The Bowling Alley

Rock and Jacob walked into the bowling alley and looked around.

“Why are we in a bowling alley?” Rock asked.  “It seems like a weird place for high school kids to go on a Friday night.”

“What are you talking about?  We’re here to hang out.”

“Why?”

Jacob shrugged.  “That’s what all cool high school kids do on Friday night.  They go down to the bowling alley and meet their friends.  Hang out.  Eat nachos and crappy hot dogs.  Play arcade games.  Maybe bowl.”

“I’m like 90% sure that isn’t the case.”

“What?  You mean hanging out at the bowling alley isn’t a thing anymore?”

“I don’t think it ever was a thing,” Rock said, looking around uncomfortably, as he should have, because I’m pretty sure bowling alleys have a pretty high per capita proportion of rapists.  “I’m not even sure bowling alleys are still a thing.”

“What? Really, dude?”

“Maybe in the 1950s.  Wait, there’s Lucy.  And a bunch of other people,” Rock said.  He looked confused for a moment.  “I guess this is a thing.  Not sure why, but let’s roll with it.”

“Hey, guys,” Lucy said, walking up and greeting Rock and Jacob.

“You know, you don’t have to say hi to us every time we happen to be in the same place at the same time,” Jacob said.  “We can both just be somewhere.  What’s this song, by the way? It’s awful.”

“It’s Meghan Trainor.”

“Ugh.  Doesn’t she have a black guy to go fuck?”

Rock and Lucy stared at Jacob.

“You know, because she’s fat and white.”

They kept staring.

“And, stereotypically speaking, black guys tend to be attracted to fat white girls.”

Lucy and Rock continued to stare, before Rock spoke, saving Jacob from himself.  “I actually kind of like her.”

“Really?” Jacob asked.

Rock shrugged.  “Like, I know all her songs are incredibly stupid, and the lyrics are entitled and obnoxious, but they’re catchy.”

“I think they’re manufactured to be that way,” Lucy said. “I think professionals or whatever draw them up specifically to appeal to our brains in a way that makes us enjoy them.  You just have to find a way to ignore the lyrics.”

“Is that what they do with Lady Gaga?” Rock asked.

“I don’t know,” said Lucy.

“Lady Gaga I actually respect,” Jacob said.  “It takes a real artist to wear a meat suit to prove…something.”

“Hey, does anyone want to go get some nachos?” Lucy asked.  “I’m thinking that’s what we do in a bowling alley.”

“Actually, I was thinking about going and playing some crappy arcade games,” Rock said.  “Man, this is so much better than being at home with our high-tech video games and smart TVs, or in a park drinking.  No wonder all the kids these days are hanging at bowling alleys.”

“I know,” Lucy exclaimed excitedly.  “If we were at a football game or something, I might be able to walk ten fucking steps without getting ogled by some creepy pedophile.  And can you imagine interacting with someone at a concession stand who isn’t drunk or stoned?”

“Truly, the bowling alley is the Mecca of high school kid hangouts,” Jacob said.  “Just as it always has been and always will be.”

As Rock and Jacob broke apart and started moving toward the arcade games, Jade Pelfert walked in and caught Jacob’s eye.  He tapped Rock and nodded toward her.

“Hey, what do you know about that girl?” Jacob asked.

“Some sophomore,” Rock shrugged.  “Pretty hot.  Why?”

“Well, don’t tell anyone, but I think we’re meant to be together.  Someday, I’m going to marry that woman.  It’s destiny.”

“Marry her?  Aren’t you getting, like, three steps ahead of yourself?” Rock said.  “Who is she?”

“Jade…something.  Pelfert, I think.”

“Don’t you think you should know her name before you start making wedding plans?  Have you talked to her?”

“Not yet,” Jacob said.  “Back off my ass.  I’m slow playing this.”

“Yeah, I mean, it looks like you’re missing just a few preliminary steps between now and marriage.”

Jacob sighed.  “Maybe.  But I have this crazy pipe dream where something actually works out and life doesn’t completely suck.”

“You may be asking for too much there.”

“I know.”

Rock sighed.  “Is this going to be another extended series of you obsessing after a girl you hardly know.”

“Probably.”

“Don’t you think that plot point is a little tired?  That you’re kind of turning into a one-trick pony?”

Jacob shrugged.  “I don’t know.  There was that one timeline where I ran for President.  Besides, we’ll throw a lot of time travel and other shit in there to break up the monotony.  The love angle is just one thing we’ll do.  Sort of an underlying baseline, if you will.”

“I just think you should be more creative, is all.”

Jacob shrugged.  “Maybe.  But I’ve never really been much for plot structure.  It’s just kind of…boring.”

Time Travel III- The Aftermath

“So, how was it?  What happened?” Tyson asked Jacob as he removed the helmet back in the present.

“They raped me and killed my pa,” Jacob cried out, melodramatically, though I suppose it’s tough to overreact to rape and pa-murder.

“What? Really?” Tyson said, putting his arm around Jacob.  “What happened?”

Jacob shrugged.  “No.  Nothing happened.”

“Are you sure?” Rock asked.  “It certainly looked like something happened.”

“I think I’d remember going back in time, Rock,” Jacob said condescendingly.

“Hmm,” Tyson said, grabbing the helmet and looking at it.  “It looked like the helmet worked.  You should have gone right where we planned to send you.”

“It didn’t.”

“Are you sure you can’t tell us anything about your experience?”

“I can tell you they were all horrible people.”

“Were they?”

Jacob shrugged.  “I assume so.  Most people are.”

Tyson sighed.  “So, you really don’t remember anything?”

Jacob shook his head.  “Nope.  Sorry.”

“Alright, let me take a look at it.  Watch the door,” Tyson said, taking the helmet over to his corner with a bunch of science stuff.

“Why do we have to watch the door?” Rock asked.

“To make sure teachers aren’t coming.”

Rock laughed.  “Dude, we’re doing science stuff.  Not smoking weed.  I think we’ll be alright.”

“Rock, this whole time-travel helmet thing isn’t exactly OSHA-friendly, so we only work on it when people aren’t looking.  Just watch the door and stop being a tool, alright?”

“Damn, Tyson,” Jacob said, approaching the door.  “You never struck me as much of a rebel.  You’re a lot cooler than I thought.”

“Yeah, well, a crime committed in the pursuit of knowledge is no crime at all,” Tyson said, his focus still primarily on the helmet.

