How Early Ol' Days, Spinach, Cupids and Geometrical Tolerance Can Shape a Baby Into a Person

When I was being born I promised to myself to spend the first few years of my life as a baby. My thought process amounted to more or less the following: "Fuck it, been stuck for months up in here stewing like a beheaded chicken carcass thrown into a boiling cauldron somewhere in a witch's hut in the far corner of the world. Might as well treat myself to some free service twenty-four seven. Year in, year out. Baby."

I was a good, sweet child o' my parents. Sweet like a bag of sweets and good like a person who jumps in front of another person to take a bullet for them and save their life even though this scenario's portrayal in movies and television has shifted our perception of it to be entirely believable where in truth it is impossible to intercept a fired round unless someone is an absolute Wizard of Anticipation and knows exactly when to undertake appropriate muscle motions. Even then, depending on numerous factors such as distance, velocity and shot placing among others, it is possible for the bullet to pierce through the first body and hit the second one as well. One would have to be really unlucky. Well, two people would have to be really unlucky but the person behind would have to be more unlucky. On second thought, the first person gets killed in almost every scenario so... Nevermind.

Point is, well, maybe I wasn't THAT good but I always slept during nights except when I didn't in which case I was awake. Was never one for crying either except rare instances when I had tears in my eyes. If that ever occurred then I usually had a damn good reason for it. For example, I was uncomfortable a lot of the time. Uncomfortable like a tired old sofa that even the blind family dog refuses to lie on anymore because it's creaky (noisy) and it smells. Creaky and smells. If I was a nut, these would be the contents of my shell. Creaky and Smells. Sounds like a children's cartoon jingle about cupid detectives.

Creaky and Smells solving some crii-ii-imes
Always alert, bit goofy at tii-ii-imes
Friends for life, doing good, having fun!
Using the power of love instead of a gun!
[bridge]
Creaky and Smells oh Creaky and Sme-e-ells
Cupid detectives on their way to he-e-elp
We need them because they're so nice and good!
Chasing down baddies like real lawmen should!

Which is great because there's plenty of bad men SATANS EVEN! in the world who WANT TO HURT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY. YES YOU IN PARTICULAR. AND YOUR FAMILY. They hacked into the NSA satellites and are targeting you as we speak. One of their HQs just dispatched a black van headed for your address. You can't do shit now and IMAGINARY CUPID DETECTIVES WON'T HELP. TOO LATE NOW. REST IN PEACE FUCKERSSS! HATE cupids and bastards and cupid bastards and this stupid motherfuckin' job.

"Oh for shit's bells, who's been fucking around with the recorder?! Jim, you again?! That was your last chance. Your ass is fired!" an authoritative voice would yell.

Creaky and smells. Basically, I was an old person.

Except I was technically young. But I will be creaky and I will smell once again, I guess. If I live long enough. If I die before I reach that state it won't make any difference anyway. Right before my death, in the final moments of my life, I'll be old. As old as I can ever be. Then I'll know. I'll understand. I think. Something.

People say we as humans always go full circle. I find this casual geometrical racism quite upsetting. What's wrong with a square? Does every square look the same to you, you round, boring, geometrically insensitive people? Fuck. When I was eighteen months old I first started to notice the ever-present discrimination in all areas of life and death. I would sit at the table on my special chair and muse about the state of the society and sometimes... Sometimes I'd break down. I would cry out, I would weep and I would spit out that awful spinach mash that was being forced down my throat by people who had "PARENT" written on their life uniforms, just like mechanics have "MECHANIC" written on their job uniforms. Everyone has to have a title in this world. Everything needs a branding, like a cattle, a hot iron induced burn mark that renders people more easily identifiable and cataloguable.

I do like spinach now, though.

Spinach has changed me, actually. It's my buddy now. When I was a baby I didn't see myself ever changing. Always thought I'll grow old just the way I was. Old. And when I become old, I'll be young again. But when I reached my fifth year on this sorry-ass planet it all began to unravel in my head. Realizations came flooding in like previously suppressed large amounts of water that now consumed and devoured defenseless, hopeless villages and villagers, villagers in villages built at the base of the mental dam. Change. There blew a wind. It was of change. I suddenly found myself understanding spinach, hell, liking it. I would sit for hours chewing baby spinach leaves which was ironic because I just stopped being a baby and I was basically eating babies and the thought of me being eaten by a grown up spinach just a year earlier when I still qualified for it... Ugh.

