Sissy

On a merry night in spring my company and comrades gathered close and minstrel played a friendly tune. To the song I regaled a musical tale calling one of the men present a sissy. I did not know the man particularly well, but that was no reason for me to not include him in a song that teased the others in our company.

I called him a sissy with the assumption that he would laugh at the accusation as confidently as the other men laughed at the jabs directed towards them. Instead he got very huffy, voiced that someone should stop me, and stormed off to give us all the quiet treatment.

My twin, Dame, pointed out, "You cannot go be a sissy in response to being called a sissy. That is not how you prove them wrong. That would be like telling a fellow he has a bad temper and he replies "No I don't!" as he punches you."

Coincidentally, he punched my twin the next day when she failed to notice he was making angry eyes at her.

Plans to write the song "Sissy, The Woman Beater" have not yet been made. In fact, quite the opposite, I've been asked not to write any more songs about Sissy. Actually, I've been asked not to call him a sissy.



.... sissy.
[They will never keep me down.]

Rock Dive

On a bright and sun filled summer day on the vast and placid Lake Mead many years ago, I could be found rapidly sinking to the bottom of the body of water, carried down by the substantial weight of many rocks.

Prior to sinking into the cold depths I had been admiring the rocks decorating the shores of the lake. I leaped from my boat to swim ashore and spend the sunny afternoon collecting rocks.

I gathered the smoothest and most colorful red and white rocks by putting them into my child-sized wetsuit. I was limited on how many rocks I could carry against my body but I was determined to pack the wetsuit with as many rocks as possible so I could share with others the treasure I'd collected.

It took some time until I was satisfied with my collection and content with returning to the boat. I stepped carefully along the shore and out onto the rocky peninsula to get as close to the boat as possible before having to make the swim.

I waved to my family that sat merrily upon the aquatic vessel and I leaped forward from the rocks into the water and began swimming.

The swimming was immediately followed by sinking. My substantial collection of attractive rocks would be my great downfall as I fought to return to the surface in a futile effort to overpower the weight dragging me down.

Finally my greed gave way to my desire to not drown for some rocks. I opened my wetsuit and let the rocks pour into the depths of the lake, allowing me to return to the surface. By the time I returned to my boat I had regrettably lost the majority of my treasure.

The few rocks remaining had settled into the lap of my wetsuit and were forgotten soon enough anyhow. My attention refocused on a photograph my parents were requesting, of me standing on the bow of the boat...

The picture, that my parents still have on display in the den, is pleasant enough if not for the rocks jutting from my wetsuit, granting the appearance of a set of balls and a horrific shaft that no child of 8 years old should be entitled to.

Admittedly much worse is that my parents insist there were no rocks within my swimming attire and that I simply had not yet grown into my (evidently disproportionately monstrous) genitals yet.

The Quest for the 'Holy Grail'

After much debating and negotiating a woman hatched a deal with me. I would be granted anything I wanted from her, anything, if I delivered to her a specific book. She told me the name of the book and warned me that I would learn it was exceptionally difficult to find.

With the name of the book in mind I ventured forth towards the nearest book store. The store had never heard of the book, had never held it on their shelves and had no sign of holding it in the future. I take my second choice and embark towards the Library. The library had no traces of the book, no catalog for it, no sign of ever holding the book or ever intending on having the book.

Rather annoyed with this turn of events, I returned home in defeat and dedicated time to research. The book featured an ominous cover and ominous title, muted colors depicted an image in textures and styles appropriate for the time it was made.

It was a lewd and scandalous novel, the cover made a subtle promise that tickled my curiosity. Unfortunately, the book had been out of print for over 40 years.

I refused to allow this turn of events to stop me, I would seek out the book, I would find it and I would present it to this woman in exchange for my prize. I searched for wherever the book could be hiding, I investigated online and in person.

Over the course of a year I'd poke my attention through various stores and antique locations, online and offline, always in search of the book and always returning empty handed. Friends who presented themselves to me a sleuths would be met with a challenge to find this book, and despite their earnest efforts, they would come away empty handed.

