There is no fear and loathing here.We were somewhere in the South Pacific on the edge of the ocean when the withdrawals began to take hold. I remember saying something like, “Where the hell are we?”There is no fear and loathing here.3 years ago in Short Stories
My attorney said nothing. Sitting in the sand, he wore only a pair of hideous bell bottoms with red and white stripes that resembled a peppermint candy on copious amounts of LSD. He ignored me and repeatedly tapped his bare foot into the gentle rush of water as it crawled up the beach.
And suddenly I realized I had no idea how we had gotten there. A gaping hole in my memory sparked a brief sense of panic.
“Don’t let it get you,” he said before yawning and falling onto his back.
“Let what get me?” I half shrieked, eyes peeled for wild beasts. Who knew what roamed this place in the night.
“The silence…It’s not something to be feared,” he muttered before passing out cold.
Then I noticed just how quiet it was.
No howling wind coming off the ocean. No creak
Playboy - Lit and TitsPlayboy - Lit and Tits11 years ago in Academic Essays
When I was in middle school, my brother got busted with possession of pornography in our home. I found out it was something called Playboy, and I asked my mom "What's so bad about it?" to which she replied: "It's a dirty magazine, Haley. Not appropriate for young ladies and boys your brother's age," (he was in high school by then). Years later, when I was in high school and discovered my own college boyfriend had a stash, I had to discover what all the huff and smut was about: and I found it purely fascinating. I'm now 21 years old, and I read Playboy for the articles.
Debuting in 1953, with the then-unknown Marilyn Monroe as the first centerfold, Playboy set out to be not just any nudie magazine: they wanted to be "a sophisticated handbook for the urban male." Along with beautiful naked women, the reade
The EggmenThe Eggmen8 years ago in Philosophy & Perspectives
It's been about six or so hours, but what is time? Time is simply a complex measurement of space, measured by hands, measuring my life as gravity grips my skin and pulls. My skin succumbs, settling and dripping like wax...
I hear the cackling and jabber of a madman and as soon as it's heard, the vibrations begin twisting and sauntering in my direction; an enticing harmonious melody made especially for me. My name.
I puff... exhale. Entranced by the smoke, I was startled when my eyes met with a wicked Cheshire grin seemingly floating below two huge, black ovals. "I am the eggman", he repeated. "Yes?"
"We are the eggmen", I hear myself say. My identity is certain in this time and space.
I tried gazing at him again, but my pupils were in the way of visually comprehending anything but lights and vibrations. I hear a voice exclaim, "I am the Walrus!" and then burst into another session of cackling and nonsensical gibber.
My head had gotten well acquainted with the floor at some point a
Gonzo Journalism:An ExperimentGonzo Journalism:An Experiment11 years ago in Articles & Interviews
Sweet Jesus, I thought, there's no fire. We'll all freeze up and die! "Bring another candle!" I screeched at the barmaid desperately, hoping that she had not yet succumbed to the bitter frost.
Instead of the candles she delivered wine lists and menus as if forcing us to pay for a chemical fire in our bellies would scare away the dark cold of the air. I thought it best to test her theory. "Beer! I must have a beer!" I shouted at the cheap, fire-hording whorefaces running the bar.
My camera assist ordered something remarkably similar to pinesol in its odour. It must have had something to do with his Island upbringing. Crazy bastard. "I'm sure you are all of legal age," the waif collecting the menus stated questioningly.
"That's never been proven!'
"So," a strange voice interrupted the conversation I was having with our waitress, "who goes to school with this guy?"
I looked about me. Suddenly my table of close compatriots had been replaced by people who I didn't know at all. I panicked an
Thus Spake NietzscheWhen Nietzsche was fifty-five years old, he died and went into the afterlife where he was filed into the Literary Realm. There he enjoyed his contemplations and spent time outside of time in the profound ecstasy of his own mind. But at last, someone stumbled upon him in his thoughts, and he went before the stranger, knew him despite not knowing him, and spoke to him thus:Thus Spake Nietzsche2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
You, Hunter S. Thompson! You have wrapped truth with your gaudy own! You make it new for yourself. Would you have wearied of truth if not for the loud finery you veil it in.
Behold. One must have tasted iron to take solace in the outrageous, but one must be hard to take solace in iron. You can be made harder still!
Much of your words remain but pale imitations, a shallow mask of Truth's profound spirit! Cast off your fear! Loudness is dangerous when one becomes incapable of saying subtle things.
