The Super Arm Wrestling Championship League

William was a one-armed arm wrestler who competed in championship arm wrestling tournaments. His chief antagonist was Henry, who only had one leg. William’s girlfriend was named Sally, who lost her right index finger in a dart competition. His friends included Ted, who lost his right eye; Maggie, who had a large scar from her left ear to her upper lip and Anthony, who donated a kidney; he was the outcast.

Henry also came equipped with an entourage. Robert, Rob and Bobbi, the token female. All three were blue-eyed-blond-hair and beautiful. If you ever saw a Swedish swimsuit model, they would pale in comparison to Henry’s Bobs.

William and Henry were preparing for the Super Arm Wrestling Championship League’s World Championship. Neither was expected to win, in fact if they made it past the first round the arm wrestling world would be shocked. The expectant winner, as has been for a decade, was Ivan The Horrible Russian Bear, or Ivan for short. Ivan, as you might have guessed, was a large Russian man with large Russian shoulders and a flat Russian face; though he was born in Iowa.

William and Henry have never met in a tournament and no one knows why they hated each other. They just bumped into each other one day and exchanged i-hate-you stares. The tension between the two has almost erupted in fisticuffs, but cripples seldom fight each other in fear of being embarrassed by another cripple. You see, if a crippled person lost to an able-body competitor, he could easily say “well I gave it my best.” If a crippled person lost to another cripple, well that is just harder to explain. Legend tells of an epic cripple fight; but naysayers claim it is just legend. Anyways, the two have never met in a tournament, until now. This year would be different, for as luck would have it, Henry and William would meet in the first round. You know what happens if someone wins their first round match? They make it to the second round.

(to be continued)

Conversation Between God and Satan, On Suicides

(I’m extremely tired and can’t make it out to Indiana to see my sister. So this is the only way to pass the time before work.)

God and Satan met at a neutral location; a Starbucks coffee shop in Hollywood, California.

Satan: Damn this mocha-whatever shit is AWESOME….

Satan takes a sip of his drink.

Satan: What’s happening my n……

God is drinking Tazo brand green tea.

God: Please don’t use that language.

Satan: Whatever. Anyways dude, I need you to do something about these people who commit suicide. I mean they are like killing the vibe in Hell and shit. Our corners can only hold so many and I’m tired of listening to All American Rejects.

Satan shudders.

God: It is punishment for the life they have…

Satan interrupts before turning to face God.

Satan: Yeah, yeah the life they have taken, took, whatever is the past tense. But really aren’t they punished enough? Most of them have image issues, which to me is just ironic, you know with the whole created in god’s image crap. They have to sit in rooms with a know-it-all who ask the same questions over and over, why are you upset and shit. To top it off they are force fed medications that increase their level of depression.

God: I don’t know.

God pauses.

God: I really can’t make any exceptions.

Satan: You did it for the Japanese.

God: What can I say? I’m a fan of Nintendo.

Satan: Listen, buddy, I’ll keep the religious zealots who kill themselves in the name of God and shit.

God seems to ponder what to say next.

God: Okay. I’ll see what I can do.

Satan: That’s my man.

As God and Satan stand up and prepare to leave they embrace.

Satan: I’m not sure if these hugs ever make me feel comfortable.

God: Quit being a homophobe.

After the two disappear the scene jumps to a sign in front of the pearly gates. It reads, “Sign up for our Suicide Amnesty Program. Now until the end of July.”

Here’s The Conclusion, Where’s The Beginning?

The world ended an hour ago. Please don’t look so shocked.

Exactly one hour ago the world ceased to be, but don’t worry the whole fire and brimstone thing is just a myth, the lights just went out. There was no mass hysteria or any roaming bands of miscreants. Couples weren’t engaged in last minute let’s-fuck-for-fucks-sake fucking because there was no warning. There was no “breaking news, the world is ending in one hour” announcement. We were there and then we were gone. Who knows what is left? When the lights came back on we were all in sterile rooms.

Each sterile room was filled with hundreds of strangers; no family, no friends and no celebrities that I was familiar with. The only person I recognized was an ice cream man that I bought a popsicle from when I was young.

After five minutes of exchanging pleasantries with an odd older man I noticed a commotion. From a side door entered a shadow; by shadow I mean a large black mass in the contorted shape of a human being. The being made his way to the front of the room. He began to speak in a voice that reminded me of a disc jockey.

“Now I know you all have questions,” he began. “Truth is so do we. Apparently while testing the latest in fiber optic technology someone tripped over a wire and well here you are. I assure you our technicians are currently working on the problem.”

The crowed stared in disbelief before someone in the front room spoke, “what are you talking about?” The room erupted in loud chatter, everyone turned to their neighbors to question them. Suddenly the being started to emit a high-frequency hum and the man who delivered the question ceased to exist, all the noise evaporated with him.

