this story was written by both cowboys and slaughter. one wrote a few sentences and then the other and so on. it was a first time experiment. it shall never be repeated.
The world started to turn slowly towards the season of spring. The cocaine snow is being snorted into the nostrils of time. Becky was excited because this hot guy, Brad, was taking her to the movies later that evening. Since she wanted to look real cute for her date she went to the shopping mall. Thoughts of the summer before, jumping on trampolines with Brad, revolved around the film wheels of her mind. Becky found a great pair of shoes at the mall! They were ALDO. Her teeth peeked out of her M.A.C covered lips as she swiped daddy’s credit card at the counter. Beedy eyes from the abyss sneaked peaks at her fresh young bottom. If only those boys knew what she had tucked between her legs…or his?
The story of Becky’s life was shocking to most, amazing to few. Her parents always wanted a little girl you see, but when a baby boy popped out of mommy’s vagina their hopes were crushed. So their grandmother knited this cute little tuck thong for Becky. The hours were passed spent on high for Becky’s parents. Speed, coke, heroin. All in their perfect little suburban home. The only neightbour that knew was a frenchman who supplied the family with weekly batches of oxycottons, and on special occasions like christmas; crystal meth.
So they moved to Canada. The wind use to blow through the willows and travel along the prairie side speckles of the lightrays from the ex-california sun became the beautiful rays of their new life story. Becky blew a tiny kiss to the horizon as life as he knew it vanishes like a sunset. He was now forever a she. As a child Becky would lick her tiny teeth as her mother would feed her tiny peanut butter and sardine sandwiches. It was delightful like a philly cream cheese ad to watch her with her tiny chops licking away at the fishheads. Her eyes are like perfectly cut diamonds as they reflect images of pornographic paintings and erotic poetry. She is a child born to a world of american apparel and sexual harrasment. She is the new generation.
Generation AAA.
But who knows. she loved Jesus Camp and praying every night. When she grew up she wanted to be a gaytar hero superstar.
Damn she looked fine. She knew Brad’s dick like diamonds. She was to be a movie star like texas!
Nobody objected to the promiscuity of this 12 year old doll. She partied in New York with punks and raved with the clubkids of Amsterdam. She owned the tabloids like a star inpregnated by golden dreams.
Man, noone ever could compare to her broken champagne glass parties. So this was life.
Self mutilation style it was going on in the kitchen. Sluts, hoes, and faggots.
She went to the cineplex after.
Brad reaches up her skirt and smiles with afternoon delight.
by: slaughter & cowboys
American Apparel Assholes!
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH ASSHOLES, BABY? YOU’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE, I’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE! YOU GO TO THE STORE AND BUY A PORTERHOUSE STEAK, THAT HAD AN ASSHOLE! ASSHOLES COVER THE EARTH! IN A WAY TREES HAVE ASSHOLES BUT YOU CAN’T FIND THEM, THEY JUST DROP THEIR LEAVES. YOUR ASSHOLE, MY ASSHOLE THE WORLD IS FULL OF BILLIONS OF ASSHOLES. THE PRESIDENT HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE CARWASH BOY HAS AN ASSHOLE….EVEN THE JUDGE AND THE MURDERER HAVE ASSHOLES!”
(Post Office; Bukowski)
I would like to take the time to invite Mr. Jack Frost back to London Ontario Canada. I don’t understand why he left so early and I am seriously hoping he will return, and soon. Living in Canada I feel it is a right to have at least 4 months of solid winter. People joke that the Canadian seasons are winter and July. This is not true, we barely have 3 months of winter. It snows a bit the beginning of December and always melts, it snows again the beginning of january and usually sticks out until the beginning of March. I feel like it’s March right now. It is such an ugly month. The snow is brown and dirty. There is mud everywhere. It’s just not a pleasant time. January on the other hand is normally beautiful, but not 2008. Maybe it is due to the global warming and our need for huge SUV’s but I’ve been told that in the process of said “global warming” the temperature is supposed to drop drastically then increase. I have seen, or rather felt, no such drop.
It’s time for our first edition of “The London Streets” (a much more entertaining name will be created, but in the meantime it shall the very literal and boring “The London Streets”.
I don’t know anyone, nor does motha..so this is featuring our two favourite people in the world.
First:
Smiles in London?! WHAT IS THIS? Whipe that grin off your face, what are you 14?!