But it wasn't all bad though. Those were good times. There were good times. Fuck yeah, I swear. I could do things and get away with them. I could fiddle with toys and objects and human emotions and everyone would just laugh it off because I was a baby. I didn't have to worry about a great deal of things except for the world and the direction it's heading in and the overall deterioration of humanity and the beckoning downfall of civilization. I think I saw it first. At the age of three I became Harbinger of Doom so it was a lot to take in in my first few years but, well, I managed. It made me stronger. Looking back, I can't really complain. After all, I was being fed food for free, put to bed with love and care, had my ass wiped for me without a flinch of an eye.

Can't wait to grow old/young.

Creaky and Smells oh Creaky and Sme-e-ells

Full circle. Square. Triangle. Trapeze. Et cetera. Full et cetera.

We have to remember. Geometrical tolerance will shape our new, better tomorrow. It's the only way we can still save this planet. Should we fail, we will be back to square one. Circle. Triangle. Trapeze. Rhombus. Motherfuckin' rhombus.

Concrete Vigilantism Ain't Gotta Be A Bad Thing If The Reasons Are Right

I want to be the real deal.

I want to do some good for this world.

If that means driving over bad people in a cement truck, count me in.

See, I thought about this.

Just me, The Cause, concrete, horsepower. United to take a stand.

A giant, orange concrete mixer with a big "HAVE A NICE FUCKING DAY" written on it.

Breezing through streets, fighting crime and injustice.

Settling scores with the bad guys, battling demons of the night.

Sheding light into dark corners of The City.

Fresh concrete sloshing around, turning dicks into statues.

Combined superpowers of cement, gravel and water; harbingers of peace.

Stuff of legends.

What glory. Man.

Give me a truck and enough concrete and I'll save the galaxy.

Gonna need a driver's license too while we're at it.

Streets will be safe again. Lives of many will be preserved.

You'd want that, wouldn't you?

Unless you're a bad guy, in which case I hope you like the taste of CONCRETE FURY.

Apocalypse Is Now, Through Social Media

It was year 2015. I was already running late to see a friend of mine. We'd always create an event of meeting each other in Goggle Foods restaurant on Thursday afternoon to reminisce about old times. Particularly events that have occurred on Thursdays.

I finally made my way to the restaurant where my friend was waiting for me. He had an impatient look on his face and was ready to use a messenger to message me.

"What is app, dude!" I greeted him.

"Hi. Finally. I was beginning to think you wouldn't even make it in time for the #FFs tomorrow," he joked.

"Sorry, got a bit caught up in an argument. Someone's been tagging me and I didn't like it. No #comment. I've unfriended and blocked them now so I hope it's gonna be alright."

A waitress approached. She was wearing cool glasses even though her sight was perfect.

"#Greetings, can I take your order? Currently trending are #PancakesReportedForSpam, ten times shared #InstaRisotto, and our speciality, #Kim'sLard," she offered.

"No, #ThankYou. I'd like this 140 character #sushi with a brightened up Valencia filter on it, an #AppleJuice, looped ten times, and a glass of loved #redvino," I said.

"And for you, #sir?" she asked my friend.

"Let's see... I'll take a #decent #spaghetti, twice reblogged, an eyeOS salad with the recent 11.1 update and a cheeky DM to drink."

The waitress wrote it all down on her tablet and disappeared behind a corner.

"Man, this is my favourite place. Loved it ever since I've stumbled upon it five years ago. I would give it a thousand likes if I could. But the #prices have gone way up recently. Food's cheaper on #Nile now."

"Tell me about it. It gives me a sad emoji. Economy's gone to shit since @improvidentgareth55 became President. I regret retweeting him during the elections. I've pinned my hopes on him. I would have retweeted @damien_shrewd now if I could."

"Oh well, his #selfies and #programme were convincing, AND he was advertising the newest 5.4 GreenRobot software," I gasped and we both dived into our phones to check BassFeet news. 

Jack Slink's Untimely Departure From The Land Of The Living

"What happened to the poor bastard?" a woman in a black dress asked a man standing next to her among a crowd of people wearing black clothes.

It was a funeral. A dozen of men and women have gathered around a freshly-dug ditch.  

"They say young Jack 'Slinky' Slink had an accident," he replied, without raising his eyes from the coffin that was being brought inside the cemetery.

"Died of severe head trauma, or something," his friend standing to the right pitched in with further explanation.