“Listen,” the being continued in his best Casey Kasem impression. “I know this will come as a shock to you. Your world has ended.” The being used a mocking tone when emphasizing world in his speech. “But let’s be clear, humans are nothing more than guinea pigs used by other species to test the latest in high-tech weaponry, hair-care products and writing implements. Humanity was one big experiment and something was bound to go wrong.”

The being paused for a minute and allowed everyone in the room to contemplate the end of the world. “While we continue to search for answers please make yourself comfortable, you will be here for awhile. Oh and please try out the latest in delicious snack-cake products located in the back. They are wonderful.”

Tea Party II: Fuzzyness

(continued from Tea Party)

After the tea party had ended,
the little girl placed the stuffed-bear on her dresser drawer,
and patted his soft fuzzy head,
You-hardly-touched-your-tea-Mr-Bear.
The stuffed-bear’s expression never changed.
She went off to bed with Amelia in tow.
When she awoke in the morning she noticed her bed was empty.
She scoured the room for her companion.
Oh-Mr-Bear-have-you-seen-Amelia?
The bear remained silent.
The little girl’s eyes spotted something only her eyes could see.
On the floor at the edge of the bed,
she found the imaginary body of her imaginary friend.
Oh-Mr-Bear-how-could-you? She screamed.
The stuffed-bear remained stolid.

(When we get rid of our imaginary friends are we murderers?)

See, Suicide Can Be Funny

Again it’s 2005, I’m living with my friend and his girlfriend in a nice three bedroom apartment in a decent part of town. This is before the big court case but after I had changed my number for a second time, growing old of the games my ex-girlfriend and I were playing.

My friend and his girlfriend invited me to the races but I had just bought a bottle of vodka, which seems to be my drink of choice. Me and Mr. Vodka had plans for the night, I was going to drink him, he was going to get drank and that was that. I think it was cheap vodka, something generic, this part escapes me because I just purchased whatever was the cheapest on the shelf. Either way I was planning on drowning my sorrows with some good old fashion liver poison. Really I don’t drink too often, it’s just that the best stories usually seem to involve the line, “and I was drinking.”

So there I am just hanging out, drinking vodka from a shot glass. I didn’t have any orange juice, I never really think ahead. But yeah, there I am on the couch taking shots of vodka and listening to Breaking Benjamin. Word of advice, drinking and Breaking Benjamin usually leads to an increase in depression, this is a scientific fact. I wasn’t quite drunk, maybe a little buzzed but I still knew everything I was doing. I started to get worse, my mood that is. I remember singing along, albeit horribly to Sooner or Later when I first got the urge to want-to-die. I had the feeling before but I never acted on it. This time was different.

I had made my way to the medicine cabinet and opened a half empty bottle of store brand ibuprofen. I knew what I was doing but I didn’t at the same time. I know that sounds weird right? I mean like it was almost like the movies, you have two sides, a devil and angel, telling you that it was okay and saying it wasn’t all at once. So I swallowed what was left in the bottle and went back to drink some more. I was sure this was going to kill me… I could feel myself losing consciousness… this was it, I’m gone.

What I didn’t realize, being stupid and drunk, was that the alcohol would only reduce the effectiveness of the medication and just make you extremely sick, oh and forgetful.

I woke up to my best friend standing above me. He had this I-love-you-but-want-to-hurt-you look on his face. I was as perplexed as Britney Spears reading a multiplication table.

“Man, I could kill you right now.” My friend said as he hovered over me.

I sat up and questioned him.

This is how the story is told to me, because I don’t remember anything.

My friend and his girl came home to find me standing in the doorway. My face and shirt were covered in puke and I had my attention transfixed on a cardboard cut-out of Shrek(a school project). My friend, his girl and several other people squeezed past me.

My friend was puzzled, “Danny, what are you doing?”

I shushed him with a finger to my lips, “I’m talking to the preacher.”

During the night, in which my friends were forced to take care of their token fool; I had hit on two guys, puked up toilet paper(possibly stomach lining) and tried to learn all of Jin’s(Tekken) moves using a pack of ice.

If I had to pick one quote, it would be Woody Allen. “I think being funny is not anyone’s first choice.”

Forty Men

(so this may be a little fun, can you add the next verse? Yay for interaction!)

Forty men stood in a line forty-men-wide.
Each wearing a black suit, black shoes and a black tie.
Sporting black sunglasses, gloves and a callous guise.
But they are all wearing red hats, what the fuck?

Forty men marching in a line forty-men-wide.
Right foot first, left foot next, hands down to their thighs.
One trips and falls, now they are down to thirty-nine.
This isn’t going as planned, what the fuck?

Thirty-nine men advancing the line still forty-men-wide….

