Pablo Santora pushed a shot glass across the bar. Jack picked up the glass and took one look at the liquid. “Tequila is piss water,” Jack said, “fortunately I like piss.”
After he swallowed the drink, Jack asked for another. Pablo laughed as he unscrewed the bottle. “I know why you’re in Juarez, Jack,” he said.
“Why am I in Juarez, Pablo?”
Pablo poured the tequila and leaned forward. “The cartel the coming for you,” he warned, “you’re gonna need more than a gun that’s smaller than your dick.”
Jack reached for his .38 special and grabbed Pablo by the shirt. “How would YOU know how big my dick is?” he asked, “I know you are with the cartel. So give them a message for me: release my father or I’m coming for ALL OF YOU!”
“Estas loco Jack!” Pablo yelled.
Maria quickly broke up the fight. “Come to your senses Jack!” she pleaded. Jack released Pablo and placed .38 back in its holster. “I stopped by La Casa de La Muerte to deliver that message,” he said, “I’ll be back in a few days to see if that message was received.”
Jack straitened himself out and walked out the front doors. Maria rushed out after him. “I’m so sorry Jack,” she said, “but I couldn’t wait on you forever!”
Jack stopped in his tracks. “But why Pablo?” he asked.
She said nothing.
“What Pablo wants, Pablo gets,” Jack said, “and if it’s death he wants, then I’m happy to deliver.”
Jack walked away and a few blocks later he was kidnapped by some desperados in a pedo van.
“I can’t believe they granted you a conjugal room,” Susan said.
Bill was busy setting the candle light and pouring wine. “And they gave me alcohol too,” he replied, “maybe things aren’t so bad.”
Susan pulled out a chair, sat down, and looked him square in the eye. “I’m not having sex with you, Bill,” she said, “besides, I’m already seeing someone.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because it’s John.”
Bill looked down at the ground and shook his head. “Goddamn it,” he uttered.
“There was no good way to tell you,” Susan said.
Bill walked over to the window then glanced at the small Christmas tree in the corner. “Well Merry Christmas to me,” he replied.
“But I did bring you a gift,” Susan said as she dug through her bag. She pulled out a picture of him and his grandfather at Mount Hood some 15 years earlier. “I know that this was the last picture of your grandpa before he passed,” she continued.
Bill took the photograph and turned his back on Susan. He was silent as he recalled the memory of that day. After several awkward seconds, Bill spoke up. “I haven’t seen this picture since the day it was taken.”
Susan said nothing.
Then Bill turned around. “Why John?” he asked. “Don’t you two have a history? Isn’t the government watching you two like a hawk?”
“Maybe,” she replied, “but I don’t care. I think we always had feelings for each other.”
“But you guys aren’t up to the same old shit again? You just got out of prison for Christ sake!”
“I don’t think I should discuss this with you right now.”
“You are! Fuck. I hope they don’t have this room bugged!”
Susan threw up her arms. “Let’s drop it,” she yelled, “I was hoping this would be a happy visit. But obviously you’re not mature enough for this conversation.”
Bill began drinking directly from the wine bottle. “I guess not,” he replied.
The two uttered nothing for a few minutes. Finally, Susan stood up. “I don’t think I’ll be coming back,” she said, “you seeing me probably isn’t good for your rehabilitation.”
Bill didn’t reply.
“I wish you luck in the future,” she continued, “when you’re released, if you know what’s good for you, please don’t reach out to me. Do you understand?”
Susan knocked, then a prison guard unlocked the door and let her out. Before she exited, she turned around. “Merry Christmas, Bill,” she said, then departed.
Bill held the bottle of wine in one hand, and the photograph in the other. Then the prison guard stepped in the room. “You still have access to this room for a few more hours,” the guard said, “do you wish to stay here?”
“No,” Bill replied, “please take me back to the cell.”
“Forget it, Bill,” Susan said, “I’ve consulted with attorney after attorney and they’ve all said the same thing. Just play ball, take the treatment, and you’ll be released. The Reformed Department of Corrections will provide you with a job and assistance once when you’re released. And when you’re deemed fully rehabilitated, your criminal record will be expunged. It’s not like it once was.”
