Post by Kyzer on Jan 10, 2012 16:33:41 GMT -5
Sex and Candy
01/05/2012, 11:48pm
A smell permeates the room. It is that type of smell that as soon as it hits your nostrils you know what it is. It kicks you in the face and screams f~cking enjoyment. And this is about our Lord and Savior so it could only be one smell. Well that isn’t necessarily true but it isn’t the smell of used p~ssy so it is safe to assume that this is the smell of a potent drug. The smell lures us into the den of hedonism that his hotel room has become. The television flickers providing the only illumination. The nasal voice of Jersey Shore’s Snookie echoes through the room before quickly disappearing as the channel changes. Hotels always have the sh~ttiest cable packages. Constant flipping ensues as the Master of the remote searches for something not terrible. He finally settles on what sounds like Jay Leno. He erupts in laughter to one of the rehashed jokes that fills this awful late night show. A slurp suddenly quiets the laughter. The Master becomes distracted by the enjoyable sound. Again another slurp, the Master begins to find it hard to concentrate on whatever less than witty joke Leno is making. He cranks up the volume.
“Cut that sh~t down. Leno does not equal a hard cock.”
The sharp words stab the Master. He debates challenging the Speaker, but he knows there is no choice but to acquiesce. As he turns the volume down to a more acceptable level he again can hear the slurping. All the Master wants to do is enjoy his buzz and watch some f~cking Leno. Is that too much to ask?
“Apparently so.”
The Master’s words come out quiet and limp. He lacks the will to fight the Speaker. He possesses the sense to know when he is outmatched. He focuses on Leno, as he remembers the magic trick in his other hand. He looks at it with a smile. It can only make this easier; the thought runs the Master’s head as he inhales deeply. The smoke fills his body giving him its essence, suddenly everything takes on a haze, and he remembers that this trick is special. The world around him seems to warp almost, every feeling, every thought changes. The pain is gone from his life, his spirit begins to soar and he feels as if he could f~ck his way to the heavens. This is certainly some gift that has come into his possession.
“F~ck…”
Part of the cherry falls off and burns some of the hair on his exposed leg. He can feel the hair singe and his skin react, but no pain and no worry fills his mind. He tells his hand to brush it off but instead he finds his gift at his lips beckoning him into further indulgence. The cherry eventually dies leaving a burn mark next to where he previously attempted to chase a lizard. You have to work up to the dragon that is only for the professional circuit.
“Well this is some sh~t…”
He mutters the words to himself as he stares at the gift in between his fingers. He glances around the room from his perch on the couch. Across the room the Speaker lays outstretched on the bed, a figure of flesh and bones is crouched over his crouch. Her head bobs up and down, the source of the slurping; no wonder the Speaker looks to be lost in his Shangri La. The Master finds himself transfixed on the lady of flesh. Her exposed back, the rising of her ass in time with her head, he finds himself sucked in as he floats in a higher state.
“Are you watching me get smoked?”
The Speaker’s words break him from the trance that her ass put him in. She turns towards him following the Speaker’s eyes. She makes no attempt to cover herself from his eyes. He processes the words in his mind as he tries to conjure a response. None finds his lips, only the magic in his hand does. She shakes her head and returns to the task at hand. The Speaker just laughs.
“I get it. You were watching her.”
The Speaker zeros right onto the thoughts rattling around in his head. Embarrassment creeps up on him as she ignores the assessment. The beauty of questionable morals focuses in on what she desires. She is extra vigorous in her attack. The Speaker laughs again and produces his own magic trick in his hand. The Master didn’t notice until the smoke flows over her naked back and settles around her bobbing ass. He shakes his head attempting to fight the trance that griped him once before. He returns his attention to Leno which has turned into Jimmy Fallon at some point. How long has he been watching them? He can’t seem to process anything right now. His thoughts become scattered and send away from each other.
“F~ck…”
Suddenly his eyelids start to feel heavy, sleep grips him. And like that The Master enters Narnia. The Speaker shakes his head at the lack of self-control and lack of balls some people seem to have when it comes to embracing hedonism at its finest. He lets her work her talents until a knock at the door prevents final act from playing out. He sighs, as she keeps on it. Another knock, but she doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to be the one to end this production but he understands the nature behind this knock without seeing the source.
“You are doing fantastic but I need you to stop. I have to get that my little Jezebel.”
She looks up at him and finally relents on her enthusiastic effort. Disappointment washes over her delicate features, but the Speaker doesn’t notice nor care. Her concerns don’t share his. He throws some pants on and inhales some magic as another knock on the door. The Speaker finally reaches the door and swings it open. Before him stands his acquaintance, the hand-picked executioner, The Romper Stomper. He is stone faced as he sets foot into the den of filth before him. His hand holds a glass of Tennessee’s finest poured over ice. He takes a sip as he takes in the sight before him. The Master passed out on the couch, a Jezebel baring all lays stretched out on the bed. The Speaker stands behind a bar mixing a drink as he puffs on the spliff hanging from his lips.
“Come in and make yourself at home.”
The Romper Stomper glances around the room as he takes another step. Clothes are strewn everywhere, spent condoms lie scattered around, various paraphernalia and narcotics are everywhere. The Romper Stomper decides against taking another step for fear of disturbing the delicate ecosystem that has been created here. He kills his drink.
“Can we go to the bar downstairs instead? I don’t want to rock the boat with what you have going on here.”
The Speaker laughs and quickly consumes the drink he made. He focuses on The Romper Stomper for a moment; the man’s scruffy face makes several old bruises. He looks as if the last few weeks have been rough on him.
“Absolutely my friend.”
The Speaker smashes his spliff and puts what remains in an ashtray.
“Just let me get ready.”
He doesn’t recall seeing them a moment ago but The Speaker is leaning over the bar counter partaking of delightful gifts. He consumes two…three…four lines. He snaps his head back, wipes his nose and walks from around the bar.
“Ready.”
“You should probably put on a shirt and some shoes or something.”
The Speaker looks down at himself. All he has on is a pair of parts and he managed to fall out of them. He packs himself up and grabs a shirt.
“Minor details my friend.”
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F~ck
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The
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Man
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Named
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Michael
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The Shadow of Seattle
12/26/2011, 1.36pm
The house is filled with the laughter of a child, a most unusual thing at this particular location. A child being here is even more unusual. They usually stop in when their respective mothers come to sear the soul of The Paterfamilias. But the harpies typically carry their young off with them when they flee. However now, one of them has taken up residence with The Paterfamilias. This youngling has brought out a different side of The Paterfamilias, not necessarily one that he ever thought existed. He has breathed a new life into the House of Kyzer that had been dulled by years of indulgence. At least that is one way to look at it.
“The way I would look at it is this kid has been left in my care. This is not a desirable situation in the slightest. This kid only inhibits my lifestyle. Despite being my son, this child has not been at the forefront of my mind until now. And now…I find myself…caring…”
The Paterfamilias is charged with raising this child after he became the victim of a sh~tbag mother. It is the type of story that makes a touching Hallmark movie of the week. However, no one would feature someone like The Paterfamilias in a family movie, except maybe as the villain who gets his comeuppance in the end. No one likes a story that is fabricated though and this man is no James Frey. So now The Paterfamilias has clay in front of him. He has someone he can mold into his image, carry on his name, and create a dynasty. Is a five year too young to learn about indulging?
