Friday, August 3, 2012

I Have No Chicken, and I Must Scream

“Fr...freed'm,” he wheezed through flour-crusted, dry lips. The single word a herculean effort, contracting his diaphragm to expel enough air sent arrows of pain through his chest. Moments passed as he gathered his strength to continue, he MUST continue, he knew. A man of considerable size, he found it difficult to stand from his plastic bench throne. Shuffling slowly across the dimly lit expanse on red, swollen legs the man gazed at the beauty around him. He couldn't remember anything else besides this place. When did he get here? Had it always been like this? Such questions were irrelevant, all that remained was the fight, the War. He knew his parents had been brave warriors too, and their parents before them, generations of his kin battled the Enemy and paid with their glucose tolerance. In the end it was for the sake of all. Even if it meant the damnation of his body, at least his soul-and the souls of all mankind- could be saved by his rheumatic, sweaty hands.

Arriving at the dispensing unit, he steadied himself and squinted at the list. What could he take in this state? He knew he was nearing his time. He was 25 after all-or so he thought, time passed strangely here. Finally it came to him and as he mumbled and slurred-why did his lips feel so tingly- the words required for his task, he could already smell the Victory as it was prepared for him. In less than a hyper-tensioned heartbeat it was ready for his glorious moment. A hush fell upon the place as all eyes took aim to the would-be savior. The silence screamed at him to win. His heart pounded, more than usual, as he unwrapped It. Glorious, it was, gleamingly greasy and breathtaking to behold. Touching it to his lips he felt ecstasy flow through him as those in their seats murmured in approval. His heart beat harder...harder...too hard! It was wrong, so wrong, and he knew it in an instant. The two empty halves of biscuit fell to the tiled floor, wails of agony echoed through the room, and the man's heart rebelled.

Am I unworthy?! What have I done wrong?! He was dying and he knew it, he must escape. No matter what had just happened he could not defile this...temple. Pain shot through his arm as he spun, panicked, looking desperately for the exit. Chaos was erupting behind him, wails of agony and despair. Some shouted it was a sign, others a curse. The man didn't care, his instinct howled at him to survive. As he burst through the long sealed doors, he faltered. Even in his mortal panic, the light was blinding and terrifying. On his knees now, crying, he felt his life slipping away. He gazed up at the strange blue sky above him. Was this here all along? Silent tears trickled down his pock-marked cheeks.

Suddenly he could feel someone there, someone speaking to him, it felt, from so far away. It's too late, I've failed, he thought, slipping further away. Nothing to do now but...pain! There was pain, incredible pain, worse than before. It was waking him up. A rhythmic pressing on his chest that hurt more than anything he'd ever felt. Seemingly an eternity passed before he opened his eyes again to see a man hovering above him pressing on his chest. The dying man was confused, what was going on? In that moment, the other man's mouth tightly close over his own! No! NO! THIS IS THE ENEMY, ISN'T IT?!

Spitting and sputtering with all his strength, the dying man pushed his savior away and wiped his defiled lips with a sweaty forearm. He glared at the man above him,
“Fag...” he coughed, and then the darkness took him once more.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Poem: What Price, Flavor?

It hung on my lips like an ancient waterfall, frozen in eternal winter
But even still in that chilling cold my soul, so brave and warm,
Felt nature's cleaving edge and set to splinter
Pressed in flesh in imitation of the wild and unimagined
Trapped between two halves of whole and others there besides
Never known to this world's love, and so growing quite misshapen.

Saucy truth, not quite content to travel on the path of history
Strikes awe in eyes of followers and devotees
And quietly though I trace my way, remembering such humbleness
Never rich, ensconced in power or being contemptuously glib
So I did make my way across that portal to the priests and artisans
And ordered “One McRib

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Soup's On Part 1: Chilled Cucumber

So I was going to write a long, depressing, personal post about my late mother because Mother's Day was last Sunday here in the US.  Then I took a nap and I'm feeling a bit more upbeat.  I realized I have a backlog of cooking images. 
"To answer your question: something like that."

Friday, May 6, 2011

Gay America's Pagan Agenda: Thor

Is it me, or have fundamentalist Christians dropped the ball on the new Thor movie?  I mean, sure the comic has been around for decades, but only nerds read comics and they've all probably sold their souls to the devil through Dungeons and Dragons.

Jack Chick is a true American hero.

But with Thor you have a massive threat to THE CHILDREN.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

I'd Like to Have an Argument

So, we're all probably aquainted with the Internet.  What's possibly the number one past-time of its denizens?  Arguing.    If it were face to face, it might look something like this:

Edit: wtf video appeared in my preview but not in actual post...sorry about that.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Stop Calling Me A "Fag"

It's kind of funny how my mind works, I started to write a post about how people cannot argue/debate for shit, especially today.  And then I started thinking about the quintessential Internet "showstopper,"  the word fag.  Well, I decided that my ideas that came from that were more important to get down immediately.  Random video displacement teaser editing nonsense.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

World's Gonna Burn

So, I made the mistake of flipping on the news today.  First I hear about Obama releasing his full birth certificate for public scrutiny.  Well I'm finally glad we can stop talking about...oh wait I forgot we live in Insan0world.  Now somehow this has made Donald Trump a bigger figure because he was the last person to shout about it on TV?  It's all for his sake and we should take him seriously as a candidate?  Are you shitting me, CNN?  Are you dumb or evil?  Or both?

Well, that's not what really made me rage.  It was this little lady right here, Dalia Dippolito, and her insane defense in her trial for murder-for-hire.