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Just a little something I cooked up to stay productive. Started off as something I didn't have to struggle with so much, then I ending up completeting it. Oh well. It's my first attempt at a satire-ish story, so hopefully I didn't botch it too badly. Feedback is welcome and appreciated.
Gdoc link for anyone's reading convience: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1cXzt1w2WF3maQoaZoZ9eZRVj19K1B71AF59ib6jHgWI/edit?usp=sharing
All we wanted was coffee...
My dad used to tell me that you can tell a lot about a person from the inside of their car, whether they’re neat and tidy or just a straight up slob. Well, I wonder what cracked leather seats, crumpled up coffee cups, and the stale scent of body odor and deodorant say about three particular young men. Yes, I have the guts to admit that I was one of those young men.
Pressing my face to the window, I watched the urban jungle that was -and still is- Paradise City roll by. The other two young men droned on in idle conversation, but I was much more interested in the icy touch of the glass. It provided a comforting contrast to the air vents spewing out a torrent of hot air.
“And then, Stacy’s mom just o.d.s, right there in front of her!” This was Tyler, the driver and stylish de facto leader of our ragtag group of losers. The collar of his jacket was popped up high so that from the side I could only see the upper part of his face. Very stylish, or so he thought.
“Wow, that’s got to be a hard dick to swallow.” That was Nile. He’s… Nile. Sitting in the back, he peered over my seat and stared at Tyler through the curtain of blonde hair that framed his face. I will admit though, he was a pretty handsome man. Tyler’s knuckle turned white as he gripped the steering wheel and threw a hard look at Nile. Clearly the comment had not earned the response my backseat bound friend had hoped for.
“Nile, just shut the fuck up. You always ask why I give you so much shit, but then you spit out a stupid analogy like that. That is exactly the reason why I give you so much shit.”
Batting back his bangs, Nile rolled his eyes and continued on as if Tyler’s words had passed over him like rain water. “Are we almost there? It feels like we should be there by now.”
This stirred me from delirium and brought me back into their conversation -if you can really call it that. I shifted in my seat so I could better see my sexy driver.
“Yeah, the drive doesn’t usually take this long. Something wrong?”
From the sigh and the shake of his head, I could tell that there had been a tidbit of information that Nile and I had missed. That didn’t surprise me in the slightest. If I had a dollar every time that the two of us missed something, then we would have enough money to move out of our shitty apartment and away from our even shittier neighborhood. The difference between us, though, is that I miss things because my mind wanders off to the far reaches of my imagination, searching for a more tolerable realm of existence than the one I’m currently trapped in. Nile is just stupid.
Tyler gave me that sour look too. “Did either of you assholes hear me when I said that we wouldn’t be able to go down third avenue?”
I thought for a second, then chirped, “Sure, Tyler! I just chose to forget!”
“Fuck you, Rez. Don’t make me hate you as much as I do Nile.” That brought a pout to Nile’s face. “We can’t go the usual way because there was a wreck up in front of the Seven Eleven. Said on the news that the whole road is closed.”
“Why do you hate me the most?”
“Shut the fuck up, Nile, that’s why.”
I bit back a laugh and turned my attention to the window before Tyler could see my smile. In the side mirror, I could see Nile echoing the same expression beneath his golden locks.
Minutes struggled to pass by. The morning traffic was more congested than an Italian's bowels. Eventually, much to all of our relief, we found the ever famous neon sign overlooking the street like a gaurdian angel. “Cafe McBuck’s” it read. It was a morning tradition that our party swing by the beloved cafe before getting into the full swing of the day. In fact, almost all of the cups on the floorboard were emblazoned with the cafe’s flamboyish logo. Looks like we’d be adding more to the collection soon enough.
Pulling into the cafe’s pitiful excuse for a parking lot, I heard my friend mutter obscenities most foul to his steering wheel. Cars were sitting side by side in tight uniformity, leaving not even a gap that a motorcycle could squeeze into. After a minute or two of driving in line on the ground. Tyler leaned on the car, watching impassively as I wiggled and pried myself through a gopher sized slit.
“See, this is why I wanted to leave early, guys. Six o’clock, this place is ghosted, but come seven? It’s fucking packed.”
Finally I slammed the door shut, free from my steel entrapment. Tyler arched an eyebrow. “You done?”
I gave him a beaming smile that he only shrugged at. With that we made our way to the glass doors of Cafe McBuck’s, falling in single file like the three stooges, Tyler leading the way and Nile bringing up the rear. There was a bit of pep in our step as the early December air nipped at our heels. Little did we know the trouble that was soon to come. Just remember, we only wanted coffee, not trouble. You can’t take trouble with cream and sugar.