"And his intestines got tangled up, or something," a man standing to the left added. 

They haven't said anything else for a few moments. The coffin was being slowly placed inside the ditch by three men – six feet in total. 

"He was reckless, no two ways about it," one of the men said after the pause. "Used to toy with danger. Sooner or later it would catch up with him."

"Nah, I heard he got mixed up in some shady business," another woman approached the conversing group. "You know, drugs and alcohol. I saw him tripping a few times. It finally got to him. He was feeling empty inside, he once told me. He wanted out. Some mobsters chased him down and pushed him down the stairs. He couldn't handle it. They made it look like an accident," she said.

Nobody replied. They didn't know Slinky that well. Most of them only made a passing acquaintance as they saw him rolling up and down the streets, trying to get by. Slinky, a stunt performer, played in many low-key movies where the paycheck wasn't overly fat.

"Pretty ironic he died in spring, huh?" a man offered, to relieve the awkward silence.

"What's ironic about that?" the first woman asked as she adjusted her hat.

"It's Slinky we're talking about here." 

The coffin was finally put inside the ditch. Bruce Springsteen's song stopped playing. The priest said some things nobody listened to and they left, grieving for another half an hour.

Helen's Goulash Sunday In Danger?

"Listen, Helen. I can't let you do that," he said, while removing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt's cuffs. He put his suitcase against the wall. He had just returned from work. He was going to sit in front of a dinner that she made for him. It was a huge pile of meat of some description. He was hungry and, after all, he was a dinosaur.

"Why not, Terrence?" she asked, while putting on a pink tracksuit, ready to go out.

"Remember what happened last time you took 'em out for a walk?" he asked his wife, while examining his delicious meal.

"I remember, I do. It doesn't mean it will happen again!" she tried to convince her husband while plugging in the earphones into her iPod.

"What if it meets another one if its kind again? You want a war? You know how they are. Just killin' each other all the time. Gotta keep them in check," he reasoned while munching on a huge piece of thigh with a bone sticking out.

"Okay, Terrence, you're right. I just wanted them to get some workout before we invite Tawney and Richard for Sunday dinner. I want my goulash to be the best ever," she said, and looked at a dozen of humans sleeping in separate cages.

Oh (Ant)Man, Not The Bloody Colonialism Again

"Gerald, would you please pass me the pickaxe," said one ant in a top hat with a perfect Received Pronunciation accent to another ant in a top hat. "This is the right way," Victor said, while receiving a pickaxe from Gerald.

Victor adjusted his glasses and looked at a map once again, just to be sure. This party of ants has been digging a tunnel from Europe to Africa for months now.

"Are you sure? If this goes south it is all on you," warned Gerald, as he pointed at Victor and twirled his exquisite mustache. His own mustache, not Victor's. It would be considered improper had Gerald twirled Victor's almost equally exquisite mustache.

"We WANT to go south, Gerald, that's where Africa is. I would appreciate it if you reconsidered your anti-everything attitude," said Victor as he swung his pickaxe at the ground in front of him. It didn't yield much in terms of result though.

They had struggled for a week now after they hit a particularly hard ground.

"Where is young Titus?" asked Victor as he lifted his eyebrows and adjusted his glasses.

"I'm here, sir!" said a very eager young ant, who was sporting a very poor beard and a naïve smile.

"Did you bring the drill? Good lad. I cannot do it with the pickaxe anymore. Do you know how to operate the drill, young ant?"

"Yes, Mr Victor, I know the drill!" he asked and his eyes lit up. This was the moment he's been waiting for. "Oh yeah… Come to papa!" he shouted and nearly charged at the wall.

"Hey, hey, hey, don't be so antsy, young Titus. Stay calm and do it right or we will never make it to Africa," said Victor as he put his hands on Titus' shoulders. Gerald was lightning up a cigarette in the background.

"But Mr Victor! I can't wait for us to have a colony!"

Trevor The Fly Peacemaker

"Don't do it, Francis!" one fly pleaded to another.

The other fly was waving and pointing a gun at something.

"I have to, Trevor. I'm done with her shit. Every day is the same," he ranted, fuming, intoxicated. "She won't even look at me. All I'm left to do is deal with her crap. At first I didn't mind, I was trying not to get too attached. But now I want something more from her and she... she just doesn't care, the fat cow," said Francis, clearly unhinged when discussing her. She was a real cow.

