I did exactly what I wanted to do for nine straight years: drink in excess.
So it’s hard for me to say that I regret nearly a decade of my life. There were some great fucking times.
But were there regrets? Situations I could’ve handled better? People I could’ve been nicer to?
Oh yeah! You bet!
The truth is, where I came from, I overstayed my welcome. A good friend told me, for my own well-being, that he better not see my face in these bars ever again.
He meant it.
I never returned. Never spoke with him again.
Some things are meant to be forgotten.
But I can’t help but think: do all my old friends hate me? Do they think about me as much as I think about them?
I suppose that we all separated for the better. It just nags me that there are those I spent years with, whose lives instantly got better once when I left.
Of course my life got better too when I left them.
Maybe I’m just overstating my self importance.
Maybe it’s hard for me to accept that time is gaining on me.
The film is clearly more influential (I’ve probably seen it, but I’ve drank a lot since then). Clint Eastwood was inspired by it. That’s obvious in Pale Rider, but Unforgiven has some echoes of it. Logan was also heavily under its influence but I don’t watch that kind of shit.
I’m intrigued by the subject of reality meeting myth. Which is why it’s high time for the book or film be updated into a “neo-western”, or whatever buzzword the kids are using, albeit with a more pessimistic ending.
The story is told from the perspective of a kid. And when we think of our childhood, we recall the magical times we had. But when we think objectively about it, we miss all the fucked up shit around us.
Remember that cool neighbor that would let you shoot his Glock? He was a registered sex offender.
Of course none of that occurs to you because you assume everyone is nice and pure.
Now I’d never write an updated version of Shane, I’d instantly lose interest. But maybe someone with more discipline would be willing to put pen to paper.
I imagine a story set during the Great Depression or some shit, where banks are harassing farmers and threatening to take their land. Then a mysterious stranger with a dark past comes into town and befriends a family.
The boy is instantly taken by the stranger. The father is handicapped in some form or fashion, unable to tend to his land properly, so the stranger steps up. The boy eventually begins to look up to the stranger more so than his father.
Then, of course, the banks and henchmen come in, threaten the townsfolk, blah blah blah…we all know the story: Shane essentially sacrifices himself, his death is ambiguous, and he achieves mythical status in the town.
But I’d like to see a more pessimistic conclusion. And as I think about it, my ending sort of resembles that of Blood Meridian: decades later, like the 1960s, the boy runs into Shane, very much alive, but the truth about him is revealed. Shane was nothing more than a drunken murderous hitman who actually cuckholded the father.
Naturally all of this went unnoticed by the boy, now a man, but he chooses instead to remember that summer as a magical time when a stranger came into town.
I’m sure that story has been told a million times. But good stories are worth retelling.
Of course I ain’t retelling it. I’ve got fart and cum jokes to write.
Furthermore, I’m not some postmodern lunatic claiming that real truth doesn’t exist and therefore it’s pointless to speculate on the nature of it.
What I AM saying is that Immanuel Kant was RIGHT. And philosophers from his day onward have been pissed off because of it.
Kant claimed we can’t know things “in themselves”. Meaning we can’t perceive objects and nature in their true form. We can only perceive “phenomena”, or nature though the prism of the human mind. In other words, the human mind is VERY active in shaping our reality.
No one likes this.
And they don’t like it because they know it’s true.
To perceive objects and nature without the human mind would mean to transcend the human mind. OR, ceasing to become human altogether.
As it currently stands, that’s impossible and we run into many metaphysical holes when we try to speculate on that.
Now, that isn’t to say we are “cut off” from external reality. But we are hobbled by our own physical brains. The universe is seemingly infinite, but our brains are finite.
We are like a small hole in the bottom of a beach, where only one grain of sand can pass through at any one moment.
Lame example, I know. But that’s how it feels.
But my larger point is how the Internet affects all of this. Is our logical faculties, rooted in a material brain, designed to handle this shock load?
In our evolutionary development, we developed our facilities to handle immediate needs. Tools and complex communication emerged from this, leading to advanced society and advanced technologies that have seemingly advanced passed our understanding.
I often like to think that art is an unintended byproduct of this development. Literature, drama, paintings, etc. got spat out and reabsorbed back into the machinery. It became an integral part of our language.
Along came the internet and telecommunications where we are bombarded by intellectual work. Now we can’t help but see the archetypal dramatic progression written in the fabric of the universe.
In other words, the internet permits us to live in our own fantasy world….a fantasy that objectively doesn’t exist….it’s a prism on top of a prism.
Are we made to sit behind a computer?
And is it worth tearing the world down because of Jon Gruden’s emails?