The book had become such a challenge, simply collecting my prize would no longer be enough. As soon as the book was within my hands I would greedily devour the book and read it from first word to last. The book that had remained hidden from the public world for so long would be a unique chapter of knowledge that I and few others possess.

The quest for the book would continue for four long years. Over this course of time I came into the acquaintance of a young Russian who soon became my friend. The Russian casually mentioned, "Between my friend and I, nearly the world is at our fingertips."

I carefully breached the topic, hopeful, but not expectant of success, "There is a book I've been looking for." I told myself that perhaps the Russian would have access to sources outside the country I had never known of, beyond what my previous comrades could accomplish through our efforts.

"What book?"

I answered, and to my surprise I was rewarded with success. The briefly mentioned friend sent me the book and as my eyes rolled over the cover I questioned the Russian, "Have you read it?"

"It does not interest me" were the final words I heard before I let the pages of the book consume me.

I read the book from the first word to last and finally conquered the goal I had pursued for years now.

 
I thought with bitter resentment on the scarcity of the book and how long it had been out of print. It had taken me till now to realize that perhaps the book was never truly known or recognized is because the book was horrible and poorly thought out.

Few owned the book because few were even willing to buy it. The book ceased to be printed because no profit was being made. I had spent four years now, eagerly hunting this book with assumption I was hunting a thing of worth.

I finally deliver the book to the woman who requested it. Admittedly she was impressed how thoroughly I had completed my quest but she was far less impressed with the book and scarcely skimmed it.


At least my prize made it worth it, God damn it.

Social Skill

On one of the very last days of a year in middle school before being released on summer break I found that I hardly possessed the means necessary to concentrate in class and I excused myself to a leisurely stroll to the restroom.

I traipsed through the door, thinking of how I would spend my summer break and as I opened the door to a stall I made the mistake of glancing into the toilette bowl. Instantly I was stricken with surprise and disgust.

What I saw was offensive enough, but furthermore I insist you must also have this image in your mind. An unraveled, off white condom floats lazily, discoloring the water around it with pigmented streaks of blood along it's sides and coagulated fluids within.

I stumble backwards while my arms turn in wide circles, a windmill like motion to move me away from the scene as quickly as possible. I collide with a  sink and press my back to the wall and then catch the sight of a younger student  just now entering the restroom.

This student is shorter than myself, younger, and riddled with confusion concerning my dramatic display. I would quickly have explained that I was obviously not the weird one here, and warned "There is a horrible bleeding contraceptive device in that toilette!" However there was a clear reason why I could not (a reason beyond my vocabulary not quite being at this level yet).

My parents had made it very clear to me that older students cannot simply tell younger students about these things. It is the duty of sexual education to explain or even name these devices. Clearly, I had to at least ensure this student was of the appropriate age, lest I do the irreversible damage of uttering the word 'condom' to this child.

"How old are you?" I asked, not yet peeling away from the wall.

The student answers "Twelve" with suspicious eyes locked on me, trying to understand the link between whatever I had been doing and my curiosity for ages.

I nod, knowing I was probably in the clear, "Ah, then you've had sex ed..." It was supposed to be the subtle lead in to my next statement which would have been a completely innocent explanation as to how I saw a gruesome contraceptive in the stall I vacated and I had no choice but to dramatically explode across the room.

Instead the awkward words hang in the air during a long and stagnant silence. The tension would be comparable to awkward pick up scenes that I would not experience for many years to come. The student breaks from the scene first, turning into a stall and closing the door on me.

Though I had failed to use the restroom as I intended, I turn and wash my hands in order to make sure the student wouldn't think I was weird for not practicing proper hygiene, and I promptly left. I never crossed paths with that child again, which is likely for the best. I imagine if we met one another at a reunion or some such I would half way try to bring up the situation and explain it until the pure awkward tension ruins my chances at redemption forever.