If the buttload of cars sandwiched into the parking lot weren’t any indication that Cafe McBuck’s was up to its chin with customers, then the buttload of customers sandwiched into booths and tables were. The noisy bebob of the city -blaring sirens and screeching car horns mainly- were drowned out over the drone of mindless chatter held within the cafe like canned laughter.
My stomach dropped as I got a better look at the major demographic of the people I was entrapped with. Iced coffees were clutched in hands and bookbags sat beside each chair like a neglected child. Every face I looked was at least about my age, twenty-two or twenty three, but the heavily smeared makeup on the women and the thick beards on the men gave everyone the facade of being about a decade older.
“College students,” I shuddered, Nile echoing the sentiment. It felt as if a spot light had fallen on us. There was no way we would stand out in this crowd anymore than we did. To better paint the picture, these guys wore skinny jeans and flannel shirts while we wore baggy pants and hoodies. We might as well have been a cup of oil dumped into a bucket of water.
Tyler glanced back, giving us the classic ‘told you so, mate’ look he did so well. “Like I said, this is why we always get here early.”
Well, standing around like a couple of sedated trees wasn’t making the monster go away, so we jumped in line and tried to ignore the horrors glaring daggers at us as they sipped their frappuccinos.
Unfortunately though, the line moved about as fast as a snail with hemorrhoids. One step at a time, the counter was slowly getting closer. Or was it? Occasionally I’d peer over Tyler’s shoulder to try and judge our ETA, and I swear every time I checked there were more of those self-entitled sweat rags between us and the counter. I began to ask Tyler and Nile if these hellspawn could replicate being asexual if they drank too much coffee, but I knew what kind of look that would earn. Besides, I don’t think I would like the answer. Instead I hugged my ratty, brown jacket closer to me and tried to be thankful that the bitter breeze outside couldn’t touch me in the cafe. That brief bit of joy fell flat on its face pretty quickly.
Behind Nile, a trio of girls had joined us in line. They each wore thick rimmed sunglasses that covered half their face and their silky hair was woven into thick braids. My ears burned at the strange language they spoke.
“Blah blah blah,” one said.
Another nodded her head vigorously, sending her braids flailing all round and almost striking the face of the one next to her.
“Blah blah blaaaah!” She responded. “Blah blah blah blah!”
That’s when the three of them turned their heads, in unison, in my direction. Though I couldn't see their eyes, I could practically feel the scorching intensity of their gaze. Of course, I averted my eyes as quickly as possible.
To try to take my mind off the strange aliens surrounding us at all fronts, I tried making small talk with my friends. “So Tyler, what are you planning on getting your loved ones for the holidays?” I asked him with a grin.
“The hell are you talking about, Rez?” He looked at me as if I had just dropped manure on his sneakers and called it spaghetti. With a nod of my head, I motion to the sign plastered against the store’s windows.
“What are you planning on getting your loved ones for the holidays?” it read. “Can’t think of anything? Well, then get them a gift card to Cafe McBucks and be sure to save them some bucks!”
Tyler chewed on the sign’s words with a sneer. “Depends on what it means by ‘loved ones’. If it’s my family, I’ll probably just cut my own head off and ship it to them in box, gift wrapped and everything. My drunk uncle would sure get a kick out of that. If it was my friends? Some air fresheners for their smelly ass rooms.”
I felt Nile press up to my back as he rested his chin on my shoulder, trying to get a better view of Tyler. “Our rooms aren’t that bad, are they? They can’t be any worse than yours!”
“Yeah, but you know, Nile,” Tyler said, the line lurching forward as we progressed another step. “Dirty clothes left spewing out of a full hamper is the most you’ll find in my room. Not nasty, fly eaten, rotting fruit.”
“That happened one time! Those damn flies swooped in when I blacked from all that-”
“Nile!” I couldn't help but interrupt. Shrugging my newfound parrot off, I cupped a hand over my ringing ear. Damn he can get loud!
“Sorry.” Nile shrunk back from me like a sad sack I had left in the rain. We didn’t pursue any more conversations after, and instead decided to spent the rest of our agonizing wait in silence.
It felt by the grace of God that we finally made it to the counter. The clerk, a watery eyed man with hair that frizzled up into an almost afro, gave us a practised smile as he asked for our order.
Tyler scanned over the menu hanging above the clerk’s head, though I’m not sure why. We always get the same thing. Always. After a tapping his chin for nearly two minutes, Tyler finally nodded.
