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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.