Your Nike Air Force Ones seem to suggest a strong support in slave labour, interesting. So the smile is mocking the small children who died to make those for you? I see.
But that face, how could one deny it? if that face asked me to asassinate mike huckabee! RIGHT NOW I”D DO IT! and oh oh oh those skinny jeans, what a FASHION STATEMENT.
straddling reindeer is made hot with this photograph right here.
Second:
hmmm, a red head who evidentally wants to be russian?
AND THAT HAT. THAT ARCTIC FOX HAT. how glorious, how outstanding. even a VEGAN couldn’t deny that this is the most beautiful creation since mankiiiiiind.
and those warm mittens made of some sort of animal, wonderful!
i’m sure that this girl is singlehandedly bringing back the fur, with a little help from a homosexual native male of course.
oh man, i’m sorry for this!
III.
It is now ten years later. It’s been ten years since I last read this ridiculous story. That’s a decade, and that’s a long time. That would make Ed seventy-three years of age. Of course, he is still sixty-three years of age because the end of his story hasn’t been written. To be honest, I can barely remember what the end of his story actually is. I shall try to recount that glorious morning in that diner, which unfortunately closed down three years ago and is now home to a Starbucks.
Those lemon yellow walls, the lemon yellow walls I insisted you create in your imaginary diner, were completely covered that morning. A coffee mug full of champagne was thrust into my hands, I am guessing that the diner did not own proper champagne glasses. It doesn’t matter what the champagne was in though, it matters that there was champagne in the diner at breakfast time and was being served for free. Champagne was the perfect symbol to use for this scene, because when I think of champagne I think of well-to-do parties or parties trying to be well-to-do. There was a party in that diner a decade ago, and things covering the walls. Almost makes one think of an art gallery, doesn’t it?
There was an art gallery that morning. The curator was the one and only waitress #1, I suppose if she had a name you would feel like you had more of a connection with this sad woman. Call her Cindy, but only if you want to. Cindy is a sad woman because she slept with a man she didn’t love, she slept with him because he was the manager of some silly corporation and that meant he had more money than the other men she usually slept with. The manager left her after three days, he did leave something behind though. That something decided what Cindy’s life would be. He left a baby boy inside of her. Eventually that baby boy was in the outside world and Cindy had to get a job in a diner to pay for the boy to live. If that manager didn’t exist then that baby boy wouldn’t exist. If that baby boy didn’t exist then Cindy wouldn’t be working at a diner. If Cindy wasn’t working at a diner Ed would be very dead right now. And so on.
Cindy a.k.a waitress #1 had been collecting Ed’s poetry and scribbles. And now, every single one of those napkins was pinned to the diner wall. The local newspaper was taking pictures of Ed in front of his tiny creations when I entered the diner.
I didn’t approach him. I smiled and laughed. We made eye contact for a split second, I waved goodbye and left the diner.
The end of Ed’s story goes like this: after his story was published in the newspaper another, much larger city wanted to put Ed inside their newspaper. After that story a television station wanted to put Ed on one of their most popular shows. Within a year Ed was known all around the world and some company managed to put all of his napkins into a large book which was sold wherever books are sold. It was a #1 international best-seller.
Ed is dead now, he died seven years ago. He was famous for three years. A lot of people went to his funeral. Apparently, somebody found his unfinished book and published it two years ago, it was also a #1 national best-seller. I’m not sure where the money from the sales went.
Wednesday night; Alex P. Keatons.
I played my first REAL concert.
We were pretty well recieved by our little audience, but are not meant for a bar setting.
It’s hard to review ones own show.
The band we opened for was Harvest Chant.
They were so good!
Everybody should go to their show at The London Music Club on January 9th.
Holy shit!
It’s almost Christmas!!
Merry XXXmas,
Herman
II.
I think it is finally time for me to engulf you in Ed’s world, now that you know everything about his sad existence.
Right now, Ed is in the washroom, I’m not going to go see him though, for I am a girl. Here he comes now. His eyes seem sadder than usual, his steps are slow and contrived. I hope this isn’t the day–oh no it is, isn’t it? Ed’s at his lonely table now, he’s writing on a napkin with a thin permanent marker. I can’t see what he is writing from my booth, but I know exactly what it says. #1 and Ed have their conversation, but this time it is strange–Ed looks straight into her eyes and says, “thankyou” at the end of it. #1 is so taken aback she can barely mouth the words “you’re welcome”. I was even surprised! I had to hold in my gasp by shoving a chunk of toasted bagel into my mouth. There was now no doubt in my mind that this was in fact the day it was going to happen.