“The experts would say that indulging the whims of a child can lead to a spoiled brat. I feel like it frees you. It breaks the chains that try to constrain our spirits in these trying times. Moral is so important in this day and age. With high moral anything is possible.”
So what we have now is a little one learning life lessons while he surrounds himself with toys. His little mind racing from object to object and with nothing but giddiness and happiness running through him, he never had it so good. The Succubus didn’t treat this finely. He is truly learning to live like a King. Who said that this man was unfit to be a father? The Paterfamilias sits on his Iron Throne watching his progeny. But his thoughts don’t possess such an upbeat theme like his son’s. His thoughts drift to darker things, things he hasn’t been able to get off his mind since their discovery. He can only think about The Succubus and that snake tongue of hers that spread lies in his ears about trying to escape the Devil’s grasp. Only to find out that she was pawning off her spawn onto him so that she could feast on the Devil’s cock. This brings anger to his heart and soul.
“I am not usually the one to get the wool pulled over my eyes. But it seems to have happened in this case. This wench thinks that she will escape without retort, she is sorely mistaken. There will be f~cking justice in this karmic battle between good and evil. The evil bitch will suffer.”
The Paterfamilias watches his son. The paragon of innocence, he can actually feel his heart break slightly at the thought of this little man beating struck like he was a ginger. His child isn’t a f~cking minority and shouldn’t be treated as such. Now all that is left is to decide whether he turns into Death Sentence Kevin Bacon or Mystic River Kevin Bacon.
“There is a right decision in this and a wrong decision. With having little man depend on me, my decision has more weight than it would normally. Unusual circumstances for myself indeed.”
He attempts to turn such thoughts from his mind. He is conflicted. At war with himself over his decision to be made, over the progression that this compassion has come to grip him and the overall lunacy of this situation is starting to wear on him. This is un-treaded territory, normally that would excite the man with cravings like his, but not in this case.
“What the f~ck has happened to me?”
His son looks up at him. He doesn’t have a worry in his body. To him, this situation is perfect. He is with the father he always wanted to know, he has been surrounded with almost everything he wanted. There were a few particular items on his Christmas list he didn’t receive but it was better than any previous one he had experienced. And more importantly he doesn’t have spent beer cans being thrown at him. This was paradise for at least one of them. The Paterfamilias fights the changes that are taking place within him.
“Since when does someone of my statue give a sh~t about the little people of this world? I concern myself with only myself…at least I used to. Now…now I don’t know what I do…”
The Paterfamilias is in un-trekked territory. It has left him experiencing something that has only occurred a handful of times in his life. He finds himself thinking about someone else’s well-being. This child is the embodiment of all that is good in the world. Young, happy and having fun, there isn’t a care in his head. He embraces the life he has, he accepts it without question and he looks to The Paterfamilias with dependence and for guidance. This is his progeny, the heir to his throne. He never pictured a scenario like this playing out.
“Maybe it is a sign of the f~cking apocalypse…”
And it begins in Seattle.
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There
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Is A
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Bitch
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Named
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Michael
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Poppies
01/06/2012, 1:15 am
“So I see that you don’t have an embellished lifestyle.”
His words come out with a certain blue collar feel. He says them as if he is uncertain about how he feels concerning the subject. But The Kingmaker doesn’t pay it any heed. He is lost in concentration, that or he is higher existence than he originally thought. He is focused in on The Romper Stomper. This man, his features worn down from his rough lifestyle, his unshaven face, the faded bruises that mark his face, all this tells him that he was right in making his decision. This was a man deserving of his respect. He proved that as he took The Mad Hatter to the limit. He was a man of worth, and they are hard to find these days.
“Of course. Why not live every day like it is your last?”
The Kingmaker announces his words to the whole bar. Some look at him strangely, some raise their glasses in agreement, he just smiles. The two men sit with drinks in front of them studying each other. It was only a short while ago that they along with The Mad Hatter formed a Triple Entente. While The Kingmaker and The Mad Hatter had extensive history, the neophyte possesses no shared history with them. It is an arrangement based out of respect.
“I suppose so.”
The Romper Stomper takes a sip from his drink and looks for a waitress as he finds it empty. The Kingmaker just leans back as he studies the man. It is part of the process to discern whether or not he made the right decision here. The Romper Stomper is detached, cold, and unconcerned with trivial bullsh~t. It is a far cry from The Kingmaker. He likes to ensure that his hands are in every pie. The waitress comes over with another refreshing beverage for The Romper Stomper. He barely acknowledges her but his colleague other the hand; well he does certainly notice her. Even from his higher plane he notices the curvature of her body, the ample cleavage exposed and the tight jeans. His opinion of the establishment rises as does his divining rod. He touches her hand, gently and lifts it to his lips. With the grace befitting his station he lays a kiss on it. The waitress isn’t the only one who looks at him strangely, The Romper Stomper eyes with uncertainty as if they were one mind yet.
“If you think that is the sh~t honey, you should see what I have for the smashing of your arse later.”
The words border on the illegal, but that is the style of The Mad Hatter. The Kingmaker drops the hand as he bellows out laughter, the missing piece arrives. The Mad Hatter takes his place at the table with his comrades. The Romper Stomper only takes a sip as he is beginning to catch onto the games that these two play. The waitress quickly departs without accommodating The Mad Hatter in the slightest.
“What a piss poor c~nt she is…”
His words trail off as he searches around for a drink. He eyes one at a nearby table. He deftly lifts it from the table without its owner knowing. Pilfering drinks, that is the style of The Mad Hatter, f~ck all and throw cock to c~nt. He sips the drink and finds it to his liking, score for him.
“So mate, how are things?”
The Mad Hatter doesn’t address one in particular but both as a whole. The Kingmaker can only display that grin that he has made famous over the years while The Romper Stomper remains stoic.
“Never better.”
“It has certainly been less pleasant.”
The three sit there momentarily lost in awkward silence. The chemistry is still developing as two take one into their fold. The Kingmaker learns forward over the table, intent in his eyes as the grin disappears and business consumes the visage.
“I thought it was time for us to have some team building exercises.”
They look at The Kingmaker with momentary interest. He has their ear, now to bend it.
“When we all came to an understanding, it was a moment that opened up wide avenues for all of us. Obo witness only a glimmer of the potential I see before me. We only have to tap that and then the path to Eden will be open and we can light the fires.”
The Romper Stomper takes a sip as he ponders this. Even with watered spirits within, he can see the logic behind the words.
“Always with the f~cking metaphors…”
The Mad Hatter laughs. He thinks of the entertainment he will have, oh the mayhem.
“The f~cking mayhem will be money enough. F~CKING MONEY I SAY!!!!”
