Grenadine Princess

Grenadine Princess

Fuck that shit. She said, with her clandestine eyes, deny these times for her ebony eyes.

We all sat staring at the podium, Gretchen, the not so deceptive agent of truth stands erect.

A searing silence fell around the room like the lost cause which is our generation. The grenadine princess sits at the podium in resounding silence, pounding out axioms of our existence in her thundering lull.

Nothing was spoken for what felt like hours, our eyes on her eyes, we used to despise this time, wandering for meaning, as she once did on that day so long ago. Once upon a time there was a girl, once upon a time she had this conversation:

“Do you believe in god?”

“No.”

“Then how can you believe in the devil?”

“Because the devil lives inside all of us.”

See her eyes, deny for I, she used her lies to tell truths about this world in decay.

Deny for I her ebony eyes, leaving loving lost and waiting.

Leaving loving lost again, leaving losing lost my friend.

Leaving, learning, loving, waiting.

Leaving loving lost my friend.

“Fuck that shit,” She said, “The things I despise.” She trailed off with her clandestine eyes, left behind with an elegant tranquility, bursting with silence, rocks to the ground in a calm war.

“So...” Once said the snide boy five seats the the left of me, cleft chin, blue eyes,

“Your obsessed with suicide?”

She sighed, he broke the silence, years ago on the street corner. Nine times out of ten we begin again only with a new mask to hide behind.

“I'm obsessed with insane asylums. I'm only smitten with suicide.” She said.

Because the devil is in all of, she said with a snide smirk.

She said, with her eyes, nothing but silence.

“...” She said, only it came out as a steady stream of grievances with our world.

I'm sick of being patronized by advertising, I'm sick of mad lib political adds, alternating between John Jackson and Jock Johnson, all puppets for something much more maniacal, spreading it's pestilence across the world.

I'm sick of under god bull shit, selling out science for religion

Literally interpreting an abstract statement.

Meaningful things do horrible things at the hands of the ignorant.

I'm sick of all the hate towards everyone. It's like we're all pitted against each other in a cruel game.

I'm sick of being told to shut up because at least I have freedom when I live in a country that facilitates the most injustice in the world. (Someone turned on a radio.)

I'm sick of this dumbed-down day care bullshit of an educational system.

Deny for I your ebony eyes.

It's seeping into everything else.

Leaving lost and waiting.

I'm sick of the deforesting of the alternative culture, robbed of any dignity

Can I care or am I crazy?

I'm sick of people using words like ironic and ignorant wrong.

Leaving, loving lost again.

I fucking hate Aaron McKinney and Russell Henderson.

Leaving loving losy, my friend.

I never met them

Leaving loving laughing learning

I want to kill them.

Fuck the world, I'm lost again.

This is not normal.

Megan Fox can't act herself out of a fucking bag.

She only gets paid because she's hot.

I hate Jersey shore.

She said in silence, the mad master of telepathy.

Once, at the last class presentation she wrote a poem.

No one understood it.

She sat in silence on the day of silence.

The day she read us her poem she stood in this very spot, erect, eyes ahead, dignified.

They choke, they plead, they cry, they yell they scream for amnesty.

But it's just a trade of silence.
They come in dreams of rain, beading like mercury, never to see the sky again.
As they trade amnesty for silence.
Nothing can come of this, she says. She knows all and nothing.
She can't release herself from silence.
the solemn sufferer of pain, path covered in blood. The taste of iron.
decay of a once loved thought, just one wish. Please break this silence.
this is all supposed to be built blindly, bluntly, but there is only silence.

That was three days before the day of silence. Three days after she read us her poem, Gretchen, in regards to her grievances towards the world, shot herself in front of the entire class. You could smell the blood like iron.

Back in The USSA

This is a song about the general problems of the past decade. I don't think they can be summed up here to be honest. Also, personally, I believe the recession probably started a lot earlier than 2008.