What is truth? Truth — that is: continually peeling away that which covers up the barest essence; Truth — that i
A Drinking GameA drinking game.A Drinking Game7 years ago in Stories & Vignettes
To be played with anywhere between one and 8 billion people.
Divide the players into two lines facing each other, making sure each player has either a magazine, television, or a computer in plain view. If the game is to be played alone, use a mirror to simulate the other players.
Next, lay one to seven empty shot glasses and three red cups in between the two lines of players. Exact number of cups and glasses can be changed, if necessary. Leave one or more red cups in the center of the playing area.
Once properly positioned, have each player turn and face the media outlet in front of them, preferably set to some form of political program, or the news.
Whenever the phrase were killed is mentioned, take a shot.
Whenever the word responsible is mentioned, take a shot.
If the news reporter reported this without so much as batting an eyelash, take a shot.
If the death toll is higher than 15, take a shot.
If the disaster was also man-made, take two mor
Up Past CurfewIts ten minutes past curfew, why are you still up? The voice is squeaky and harsh in my ear as a hand grabs my arm and pulls.Up Past Curfew6 years ago in General Fiction
I look. Someone new. Im growing weary of this. Its another nurse, not Nurse Nancy, and she is escorting me down a dimly-lit hallway. The air tastes of night, I can smell the darkness. I dont see windows. Just hanging light fixtures.
The nurse looks like an old suitcase, some kind of iguana in a linen white uniform with an ink-smudged tag that reads Nurse Carrie. For an instant, I see pigs blood splash and fade away. When Nurse Carrie looks at me, I feel a deep horror and want to break free of her pincers. Her eyes are yellow, her teeth are too. My scalp is crawling.
You should be in bed, little girl. Her mouth drips milky venom.
I must be tripping. The drugs. I am sick. I am frightened too. I can only stare at her like shes mad.
Were all crazy, Vinces statement echoes through my
crazy little thoughtsIm tired. she spoke weakly, her arm failing her command to move.crazy little thoughts7 years ago in General Non-Fiction
Cold morning blue eyes, with expressive warm flesh surrounding them, appeared above her. I know, darling. Itll be over soon.
The flash of glinting silver beside his eyes.
hmm, maybe some other time...
No, no, no. I think well start out with something entirely other. The miss-breed. The wretch. The ever-falling-faster. The make-no-sense-but-theres-enough-coffee-to-keep-me-coherent-maybe... Hi there, my name is Rabbitat least for this time roundand Im currently piecing thoughts together from the outer tundras of the arctic circle.
Stumbling. Thats pretty much all you can call this. Stumbling and scrambling as if being chased by tigers with rabies and rabid bees in their mouths so when they roar, they spit rabid bees at you. (AHP! Simpsons reference! Accept its tigers instead of dogs, and I dont think any of them w
FFM: Foreign InfluencesFrederich stood in the rain on the steps outside his front door and considered the rat.FFM: Foreign Influences3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
Every morning when he left for work it was there, waiting for him, watching with its beady little eyes while it calmly cleaned its whiskers. It was sleek and fat and brown, and it was following him. He was sure of it.
Gripped by misery, he opened his umbrella and embarked onto the street, the pitter patter of the falling rain upon the taut plastic uncomfortably similar to the tread of little feet. He knew it was ridiculous and possibly even a little absurd, but he could feel the eyes upon his back, watching him. Sometimes there were many, sometimes just the one, but wherever he went the rats soon appeared. He was a man cursed.
It might have been better if there were some small distraction, or some person in his life to draw him forth from his obsessions, but he had long since alienated any enduring friendships or relations. And without a human element to cleave to his life had become quite meaningle
Fear and Loathing N.IrelandIt all started with a hedge. Marty flew in through the shower. 20 Hours away a drum was being played by a guitar. A lorry full of beds was pulling through the front door. Riddled with drug addled conception Freddie through a stone at a tree.Fear and Loathing N.Ireland7 years ago in Humor
Petrol bombs were flowing down the western street festival like blizzards on ice. Aaron was stating his contempt for ice cream when Marty was arrested for eating lunch by the coastguard. Water started melting into fire and someone slapped a car with a blade of sky.
From the journey 6 fledging musicians surrounded Marty. Jail was orange. Instead of eating donuts police officers were waffling down plastic bottles of wallpaper. Rain founded headache and tar drained tulips. Kcuk Ffo reprised her role as Marty.