The Kingmaker slams his fist on the table with such force that everything on the table spills. Most of the patrons take notice. But there is something in The Kingmaker, something building, something that wants to explode.
“We will be tighter than a turtle’s bunghole when we burn the motherf~cker to the ground. We will raise it back up to further heights than it ever knew before. We will achieve Divinity and build a Pantheon.”
Both look at him as if he has lost his mind.
“Through absolute annihilation we bring glory, prosperity and life to the WFWF.”
The two exchange looks as The Kingmaker’s rant increases in volume and attention.
“F~ck these rats. The Urchin, Chaz Bono Demon and Jerry Fine’s bitch, these and all that stand on the road to Eden will meet with unfortunate circumstances. This I PROMISE COMRADES!!! And Poppies for ALL!!!”
The Kingmaker slams his fist down and raises it high in the air. The entire establishment is focused on the crazed ranting coming from the man. His comrades have nothing to say; even The Mad Hatter is without words. The Kingmaker stands there with his fist raised for an inordinate amount of time. He casts off the judging eyes. He is beyond reproach from these serfs.
“Is he always like this?”
The Romper Stomper glances towards The Mad Hatter searching for some answers.
“Not usually. What was he doing when you met him at his room?”
“F~cking some whore while some dirty guy slept on the couch. He did snort something before he left the room.”
The Mad Hatter lets out a wicked laugh. The answers are clear to him now. It was as if it was always there. Actually it was always there. It just never occurred to him till now.
“I know what is wrong with him now.”
“It isn’t just insanity? I may be sloshed but this looks like crazy to me.”
“Close mate, its mescaline. It really goes to his head.”
The Mad Hatter’s face suddenly turns sour. The Romper Stomper displays slight concern as he picks up on the quick change of mood.
“What’s wrong? Is he overdosing?”
The Mad Hatter shakes his head.
“He is fine. I just want some now….”
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The
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Time
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Nears
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For
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Michael
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Opium
12/31/2011, 11:35 pm
He watches from the darkness as if he stalks prey to feast upon. Actually that is exactly what The Dragon is doing. People are off at their suburban parties about to bring in the New Year. Fireworks ring out through the sky illuminating it with various colors and designs. If there was anybody paying attention then The Dragon would be discovered as the fireworks give away his position. But his target isn’t out shooting fireworks outside but inside its lair. His prey is far too consumed with bringing in the New Year on a special note to notice The Dragon. He continues to watch. Various scenarios play out in his head as he consumes the magic in his talons and breaths out fire. Should he go in bold and with gusto, or is the better play to subtly approach the prey and catch it when its guard is at the lowest possible point? His mind isn’t that clouded with smoke to realize the right answer immediately. He mentally reprimands himself for even thinking of such a thing. He can feel the flames lapping at the roof of his mouth. He is ready to consume everything in anger rage induced flames. He is consumed only with the task at hand and the cause of such a covert operation.
“As good a time as any…”
He whispers the words, inhales deeply and soars towards house of his enemy. He violently sails through the front gate bringing it into the foyer with him. His eyes dart around looking…searching…hunting. Nothing. His prey must have taken flight. Then something familiar hits his nostrils. Quickly he takes flight following his senses. They take him up a flight of steps and straight up to a door. The Dragon knows that the bed of the beast lies ahead. He readies himself. He breathes out smoke and puts his foot through the door. The frightened rabbits startle but they are hindered. The source of the smell, that ever familiar lotus, that beautiful black tar, it is f~cking heroin. Suddenly the rage consumes The Dragon and he loses control. His foot finds Peter Rabbit in the face, Flopsy Rabbit screams in terror. The Dragon roars and grabs Flopsy by her long ears and throws her against the wall. Peter Rabbit attempts a counterstrike but the silly rabbit doesn’t know that he can’t hurt The Dragon. He receives a head-butt for his efforts and a taloned fist to the side of the face. He crumples to the ground attempting to wipe the blood from swollen face. The Dragon turns onto Flopsy.
“What the f~ck are you doing?”
Her words barely make it through her whimpering and crying. Fireworks explode in the background as he approaches her. The fire is ready to explode and consume her. He is ready to be rid of this vermin.
“You lied to me.”
She braces herself against the wall and rises up on her hind legs. Fear still grips her as she tries to appear as strong as she can. The Dragon’s lip curls slightly as he sees her feeble attempt.
“It isn’t worse than anything you ever did to me.”
A loud explosion outside causes Flopsy to cry out, it causes The Dragon to give her a legit reason to wail. He strikes her back to her knees.
“I am not you.”
She looks up at him. He can see the defiance, the hatred, the fear in her eyes. He stares at her soul.
“I never lied to you.”
She attempts to crawl away. Her paw comes down on the remote bringing to life a New Year’s Eve Special. But The Dragon grabs her by the leg and slings her back against the wall. She screams in pain. Unfortunately for her, the fireworks drown out most of her cries.
“I never laid a hand on my child.”
That did it. Her resolve melts away and she is left a crying mess.
“It wasn’t just him, you did it too. I have done a lot of things, but hitting a child. Even I don’t slither in sh~t like that.”
The Hatchling flashes in his mind, his innocence, his happiness. All the young one wants is love.
“And this wretched bitch tried to steal his childhood.”
“No I didn’t! That is why I left him with you. It is the drugs; I was high when I did it…”
She falls back into tears. The Dragon looks back over at the bed where Peter Rabbit lies. Next to him on the nightstand sits all the necessary tools to turn their bodies into vessels for the chase. It is just so unlucky that they caught The Dragon tonight.
“You shoot up while you take care of my son?”
“Who the f~ck are you to say anything about someone’s dru…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence as she is put down but The Dragon. Her face hits the floor. She pushes herself up and spits out a bloody tooth. She screams.
“Enough with the screaming.”
His foot finds its place in her ribs.
“You are a hypocrite.”
Her words find truth as they strike him.
“I never hit my son.”
Another boot to the ribs causes her to fall on her side. She just looks up at the firestorm in front of her.
“I can’t believe this is what it took for you to give a sh~t about your son.”
Half-truth, he noticed the change before he found out about the latest scandal to take place in his life. To actually care for someone else when he is getting nothing, this is all new to The Dragon. Apparently The Dragon is capable of growth. He just smiles as he steps away. He looks around the room. It is a scene he had seen a thousand times only with less blood. Needles on the ground, bent spoons and lighters, the air even has the fragrance of smoke, all heroin junkies are the same.
“There is a difference between what I do and what you do. I don’t hit the needle anymore and I am not a worthless sh~t. I guess that is two.”
He spits on her as the television begins the countdown to the New Year.
“I suggest that you make a resolution. Forget that you have a son.”
The countdown is approaching that moment.
“Happy New Year.”
The Dragon’s fire devours the poor rabbits hutch as the New Year is rang in.