Back in The USSA

Hey there old friend, it's been quite a while.
How is it out there dancing on lightening?
When are you coming back to the USSA?
When are you coming home?
Theres nothing wrong.
Pretend nothings wrong
You did nothing wrong
Pretend to be innocent
Did you feel lucky today?
Did you dodge a bullet today?
Did you see bombs drop today?
Were you scared shitless today?
Did you run?
Hey there old friend, some news on Sammy.
Her mother got laid off and lost her house.
They're living in that motel by the highway.

They've been there for a couple weeks.
Last stop to Ferguson,
Welcome to St Louis.
Welcome to nowhere,
Next to the shell of a city.
We all feel lucky today.
We all dodged bullets today.
We all lost hope today.
Whats left for tommorow?

The Girl And The Piano

This is pretty new. It's just a short story about a breakup, not groundbreaking material, I know. I was thinking about how at the end of high school and most of the couples broke up, same for me and my ex. It seemed inevitable when I think of it because everyone splits up and moves on. At the time you feel hurt, but over time you get over it and understand.

The Girl and The Piano

The girl sits at the piano, her long, curly dark hair tied back in ribbons. Her pale complexion only highlighted the worry in her face even more than it would sorrow or fright. Her fingers traced the keys, feeling the smoothness that once was but now turned to bare wood in little more than forty years of use. She played a simple one handed melody on the high keys, like a music box. The noise trickled through the house. She sat up and pulled the stool in closer, remembering a simple church song of which she couldn't remember the title. It was Friday, it was Lent. No meat for the barbarians. She thought as she flipped through a mouse-bitten music book. She could feel her phone vibrate on the stool, but paid no attention. It vibrated more, moving with each burst. Vibrate. Move. Vibrate. Move. Fall. The phone fell on the ground and the battery fell out.

“Shit.” The girl says, picking up her phone and reassembling it. A loud knocking at the door announced his arrival. He was a short boy of about seventeen with a blonde ponytail, usually dressed in ripped dirty jeans and band tees. A chain and lock around his neck, the key to which would never be found and, in all probability never existed. The girl opens the door and welcomes him in.

“Hey.” She hugs him and he's off on a tangent.

“You remember that show last month?” She rolls her eyes.

“Yes, we only talk about it every night.” He shrugs and puts his patched army jacket on the coat hook. A cigarette falls from behind his ear.

“I know, but I just-” She cut him off.

“I got in.” She bit her lip, holding back her excitement.

“Got in, as in Evergreen?” He holds his hand to his mouth.

“Yes, I got accepted.” She replies, smiling.

“That's awesome. Does your scholar-” She cut him off again in obvious excitement. She closes the door and locks it.

“Yes, it covers it, mother says she'll pay for lodging.” The boy starts nodding.

“That's awesome. I'm pretty jealous.” She rolls her eyes.

“Don't be, LMCC is a great school. Come, sit down.” They make their way through the spotless house to the piano. He sits down on the couch, she reprises her seat at the piano and starts to play, her hands once again gracing the keys.

“Play that one thing.” He says, hanging over the edge of the couch, speaking to her neck.

“What one thing?” She replies taking a drink of tea. And setting the cup back on the coaster.

“You know, the one thing.” He says, “I can't remember what it's called.” She gives him a frustrated look and says,

“What one thing? Seriously, I have no idea what your talking about.” He looks up in remembrance.

“I think it was called Jesus Toy for hiring?”

“Jesu Joy of Man's desiring.” She corrects him.

“Yeah, that one.” He looks on eagerly. She cracks her fingers and starts. The music once again fills the house. The boy sits with his eyes closed, the girl, in her worry and excitement.

“You remember our plans our another Algonquin round table?” He asks when she's finished.

“Yes, I still post on the blog.” He ponders.

“I forgot about the blog.” She rolls her eyes jokingly.