"If you think killing her will solve anything then you're wrong. I know the place you're in right now stinks. You feel like you're up against a wall. Carrying a disease. I used to be like you. Angry, frustrated, getting shitfaced. But then I opened my eyes. I went places and I was always buzzing to meet someone new," said Trevor, "As we flies say, there's plenty more cows in the fields."

"Is that really true?" asked Francis, as he seemed to calm down a bit. "Do you think I can land someone right for me? Should I just meet new people and see what sticks?"

"You're what... a day old? Still young. You don't have to swat away your dreams, dude," said Trevor, a very wise fly. "I know it hurts right now but the wounds will heal soon. Time flies when you meet someone new. Now put the gun down, Francis."

Francis reluctantly put the gun down, looked at her for the last time, turned around and said,

"Thanks, Trevor. You're a great wingman. I know I can count on you whenever shit hits the fan. What do you say," he started, with a smirk on his face, "let's go visit the neighboring field. I think I saw a fine piece of ass over there," he suggested and they both laughed.

The Morning After (1)

'Owww...'

I opened my eyes and waited for the blurriness to wear off. Flickering lights were dancing on my face as if someone with an impish grin on his face was playing with ON/OFF switch. Ouch. "Easy," I gasped. "I'm gonna get ya." When I regained clear vision I realized those were actually sunbeams that managed to get past tree branches. Wind was blowing hard, causing trees to lean back and forth like a drunk on a rocking chair which allowed sunbeams to peek through once in a while contributing greatly to much of my initial annoyance.

I elevated my upper body, using elbows as support, and took a quick look around with my barely functioning eyes. It seemed as if I woke up in a dense forest composed mainly of high pines, with solitary birches growing here and there. There was nothing out of ordinary about the forest. There were trees, and um, forest cover littered with dried and broken branches and pine cones everywhere.

The ground felt a bit damp and my clothes were slightly wet like laundry hanging in the sun for ten minutes. The air was unusually fresh. It must have been raining here not so long ago. I stood up and removed some of the dirt from my clothes. It was just a tip of the iceberg. I looked up to see a jaybird looking at me with a pitiful expression on its cocky bird face. "I don't think I'm at my best look wise. That must have been a rough night," I thought. I haven't had much in terms of last night's events recollection. I decided to try and postpone this issue for the time being. The bird flew away but not before dropping a nice little gift right next to my feet. "Thanks." I said, rather insincerely.

As I was elevating myself to a position that was vaguely similar to the default homo sapiens stance, I felt a surge of pain go through my things and calves. "Whoa," I mumbled as I stumbled onto the nearest tree to stop myself from falling. I hugged the tree like I used to hug a teddy bear when I was a kid.

I didn't drink as much back then, though.

I collected myself after a dozen seconds and proceeded to switch my body to a more distinguish 'hooker-at-a-lamppost' pose. I tried to think how much I would charge for a cheeky handjob, especially with the financial crisis and the ever-weakening dollar, but I had to cast those thoughts away mainly because they were ridiculous. "Come on, man," I reasoned. "If you're not paying for this kinda stuff then you shouldn't charge either. Out of principle. You are a man of principle, aren't you?" There was an awkward silence in my head following that question.

It turned out that attempting to formulate thoughts, however half-witted they were, caused a headache to wake up from its stupor. "Dammit," left my mouth as I grimaced over and over again. "My face will have wrinkles like an old dog's ball sack before I even hit 30 if I keep this up," I thought. My head felt like a wooden plank being nailed to something by a particularly clumsy carpenter.

After a few moments of fighting a losing battle against the pain I went through my pockets to see if I had a phone or at least some painkillers. I had neither of those items which was extremely unfortunate because I had to both contact somebody and get rid of the headache. "Life won't even give me any lemons," I mused philosophically, in what was probably my best moment since waking up on that morning.

Rummaging through pockets didn't yield much in terms of results as I only had spare change in my pants and a piece of baguette in my hoody. My first thought was to buy some water because I was as thirsty as a dry tomato (my face must have looked similar) and also purchase painkillers. Unfortunately, after looking around, checking to be absolutely sure, I was one hundred percent certain there were no shops in my vicinity. It was a forest, after all. I decided to eat the baguette so as not to impair my movements with unnecessary burden. It was stale but it was something. And I was as hungry as a cannibal stranded on an island with no people.

