these are my random rantings...
Monday, October 06, 2003
well...even though it's really the 7th, this is my blog for the 6th...fathom that...anywho....my hours upon hours of homework turned into about an hour and a half of monotonous crap..yeah...i finally got some books in that i ordered and i'm completely ensnared by "the contortionist's handbook" by craig clevenger...if you haven't read it yet you need too or you will surely burn in the pits of Hell for all of eternity...this is the best book i've read..perhaps ever...i've already read about half of it today...it's amazing...check out http://www.craigclevenger.com for more on it...go to amazon.com and order it now preferably...it'll blow your mind away...it's an amazing literary schlockin'....yeah..so other than that..nothing of any merit has happened....so i'll leave it at that....get the 'handbook' as fast as possible...it'll take over your life...i'm out for the night i guess...so I will bid you all (i'm just amusing myself by pretending i have any sort of reader(s) for this blog) a good night and don't let those mutant, stuffed deer heads with rabies and the clap bite...
Saturday, October 04, 2003
howdy all...thought i'd get an early start on today's blog......well..i just got back from the amazing specticle of the Texas Tech Red Raiders raping the Texas A&M aggies....58 to 28.....amazing i say...it was awesome...i expected the faggies to give us a run for our money..but no.....we went off on them.....B.J. Symons threw 8 passing touchdowns in first 3 quarters and is now number 1 in the big 12 for most passing touchdowns in a single game....the game was cool except for standing in a crowd for about 3 hours..that was no fun...i thought i was going to put an asswiping down on a bunch of people for excessive crowding and blatant use of jackassery...that was no fun...yeah...so..i think i'm gonna go to sleep now....or something....i've got a long day of homework ahead
howdy all 0 of you out there...ross here....i thought it'd go a head and update this since i'll be witnessing Texas Gay&M's ass handed to them by none other than the Texas Tech Red Raiders....bliss....tonight will make it 7 wins out of the last 9 games with A&M we've won.....and since they haven't beaten us at Jones stadium in the last 10 years..i think it's a good bet that they won't...their secondary will fall to a very quick, very painful death tonight thanks to Mr. BJ Symons.....so anywho....check out the game on TV tonight if you're not gonna be there......especially you Clint....behold the power of West Texas...in other news...nothing whatsoever of any sort has happened lately so i'll just leave it at that...hopefully i'll get my new story, 'fishsticks and gasoline,' up soon...yeah.....well....take it easy there....btw..check out ..he's by far got the best blog around...and he's by far the best new author this year...and last year.......yeah.....later ppl
Friday, October 03, 2003
it's friday night and i'm pretty much shutting myself off from the world right now...i'm about 3 minutes away from starting a new story i've been contimplating for a bit...hopefully it'll blow 'taxidermy' out of the water...;)...well..hopefully i'll start updating this thing daily..but i lack the conviction and memory to do such..so untill next time....Long live the Moose!!
Thursday, October 02, 2003
well..first post...might as well start it off with a bang....here's a story i just wrote called "taxidermy"...enjoy...
----------
The Doctor walked swiftly down the hallway, partially because he was running late and mostly because this was the case of his lifetime. Some redneck went bonkers and slaughtered his family with a deer head. His colleagues would kill for this job. Fortunately for him he was the only one on call today. ‘Thank you, Jesus,’ he muttered. Four people were just cleaned off their trailer’s floor with a snow shovel and the Doctor was in charge of examining the man behind it all. Bliss. Ecstasy. Delight. The Doctor was all of the above.
The hallway was a sticky maze of tiles and taupe walls zigzagging through the small building. The walls were bare and soothing so none of the patients would be agitated to the point of anything more than crapping themselves and crying about aliens banging their dogs. The designers aimed for a soothing paradise of neutral colours to instantly cure the mentally ill. What they got was a crappy little building behind the Elk’s Lodge that drives people to suicide.
The Doctor has gotten quite used to the smell of this horrible mini-mental ‘hospital.’ Of course newcomers become overwhelmed by the mixture of a nursing home, a port-o-potty, and peppermints. Yet another reason to strangle yourself with the picture wire from the motivational posters in the Administrator’s office.
Desparation: Just look into around.
Self-Loathing: It’s all inside.
Suicide: There is an ‘I’ in suicide. In fact, there’s TWO!
