First Day Jitters
Doug’s first day on the construction site didn’t go as planned. He walked onto the site, planted his feet firmly in the ground, put his fists on his hips and took in a huge, manly breath. That’s when he first noticed the smell. Something smelled. It smelled bad. Or maybe not bad, but kind of funny with a little splash of funky. Some of the old hands working on the construction site had begun walking toward Doug, sticking out their paws to give hearty handshakes. But Doug put his index finger up to communicate to the construction dudes he’d be a moment and that he has to see about a smell. Well, that last part probably didn’t communicate.
Doug started sniffing around. Bumping into people who complained, but hey… you can smell better with your eyes shut… and when you’re running and screaming. Doug scoped out the site, but the smell seemed to come from everywhere. Always with him. Always with him? Doug realized the smell was coming from him. Well, that just can’t be. Not Doug, who was known for his pleasant smell.[*]
He needed water. That would help with the smell! He must find water! He began screaming for the Mexican workers to give him their canteens. They just watched him without moving, most of them scared. Doug figured they were scared because they knew how badly he must get the smell off of him.[†] If he didn’t get the smell off the demons that made him steal would come back.[‡] He opened a canister of gas and began dumping it on himself. This was when the construction workers ran towards him, attempting to calm (help) Doug. Doug, soaked in gasoline, howled like a wolf and pawed at the dirt, his pupils yellow, vertical slits.
“First day jitters,” he told himself two hours later in the locked room.
[*] Doug was also known by the local newspapers as the lunatic as in “The Lunatic Strikes Again! This Time at the Mall!”
[†] This was not true.
[‡] This was true.
A Man, A Chair
He stepped back and gazed at the chair he had made. He stepped back farther and took in his entire woodworking shop. Oh yes, the trusty smell of sawdust and cut pine. He stepped back and found himself in a different room. Hm? Even farther back, again and again, until the carpenter was no longer in his house.
He stepped backwards until the poor old carpenter was lost in the woods some fourteen miles away from his precious chair. He became frightened that the trees would recognize him as the tree murderer he was. They must have been able to smell the sawdust and see his callused hands.
Slowly, not wanting to spook the trees near him, the carpenter pulled a small knife from his boot and readied himself for battle. He crouched, eyeing the closest tree.
Suddenly, he sprang forward. He was on the tree, stabbing and screaming. It was a fight for his life. He fought for three hours until he grew tired, lied down on a bed of pine straw, and went to sleep. A black bear ate him that night.
Somewhere, miles away, a poorly-made chair sat alone in a psychopath’s woodworking shop. Pride had gotten the best of him.
Violets
Violets are red,
violets are blue,
gene manipulation
has come true.
Large Horse
Large horse, large horse
as big as the lord
I want only to love you
but you kill with such force
Your size, your size
2000 inch eyes
my friends are in graves
but you are my prize
Huge beast, huge beast
you’re gentle at least
They say you must die
We’ll flee to the east
Away, away
we galloped for days
you ate some more people
I played in the rain
The end, the end
it’s over my friend
the hole in the ground
that they dug we fell in
After the Divorce
“Just do it, son. Just once and I’ll take you to Burger King.”
Franklin’s son stood atop the second story roof. The set up for the whole thing was really rather simple. His son, Travis, held the skateboard under his feathered arm. The chicken suit was exactly his size. The trampoline (angled at forty-five degrees, away from the house) was well-oiled with new springs. The spool of razor wire soaked in kerosene and lit aflame burned brightly in the middle of the yard. The angry dog in the orange-juice-filled pool was furious as it swam in circles. The bed of rusty spikes lay behind this (the spikes had real rust from oxidation, not the new fancy poser spikes that come pre-rusted). On both sides of this were the oak trees. A huge wire had been hung tree to tree over the spikes. Off this wire swung two harnesses. This is where the sharks flailed about in rage. But Travis could see past the swinging sharks… and the snakes. Cars sped along the road beyond his yard. Past the major highway was the barrel of whiskey Franklin had placed to catch his son upon descent.