A Scuffle ensued.
No one was left, even Marty who morphed out of a chessboard in Las California York. A mountain fall on top of a villag
The Mexican AffairThe Mexican Affair10 years ago in Transgressive
The Mexican Affair
6/7/11 - 7:46 PM
I stand here at the back of a room in Mexico City, with at least thirty guns pointed at me, and they do not seem to want to listen to me anymore.
Colonel Martinez, the guy in charge here, kisses his pearl rosary and is about to put a hole through my head when suddenly his back is filled with sharp objects. It seems to be raining knives. Out come my Colts as Drew and I begin to carve our way through the rabble, it doesn't take long with the element of surprise.
"What the hell took you so long, Drew?" I ask my old pal.
"I had to get a Doc." Replies Drew, sipping a Dr. Pepper that I really wish I had. "The machine wouldn't take my fuckin' dollar."
"Well we real
The Good DoctorThe Good Doctor11 years ago in Articles & Interviews
I had to spend two days in utter shock at the statement I read in the paper that the Doctor, who I have come to love through his many articles and sheer violent attacks with the beautiful words as weapons upon which he released the greatest fiery, that I couldn't even comprehend the words 'no longer with us'. As a fan of his work and a greater fan for all those who sit down to write the pieces of crap that many reporters and new papers write to soothe the masses, I decided to go headlong into a piece about a writer instead of the story. I believe, that the good Doctor would want at least one of his fans to come out and at least appear to understand him, even though the most anyone could ever do is scratch the surface of what he really was. As such and still including what I believe to be a tribute to the late Doctor, I wanted at least one person in this damned site to know that he has words that still need to be spoken, even if he is no longer with us. And even if all I get is an autom
Buy the Ticket, Take the RideHow can one possibly begin to describe serenitythat feeling of absolute comfort and peace? A whole-hearted completeness that leaves you drifting off to sleep with fits of laughter erupting out of you, complemented by mirrored voices from the adjoining room? Or is it very simply being sure of ones self, never doubting that where you are is where youre supposed to be? Im not sure about much in my life, Im what youd call a constant questioner, but I do know that right now Im where I need to be.Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride6 years ago in Philosophical
Something about leaving home for awhile, staying somewhere beautiful while I can and being completely relinquished from any cares in the world is soothing. Its not just the incredibly tall pines, enriching the air with their freshness or the abundance of softly fragranced tiger lilies beneath the windows; its etched in the great expanse of black lake before me, in the winding hills and the smell of newly baked bread. Im not sure if I could
The Big Crunch - Old New City- .... . / -.. . .- -.. / -- .- -. / .- .-. . / --. --- -. . / .- -. -.. / - .... . / .--- .- .. .-.. . -.. / .- .-. . / ..-. .-. . .The Big Crunch - Old New City4 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
-- -.-- / --- .... / -- -.-- / .-- .... .- - / .- / .--. .-.. .- -.-. . / - --- / -... .
"You're fucking insane, you know that?"
"Of course I am. This way I'll never snap and go crazy, don't you know?"
"The fuck are you saying? You're crazy."
So I decided to give my dear acquaintance here a little run-through on the finer aspects of madness and the, well the lack thereof, given as only someone who devotes their waking hours to being mad without actually being clinically diagnosed with any form of mental herpes can no other way to have it; it's an all or nothing deal, insanity, and unfortunately studying insanity while also being insane generally means that whatever findings you can scrape together from the blasted, pockmarked remains of your cerebral cortex after you come down from your Seroquel high are generally incoherent to all who are not ins
With Apologies to HSTThe passage of time and consumption of beers dulled one another. The night could have been minutes or could have lasted days. I was then, and continue to be, unsure of how much time I actually spent in that living room.With Apologies to HST8 years ago in Biography & Memoir
The lightweights and the pansywaists had surrendered to an alcoholic stupor hours before the night had even officially begun. The owner of the house was a scrawny, curly-headed little Italian fellow who had, early on, decided to drink all the Zimas and Hard Lemonades and various other fruity girly drinks, then chase it with shots of whatever cheap liquor he could scrounge from his fathers cabinets. The end result was a cornucopia of various colors and proof, cut with digestive fluids and projected across his kitchen floor. He lay next to it, in a world not our own.