“Okay, I’m ready now. I’ll have a-”
None of us noticed the man walking the length of the line as he approached the counter. We also didn’t notice the gun brandished in his hand until he stopped next to Tyler and pointed the barrel level to the cashier’s eyes. Of course, all this would explain the chorus of screams scraping at my ears as the college students around us flipped their shit as they bolted for the exit. There, now it’s started to look more like six o’clock.
In truth, I could smell the man yards before he ever reached the counter. The only reason why I didn’t think a thing about the absolutely repugnant odor was because our drunken Nile had eaten WAY too many brockworst the night before, and those things tend to give him gas something fierce. It sounds odd, but I’m telling you that Nile farts are the worst. They usually smell like dead animals.
I could tell at a glance that this would be robber meant business. The grime and muck painted along his tattered clothes and wind beaten skin looked as if they were a part of his being, as if no amount of soap and water in the world could save this guy’s soul. His greasy hair was matted and thinning in some places. It seriously looked as if he could have played a baddie in Road Warrior.
“Alright, mother fucker!” the robber said, clearly not looking for any kind of civil conversation. “You so much as drop your hands below the counter, I’m decorating this place with your fucking brains!”
Our no longer bleary eyed server took exception to the gentleman’s demand, and decided to comply.
“P-please, don’t s-shoot!” the words practically tripped over themselves as the guy stuttered along.
“Then you better empty that register right now!”
You’d think that the server would follow the orders of the armed delinquent holding him gunpoint, however he only continued to stare at the man, horror stricken eyes bulging like they were about to be evicted from their sockets. His hands did try to go to the register, but it was as if the muscles in his arms had seized up in place. I wonder if the same thing happens to a doe who freezes when they realize they’re about to kiss the grill of a Buick.
“Hey, Tyler?” I whispered into my friend’s ear, my voice masked as the gunman continued to shout blood promises. “Maybe we should just leave too.” I motioned to the tables and booths that now stood unoccupied. “We can always just leave and come back later.”
Tyler considered that for a moment with a stoic expression, but then gave me a firm shake of his head. “Naw, man, not after waiting in this long ass line for five hours. We’re getting our coffee.”
Though I wanted to protest, I only offered a shrug and shrunk back a step. This really wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Thursday morning. The endless waiting was bad enough.
“Hey,” it was now Nile who was whispered. “What’d he say, Rez?”
“Says we’re getting our coffee.”
“Oh…” The tone of his voice echoed my own sentiment.
When a minute or so had passed, and the deer was still staring down the Buick, Tyler leaned, resting an elbow on the counter.
“Hey, dude,” he said to the cashier. “You might want to do what this guy says and give him the money. He looks like he’s in a hurry, and I don’t think you want to keep him waiting for too much longer.”
The gunman turned his bloodshot gaze on my friend, his chapped lips forming a giant O before he found the words his manic mind were reaching for.
“I don’t need any help, fuck face,” he spat, literally. Tyler had to wipe away a few, tiny globs of spittle with the back of his hand. “Now back up before I fuck you up!”
Tyler glared at him in a way that an angry mother would’ve if her child had just said the same thing to her. “I’m just trying to speed things along, asshole. Some of us have things to do.” The man flinched as if the words had been a physical slap to the face.
“What!? Do you realize what I’m holding?” The unblinking eyehole of the gun then turned on Tyler, much to the relief of the cashier.
Tyler’s expression remained deadpan as he stared the man down. “Do you? Do you even know what you’re doing? This whole time you’ve been trying to get this guy to open the register, I’ve been wondering who the hell would rob a place that’s only been open for a few hours.”
“That is true,” I mused, not even realizing my thoughts were escaping through my lips. “Wouldn’t you get more money if you held this place up later in the day?”
The gunman gritted his yellowing teeth as he turned that snarl on me. “Think I don’t know that? Of course I do! But I have to be at my son’s birthday party this afternoon and I need some money to buy a present for him!”
No one said a word for a time, only staring stupidly at one another like a bunch of cows.
“So,” I said, not sure how things were going to proceed from there. “How old is your son?”
Apparently, I have a knack for saying the wrong thing at the time. Something inside the gunman’s strained mind snapped and his eyes flashed with the crimson light of murder. His arm swung wide, and I suddenly found myself staring down the end of the piece of steel.
“I’m getting so fucking tired of you assholes- ARGH!”