“Never mind.  You’re right back down to baseline,” Jacob said, shaking his head and looking at Rock.  “You try to give a guy a compliment and he has to go and ruin it with pretentious shit like that.”

“The quote doesn’t even make sense.  He says it’s a crime right there in the quote.  By definition, it’s a crime,” Rock said.  “I mean, if he’d said it isn’t wrong, or is honorable or noble, then the quote would make sense.  But it’d still be a crime.”

“Eureka,” Tyson said, because that seems like something a science bitch would say when they figure something out.  “I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Alright,” Jacob said.  “Explain it to me.”

“Well, your thoughts, perceptions, and most importantly, your memories, are nothing more than the function of electrical impulses in your brain that are the result of your current biological makeup.  It looks like the helmet did send you back in time.  However, when you returned to the present, you have your current body at the current moment in time, which only has experienced what you’ve experienced up to this point in your life.  Therefore, the memories from the past that you experienced aren’t imprinted in your brain. That’s why you can’t remember them.”

“Uh, what?”

“Because your body is an object, it couldn’t be moved through time.  Therefore, it never gained the memory of what you experienced,” Tyson said.  “Of course, this whole thing presupposes the fallacy of the soul, the idea that we have some permanent, absolute consciousness, but I’m still working that part out.  The point is that you can’t remember because the memories never got imprinted on your brain.”

“So, what exactly went back in time?” Jacob asked.  “My perception?”

Tyson shook his head.  “No, that doesn’t make sense.  Your perception and personality is nothing more than a manifestation of your physical being.  I haven’t quite worked this part out, but somehow you went back in time without taking your physical body with you.  It doesn’t really make sense to me.”

“Alright, so what now?”

“Tell you what,” Tyson said.  “I’ll keep working on this.  Figure out what’s going on.  You go do, well, whatever it is you popular kids do in the meantime.”

“Drink, do drugs, and have sex?” Jacob asked.

“Whatever.  I’ll let you know when I figure this out.”

“Alright, Rock.  Come on.  Let’s go drink and have sex,” Jacob said.  He paused, turned around and looked at Tyson.  “Uh, not with each other, if that was unclear.”

Time Travel II-The Cadaver Synod

So, Jacob went back in time to the year 897, but everybody was speaking Latin or Italian or some shit and he couldn’t understand what anyone was saying, so he left before he was accused of being a witch for his modern dress.  Hell, even if they’d been speaking English, he wouldn’t have been able to understand them.  The dialect would have been too different.  Have you ever tried to read Chaucer?  Yeah, like that.  So, anyway, I guess I’ll write this story about the Cadaver Synod, since he went there, couldn’t understand what was going on and left is a shitty story, but you have to meet me halfway with the willing suspension of disbelief.  Just pretend that everyone spoke English, or Jacob magically spoke Latin, or whatever floats your boat to smooth over the aspects of this time travel thing that really don’t make any sense.

“Holy shit, I think it worked,” Jacob said, looking around as a crowd entered a nearby building.  He grabbed some random dude by the arm.  “Excuse me, random dude, is that where the trial of Pope Bernie is being held?”

“The trial of Pope Formosus?  Yes, friend, it is.  Would you care to join me?” random dude asked, since Jacob is going to need someone to bounce shit off of, Rock not being here and all.

“I sure do.  So, what’s this pope on trial for?  Banging 12-year old boys?” Jacob asked inappropriately as the two entered the papal court, because apparently this trial is open to the public, at least in this version of history.  I have no idea if it actually was or not, but standing around Rome would be boring, so here we are.

“Excuse me?” random dude asked.

“Hey, it’s the pope.  I’m sure he’s banging hot, top-notch 12-year old boys, am I right?  Well, hot by Catholic standards, anyway.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, right, that hasn’t happened yet,” Jacob said, remembering that this was over a thousand years ago and he should probably ease up on the contemporary references.  “Well, I mean, I’m sure it’s happened, you just don’t know about it.  In the future, priests bang little boys, by the way.”

“Right,” said random dude uncomfortably.  “We’re in the Holy See, so, uh, let’s try to keep the blasphemy to a minimum.”

“Pope Formosus,” a man in papal vestments began.  This was actually Pope Stephen VI, but Jacob didn’t know this because, well, why would he?  It’s not like he researched the trial he was about to go see before he left.  Hell, I’m just pulling information off a Wikipedia page myself.  Being well-informed is overrated.  “When you were bishop of Porto, why did you usurp the universal Roman See in such a spirit of ambition?”

The crowd started to yell, and Jacob yelled along with them. “Yeah, convict him.  He’s a bad pope.  Bad pope.”

The corpse started to raise his hands, which were attached by string to the deacon behind him.  “Oooh, I’m a spooky pope ghost.  I did it because I’m a wicked, bad sinner.  Or was a wicked, bad sinner.  You should totally convict me, and also cut off three of my fingers and bury me in a foreigners’ graveyard.”

Jacob leaned over to random dude next to him.  “I’m beginning to think this trial may not fully incorporate all due process concerns.”

“Lies.  Pope Formosus was duly elected.  He never usurped anything,” came a shout from the crowd, followed by more yelling.

“Yeah.  He’s innocent.  Pope Formosus is the greatest pope ever,” Jacob yelled.

“Dude, which side are you on?” asked random dude.

“Whichever side is yelling the loudest.  Now, shut up, I’m trying to join the riot.”

“Silence,” Pope Stephen, the pope who was still alive, yelled.  “Pope Formosus, I find you guilty of all the bad shit I’m accusing you of.  (It was violating canon law, perjury, and serving as bishop while a layman, if you care) I nullify your papacy, and will cut off three of your fingers then bury you in a graveyard for foreigners, since it’s like 900 AD and we still hate foreigners, so that’s a disgrace.”

“Yeah, foreigners suck,” the crowd yelled as they followed the two popes to the graveyard for the interment.

“Dude, we can be openly xenophobic here? Sweet,” Jacob said.  “Can we be openly racist too?”

“Sure,” said random dude as they put the corpse in a foreigner’s tomb.  “It’s 897.  You can be whatever you want.  Racist, xenophobic, sexist.  Hell, we downright demand you discriminate based on religion.”

“There,” Pope Stephen VI said, wiping his hands clean.  “Your papacy has been nullified and you’ve been buried in a place of degradation.  I think my work here is done.  Time to go take a nice pope bath, and get a good night’s sleep in my pope bed.”

“Dig him up and throw him in the river,” Jacob yelled.

“What?  Who said that?” the live pope asked.