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Sh~t
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Will
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Rain
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On
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Michael
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The Vampires of New York
01/06/2012, 2:29 am
Have there ever been such a sight? The Vicar stands before his congregation bathed in the bright light of God. His visage of holy righteousness stares out at his children. The biting cold, the wind, they cause him no discomfort as he greets everyone with outstretched arms. The sight of his children brings a smile to his face, praise The Almighty. They stare back with a mix of bewilderment and amusement. The holy aura surrounds him and expands outward. It flows over the congregation causing them to be filled with it. They feel it sting their eyes and into their souls.
“It is a f~cking wonderful gift from God that we have here…”
The Vicar addresses his flock, ready to preach his message.
“He blesses us with his sacrament…”
He sends out the holy aura once again.
“And we take part in it…”
They feel it like a kick in the face.
“We enjoy the gifts he has blessed up with, but…”
His demeanor changes quickly. The fire burns in his eyes and brimstone fills the air.
“To complete the sacrament, we must spill the blood…”
His words rise in anger and intensity.
“We must slaughter those that stand in our way…”
The congregation begins to eye each other with uncertainty. The Vicar words come out as a low yell, as if the earth itself was bellowing it. He begins to gather more attention as their numbers start to swell.
“We will fill the streets with the blood of our enemies, the wretched scum that aim to stifle the spread of The Word…”
The Vicar words come out with a dark tone.
“There are people in this world that would beg to see you fall. They want you to falter, stumble and trip. They want you to doubt, question and ultimately lose faith. You can’t let them win; you can’t let them see any weakness. You must fight. You must stand tall. You must f~ck. Only then will you be strong enough to beat down the haters. It is the key to Enlightenment my friends.”
The Vicar speaks truth.
“We have an immediate threat upon the horizon. The storm clouds gather and Thunder masks its arrival. It seeks to cast us off our road to Eden. It seeks the absolute destruction of what we build here. Beware of the rat. He comes dressed in clothing off a man complete with designer handbags. Don’t let that fool you, he brings plague and syphilis which he intends to set upon your houses. Fight my children. Fight and f~ck. Don’t give in to the rodent that cries for humanity. KILL THEM ALL!!!”
The smile returns as he outstretches his arms towards his ministry. They return looks of amusement, confusion and distaste. There is one who erupts in laughter at the sight. The Vicar walks out of the light into the midst of his flock. With open arms he embraces one member. The man doesn’t return such sentiment as he pushes The Vicar backwards. He falls to the ground from the unexpected reaction. The Vicar looks up in shock at rejection of his message. The man shows his true colors and his horns are exposed as he moves to strike. Before he can reach The Vicar, he is struck down. Standing above The Vicar, The Romper Stomper has put down the mangy dog. The Mad Hatter laughs again as he grabs The Vicar from the ground and helps him back his feet.
“F~cking dog! You will be crushed like an insect under the heel of The Almighty!”
The Vicar moves in to put an end to the tragedy that is this man, but The Mad Hatter stops him.
“We need to get going mate; we have a lot of unwanted attention right now.”
The Vicar stops and eyes the man a moment longer before turning.
“You are right my friend, we must make haste from these infidels.”
The Mad Hatter follows as he is utterly enjoying this entire spectacle. The Romper Stomper is still making heads and tails of it as he follows in tow also.
“How long does mescaline last?”
The Mad Hatter howls with laughter.
“Anywhere for 6-8 hours depending on how much he took. We have a lot more entertainment ahead of us.”
Flashing lights appear behind them heading to where they were. It is safe to assume that someone called the police on the crazy man screaming under the streetlight.
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Michael
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You
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Are
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Worthless
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Eat
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A
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Dick
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One More Suicide
01/01/2012, 12:54 am
He stands at the door. His heart is burdened, his mind is filled with thoughts, and he is bursting with confusion. Through the mass anarchy existing inside him stands one thing, the cause if it all. This feeling he hasn’t felt in years, something he thought he lost. But how does that fit into who he is now? How do two opposites coexist? He needs to find the medium quickly before it destroys him from the inside out. He has come to the one place he can go for guidance, unfortunately it also currently houses the source of all his problems. He stares at the door a moment longer before he finally puts fist to wood and knocks. His heart races, what is this he is feeling? Anxiety?
“Well I didn’t expect you to be here till tomorrow?”
He didn’t even notice the door open. The Seer stands in front him as she beckons him inside. He hesitates and takes a step entering her humble abode.
“The kids are asleep already.”
She closes the door behind him and walks down the hallway. This place it is familiar to him. It had been nearly a decade since he last set foot here. He pauses and follows her. As if untouched by time, he recalls the day he bought the palace. It was in another life, one he used to share with The Seer. He follows her into the den of the house. She sets on the couch embraces a glass of wine.
“Would you like some?”
She holds up the glass offering him some. He merely shakes his head, politely refusing. His heart is beating fast. He can feel himself getting hot.
“He had such a good time with Serenity tonight; they shot off fireworks and played until about 9:30 or so.”
He feigns a smile. She is astute despite the imbibing of alcohol. She looks at him with concern.
“What’s wrong? You are acting strange.”
She stands up and walks over to him as he just stands around taking in the time capsule that her castle. He can feel the hair on his arms stand. He feels the panic beginning to wash over him. He wonders why this is happening to him. When did he become weak like this? The Seer stands in front of him.
“You look terrible come sit down.”
He remembers the first time he saw her. He was charmed from the start. They shared a class at the University of Washington in 2001. He sat across the room from her but immediately noticed her. Her blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail as she rocked a Duke Hoodie, a rare thing in Washington, and pajamas. Her beauty showed through the simple garb and attracted him to her instantly. After class he made his move and stopped her in the hallway. What started out as a conversation regarding the potential of Duke winning the NCAA title evolved into dinner that night and intimacy. She possessed class so it didn’t progress as much as he was used to, which only attracted him further. Almost two years later they wed and moved into this home.
“You there?”
She snaps her fingers breaking from his flashback. He looks at her blankly. He needed to come over here for advice but he can’t form the words necessary to seek it. He just takes in her beauty. She stills look like a woman in 20’s rather than 30’s. Beauty and wisdom she possesses now though.
“Wisdom is all I seek.”
The words come out, quietly barely above a whisper. She looks strangely at him; she brushes his face with her hand. It is soft to the touch.
“You are burning up. Are you sick?”
Her concern is genuine as her motives have always been. He treated her far worse than she deserved. She truly was an angel given to him that he disregarded. Regret fills his heart. It only adds to the pressure. His breathing becomes labored, his hearts beats faster, sweat drips forms on his brow. Is this a heart attack? Is Death coming for him?
“You need to come and sit down.”
She pulls him towards the couch as he fights these feelings inside. He takes one step and drops to one knee. He can’t get any air.
“I can’t breathe…”
The Seer kneels down to him. He can feel her concern and worry.
“Water…”
He can barely muster the strength to voice the word. She catches it though and races off to gather some. He is happy to have her away for the moment. This was a mistake for him to show up here. He needed guidance but is finding only pain and misery. Everything begins to get fuzzy. Death is finally taking him from this world; he can only smile at going out like a bitch. A moment later his heart rips from his chest and darkness consumes him. He hits the floor and passes out.