A wet squelch cut the man off. Imagine the sound of tearing a big, juicy steak into pieces, only amplified ten times, and you’d get close to the sound the man’s arm made as it was amputated at the elbow. Rage turned to confusion, then to horror within a heart’s beat. The now “unarmed” man’s eyes went wide as a curtain of blood sprouted from his stump, sounding almost like wet spaghetti as it splatter to the tile below. Nile and I had to make a hasty retreat, lest we be painted with the guy’s life-water. The arm, still clutching its glock, fell limply to the floor with a smack!
“WHAT THE FUCK!” was the only intelligible phrase he could spit out between the mindless and agonizing screaming. He flailed the stump around, spraying red all along the counter, advertising signs, and even my tennis shoes. After what felt like minutes of watching the guy dance around, screaming his head and clutching at his blood half-arm, he fell to his knees for a moment before slumping to the ground. Though there were already lines of blood zigzagging around him in uneven circles, that stop more from pooling under his limp body.
Tyler, the smooth criminal he was, only disregarded the soon to be corpse with a cool glance. With the tap of a button, the bloodied tip of the switchblade receded back and he pocketed it once more. He adjusted his jacket, as if it had suddenly been chaffing him, then gave a glance over to where we stood.
“You guys okay?” I nodded, but quickly tilted my head.
“Why didn’t you just do that from the start, Tyler? We could have sped this right along.”
As per his nonchalant nature, he simply shrugged. “Didn’t really feel convicted to kill the guy till he turned the gun on you guys, I guess. Doesn’t matter now, though, let’s just get our coffee and-” As we all turned our attention back to the counter, we found the post vacant.
“What the-” Tyler paused, his features pulling taut with rage. “THAT MOTHER FUCKER BAILED!”
It's been a while since I've posted an update of any kind, so yeah... this is strange.
First off, I want to thank everyone who it the follow button next to my name since the NG Collab was released. I don't know you actually liked my tiny contribution or if you were just following everyone, either way I thank you!
I've been extremely busy with not only school and work, but also projects too. Other than a large pet project that will never see the light of day, there are two projects that will find their way on here. One is a nevelette that I finished eailier this month, and the other is a short story I'm writing for an anthology (I actually finished it a few hours ago). I can't promise when I'll post or if they are any good yet, since they both are just rough drafts in my notebook and have to be edited or seen by anyone else, but I'll keep you posted on the progress of them.
Hope you had a great Christmas and have an even better New Years.
If you haven't seen my other works on Newgrounds, check them out here: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/857803
They aren't the greatest things in the world, but it's something to do!
I stare at this screen every afternoon,
And pray for life to grip my fingers soon.
Cobwebs slowly settle into my brain,
The stillness driving away what was sane.
All I want is a cool breath
To wash away the death
That has taken my inspiration.
Just a gentle hint of sensation
Is all I crave.
But now I rave,
Numb to the skill
That use to fill
These words with great breadth.
Now I dig just to reach a depth
That resembles days of long ago.
And though I refuse to fully let go,
I’m caught in the snare of
A mind that can no longer love
The dreams I so greatly desire.
So instead of fanning that fire,
I always just slink off to bed
With thoughts still buzzing in my head.
I’ll lay awake for an eternity’s pass,
Slowly shrinking in mind and mass.
Sometime during the next day,
I’ll trudge back into the fray.
I guess it’s just easy to wash, rinse, and repeat
When one is caught within the stupor of defeat.
Basically I am improv writing for fun. Completely Random, no edits (except for grammer), and uploaded right away. This will be wierd and not my best work. But it's for fun! Here we go:
Seven to make me come
And seven to make me dumb.
These are my curses
Locked silently in my verses.
Lust was a major bust,
Because she always left me in the dust.
Greed just wanted to take
Every ounce of earnings I would make.
Glutton made it rather hard to hear,
Especially once she took a bit at my ear.
Wrath wanted me to submit,
Even though she will not admit
That I was the first to grab the whip!
With her well moistened hand on her hip,
Envy would yell about every girl from before.
Sloth, as you know, was just a bore
And pride would never let me have a win,
Instead she burrowed underneath my skin.
However, despite the pain they give,
I will always find room to forgive.
For as they represent sin in singularity,
I will always embody the vices in unity.
It's rough, it's wierd, but it was fun.
Check out my better work: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/857803
Well, Im laying in bed and am half recovered from a certain operation I had today. Really was not that bad. Worst part must have been the prep. That and the i.v. they stuck me with. Thing hurt like a bitch. Even know, I still feel a twinge of pain where the nurse put it.
I have been knocked out by drugs before, but this was the strongest that has been used on me yet. So being me, I made sure to make mental notes of what I felt as I went under.
