Archive for December 25th, 2009

So I’m dead…Right?

Friday, December 25th, 2009

So I’m dead.

How do I know?

When you die there is this pre-recorded mes­sage that plays in you head.

You might be con­fused at the moment but let us assure you that you are indeed dead and we will be ser­vic­ing you shortly. Please wait in line and we promise an eter­nity of bliss awaits you. Thank you for your patience, the Management”

Now I am really pissed, I’m dead and I have to deal with voice mail? Bad enough I had to deal with it when I was alive.  At least they didn’t have an Indian accent…

So I’m wait­ing in line and there are some dick­weeds in front of me who are piss­ing me off. I’m hold­ing back because I am per­pet­u­ally pissed and I don’t want to cause a scene. The last thing I need is to get a Rep that I am a dead loose cannon.

Now the dicks in front of me are all excited about see­ing Mom and Dad and Grandma and Pa again… I’m like shut the fuck up and who gives a shit.

Now three places back there is a croc­o­dile in line. I’m like what the fuck is a croc­o­dile doing in line with dead humans? Nor­mally I would kick it’s ass but he is a big sucker about 20 feet long and rather large teeth. I want to start a con­ver­sa­tion with him, let’s face it how many oppor­tu­ni­ties do you get to have a con­ver­sa­tion with a dead fuck­ing reptile.

So I mosey back and say, “Yo croc what the fuck you doing here?” Believe it or not he has these read­ing glasses on and he speaks with an impec­ca­ble British accent. I’m like “This is too fuck­ing cool.” He tells me is name is Peter and he was rein­car­nated as a Croc he was king of France at one time. I’m doubt­ful; of course it seems every­one at one time was King of France. He seems like a cool dude. So I ask the obvi­ous ques­tion, “What the fuck you doing in line with dead peo­ple shouldn’t you be in the croc­o­dile line?” He apol­o­gizes pro­fusely and tells me even though he is a croc he still feels like the King of France. Who am I to argue.

I ask him if he wants to go to the Bar and he does. Now dead peo­ple drink like fish and the bar is packed so I ask him if he minds clear­ing a spot for us and he quickly chomps two fuck­ers down and WA-La we have seats. We start hav­ing a good time, he is a funny fucker and he has me laugh­ing my ass off over sto­ries about bang­ing the Queen of Eng­land. Shit, he said he nailed about all the royal pussy in Europe. I’m jeal­ous because all I nailed were some crack whores and an occa­sional mar­ried woman. What are you going to do.  Now the loud speaker announces “now serv­ing the dead croc who was once King of France” He apol­o­gizes and picks up the tab. I’m like “totally cool man”

He leaves and I’m stuck dead with fuck­ing humans. What are you going to do.

The last Man

Friday, December 25th, 2009

Floun­der­ing…

Like a dead fish.

Gaz­ing at deep magic

Inside….Out.

Pil­lars of lust

Smoth­ered

Wrapped in cellophane.

Locked to immoral paths.

Visions in black and white

Against pre­scribed stan­dards of effi­ciency.



I peered out of my window

That TV screen whose chan­nel never changes.

And I SEE!

Androids filled with pre­tended purpose.

Run­ning to and fro toward mock destiny.

I see them har­nessed like cat­tle and led to troughs of offal where they feed.

Smiles fill there vapid faces.



For this was Life!

I see them walk pass fake trees and coun­ter­feit sunlight.

Night noth­ing more than an unplugged lamp.

They flash their vam­pire smiles

Teeth gnash­ing

Hunger’s need tem­porar­ily lend­ing false pas­sion to nothingness.

They see me and wave, “join us, and become one of us!”



I am the Last man alive.

I will never let them stick that straw of death into my head

And suck out my pas­sion, love and being.

I will never leave this place

I shall be con­tent to gaze out my window

That TV screen whose chan­nel I can never change.



Tears fill eyes

Pity fills my souls

I am the last soul alive

And I shall never leave my place.

For I will never become one of them.

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