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LJ Idol Week 16- Patchwork Heart

A heart is the size of a big meaty fist. I picture mine as larger still, and no less a warrior.

My heart is large and often welcoming and there is space for you. I know you notice it straining at the seams,but fear not....they have withstood worse and are stronger at the breaking parts.

The living and the dead live here both speak to me daily, even when I am alone.

At 330lbs I am one nice sized thunderboomer of the chest from joining my brother and grandmother in what lies beyond. My heart has room for that possibility but I don't dwell on it.

My heart has room for all the women I have bedded and those I might (my wife would be upset to hear that)....all the booze I have consumed and all that I might (she would hate that worse).

Like its owner my heart is braver than it is strong and full of confusing contradiction. It is soft and hard, lost and freeroaming but singular of purpose.

It is nobodies hero, but it is too stubborn to quit just yet. It has loved and pumped and pleaded, pleaded for me to stop....pleaded for me to do something.

When it gives up, in a fortnight or four decades my little engine that could, won't have changed the world. But if it can pump enough power to let me share with the world how scary, awful yet ultimately worthwhile it has been. If it but can brighten a few rooms I happen to be in. Godspeed thou good and obediant servant. You may be remembered longer than you know.

LJ Idol Week 15- Campfire Stories

Summer is in the air.  The signs are everywhere.  Baseball in Wrigley and Fenway.  Watermelon for lunch with strawberry shortcake for dessert.  Shoe choice, flip flops or sandals.  And for the 47th year, The Mutilator returns to Camp Whispering Pines.

After the 11 dead last year (down from an average of 16 and his 1998 record 28) the nearby town's mayor Big Fred Ashworth made the usual noises about shutting down the Camp, but his heart wasn't in it.

The town's income was almost entirely dependent on the sale of camping gear, tiny ass bikinis and "I Survived The Mutilator" T- Shirts.

Besides as Fred often mused privately, The Mutilator was a good arbiter of wholesome family values, his stance against pre-marital sex, underage drinking, public nudity were well established by his choice of victims.

Marvin "The Mutilator" Carson was starting to feel the effects of his arthritis.  His partial immunity to gunfire, explosion, sharp and blunt trauma doesn't extend to the ravages of time.

Also his chainsaw and speargun had fallen into ill repair.  It is hard for one to get good service when your vocabulary is limited to "I'm the Mutilator, bitch"

Marvin was lonely, his internet ad was rejected.  Apparently an interest in ritual dismemberment was against the terms of service.  Perhaps this is the year he forgives the campers for that wedgie so many years ago.


Sunbathing Angela removed her bikini top.  It was hard to be an actress past 30 who specialized in soft core and horror.  Continually she was asked to pass for 17 and it got harder each year.

The chainsaw sputtered...but it finally caught.  She saw the toothless man in the leather football helmet and the screams began.

Good morning, maggots, I trust you rested well.  I am Seargeant Aemon Hamner.  Did any of you pretty, pretty puffcakes see the sign above the door.  Do any of you maggots recognize the inscription. 

That's right Dante's Inferno, a literate maggot.  You'll be on a transport home in a week.  Oh not just literate maggots, illiterate maggots, multi lingual maggots, cunnilingual maggots almost all of you maggots aren't  gonna make it.

Let's get back to the sign maggots, since some of you got the reference you might wonder...does this mean we are going to endure some kind of multi stage hell ?

Let me assure you maggots that will not be the case.  There is no way in Dante's Eye-tallion, pizza scarfing hello kitty hell that I am going that easy on you.

I don't know why I am wasting my precious breath telling you this when good military statistics show 94 percent of you maggots are going to wash out, flunk out, flame out, burn out, pansy out or otherwise get out of here, while crying for your mothers, girlfriends, boyfriends, girlfriend's boyfriends, Budda and Sweet, Sweet Baby Jesus.

Room of 400 maggots....Hey Alligheri can you do math too.....that means I am wasting my valuable time on about 24 of you maggots who will fester gloriously and get a chance to become full grown fighting, flying and fucking Greenbottle Flies.

That is by design maggots, the Greenbottle armor costs millions and millions, I am not a fucking accountant but it is more money than both of us will ever see in our miserable lives.....and the U.S. Army does not want you maggots defiling their gorgeous one man, self- contained death machine with your miserable guts.

So maggots, do you still want to be Greenbottles.  Even when there are perfectly acceptable professions available like toilet scrubber, cum sock disposal person class 2, and butt bitch available?

O.k Maggots, before I let you go I must tell you that I am a D.C......no it doesn't mean that, you perverted maggots.  It means I am a downloaded conciousness.