“We all did,” Jacob said in a different voice.

“Is that what you all really want?”

“Yes, it is,” Jacob yelled in a third voice.

Pope Stephen VI sighed.  “Fine, if that’s what you want.  Get to it, boys.”

“What are you doing?” random dude asked Jacob.

Jacob shrugged.  “What? I thought it’d be funny.”

“This stopped being funny a long time ago.  Now it’s just sad.”

“Hello? Did you not get the Weekend at Bernie’s references?”

“The what?”

“Oh, right, you still don’t get future references,” Jacob said, resting his hands on the small of his back and stretching.  “Well, I think I’ve gotten my fill of xenophobia and corpse desecration, and since that’s pretty much all there is to do in the past, I should be heading home.  Unless…do you think asking the living pope to rape the dead pope is going too far?”

Random dude gave Jacob a look.  I’m not going to describe it.  You can imagine what the look was.

“Right.  Too far.  Well, see you, random dude who wasn’t worth naming.”

Time Travel-Part I

“What’s up, nerdatron?” Rock asked as he and Jacob walked into the room where the science club was being held.

“Hey, guys,” Tyson said, still tinkering at the time-travel helmet that will become central to this episode.  You would have thought he would have finished that up by now, given that he offered Rock and Jacob to check it out, but whatever.  “Go ahead and have a seat.  We’ll be starting up shortly.”

“Oh, no, no, nerd-dinger.  We’re here for the time-travel you promised, not to learn something,” Rock said.  “Now, make with it, needle-dick.”

“You know, you really should be nicer to him if he’s doing you a favor,” Jacob said, employing common sense and decency.  “It’s not like he has to let you use, well, whatever his time-travel dealy is.  Keep being a dick and he might tell you to piss off.”

“No, it’s okay.  As a science nerd, I’m thankful for any human contact.  As long as he’s paying attention to me and acting somewhat like my friend, I’ll mentally justify any abuse,” Tyson said, falling back onto easy stereotypes because it makes writing easier.

“Really? You mean you don’t plan your life around minimizing human contact?  Interesting,” Jacob said.  He shrugged.  “To each their own, I guess.  Now, what do you have for us?”

“This,” Tyson said, proudly holding up his time-travel helmet.

“What’s this?  Is this one of your LARPing costumes?” Jacob asked.  In his defense, the helmet did look as goofy as you’d expect a time-travel helmet to look.  “Damn it, Tyson, you promised us time-travel.  I didn’t come here to look at your LARPing costume.”

“That’s what this is.  The time-travel thing, not the LARPing thing,” Tyson said.  “You put this helmet on, and it allows you to walk through time.”

“A helmet?  That’s different.  I expected a machine or something,” Jacob said, taking the helmet from Tyson and looking it over.  “How’s it work?”

“Think of it like a rocket pack, or anti-gravity boots,” Tyson said.  “In the same way those things allow you to move up and down in addition to forward and back and side to side, this will allow you to move along the fourth dimension.  You’ll be able to move forward and backward in time, the same way you move through space.”

“Is that supposed to make sense to me?”

“To you, no.  If I say something that makes sense to you, it was probably an accident,” Tyson said.  “This is complicated stuff, but the user interface should be relatively simple.  Why don’t you take it for a whirl?”

“Hold on a minute, there, pokey,” Rock interjected.  “Why are you letting Jacob use this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why aren’t you using this yourself?  What are the side effects you aren’t telling us about?”

“Side effects, none,” Tyson said.  “The risks, however, are substantial and unpredictable.  Nobody’s ever attempted anything like this before.  There’s no telling what could happen.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure…” Jacob said.

“On the other hand, time-travel.”

“That’s all I needed to hear to go ahead and do this.”

“Great.  Where do you want to go?”

Jacob looked at Rock and shrugged.  “What do you think, Rock?”

Rock thought for a minute.  “So, I heard Pee Wee Herman has a new show.”

“What?  What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“Are you sure it’s a show?” Tyson asked.  “Are you sure it isn’t just an episode of To Catch a Predator?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s his own show,” Rock said.

“Still, how is that relevant?” Jacob asked.  “Are you just spouting off random facts again?”

“No, I was thinking you could go back to the nineties and watch old Pee Wee Herman shows.  Kind of to get ready for the new one.”

“I can watch old Pee Wee Herman shows now.  I’m not wasting a time-travel helmet to go back and watch old kiddy diddler shows when they first came out.  I want to see something cool.”

“If I may,” Tyson said, even though nobody asked him to speak.  “That may not be such a bad idea.  Not the Pee Wee Herman thing, per se, but something mundane.  After all, we don’t know a lot about how things may go down.  Controlling the variables may be smart, as opposed to jumping right into something major.”

“Nah, fuck that.  I want to see cool shit,” Jacob said.  “So, suggestions?  D-Day, American Revolution, Renaissance?”

Tyson shrugged.  “There’s the time the pope dug up another pope, put him on trial, reburied him, then dug him up again and threw him in the river.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, look it up.  History is weird.”

“Alright, pope trial it is.  How do I use this thing?”

“Just put the helmet on like this,” Tyson said, showing Jacob how to put the helmet on.  “Then it should become obvious.”

The Rejected Wife

July 30, 2017

“I’m Mr. Heworth,” said Benjamin, with a wry smile as he cleaned a pint glass.  “What can I do for you?”

“You’re the, uh, you’re the lawyer?” the middle-aged, pear shaped woman asked.  “Sorry, I shouldn’t judge.  I just didn’t expect to find a lawyer wiping down beer mugs, that’s all.”

“No, you wouldn’t.  Lazy bastard never does anything to help around the bar.  It is half his, you know?”  Benjamin noticed the confused look on the woman’s face and smiled.  “Sorry.  I’m not the lawyer.  He’s not in right now, though he should be back shortly.  Can I get you anything while you wait?”

“You’re, uh, not the lawyer?” the woman asked with a hint of annoyance in her voice.

“No, ma’am,” Benjamin said, cheery as a mockingbird.

“Then why’d you lie to me?”

“Technically, I didn’t lie to you.  You didn’t ask for the lawyer, you just said Mr. Heworth. I am Mr. Heworth, just not the lawyering version.”  The woman rolled her eyes, and Benjamin laughed.  “Sorry, when you spend all day around lawyers, semantics sort of becomes a way of life.”

The woman sighed and sat down on a bar stool, placing her purse on the bar.  “It’s alright.  I understand completely.  After all, my husband is a lawyer, and it’s a constant parsing of words.  It’s absolutely tiresome.”