I went through three coffee refills while watching Ed finish his breakfast. He finally crumpled up his napkins and left the diner, like always I didn’t follow. While #1 was making milkshakes for some punk rock teenagers I snuck over to Ed’s lonely table. I picked up one of the napkins he has written on and smoothed it out. A line of tears instantly escaped my eyes. I was right about what it would say.
I am going to share with you what it said, even though I swore a very long time ago to never share Ed’s pictures or poems with a stranger.
It read, “I am going to murder myself…”
I saw #1 sway her hips towards Ed’s table so I quickly dropped the napkin, as it fell it flipped over. I glanced at is and read the word, “Tomorrow.”
Yes! There’s still time. I’ll see him for breakfast tomorrow, I’ll say a proper goodbye, I’ll even hug him! Today wasn’t the day, it was going to be tomorrow. I knew that it wasn’t possible for me to stop Ed from offing himself, it was his destiny. I’m not sure what my destiny is, but I hope it involves a publishing deal.
I had forgotten to set my alarm clock.
I am running to the diner.
I could probably just make myself appear in the diner with my writing powers.
I am such a fucking idiot.
Ed is probably gone now, forever. I’ll never get to watch him eat a cup of juicy fruit again. I’ll never get to see the conversation he and #1 had every morning. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.
You are going to be surprised about what is happening in the diner right now. There’s a commotion.
I’m there right now, in the middle of it all. Everything is happening (but what is everything?), I couldn’t have written what was going on (which was everything). How did this happen? For the second time in this ridiculous story tears are flowing from my eyes.
Why our beloved world no longer makes sense:
I was handed 2 pieces of gum today. I knew it was gum due to the word “Bubba” written on the wrapper. Along with this word there was a picture of the gum. Similar to a gusher or trident splash. The gum itself was a lemon yellow with a red goo. The rest of the wrapper was written in spanish and naturally, since I don’t know one word of spanish, I had no clue what it was saying. I unwrapped it to reveal a pale yellow piece about the size of a quarter. I popped it into my mouth expecting a nice tropical flavour normally affiliated with bright coloured gum. For the first few seconds, yes, thats exactly what it was. A huge shock came when it suddenly felt like someone was rubbing 50-grit sandpaper on my tounge. I found out later said gum was flavoured pineapple and hot sauce. Hot sauce, as in tabasco, louisiana red hot, hot sauce. Needless to say, I did not eat the other piece. It did not taste good.
Motha Pain and I wrote the same story.
It was completely unintentional.
Making it that much more awesome.
Here is part one of mine.
I.
Imagine yourself in a diner. Let’s say it can be any diner you’ve ever been in, just make sure the walls are painted a lemon yellow, and it has to have a corner where a small table sits with a single chair. That lonely spot can’t be occupied by anyone in your imaginary diner though. It’s reserved for a character from my imagination. I’ll introduce you to him soon, but for now we need to focus on your imaginary diner. In the kitchen you need to create some cooks, I don’t care how many you create but I do recommend that they be ill-tempered and constantly frying up greasy food. I’ve worked in kitchens before, and all of the cooks have been short-tempered jerk-offs; so I know from experience.
Dispersed throughout my imaginary diner there are the regulars; the woman who own’s the antique store in the next building, the 40-something man who hands out flyers for his church, the punk rock teenagers who are skipping fourth period for the eighteenth time in a row and so on. Let’s say the name of the diner is “Lily’s”, named after the first wife of the owner. The owner sits on his stool all day reading his newspaper and talking to his loyal customers. I’m going to name him Herman, even though he doesn’t look much like a Herman, I just really like that name. Herman’s third (and final) wife stands behind the counter all day. She takes the customer’s money and always gives the correct amount of change, in fact she has never in her existence given a customer the incorrect change.