This was the first visit Susan paid to Bill in some months. The guards stood back while the two shared a table in the prison cafeteria. “That’s not the point,” Bill replied, “I’m being treated as a common criminal, which I’m not. What are they saying about me on the outside?”
Susan said nothing.
“That bad, huh?” Bill chuckled, “What happened to the world, Susan? Are we not allowed to be human anymore? This is everything we fought against!”
“We lost, Bill,” Susan said, “Sure it has taken time getting used to that. But I survived the rehabilitation process and things aren’t so bad on the outside. Some people know who I am and the things I’ve done, but everyone trusts the process. It’s like it doesn’t matter. I’m fully reintegrated.”
“You sold out, in other words.”
“Don’t be stupid, Bill.”
After a moment of awkward silence, Bill reached across the table and placed his hand on top of hers. “Did we ever fuck?” he asked.
Susan gave out a throaty laugh. “We got drunk and fooled around once or twice,” she said.
“Why didn’t we ever get together?”
“It would have never worked.”
“I know,” Bill lamented, “you were always too smart for me.”
“You were always preoccupied.”
“Now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life here. My loss.”
Susan stared into his eyes for a few moments while she clasped his hand. Finally, she stood up and straightened herself out. “I handed the package you requested off to the guards,” she said, “Goodbye, Bill.”
Bill exhaled. “So long, Susan.”
He watched her walk out through the gates and out of his life. Then the guards escorted him back to the cell.
Minutes later, Junior, the senior day shift guard, walked up to Bill’s door. “Good news Bill,” Junior said as he handed him Susan’s package, “I don’t know what you want with all this leather, but it cleared security. Because you’re not on suicide watch, it was approved by Dr. Effington. Of course, it can’t leave this cell. You will be checked each time.”
Patricia put down her cocktail and slammed her hands on the table. “Goddamnit!” she yelled, “Who the hell is knocking on my door?!”
She swung the front door open to find Eric just standing around with his mouth agape like a fool. “Oh it’s you,” Patricia said, “I just woke up! What kind of jackass knocks on my door at this hour?!”
Eric looked at his watch. “It’s 2:30 pm,” he replied.
“You’re goddamn right it is! What the hell do you want?”
“Mom kicked me out of the house. I’m just gonna crash here.”
“Huh? What?!” exclaimed Patricia. She then leaned forward and barfed all over potted plants on the front porch.
“If this is a bad time, I can come back later,” said Eric.
“No no,” Patricia replied while wiping vomit from her mouth, “come inside, we’ll work this out.”
She was afraid Eric was going to return after he informed her of his feelings. Despite being 30 years old, he seemed to innocent in the ways of the world; she didn’t want him reading too much into their sexual encounter.
“Look,” she explained, “it was a mistake to give you that handjob. As a trained doctor, that was unprofessional of me. But I had to determine if your spinal injuries would cause you to have unprovoked ejaculation!”
“Oh god, I think you were right,” Eric squealed as he busted in his pants. “This has been happening all week!”
Patricia shook her head. “I’m sorry if you feel like you were taken advantage of,” she said.
“Taken advantage of?” he replied. “No woman has ever touched me that way. That was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Patricia was puzzled. “You mean…”
“Oh sure, sure. I’ve DEFINITELY had sex before,” Eric explained, “but a visit to the truck stop glory hole in Rockford, IL just ain’t the same thing, ya know?” Eric put down the Xbox he was hauling around and ran his fingers through his hair. “Patricia, I’ve always been an angry man,” he said as he struggled to find the right words, “but something inside me has changed. I don’t know if it was you crashing into me with your car, or holding me captive for two weeks while I recovered, your attempt at bribery, or the aforementioned handjob. But I feel like I’ve become a better person since meeting you.”