I’m easily persuaded because I know that my own understanding is limited and people should be open to new information as it becomes available.
That’s what sensible people SHOULD do.
But that’s heresy in the world of politics. And purity of ideals is currency.
I remember, what felt like a million years ago but was actually last year, when Joe Rogan said he’d vote for Bernie Sanders because he’s been “consistent”, or whatever. In many circles on Twitter, “consistency” became a buzz word and some took it up as a badge of virtue.
I always thought that was odd.
Maybe I’m crazy, but what if you’re consistently WRONG? How is consistency a virtue then?
I dunno. I’ve spent the last month not paying attention to the news and honestly…it paid off. I don’t miss it.
Or I didn’tmiss it.
Unfortunately, like a bad habit, I got sucked back in. And after not looking at the news, or Twitter, or any of that bullshit for a month, the world just looks stupid.
Post 9/11, when the 24/7 news became the hottest show in town, politics slowly began to take the stage as the #1 form of entertainment. That’s pathetic.
This is why your conspiracy theories are absolute trash: because politics is our entertainment, we see the world as an ongoing…totally coherent, totally plotted…drama. There are heroes, and there are villains. The left hand always knows what the right hand is doing….and they’re both plotting against you and people like you. You’re the hero, fighting the good fight on social media. And it’s all a wet fantasy.
Politics is business and business is a boomin.
And when business is boomin, out comes the con artists and cult leaders. Any dickhead with a camera, microphone, and smartphone wants in. And when their lies are exposed, they have to double down.
Is the mass media lying to you? Yes. That’s just business my friend.
Is your paranoid uncle or anarchist roommate on Twitter and Facebook lying to you? You bet. And they’re in it for the love of the game.
If you’re a person with any, and I mean ANY sort of political convictions, you are broadcasting to the world that you are someone that can’t be trusted.
How do I know that?
Your mind is objectively finite and the world doesn’t conform to your narrow parameters. But you will deliberately bend or distort the truth to claim it does.
You’re a terrible person.
What I do find interesting though are the psychological effects of unprecedented technological advancement. That’s the real question no one wants to ask because the answer might mean we’d have to log off for a few days.
I’m just always astounded when people can claim with absolute certainty that they know the truth of the universe. God exists, God doesn’t exist. Capitalism good, capitalism bad. That sort of shit. How can people still hold certainty of correctness during the era of the Internet?
Obviously, not everything on the Internet is true. You have to be adult enough to use your fucking head when you see bullshit. But claiming ignorance of opposing views and facts is getting tiresome.
You have the most important tool ever created by man at your fingertips. So use it wisely, jackass.
Delete all your social media accounts.
Be happy and embrace the fact that you live in a non-homogeneous world. Be open to the challenge and don’t claim CONSPIRACY! when confronted with something you don’t understand or contradicts your narrow view.
So I was in the bathroom at the bus station when an employee banged on the door.
“Hey buddy,” I said. “Do you mind? I’m trying to beat off!”
“Sorry sir,” the employee replied. “But I have a message here from your mother.”
So I opened the door with my pants around my ankles. The message read:
Dear son,
Please don’t come home for Christmas. Your cousin Megan is here and she told me some troubling things about you.
Love,
Your Mom
So I pulled up my pants and went to the front counter.
“Can’t take your ticket back, sir. All sales are final,” the employee said.
I turned around and the janitor was harassing a homeless woman, accusing her of clogging the toilet.
“That was me sir,” I told the janitor. “I blew up the toilet in the women’s bathroom.”
“You have one cursed ass sir,” he replied.
The woman walked up to me. “Thank you for taking the blame,” she said. “I just wish that they’d give me a ticket so I could get out of this godforsaken place.”
I handed her my ticket. “Merry Christmas,” I said. “Today’s your lucky day.”
“Oh, no thank you,” she said. “I don’t want to go to Reno, Nevada.”
We stole guns off some guards that Angelika brutally murdered and ran down the corridor.
“The time weapon is is being held three floors above us,” Angelika said.
We began to feel tremors all around us. I asked Angelika the last time this volcano erupted.
“About 25,000 years ago,” she said.
“Then this thing could go off at any moment. We better hurry.”
We went down the corridors and up the stairs in an attack formation. Angelika and I covered the front. Mr. Ree and Oppenheimer covered the rear.
When we reached the room holding the time weapon, the Kill Squad…along with Izzy….was there. They altered course and stormed into the volcano earlier in a bloody, devastating firefight. Not many survived.
“Thank goodness you’re alive,” the Admiral said. “And you found J. Robert Oppenheimer. Excellent work. Lt. Captain, please dispose of the scientist.”