“How can you forgot the blog?” She presses the piano keys with her palms in mock disgust. He seems to be taking her too seriously. “Come on baby, I'm kidding.” It cheers him up. She wasn't normally the kind of girl to say words like baby, preferring to be as professional as possible. but in rare occasions it was unavoidable.

“I guess I just did.” They sat in silence. She begins another piece, this time a sad subtle one. When she was finished the room is once again silenced. The boys face turned thoughtful.

“When are you leaving?” He asks the girl.

“End of the year.” She replies, the worry growing greater with each breath.

“You think there's a community college there?” The time had come.

“No, well, yes, but I don't think you should come with me.” She says, biting her lip once more with a sigh.

“What do you mean?” he says, taken aback.

“I mean, it's so expensive and I just-”

“ thought you wanted to get an apartment” He said, cutting her off.

“Well, it's. It's just that...” She trails off. This moment was always hard for her, having never made a clean break.

“It's just what?” She was silent for five breaths, a tear forming in her eye.

“You can't come with me.”

“Is it because I still eat Mountain Dew and Reese's for breakfast?”

“No, no, well, I mean, that is stupid. Completely stupid, but no, not at all. I just need-” He cut her off.

“Space?” She nods

“Yeah.” He looks confused.

“I can give you space.” She shakes her head.

“Well yeah, but no.” He looks bewildered.

“No?” He looks hurt.

“No.” Silence. “It's not that I don't like you, I just need not a boyfriend.” More silence. The worry completely replacing the excitement.

“Will you write?” He replies.

“Yes, of course, we're friends after all. You can't waste four years.” He is silent.

“I don't believe you.” He says.

“No, seriously, I will, trust me.” He shakes his head solemnly.

“No, you'll go off, become a famous writer and forget all about me.” She shakes her head, taken aback. She is hurt.

“How could you say that? I'd never forget you.“ He falls silent. The house is silent, save for a few ticking clocks and whirring computers. “Seriously, quit being so immature.” The boy jumps up and grabs his coat. She chases him to the door, but he's already gone. His figure a shrinks across the falling snow. She calls out but he doesn't turn around. That went well, she thought, That went splendid. She walks back to the piano, plays a few notes and slams her fists down on the keys. The loud ugly sound resonates around the house accompanied but searing curses.

Senior Year.

This one is a couple years old. I really like it. It was the first song that I did exactly what I wanted with the lyrics. The songs essentially about standing around in the cold dark rain smoking cigarettes and talking. It's just this moment captured where two people meet in passing and connect for a brief period of time and part ways. It happens every day, simple things like bumming out smokes and a short conversation, I think it's taken for granted. In this case it was a week and of course it's about a a girl because I'm a hopeless romantic.

Senior Year.

Let my purity of vision save me
Or something to the effect of a friend I never had.
I had a friend, I named her boxcar,
Just like the Jawbreaker song.
With a Chesterfield King between her lips,
Let it rot, let it do something.
I bet she's mad at me for writing this song.
She was just so interesting.
Can't catch, react or different,
A star splattered sky, I never would have guessed
Or thought anyway, _____ said she wantd to die
With a Chesterfield King between her lips,
She sat and smiled under street lights with me,
As she told her stories she let out a sigh
And looked to the rainy sky.

Let my purity of vision save me

What I had then I'll never have again.

That week put the exclamation mark on my senior year.

We couldn't do anything.
Last time I saw her we were walking home in the rain.
She gave me a hug and told me to be safe.
I put on my headphones and listened to some Rancid song.
I couldn't do anything,
Let my purity of vision save me
On the way home.... and i'm running.

I may seem Benign But I am so Totally a Bad Influence

This is a song I wrote last year. It is filled with a shit load of literary references.

I may Seem Benign But I'm So Totally a Bad Influence.

Are we chasing you through mirrors of ourselves?
Speaking silences with you, mind reader.
I can't help but stand back and laugh at this mess.
It's winter again in the streets of trees.

I am so totally a bad influence.
That I couldn't wait to see you again. I'm serious
Now we can grasp gasping breaths of fresh air,
Only tonight are we free from it all.