“Do it, son. Think about that tasty milkshake over at the Burger King!”
Travis wasn’t tempted by the milkshake. Bodily danger was bodily danger after all. Also, his dad worked at Burger King. Travis’ dad made him come to Burger King all the time and share milkshakes from two straws and then try to recreate funny scenes from movies that involved milkshakes. Travis hated it. Luckily, it only happened on weekends, just like the court ordered.
The Saddest Man in the World Teaches His Son How to Ride a Bike.
That’s right. Keep your feet on the pedals. Always keep your feet under you. Always. God knows I haven’t. Watch it, now. Watch out for that mud puddle. There you go. You don’t want your tires to slip in it. This can be a slippery world, son. Always watch out. You’re doing great. Just keep your feet going. I won’t let go. I won’t let go. I promise I’ll never let go… of the memories. How could I? They’re so deeply ingrained in scar tissue. Keep going. Keep going! You’re doing fine. You look so cool pedaling down the street with me holding your seat with my right hand and your handlebars with my left. I wish I could be held with no strings attached. Your pads look cool too. Sadly, they won’t protect you from the real pain in life. I’m so sorry that one day you’ll know what I’m talking about. I wish I could replace my half of your genes with a better person’s. A stronger person. Keep going. That’s it. Do you want to try it without me? Without me holding you? Do you want me out of the picture like your mother? You’re doing great. You’re great at rolling along… just like your old man.
Karate Beatdown
The karate instructor did a number on me. Me and my big mouth. Not because I “mouthed off” to him, but because I had beaten his father in the County’s Largest Mouth Competition. The physical torment I endured at the hands and feet and elbows of the karate master, however, could never diminish my pride. I mean… look at this thing. It’s like a barrel’s opening with lips sewn on. And man if the swelling from the beatdown didn’t make it better. Keep it coming smart guy.
Albert
Albert Einstein, that fucking dunce, lives next door to me. Blah, blah, blah. That’s all that ever comes out of that nerd’s mouth. Time this. Gravity that. Whatever, dude. Try getting a haircut sometime, you hippie. He stays up all night hammering away on his keyboard, probably trying to impress me. Why would he want to impress me you ask? I’ll tell you… Because I’m going to be famous one day.
I fucking rock. Al wishes he could be a fantastic as me. I can see it in his eyes. He gets a scared and glossy look whenever I’m talking to him about politics or science. He’s intimidated by how fucking smart and cool I am. Oh, I’ll be famous. The most famous dishwasher in the world. People will remember the name Melvin Horseshoe.
Heaven’s Gate
I recently had a near death experience. Afterwards the paramedics told me I was legally dead for two minutes. During that time I remember vividly running towards a bright light until I found myself waiting in line at the pearly gates. Eventually I was face to face with St. Peter himself. I’d now like to share with you a list of do’s and don’ts in case you ever find yourself in the same position.
1) Do not compare waiting in line at the pearly gates to waiting in line at the DMV.
2) Do not point out that while his white feather pen and golden scroll are charming, on Earth we have something called the internet. And that if he used a PC instead of those “holy relics from the land time forgot” he could better organize souls into two files; one marked christian, and one marked non-christian. Afterwards it’s as simple as point and click. No more wasting time dipping his pen in that gaudy ink container like some prehistoric jester.
3) Do not ask which of your favorite dead celebrities are in heaven and which ones are in hell, and that the answers will ultimately affect your decision of where you want to spend your eternity.
4) When he starts to ask if you’d like to know the meaning of life, don’t cut him off mid-sentence by asking why exactly a windsor knot is called a “windsor” knot. And when he replies, “thats something you could have found out before you shed your mortal coil! And it’s irrelevant here in the afterlife!”, don’t sigh and turn around and repeat the question loudly to the crowd in line behind you. Even though there’s a damn good chance one of them can answer your question without all the guff.
5) Maintain that every erection you ever had before you met your wife was purely accidental.