Lt. Captain cocked his pistol and raised it up to Oppenheimer’s head.
I raised my rifle to Lt. Captain.
“Pull that trigger and you’re dead,” I told him.
“But Colonel James,” the Admiral said, “this time travel stuff is against the laws of God. We must destroy all of the evidence.”
“No,” I said. “Oppenheimer has as much right to exist as the rest of us.”
Dr. Sí then rushed in with his guards. “Well well,” he said. “Glad you’re all here.”
We were surrounded. We dropped our weapons.
Dr. Sí walked up to the Admiral. “I’m happy to see you’re doing well Admiral,” he said.
“This ends today doctor,” the Admiral replied.
“I think not,” he replied.
Dr. Sí walked over to a control panel. In a corner across the room, the floor moved, revealing a lava pit.
“I’m sorry Admiral,” the doctor said. “But you can’t go where we’re going.”
The guards grabbed the Admiral and pushed him towards the pit. “You’ll never get away with this,” he yelled.
“Of course I will. I control time! Think about the possibilities Admiral! We could have taken over the world. You never understood that.”
“Izzy, don’t let them do this,” the Admiral screamed. She walked over to him and the guards.
“You’re one abusive son of a bitch,” she said. Izzy then roundhouse kicked him into the fiery pit. When the screams stopped and the flames died down, Izzy turned around.
“Can I go home now,” she asked. “I didn’t want to be here anyway.”
“I’m sorry madam,” Dr. Sí replied. “I cannot let anyone leave here alive.”
“So what happens now? This volcano will erupt at any moment,” I asked.
“Exactly Colonel. In a few moments, I will time travel out of here and this volcano will erupt, destroying the evidence.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Angelika said. Dr. Sí walked up to her, grabbed her hair and put his lips on her.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us,” he said. “I gotta go.”
He went back to the panel and a countdown started. A laser dropped down from the ceiling which would release a plasma field around its target, triggering a spacetime ripple that would permit time travel.
“Before I forget,” Dr. Sí said to me, “here’s the $1 million I owe you. Where I’m going, this money is no good.”
He threw a metal briefcase as my feet.
“Alright,” the doctor said, “let’s get this bullshit over with.”
The laser then fired out a beam, creating the field around Sí. While the guards were mesmerized by the sight, Oppenheimer ran into the field, pushing the doctor out.
There was a bright flash of light, then Oppenheimer was gone…lost somewhere in time.
“You fool!” Dr. Sí yelled.
Out of the confusion, Angelika attacked the guards and took a gun. She began spraying bullets across the room. I picked up the briefcase and ran for cover.
I grabbed a rifle from a dead guard and began shielding Izzy. Mr. Ree then engaged in the firefight.
When all the guards were dead, Angelika threw down her semi-automatic and grabbed Dr. Sí. He tried to put up a fight.
“Angelika!” he screamed. “This volcano will go off any second. We don’t have time for this!”
“Time’s up bitch!” she said. Then she threw him into the lava pit. A large flame shot up in the air.
Meanwhile, Mr. Ree was monitoring communications between guards over the radio. “Reinforcements will be here in a minute,” he said.
I handed the briefcase to Izzy. “Make sure Miriam gets this,” I told her.
We shared one last look. “Mr. Ree and I will give you cover while you escape,” I said. “Angelika, go with her.”
“But I didn’t get the weapon,” Angelika responded.
“Let it go,” I said. “You can save humanity without it.”
I reached out my hand to hers and we looked deep into each other’s eyes. “Goodbye Angelika.”
She gave a pause. “Goodbye James,” she said.
Izzy and Angelika, along with a few surviving members of the Kill Squad, ran back down the corridor. The tremors were beginning to pick up.
Mr. Ree and I stood behind the control panel, waiting for reinforcements to arrive. “Ready to go where no man’s gone before,” I asked him.
He put a cigar in his mouth. “You’re reading my mind.”
As guards were pouring into the room, Mr. Ree provided cover while I fiddled with the controls. The laser pointed in our direction and released a beam. The field surrounded us.
Where…or when…we were going, only God knew.
Then there was a brilliant flash of light….
*********
Izzy, Angelika, and the Kill Squad made it out of the volcano just as it erupted. As they watched the explosion from a safe distance, Izzy turned to Angelika.
“Do you think they’re dead?”
Angelika looked to the ash cloud hovering over the jungle. She thought for a moment.
“No,” she replied. “They’re out there…somewhere in time….”
I tailed Maxwell to a rub-n-tug in Santa Monica. I sat in the car and waited. I must have gone through an entire pack of cigarettes. After two hours, I went inside.
