Liquid Laughter


A San Francisco socialite caught in the rain dubiously grinned and threw her crimson coat to the left leaning winds. She laughed and held her palms to the sky, and the little dust centered droplets struck her golden locks as innumerable acts of eternal defiance.  She kicked up her spirits and dug her heels into a nearby bar to partake in even more spirits.  With friends around, she laughed and cried so hard that her muscles ached for days.  A whiskey and pepper is also she asked for and the handsome bartender was always more than happy to oblige.  It was a night to remember.

The bay glistened in with the reflection of the moon and the rain hardened and ebbed like the lunar tides—always contracting and blissfully reacting to its carnal urges.  The red-heeled woman followed suit and fell backwards into a waiting pool only conceived by a deity awaiting her fall.  She collapsed into the still sea.  Flashes of red emanated from her.  She glowed.  The onlookers watched a moment nestled within another moment—all in slow motion.  The VCR hit play as she bobbed back and everyone cheered at her laughter, held a beer in salute, and dived into the infinity with her.  It was evening destined to be heavenly and on a level only imagined by prophetic poets.  They scribble away trying to capture a scene that could only be captured by the human experience.  No amount of skill or technology could replicate the night that began in rain and ended in liquid laughter.

The Elephant Killer


"Awakening" by Cedar Lee

I looked to the right—and, then I looked to the left.

“Nothing there,” I whispered to Ollie the stuffed elephant.

He wore attire akin to Babar, but I christened him Ollie after watching Orlando slay an Oliphant in “Lord of the Rings.”  I crept out from behind my bed.  I had pushed it away from the wall—leaving just a large enough gap for me to slither behind–with Ollie in hand.

“Ssshhhh, Ollie it’s ok.  It’s almost over.”

Mommy and daddy were fighting in the living room, and it was making Ollie upset.  I could hear daddy cursing.  He was saying words I had never heard before, but I could barely hear them over mommy’s crying.  I was brave, so I didn’t cry, but Ollie was scared and he wouldn’t stop.

“Ssshhhh,” I said again.

He stopped fussing for a bit, but I could still hear him whimpering.  I heard a loud crash from the kitchen and suddenly mommy stopped crying.  Everything was silent—even Ollie stopped.  I scuttled under my bed and hid.  The door slowly opened and the light from beneath the door spread throughout my room.  I cupped my hands over Ollie’s mouth to keep him quiet.

“Bud…where you at?” my father said softly, “I know you’re here.”

This time I was scared.  I slid further beneath the frame of my bed.  The last time he talked like that I got hurt and now everything’s fuzzy if I think too hard and I don’t remember things too well anymore.  My closet door groaned open.

“Bud, you in there?”

My pajama pants snagged on a loose nail in the floorboard and ripped.  Normally the sound would have been minute, but with the tension in the room it sounded deafening.  I automatically clasped Ollie’s ears.  Suddenly my dad’s face appeared.

“There you are bud.”

He clumsily groped for me but he couldn’t see very well because of the blood on his face.  I kicked in him in the face—hard.  He groaned like the closet door and then cursed again.

“You little bastard.  Get the fuck over here before I break your fucking legs.”

I screamed and lunged for the other side of the bed.  I scuttled out like a crab, but scraped my back on the metal frame.  I screamed again.  I start running for the door with Ollie in hand.  I made it out the door and stumbled into the living room.  I looked over my shoulder and saw pure hatred.  I tripped over mommy and fell into the kitchen.  He smiled.

I flipped over and said, “Sorry Ollie,” and swung him out in front of me.

The little buttons on his vest raked across daddy’s face and he stumbled over mommy just like I had.  At that same moment there was a loud ‘BOOM!’ and the dishes shook.  Suddenly daddy’s chest started to turn red and he slumped to his knees and fell beside mommy.

I started crying.  I couldn’t find Ollie.  And, then everything turned black.

When I awoke all I could hear were people murmuring and the soft tone of a television.  I was in an all white bed.  My vision was blurry, but I sat up and began frantically searching.

“Ollie…where’s Ollie!?”

And, then a nice man in a uniform handed me something soft.

“Ollie!” I squealed with glee.

“He was a bit of a mess, but we cleaned him up real nice for you,” said the nice man.