Patricia exhaled as she considered her response. Eric was handsome in his own slobbish way, she thought. She didn’t know if it was the combination of Xanax, Ambien, and alcohol flowing through her, but she was slightly moved by his little speech. Yet the truth was, just as Eric was deprived sexually, she was deprived of any emotional connection.
Plus, there was lingering guilt from the car crash.
“Alright,” Patricia said, “you can stay here. Just…”
“…anything Patricia! I’ll do anything!” happily cried Eric.
My October is booked the FUCK UP! That doesn’t mean that I’ll stop writing though, that ain’t happening. But that does mean I’m gonna need a little help from artificial intelligence.
Now I don’t have a clue what my short story will be about. Therefore I turned to a random story generator from writingexcerises.co.uk. I had to refresh it a few times to get a story I liked, and here’s what it generated:
“A woman in her sixties, who can be quite compassionate.
A man in his early thirties, who can be quite aggressive.
The story begins in a nightclub.
Someone is driven out of their home.
It’s a story about greed.
Your character reluctantly becomes involved”
So there you have it. October’s short story will be about an older woman and an incel “falling in love”. Hell yeah dude 👍
“Damn it Dad! When you spend six years in a French whorehouse as I have, you can smell shit from a mile away! And YOU, sir, are full of SHIT!” Darla yelled to her father.
“Darla, please,” Mr. Shitz responded, “I’m wearing adult diapers now. I assure you, there’s not an ounce of shit in me.”
“Well you can’t spend your remaining days toiling away in your study!”
William stood up from behind his desk and shoveled ice into a glass. He poured himself a tall drink of Jack Daniel’s whiskey. “Are you sure that’s a good idea in your condition?” Darla asked.
“Goddamnit Darla, can you stop pestering this dying man?!” he snapped.
This was the first time Darla heard her father drop his high-class pretensions. “So there’s a man underneath that mustache and ascot after all,” she said.
“Fuck you,” William replied as he pounded the whiskey. “I have nothing to be ashamed of. I raised you and I built a billion dollar company. Now leave me be.”
Darla laughed and stood up. “I’m home now,” she said, “you’re gonna have to face me eventually. Or else I will haunt you till your dying day.”
She stormed out of the study. Moments later, I walked in to find Mr. Shitz blind drunk. “Damn it, Jim, I can’t handle this right now,” he said to me.
“Yes sir, I understand,” I said. “Mind if I have a drink?”
I took a sip of the stout liquid and wondered how humans could stomach the stuff. “Sir,” I wondered aloud, “can you tell me about your wife?”
William swiveled his chair, back facing me. “What can I tell you about her that you don’t already know?” he asked.
“Well,” I continued, “I know that you loved her. Doesn’t that extend to your offspring as well? Especially since she’s a continuation of you and your wife?”
William swiveled back around. “Are you some kind of fucking moron?” he asked.
“In your ways, yes,” I said as I downed the whiskey.
William laughed. “Darla and me have an understanding,” he said, “care for another drink?”
The conversation trailed off after that. William eventually passed out on his leather-bound sofa in the study. But being new to this intoxicating experience, I ventured out to the garden, carrying the bottle with me.
The pond was the most beautiful spot. As dusk started to settle, katydids and frogs began their nightly symphonies. Across the way, I saw Darla lighting a cigarette.
I turned my head when she looked my way. I focused on the bottle as I pretended not to notice her. Then moments passed and she was out of sight.
The sun finally sunk below the horizon and the moonlight peered through the clouds. I thought I was alone.
“Mind if I have a swig?” a voice from behind me asked.
Just to be clear, I hate this story. But you’re making me do this.
I take no responsibility for the things I write.
John laid a dead boar, which he strangled with his hands, next to the fire. Him and Alyssa were lost. Their canoe was destroyed in some rapids and they were camping for the night by the river’s edge.
Their clothes were drying by the fire. While Alyssa was smart enough to pack a change of clothes, John was forced to wear a loincloth while he cut up the boar. Alyssa tried not to stare at his huge ballsack.
“Care for some boar?” he asked.
“No thank you. I’m a vegetarian.”