Fueled by those superb nutrients I slowly began to make my way in an unspecified direction. It was there and then that I gathered my first experience in sailing as I was carried and pushed mainly by the wind. Wherever possible I supported myself with trees which I started to consider to be my friends because they were always there for me. "Thanks, trees. You're all invited to my birthday next month. You don't have to bring anything," I said. "There will be a cake and a barbecue and hopefully sun, 'cause that what you trees eat, eh?"

At one point, after wandering aimlessly for some odd twenty minutes, I finally heard something in the distance. I had no idea what it was except that it was a sound. I quickly gathered that there were no other reasonable options but to follow that noise so I began to walk in its general direction. It grew louder and louder and after a few minutes I saw what looked like a huge ball of poo rolled up and left there by a ridiculously large scarab.

The ball of poo started to move. I began approaching it carefully when suddenly I recognized it! That ball of poo was my friend Mark, and the noise he let out was one of his stomach's contents leaving his mouth.

"Mark! Hey, Mark!" I yelled and jogged to him. He somehow managed to pull up his head and looked at me. His face suggested he just left the filming set of a zombie movie after being given a role as an extra. He groaned and growled at me. It freaked me out at first, but as I did not have my sawed-off shotgun with me, I had to try to talk to him.

"You okay, buddy?" I asked as I looked into his red eyes and pale face. I glanced underneath him to see a pool of what was his last night's meal remix that looked like an old, moldy pizza. I hoped he wouldn't fall into it, in case I had to carry him back.

"Wh... huh? R... Rod?" he muttered as his eyes started to register something other than a ground full of vomit. He scratched his head carelessly and with all his strength he flexed his rather wimpy brain muscles and put together a question that pierced right through my mind, placing in doubt my take on philosophy of humanity and existence. "Whe... where is my hat?"


To be continued...

Ray Cyst's Musical

(Man #1)
I love to wear a flowing white robe…
My infamy has spread across the globe…
(Man #2)
My eyes are glowing behind two holes…
I know I ain't winnin' popularity polls…
(Man #1)
They're saying about us things mean and rude…
That we're robbin' decency hidden behind a hood…
(Man #2)
Those accusations wound us very hard and deep…
Sometimes I wanna quit but I got vows to keep…

(Both)
But as we jump around
Hand in hand
Feeling white pride
You gotta understand
WE ARE…
People, people, PEOPLE!
Never too late to hate!

Never too late to hate!

(Man #2)
If you are a member of an ethnic group…
Your friendship would be for us quite a coup…
Just follow me closely to this alleyway…
It will be even better if you're gay…
(Man #1)

Listen to him, he is always right…
He will set you free toward the light…
Can you see it? A view to admire…
Don't worry; it's just a bit of fire…

(Both)
Ooooooh!
Ridin' horseback in unisex dressing
Flaming hearts, burning crosses
We'll count our blessings
You count your losses!
We'll count our blessings
You count your losses!

(Both) (Choir)
And as we jump around
Hand in hand
Feeling white pride
You gotta understand
WE ARE…
People, people, PEOPLE!
Never too late to hate!
Never too late to hate!

(Man #2)
But after the sun rises again in the dawn…
(Man #1)
The dawn?
(Man #2)
Gotta clean up this mess from our front lawns…
(Man #1)
Front lawns?
(Man #2)
Nobody wants to pay us a single dollar…
(Man #1)
A single dollar?
(Man #2)
They only buy copper, not dead men of color…
(Man #1)
What shame!

(Man #2)
So we have to put our most prized possession…
In our pure white hearts, despite your aggression...
(Man #1)
See, we are our own masters, we decide our fate...
Now we race to a parade to exhibit our hate...

(Both)
Hate, hate!
Heil, heil!
Hate, hate!
Heil, heil!

(Both) (Choir)
Still we jump around
Hand in hand
Feeling white pride
You gotta understand
WE ARE…
People, people, PEOPLE!
Never too late to hate!
Never too late to hate!

(Man #2)
But wait, wait, wait
(Man #1)
What is it?
(Man #2)
A realization struck me after all our stunts
(Man #1)
A what?
(Man #2)
There's no way to say it without being blunt
(Man #1)
Tell me!

(Man #2)

We might be by our brothers forever shunned

(Man #1)
Come on!

(Man #2)
Hey, hey, hey, we are racist cunts!
(Both) (Choir)
We are racist cunts!
We are twats in spiky hats!
Homophobic cunts!
We are twats in spiky hats!

WE... ARE... CUUUUUNTS!