“You sound unhappy,” Benjamin said, stopping what he was doing and coming to devote his attention to the woman.  “You want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about?” the woman asked.  “It’s the classic girl meets hotshot douchebag, is enamored, marries before she realizes the relationship is built around, well, the physical aspect, and ends up an empty shell of herself, stuck in a loveless marriage built around constructing a social façade and having abandoned all her dreams.”

“Doesn’t that describe most marriages?”

The woman laughed, looking down and shaking her head.  “I don’t know.  Probably.  We spend so much of our marriage trying to impress the hoity-toities at my husband’s firm, those who have nothing better all day to do than sit around at their country club, looking down their noses at those who have to actually work for a living.  It’s wearisome.  We have no relationship of our own.  I think that was the final straw.  We were at a dinner party a few weeks ago, and since no dinner party is complete without that couple arguing constantly and making everyone feel awkward, we were happy to oblige.  I thought, ‘I just can’t do this anymore’.”

“I’m so sorry.  Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Benjamin said.  He stood at the bar and turned.  “Um, I should let you know, though, that my brother doesn’t typically do divorce cases.  And by typically, I mean he doesn’t.”

“What? Where’d you hear that?”

“Uh, from my brother.  Whose office is in the back of my bar.”

“I find that difficult to believe.  A sole practitioner? I would think he’d take any case he could get.”

Benjamin shrugged.  “You’re welcome to wait around for him and ask him yourself.  Conveniently, here comes his paralegal now.”

Zach walked in to the bar and headed straight to Jeremy’s office before being stopped by a shout from Benjamin.

“What’s up?” Zach asked.

“This woman’s looking for Jeremy.  Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Should be shortly.  They were just wrapping up when I left.  Who knew a contract situation could be so complicated?”

“Everybody.  Literally everybody knew that.”

Zach shrugged.  “Oh. Anyway, the whole thing is boring as hell.  I almost fell asleep several times.”

“Shouldn’t be doing that in court, buddy.”

“And it dragged on, and on, and on.”

“I feel you,” Benjamin said.  “This woman wants to speak to Jeremy.”

“I’m hoping we’ll only take criminal and civil matters in the future, but I guess I understand.  He’s kind of got to take whatever work he can find.”

“Zach,” Benjamin said, pointing toward the woman.

Zach turned to her.  “Oh. Hi, I’m Zach Wells.  What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for an attorney.  I’m taking it you aren’t him?”

“I’m his paralegal.  What can I do for you?”

“My husband and I are about to go through a divorce and child custody situation.  I need representation.”

Zach clicked his tongue.  “We don’t really do divorce cases.  And by don’t really, I mean we don’t.”

“But I just heard you say you needed all the work you could get.”

“Except for from you.”

“Zach!” Benjamin scolded him from behind the bar.

“Right.  Let me rephrase.  As much as we’ll take on work in areas such as, say, real estate, which neither of us particularly enjoys, divorce cases are a whole different story.  They can get kind of messy, and we don’t like being in the middle of it.”

“What about the custody case?  That should be easy.  My husband and I both love our daughter very much, and have no problem splitting custody.”

“Hmm.  There’s no question of who the parents are?”

The woman shook her head.  “No. I’ve been faithful to my husband the entire time we’ve been married, and he doesn’t question that.  He’s certain that Sheri is his.”

“What about you?”

“What do mean?”

“You’re certain the child is yours?”

The woman tilted her head at Zach.  “Yes.  Maternal uncertainty isn’t a thing.  Nobody’s going around sticking babies into uteruses.  Uteri.”

“Right.  Got you.”

The door opened and Jeremy walked in.

“Hey Jer, this woman’s here to see us,” Zach said.  “She wants to know if we’re interested in representing her in her divorce.”

Without walking over, Jeremy turned to the woman.  “We don’t take divorce cases.  And by don’t take divorce cases, I mean we don’t fucking ever even consider taking divorce cases.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it,” the woman said.  “I just don’t understand why you’d turn down a perfectly good fee.”

“So I don’t have to deal with psychopaths like you and your batshit husband.”

“You know what? Fuck you,” the woman said, grabbing her purse.  “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on.”

“You want to fuck my horse?” Jeremy said to the woman as she stormed out of the bar.  He took a deep breath.

“Somebody’s in a mood,” Benjamin said.  “Care to tell us why?”

Without saying a word, Jeremy walked over to the bar.  He handed a piece of paper to Zach, who looked over it for a minute.

“I don’t see what the problem is.  It looks pretty typical to me.”

Benjamin grabbed the paper from Zach and glanced at it.  “Oh.”

Don’t Fear The Monsters Under Your Bed

July 5, 2017

Now that we’ve read our stories and said our good nights,

I know there’s one other thing that gives you a fright.

Don’t worry, son, I’ve heard what you said

And I’ll check for monsters under your bed.

I was young once, so I know how you feel,

But know this, son, those monsters aren’t real.

There’s nothing down there that’s can hurt you

So close your eyes tight, and sleep the night through.

Monsters are real, they just don’t live in your closet.

They’re hanging around where you least expect it.

Yes, my son, there’s still much to fear,

Like the men that you see, reeking of beer.

Monsters don’t have horns or bright eyes.

The most dangerous are adept at disguise.

The men mentioned above are most easy to see

Laying in streets and reeking of pee.

They’ll hassle and annoy you, asking for change.

They’re mostly not bad, they’re mostly insane.

Some of them are insane enough to hurt you.

They’re still not quite bad, they just don’t know what they do.

Others are a different kind of sick.

They know what they do, and they hurt you for kicks.

You’ll meet them first when you get into school.

They’re tough to pick out because most kids are cruel.

But some of these mean kids will never grow up.

They end up adults, who end up locked up.

Fearing them, though, is only a start.

Most of those ones aren’t very smart.

The dangerous ones know how to blend in

Acting normal while their urges drive them to sin.

You can’t see them but these monsters are all around you.

They could be a parent or a teacher in school.

Some of them know what they do is wrong,

And after they’ll hurt you the shame will be strong.

They’ll feel bad and cry over their evil deed.

A lot of good that will do you after you’ve tasted their seed.

The scars you will bear for the rest of your time,

And if they’re really wicked, they’ll relish their crime.

They’re smart and they’re masterful in deceit.

They might be police, they might be your priest.

You might be alone with them in a church,

Because in places you’re comfortable is where they will lurch.