“That’s Liberal poppycock,” he said. “Man was meant to senselessly kill animals.”
Ignoring the comment, Alyssa noticed a scar near John’s abdomen. “How did you get that?” she asked.
“Vietnam,” he replied, “I got stabbed there behind a whorehouse 10 years ago.”
“What about the scar on your thigh?”
John started tearing into the boar’s leg with his teeth. Blood was dripping down his chin, past his neck, and onto his man chest. Alyssa tried to keep her passions at bay. She had never before witnessed such a specimen of manliness.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked him.
“Hmm,” John pondered. “I think so. I was in an arranged marriage while I was in a Satanic cult. But I haven’t had sex…with a woman…since then.”
“Do you ever want to get married?”
John read between the lines and started to smile. “Well,” he began, “I haven’t found a woman that can handle me yet.”
Alyssa chuckled. “I’m glad that I’m lost in the wilderness with you,” she said.
Moments later, the two heard a faint sound of a banjo. Alyssa was slightly unnerved. “Relax,” John said, “nothing out here can hurt us.”
The sound continued to get louder.
Before they could respond, three men with shotguns stood outside of their camp. They were rednecks, hillbillies. They wore no sleeves and their teeth were rotting out of their faces.
“Hey there, that’s a pretty girl you got,” one of them said.
“Don’t touch her,” John said.
“It’s not her we want,” another said as he walked up to John. “We just want a slice of that meat.”
John reached for his Bowie knife, but the first redneck lowered his gun. “Don’t think about it,” the man told him. The second man grabbed Alyssa then he tied her to a tree with a belt around her neck.
The ugliest redneck ordered John to stand up. “Now gimme that meat,” he said.
John’s back was turn towards Alyssa. The ugly man dropped to his knees then ripped away his loincloth. John’s buttcheeks were exposed to everyone. The two other men were cackling uncontrollably with their shotguns aimed at a helpless Alyssa.
She could see the ugly redneck’s face while he was on his knees. He had a look of surprise. But before he could react, John grabbed his head and put his mouth up to his crotch. The man began to gurgle.
“Now wait a minute,” one of the his buddies began to yell.
John turned around, swinging the ugly redneck with him. He was choking the man…with his penis down his throat.
“Let the girl go!” John yelled.
“The fuck’s wrong with you?” another replied.
Finally the redneck turned blue and John let him fall to the ground. Before the other rednecks could get off a shot, a buck naked John grabbed the dead man’s shotgun. When he fired, a redneck’s brains were splattered all over Alyssa’s face.
The last surviving redneck began to panic. He missed John completely with his erratic shooting. As he lost sight of the naked man, he dropped to the ground.
“I got your girl man!” the redneck yelled. But John snuck up behind him with his Bowie knife.
“Drop the gun,” John ordered. The man complied and began to uncontrollably piss himself.
“I’m sorry,” the redneck said weeping.
“Only God forgives,” John replied. Then he slit his throat.
Blood once again splattered all over Alyssa’s face.
After untying Alyssa from the tree, John dragged the three bodies into the river. “I swear, my penis wasn’t erect when it was in that man’s mouth,” he told her.
Alyssa was shaking from all the excitement. A still naked, blood soaked John kneeled in front of her and took her hands. “I’m sorry you had to see all of that,” he said.
“I’ve never seen something like that,” she replied.
“A man’s head get blown clean off?”
“No, your gargantuan p-p…”
“Penis? Yes, it’s 14 inches. Girth of about 5. Or 5.27 inches to be precise. Doctors said that I would never achieve a full erection. It takes too much blood flow. That’s why I don’t have a girlfriend. Oh the burdens I carry with such power.”
John stood up and grabbed a bag of trail mix. “Care for some nuts?” he asked.
Alyssa ran up to John and wrapped her arms around him. “Stay with me tonight,” she said, “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Alright,” he replied as he munched on some cashews, “but it’s supposed to be cold tonight. To keep warm, we must sleep completely nude under a sleeping bag.”