Everybody in the room was staring at us.

“Thank you—,“ I began to stammer out,  “—but, where’s mommy.”

“She’s alright,” said the nurse that I hadn’t even noticed, “she’s in the next room.  She just had a little bump on her head.  Officer Ackles here made sure to take care of her while you were asleep.”

“Thank you Mr. Ackles.”

“Just call me James, son”

“Okay,” I said, drawing out the ‘a’ as I clutched Ollie.

I don’t remember much after that.  I remember Ollie, I remember seeing the nice man again, and I remember seeing mommy, but everything was a haze as I fell in and out of sleep.

I was seventeen at the time.  I’m forty-nine now.  What I do remember is—is Ollie.  That was the night Ollie the elephant killed my father.

Runnin’


Like a mad Mrs. Dash I hit the pavement running.  King couldn’t catch this “Running Man”; not even with a pen and a stack of pages. I  scratched back like a Jimmy Dean skimmin’ across a record with a vibe and a slick groove.  Electric…wait for it…slide.  More curvy than a thick 8-track and more retro than a phonograph I hit the curb and skittered off to the tower of Titans.  I heard a chirp; I heard a flutter.

I thought to myself, “Is it a blue jay? A robin?  Nah.”

I pushed it from my thoughts and thought about the universe.  Lightning and thunder clapped and rained down around me as I sprinted to an unknown finish line.  I’d cross it and cross it again before even the next lighting flashed like a ’58 bulb caught in time.  The Flash wish he could run like me.  Speeding by cars and trucks I leapt tall buildings to show that the Super Man wasn’t the only one who had hops.  The sun winked and urged me on—I winked back and the moon raised an eyebrow.  My sneaks sparked and moaned, they caught fire and split, but I kept runnin’.  I hit Mach 5 like Ani on a Swoop.  The sands of Tatooine couldn’t hold a speedster like me.  I broke the chains of the Huts just to take my disappearing shackles back to Houdini as he plunged into the cold waters of the Green River.  Pop culture at its finest.  Keanu may have had a runaway bus, but Bullock took one for the team and hit the high seas for round two.

“Just crusin’,” I whispered to myself.

Even my breath caught wind and broke the sound barrier.  BOOM!  Even a whisper can shape the future.  A butterfly effect in full swing.  It dances with the past and serenades the present.  Chaos theory organized and then reshuffled just to be jumbled by the muttering of words that caught enough velocity to break sound. I smirked and lurched forward.  I took a tumble caught a rock and sled to a stop.  The Mojave was hot, but it was about to get hotter.  I took a runner’s stance and took a step forward.  Faster than the speed of light I rocketed from my position into the stratosphere.  I reached the stars and then the heavens in less then a millisecond.  There I found the den of dead Gods and again I smirked.

“Freewill it is.”

I fell.  I crashed through the troposphere and hit the tropics creating a mushroom cloud of rock and foliage as it after shocked my system to the current moment.  I took off again.  I had places to be and my thoughts were already there.  I needed to catch up.

Liquid Courage Makes Me Right Better


Preface:  In a semi-drunken stupor I decided to plop down and ‘write’.  Now, this can be a very bad combination and one that I have never truly tried before, but the result in my case was a piece that is oddly personal, radically different than my usual style, and very reminiscent of a strung out feline after reading the entirety of Hunter S. Thompson‘s work.  It doesn’t look so hot, he’s deeply philosophical, and your never quite sure where this cat ‘fits’ into it all.

Essentially I wrote a different part of this collection on four separate days, in four separate sittings, with four different brands of liquor.  They all intertwine and one reference usually leads to the other whether it be a pop culture reference or merely a play on words.  Hopefully you’ll enjoy this odd amalgamation of rants as much I did writing them.

Liquid Courage Makes Me Right Better

Suck that reality.  I just surreal lifed your ass, and you didn’t even bat an eye.  Stick that in it your eye like Wesley Snipes after eatin’ a rat burger.  Ever hear of Aldous?  Nah…only Hurley would ever stay fat when Lost.  Apparently he found plenty of burgers on the set till Weezer hit him up for a cover shoot.  Beverly Hills….please…isn’t that where the fuckin’ hillbillies come from, anyhow?  Why’d you want to hit that?  Fake hair, fake tits, fake smile…might as well be Sarah Palin’s hometown.  Fake all over, not worth a dime, and damn sure to either be eaten be a crazed badger contaminated by the oil soaked debt of an Alaskan publicity whore.