A Simple Midnight Stroll

Today I am walking a shopping cart from my lawn back to the store it came from. It is my responsibility and it is the shameless result of gruesome media, alcohol, and minor dehydration.

 King arrived in the early evening with the intention of having me inebriated with a selection of alcohol, primarily deep burgundy wine. I provided a plethora of horror films, intent on bringing a horrific flare to the candle lit allure.

The night started off well, intense violence and the gurgling cries of monsters filled our minds as red wine filled our chalices. My wine glass was never empty, King made sure of this. I can only assume that my comrade's intentions were different from my own and by the hour that the final undead film had reached completion, I was effectively drunk.

My body was heavy and I was only vaguely aware of wandering hands on my body- possibly my own hands, I wouldn't put it past myself. Too inebriated to hold a bottle, I realized, "If I am so drunk so soon, I will undoubtedly feel the repercussions by morning." I would do anything to avoid the painful presence of a hangover stabbing within my skull. 

To display how incredibly responsible I was, I went to fetch water from the water jug with the intention that by drinking myself to sobriety I could stave off the possibility of a hang over. Unfortunately, fate left my water jug dry and empty, condemning me to the grips of 'hangovers'.

Of course I realized that not only I relied on this water. The family residing within this abode, all of whom would return tomorrow, would require hydration as well! I granted myself the responsibility of insuring I would provide these needs! Undoubtedly, I would fetch the water, and hopefully avoid a hangover as well.

 "You cannot drive... " King indicated. I had no choice but to agree. I was not entirely sure I could walk, driving in such a state would be gloriously irresponsible, and I, as indicated by water fetching, was a very responsible young person.

My answer was to walk to the market. In the event that I may not be able to walk without toppling forward, I found it advantageous to run, nay, dead sprint, the entirety of the distance to the store. The fresh terror and adrenaline in my system from the horror movies effectively fueled my speed, but my coordination was left entirely to what was left of my mind. Despite my stumbles and falls I arrived at the market without a single scratch... from the hordes of undead I was supposedly fleeing.

Late evening shoppers regarded King and I with concern as we stumbled into the light and collapsed unceremoniously upon the water giving machine. Cautiously, a store keeper watched as we clumsily fed the machine and possibly touched every button in our demands for water. The machine would finally provide our water jug with water... actually with more water than we were expecting.

When the jug began to overflow and the machine showed no signs of stopping I panicked. I refused to waste water because, as everyone knows, water is nearly as valuable as gold in the post apocalypse horror films we viewed.  I caught the water in my palms and drank it greedily from my hands, a difficult feat to accomplish in my advanced state of alcohol influence.

I could compare the citizens observing to be like the extras in a heroic film, gloriously cheering me on in my heroic quest to not waste water. But that would be a lie.

I was putting more water on myself than I was successfully consuming so my plan changed in the way that only drunken logic could. I needed to bathe myself in the surplus of water, and I should help King bath as well. As the continuous stream of water flowed wastefully from the stream, I doused myself with it and beckoned my comrade to do the same as I threw hand fulls of water presumably in King's general direction.

The flow of water finally ceased and we looked upon the hefty water jug with satisfaction... until King pointed out, "We cannot carry that." In my drunken state I'd managed to soak myself while attempting to drink and managed to mostly miss both of our bodies, leaving us surprisingly un-bathed. I was certain I would have little luck in carrying the heavy jug of water back to my dwelling place if it depended on my balance and coordination to arrive safely.

A clever plan was hatched and we absconded from the market with a shopping cart. We tenderly loaded the water jug into our cart and set on our way back home. At home, King and I holed up with the jug of water and bottle of wine and effectively shut ourselves away from the world that the horror films convinced us was lurking with the undead.

All was peaceful until King indicated, "The shopping cart on the lawn is a dead give away you were up to something... We have no choice..."we had to hide it.