01/05/2012, 11:48pm
A smell permeates the room. It is that type of smell that as soon as it hits your nostrils you know what it is. It kicks you in the face and screams f~cking enjoyment. And this is about our Lord and Savior so it could only be one smell. Well that isn’t necessarily true but it isn’t the smell of used p~ssy so it is safe to assume that this is the smell of a potent drug. The smell lures us into the den of hedonism that his hotel room has become. The television flickers providing the only illumination. The nasal voice of Jersey Shore’s Snookie echoes through the room before quickly disappearing as the channel changes. Hotels always have the sh~ttiest cable packages. Constant flipping ensues as the Master of the remote searches for something not terrible. He finally settles on what sounds like Jay Leno. He erupts in laughter to one of the rehashed jokes that fills this awful late night show. A slurp suddenly quiets the laughter. The Master becomes distracted by the enjoyable sound. Again another slurp, the Master begins to find it hard to concentrate on whatever less than witty joke Leno is making. He cranks up the volume.
“Cut that sh~t down. Leno does not equal a hard cock.”
The sharp words stab the Master. He debates challenging the Speaker, but he knows there is no choice but to acquiesce. As he turns the volume down to a more acceptable level he again can hear the slurping. All the Master wants to do is enjoy his buzz and watch some f~cking Leno. Is that too much to ask?
“Apparently so.”
The Master’s words come out quiet and limp. He lacks the will to fight the Speaker. He possesses the sense to know when he is outmatched. He focuses on Leno, as he remembers the magic trick in his other hand. He looks at it with a smile. It can only make this easier; the thought runs the Master’s head as he inhales deeply. The smoke fills his body giving him its essence, suddenly everything takes on a haze, and he remembers that this trick is special. The world around him seems to warp almost, every feeling, every thought changes. The pain is gone from his life, his spirit begins to soar and he feels as if he could f~ck his way to the heavens. This is certainly some gift that has come into his possession.
“F~ck…”
Part of the cherry falls off and burns some of the hair on his exposed leg. He can feel the hair singe and his skin react, but no pain and no worry fills his mind. He tells his hand to brush it off but instead he finds his gift at his lips beckoning him into further indulgence. The cherry eventually dies leaving a burn mark next to where he previously attempted to chase a lizard. You have to work up to the dragon that is only for the professional circuit.
“Well this is some sh~t…”
He mutters the words to himself as he stares at the gift in between his fingers. He glances around the room from his perch on the couch. Across the room the Speaker lays outstretched on the bed, a figure of flesh and bones is crouched over his crouch. Her head bobs up and down, the source of the slurping; no wonder the Speaker looks to be lost in his Shangri La. The Master finds himself transfixed on the lady of flesh. Her exposed back, the rising of her ass in time with her head, he finds himself sucked in as he floats in a higher state.
“Are you watching me get smoked?”
The Speaker’s words break him from the trance that her ass put him in. She turns towards him following the Speaker’s eyes. She makes no attempt to cover herself from his eyes. He processes the words in his mind as he tries to conjure a response. None finds his lips, only the magic in his hand does. She shakes her head and returns to the task at hand. The Speaker just laughs.
“I get it. You were watching her.”
The Speaker zeros right onto the thoughts rattling around in his head. Embarrassment creeps up on him as she ignores the assessment. The beauty of questionable morals focuses in on what she desires. She is extra vigorous in her attack. The Speaker laughs again and produces his own magic trick in his hand. The Master didn’t notice until the smoke flows over her naked back and settles around her bobbing ass. He shakes his head attempting to fight the trance that griped him once before. He returns his attention to Leno which has turned into Jimmy Fallon at some point. How long has he been watching them? He can’t seem to process anything right now. His thoughts become scattered and send away from each other.
“F~ck…”
Suddenly his eyelids start to feel heavy, sleep grips him. And like that The Master enters Narnia. The Speaker shakes his head at the lack of self-control and lack of balls some people seem to have when it comes to embracing hedonism at its finest. He lets her work her talents until a knock at the door prevents final act from playing out. He sighs, as she keeps on it. Another knock, but she doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to be the one to end this production but he understands the nature behind this knock without seeing the source.
“You are doing fantastic but I need you to stop. I have to get that my little Jezebel.”
She looks up at him and finally relents on her enthusiastic effort. Disappointment washes over her delicate features, but the Speaker doesn’t notice nor care. Her concerns don’t share his. He throws some pants on and inhales some magic as another knock on the door. The Speaker finally reaches the door and swings it open. Before him stands his acquaintance, the hand-picked executioner, The Romper Stomper. He is stone faced as he sets foot into the den of filth before him. His hand holds a glass of Tennessee’s finest poured over ice. He takes a sip as he takes in the sight before him. The Master passed out on the couch, a Jezebel baring all lays stretched out on the bed. The Speaker stands behind a bar mixing a drink as he puffs on the spliff hanging from his lips.
“Come in and make yourself at home.”
The Romper Stomper glances around the room as he takes another step. Clothes are strewn everywhere, spent condoms lie scattered around, various paraphernalia and narcotics are everywhere. The Romper Stomper decides against taking another step for fear of disturbing the delicate ecosystem that has been created here. He kills his drink.
“Can we go to the bar downstairs instead? I don’t want to rock the boat with what you have going on here.”
The Speaker laughs and quickly consumes the drink he made. He focuses on The Romper Stomper for a moment; the man’s scruffy face makes several old bruises. He looks as if the last few weeks have been rough on him.
“Absolutely my friend.”
The Speaker smashes his spliff and puts what remains in an ashtray.
“Just let me get ready.”
He doesn’t recall seeing them a moment ago but The Speaker is leaning over the bar counter partaking of delightful gifts. He consumes two…three…four lines. He snaps his head back, wipes his nose and walks from around the bar.
“Ready.”
“You should probably put on a shirt and some shoes or something.”
The Speaker looks down at himself. All he has on is a pair of parts and he managed to fall out of them. He packs himself up and grabs a shirt.
“Minor details my friend.”
////////
F~ck
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The
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Man
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Named
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Michael
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The Shadow of Seattle
12/26/2011, 1.36pm
The house is filled with the laughter of a child, a most unusual thing at this particular location. A child being here is even more unusual. They usually stop in when their respective mothers come to sear the soul of The Paterfamilias. But the harpies typically carry their young off with them when they flee. However now, one of them has taken up residence with The Paterfamilias. This youngling has brought out a different side of The Paterfamilias, not necessarily one that he ever thought existed. He has breathed a new life into the House of Kyzer that had been dulled by years of indulgence. At least that is one way to look at it.
“The way I would look at it is this kid has been left in my care. This is not a desirable situation in the slightest. This kid only inhibits my lifestyle. Despite being my son, this child has not been at the forefront of my mind until now. And now…I find myself…caring…”
The Paterfamilias is charged with raising this child after he became the victim of a sh~tbag mother. It is the type of story that makes a touching Hallmark movie of the week. However, no one would feature someone like The Paterfamilias in a family movie, except maybe as the villain who gets his comeuppance in the end. No one likes a story that is fabricated though and this man is no James Frey. So now The Paterfamilias has clay in front of him. He has someone he can mold into his image, carry on his name, and create a dynasty. Is a five year too young to learn about indulging?
