Carl Was Sick of His Job
The earth stopped spinning.
The atmosphere did not.
Everything was scoured away in
minutes.
10,000 mile per hour winds. There
wasn’t a thing left. Grey and red
across the board. Looked like that
Mars movie. You know, the one
with the dust, and the storm, and
the 10,000 mile per hour winds.
Carl found a hole right before it
took us away and we jumped in. I
could see the steeple of the Baptist
church fly off. I fell and it flew.
We landed on soft loam. Lichens
and moss at the center of the planet.
There are moles down here that get
you wasted when you eat them and
the walls glow in a most pleasing way.
Cool water flows from the floor.
All of our needs are met.
Every once in a while something
interesting falls down the hole.
I’ve made a collection. We now
have a museum, and I am working
on the burnt hat wing. It is right off
from the dusty goblet wing.
Gotta figure one might be the Holy
Grail. I haven’t drunk from all of
them yet. We’ll keep trying. It’s
so fucked up that so many cups
survived the holocaust. Maybe we
should’ve built all the houses in the
shape of cups.
Should’ve, could’ve, would’ve…..
In retrospect I don’t care if they all
died. If it all is gone.
It was time.
The fella preachin said it would be
any day. Carl was sick of his job
anyway.
They give him a lot of shit there.
Critical Mass
You eat to stay alive.
Good.
Good for you.
Good, fucking great.
You ever get a hard on when you pass a Chinese buffet? I didn’t think so.
She was looking so good at the fancy art gallery the other day. What is it about fancy chicks at art galleries?
Edward Hopper exhibit.
Good art makes me feels like Hell. Pure, absolute Hell.
So I needed my drug. She was talking to her friends looking at the paintings as I walked by. “Look at it”, she said. “Really look at it, don’t just look at it”. Ugh.
Moments later I was kicking the shit out of a vending machine trying to get a Butterfinger. It just hung there. On the rack. Stuck and apparently forever out of my reach.
I had put in my $.75. Annoyed at the price. But needing that Butterfinger like my soul was in the balance.
So the Butterfinger dangled there. Taunting me like some rock climbing Phish fan pussy. Stupid orange long-named bitch confection.
Kick, kick, kick. Nothing.
Push, push, push. Nothing.
Slam, slam, slam, nothing.
Then the hottie older type lady comes up. She is well kept with fake boobs and a nice dress on. She even had makeup and shit.
She goes into her handbag. It wasn’t a purse, or pocketbook. Someone that fine carries a handbag.
Handbag.
I’ve got my hand in the machine up to my armpit and she says. “Do you mind if a get a Milky Way?” Low fat Milky Way. Milky Way is like the good kid of the fucked up candy family. The one who graduates from college and never gets arrested for blowing up neighborhood cats’ asses with firecrackers.
But I have a plan. Right above where my Butterfinger lingers is the slot with Whatchamacallits. I say, “Wouldn’t you like a Whatchamacallit? See, I figure, if she gets the whatchamacallit, it will fall on my hanging Butterfinger and knock it down. Perfect for everyone.
She says no. That she likes Milky Ways because they are low fat. I tell her so are Whatchamacallits. She says no they are not and to please let her go. Well, I go on to tell her that in fact the fat and caloric content of the Whatchamacallit is actually comparable to Milky Way. Not to mention that the nougat and caramel she enjoys in a Milky Way is also present in Whatchamacallit. In fact, you even get peanut butter and cracklin’ goodness to boot.
I put it so eloquently she actually changes her mind. I think it had to do with the fact that I am grossly obese and if there is one thing fat people know, it is candy. That and Star Trek shit. But I wasn’t trying to teach her Vulcan.
Anyway, she puts in her dollar and hits F5. Whatchamacallit.
The candy bar falls two inches and impacts my Butterfinger. God damn! Physics send my sweet candy careening to the hingy-door get-your-snack bin at the bottom.
We both smile in satisfaction and anticipation and when she goes to get her Whatchamacallit I pushed her across the lobby with all I have and grab both the candy bars. I swung around at her as she is lying in a heap under the stupid Liechtenstein comic dot crap poster. I hold both candy bars high up over my head in victory. I scream, “Look at it! Don’t just look at it! Really look at it! Woooooooooo!
I felt a little better then.