King was correct and because the dark and endless night was far to reminiscent of the recently viewed horror movies, we devised a plan that didn't require us to repeat the walk to the store. I ventured into the rainy night with the shopping cart to deposit it on a lawn down the street, safely within a bush and wisely in the direction opposite of the store so that no one would suspect my humble abode.

The next day the plan worked perfectly. The family returned and suspected only that I had enjoyed the summer storm while consuming a pleasant book.

The neighbor, I imagine, was displeased with the shopping cart and deposited it on the lawn of the home beside his. That evening, the new bearer of the shopping cart deposited it on the next lawn, creeping closer to mine. During the course of the subsequent three days, the shopping cart made its way up the street I'd taken it down until it was deposited on my lawn.

At the point that the journey of the cart had returned it to my lawn, the house woman needed no explanation and wisely assumed that it was the result of my general mischief.

She commanded that I return the shopping cart to the market from whence it came and I reluctantly agreed to do so, bringing me to where I am now: courting a shopping cart through the streets, prepared to defend my basket from any homeless fellows wishing to commandeer it and doing a much better job of this now that I am sober.

(Dis)Agreement

I agreed with a person once... and perhaps I should have learned my lesson to neither agree or disagree with people making statements.

 "I'm fat." a woman beside me at a train stop declares.

I glance her way, she is a stranger but she seems very open to sharing her body self-consciousness. Regardless of her mass, I was in no mood for unpleasant conversations this morning so stated "I agree." and left it at that.

The woman regards me with surprise and declares her height and weight to me. I was in no mood for unpleasant conversations and I had even less patience for calculating whether or not this was an acceptable weight range for her age and height. Because she had already labeled this height and weight ratio as fat, I find it easiest to agree with her again. I advise, "Perhaps you should aspire to weigh less, for that height." and I return my attention to my papers.

She took a different approach at the conversation and informed me of her friends. "Out of all my friends, I weigh the least. I wear the smallest sizes of us all."

I am as interested in learning about her friends as I was interested in her weight or her weak self esteem. I'm surprised she hasn't left to find a willing participant in this one sided discussion, but I kindly suggest, "You might be fat because your larger friends are encouraging gluttonous eating habits."

The stranger proceeds to prattle onward with more information about herself, informing me of her eating habits next, "I only eat one plate of food a day as it is!"

I begin to fear that this insufferable conversation will not end until she has been satisfied in telling me everything about herself that I hadn't cared to know. Ever the kind stranger, I offer a helpful word of advice and hope that she will be satisfied, "Perhaps you should invest in smaller plates, rather than fewer plates."

Infuriated by my 'agreeable' nature, she promptly stands, calls me a plethora of colorful words, and vacates the bench we sat on. She stomps down the walk way and paces between poles until the train came.

I am happy for her, even small amounts of physical activity, such as that, will help her control her weight, then she wont need to call herself fat.

But from this point forth, I believe I will handle such interruptions differently.

How could this possibly go wrong?

Deal With The Devil

I wont attempt to confirm or deny the existence of demons or devils, because that is not what this story is about. This story is merely about hatching deals with one.

 Because when has the media ever reported something incorrectly? 

I once asked a demon if I may have control over him. He declined. I asked what I may trade for control over him and he replied 100 souls. I made a list and I began on a quest where I asked for people souls.

I did not disguise the deal as something special, I simply asked people that crossed my path if they would be willing to give me their soul, and I would have them sign. I received various responses.

Some people pressed their lips tightly shut and hurried away. Some people asked me what I would give them in return for their soul. I answered that I wouldn't give them anything in return, they could simply give me their soul or not, the choice was theirs. Some refused, claiming to require some sort of sexual or monetary favor in return, and some did not care and signed my list. A few people were perhaps not listening or had very little to look forward to in life and signed my list without question.

At the end of my efforts, I had acquired the signatures of 98 people agreeing to give me their souls. The dream died when I was politely asked not to solicit the souls of strangers.

Security persons escorted me off the property. I informed them that they too could share the opportunity of signing their souls over to me, and regrettably they refused to surrender their souls at this time or at any point in the future.