“The experts would say that indulging the whims of a child can lead to a spoiled brat. I feel like it frees you. It breaks the chains that try to constrain our spirits in these trying times. Moral is so important in this day and age. With high moral anything is possible.”
So what we have now is a little one learning life lessons while he surrounds himself with toys. His little mind racing from object to object and with nothing but giddiness and happiness running through him, he never had it so good. The Succubus didn’t treat this finely. He is truly learning to live like a King. Who said that this man was unfit to be a father? The Paterfamilias sits on his Iron Throne watching his progeny. But his thoughts don’t possess such an upbeat theme like his son’s. His thoughts drift to darker things, things he hasn’t been able to get off his mind since their discovery. He can only think about The Succubus and that snake tongue of hers that spread lies in his ears about trying to escape the Devil’s grasp. Only to find out that she was pawning off her spawn onto him so that she could feast on the Devil’s cock. This brings anger to his heart and soul.
“I am not usually the one to get the wool pulled over my eyes. But it seems to have happened in this case. This wench thinks that she will escape without retort, she is sorely mistaken. There will be f~cking justice in this karmic battle between good and evil. The evil bitch will suffer.”
The Paterfamilias watches his son. The paragon of innocence, he can actually feel his heart break slightly at the thought of this little man beating struck like he was a ginger. His child isn’t a f~cking minority and shouldn’t be treated as such. Now all that is left is to decide whether he turns into Death Sentence Kevin Bacon or Mystic River Kevin Bacon.
“There is a right decision in this and a wrong decision. With having little man depend on me, my decision has more weight than it would normally. Unusual circumstances for myself indeed.”
He attempts to turn such thoughts from his mind. He is conflicted. At war with himself over his decision to be made, over the progression that this compassion has come to grip him and the overall lunacy of this situation is starting to wear on him. This is un-treaded territory, normally that would excite the man with cravings like his, but not in this case.
“What the f~ck has happened to me?”
His son looks up at him. He doesn’t have a worry in his body. To him, this situation is perfect. He is with the father he always wanted to know, he has been surrounded with almost everything he wanted. There were a few particular items on his Christmas list he didn’t receive but it was better than any previous one he had experienced. And more importantly he doesn’t have spent beer cans being thrown at him. This was paradise for at least one of them. The Paterfamilias fights the changes that are taking place within him.
“Since when does someone of my statue give a sh~t about the little people of this world? I concern myself with only myself…at least I used to. Now…now I don’t know what I do…”
The Paterfamilias is in un-trekked territory. It has left him experiencing something that has only occurred a handful of times in his life. He finds himself thinking about someone else’s well-being. This child is the embodiment of all that is good in the world. Young, happy and having fun, there isn’t a care in his head. He embraces the life he has, he accepts it without question and he looks to The Paterfamilias with dependence and for guidance. This is his progeny, the heir to his throne. He never pictured a scenario like this playing out.
“Maybe it is a sign of the f~cking apocalypse…”
And it begins in Seattle.
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There
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Is A
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Bitch
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Named
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Michael
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Poppies
01/06/2012, 1:15 am
“So I see that you don’t have an embellished lifestyle.”
His words come out with a certain blue collar feel. He says them as if he is uncertain about how he feels concerning the subject. But The Kingmaker doesn’t pay it any heed. He is lost in concentration, that or he is higher existence than he originally thought. He is focused in on The Romper Stomper. This man, his features worn down from his rough lifestyle, his unshaven face, the faded bruises that mark his face, all this tells him that he was right in making his decision. This was a man deserving of his respect. He proved that as he took The Mad Hatter to the limit. He was a man of worth, and they are hard to find these days.
“Of course. Why not live every day like it is your last?”
The Kingmaker announces his words to the whole bar. Some look at him strangely, some raise their glasses in agreement, he just smiles. The two men sit with drinks in front of them studying each other. It was only a short while ago that they along with The Mad Hatter formed a Triple Entente. While The Kingmaker and The Mad Hatter had extensive history, the neophyte possesses no shared history with them. It is an arrangement based out of respect.
“I suppose so.”
The Romper Stomper takes a sip from his drink and looks for a waitress as he finds it empty. The Kingmaker just leans back as he studies the man. It is part of the process to discern whether or not he made the right decision here. The Romper Stomper is detached, cold, and unconcerned with trivial bullsh~t. It is a far cry from The Kingmaker. He likes to ensure that his hands are in every pie. The waitress comes over with another refreshing beverage for The Romper Stomper. He barely acknowledges her but his colleague other the hand; well he does certainly notice her. Even from his higher plane he notices the curvature of her body, the ample cleavage exposed and the tight jeans. His opinion of the establishment rises as does his divining rod. He touches her hand, gently and lifts it to his lips. With the grace befitting his station he lays a kiss on it. The waitress isn’t the only one who looks at him strangely, The Romper Stomper eyes with uncertainty as if they were one mind yet.
“If you think that is the sh~t honey, you should see what I have for the smashing of your arse later.”
The words border on the illegal, but that is the style of The Mad Hatter. The Kingmaker drops the hand as he bellows out laughter, the missing piece arrives. The Mad Hatter takes his place at the table with his comrades. The Romper Stomper only takes a sip as he is beginning to catch onto the games that these two play. The waitress quickly departs without accommodating The Mad Hatter in the slightest.
“What a piss poor c~nt she is…”
His words trail off as he searches around for a drink. He eyes one at a nearby table. He deftly lifts it from the table without its owner knowing. Pilfering drinks, that is the style of The Mad Hatter, f~ck all and throw cock to c~nt. He sips the drink and finds it to his liking, score for him.
“So mate, how are things?”
The Mad Hatter doesn’t address one in particular but both as a whole. The Kingmaker can only display that grin that he has made famous over the years while The Romper Stomper remains stoic.
“Never better.”
“It has certainly been less pleasant.”
The three sit there momentarily lost in awkward silence. The chemistry is still developing as two take one into their fold. The Kingmaker learns forward over the table, intent in his eyes as the grin disappears and business consumes the visage.
“I thought it was time for us to have some team building exercises.”
They look at The Kingmaker with momentary interest. He has their ear, now to bend it.
“When we all came to an understanding, it was a moment that opened up wide avenues for all of us. Obo witness only a glimmer of the potential I see before me. We only have to tap that and then the path to Eden will be open and we can light the fires.”
The Romper Stomper takes a sip as he ponders this. Even with watered spirits within, he can see the logic behind the words.
“Always with the f~cking metaphors…”
The Mad Hatter laughs. He thinks of the entertainment he will have, oh the mayhem.
“The f~cking mayhem will be money enough. F~CKING MONEY I SAY!!!!”
The Kingmaker slams his fist on the table with such force that everything on the table spills. Most of the patrons take notice. But there is something in The Kingmaker, something building, something that wants to explode.
