rainy day men [guest post]

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wolves at the door [guest post]

there are times when that old devil comes peeking his head around the corner. Or he knocks on the door, lightly, just loud enough that I can hear him.
He likes to taunt me a bit, give me a hint at what's possible, and he knows that I know what a nasty fucker he is.
The thing about him is that he never actually dies. I can beat him again and again, but he'll never be gone for good. I've just revoked his citizenship. I've taken away his passport. I've cut off his legs, and he has to hobble around. He's the only cripple I take pleasure in mocking. Every time I laugh it's me slicing off another bit of his skin. My pleasure is, almost literally, his pain.
But the fucker's still alive. He can still taunt me, make me remember when he he used to beat me bloody. When he had me on the ropes.
"You could barely get out of bed, you coward. Remember that? You stayed up all night, just waiting for something decent to happen. You were nothing. You couldn't even move. Maybe you're still that coward. Are you? I think you are. I think you're weak. You can't even handle a woman leaving. You can't handle memories of the bad days. I'm going to ruin you."

These days, it's not even a fair fight. I've seen his playbook, I've watched all the video, and he never actually learns any new tricks.
Sure, he fights dirty, but then again so do I.

It can be anything that triggers his threats, really. An oddly warm day in the middle of January, and it's 2005 again, and I'm in hell. The woman I love will never come back, and it's hard to see how to get past that. I'm a couple dollars short, and I'm a failure again, a disappointment.

So I run. And clean. And work. And find someone to run around with.
He goes away. For a while. I can't kill him, but he can't kill me either.
I don't like Sundays.

furlough 08' baby, wooo

to new beginnings or the same old shit...
mr. oglepants went to a bikram yoga class this morning with his betrothed and rounded out the afternoon with a big glass of wine and chain smoked the afternoon away.
if anyone, anywhere would like to post a small short story on this blog feel free...
it's fushupao@hotmail.com and the password is omnibus700. that's right dear reader whomever you are, wherever you happen to be, feel free to lend your createactivity to a good cause (be productive and not reproductive) this new year. if your blog entry is especially creative or funny i promise, here and now, to send you prize in the mail. please just email me at fushupao@hotmail.com your name, address, etc. prizes will awarded in the order of entries received and will only be limited by my own imagination and my willingness to maybe shell out ten to thirty dollars on this little experiment. prizes include a map of budapest, a half used disposable camera... what could the first thirteen pictures be of???? and/or a copy of philip roth's, the dying animal. read the book the san francisco chronicle calls "sorrowful, sexy, elegant... A distinguished addition to Roth's increasingly remarkable literary career." or just read it for the part of where the aged professor face fucks his nineteen year old student or the bit where he masturbates to beethoven... classic. why on god's green earth i decided to read more and start with this, quiet as it's kept. furlough 08' baby, woo

ray... if anyone ever asks if you're a god... say yes!!!

slew/ bob slid up to honey pot on the bench and rubbing his scabby elbow into her side blurted out "my super power is that i can't eat peanuts. i can't even really touch them. i'll break out into hives and my throat will close up... cool huh???"
"that's not a super power numb nuts, that's called an allergic reaction" honey pot stated rolling her eyes for effect "why don't you just go drop dead and help save on oxygen for the rest of us."
bob slunk off carrying his cold dented can of corned beef hash. exit stage left
honey pot continued "he thinks he's so special, but really he's like special olympic special... short bus, you know?" thumbing her fat thumb in the direction that bob left in.
the boy whose real name was wiznick/ lunchmeat sighed deeply "and this too shall pass"
before honey pot could register what just happened lunch meat lunged across the table and grabbed a hold of honey pot's hand interlacing her plump sweaty fingers across the back of her hand with his own.
"can i ask you something... just between us prom queens???"
honey pot attempted to wring her hand free but the boy named lunch meat tightened his grip.
"are you a god???"
before she could answer the boy named lunch meat leaned over and blew his nose all over honey pot's chest. wet snot rockets... gray and gelatinous peppered the front of her shirt and bare skin.
honey pot stood up clutching her lunch tray to the front of her chest "this conversation isn't over you gross little jesus freak." and stomped out of the lunch room, her squat frame shaking as she stormed out of the now still room.
the boy named lunch meat with a self satisfied smirk leaned back and picked up the chewed apple that sat on his tray and cupping it in both hands began humming, careful so no one over heard him, what if god were one of us.
the half bitten part of the apple began turning yellow and then a shade of brown as a white moldy fuzz grew from the exposed jagged parts made from his teeth marks. a black bruise slowly spreading across the skin, beginning from the damaged part of the apple, as it time lapsed... turning into a rotten fetid lump of flesh in a matter of seconds.

sigh

it's been a minute...
drinking little penguin... all wines taste the same in the end... acidic, the same going down as they do coming up...
the vomitorium. the vomit comet. wallace and vomit. that's a funny word in english. like the eskimos have twenty- seven different words for snow... vomit.
seen on a t- shirt "i'd fuck me"

the function of my dysfunction

lunch meat: i have the ability to know exactly what jesus would do...
honeypot: really??? okay hotshot what would jesus do with an elephant with three balls???
lunch meat: he'd walk the elephant and pitch to the rhinoceros.

i am leaving for san francisco tomorrrow... thank you jay, colin and simone for taking care of bear...

here but for the grace of god we go...

cry me a river, build a bridge and get over it.

"so... why do they call you lunch meat???"
honey pot asked pushing her large glasses tight around her round face. lunch meat was concentrating on the sad little chicken nuggets on his plastic cafeteria plate. the girl named honey pot sat down across from him in the lunchroom at roman polanski high school, mixing her mashed potatoes and canned corn together before scooping plastic spoonfuls into her mouth. lunch meat realizing the girl was still sitting there after several minutes shrugged his shoulders in reply. honey pot with a mouthful of instant potatoes and corn continued the one sided conversation. "i heard, that you got caught masturbating with a pile of shaved ham from a sandwich by a teacher in the bathroom. only, somehow you microwaved the meat on high and gave yourself second degree burns on your bubble yum and chicklets."
lunch meat looked up for the first time that day, "if that was really the case, and i'm not saying it is, my nickname would be blister dick or something... wouldn't it?" attempting his best at a withering look.
honeypot pointed her spork at the boy flicking dehydrated potato flakes and hissed "listen hear you dumb little kumquat. i know okay??? i know you're special... but then again so am i."
she pushed up the sleeve of a tired gray flannel she was wearing and held a limp wrist at eye level. lunch meat watched as tiny water droplets formed at the tips of her fingers before dropping onto the cold gray table between them. a dozen or so fell before honey pot continued.
"that weird solar flare... the one that turned the sky pink and that bright shade of green didn't just effect you numb nuts."
lunch meat gazed quietly around the cafeteria, several students had stopped what they were doing and stared back giving a silent nod.
honey pot continued,
"we were all outside that day. you think you're not lonely only alone? i got news for you... you needle nose, smug little piece of twit. you're not."