Alyssa nodded and stripped off her clothes. It was the first time she was ever naked in front of a man. Meanwhile, John continued to shovel cashews into his mouth.
Alyssa climbed into the sleeping bag and John followed after. They laid together cheek to cheek…ass cheek to ass cheek that is…and she enjoyed the warmth emanating from his body.
“John, I got to tell you,” Alyssa said, “I’ve waited my entire life to meet a man like you. I know we’re not married, but I want you to take me. Take me here. Please.”
A loud fart bellowed from underneath the sleeping bag. John was fast asleep. Disappointed, Alyssa continued to lay there, wishing…
Look, I’m trying to get to the good stuff (all the nasty sex). But I’m trying to get there organically, alright? Give me a break.
At the campfire, Geoff was playing Nearer, My God, To Thee on his acoustic guitar.
“Maybe you should put that away,” Alyssa told him.
Nine church goers were attending the camping trip in total. Brother Ted walked back to the camp after reliving himself in the river. “Woo! That water’s cold!” he declared.
He sat down at the edge of the fire and took out his Bible. “Being in nature reminds me of the awesome power of God,” Ted said. “But 1 John tells us to hate the world and everything in it. All of it will be destroyed in the Second Coming. None of this matters.” He then grabbed a trash bag and dumped its contents on the ground.
Alyssa tried to get close to John, but it appeared that she had competition. Sister Becky was close to Alyssa’s age. She was the touchy-feely type, laughed at every joke…even when a joke wasn’t being told. Most men responded to her flirty nature, but John was different. Alyssa tried to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“When I returned from Iraq, I successfully underwent conversion therapy,” John told Becky, “I haven’t had those kinds of feelings in nearly 2 years.”
“You’re such a brave man,” Becky responded as she gently touched his arm. Alyssa typically wasn’t the jealous type, but Becky was really trying her.
Everyone began roasting marshmallows and hotdogs but John took out a pork shoulder. He could have easily pulled back the plastic film covering it but used his Bowie knife instead.
“Shouldn’t you cook that before you eat it?” Brother Ted asked. “Nonsense,” John replied as he tore into the meat with his teeth, “God gave our bodies everything we need to digest raw pork.”
Alyssa woke up in the middle of the night to relieve herself. She walked a few yards from the camp and squatted behind a tree. While peeing, she heard painful grunts coming a few feet away.
“Who’s there?” she whispered into the dark. But All she heard was more grunting.
When she finished, Alyssa stood up and began wondering towards the direction of the sound. Behind another tree was John, pants around his ankles, squatting in agonizing pain.
“Are you okay?!” she asked him.
“I feel like my guts exploded!” John replied. He was blasting out one fart after another.
“I’ll go get help!”
“No!” John exclaimed, “I can’t let them see me like this! You gotta help me!”
“What can I do?”
“Just stay here with me.”
Alyssa knelt down beside John and held his hand. He started expelling an ungodly amount of diarrhea out of his anus. The stench was almost unbearable. When he finished, he looked up to her with his bloodshot, watery eyes.
“Thank you,” John said. Alyssa gave him a smile.
Afterwards, he stood up and washed his fecal-covered buttcrack in the river. When he finished, he walked back to Alyssa. As he took her by the hand, he said to her, “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
She nodded in return.
The two went back to their tents. As Alyssa climbed into her sleeping bag, she thought about John and thanked God for giving her such an intimate moment with him.
The next morning, groups were pairing up for the canoe trip. Becky approached John to row down river with her. He paused and scratched his forehead. “Uhh, actually I was planning to go with Alyssa,” he told her.
Becky stood up straight. “Alyssa? Really? But I assure you that I’m a much better rower than her,” she said.
“Good! That’s why you should go with Geoff.”
As Geoff was putting on his life jacket, John grabbed him and paired him with Becky. “Good luck!” he told him, and paddled off with his sister.
“Geoff’s not gonna like that,” Alyssa said, “he’s the jealous type.”
“Sorry, but I figured that I owe you an explanation for last night,” John replied.
“None’s necessary, John. You see, I get the bubble guts too.”