“We will be tighter than a turtle’s bunghole when we burn the motherf~cker to the ground. We will raise it back up to further heights than it ever knew before. We will achieve Divinity and build a Pantheon.”
Both look at him as if he has lost his mind.
“Through absolute annihilation we bring glory, prosperity and life to the WFWF.”
The two exchange looks as The Kingmaker’s rant increases in volume and attention.
“F~ck these rats. The Urchin, Chaz Bono Demon and Jerry Fine’s bitch, these and all that stand on the road to Eden will meet with unfortunate circumstances. This I PROMISE COMRADES!!! And Poppies for ALL!!!”
The Kingmaker slams his fist down and raises it high in the air. The entire establishment is focused on the crazed ranting coming from the man. His comrades have nothing to say; even The Mad Hatter is without words. The Kingmaker stands there with his fist raised for an inordinate amount of time. He casts off the judging eyes. He is beyond reproach from these serfs.
“Is he always like this?”
The Romper Stomper glances towards The Mad Hatter searching for some answers.
“Not usually. What was he doing when you met him at his room?”
“F~cking some whore while some dirty guy slept on the couch. He did snort something before he left the room.”
The Mad Hatter lets out a wicked laugh. The answers are clear to him now. It was as if it was always there. Actually it was always there. It just never occurred to him till now.
“I know what is wrong with him now.”
“It isn’t just insanity? I may be sloshed but this looks like crazy to me.”
“Close mate, its mescaline. It really goes to his head.”
The Mad Hatter’s face suddenly turns sour. The Romper Stomper displays slight concern as he picks up on the quick change of mood.
“What’s wrong? Is he overdosing?”
The Mad Hatter shakes his head.
“He is fine. I just want some now….”
/////////////
The
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Time
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Nears
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For
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Michael
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Opium
12/31/2011, 11:35 pm
He watches from the darkness as if he stalks prey to feast upon. Actually that is exactly what The Dragon is doing. People are off at their suburban parties about to bring in the New Year. Fireworks ring out through the sky illuminating it with various colors and designs. If there was anybody paying attention then The Dragon would be discovered as the fireworks give away his position. But his target isn’t out shooting fireworks outside but inside its lair. His prey is far too consumed with bringing in the New Year on a special note to notice The Dragon. He continues to watch. Various scenarios play out in his head as he consumes the magic in his talons and breaths out fire. Should he go in bold and with gusto, or is the better play to subtly approach the prey and catch it when its guard is at the lowest possible point? His mind isn’t that clouded with smoke to realize the right answer immediately. He mentally reprimands himself for even thinking of such a thing. He can feel the flames lapping at the roof of his mouth. He is ready to consume everything in anger rage induced flames. He is consumed only with the task at hand and the cause of such a covert operation.
“As good a time as any…”
He whispers the words, inhales deeply and soars towards house of his enemy. He violently sails through the front gate bringing it into the foyer with him. His eyes dart around looking…searching…hunting. Nothing. His prey must have taken flight. Then something familiar hits his nostrils. Quickly he takes flight following his senses. They take him up a flight of steps and straight up to a door. The Dragon knows that the bed of the beast lies ahead. He readies himself. He breathes out smoke and puts his foot through the door. The frightened rabbits startle but they are hindered. The source of the smell, that ever familiar lotus, that beautiful black tar, it is f~cking heroin. Suddenly the rage consumes The Dragon and he loses control. His foot finds Peter Rabbit in the face, Flopsy Rabbit screams in terror. The Dragon roars and grabs Flopsy by her long ears and throws her against the wall. Peter Rabbit attempts a counterstrike but the silly rabbit doesn’t know that he can’t hurt The Dragon. He receives a head-butt for his efforts and a taloned fist to the side of the face. He crumples to the ground attempting to wipe the blood from swollen face. The Dragon turns onto Flopsy.
“What the f~ck are you doing?”
Her words barely make it through her whimpering and crying. Fireworks explode in the background as he approaches her. The fire is ready to explode and consume her. He is ready to be rid of this vermin.
“You lied to me.”
She braces herself against the wall and rises up on her hind legs. Fear still grips her as she tries to appear as strong as she can. The Dragon’s lip curls slightly as he sees her feeble attempt.
“It isn’t worse than anything you ever did to me.”
A loud explosion outside causes Flopsy to cry out, it causes The Dragon to give her a legit reason to wail. He strikes her back to her knees.
“I am not you.”
She looks up at him. He can see the defiance, the hatred, the fear in her eyes. He stares at her soul.
“I never lied to you.”
She attempts to crawl away. Her paw comes down on the remote bringing to life a New Year’s Eve Special. But The Dragon grabs her by the leg and slings her back against the wall. She screams in pain. Unfortunately for her, the fireworks drown out most of her cries.
“I never laid a hand on my child.”
That did it. Her resolve melts away and she is left a crying mess.
“It wasn’t just him, you did it too. I have done a lot of things, but hitting a child. Even I don’t slither in sh~t like that.”
The Hatchling flashes in his mind, his innocence, his happiness. All the young one wants is love.
“And this wretched bitch tried to steal his childhood.”
“No I didn’t! That is why I left him with you. It is the drugs; I was high when I did it…”
She falls back into tears. The Dragon looks back over at the bed where Peter Rabbit lies. Next to him on the nightstand sits all the necessary tools to turn their bodies into vessels for the chase. It is just so unlucky that they caught The Dragon tonight.
“You shoot up while you take care of my son?”
“Who the f~ck are you to say anything about someone’s dru…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence as she is put down but The Dragon. Her face hits the floor. She pushes herself up and spits out a bloody tooth. She screams.
“Enough with the screaming.”
His foot finds its place in her ribs.
“You are a hypocrite.”
Her words find truth as they strike him.
“I never hit my son.”
Another boot to the ribs causes her to fall on her side. She just looks up at the firestorm in front of her.
“I can’t believe this is what it took for you to give a sh~t about your son.”
Half-truth, he noticed the change before he found out about the latest scandal to take place in his life. To actually care for someone else when he is getting nothing, this is all new to The Dragon. Apparently The Dragon is capable of growth. He just smiles as he steps away. He looks around the room. It is a scene he had seen a thousand times only with less blood. Needles on the ground, bent spoons and lighters, the air even has the fragrance of smoke, all heroin junkies are the same.
“There is a difference between what I do and what you do. I don’t hit the needle anymore and I am not a worthless sh~t. I guess that is two.”
He spits on her as the television begins the countdown to the New Year.
“I suggest that you make a resolution. Forget that you have a son.”
The countdown is approaching that moment.
“Happy New Year.”
The Dragon’s fire devours the poor rabbits hutch as the New Year is rang in.