I remember the sound of static, almost like what you from a radio that lost its signal. I was staring at this chatty nurse, who was talking away with this orderly, when I finally heard that sound. I thought was just my imaginenation or maybe one of the machines, which I prayed to God it was'nt. But the sound grew from a whisper to a low drone. As unsettling as it was, I was not going to move or say anything about it.
The next, and last, thing I felt was a small tugging sensation on my face. Not like it was getting pulled, but being streched back lightly across my skull. If that makes any sense.
Next thing I know, everything is black. It's strange because in that dark limbo, time feels so hard to judge. Even though it feels like it last for only a few seconds, I awake and feel as if hours upon hours have passed.
Well, have a safe weekend everypony and think of me the next time you take a pain killer.
Stay beautiful, people.
I did this whole mother fucking post on my stupid ass phone and it still came out alright... Props to me. Good night.
I never blog much, because I feel when I do blog about my work, I fuck it up completely. (My work, not the blog.) Anyway, work on Lonely Ramets will be slowed down temporarily till after Christmas. I have been working on it more so lately than I ever thought I would, so there are completed parts that I might upload in the next month are so. (Just to keep the story alive). I'm fighting many things right now, from extreme schoolwork to keeping myself and my mother from going homeless.
So I want to thank anyone who follows me or reads my work. My work gets very little attention, but it warms my deeply when someone comments on my work. Even if it is to say the story is shit. I will do my best to be more active and to post entertaining content. Here in the next year are so, I am planning on revamping my Newgrounds account to something more than just writing. But that is just wishful thinking and secret plans for now.
Also, possible poem upload soon. Been a while since I've done that.
Stay beautiful, people.
Catch the previous episode: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/866942
Also, my other works: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/857803
“What are you up to?” Kris asked warily.
Dave answered with a voice as sweet as sugar, as smooth as silk, and as alluring as a siren’s mating call. Tori had just barely been able to restrain herself from cooing again.
“Well, you know how it seems we have been in a bit of a rut lately?” Kris and Rj nodded in unison. “Alright, and you know how it seems that all the good gigs recently have all been given to those jerks, Dodging Bullets?”
This time Kris and Rj gave each other a quick glance of annoyance at the thought of their long time rivals before responding to the rhetorical question with a harsh, “yes!"
Dave smiled at the energy of their response, but just as he was about to make his point, he realized something was missing. His mind mulled it over for only a moment before he realized it. Torina! Dave looked back around and quickly discovered Torina seated in her usually area, staring blankly at the boys as they talked.
“Get over here, Tori,” He said with enthusiasm. “You need to hear this too!”
Grinning broadly she hastily stood to make her way to his side. Standing next to Torina, Dave’s chin came comfortable up to Torina’s shoulder. As tall as she was, this was something she had grown rather accustomed to.
“Okay,” he continued dramatically. “What would you guys think if I said that I got us a gig that paid two-fifty!”
To Dave’s dismay, he did not get the reaction he was expecting. In his mind he saw wide eyes and shouts of joyous disbelief. Instead he was greeted with silence and blank stares. Torina had wanted to show her excitement at the proposal, but thought it was the wrong time since no else seemed to feel the same way she did. She carefully glanced at Dave and bit her lip once she noticed the disappointment on his face. Torina wanted him to see she was happy about his newfound job offer, but the thought of being the middle of a socially awkward joke terrified her.
“Well,” Kris began. “Are you saying that you got us a gig that paid two-twenty?”
Dave’s smile returned as he nodded slowly. Kris was on his feet within a matter of seconds as he jumped from the sofa with Rj right behind him. Kris leaned in and spoke in the most serious tone he could muster.
“You got us a ‘for sure’ gig for two hundred and fifty dollars?”
“Yes!” Dave was nearly frantic now. “Yes it is ‘for sure’! …..Well-” His sentence had quickly trailed off.
“What was that?” Kris asked inquisitively.
“What was what?” Dave answered innocently. Kris suddenly saw what was going on. Dave was avoiding something.
“What did you say!”
“Well,” Dave shrugged as he gave a short forced laughed. “Maybe the gig isn’t entirely ‘for sure’ yet.”
“Dave, that makes no fucking sense.”
“Yeah it does! You see, I found a wanted article in today’s newspaper for a band and it required that the band call to make an appointment for an interview to get the gig.”
“Alright,” Kris’s patience was beginning to become strained and bent. “I have a few questions, Dave. I assuming you have already made the appointment?”
“Of course. Well, given our successfully fucked history, what makes you think that we can even get this gig over the other shit ton of bands in this city?”
“Well that’s the awesome thing about it, no other band has tried to get this gig!”