I still have the list in my possession, and I anticipate some day I will finish that list and hand over the 100 consenting soul donators, at which point I will likely request something trivial in return from this demon.

My only limit is my own imagination! I eagerly anticipate a day when I can open a conversation with the following line, "A young hipster, a demon, a homosexual and I were attending the County Fair. The humans attended due to their own free will, but the demon attended because he belongs to me now. Then, the most peculiar event occurred... "

Perhaps the dream is not dead after all... Soul donations are currently being accepted.

Clean 'Ass' A Whistle

A friend of mine was once courting a person who could one day be the proud owner of one of the cleanest butts in the world. I was very happy of her for her great find, though she never considered this a truly valuable aspect of the relationship.

She cannot poop because she is a woman,

he cannot poop because of an unexpected medical disorder that renders his rectum useless.

This is the crazy kind of match you'd expect from a Hollywood Romantic Comedy.

This dear friend of mine lamented that the male she had taken a liking towards had a serious ailment, Crohn's Disease, and would likely face the consequences of trying to live happily with such evil lurking in his bowels.

For those of you who were looking for a reason to lose your appetite for lunch today, merrily proceed: Crohn's disease destroys your intestines and forces doctors to dramatically hoist them from your belly during surgery, remove the most offending section, seal it up, and hide it within your cavernous body once more. Eventually you will run out of enough intestines to function properly, and the doctors will be creative.

The Doctors make a hole in your stomach. (As a word of caution, do not meddle with these doctors, when they threaten to "tear you a new asshole" they mean this in a very literal sense.) They will connect this hole to your intestines and force you to poop through a hole in your stomach attached to a bag hanging around your midsection for the rest of your life.

This woman was very concerned for the well being of this man. She had wanted for him to grow old in a healthy way, and if that was not possible, then at the very least in an unhealthy way that was not physically visible from the outside. Perhaps an ailment like dementia or Alzheimer's, those can be an adventure!

 Pictured above : Adventure!

I dutifully reassured her by reminding her of the endless benefits and opportunities that could manifest from this development in his health. For one, she can enjoy the carefree life of a woman that never needs to share toilet paper with her husband! He will certainly need sanitary wipes for his new anus, but the one he grew up with will only require dusting from time to time, now that it is out of use.

Furthermore, now that this fellow's original rear is no longer used for human-byproduct, it will always be clean. I congratulate her that she will undoubtedly be able to commit sodomy on this man at any time and never be concerned with the dirty results. His butt will be clean enough to not ruin the mood no matter how deeply she violates him! She insisted that she was in no way a sexual deviant that would benefit from violating her husband in such ways, and I assured her it would be far more devious if the violations were committed while he was still using that orifice for practical purposes. In fact, it would be much dirtier also.

Her potential mate's rear still had plenty of unexplored uses beyond sexual violation. I reminded her that with enough practice, she could possibly replace her purse by using her husband's superfluous, vacant rectum. Letting that abandoned territory go to waste would be a shame when it could function just as well as perfectly good storage space. He could carry her cell phone, car keys, lip stick, and pepper spray in the safe and warm tunnels of his gut.

She left to find others that could provide less optimistic relationship advice. I believe my comrade hoped someone might tell her reassuring words such as "I'm sure you wont notice." and "We'll buy you potpourri for Christmas."

Though she does not share intimate information regarding her companion's orifices any longer, I consider myself adequately prepared for the day that she opens a business that offers her husband's rectum for rent.

I am indubitably eager to have a "space for rent" advertisement on his rear. Perhaps with an "inquire within" statement if my relative-in-law kept business cards inside there as well.

Grand Apology

I've made no claim that I am a socially graceful or amicable person. My company is an acquired taste that requires a substantial tolerance.




My dearest friends belonged to a larger social circle that was well aware of me and mostly held distaste. On this one occasion my friends decided that they could rebuild all the bridges I had burned by encouraging me to issue an apology to every person I had wronged. By their estimations, I would need to apologize to every person that was currently within the adjoining room for festivities.

