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It was the last home game of the old Houston Oilers (now the Tennessee Traitors, or Toejam or whatever) season and it was the first game they lost in the already somewhat dilapidated Astrodome that season.  Their road record that year was nearly the opposite with only a couple wins in the whole campaign.  And at the time, we thought the loss to the Cleveland Browns was going to cost us a playoff berth.  (I believe the next week we got help from our arch nemesis, Gary's beloved Pittsburgh Steelers) and snuck in.  (Probably so they could beat us like a red headed stepchild as was their custom).

There was a team poster being given away at the end.  And my usual date for sporting events (my even more sports rabid mother was lining up for the freebee, I was seething that we had loss and was storming to the car with as much indignation as my 19?-early 20's? self could muster.

I had made the unfortunate fashion choice of wearing my Earl Campbell jersey with white Oilers boxer shorts over my blue jeans.  No jacket...this on that rarest of days a cold day in Houston (like a cold day in hell, but rarer, in fact middle income Houstonians sometimes have summer houses in hell) today there was ice on the endless concrete of the Astrodome parking lot.

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I have seen through your eyes things no man should see

Been held in the loving arms of sedation in your dual diagnosis unit

Held your fat swollen hands, trembling as if by palsy, inches away from slender throats

I have rejected half the population of your life
And their steady,smiling, joyful God

I have shown you,you don't need sex for solace
That you need little of anything unfound in bottles brown

They tell you you need to let go for your own sake
I taunt them as only I know what you need

I have convinced you, that you sail your ship alone
A leaky vessel,but your own
Our cannons fixed and resolute

You have a dog, a drink, and this sharp sabre
So, go bleed upon this page and glorify my name

LJ Idol Week 1- Resolution

Always 'oped we'd get to tell our side of the story.

So ye hated us, don't bother lying.... One thing that sick bastards good at it's PR.

All beautiful with that perfect hair and that struggle so romantic.

That blond waitress, a cutie she was, they both look so pretty and he sang so pretty.

So in case you haven't guessed it yet, we're the guys with wrenches from the A-HA video Take On Me.

What you didn't know is, we're an elite Police Task Force, trying to keep the comic strip world's most charismatic and evil serial killer from crossing over into your world. Ee' did briefly at the end of the video and it took everything we had to bring 'im back.

In our world guns are outlawed so we have to use wrenches.... Don't laugh look how the guns are working out for you.

Anyway I'm going to cut this short cuz there's real danger afoot. You see, you poor 3-D slobs. People age differently in the comic strip world. And that serial killer I told you about, ees still young n virile.

We'll do our best to stop 'im, me and the lads, but we could use a little support this time.

We'll be hunting high and low.... Don't worry about that. it would just be nice if you'd comment here....say'in...."We believe in you Wrench Unit 14.

Please don't let that mad bastard come into our world n' start carvin up waitresses. We got troubles uv our own, we do."

Thank you.....and if you see something weird going on in a panel of a newspaper or a comic book....just close it up. You might think the sun always shines on TV.... But that's because you've never seen this sick bastard at work.

Thank you for your time all right boys, let's 'ave at him.

LJ Idol Week 0- Introduction

Hey guys, it's me m_malcontent, you may remember me as Steven Feelburg in the Gay Porn Classic "E.T. The Extra Testicle"

You may also remember me from other L.J Idol seasons. For some of you that provokes a smile. For others....well I know I made some mistakes.

The Basics: I anpushing 50 (next July my 40's are going of the cliff in a wheelbarrow). English teacher, drunk (not to be confused with alcoholic...I don't do meetings), depressive, PTSD diagnosis...so typical writer without all that pesky talent. About 300lbs but I don't diet because I am just contrary like that.

I write in most genres for this contest. I don't do content warnings but I sometimes write about my drinking and my brothers suicide...so if reading about that will do you harm. You can skip my entries...no.hard feelings.)

This all sounds kind of morose but usually my entries aren't. Let's have fun...shall we.

LJ Idol Season 11

IS THIS THING ON????....turns down mike....oh o.k sorry. I am just a simple.unfrozen caveman writer and your contests.....they frighten me.

I guess I am playing again, but be nice to me ya'll know how sensitive I am.

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.
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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.

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