Kris’s eyes widened with dread as Rj burst into fits of laughter.
“Okay, maybe I should have lead with this question. Where the hell is this gig!”
Two minutes later….
Kris lowered the newspaper as Rj and Torina read it in glances of his shoulders. Dave leaned against the dining room table with a triumphant smug expression planted upon his face.
“Well,” Dave started. “What do you think?”
Kris slowly looked up from the tiny gut smeared article with an expression of disbelief.
“You have to be fucking joking!”
“I fear this change of direction could really damage the image our group,” Rj added. Kris shook his head before he continued.
“Right… I don’t see how the hell you would think a gig at a sweating rate hole dump, that only attracts all of Paradises’ inbred, cousin-molesting drunks, would be a nice scene for us.”
As each of Kris’s words of disbelief crawled into Dave’s mind, a strange and frightening transformation came upon the band’s cheery and optimistic front-man. Dave’s smugness turned into a stony coldness that seemed to mask a harsh contemplation that absorbed everything Kris was saying.
“See? Tell me something, Kris.” Dave’s voice had become somewhat deeper and almost threatening. “Look into your back pocket and pull out that fancy leather wallet of yours, then tell me what you see, or to better express my point, what you don’t see.”
Kris shrugged as Dave’s statement stung him, but sadly, it was too true. The youths were as broke as a blind hobo who had tumbled off a twelve story building and had landed right on his face.
“Point expressed,” Kris muttered. With that admittance, Dave’s satisfaction returned tenfold.
“Look guys, I know things have been really cruddy lately but we finally have our chance to make some noise and to shake up the pool of all those wannabe bands out there. Not to mention we need to start pulling in more revenue so we can put bread on the table.”
As if in response, Dave’s stomach produced an obnoxiously loud animalistic growl. His friends, in unison, raised an eyebrow to Dave.
“Dude, when was the last time you ate?” Kris asked.
“Well-” Dave looked over his shoulder to see that his beautiful waffle shrine had turned cold, hard, and icky. Not to mention that there was a damned fly creeping about it in absolute bliss. “It is Tuesday today, so I think about a day or so ago. I don’t honestly know.”
“Dave….. You know it’s Saturday, right?”
Dave swirled back around.
“Really? Wow, that’s a little weird.”
Brushing past a wide-eyed Kris, Rj put a comforting hand on the shoulder of Dave.
“The substance of ones body fuels both mind and spirit.”
Dave squinted suspiciously at Rj while Kris and Torina did their best to hold back a fit of giggle that tickled their ribs with light fingers.
“Seriously, what have you been smoking lately?”
One epic meal late…..
Carl Marx, or “Mad Marx”, was a moving portrait of an aging, decrepit, and repulsive man in his mid forties who reached his peak long ago. His cheep corduroy suit reeked of the discount alcohol he would drown himself in every night. His once shiny and greasy hair has mostly fallen out, leaving only enough to comb over his balding dome.
Carl’s dull eyes now shifted from his young brownnosing assistant, who is also his nephew, to a group of young punks that looked to him as if they had just been shitted out of the deepest recesses of the educational system’s diseased and dying bowels. The smooth talker throwing around the most words surprisingly reminded Carl of himself at that age, except extremely handsome and actually good at sweet talking. It made Carl a little envois of this charismatic youth.
To the youth’s right was some tough guy wannabe that seemed too typical in this generation of teenage men. On the left was some negro boy with bloodshot eyes and neat cornrows pulled back into a ponytail. Great, another pothead. But then he noticed the top of a fourth’s head from behind the group. When he finally caught a brief glimpse of the teenager, he saw one of the pretties young Feligen he had ever laid eyes on. She quickly shied away from line of sight like a scared little child.
Though first impressions usually said everything, Carl now had to ask:
“And just who the hell are you guys supposed to be?”
Dave’s face lit up like a Roman candle under a midnight sky.
“Well sir!” He did his best to sound dramatic as his voice filled the dirty and dank office. “We are the one band that has the sound to surely get the audience on their feet and roaring with excitement! We are the enigmatic, fantastic trio of four know as RAG MEAT!”
In Dave’s mind, he heard the mountain crumbling call of golden trumpets singing out to the farthest reaches of the heavens and echoing in the eardrums of God. But in reality, there was only an intensely awkward silence that left everyone else feeling very uncomfortable.
Carl blinked absently before looking at his reddened face nephew.
“Tim, this was exactly the reason why I did not want you to buy that fucking ad space! When you offer two-hundred dollars just for schmucks to make some noise, all kinds of asinine acts will come crawling at my office door!”