They use their positions to build up your trust

Before making you the target of their lust.

Some of them are even more extreme.

They just want to be able to make you scream.

Seconds become hours, you’re in so much pain

And in this state for days you’ll remain.

All caused by someone you thought was a friend.

Friendship will be how you meet your end.

Stranger danger is a slogan of little use

When there’s a more likely source of abuse.

There’s many, many people whom you should fear

Even though you’ve known them for years.

Trust no one, son, be always on guard

Whether people are nice, mean, or seem a retard.

Literally everyone constitutes a threat.

One more thing, before I lay you to bed.

There’s one monster out of all that’s most bad.

He’s the one in here now, the one you call dad.

So turn over, son, and don’t make a peep

Because I’m pretty drunk, and your mom is asleep.

Machine Gun Jesus

June 29, 2017

“But doesn’t the Constitution guarantee the right to own a gun?” asked Jillian Hyde, raising her hand but not waiting to be called upon.

“What does that have to do with the Louisiana Purchase?” asked Mrs. Adams.  Jillian shrugged.

“I don’t know.  I heard you say Constitution, and took it as an opportunity to shoehorn my pet issue into the conversation, because I’m one of those people,” Jillian said.  She may not have said it exactly like this, but instead of transcribing whatever bullshit justification she gave for changing the topic, I decided to just dispense with pretenses and write what she really meant.

Mrs. Adams sighed and suddenly became very tired, as we all do when dealing with people who have opinions.  “That’s basically right, though there is some controversy on what it means.  The Constitution guarantees the right to keep and bear arms.  Does anyone know what part of the Constitution says this?”

“The Second Commandment?” Jacob said.

“You mean Amendment?”

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah, dude, the second commandment is a religious thing.  I think it’s about Machine Gun Jesus,” Rock said.

“Anyway, returning to the Louisiana Purchase, Jefferson was conflicted.  He recognized the opportunity before him, but didn’t think the Constitution gave him the power to make the decision.  He was torn between principle and pragmatism,” Mrs. Adams began, before continuing on to talk about more history stuff.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” Jacob asked Rock.  “You look dejected.” Rock looked dejected, by the way.

“Nobody laughed at my joke.”

“You told a joke?”

“Machine Gun Jesus, dude.  You don’t think that’s hilarious?”

Jacob shrugged.  “As a concept, maybe, but it doesn’t really play out when put into practice.  It seems a little forced.”

“Whatever, bro.  You know how demoralizing it is to tell a joke and not get laughs?  Even Jeff Dunham gets laughs.  You don’t even need to be funny.”

“You just have to let it flow organically.  You can’t shoehorn the joke in.  It sounds forced.  Speaking of shoehorning, why the fuck are we talking about abortion now?”

“Carrie Grant brought it up,” Tyson Dechert said, joining Rock and Jacob’s conversation, likely in an attempt to avoid the class conversation where everyone who’s never read the Constitution decides it means whatever the fuck is most convenient for them at the moment.

“What the hell?  Is it National Asshole Day?” Jacob said.  “Why does every discussion of the Constitution have to turn into a fight?”

“I think it’s because the Constitution is an ambiguous document with several legitimate, differing interpretations,” Tyson said, listening briefly to the class conversation going on behind them.  “And a lot of really stupid ones.”

“It’d be nice if we could just go back in time to figure out what the founding fathers were thinking when they drafted it,” Rock said.

Jacob shrugged.  “It wouldn’t matter.  The fact is, they probably didn’t all agree on what it means either.  Those were just the broad principles that they agreed on.  If you asked Thomas Jefferson and John Adams to interpret the Constitution, you’d probably get responses as different as those of Antonin Scalia and Ruth Bader Ginsburg.”

“I know.  I was setting up a plot line.”

“You know, we could go back in time,” Tyson Dechert said.  “Come by the science club sometime.”

“Wait, really?” Rock said excitedly.

“Yeah, really?  We’re really doing a time travel bit?  Isn’t that a little worn out?” Jacob objected.

Tyson shrugged.  “Not a bit so much as a convenient way to shoehorn in various bits at different parts of history.”

“You can really do that?” Rock said.  “You can really travel through time?”

“Sure.  It’s just another dimension, like space.  People used to travel all the time through space, time, you know, whatever.  But then people started making all these stupid time paradox movies, so NASA cut the funding.  A couple of Congressmen went to see Interstellar some Friday night and were like, ‘nope, fuck this.’  They cut the funding for it the next day, but the fact is you can move through time as easily as you can move through any dimension of space.”

“Really?” Jacob said.  “Then why can’t I just step back two seconds like I can move two feet to the right?”

Tyson shrugged, which seems to be his go to move.  “Same reason you can’t move higher or lower at will.  You are being pulled through time the same way you are being pulled to the earth.”

“But you have a way of breaking that?”

“Sure.  Stop by sometime.  I’ll show you.”

“Yeah, we will,” Jacob said.  “Sometime.  You know, when it’s convenient.”

The Football Match- Part 4

“Come on, William.  Time to get going,” Barry’s voice called out, accompanying the pounding at the door.  William rolled over in bed and sat up for a minute trying to wake up before the pounding started again.  He rushed to the door and answered it quickly, primarily concerned with stopping the pounding.

“What the hell, mate?  What time is it?” William asked, looking out at Barry, Lester and Hugh, all clad in their workout gear.  He answered his own question by turning around and looking at the clock on his nightstand.  “God damn it.  My alarm isn’t even set to go off for a half hour.  What the hell are you assholes doing here?”

“We came to get you up.  To run.  Like we discussed at the pub last night,” Barry said, smiling and bouncing up and down excitedly.  He turned and looked at Lester, then back at William.  “Except for Lester.  He just wanted to see you in your underwear.”

“They’re nice undies,” Lester agreed.

“Oh, fuck off,” William said, turning around and walking to his sink to grab a glass of water.  Uninvited, the other three followed him into his apartment.  William filled the glass with water and drank it down in one gulp.  Catching his breath, he turned back to the group.  “I’m not going for any bloody run.”

“What?” Hugh said.  “But last night at the bar, you said you wanted to rededicate yourself.  To get in shape and practice so that we can stick it to the Wolves next year.”

“And last night, I meant it.  This morning, I want to get as much more sleep as I can before I have to drag my miserable ass into work.  Not wake up an hour before I need to to go do something I hate.”

“Yeah, well you’re up anyway at this point,” Barry said, going through William’s drawers.  He grabbed a shirt and pair of gym shorts and threw them at William.  “So, you might as well get dressed and come with us.”