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Sh~t
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Will
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Rain
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On
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Michael
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The Vampires of New York
01/06/2012, 2:29 am
Have there ever been such a sight? The Vicar stands before his congregation bathed in the bright light of God. His visage of holy righteousness stares out at his children. The biting cold, the wind, they cause him no discomfort as he greets everyone with outstretched arms. The sight of his children brings a smile to his face, praise The Almighty. They stare back with a mix of bewilderment and amusement. The holy aura surrounds him and expands outward. It flows over the congregation causing them to be filled with it. They feel it sting their eyes and into their souls.
“It is a f~cking wonderful gift from God that we have here…”
The Vicar addresses his flock, ready to preach his message.
“He blesses us with his sacrament…”
He sends out the holy aura once again.
“And we take part in it…”
They feel it like a kick in the face.
“We enjoy the gifts he has blessed up with, but…”
His demeanor changes quickly. The fire burns in his eyes and brimstone fills the air.
“To complete the sacrament, we must spill the blood…”
His words rise in anger and intensity.
“We must slaughter those that stand in our way…”
The congregation begins to eye each other with uncertainty. The Vicar words come out as a low yell, as if the earth itself was bellowing it. He begins to gather more attention as their numbers start to swell.
“We will fill the streets with the blood of our enemies, the wretched scum that aim to stifle the spread of The Word…”
The Vicar words come out with a dark tone.
“There are people in this world that would beg to see you fall. They want you to falter, stumble and trip. They want you to doubt, question and ultimately lose faith. You can’t let them win; you can’t let them see any weakness. You must fight. You must stand tall. You must f~ck. Only then will you be strong enough to beat down the haters. It is the key to Enlightenment my friends.”
The Vicar speaks truth.
“We have an immediate threat upon the horizon. The storm clouds gather and Thunder masks its arrival. It seeks to cast us off our road to Eden. It seeks the absolute destruction of what we build here. Beware of the rat. He comes dressed in clothing off a man complete with designer handbags. Don’t let that fool you, he brings plague and syphilis which he intends to set upon your houses. Fight my children. Fight and f~ck. Don’t give in to the rodent that cries for humanity. KILL THEM ALL!!!”
The smile returns as he outstretches his arms towards his ministry. They return looks of amusement, confusion and distaste. There is one who erupts in laughter at the sight. The Vicar walks out of the light into the midst of his flock. With open arms he embraces one member. The man doesn’t return such sentiment as he pushes The Vicar backwards. He falls to the ground from the unexpected reaction. The Vicar looks up in shock at rejection of his message. The man shows his true colors and his horns are exposed as he moves to strike. Before he can reach The Vicar, he is struck down. Standing above The Vicar, The Romper Stomper has put down the mangy dog. The Mad Hatter laughs again as he grabs The Vicar from the ground and helps him back his feet.
“F~cking dog! You will be crushed like an insect under the heel of The Almighty!”
The Vicar moves in to put an end to the tragedy that is this man, but The Mad Hatter stops him.
“We need to get going mate; we have a lot of unwanted attention right now.”
The Vicar stops and eyes the man a moment longer before turning.
“You are right my friend, we must make haste from these infidels.”
The Mad Hatter follows as he is utterly enjoying this entire spectacle. The Romper Stomper is still making heads and tails of it as he follows in tow also.
“How long does mescaline last?”
The Mad Hatter howls with laughter.
“Anywhere for 6-8 hours depending on how much he took. We have a lot more entertainment ahead of us.”
Flashing lights appear behind them heading to where they were. It is safe to assume that someone called the police on the crazy man screaming under the streetlight.
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Michael
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You
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Are
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Worthless
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Eat
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A
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Dick
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One More Suicide
01/01/2012, 12:54 am
He stands at the door. His heart is burdened, his mind is filled with thoughts, and he is bursting with confusion. Through the mass anarchy existing inside him stands one thing, the cause if it all. This feeling he hasn’t felt in years, something he thought he lost. But how does that fit into who he is now? How do two opposites coexist? He needs to find the medium quickly before it destroys him from the inside out. He has come to the one place he can go for guidance, unfortunately it also currently houses the source of all his problems. He stares at the door a moment longer before he finally puts fist to wood and knocks. His heart races, what is this he is feeling? Anxiety?
“Well I didn’t expect you to be here till tomorrow?”
He didn’t even notice the door open. The Seer stands in front him as she beckons him inside. He hesitates and takes a step entering her humble abode.
“The kids are asleep already.”
She closes the door behind him and walks down the hallway. This place it is familiar to him. It had been nearly a decade since he last set foot here. He pauses and follows her. As if untouched by time, he recalls the day he bought the palace. It was in another life, one he used to share with The Seer. He follows her into the den of the house. She sets on the couch embraces a glass of wine.
“Would you like some?”
She holds up the glass offering him some. He merely shakes his head, politely refusing. His heart is beating fast. He can feel himself getting hot.
“He had such a good time with Serenity tonight; they shot off fireworks and played until about 9:30 or so.”
He feigns a smile. She is astute despite the imbibing of alcohol. She looks at him with concern.
“What’s wrong? You are acting strange.”
She stands up and walks over to him as he just stands around taking in the time capsule that her castle. He can feel the hair on his arms stand. He feels the panic beginning to wash over him. He wonders why this is happening to him. When did he become weak like this? The Seer stands in front of him.
“You look terrible come sit down.”
He remembers the first time he saw her. He was charmed from the start. They shared a class at the University of Washington in 2001. He sat across the room from her but immediately noticed her. Her blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail as she rocked a Duke Hoodie, a rare thing in Washington, and pajamas. Her beauty showed through the simple garb and attracted him to her instantly. After class he made his move and stopped her in the hallway. What started out as a conversation regarding the potential of Duke winning the NCAA title evolved into dinner that night and intimacy. She possessed class so it didn’t progress as much as he was used to, which only attracted him further. Almost two years later they wed and moved into this home.
“You there?”
She snaps her fingers breaking from his flashback. He looks at her blankly. He needed to come over here for advice but he can’t form the words necessary to seek it. He just takes in her beauty. She stills look like a woman in 20’s rather than 30’s. Beauty and wisdom she possesses now though.
“Wisdom is all I seek.”
The words come out, quietly barely above a whisper. She looks strangely at him; she brushes his face with her hand. It is soft to the touch.
“You are burning up. Are you sick?”
Her concern is genuine as her motives have always been. He treated her far worse than she deserved. She truly was an angel given to him that he disregarded. Regret fills his heart. It only adds to the pressure. His breathing becomes labored, his hearts beats faster, sweat drips forms on his brow. Is this a heart attack? Is Death coming for him?
“You need to come and sit down.”
She pulls him towards the couch as he fights these feelings inside. He takes one step and drops to one knee. He can’t get any air.
“I can’t breathe…”
The Seer kneels down to him. He can feel her concern and worry.
“Water…”
He can barely muster the strength to voice the word. She catches it though and races off to gather some. He is happy to have her away for the moment. This was a mistake for him to show up here. He needed guidance but is finding only pain and misery. Everything begins to get fuzzy. Death is finally taking him from this world; he can only smile at going out like a bitch. A moment later his heart rips from his chest and darkness consumes him. He hits the floor and passes out.
I dont know good luck 