The Doctor opened the door to the examination room and was greeted by the smell of blood and ass hair. “J., I presume?” He said, more out of habit than politeness. “I’m not crazy you fuckin’ bastard. It was tha fuckin’ deer that done it. Now you hear this good and goddamned well, that gotdamn’d bambi mutherfucker hopped off the fuckin’ wall and kilt muh boys and muh ole lady while I was at Wal-mart gettin’ some shotgun shells and whiskey,” J. exclaimed while flailing his limbs like he was being attacked by elves or something. The Doctor stared deeply into J.’s eyes and calmly said, “Alright, alright, we’ll get to that in a little bit. Now I’d like you to sit over here on this couch and I’ll start asking you some questions.”
J.’s nod gave the answer while his gut wobbled to and fro on his way to the couch. One hand rubbed the end of his unkempt handlebar moustache while the other scratched some flakes away from under his curly mullet. He was still wearing the hospital gown from earlier that day and apparently forgot (or didn’t care) that his hairy ass was hanging out and he was strutting off his burly ass-cleavage. The Doctor suddenly reeled into a state of nausea/arousal at this sight. He wrote ‘disinfect couch’ on the top of his ledger then brought his eyes back to J.’s ass.
“Alright now, let’s start at the beginning. Can you state your name for me, please?”
-----------
Behind a large mini-storage complex and mobile home retailer lays the most disturbing scene Southern Oklahoma has seen in decades. No, it’s not the hidden trailer park/community/hellhole hiding back there. It’s a particular trailer nested ambiguously among the formulaic ‘homes.’ From the outside it appears to be your run of the mill brown trailer home littered with useless junk and an old pickup truck. They all look the same outside to a discriminating eye. This one is no different.
The creaky porch leads to the creaky door leads to the creaky floor leads to the bodies of the former residents. Four in all lay lifeless and mutilated on the brown (and red) shag carpet. All ruins of the past. The paneling cries from beyond the 60’s begging to be set free in a blaze of glory. The trash everywhere, however, seems more at home than the former lady of the ‘house’ who hadn’t left the house in a year or so (judging by the crater in the couch and overabundance of oozing fat snaking through the carpet).
The sun shines through the stained curtains to give this brown monstrosity yet another layer of brown. Basking in this ominous brown glow lays the body of the Second Born. He’s sprawled out in the Jesus position with his arms out, feet together, and covered in an aura of entrails – redneck veal smothered in spaghetti intestines topped with a blood/urine/shit sauce. What a delicacy. His face is shattered. His chest lays open. His internal organs are peppered around his body and floor in a chaotic lump.
Near this is the kitchen table filled with assorted delicacies: salt, empty pepper shaker, spoons, cereal box, and, of course, what used to be the head of the Third Born. This young child is slumped back in his high chair with both arms dangling. His former head is tucked neatly in the plastic cereal bowl surrounded by milk, blood, and bits of his skull. The cartoon rabbit with his wicked smile and silver spoon overlooks him with a psychotic glee from the face of his cereal box. Little kids are giggling in the background. The rabbit could not be happier.
----
“Alright J., tell me what happened this morning. Let’s start before you left for Wal-mart.” The Doctor fidgeted around in his chair while trying to not expose his erection. He’s found that the secret is to lean forward slightly and spread the legs a bit so it slides down a pant leg. This was the greatest accomplishment he’d achieved in the past 20 years: camouflaged erections. Superb
“Alrite, let’s see. I woked up, put on muh britches, had a beer, slapped muh old lady for givin’ me guff, then I got in the ole Ford and headed over tah Wal-mart.” “Why is it that you hit your wife?” The Doctor interrupted. “She tolt me I needed tuh get me a job and I’ll be damned if I let her boss me ‘round like that. So anywho, I got ta Wal-mart, got me some shells, a bottle a whiskey, and came on home. ‘Ceptin when I got there muh whole fambly was layed out with their insides messin’ up muh carpet. Next thang I know I’m outside with a deer head in front of me and 4 cops shoutin’ at me.”
“So that’s exactly how it happened?” The Doctor stared at J. All he could think of was these 300 pounds of manflesh in front of his eyes. Focus. “Okay, so you don’t know what happened between the time you found your family and the time you were taken into custody?” J. shook his head. “Alright then, I’ve got a few little tests I’d like you to take. They’re just standard stuff I have to give everybody before we make any conclusions.” The Doctor was amazed by how sexy he felt right then. He held up a picture for J. to see, making sure it was nowhere near his bulging manhood.
“What do you see in this?”
------
In the back of the trailer is a small room with a single bed on the floor that the kids share. Toys, none of which are new or were ever new for these kids, litter the floor and bed. Dirty clothes are thrown haphazardly around the room. The First Born’s severed foot is hidden somewhere under a pile of shirts. His arm is resting peacefully on the windowsill next to his head and part of his spinal cord. With three (well, mostly three) limbs left, his body lies ‘face’-down on the sheetless bed comforted by a pillow of his own intestines and various internal organs. His heart sits snuggly beside an ice cool Coors in the fridge.