Speaking of which where’s that Lohan…trapped in the jaws of another outraged parent?  Cracked and strung out?  Teaching sisters how and what not to be?  What was it Uncle Ben said?  With great power, comes great responsibility.  I’m still confused whether he said that after or before he made his rice bowls, but either way Panda’s up late and he’s got Skinemax.  So sink your teeth into that blood sausage because those fangs ain’t going to retract them fuckin’ selves.  Again, back to tits, may not be fake but they’re still there to tantalize because who else would care besides a True Blood.  Sure beats a Crypt, because that Keeper is an old bastard…and trust me he was dirty.

Not quite as dirty as Pigpen, but damn would he give Charlie a run for his football.  I’d love to fuckin’ Spin this City half past two just to see two men run around lookin’ for the other half.  Speaking of a hard twist I just knocked the “A” outta that Honda bitch and now it’s hung up by a cord.  Still lookin’ better than my Protégé, but that sad bastard got cubed.  Couldn’t afford to raise it the forth, but boy did I try.  Like a bat outta hell I hit that brake like a pair of cubes hittin’ an avenged glass of Bacardi.  Once the sun fell behind those mountains that Friday the liquid courage was repurposed, rebuilt for a proverbial mind fuck.  To forget Sarah Marshall?  Nah, to forget the days’ events.  Who wants to remember, who wants to forget?

Here’s the quick:  those that know nothing…like a group of tea partyers?  To drunk, strung out, and hypocritical to realize that they’re a staggerin’ mob of stupidity all amassed to show the world that Americans are dumbasses.  They’re like a rave gone awry.  A 12-grain not worth the dollar bill used to harvest that crop.  New Zealand is looking more and more promising, but who the fuck wants to voyage to a land filled with Hobbits?  Pete better come out of that Warehouse soon because whose gonna save us now, Sully?  That blue monster sure looks like a certain cookie muncher to me, but who am I to judge?  Oh, wait like most other Americans I’ll take a moment to conserve intelligence and judge that muncher like they do.   Those that enjoy the drapes that match the carpet don’t clean just like a crazed Sheen because truthfully who wants to steam clean that bitch? Certainly not Bert, and certainly not Ernie, because when those two elope all New Yorkers will stand and shout.  That might get the stain out, but Johnson & Johnson might have a Danon Fit.

What’s that old saying?  When life hands you lemons, make lemonade?  Fuck that.  Hand ‘em back ask for limes…better yet squirt that shit in life’s eye, mug ‘em for oranges and make a screwdriver because if you don’t you’re going to get nailed.  Back to the gays…Michael J. Fox better chase that Delorean because once we hit the past we’re going to wish we went Back to the Future.

Ever chase that rabbit down the hole?  I did once and I ended up in snow covered field holding wilted roses asking for a slut that couldn’t give a shit.  Who lusts for a half-way houser?  One who cracks a crooked smile like a vulture defining “muffin top” to an Oxford scholar.  I more respect for a fucking clergymen with paddle. You bet his robes glisten with that off white hue that Ozzies out, “molester!,” because how else could he trick himself into being religious?  Like a doppelganger named Alice looking through the glass just pondering, waiting to mug that one sap that grabs the pamphlet from that tie-wearin’, bicycle ridin’ conversion machine.  Grouped, only to be bussed in n’ out of the residential.  With a chip on their shoulder, and a mission from God they eat up the ignorance like it were salsa.  But, just like a rotten watermelon the salsa’s fake and chunky like the cheese all in a sad, subversive effort to warn the normals that there is something a foot.

Full circle, I wore that white rabbit’s foot like a talisman to ward off evil.  Only Bruce Cambell and Stephen King could write in that chainsaw wieldin’ bastard and make it reach the pop culture warehouse.  Brian better be scribin’ because Peter’s escaped his Warehouse and needs his partner in crime.  Only the Greeks would beat that Griffin till he bleeds.  Fucked and drunk they fondle themselves just reach the present with a legen-wait for it-dary status inscribed upon their medallions and our history books.  Barney would tighten his tie turn around slap the nearest conversion machine, sucker punch the purple creeper who calls himself a dinosaur, and ask Ted to just get married already because his story’s getting’ old…quick.  Bob Sagat better find his career because who’s going to remember a Fullhouse when all of the twin’s poker chips are wrapped up in diet pills and Coke?