The Works of TheInnerScience: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/857803
The epic story continues here: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/873609
The mouthwatering smell of blueberry waffles and microwavable sausages filled the air of the small and bland kitchen. So delicious it smelt, that it had attracted the attention of a devious nomadic fly that happened to be crawling along on the bleach white wall. His thousands of eyes pinpointed and locked in on the glass plateful of brown fluffy wonderfulness.
After a few minutes, the fly decided it had stalked it’s prey for long enough. Tiny wings flexed as took off as if readying itself to pouncing. The starving insect soared at lightning speed with it’s prize reflecting his mirror like eyes. Closer and closer still! Till finally he was so close that the smell drove him into an intoxicated frenzy! He could taste it! It was the most wonderful thing he could ever have dreamed off! The bug’s essence was changing into a form of true divinity and peace that only the highest monks who have spent years of meditation in faraway monasteries have achieved. The fly had finally found it’s meaning in life!
When suddenly, it’s life ended with a thunderous crash of green plastic that fell like the wrath of God. It hit struck with the force of a tumbling mountain and the precession of a bird of prey’s lunge. In one instant the fly went from feeling the very cosmos turn and sway around it, to feeling every part of his innards painfully explode forth from his small body and splatter against the chemically treated page of the days current newspaper.
Wielding the flyswatter like a saber that had vanquished a fierce enemy was a thin boy of nineteen years with bedraggled brown hair and a face that was still puffy from sleeping on it. He wore a white wife beater that had belonged to one of neighbors and plaid striped boxers that came from the same place.
“And that my dear friend!” he roared triumphantly. “Is how a future samurai protects his sacred temple!”
Lifting the flyswatter to survey his kill, he found the dark mark were the mutilated fly now rested, almost liquefied. Yep, deader than a seventies porn stars career. He smiled maliciously, not ashamed of expressing his hatred for household pest.
But just then, his keen eyes narrowed onto the spot where the fly’s remain lay splattered about. It was an article he had not noticed before.
The article read:
Mad Marx’s demolition derby!
Come all this Saturday!
Suddenly his mouthed dropped into a gape as a marvelous revelation struck him aside his head. His heart raced as his imagination started running rampant within the twisted black bars of his mind. But no, this was not the time for day dreaming. Certainly not!
Hey scrambled for the pink house phone that sat comfortably on the wall of the kitchen, not noticing another fly had arrived to desecrate his sacred waffle shrine.
30 minutes later……
The Garage was indeed a true fortress of youth and rebellion, with it’s dusty sofa laid in the center of the concrete floor, posters of head banging rockers plastered over the wall, a makeshift dining area with a miniature refrigerator and wooden cabinets nailed above the fridge, and most importantly, musical instruments ranging from brightly colored electric guitars with fancy decals, to amps stacked carefully in a corner along side a drum kit.
Laid across the sofa like a comatose couch potato was a skinny boy in a black ball cap that shielded his face from the perpetrating light above and a red t-shirt that read “Rightful Dead” in bold white letters. In one hand, he supported a girly magazine so that it sat straight up on his chest while the other slowly massaged his denim covered crotch like a long lost lover. An erection teased him with an itch he could not scratch. This pile of lust crazed hormones was Kris Cornhill.
The loud ding of a microwave stirred Kris from the deluded fantasy that he was alone. The magazine fell flat to his chest as he raised himself on angled elbows to look over his shoulder. His thin lips curled into a snarl.
“What are you doing now?” He asked with poetic annoyance.
Carefully removing a steaming plate of old French fries was the muscular and dark skinned Rj. A light blue hoodie jacket covered massive biceps that were toned from years of lifting weights. His dreads had been pulled into a short ponytail to keep from getting in his face as he ate, plus it made him feel like a heartthrob at times. He paused to give Kris an apathetic glance before returning to his job of making the best batch of Freedom Fries he ever made.
“I felt a sudden emptiness in my gut, like sinkhole consuming my satisfactory until I finally give it something to feast upon. A parasite inside me you could say.”
Kris only stared at Rj with an expression of exasperation, the snarl turning into a frown.
“You’re stoned again and you got the munchies, that is all you had to say, brother.” Kris stated as he flopped back down to study the tan half-naked girl sprawled out across a desert backdrop.
“I find that the simplicity and bluntness of the straightforward truth drains what little artistic value we have left in life.”
“As stoned as you are, you could find artistic value just by watching MTV.”
Well, that brought about a debated that lasted for the next five minutes or so. The conversation never really went anywhere. But as they conversed, a silent person could hear hushed voices rising slowly from the corner of the large garage.