With hope and good will, my friends moved me into the main room and provided their silent moral support in the form of nods and smiles.

I step forward to the nearest person, a young woman who annoyed me as much as I annoyed her, "Hello, I'm sorry that you never understand my jokes. I'll try to say them slower for you in the future." Her jaw drops and I turn to her loyal friend, "I'm sorry you fail so often. I will do my best to inform you of your mistakes while they can still be reversed, in the future."

I leave them to find the next group of party participants that shared my mutual friends. I found a ring leader, "Hello, I'm sorry you lack the self confidence to do anything alone, but don't worry, I'm sure your friends haven't noticed yet." To the brown noser, "I'm sorry you are such a suck up, but don't be discouraged, no body does it better than you."

I informed the lonely chauvinist, "I'm sorry you're always alone, you have to admit, you do sort of deserve it."
I told the 'edgy' ones "I'm sorry for your bad taste in music and fashion. Avoid being in pictures and you should be fine."

I managed to give possibly 10 personal apologies that fully applied to each person I addressed. But my apologies were making the crowd hostile and their short tempers were nearing their limit. A friend of mine saw fit to intervene and quickly remove me from the room before the sincerity of the apologies could escalate any further.

Outside of the room I was dismissed of the requirement to apologize to the plethora of people I was originally sent to. I may have even been let off the hook for having to apologize ever, the specifics are unclear. As far as I know, the friends of mine that remained in the party placated the many others and issued the remainder of the apologies on my behalf.

The plan to apologize my way into friendship never did succeed, as far as I'm aware, their extended social circle dislikes me as much as ever. But the good-will aspirations of my friends are so adorable, I'll play along with their next crazy plan just the same. Rascals.

Blasphemy

A story as magical as the creation of man deserves nothing less than an artistic portrayal to express what so many gentiles loyally worship.


The one known as "God" promptly got to work, gathered supplies and started creating. He turned on the lights so that he could see what he was doing and called this day of progress Day 1.

Day 2 became the day of the big drink. When making arts and crafts it is important to remain hydrated. Day 3 he drank most of the Ocean and the Earth rock was poking through again, but he considered this progress and said he created this dry land, good job, God.

By Day 4 he realized no one was keeping track of the amount of time that passed because it took him until now to create the Sun and the Moon and stars. So he quickly assembled those as well and got them spinning then informed everyone he'd certainly been working 4 days now. Who are we to think God wouldn't keep reliable records of his work shift?

Day 5 He created animals and of course on Day 6 He created the humans and Day 7 He refused to cease telling all of the angels how awesome they were.

God elaborated on the superior nature of the creatures, "I created them in my image. They look just like me, don't they?"

The Angels reluctantly nodded, keeping to themselves how much the humans looked like primates with mange or Alopecia Areata.

God ran to the kitchen, declaring, "I shall display my art all across the refrigerator so that everybody can see!"

The Angels averted their gaze and held their tongues, but the most beautiful angel of all, Lucifer, was beginning to be very annoyed.

God then announced, "It has been decided, I shall make 6 Billion of these humans and I shall cover the Earth with them! Are they not simply the most amazing creation ever?"

Lucifer then spoke, "God, you are a giant Twat. These humans are a plague."

With rage and fury God stamped his feet and flung his hands. He cried and insisted that this was a horrible and vile lie meant to hurt him and demanded that Lucifer take it back. God, in his infinite wisdom understood that he had not yet invented constructive criticism and being God, everything he made was absolutely perfect and he could not possibly do wrong, so how dare Lucifer question his creation. He expressed to Lucifer his pained disappointment.

God created the burning depths of hell and hurled Lucifer into it's depths. And because God is most certainly not a spoiled child or opinionated or at all unstable, we can wholly agree that our loving father, God, is grand and merciful and Lucifer is the most horrible evil thing that ever existed (despite also being created by God...)