You see maggots, the real Aemon "The Hammer" Hamner got himself killed in Tunisia, like 80 percent of our pilots do. 

Enjoy your breakfast, maggots.

LJ Idol Week 35 Or Whatever- Salty As Fuck

Fun Fact: My real last name is Fry, if you think there are a lot of things out there saltier than a Fry, you are mistaken.
I have been competing in this contest since Kim Kardashian was an untouched virgin and it still hasn't got me published. I mean I guess I could self publish like so many of you scrubs- er fine, fine authors. But it humiliating enough that I have to act for free after 20 years, am I supposed to shell out big bucks so mom can have a terrible collection of my scribblings to torment guests with. I think not.

I mean don't get me wrong I have turned in some good work, by this popularity....er...writing contests abysmal standards. But that is like being the best straight male figure skater, it doesn't feed the monkey. No, my real problem with The Real Non Fake LJ Idol This Time We Really Really Mean It For Sure is that it hasn't gotten me laid.

I mean there is approximately a 800-3 females vs males ratio. Not one of you can take the time to fly to Houston for a little bow-chica-bow-bow? I mean I know you are not getting laid on the regular. C'mon girls no one who is seeing action has time to come up with an entire ecosystem for a planet of space aliens based on sentient marshmallow fluff. I think that was an actual entry, though I can't be sure cause I can only read about 5 entries a week before I get the dry-heaves. I mean really, what is the good of all this in print attention whoring if I can't get you to come sit on my face until the all-star break.

I mean at least a little phone sex, or snapvine, or omlettle or Skype-net or whatever the fuck people do to get their rocks off these days, I wouldn't know.

O.k. just this once I will open it up to male Idolers.....but when we play Butt Pirates and Cabin Boys....I have the parrot on my shoulder o.k....and no eye contact, that's just gay.

O.k. I will be waiting for your names, home addresses and hours likely to be home alone and naked. Let's do this thing.

LJ Idol Week 12- The Blue Room

We sell discretion, boy
And our clientele pays top dollar
Top shelf booze
Peruvian Fluff

Remember our clients bill 70 hours a week
We seldom have to provide our own talent
But if we do, that too is top shelf
As far as ages go, two key words to learn
plausible deniability

If a very well heeled man
With a very old last name
Wants a girl, or a boy
The Blue Room is where they come

Old enough to bleed is old enough to butcher
I have a summer place in the Hamptons

Very occasionally you will think you see a corpse
You do not
You will call me immediately
3 a.m or 3 p.m it doesn't matter
Like New York itself, I never sleep

John Law doesn't visit here
But if he does, you never let him leave empty handed

If you see something
And it makes you have a crisis of conscience
Remember that I know where your son goes to Elementary school

Make no mistake, we are simply providing a necessary service
And generally our existence makes things cleaner and nicer for everyone

Your starters wage should hit your bank account this afternoon
It is a princely sum
It is also just the beggining

Just keep in mind
You don't ever want to cross me boy
If I suspect you breathe a word
Then you and yours won't breathe at all.

LJ Idol- Week 11-Take a Hike

Plaguewind is my daughter. The only progeny I am likely to have. I would not take part in her destruction, even were I convinced it were possible. Yes, the answer will remain the same even when you pull some fingernails, I suppose you will break me eventually...perhaps when you think to harm my wife.

It doesn't matter, a dozen of me couldn't stop her. She won the 3rd Chinese war in 80 hours, but the process by which she will mutate past the antidote will take another two years.

Don't pretend I didn't tell you that when I turned her over to you.

I was there at the first petri dish, I know what she is.

Can I help it that politicians can't resist solving a problem now, so confident they can deal with the aftermath?

Deal with my daughter then.

She is beautiful, isn't she...the scientists who study her have told you, but you can't understand, you lack the wit.

So we will start with drugs and fingernails, yes? And end with a beautiful planet in a hundred years, as pure and beautiful as she.

Week 10- Trolley Problems

Hi, boys and girls. No, don't be frightened, I am a ghost, but a friendly one like Casper. In life I was Fred McFeely Rogers and I had a television show. But you already know this because it aired for 700 years and every fucking person on the planet watched it at one time or another.

I am sorry for the bad language, but I am here visiting from a wonderful place and I would rather go back there than be in this rank shithole. See, I feel like I was in some small way responsible for raising you cowardly dipshits, and apparently King Friday and Mr. McFeely and I did a shitty job.

