people in my intersphere practice veganism. This post is for them. I am not trying to mock them. I am trying to support them and make them feel good about their life decisions. 

I am handing them a cup of water at mile thirteen and hugging them as they collapse across the finish line. 

So in honor of the vegans, here are my veganisms. Please feel free to enjoy them and share them amongst yourselves.

Thursday, June 09, 2011

If You Live in an Apartment You are Going to Die

He can see all of her teeth when she laughs. It's disgusting. Her name is Natalie and she is his girlfriend. He wonders if she is a monster. 

He is not a perfect man, of course. His name is Craig and in his life he has fingered a goat. He has just now confessed this shame to Natalie and her response is laughter -- loud, uncontrollable laughter.

Craig's acknowledgement of wrongdoing has taken place in the shower. And now, all of a sudden, he feels vulnerable. He is not comfortable with his body and he strongly believes he is about to be swallowed whole by Natalie's ugly and gigantic fish mouth.

He has lost control of the situation and his bowels.

"You are a beast," he blurts out. "A cunt-mouthed cartilaginous rabbitfish."

Natalie doubles over in pain from all the laughing.

"You've shit yourself," she says, as soon as her voice can crack through her oxygen starved throat and mouth.

Craig's water-thinned faeces now seep between the tiles on the floor of the shower, inching slowly toward the drain. The surface has become slippery and both Craig and Natalie collapse in a heap of wet people.

Craig's leg is twisted under Natalie's torso and the bone has snapped in two places. His screams waft and twist high above the shower as they are sucked into the fan like an upside down tornado. Natalie's laughter continues to pour down upon Craig's now broken body and person. 

Later that weekend, after the clean-up, after the hospital, Craig and Natalie attend an open house. Craig wears beige corduroy jeans and a well-fitted shirt. Natalie has cut the leg of his pants open so as to fit the cast. She wears a flowered summer dress. 

"You look good in yellow," Craig says to Natalie.

"This is the house we will buy and live in," says Natalie. "We will have children and be happy here."

Craig feels warm and with a chuckle he says "let's check out the shower first."

Natalie laughs once more, but this time Craig can only see a reasonable amount of teeth. Her mouth is beautiful and he wonders if she is an angel.
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