“Yes, I’m having pain in my groin region and I need it stretched out,” I told the receptionist.
Maxwell came out with a towel around his waist. “Uh, hi James. It’s not what it looks like.”
“Hello Maxwell,” I said as I feigned stupidity. “What does this look like?”
“I just come here to get my prostate massaged. It gets flared.”
I took out a cigarette. “There’s no smoking in here, sir,” the receptionist said. I replaced it with a toothpick. “You got nothing to worry about with me, Maxwell,” I said. “Remember, I’m not on the LAPD anymore.”
“Right.” He gave an awkward laugh. “Well I guess I’ll see you around.”
I eyeballed him as he walked away.
I followed him around town for a few days…to the bars, to the gay clubs, to Knots Berry Farm…but I couldn’t bust him. I was growing tired. I drank. I tried heroin. But I couldn’t shake him from my mind.
Maxwell was good. Too good. But I knew eventually he’d fuck up. And when he did, I’d be there to bust him.
Finally I caught a break.
He picked up a prostitute off Sunset. They drove up to the hills and pulled off to a stop overlooking the Valley. It was late. Too late.
I had to stay back. I could’ve easily been spotted. I perched on top of a ledge overlooking their spot. The windows fogged up in Maxwell’s car. I couldn’t see in.
After several hours without movement, I feared the worst. I pulled out the 357 and walked towards the vehicle. I opened the passenger side door and there laid a strangled prostitute.
Maxwell was nowhere to be found.
Damn it, I thought. How could he have escaped?
Then I heard a beeping. There in the glove box was a timer counting down to zero. I tried to run but the explosion knocked me back several feet.
I got up and checked myself for injuries. There were none. I’m invincible.
I waited next to the smoldering remains for the fire department and the LA Police Chief to arrive. “You’re no longer on the force,” the Chief said. “The is is an official police investigation.”
“Sir,” I replied, “how well do you trust Ellis Shitburg Maxwell?”
“With LP dead, he’s now my best officer. I’d trust him with my wife.”
“This is Maxwell’s car. Last night there was a dead prostitute inside. Don’t you get it? He’s the Hillside Choker!”
“Now you are way out of line James! Charles Krauthammer was the killer and you busted him! The case is CLOSED! You hear me? CLOSED!”
“Will you listen to reason and evidence? Maxwell and Charles are in cahoots! The mayor said himself that crime has gotten out of hand! Maxwell has taken matters into his own hands! He’s gone renegade sir! RENEGADE!”
The Chief got right in my face. “Now you listen here James, and you listen good. There is no vigilante conspiracy in the LAPD. NONE! Not on my watch! Now I am telling you to walk away from this crime scene before I bring you in as a suspect!”
I walked away.
That night I got drunk and started thinking about LP. I stumbled up to Stacy’s door and began pounding. She just put the kids to bed.
“Have you been drinking,” she asked.
“Just started.”
She invited me in poured a vodka. We both sat on the couch.
“How are the kids,” I asked.
“Brutus has taken his father’s death hard. He’s been strangling the neighborhood animals, dissecting them, and leaving the remains on the owner’s porch. Laquisha’s been missing since the funeral.”
I reached out my hand and put it on hers. “And how have you been doing?”
“I’ve been struggling. I just miss LP so much. He was a great husband.”
“I miss him too,” I said.
We both stared into each other’s eyes. We leaned in and kissed.
As I was ramming Stacy silly, I couldn’t help but think of LP… how he was up there watching over us…furiously masturbating in heaven.
“Damn it James,” the police chief said to me at City Hall. “You’re a murderous bastard, but you get results. The rifle in Charles Krauthammer’s exploded car matches the ballistics in LP Anderson’s killing perfectly. Well done.”
“Thank you sir.”
“Good job James,” Officer Maxwell said. I nodded back.
“The mayor will be pleased with this despite the property damage done to the city of Long Beach,” the Chief continued. “Please turn in your badge. Your work here is done.”
I took out my badge and looked at it. “I’d still like to clear out a few of the suspects before this case is closed,” I told the Chief. “I want to be certain that the same shooter that killed LP is also our serial killer.”
Maxwell spoke up. “Our department has conclusively determined that Charles Krauthammer is our killer.”
“You did an excellent job here James,” the Chief said. “No need to second guess yourself. You’re one hell of a detective.”
I handed over the badge.
“Gentlemen,” I said. “It’s been an honor serving the Los Angeles Police Department.”
I returned to my office.
“Is there anything I can do for you James,” Izzy asked. “Coffee, sandwich, drink, hand job? Please let me do something for you.”