6) Whenever he mentions masturbation, pretend like that word is foreign to you. Even after he flinchingly opens that page of your scroll and is startled as it begins loudly unraveling towards the floor, quickly covering his feet, where it begins to form in a rapidly growing pile as an awkward amount of time passes, until suddenly, it stops abruptly. Leaving you and everyone in line behind you buried up to your necks in scroll.
7) Explain to him the reason you stopped attending church is because it was against your religious beliefs.
Immediately apologize for that last statement about your religious beliefs being the reason you stopped going to church. Explain to him you panicked because you’re not good at answering questions regarding eternal salvation on the spot. What you meant to say was alcohol and curse words were against your religious beliefs. The reason you stopped going to church is because you didn’t want to take up space and discourage someone new from having a place to sit. You couldn’t risk the good lord losing another soul, turned away due to lack of seating and/or violating a fire code.
9) Do not ask if God is busy.(I could tell by the way he rolled his eyes he gets asked that one a lot.)
10)Whenever you answer a question and he takes longer than usual to scribble your response down all the while shaking his head and exhaling deeply, don’t freak out and yell “fire!”, while pointing in the opposite direction. Then while everyone’s heads are turned you scramble towards the pearly gates in a feeble attempt to climb over. It won’t do any good. It’s electrified.
11) Despite what you see everyone else wearing, don’t ask if white and gold are the only fashion choices. And don’t go on a rant about how you think those are great colors but, c’mon, no navy blue?
12) Don’t ask him if he’s on salary or getting paid by the hour. (I got the impression that in heaven the only currency is kindness. Good luck buying a sports franchise with that!)
13) Don’t turn to the guy behind you in line and openly mock heaven’s currency of kindness policy. Even though you whispered it out the side of your mouth while covering your face with your hand so St. Peter couldn’t hear you. He did.
14) Don’t ask to be separated from the rapists and murderers who are in heaven because after their crimes they accepted Jesus as their lord and saviour. Even if you explain that it’s nothing personal, you’re just afraid if you have to talk to them, you might discover you like the same 80’s movies. Then you’ll feel weird for all eternity. Not to mention you’ll never be able to enjoy those movies again. Not in good conscience anyway.
15)Don’t tell him about how when you were a kid you always snickered when you heard the biblical phrase, “turn the other cheek.” When he says he doesn’t understand what you found funny about it, try not to show him the pornographic comic strip folded up in your pocket with the crudely drawn graphic illustrations of butt cheeks on it. (Dumb luck I’d have that in my pocket the day I died, what a coincidence!) Could of been worse, I could of actually mooned him. And I would had I not already done it twice while waiting in line earlier.
16)When asked about why you supported gay rights and a handful of other abominations of mankind, don’t jokingly say, “That seems hypercritical coming from a guy dressed in a white gown wearing open toe sandals and writing with a feather.”
17) Don’t ask if that girl you had a crush on in high school is here yet, and if not, can he let you know when she gets here? Even better can he “pull some strings” to get her here sooner?
18) Don’t thumb thru your wallet while mumbling to yourself how you think a cover charge is bullshit. When he asks what you’re talking about, pay him a compliment. Then while he’s absorbing said compliment and talking about himself and how you’re right, he is the “toughest looking bouncer you’ve ever seen”, casually lean over and scan the list of names on the V.I.P list and try and use one of their names to get in instead of yours.
19) Don’t ask if there is a smoking section. Seriously. He gets a smug look on his face and thumbs towards a sign that reads, “Smoking Section.” and underneath it there’s an arrow pointing down in the direction of hell. Haha very funny assholes.
20) Don’t ask St. Peter, if as a child, other kids gave him a hard time and ever referred to him as St. Penis, or St. Tally-wacker. He’ll be quick to point out that the nicknames of his youth have no bearing on my eternal salvation, and I’m wasting both his, and my time. (I bet it was St. Tally-wacker)
21) Don’t ask to borrow his feather pen so you can do your world famous yankee-doodle song and dance routine to entertain those in line behind you. Apparently the phrase , “Stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni!” was never a direct quote from the bible. Although it should be.
22) If the devil’s name comes up. Be sure you maintain solid eye contact when you say “Who?” That way he won’t be able to tell your lying.
