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  • Maybe I Should Write Something...

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        Friday, June 27, 2008

    Maybe I Should Write Something...

    Fuck that, I think I'll just tell a story, instead. So gather 'round, children, scoot closer to the fire...stay in the light...and I'll see what I can dig up...

    One time, long and long ago, when I was a much younger man, well, still a boy, really, though I thought of myself as a man, I used to play with bad things. Bad Things. Folks as what were not from around here, but had snuck through dark tears in the fabric of what we refer to as reality.
    And they were all like that pretty girl, who speaks sweet, and draws you in, and then you find out why her last several boyfriends had left her behind. If they were lucky.

    Because she is mean, and black hearted, and does not have your best interests at heart. Oh nossir, not at all. Her greatest pleasure is your suffering, and through you, causing the suffering of others. She is an 'equal opportunity' (as they say) destroyer, and has an absolute, burning hatred for you, everyone you love, and all of your kind.

    And she is well and truly practiced at her mischief.

    And she has lots of friends. Well, maybe not actually 'friends', but creatures just like her, and they will help her out in any way they can. As long as it hurts you. And your family. And your friends. And anybody else your shadow falls across.

    Well, I'm here to tell ya, I stood one night, at the edge of a canyon, in the middle of a furious mountain-style thunder and lightning storm, and I gave my soul to the Devil, being disgruntled by religion, and maybe a little stoned, and the only thing that saved me was that my soul was not mine to give away, or sell. It belongs to God. Of course, the spawn of the Father of Lies will tell you different, and tempt you to despair, but that is the God's Honest Righteous Truth right there.

    You may have custody of your soul, but God owns the title to it, and you can't give it away, and nobody can take it. But oh boy, will Hell ever descend upon you. And bring friends.

    Did I get gifts? Oh yeah...I could run in complete darkness, through the darkest woods at full midnight, and a golden path would unroll in front of me, and it was always unerring. I was getting harassed at boarding school by this huge farmboy, whose sole objective seemed to be to make my life miserable. I cursed him. And the next day, while being given a ride out to pick apples in the schools apple orchard on a tractor, I riding on one fender, my tormentor on the other, I watched some unseen force lift him up in the air, and then slam him down so hard into the dirt of the access road that he died on the spot.

    Four more kids I didn't like died that year, in a death toll greater than the last 25 years at that school.
    And the Assistant Dean, a Mexican who I hated, because he was always punishing me for some nonsense or other, went to show off by putting this nineteen foot boa constrictor on his shoulder, a snake that was as tame and well-fed as can be, and the snake threw a couple of coils around his neck, and nearly popped his head off. Only the fact that there were at least fifty men and boys there saved his life.

    I finally got kicked out of there, just as my Dad had 15 years before. My Mom, on the other hand, graduated from there.
    I was kicked out for renting pornography, running a house of prostitution in the basement of the chapel, selling cigarettes, and other counts too numerous to mention.

    The Dean had me go to the car after he told me in his office, and took me straight-away to the Greyhound bus station. I said 'hey, what about my stuff?' and he said 'we'll mail it to you'.

    I had heard through the grapevine that it was going to occur, so that morning, at my slaving job in the cafeteria, I went into the walk-in and pissed in all of the big milk containers, and then, since one of my jobs was to load the juice machines, I went into the vegetable storage area where there were always big Tomato Worms, collected a few handfuls of them, and then dropped them into the agitators of the juice machines before I filled them with water and concentrate.

    Then I snagged four cans of Sterno from the camping supplies room, and went out front and positioned each one under the Head Cook's tires, of his car parked out front. Then I went around lighting them.
    As my Dean drove me out of there, he didn't appear to notice the tires burning merrily, or the four columns of black smoke rising up into the sky.

    So, how do you like me now?