Snow made it simple (Now I can breath.)
and we burned our ballads (Let it snow, this blows
In the snow that night. (Let it snow, this blows.)
(Let it snow, let it freeze, let it burn.)

She met an aspiring cartographer today,
Like the stripper on Hern with the beautiful house.
With the freeze the trees turn to glass.
The sky is my concrete floor.

First in line (Andromeda Klein)
To leave this place (Careful with that ax.)
shallow nights, (Speaking silences with you.)
Distant dreams. (I'm out of tune.)

Snow made it simple (Woah, I wanna go.)
and we burned our ballads (Dear gods)
In the snow that night. (I really did it this time.)

The first line is a reference to Paper Towns by John Green.

The forth line is taken from Human Croquet I think. The streets of trees is mentioned a bunch of times in the book and it always reminded me of Ferguson, with all the trees we have here and all..

The ninth line is a reference To as Simple as Snow by Gregory Galloway. Not very clever I know, but it fit.

The tenth line is a reference to Ballads of Suburbia by Stephanie Kuehnert. An amazingly raw and powerful book.

The twelfth line is a reference to The Torn Skirt. (An amazing book that I can't remember the authors name.)

I would recommend reading all of these. Multiple times.

The Burn List and story excerpt

I had this novel I have been writing for a long ass time called The Great American Snuff Film. It's gone through several drafts. Same for another novella called Elsa Rookwater is Fucking Dead.

Since both of these are on the burn list for the same reason, so I thought I'd mention them. The Great American Snuff Film was abandoned due to it starting to have a creepy as prophetic effect on my life. When I was a junior I thought of an idea of a story about a older punk guy who meets a high school girl. It was a love story that ended very sadly, like they had to be split up and she killed herself. It also had a large cast of side characters that told other sad stories. Most of those actually happened, which isn't creepy because I was writing about them retroactively. I was trying to write a tribute to a couple of people who died when I was in school. It never got anywhere near finished and all it did was depress me. I finally put the project to rest when I ran into the same situation with a high school girl. There has been a shit load of creepy coincidences, none of the gilling themselves thank god. Just random little things. The universe works in mysterious ways.

The original Elsa Rookwater is Fucking Dead was a satire of american high schools using a Laurie Halse Anderson type of voice . I wrote it when I was 17. I know theres already a Laurie Halse Anderson style satire of american high schools, but mine had guitars dammit! Anyway... There are two reasons why this one is on the burn list. The first, it's one thing to be influenced by someone, but I feel like I bastardized her style. It didn't make me feel any better when I read Fight Club and I realized that I bastardized that style at the same time. (First person stream of consciousness narratives with repetition in phrases.) Also, Stephanie Kuehnert looks like she could kick my ass and her real book about a girl rock band is miles better than this. So, people from Deviantart, I won't be reposting that. Go read I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone. The only drawback is the long title (I'm one to talk... Keep on reading.)

These stories been perfected into something more befitting of that style, ie a story about a high school terrorist.

This brings me to my current project. The Gritty Reboot of The Great American Snuff Film.

This story is told out of order, from many perspectives. These perspectives-include a third person narrator, Adina's boyfriend, and Marty's cousin Elsa. Here is the first chapter:

With All Loving Condensation.

THE RAIN STARTED ABRUPTLY and stopped just so periodically throughout the day that you would think that global climate change has just come to a head. A short dark haired girl stares out into the swirls of mist and leaves, blankly smoking a cigarette while rolling a pencil between fingertips. The rain started to let up and she took out a small green pad. Although the porch was screened in, gusts of wind it still brought in unwanted mist. She wrote several words on the pad and put it back into the pocket of her worn black hoodie.

She could see a patch of sun in the distance, just close enough to be obvious but not close enough to harbor false hopes of sunshine. She bent down and pushed her cigarette butt between the planks as a balding man in his late thirties walks out the door and onto the porch.