“I don’t think you understand,” he said. “I have IBS…Irritable Bowel Syndrome. So you understand why I hope we can keep this a secret.”
“But why John? Why?”
“Because…,” he gave a long pause, “I was laughed at as a child. Everyone called me Mr.Poopypants. I couldn’t walk 10 feet without poop running down the back of my legs. I had to tape up the bottom of my jeans to prevent turds from slipping out and everyday my pants would fill up with poopoo.”
Tears began to well up in John’s eyes. “Everyone thinks that I’m some kind of hero,” he continued, “but in my own mind, I’m always gonna be Mr. Poopypants.”
With his back against her, Alyssa wrapped her arms around John’s body and placed her head just below his neck. “You’re not Mr. Poopypants to me, John. Your secret is safe. But maybe you should stop eating raw pork.”
John placed his left hand top of Alyssa’s that was resting on his chest. “I’m glad I’ve finally met someone like you,” he said.
So I’ve been locked in my shed breathing in paint and gasoline fumes for the last few days and I’ve been watching atheist call-in shows the entire time.
Then it occurred to me: I can do this!
I’ve always said that my dream job would be to have my own talk show a la Dr. Phil: People would come to me with their problems and I would dispense nothing but terrible, uneducated advice. (So, basically, Dr. Phil)
So now I want my own atheist call in show: people call in trying to convert me, I ask endless amount of questions, people spin their wheels to the point of insanity, and I convert every time. Of course, I believe in this faith until the next caller.
I’ll also give relationship advice, because if anyone knows romance, it’s definitely a balding, disheveled, 94 year old.
Sometimes to feel better about myself, I’ll peruse the Reddit boards of single guys. Not the MGTOW or incel stuff, but the boards that discuss the general lives of single men.
Just to reiterate, being in a long term relationship is great. Top 10 experience for sure. And it’s alarmingly easy to be in one (if you’re an adult).
So it’s important to note that if you’re not in a romantic relationship and you want to be in one, it’s totally your fault.
So assuming that you’re a normal, functioning adult male, I have some excellent news for you: if you listen to me, you DEFINITELY won’t be a ladies man but you’ll find yourself a romantic partner soon, tomorrow probably.
How can I be so sure?
Well let me introduce you to two men:
The first was an alcoholic writer that found success late in life. The other is a philosopher that eats from a trash can. But these two men could get it (ladies, don’t chime in).
What do you notice about these guys? Would you say they’re ‘good looking’? Are they well kempt? Do they look healthy and in shape? The answer to all three questions is a resounding ‘no’.
So how do (did) they do it?
The answer is easy: they don’t give a shit. But they also share another trait: they possess an ‘edge’.
Is this ‘edge’ confidence? Absolutely not. Bukowski was especially self-loathing and self-deprecating. Zizek, on the other hand, hardly realizes that he’s an actual person that moves through space and time.
Is it because they’re funny? In their own way, yes. But this humor derives from their character. It has nothing to do with them being especially cunning.
Are they ‘dangerous’? Lol! No.
So what is this ‘edge’?
Honestly, that’s difficult to say. Some might say a man has to be a “master of his domain”, but that sounds like nonsense. I imagine it depends on the man. But if I had to guess, I’d say this ‘edge’ has something to do with viewing the world with clarity and lacking pretension. Or, in another way, it’s accepting who you are and not giving a shit.
So if you want to be successful in relationships, or just want to get into one at all, one must “know thyself”.
Another thing is the misplaced emphasis on sex. Part of growing up is realizing that “everything is about sex except for sex.” Most of the time, I wish that I stayed home and watched porn instead.
Also, women piss, shit, fart, burp, and are every bit as disgusting as you and me. They know that WE do those things, but they love us nonetheless. So I don’t see what your problem is dude.
And stop saying your “single”. Just say you’re “not in a long term relationship currently”. Ladies can get away with announcing their singleship. It will always work out in their favor. It won’t for you. That’s just facts.
Just trying to help dude. Hate the game, not the messenger. Or whatever.