“I just want to be left alone for awhile,” I replied.
I shut the door to the office, closed the blinds, and pulled out a bottle of bourbon…the last one LP and me shared. I poured a glass and raised a toast.
“So long LP,” I said.
Seconds later there was a knock on the door.
“Office hours are closed,” I shouted.
The door opened and our Mystery Officer, the one I threatened to shoot at City Hall while shittin and pissin, came in. He sat down and put his feet on the desk.
“You think you’re so smart don’t ya,” he asked.
“No”
“Charles Krauthammer is dead and you can play the hero.”
“What are you on about?”
Officer Mystery sat up in his seat and leaned in. “There’s a lot more to this story than you can possibly imagine.”
I took out another glass and poured him a bourbon. “Talk,” I said.
“Your friends at City Hall, you did them a favor by killing Charles. You did their dirty work. You covered their tracks.”
“Okay?”
“Charles was a patsy. Sure he killed your boy LP, but he’s just one man. You and me both know that crime in this city runs deep. Those prostitutes up in the hills? That’s the work of someone else…or someones.”
“Stop jackin me around. Spit it out. Who’s behind this?”
“Here lies Lucinda Patricia Arquette Anderson,” spoke the priest at the funeral. “He was brutally stabbed in the throat, nearly decapitated, by sadistic killer that’s still on the loose and terrorizing Los Angeles as we speak.”
Stacy Anderson was weeping in front of his casket. Her two children, Brutus and Laquisha, were also in attendance.
“Your husband was a good man Mrs. Anderson,” I told her.
“He spoke very highly of you,” she said as she wiped away the tears. “He hoped that someday you two could run a train on me. He wanted you to take me from behind while he sat in the shadows and masturbated. I’m gonna miss him.”
She broke down in tears again.
“If you or your family ever need anything,” I said. “Just give me a call.”
As I walking back to my car, the LAPD Chief came up and decked me in the face.
“You got my best officer killed,” he said. “If the mayor didn’t think so highly of you, I’d take you up to the hills and bury you alive!”
I got up and wiped the blood from my nose. “Chief,” I said. “I had a major breakthrough on this case. Give me another week and I’ll have this killer in custody.”
The Chief grabbed me by the coat and pushed me against the car. “One more week,” he said. “If this son of a bitch is not dead or behind bars, you’re gonna have a bigger problem than some serial killer.”
Officer Maxwell pulled the Chief off of me and cooled him down. I lit up a cigarette.
“We found another body. Up in Melrose,” Maxwell said to me.
“I know.”
“What’s the plan now?”
“I’m going after him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Charles Krauthammer.”
Maxwell nodded. “Let me know if you need my assistance.”
I flicked away my cigarette and nodded back. “I’ll let you know.”
I drove down to Long Beach at night, past the doppers, pimps, and prostitutes. “If only I could bust all of you,” I said to myself
I pulled up to the strip club. “Where can I find Charles,” I asked the bartender.
“Who’s asking,” the man replied.
I grabbed him by the wife beater and flashed my badge. “LAPD,” I said.
“He’s in the VIP room.”
And there was Charles getting a lap dance. I shoved a hundred dollar bill in the stripper’s underwear and told her to beat it. I sat down next to him.
“Sorry man,” Charles said. “If you’re looking to buy, I ain’t selling.”
I pressed my 357 up to his rib cage.
“I ain’t buying,” I replied. “I’m taking. You’re coming with me.”
He raised his hands. “What’s this about?”
“Sgt. LP Anderson.”
He lowered his hands and began to laugh. “I read about him in the papers. Sorry to hear about your loss, copper.”
“I’m gonna bust ya”
“For what? You can’t link me to his death.”
The bartender quietly snuck around the corner. I caught him out of the corner of my eye before he fired his shotgun. I fell to the ground and pumped three bullets into his chest. Charles escaped.
Strippers and patrons scattered out of the bar when the shots rang. I fired another shot into Charles’ rear windshield as he sped away in his 97 Cutlass.
I pursued him in my Chevy SSR. I was able to easily overtake him as I fired a round into his front passenger tire. Sparks flew as he drifted back and forth across the road before crashing into a guardrail.
His car teetered over the edge of a cliff overlooking the beach. The morning sun was starting to rise. I walked over to the car.
“Help me man,” he yelped. Charles was trying not to disturb the balance of the vehicle.
I stood there and glared.
“You can’t let me die! You’re a cop!”
“Am I?”
I kicked the side of the vehicle and it went careening down to the rocky beach below.
The Internet Ruined Everything 