But Herman’s third wife isn’t important, nor is Herman, not even the punk rock teenagers. There are only two people in this diner that are important to me, and they should be important to you too. Now one of them is slightly more important to me than the other but both are equals as far as this story goes. He is more important to me because he is the son of my hero. He hasn’t saved anybody’s life, nor has he singlehandedly brought peace to the world. He is my hero because he is a direct descendent and only descendent of the man who invented the retail checkout divider, also known as the stick. I admire Theo Misaresh because he patented this idea and made millions, show me a grocery store that doesn’t have one! When Theo didn’t have all the millions and billions of dollars he fathered a son but was too broke to keep it, so my character was sent away to an orphanage until he was eighteen and allowed to move out on his own. The story I am telling is unfortunately not about my character discovering his inheritance, perhaps later when I’m done with him and he is part of a story by somebody else he’ll find it (but I doubt it).
Anyway, now that you know my important character’s background, perhaps it is time for you to finally meet him. He is sixty-three years of age right now. He lives in an apartment approximately fourteen minutes away from this diner, what his apartment looks like isn’t important though, I want your mind to stay in the diner and remain in the diner until the end of this story. (In fact, I’m not even sure what his apartment looks like, I’ve never even been there). I suppose that I had better give my favourite important character a name, so that I don’t have to constantly refer to him as my favourite important character. His name will be Ed. In have given him this name as a sort of cruel joke, since ‘ed’ is usually added to words to make them past tense, and at sixty-three years of age Ed is very past tense. Ed’s physical traits are only slightly important to the telling of this story. You must know that Ed’s eyes are sunken in and have a tired look to them. His mouth is drooping at both ends and he always has stiff, white stubble all over his chin. (When Ed was forty years of age he had a thick, dark beard but he shaved it off for a woman and it never came back).
Speaking of women, they are very rare in Ed’s life. He has had two girlfriends–the first was from the orphanage he grew up in. They hid in the tube slide in the playground and explored each others bodies. Eventually she was adopted and he never heard from her again. His second girlfriend was the person who got him to shave his beard. She made Ed do lots of things he didn’t want to, but her still never objected. They dated for eleven years. It all ended when his girlfriend came to the realization that she was attracted to women and was in love with the woman who coached her son’s hockey team. Her son wasn’t Ed’s, but Ed enjoyed the young boys company. When his girlfriend left him, he never saw the boy again.
The women which surrounded Ed’s current world and life are not sexually attracted to him. In fact Ed hasn’t fornicated in twenty-four years, five of those years he was dating the lesbian.
The women in Ed’s life do adore him though, they are two waitresses at the diner. Waitress #1 is an important part of this story, she will remain nameless. Waitress #2 is only important to the story because #1 can’t work all the time, she needs time off to take care of her son, who is completely coincidentally named Edward, but called Ed for short.
Waitress #1 is not a natural blond, but she pretends to be because it makes good tips. She sways her hips and butt when she strolls to each table she is serving and always has a warm smile when she talks to customers.
#1 has been serving Ed his black coffee and fruit cup for twelve years, that’s 4272 days when you subtract holidays. Every time the conversation has gone like this:
#1- “The usual?”
Ed- “mumble mumble”
#1- “Alright then, Ed”
Ed- “mumble mumble”
#1- “How’s the novel coming?”
Ed- “mumble mumble”
#1- EXIT
This conversation, though you may not realize it from a distance, was the most important moment in each of these character’s day. It is also an important piece of information for you to have in your little mid and a great segue for me to introduce the point of my ridiculous story. You see, Ed is writing a novel, he has been writing this novel since he was twenty-four. He’s written countless short stories too, they’ve been sent to publishers and have never been sent back. So Ed isn’t sure what that means. Ed’s novel is the most amazing piece of literature anybody could ever read. Ed is an amazing writer.
Ed enjoys drawing small pictures with permanent markers, everyday after his conversation with #1 he draws a small picture or writes a short poem that pops into his intricate mind. And that mind which controls my character is the most interesting mind I’ve eveer had the pleasure of creating.
All of Ed’s poems and drawings are scribbled onto the paper thin napkins #1 gives him with his coffee and fruit cup. Ed never keeps his pictures of poems though, and some of them are actually quite lovely too, he just crumples them up. The he places the exact amount of money plus a two dollar tip on the lonely table, and leaves the diner. I’m not sure where he goes after he visits the diner, I’ve never left the diner to actually follow him.
Since I do stay in the diner after Ed leaves, I witness something amazing. I’m not going to tell you what it is though, I want there to be some element of surprise at the end of my story–which is closer than you think.