On the other side of the trailer is the master bedroom, home to the parents, their deviant sexual fetishes, and a gelatinous blob of fat and blood that used to be the Mother. It’s hard to tell what is what, but her head is most likely that extra lump on what used to be her ass (well, it’s more like her ass/thigh since they both melded together after years of bacon-wrapped bacon). A horrible stench permeates throughout this room, originating from the melted fat and rotting entrails that paint the floor and walls. If Jeffrey Dahmer and Picasso had a kid, this would be his life’s work. Her feet, held together by some fishing string (100 lbs. test), are dangling from the doorknob like a pair of shoes from an electrical line. Nailed to the paneling is what used to be her eyes. A bloodstained statue of Jesus overlooks this scene from the windowsill with a sadistic frown.
------
Three weeks after this disturbing scene, after the redneck responsible was thrown in a hole for the rest of this existence, something happened that made that trailer look like child’s play. Five minutes down the road on the ‘rich’ part of town, a man stood in his front yard smothered in blood and excrement, wielding a raging hard-on, and staring madly at a gigantic moose head in front of him. He didn’t look like he was aware of his surroundings. He didn’t look like he quite understood the fact that his wife was in countless pieces around his two-story home. He didn’t look like he knew that his two kids were mutilated beyond any form of recognition. He didn’t look like he knew that 12 policemen were pointing their weapons down his throat.
“Doctor! Put your hands behind your fucking head!”
----------
The Doctor walked swiftly down the hallway, partially because he was running late and mostly because this was the case of his lifetime. Some redneck went bonkers and slaughtered his family with a deer head. His colleagues would kill for this job. Fortunately for him he was the only one on call today. ‘Thank you, Jesus,’ he muttered. Four people were just cleaned off their trailer’s floor with a snow shovel and the Doctor was in charge of examining the man behind it all. Bliss. Ecstasy. Delight. The Doctor was all of the above.
The hallway was a sticky maze of tiles and taupe walls zigzagging through the small building. The walls were bare and soothing so none of the patients would be agitated to the point of anything more than crapping themselves and crying about aliens banging their dogs. The designers aimed for a soothing paradise of neutral colours to instantly cure the mentally ill. What they got was a crappy little building behind the Elk’s Lodge that drives people to suicide.
The Doctor has gotten quite used to the smell of this horrible mini-mental ‘hospital.’ Of course newcomers become overwhelmed by the mixture of a nursing home, a port-o-potty, and peppermints. Yet another reason to strangle yourself with the picture wire from the motivational posters in the Administrator’s office.
Desparation: Just look into around.
Self-Loathing: It’s all inside.
Suicide: There is an ‘I’ in suicide. In fact, there’s TWO!
The Doctor opened the door to the examination room and was greeted by the smell of blood and ass hair. “J., I presume?” He said, more out of habit than politeness. “I’m not crazy you fuckin’ bastard. It was tha fuckin’ deer that done it. Now you hear this good and goddamned well, that gotdamn’d bambi mutherfucker hopped off the fuckin’ wall and kilt muh boys and muh ole lady while I was at Wal-mart gettin’ some shotgun shells and whiskey,” J. exclaimed while flailing his limbs like he was being attacked by elves or something. The Doctor stared deeply into J.’s eyes and calmly said, “Alright, alright, we’ll get to that in a little bit. Now I’d like you to sit over here on this couch and I’ll start asking you some questions.”
J.’s nod gave the answer while his gut wobbled to and fro on his way to the couch. One hand rubbed the end of his unkempt handlebar moustache while the other scratched some flakes away from under his curly mullet. He was still wearing the hospital gown from earlier that day and apparently forgot (or didn’t care) that his hairy ass was hanging out and he was strutting off his burly ass-cleavage. The Doctor suddenly reeled into a state of nausea/arousal at this sight. He wrote ‘disinfect couch’ on the top of his ledger then brought his eyes back to J.’s ass.
“Alright now, let’s start at the beginning. Can you state your name for me, please?”
-----------
Behind a large mini-storage complex and mobile home retailer lays the most disturbing scene Southern Oklahoma has seen in decades. No, it’s not the hidden trailer park/community/hellhole hiding back there. It’s a particular trailer nested ambiguously among the formulaic ‘homes.’ From the outside it appears to be your run of the mill brown trailer home littered with useless junk and an old pickup truck. They all look the same outside to a discriminating eye. This one is no different.