“Your mother called.” The girl nodded and lit another cigarette. She didn't turn around to face him. He used the glass door to shield himself from the gusts of wind and water.

“I know. She called my cell ten minutes ago.” The man took a bent cigarette out of a crumpled pack and turned around to light it.

“Why don't you want to talk to her?” The girl is silent. She takes a long drag and a pillar of ash falls. The wind blows. A branch falls.

“I don't know what to say.” The man laughs and turns to face her.

“Adina...” She took another drag and leaned on the driest part of the wall, drumming her fingertips on her knees.

“Don't start with the she's not gonna jump down my throat, I know she is. I just don't know what to say for myself.” Adina Took another drag off her unlit cigarette and stares at it in bewilderment. She lights it again and puts it out again.

“Don't worry, it's not like she had to pay the fine. She just wants to speak with you. “ The man walked towards the screened in windows. And sighs. “You know, she just wants to know that your okay.” Adina laughs and bites her thumbnail, eying the skies wearily.

“I still can't talk to her.” She spit out a bit of nail and examined her hand from far away. “To hell with it.” She pushed and imaginary obstacle away from her.

“Your not making any sense.” The man shakes his head.

“No, not really, not at all. I know this.” Adina looks to the ground

“So, you're going to call your mom?”

“No, I'm too embarrassed.” She says with a laugh,

“Why?” He replies.

“Because I just do, I don't know why, I just feel embarrassed as hell, I mean, I don't know why, I just do.” She takes a drag and sits down on the ground.

“Just try.” The man said and opens the storm door.

“Just give me a bit, jeez keep your pants on.” Adina takes out her phone and aimlessly scrolls through menus.

“Why not now, I know your playing Tetris.-” He replies, closing the door again.

“Because your ass is out here hounding me.” She cuts in.

“Fine, I'll go make us some coffee.” He throws up his hands and walks partially in, with his head still out the door..

“Please do, I know I’m being an ass, I know.” She smiles.

“Oh, Marty called. Said something about a party tonight.” Another one? Jeez, ya just got out of jail, Adina thought to herself.

“Oh?” She takes a drag and raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, call him, call your mom first.” He replies as he closes the door.

“Yeah, yeah.” Adina rolls her eyes.

The rained really started to pour as Adina swiftly stepped across the porch and into the marsh outside. The rain was flooding the basement again, the back yard slightly sloped back into a mess of bushes and trees. She stood in the rain until she was thoroughly soaked and walked back onto the porch. When she got there, she picked up her phone and dialed Marty.

“Hey Adina, tonight were gonna burn these sullen streets.” A gust of wind kicked more mist through the screens.

“Another party? Your in a festive mood.” A large crashing sound happened in the back ground.

“Yeah... I got a week off paid, I'm excited.” She replied. The wind howled. The sky darkened. The clock chimed.

“When can you be here?” She replied as she zipped up her hoodie and opened the screen door.

“Ten minutes. Are you still at your dads?” She heard a slamming sound in the background.

“Awesome. I'll see you then. Love you too.” She walked past the basement door and into a small yellow kitchen. The linoleum floor was peeling near the sink. A small table stacked with books and papers sits in the corner next to a broken rotary phone.

“So, did you call your mom?” Asked Adina's father, sitting in a chair with reading glasses perched on top of his head. He was smoking a pipe and reading a newspaper.

“No. Dad, your thirty eight. Why do you dress like Willy Loman?” She lit a cigarette and got a cup out of the cabinet.

“Good one. Seriously, she is not going to rip you a new asshole. Trust me.” He replied as he turned the page.

“Yeah yeah, I smell a trap. I broke the jaw of some prep school bitch at her own graduation. Of course she's going to rip me a new one, several, I'll just be covered in bloody assholes. She'll skull fuck me with her eye rays.” Adina stirred a small amount of sugar into her coffee and leaned against the counter.

“Adina honey, your mother is not going to skull fuck you.” He shook his head and puffed his pipe.