“No,” William said, tossing the clothes back at Barry.

“But you gave such an inspirational speech last night at the pub,” Hugh said in protest.

“No, no he didn’t,” Lester and Barry said in unison, both shaking their heads.  The brothers looked at each other, then Barry said, “No, the speech was nonsensical, but it did get us up and over here this morning.  So, get dressed.  We’re going.”

“Piss off.”

“Come on, William.  Think of Norman.”

William looked at Barry with a confused look on his face.  “What about Norman?”

Barry shrugged.  “I don’t know.  He’s a prick because he does his job, I guess.  Or expects you to do yours.  You never clearly articulated exactly what your problem with him is, but you were ranting about it for a good long while.”

“I do hate me some Norman,” William said, nodding thoughtfully.  After a moment, he winced and shook his head.  “But last time was such a disaster.  I’m not looking to try that again.”

“We’ll take it slowly.  Baby steps.  The season doesn’t start for another eight months, and we don’t have to play the Wolves until the end.  We have time to build up to it,” Barry said.  “Just think of Norman, all trying to get you to work and what not.”

“Yeah, and think of Devon, all banging Jackie and what not,” Hugh said.  The other three went silent and an awkward pall fell over the room.  They stared uncomfortably at Hugh.

“Hugh, don’t,” Barry said.

“What?” Hugh said with a shrug and a tone of legitimate confusion.  “They’ve been married for like ten years.  They’re obviously fucking each other.”

“That’s not the point.  Just don’t bring it up,” Barry said.

“Thirteen years,” William said solemnly, muttering under his breath.

“And I mean they’ve lived together for what?  Fifteen, twenty years?” Hugh said, continuing obliviously.

“Sixteen years,” William said quietly.

“Hugh, for the love of Christ, stop talking,” Barry said.

“But…”

“Hugh!”

Silence again overtook the room as Hugh got the message.  William looked up at Barry, who threw the clothes back to William.  William turned and walked into the bathroom.

“Give me five minutes to get dressed.  Then we’ll get going.”

 

“You’re bailing on me too?” William said, talking into his phone.  “Come on, man.”

“I’m not bailing on you.  No one is,” Hugh’s voice came from the earpiece in William’s phone.  “I’m just tired and don’t feel like heading to the pub tonight.  Besides, we’ve been going there a lot recently.  I need to spend some time with my kids.”

“You’re ditching me to drink with your kids?  Some friend you are.”

“Yes.  Well, no,” Hugh said.  “I’m going to spend time with my kids.  I’m not going to drink with them.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Um, maybe because I’m not an alcoholic.  I don’t drink alone, I drink to socialize with you and other people.  If I’m the only one drinking, it destroys the point for me.”

“Right.  So, you’ll be drinking with the kids.  They’re other people.  Well, kind of.”

“My kids don’t drink, William.  Obviously.”

“Oh.  They religious nuts or something?”

There was a long pause at the other end of the line.  “They’re children, William.”

“Right,” said William, failing to grasp this simple concept.  “So, they’re going to puke all over and piss themselves anyway.  You might as well let them drink.”

An audible sigh came from Hugh.  “Goodbye, William.”

Hanging up the phone, William shrugged and entered the pub, taking a seat alone at the bar.

 

“Dave.  Another pint, please,” William said to Tommy the barkeep six pints later.  Tommy nodded and brought him his beer.

“Anything else, William?”

“Not for now.  Cheers, Dave,” William said, holding up his glass and taking a sip.

Tommy leaned over to William and said quietly, “I don’t normally get in the middle of this sort of thing, but that lady at the other end of the bar was asking about you.  You know, if you’re interested.”

William looked down the bar where a couple of women sat.  “Which one?”

Tommy glanced behind him quickly.  “The one in the light blue shirt.”

“You mean the fat one.”

Tommy winced.  “I would never call a customer fat.  That seems mean.”

“But you are talking about the fat one, right?”

“She’s not that fat.  Sure, she’s bigger than the other ladies she’s with, but I wouldn’t call her fat.”

William sighed.  “Fine.  The plus sized one, then?”

Tommy thought for a moment.  “I think even plus sized is considered inappropriate.”

“Well, Jesus Christ, Dave.  I don’t know how to put it any nicer.  If I can’t call her plus sized, what should I call her?  Fat fuck sized?  Are you referring to the fat fuck sized woman at the other end of the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“See?  That wasn’t so difficult, now was it?”

Tommy shrugged.  “So, I’m guessing I should tell her you aren’t interested?”

“Whatever.  I’m not, but honestly I wouldn’t mind the company.”

William looked into his beer.  For a moment he zoned out, lost in his thoughts and his drunken haze.  Then, a voice brought him back into awareness.

“Hi.”

William looked up at the woman in the light blue shirt who was now sitting next to him.  Though Tommy was right and she wasn’t as fat as she looked across the bar, her face and teeth did more than enough to kill any attraction William might have had for the woman, even through his increasingly heavy beer goggles.  He mustered a weak smile.

“How do you do?”

“Pretty well, I suppose.  I’m Kathy,” the woman, Kathy, apparently, said, extending a warm, moist hand which William took.  Cringing, he shook the lady’s hand, and she responded with her own relatively weak handshake.  The woman smiled at him.  “So, what’s your name?”

“Huh?  Oh.  It’s, uh, William, I suppose.”

The woman laughed a lot more than she should have given the situation and the half-hearted nature of the joke.  “You’re funny.”

“It wasn’t intentional, I assure you.”

Kathy leaned over and rested her head on her hand in an attempt to be seductive.  “So, tell me about yourself, William.”

William shrugged.  “Not much to tell, really.  I work a dead end job at an insurance company, so that’s rather boring.  I live alone in a small, crappy apartment.  Overall, I guess I’m something of a pathetic loser.”

“Oh, come now.  I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It most certainly is.  I also drink too much, eat like crap, and am an emotionally crippled and closed off loner incapable of forming an emotional connection with another human being.”

Kathy reached over and touched William’s hand.  “I may be able to help with that.”

William looked around the room, searching for a response.  “I have a small penis,” he said, grimacing.  Again, Kathy laughed an inappropriately large amount.  William sighed.  “So, tell me about yourself.”  He paused for a panicked moment.  “Katy,” he guessed.