23) Don’t ask if they have a museum, like a heaven smithsonian that displays the original ten commandments, the crown of thorns, or the coat of many colors. Especially if the only reason your asking is so you can say how museums are stupid and boring and the coolest one you ever attended was the Coca-Cola museum in Atlanta because you got a t-shirt and got to drink free soda all day. Which will lead to your inevitable next question, “do you guys have coke or pepsi?”
24) Don’t beg and cry like a five year old when you suddenly start being pulled back into the tunnel away from the light. And don’t scream that you don’t care what kind of soda they serve. (Deep down you know you do. An eternity of nothing but pepsi? No thank you.) but don’t worry, it’s not hell, it’s just the paramedics reviving you.
25) And whatever you do, don’t wake up from the edge of death and declare your a new man and that things are gonna change. And if you do, make sure no one see’s that your fingers are crossed.
Scientist, We
We were all scientists. Even Jacob who didn’t have a degree.
His last name was Scientist.
Good enough.
All of us worked in the Electronotics Lab in Utah. Yes, the name is spelled right. Stop asking.The lab lay underground. It wasn’t very deep because some of us (Jacob Scientist) had a fear of underground troll people.
The current project was time travel, a very prestigious and innovative idea. We believed it was possible, and stated thus in public many times with broad smiles on our faces. One critic said we might blow up the universe. “Yeah,” I responded, “but you’re a film critic. So what do you know?” That shut him up.
We received $15 million in grant money for the time travel project. $5 million would pay for the construction of the actual machine and the rest would be used to buy a round of celebratory beers in the future when we arrived. (Jacob predicted everything would be really expensive in the future. See, that’s why we keep him around.)
Going into the project, we were all really excited. We would solve a math problem, and then slap five. Or invent a new chemical, and then cut loose by tossing it around the lab or injecting ourselves with it. Maybe our egos were too big. Maybe we took too many shots of whiskey each time we had a good idea. I remember we figured out a new way to contain antimatter in a magnetic field during our second week and Walter immediately suggested that the Catholic Church should ordain us the patron saints of “Containing Antimatter in a High Energy Field Then Partying.” I don’t know. Maybe it was ego, even though scientists as smart and handsome as us are typically so awesome at being objective they can avoid ego like the greatest moral leaders of human history.
Anyway, our excitement began to lessen as the weeks came and went. The closer we came to making a real time machine, the harder the work got. Pretty soon we on slapped five once a day, and then, once a week. All of us were pretty depressed. Peter even killed himself. That made us sadder. But it turned out Peter’s wife had cheated on him with a zookeeper, which explained the suicide. That cheered us up a bit.
We spent all day walking around the lab and cursing and asking God for help with our math problems and chemical experiments. God didn’t give us the answers, probably because one of us was secretly a J-E-W. I tried to cheer people up by pouring liquid from one beaker into another beaker and screaming, “THAT’S IT!” as if I had discovered something. It worked for a few seconds. Then I told them I hadn’t really discovered anything and they made me drink my urine from the beaker. Why hadn’t I used water?!
Oh well, we all made mistakes that last week. Walter lost most of our grant money at a casino. Craig allowed a tiger to eat our raw data (the tiger was a gift from the zookeeper who balled Peter’s wife). Jenny flossed her teeth with a microfilament and cut her head in half. And stupid Peter was still dead from suicide.
It became clear the project would never go anywhere. It was doomed. (Oh yeah, and it turned out the underground troll people really do live this shallow in the earth.) On our last day before the funding was cut, we decided to throw a party. It wasn’t very good. Half of us were too sick or dead to have much fun. I tried to liven up the place by saying positive things like “Don’t you wish the time machine had worked?” and “It probably would have been that much fun to meet Jesus” and “This is all your fault, Walter!” then making a funny face.
I would give anything to go back to the beginning and start the whole project over again. If only some scientists would invent a crazy gadget, making that possible. Oh well, I once heard a critic say such a gadget would blow up the universe. He sure knew a thing or two.
-By Matt Perry