“Dad.” Adina's father looked up.

“Are you smoking weed?” the cigarette fell out of her mouth.

“Why not, your grown up now, your mom and I split, I don't feel any particular urge to drive in this heinous mess.” He puffed some more and continued reading his paper.

“Me and Marty are going to another party tonight at Alexander's.” He nodded.

“Take this, read it, absorb it's message and importance and for the love of god do not hospitalize and more prominent community members.” He handed her a copy of Franny and Zooey. “Call your mom tomorrow morning.” A horn honked outside. “Try to stay out of trouble.”

***

Adina runs from the tenth floor apartment with a thirty pack of some cheap beer and a plastic jug of Sterling Silver Vodka precariously balanced on top. People get shot for these kinds of things, she thought as she tried to remember the exact course of events. It started with the phone call. Marty called her about a frat party with a lot of alcohol and how their party had a lack of alcohol. Adina was a fan of alcohol, but not a very big fan of frat parties. She certainly wasn’t a fan of paying for alcohol either. The only option in her mind was to liberate this alcohol from the clutches of the frat boys. She was a modern goth robin hood, stealing booze from the rich so her and the assorted ragamuffins she associated herself with could have a good time.

First thing first was to get invited. Marty would have had a problem, as he wasn't exactly in good favor of the frat boys, due to an incident involving his Geo Metro and a Mustang. He would also waste twenty bucks, that wouldn't do. Adina would have to go alone. Getting invited to a frat party isn't hard for a girl, getting invited to a frat party when you're the psycho freak poster girl is only a little easier than Marty after the Geo/Mustang incident.

Adina was known for a lot of things in high school. The bombings and riots really didn't help either. She was labeled the Columbine chick. At least, for some strange reason, high school terrorist was higher up on the totem pole than Mustang murderer, but not by much. A disguise would be necessary. First, they stopped at the mall. Adina ran into the Hollister store and lifted a pair of faux-ripped jeans and a tight white Hollister shirt. Her eyes were a problem. Adina had one blue and one brown eye. Hot Topic didn't sell any normal eye colored contacts, Hot topic didn't sell any normal anything, unless you count Twilight shit, but Walgreen's did. After a blonde wig with her messy, choppy black hair tucked underneath, the illusion was complete.

“And your sure they won't recognize me?” says Adina, as she rolls a joint.

“Yeah, well, they'll probably already be drunk, no one would be paying attention anyway.” Marty replies.

“..I guess that helps...” said a sarcastic Adina, surveying her handy work.

“Seriously, nothing can possibly go wrong.”

“Even disguised, how the hell am I supposed to get invited right before the party? Dumb ass...” She shakes her head and lights up.

“I promise, nothing is going to happen, besides this is your idea anyway. Remember?”

***

“Well, Adina Dietrich.” Says some generic douche bag to a laden Adina in the smelly cigarette stained kitchen.

“Fuck.” The bottle on top of the beer almost falls.

“I'll let you keep that if you fuck me.”

“Okay. Let me have the good bottle too then.” She says, nodding her head at the gallon of Jager.

“Okay. Let's go.” Adina follows him to the bedroom and locked the door. Generic Douche starts to take of his shirt.

“Turn off the light.” Says Adina, as he falls into the table trying to get out of his shoes. He's out cold. Adina looks at the Jager she's grasping, thinking, Well, at least I don't have to use this. Generic Douche number two opens the door and closes it, not noticing her. Fuck.

“Hey.” He turns around. Adina smacks him in the head with the Jager. It doesn't break, he's standing, shaking ready to fall, a dark voice in her head says finish him. And she grabs his ankles . The floor cracked when he hit the ground, no doubt sending the ceiling of tenants below crashing to the ground. In one swift motion, she opens the door and picks up the booze. Dodging people out through the living room, her wig flies off and people stare.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” No one says anything, the Nickelback on the radio is even quiet for once. She quietly walks out, everyone staring at her and opens the door. “Toodles.” She says and slams the door. As soon as the door was closed Adina was running towards the stairs. She learned earlier that the elevator was out of service. Ten flights of hard concrete stair separated her from certain success with the mission. If only her parcel wasn't half her size. She shifts her weight so the bottle don't fall. When she get's down the first two flights, she takes a breather. If only life had save points. She thought.