“Kathy.  Well,” she said, sitting up excitedly and smacking her lips.  She gathered her thoughts as if preparing for a dissertation.  “I’m 36 years young.  I’m a bank teller.  Well, I work as a bank teller, but I’m really a writer.  That’s my passion.  I just work at a bank to pay the bills while I follow my dreams.”

“So, you’re a bank teller?” William said, taking a sip of his beer and rolling his eyes.

“I like my friends, and I like to have fun.”

“That’s a unique perspective.  Most people I know hate their friends.  And I personally have never met anyone who likes to have fun before.”

Kathy slapped William playfully, and continued.  “I don’t care what other people think about me, and I dance like nobody’s watching.”

“Of course.  You have to show everybody what a free spirit you are.”

“I know, right?  See, you understand me.  Nobody else gets the real me,” Kathy said, smiling as sweetly as she could at William with her misshapen buck teeth.

“Yeah.  It’s almost like people judge you based on what you do and say as opposed to the fantastical image you have of yourself.”

“You know, we could get out of here,” Kathy said, licking her lips.  “My place is nearby.”

“No.  Uh, thank you for the offer and everything, but I think I’m just going to sit here and drink.”

“Come on,” Kathy said, leaning over and rubbing William’s thigh.  William pulled away slightly.

“No.  I’m good.”

“Pretty please.  With an extra sugar coated cherry on top,” Kathy said, sticking her tongue out in a gesture that was supposed to be sexy, but ended up being just plain weird.

“Seriously?” William asked with more curiosity than disgust or anger.  “Has that ever worked?  Has a man ever been like ‘well, I wasn’t really interested in having sex tonight, but since you said please, I’ll give you my cock’?  It just seems like it would be a wholly ineffective strategy.”

“Fine,” Kathy said, standing up angrily.  “I get the point.  You men are all so shallow.  Just because I’m not conventionally attractive, you won’t sleep with me.”

“You aren’t attractive by convention, or any other standards that I’m aware of,” William said, shrugging and returning to his beer.  “Though I agree it is absurd that men find sexual attraction to be an important component in deciding who they engage in intercourse with.”

“You know what?  I don’t care what you think.  I’m sexy damn it.”

“No.  You aren’t.  And that’s alright,” William said, putting his beer down and turning back to Kathy.  “Not everyone is going to be physically attractive, and for the most part it’s not something you have control over.  But not everyone needs to be.  There are a lot of other positive qualities an individual can have.  You could be smart, caring, funny, creative, industrious, or have any other number of positive qualities.  All of these traits are more important than physical attractiveness, so who cares if you aren’t sexy?”

“I know.  Right?” Kathy said, happily sitting back down and turning back to William.  “I’m so glad to hear you say that.  I totally agree.”

William shrugged and picked up his pint glass.  “The fact that you feel the need to sit in a bar and insist that you are sexy tells me you probably don’t have any of these qualities, but you never know.  You might.”

Kathy got up from her seat again.  “Goodbye, William.”

 

“Mmm, that smells like, well, like food,” Hugh said as he walked through the door.  He walked over to Amy, who was cooking something at the stove, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before gingerly walking over to the kitchen table and taking a seat.  “What are you cooking?”

“It’s a new recipe I found online for shrimp and vegetables,” Amy said, continuing to stir the pot on the stove.

“Shrimp? That doesn’t have shrimp in it, does it?” Hugh asked, his voice growing heavy with concern.  “Because I’m allergic to shrimp.”

“Ooh, it might,” Amy said, wincing and turning around to face Hugh for a second before returning her attention to the pot.  “Don’t worry.  If you die, I’ll just tell the kids I meant to kill you.  Probably for the insurance money.”

“What?  Why would you do that?”

“Well, honey, it’s easier than admitting I made a mistake,” Amy said, turning to look at Hugh.  She laughed at the humorless expression on Hugh’s face.  “Relax.  How long have we been married?  I’m well aware of your shrimp allergy.  I replaced the shrimp in the recipe with chicken.”

“Oh.  Uh, good,” Hugh said, slowly sitting back in his seat and closing his eyes.  Amy turned around and looked at him curiously.

“Everything all right?” she asked with a tinge of concern in her voice.

“Hmm? Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know.  You just seem a little quiet, that’s all.”

“I’m just tired.  These morning runs are beginning to wear me out,” Hugh said.  He took a deep breath.  “Oh, well.  I’m sure I’ll get used to them eventually.”

“I suppose,” Amy said, taking the pot off the stove and carrying it over to the table.  “Kids, dinner’s ready.  Anyway, it does seem a little silly.  Doing all that effort to win a football game.”

“Meh.  It has nothing to do with that, really,” Hugh said, scooping a serving from the pot and putting it onto his plate.  “Sure, that was what motivated William to mention the idea.  And maybe it’s what drives him.  You know how fucked in the head he is.”

“I do.  It’s kind of sad, really.  He’s such a nice guy, at the heart of it.”

“But anyway, I just like the idea of getting into shape.  I’ve been fat my whole life, and slow, and I just thought it was a good opportunity to maybe change some of that.  Hell, even if nothing works, at least I’ll have tried, you know?  I don’t know.  Maybe it’s stupid, but I figure it can’t hurt.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m very proud of you,” Amy said, taking a bite of her own meal.  “I think you’re setting a great example for the kids.”

Amy smiled at Hugh, who returned the smile across the table as the kids came running into the kitchen, took their seats, and began to eat.

 

 

Conway’s Cured

June 11, 2017

“Hey, Rock, it sure is a Monday morning,” Jacob said as we walked into the school, as high school students are wont to do on Monday mornings, which I believe I’ve already mentioned this was.

“Yes, it is, Jacob.  What an astute, insightful, and accurate observation that was by you.  You sure are a genius, you, to figure that out all on your own” Rock said.  I may be paraphrasing, but who gives a shit.  The point is they were standing around talking about the dumb shit people talk about when nothing’s going on.

“Hey, guys.  Guess what?” Lucy said, walking up to them, bouncing with the excitement that comes with being able to introduce the plot.

“What?” Jacob asked.  “Is this going to piss me off?”

“No.  This is good,” Lucy said, either unaware of or ignoring the fact that most things pissed Jacob off, and her news would in all likelihood do the same.  “Sarah Conway’s back!”*

“Who’s Sarah Conway?”

Lucy stared at Jacob.  “Jacob, you know who Sarah is.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You’ve gone to school with her since kindergarten.”

Jacob shrugged.  “I try not to pay attention or become attached to the people around me.  Ignoring their drama makes my life less stressful.”