The creaky porch leads to the creaky door leads to the creaky floor leads to the bodies of the former residents. Four in all lay lifeless and mutilated on the brown (and red) shag carpet. All ruins of the past. The paneling cries from beyond the 60’s begging to be set free in a blaze of glory. The trash everywhere, however, seems more at home than the former lady of the ‘house’ who hadn’t left the house in a year or so (judging by the crater in the couch and overabundance of oozing fat snaking through the carpet).
The sun shines through the stained curtains to give this brown monstrosity yet another layer of brown. Basking in this ominous brown glow lays the body of the Second Born. He’s sprawled out in the Jesus position with his arms out, feet together, and covered in an aura of entrails – redneck veal smothered in spaghetti intestines topped with a blood/urine/shit sauce. What a delicacy. His face is shattered. His chest lays open. His internal organs are peppered around his body and floor in a chaotic lump.
Near this is the kitchen table filled with assorted delicacies: salt, empty pepper shaker, spoons, cereal box, and, of course, what used to be the head of the Third Born. This young child is slumped back in his high chair with both arms dangling. His former head is tucked neatly in the plastic cereal bowl surrounded by milk, blood, and bits of his skull. The cartoon rabbit with his wicked smile and silver spoon overlooks him with a psychotic glee from the face of his cereal box. Little kids are giggling in the background. The rabbit could not be happier.
----
“Alright J., tell me what happened this morning. Let’s start before you left for Wal-mart.” The Doctor fidgeted around in his chair while trying to not expose his erection. He’s found that the secret is to lean forward slightly and spread the legs a bit so it slides down a pant leg. This was the greatest accomplishment he’d achieved in the past 20 years: camouflaged erections. Superb
“Alrite, let’s see. I woked up, put on muh britches, had a beer, slapped muh old lady for givin’ me guff, then I got in the ole Ford and headed over tah Wal-mart.” “Why is it that you hit your wife?” The Doctor interrupted. “She tolt me I needed tuh get me a job and I’ll be damned if I let her boss me ‘round like that. So anywho, I got ta Wal-mart, got me some shells, a bottle a whiskey, and came on home. ‘Ceptin when I got there muh whole fambly was layed out with their insides messin’ up muh carpet. Next thang I know I’m outside with a deer head in front of me and 4 cops shoutin’ at me.”
“So that’s exactly how it happened?” The Doctor stared at J. All he could think of was these 300 pounds of manflesh in front of his eyes. Focus. “Okay, so you don’t know what happened between the time you found your family and the time you were taken into custody?” J. shook his head. “Alright then, I’ve got a few little tests I’d like you to take. They’re just standard stuff I have to give everybody before we make any conclusions.” The Doctor was amazed by how sexy he felt right then. He held up a picture for J. to see, making sure it was nowhere near his bulging manhood.
“What do you see in this?”
------
In the back of the trailer is a small room with a single bed on the floor that the kids share. Toys, none of which are new or were ever new for these kids, litter the floor and bed. Dirty clothes are thrown haphazardly around the room. The First Born’s severed foot is hidden somewhere under a pile of shirts. His arm is resting peacefully on the windowsill next to his head and part of his spinal cord. With three (well, mostly three) limbs left, his body lies ‘face’-down on the sheetless bed comforted by a pillow of his own intestines and various internal organs. His heart sits snuggly beside an ice cool Coors in the fridge.
On the other side of the trailer is the master bedroom, home to the parents, their deviant sexual fetishes, and a gelatinous blob of fat and blood that used to be the Mother. It’s hard to tell what is what, but her head is most likely that extra lump on what used to be her ass (well, it’s more like her ass/thigh since they both melded together after years of bacon-wrapped bacon). A horrible stench permeates throughout this room, originating from the melted fat and rotting entrails that paint the floor and walls. If Jeffrey Dahmer and Picasso had a kid, this would be his life’s work. Her feet, held together by some fishing string (100 lbs. test), are dangling from the doorknob like a pair of shoes from an electrical line. Nailed to the paneling is what used to be her eyes. A bloodstained statue of Jesus overlooks this scene from the windowsill with a sadistic frown.
------
Three weeks after this disturbing scene, after the redneck responsible was thrown in a hole for the rest of this existence, something happened that made that trailer look like child’s play. Five minutes down the road on the ‘rich’ part of town, a man stood in his front yard smothered in blood and excrement, wielding a raging hard-on, and staring madly at a gigantic moose head in front of him. He didn’t look like he was aware of his surroundings. He didn’t look like he quite understood the fact that his wife was in countless pieces around his two-story home. He didn’t look like he knew that his two kids were mutilated beyond any form of recognition. He didn’t look like he knew that 12 policemen were pointing their weapons down his throat.
“Doctor! Put your hands behind your fucking head!”