She hears loud shouting coming from the top of the stairs and spies legs coming down through the utilitarian handrail. She ducks into a closet as the footsteps pass.
“Where the fuck did the little bitch go?” Random guy number one says..
“She couldn’t have gone down all ten flights.” The other replies
“What about the elevator?” The first says again.
“The elevator’s broken. It’s been broken for months.” They stop outside Adina closet to take a breath. “Good thing Gillman’s so fucking cheap, otherwise she might have gotten away.” Adina locks the door as the guys outside split up. She lights her lighter and looks for an air duct to escape into like in the movies. She sees one and jumps to grab the cover off. Damn, I’m too short, she thought, as she scan the small dank closet for a chair to stand on. HA! She said out loud as she finds a folded, rusty step stool. She opens it, sets it under the air duct and tries to rip off the cover again. Problem number one: It’s screwed on. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a switchblade. Be prepared, she thought, mentally making fun of Marty for being a boyscout. She unscrews the vent and realizes problem number two: How am I going to get up there with all this alcohol? She hears voices coming back towards the closet.
“She couldn’t have gotten out of the building. No one on the first floor has seen her.” The guard’s been there for an hour.” Adina says a silent ‘shit’ as she realizes she can’t get out the front door. She puts the bottles in the vent first and then climbs up. The vent is dark and hot, but Adina has more important things to do, like escaping without getting caught or killed. As she furthers her depths into the air duct she feels it start to give. Each foot she squirmed, pushing the alcohol ahead with her head made the duct heave and cry. With a not so silent 'shit!' the vent finally collapses. The men look up to see Adina in all her dust covered glory fall from the ceiling. The Jager bottle breaks over the first mans head and half the beers break open Adina brandishes her knife at the not bleeding man and turn to run, the beer, a geyser coating her in a sticky smell akin to fat bald guys at concerts. The Sterling jug Is undamaged. She picks it up and slowly backs away from the guy who wasn't bleeding and unconscious, he doesn't even

bother to chase her. In the twenty minutes he knew of her existence, half the party had been injured.

Adina walks down the remaining six flights covered in beer and exhausted Bad fucking idea. Horrible idea. Shit. Adina thinks as she walks past the sleeping guard into the night. She pulls waits, prizes in her hands a car door opens and she sees Marty.
“How'd it go?” He says, already knowing due to her filth and the damaged plunder.
“Drive.” Adina replied, clearly not in the mood to talk. “You know, people really do get shot for these kinds of things...” She mumbles to herself as they drive away.

To Be Continued...

Everything on this page is my intellectual property. If you steal from me my girlfriend will come over to your house and break your legs.

Drinking song

So, I wrote a new song called The Drinking Song. Very imaginative title, I know. If anyone wants to make any suggestions, cool. Later on tonight I'll be reviewing the new Chaotics album.

Drinking Song

My mouth is dry. I'm nervous.

This town has twenty three churches.

I'm drunk, walking and singing

To myself, how will I get home?

Gunshots echo from Kinloch.

I got a block to the liquor store,

Where you can buy four cans of

Sleep (?) for a couple of bucks.

If you spend your life walking around

In other peoples shoes

Eventually you'll come to find

That you have no time to walk around in your own.

I get like seven good cigarettes

And this stale pack of Liggets.

I got a bad sensation,

I love her bad reputation.

I don't know what to do or say

Now I don't know my name.

I stumble into mom's car,

Into my house and into my bed.

Let's sing another drinking song

and learn to laugh and love our lives.

It really isn't all that bad.

Instead of broke we could all be dead.