Mario’s the only doctor I get my pills from and even his door slide, reads, “plumber.”  No wonder Princess Peach wears that chastity belt…what woman wouldn’t?  He’s a mustachioed plumber with a deep tie to the Catholic church and even his hands are covered in more blood than Bowser’s.  Deep soaked in crimson, he’s pierced the hide of the lizard named Luigi.  Only R.A. Salvatore could write that dragon tale and have it be forgotten in a catalogue of realms.  Once again I’ll strike back like the Empire, and say fuck the hardships, fuck the supposed truths, fuck their way of life.  I’ll fix the corruption, we’ll fix the corruption because I am damn tired of corporations and politicians getting’ their personal fix from my wallet.  They fuckin’ grab for my idea again I’ll let a miscellaneous three letter acronym and their committee sitttin’, foot tappin’ proverts have it like Vader’s wrath on Endor and a force choke to the throat of corruption.  It’s damn hard to spew hate when you can’t breath.

Take a breath, drown in that pool with your sycophantic bitches in tow, because who the hell is going bring that ship back into harbor? To hell with that I say! Purgatory better open their gates because that’s the only group of neutrals that you’ll be able to shift in gear…to twist, to corrupt, into a malleable bastard that knows nothing, but does everything. A back to build a nation upon, a back to break as a greedy, fat cat politician line their clouds and pockets with silver. Better hire a strung out metallurgist because that’s the only way they’ll be able to cook their crack on their silver spoons. Fork it. Spoonin’ is overrated, because sadly enough there’s always a little spoon, and odds are you’ll be it. How’s it feel to be groped and grabbed by a fat fuck filled to his nostrils with caviar? As he cuddles you, robbin’ your pockets while you ‘sleep’ wide eyed and frightened starin’ up at the debt ceiling just hoping it’ll be over soon. Or, give yourself a break and break that fat fuck’s legs. Roll outta that down stuffed bed reach under the frame, grab that four by and end this shit tonight. Screw the second of August, beat that fat fuck to death, roll his fat ass back to China and let them settle their debts with a corpse, and hit the hay; sleep dreamin’ the American dream.

 

Zoom, Zoom


A blurb and a half expressed through exquisite prose is more charitable than a quarter minute with any lackey with a third of a brain and even less in his pint.

As I sit upon my throne looking upon the waves and oceans of the past…my mind lingers at the point of no return pondering what the meaning of time and space really means when man has fallen so far past the precipice of ignorance that even stupidity is blissful when compared to the truth.  Not only do the urchins of the H2O pools of polluted solitude know more than the ‘wealth’ of human knowledge, but they hold more true to their species than even the most determined and hopeful of us. 

Does this equate to dispair….nah…this only provides humanity with the ‘uumph,’ the driving nail, and the ‘zoom, zoom’ to further our intellect into era which not only does life and prosperity hold true and steady, but the mere idea of the intangible wasps of our impregnable magnitude actually exceeds itself and becomes reality.

Are we evil?  Yes.

Are we good?  Yes.

There are those of us that would send humanity to the grave just to see it haphazardly plunder into a six-foot shaft filled mud and muck at the thought of a quickie with Mr. Benjamin, but as the proverbial coin strikes the hot asphalt a spark strikes and an individual, a glimmer, a person saves another and brings us another notch closer to our friends in the sea.

Quick asking whether we’re good or evil, or whether we should or shouldn’t…ask yourself this: When?  When will humanity find its footing and shed its ignorance, stupidity, and hate, and embrace intellect, reason, and morality?

So, as I sit here atop a hill, upon my throne, wondering about the numerous mysterious of life upon this chilly evening I know that time only crawls because I wish it to and that time only speeds when I wish it to…the subconcious is a mysterious fellow.  And, a strange bed fellow at that.

My kingdom is safe…as is the sea.

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