This was indeed the most exotic oddity of the pack. She sat crossed legged, with her back to the boys, as her tawny colored eyes ogled at the pale faced porcelain dolls dressed in fine tiny garments before her. Nimble fingers lifted their small arms while a gentle tongue muttering in playful tones. A tan sweater, that was much too large for her, draped over and hid a voluptuous hourglass figure, and a pretty pink bow held back her long glassy black hair in a neat ponytail.
Lush lips curved into a crescent smile as imaginary visions flashed inside her mind, each one an average day quest starring her little dolls. She tilted it one way and then the other, pretending the doll was a living being. This poor wonderful girl is Torina Baylor. As you might have observed, Tori is not all together psychologically. She suffers from a few mental disorders, most of them brought about from a rather abusive childhood. To sum up her condition, she has the mind of a little girl trapped amidst the body of an eighteen year old young lady.
With Kris and Rj deep in pointless conversation and Torina lost in her own world, none of them noticed when the door that connected the garage and the house flew open and slammed into the wall of the garage. Flying out of the door’s threshold like a bat on fire was the energetic and charismatic leader of our troop of youthful heroes.
Short and untidy hair lay in an almost mess as frantic green eyes looked from each of his friends to the next. The puffy face had now became narrow and handsome with an enchanting smile that seemed to radiate goodwill and joy. Where he once worn a wife beater and boxers, now was a dark blue shirt with sleeves that reached out yearningly to his wrist and jeans that had enough holes to seem as if the lower section of the legs had been put through a blender.
To make his presence known, He walked with a quickened pace and heavy steps in front of the sofa that Kris now occupied with his wasteful mass. Kris and Rj’s conversation ended immediately as they curiously looked to the young man, who appeared to be bubbling over with a contagious amount of energy that emanated from the pores of his skin like a cloud.
“Dave,” Kris said with slight apprehension hanging to his words. Kris knew Dave was up to something devious, and if Kris had not known better, he would have guessed that the plot was already afoot.
As his name was spoken, Torina looked back to conform she heard the truth. She had only saw the back of Dave’s shirt when her heart started to flutter like a rousing caged bird. Her breath suddenly rushed from her lungs and a subtle kitten like “mew” escaped her lips. A quick hand flew to restrain her lips and silence the unexpected rise of longing emotion, but it had already flown forth from her mouth. Luckily, the guys were too busily with their own matters to hear her small cry of passion.
“What are you up to?” Kris asked warily.
They say inspiration comes in illuminative waves that absorbs into the mind like a sponge. Well, for me.. IT COMES AS A FUCKING BRICK TO THE FACE. Because when I see something that inspires me so greatly to create a masterpiece of monolithic proportions, the idea usually claws at the inside of my skull like a starving rat while I persist to go into anaphylactic shock over the magnitude of my creation!
But once I am done tripping balls over the pure amazement of my genius and come to my senses, I find myself in a type of creative hangover. Anything I try to write or draw or fuck just hurts my head and makes me lay in bed where I spoon with my pillow like a bunny in heat. WHY? Because I am a procrastinator, plain and simple.
My mom is a procrastinator, my dad was a procrastinator, my step-dad was a procrastinator, and my friend is a prostate examiner! It seems to be one freaking cycle! Procrastination must be a non rare blood disease or something. I find the biggest way to fight it is just to force myself to WORK! I turn off my phone, put in some headphones, lock some ravenous stray dogs in my house that will tear my throat out if I leave my room and have to call animal control a few hours later when I have to use the restroom. As mom used to say, whatever got the job done.
Anyway, this vent has been fun.
Stay beautiful people!
My Library of fun stuff: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/857803
Well, I haven't been too hard at work lately since I completed the June writing contest. I guess you could almost say I have been a short hiatus, although I know it is technically too short to be a hiatus. Just felt like the right thing to do with some of the heat building at my home and the creative rut I was in. But the writing contest helping out a lot with that damned writers block. I will be picking my pen up again soon, I know that doesn't mean a lot since I don't upload that often. I would upload more short stories, but I just don't write them that often.
I have been mainly taking so much time to plan out this novel mess I have gotten myself into that I haven't even been writing as much poetry either. And I know I have a HUGE personal collection of poems, but most I am not ready to upload yet. Hopefully I will be getting into swing of things. I may even upload scenes and notes from my novel, should I ever get them down. Well, I felt like blogging, now I feel like kicking zombie ass of Resident Evil 6.
Stay beautiful people..
TheInnerScience Upload Library: http://theinnerscience.newgrounds.com/news/post/