She’s Chaos

The young cashier was gathering carts in the grocery store parking lot on Halloween night,
Observing a pale-face-dark-hair-light-eyed girl,
in a raggedy-gray dress with faded-red-flower-designs.
She was playing with the passenger-side handles of several parked cars,
jumping from a red Toyota, to a blue pickup truck and so on.
Believing she may be in distress he pushed what carts he had gathered over to the damsel.
Ma’am, is everything-okay, he asked.
She turned around and began her long emotionless stare at the cashier’s face,
before advancing on his position, a chill danced around his spine.
What-would-you-do-if-something-happened-to-your-face?
Taken aback, a lump filled his throat when he replied, I-don’t-know.
His feet carried him behind the carts, using them to separate the two,
but she followed and thus began a ring-a-round-the-roses game,
something-happened-to-my-face, she continued callously,
her face looked normal-albeit-pale, it certainly wasn’t malformed in a way he could see.
Do-you-think-I’m-pretty? She asked.
Sure, he replied, turning around to push the carts to the designated cart areas of the parking lot.
His pace was remarkable, powered by a strong sense of anxiety, looking for help.
He kept his face forward, scared that she followed.
Finally spotting a fellow cashier taking a smoke break.
Is-she-still-behind-me? He asked the friendly face.
Who? He turned around and she was gone.

I Changed My Life, Only To Detroy It Later Part II

It’s 2005 and I’m a year-and-a-half removed from school. I have a job as a graphic designer at a local printing franchise. I’m living with my best friend and his girl in a three bedroom apartment in a decent area of town. My love life isn’t so bad either, I’ve made no commitments but am currently talking to two girls, each with her own unique style. I was starting to feel stable and dare-I-say happy.

It was all broken with the first text, “U R FAG.”

I didn’t recognize the number; I Ignored it and the next couple before curiosity got the best of me.

“Who is this?”

“U R FAG, HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA,” was the reply.

Admittedly annoyed, I assumed this was a friend playing games; I would deal with it later.

The ensuing text yielded a clue, it held a deep secret that only my family and ex-girlfriend would know. To this day, only a small group of friends who I trust, or who stayed by my side when told, are privy to this information.

I called my ex-girlfriend, “do you know who is sending text messages,” were the first words out of my mouth. The conversation lasted just under a minute and the recap is as follows; it’s my new boyfriend, can you ask him to stop and I don’t control what he does. The thing is, when we broke up, it had seemed to be on terms, we had even met for several late-night rendezvous. I was hurt; Not only did she share my biggest secret, not only was it used to attack me but she assured me that she would make no effort to stop it. I decided to change my number.

The next mistake was trusting her father. I continued to visit him in his nursing home, took him to his doctor appointments and brought him the morning newspaper. Losing my dad at an early age, I looked towards him as my consigliere. He promised never to share my number with his daughter and our relationship continued, until he reneged on our arraignment.

For nearly a month we went back and forth, I wasn’t always so innocent and on-more-than-one-occasion threatened him with the wrath of doom. I should’ve just changed my number again and be done with it, but I was stubborn. I had already made concessions, I would make no more.

I began to lose; losing two relationships, several friends, my mind and to a certain extent, my job. Sometimes the best thing to do, after walking away the first time, is to walk away again. If only I had heeded my own advice.

(to be continued)

Tea Party

It was a private tea party, reserved for three,
the girl, her stuffed-bear and imaginary-friend Amelia.
The tension was always thick around the stuffed-bear and Amelia,
the conversation was beginning to stagnate.
Oh-Mr-bear-why-are-you-so-stubborn, the girl wondered,
she knew the stuffed-bear and Amelia never saw eye-to-eye.
Each was jealous with the amount of attention they received
from the young blue-eyed-pale-face-blond-hair girl.
Oh-Mr-bear-you-keep-me-safe-at-night,
she sighed, but-Amelia-is-my-partner-in crime.
The stuffed-bear could only stare at Amelia with empty eyes,
she-is-my-friend, but the stuffed-bear remained stolid.

The Code Is Lost

The old man sat on the bench facing east every morning,
Drinking his cup of coffee-hot-three-sugars-one-cream,
Newspaper opened to the sports section, spread on his lap,
This was his routine, every morning, careful not to upset his balance.
Never facing north, south or west, direction was of the utmost importance,
East was where the sun rose, therefore this was the direction to begin his day,
Ignoring all how-do-you-do, nice-to-meet-you and come-here-oftens.
The man sipped his coffee, hoisted the newspaper to eye-level and memorized the numbers,
Not much of a worry for how the teams did, but certain the code exists in scoring,
Three-to-five, four-to-nine, the code is here, two-to-six, seven-to-seven,
One-to-four, must sit, must find, will find, only a matter of time.

The young girls break the silence, double-dutch jump rope,
One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, the old man can’t concentrate,
Must find the code, must ignore interference, must find the secret,
One-two-three-four, over-and-over-again, louder each time.
Clinching his cup of coffee-warm-three-sugars-one-cream tighter and tighter still,
Overflow, coffee stains hide the numbers, code is lost.
The old man turns west, sun rises, balance is broken,
Obscenity and screams, how-could-you-be-so-ignorant,
The girls are now silent, staring in the direction of the approaching man.
Hand raised in the air, fist-clinched, waving back and forth, pace hastened.
Loud shot rings out, man falls and girls flee, the code is lost.