Lucy sighed.  “She’s the girl who left at the end of last year.  She had to seek help for her mental health issues.  You seriously don’t remember her?”

“I make it a point to forget about people as soon as they exit from my life.  Hell, half the time I forget my parents exist while I’m at school.  It happens.”

“So, if I left for some reason, you’d forget about me in a week?”

“No, no.  We’re close.  I’d remember you.”

“Dude, that’s what you said about Sarah,” Rock said.

“I know.  I lied to her too.”

“Guys, I’m serious,” Lucy said, not joking.  “This is her first day back.  I need you to be super supportive.”

“Ugh, you know I can’t deal with people’s emotions.  It’s like, ‘ooh, I’m upset because I’m a person and I have feelings’.  Come on.  Fuck off.”

“Jacob, I’m serious,” Lucy said repetitively, repeating this assertion.  Again.  “We’re having a big party for her at lunch, and I need everyone to be there to show they care.”

“I care every bit as much about her wellbeing as I do for any of my other classmates.  Which is to say, not at all,” Jacob said.  “I’m not going to act like suddenly she’s my best friend and I’m super concerned just to show everyone what a great person I am.”

“You’re an asshole.  You can’t treat her differently just because she had mental health issues.”

“Has mental health issues,” Rock interjected.  “These things don’t just go away.  She’s been treated, not cured.”

“Whatever.  The point is that you need to treat her the same as everyone else.”

“That’s what I’m doing.  You’re the one throwing a ‘look at the mentally retarded’ person’ party.”

“Don’t say mentally retarded.  One, it’s not the correct thing to say.  Now we say, well, I forget what the sugar-coated term du jour is, but it’s not retarded.  Two, she’s not retarded, she’s just depressed.  Her intellectual capacity isn’t diminished, she just has difficulty regulating her emotions.”

“Whatever.  The point is that you’re the one drawing attention to her disability.  I don’t remember you throwing the wheelchair kid who doesn’t have a name because he probably won’t get mentioned again a ‘look at the physical retard’ party for his disability.”

“It’s not a disability.  It’s a difference that should be celebrated because it makes him a unique person.”

“I think he’d rather be able to walk.”

“What I’m saying is all I’m doing for Sarah is what I’d do for any of my classmates.”

“No, you wouldn’t.  When was the last time you threw Jeremy a party?”

Lucy shrugged.  “Who’s Jeremy?”

“He’s the weird, quiet kid.  The one who always sits in the back and keeps to himself.  He might actually be suicidal.”

“Nobody cares about Jeremy.  Besides, he’s not suicidal.”

“How do you know?  Have you asked him?”

“Eww, no.  I don’t want to talk to him.  You ask him.”

“No, because I don’t care.  Which is my point.  You don’t care either, you’re just pretending to care because it makes you feel better about yourself and everyone is watching.”

“Whatever, Jacob,” Lucy said.  “I have to go to class.  See you this afternoon.”

Rock and Jacob watched as Lucy turned and walked away.  “You two should just fuck and get it over with,” Rock said.

“Shut up, Rock.”  Jacob turned and kept his glare on Lucy as she walked away.  “She does have a nice body, though.”

Rock laughed, and Jacob heard a small, muffled laugh beside him.  He turned to see Jeremy standing there, pretending not to be listening as he opened his locker.

“What’s up, Jeremy?” Jacob asked.

“Oh, uh, hi, Jacob.”

“What you been up to lately?”

“Nothing, really.  Just kind of, you know, stuff.”

“Considering suicide?” Jacob joked.

“Uh, actually, a little bit.” Jeremy finished closing his locker and turned to Jacob.

Jacob shrugged.  “Well, always good to keep your options open.”

 

 

 

*The exclamation point is the author’s way of showing that she was excited.  Though honestly, you probably could have figured out that she was excited from the context.  In fact, you probably didn’t need me to explain what an exclamation point is either, making this whole footnote superfluous.  Oh, well.

It’s Not Okay to Poop

June 7, 2017

Hey there, now kid, let me explain to thee

Some things that go on in all bodies.

You know how you eat when you grow hungry?

Well, that food it travels into your tummy

Where acid turns the food into goop.

Nutrients get absorbed, the rest become poop.

And that poop all has to go somewhere,

So it comes out the hole that we all have down there.

You see it’s natural and fine.

In fact you must poop to stay alive.

What’s that, kid, you say I digress?

You asked why I’m pooping on your mommy’s chest?

You know how sometimes moms and dads kiss

To show love, well, it’s sort of like this.

Sometimes that kiss becomes something more

That we call sex, but sometimes sex is a bore

So adults try something to spice things up

Like play with the butt or peeing in cups.

That’s what was going on when you walked through the door.

Mommy and I just wanted to explore.

You’ll learn someday, it’s often surprising

What you’ll find that you like when you push your horizons.

Pooping on people has many fans.

It has a long history. It’s from the Germans.

They thought licking ass would be lots of fun.

It’s certainly not the worst thing they’ve done.

I hope that this all answers your question,

And gives you a preliminary lesson.

What’s that? Now you want to know why mom’s bound and gagged?

Why her hands are tied and her mouth stuffed with a rag?

There’s another fetish that enjoys quite the fandom

With whips and chains, it’s called BDSM.

People torture each other for fun

With nipple clamps and whacks on the buns,

That’s not what this is, it’s not by design.

It’s a plan I came up with while short on time.

You see, mommy and I were planning on fucking.

I’d just whipped out my dick for some sucking,

And was hovering over mommy with a spread brown eye

When with my other eye, oh yes I did spy

A familiar car pull into the driveway

Which shouldn’t have happened at this time of day.

Then your daddy burst through the door

Which is why daddy’s now on the floor.

We tried to tell daddy that he should calm down,

Instead daddy decided that he would shout.

He turned down our offer of menages a trois,

Which is why in the end he got hit with a vase.

It rhymes if you pronounce vase in a manner pretentious.

Close enough, kid, shut up, you don’t seem to get this.

While your daddy lie in a pool of his blood,

Your mommy screamed “look what you’ve done!”

She wanted to get help, but I can’t go to prison

So in the moment I made a decision

Which is why mommy’s tied up and I’m holding this gun,

It’s out of necessity, it isn’t for fun,

Though for some reason I still have a boner,

Don’t worry, kid, this soon will be over.

The lesson from this rhyme, unless you’re a dupe,

It’s clear, it isn’t okay to poop,

But I have one more rhyme, kid, so don’t cry,

Another lesson, it’s called someday we all die.