Remember when we talked about we shouldn't be scared or angry all the time. Well now you are nothing but scared and angry. Watching that ridiculous "News" channel that just makes everything worse. Are you fucking kidding me, you elected Donald Trump. I knew Little Donnie Trump, he is an assclown. Can you say Ass Clown? Sure you can.

You still haven't gotten over your visceral dislike for women in positions of power have you. Guess what boys and girls, most of the rest of the fucking world mostly got over that years ago.

I am not angry with you, this isn't my angry face, this is my dissapointed face. Now lets all try to do better, because if I have to come back I am going to break shit.

Week 8- No comment

I hurt a guy once.

Little guy about 30 years my senior. Hurt him pretty bad. You don't need to know how bad, I never did time and don't want to, I am too pretty to do well in prison.

I love lots of you, but I don't trust but a few of you...Atlanta maybe, Minnesota....wherever Halfshell is from, couple more.

So this man crawled in a window, threw his jacket over a lightbulb and in a tequila fueled 30 minutes of evil raped a woman just north of 60.

His mistake (again you don't need the names) was the woman recognized hism, a high school acquaintance, so many years ago.
Home visiting his aged father.

He drove a nice sports car, presumably he could have paid for sex, but rape isn't just about that.

I am a mostly pacifist liberal weenie who is afraid of firearms. I went through a phase where the two biggest kids on the block would meet behind the Ben Franklin, just to see what happened, but by then I had long gotten over it.

But when I got the news, I sat. A dentist who was a family friend fixed her mouth. And I sat there 4 hours head in my hands in the place between drunk and sober.

The fuckwits father was a nice man, fed the scrounger cats in the neighborhood and mine if they happened to be around, and they made a point of being around for food.

Old man had gone to Po Folks restaurant...sports car was still at home, probably liked his food with flavor.

I lieu of knocking on the door I put a brick through his front windshield.

I am mostly a gentle man (not to be confused with a gentleman). There are wild exceptions and this was the wildest.

So wild that putting the brick down when he ran out to see about his car was one of the harder things I have done.

I had a roll of quarters in the other hand.

I took my time, this was before the booze had shot my stamina. There should have been sirens but there weren't. Not in East Houston, not during the hours where the good people were at work. Not then, probably not now either.

No sirens but plenty of blood, some piss and shit too.

Never told this story sober before.

It is a weird thing to look back on what we were once capable of.

Sports car lived, if you were worried, but he eventually found his way back to the Pacific Northwest...he never visited his dad in Houston anymore. I am sorry for the old man I guess. I am still not a good enough man to regret that 20 minutes. In a front yard, while you good people worked, kids went to math class, and a misting rain fell.

Beading up on his face, with all the blood, so much blood, and the poor soul couldn't lift his arms to wipe it away.

The scrounger cats sometimes brought the old man or me a mouse, or a baby bird. Sports car looked like that....just like that.

LJ Idol Week 6- Heel Turn

I am nothing special
My intellect is inflexible
It just drones on
Narrow but intense

I don't drive a car
Didn't date til I was 30
Wear the same clothes every day
Cloned white shirts and khakis
Italian shoes the splurge

I married my assistant
To keep rumors and talk down
I like men and women
But don't like to share my thoughts

I knew I shouldn't take the money
Knew they'd build a super weapon
To make everything before it
Look like mercy in the end

But the work was my obsession
And obsessions need for funding
In that I am no different
From the junkie on the street

I knew that they would make me
Into the shadow dancer
The reaper sans the sickle
Satan without the horns

I fellate the pistol
I know that I need only
Pull the trigger in defiance
And save the sunset yet

In the end I couldn't do it
So I took their millions
Given the choice of prisons
I'll take the guilded cage

If any live they'll hate me
But not likely with the passion
That I hate myself
Today and everyday

LJ Idol Week 5- Fear is the heart of love.

*******Entered into Evidence Sept. 4, 2004******

You will love me.
Hear my car as it gently rolls past your loving home?

I am sorry about the lateness of the hour.
Shallow cuts across my arm as I think of you.
I weep openly, without shame.
I love you as Sid loved Nancy.
And she loved him too.

You will love me.
Hear me rustle the magnolia tree in your backyard?
It smells so sweet, but never as sweet as you.
Like Dear Leader loves 25 million North Koreans.
And they love him too.

Those nice policemen, have no clue.
I am clever, I am strong, I am motivated.
I will wear you away.
Like the river wears the canyon.
And it loves it back.

You will love me
Certitude of Cancer
And the beauty of wildfire
Finally Big Brother loved Winston Smith
And he loved him back.

Sleep peacefully my beauty
And worry no more
Because I, your prince will be there.
Sooner than you know.



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