Another fellow pilgrim, a morbidly obese and cheerful man with an anchor tattooed on his shoulder, had imbibed entirely too much of something, thrown up before anyone else, and passed out, shirtless, in
L.R.F. Chapter 95L.R.F.L.R.F. Chapter 956 years ago in Introductions & Chapters
Chapter 95-Bat Country
For about 30 minutes, the battallion rushed along the barren landscape of Aduro uninterrupted. The entire area was devoid of any life; no towns, no people, not even plants were visible over the parched earth. From the main ship, Ket, Milio, and system continued to stare out of the window with a hopeful expression on their faces. After a few moments, Lyla asked, "You guys see anything?"
"Negative." System replied. "Not a single bit of life at all."
Baril couldn't help but shudder, and said, "This place is creeping me out.....we haven't even found any sign of Aduro either."
At this, Vadiro replied, "Aduro will be at Entin, the capital city of Aduro. That's still a while away from here."
"Then, when do we get there?" Milio asked, lying on the bench next to Lorak. "I'm bored."
"We'll get there eventually." the rabbit replied, sighing.
Fykel, who remained at his spot against the
Newspaper Nerd Masterpiece The sun is beneath for the night and the moon casts shadows off the slinking animals that rule the night. Television sets glow like they are wont to do. The clear skies, chilly November seem pregnant. Dozens sit and wonder what they are seeing without any luck. Their signals display new footage.Newspaper Nerd Masterpiece6 years ago in Mystery & Suspense
"Ohhhh... MY FILES..."
"I just made a giant masterpiece for all the greatest world newspaper nerds."
The horrible buzzing fills the empty space and expands the dull spaces. It feels like something important is dying beneath us and we don't very much feel it. The buzzing traps our sensory receptors and shuttles our emotional content somewhere else. In the coming days those not in the know will act as though they were aware of the events but only those present have shared
Another Night Left Lying Wet on the CurbHeh. That bastard sure gave me a run for my money. Leaving me bleeding outside the bar and walking away like he's some rat bastard supreme. Makes me sick. Could see it - smell it - on him the moment he walked in. Glad I got to pound his face in a couple of times. He won't be such a prissy pompous little pussy pretty boy when he gets home, that's for sure.Another Night Left Lying Wet on the Curb3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes
No Frank, I don't need you to help me up again. Even completely wasted I can handle this alone. Frank. Big tough muscle for the bar. No insecurities there, nope. It was only obvious how intimate he and I would become. My need for a drunken brawl, his job to keep customers in line. Doesn't make me not hate his guts. No fun goody boy wearing the mask of a big rough and tough motherfucker.
Those masks are the real problem. Pompous little penguin boy wears his as the important bastard probably runs a company 40 fuckin' figure salary highest of the ends when he's really some closeted coward who puts his tail between his legs when shit hits
The Fear It starts out as a harmless tinge in the pit of your stomach. A quick pinch, perhaps. It subsides, mostly unnoticed, but returns with intensity. Soon it crawls into your intestines and grips them into bitter knots. Then you begin to notice.The Fear7 years ago in Horror
Blood gushes up into your head, while your sense of consciousness pools at your feel. The pangs rise into your chest, but thats not what you pay any mind to.
Icy pinpricks swim at your toes, biting up your ankles. The chill feeds down into your muscles and burns into your bones. You find your fingers feeling singed as your temperature elevates higher. Your arms go limp in an upsurge of arresting heat. A bubble rises to your neck. Suddenly, your joints liquefy.
Your cheeks are searing, but your brain is locked up and bogged down. This ache is vying for control of your mind. Your insides boil, and your heart is on fire. Slither
Football Season is OverNo More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun -- for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax -- This won't hurt.Football Season is Over8 years ago in Philosophical
BoozeAn old man smiles toothlessly at the bartender. The bartender manages to smile back, even though hes staring unblinkingly at the gums that are turning black.Booze8 years ago in Humor
Who cares what language you speak, right? As long as you understand yourself, The old man says, chugging down a milk. Hit me!
Bartender smacks the old man with the gallon of milk, then fills the glass back up. In a world without booze, the only disorientation thats legal is a strong bang on the head. Kids are ramming their heads against brick walls, falling off motorcycles on purpose, getting shipped off to hospitals
The old man reels quietly, gripping onto the table. When he stops seeing double, he spits another black tooth onto the bar and knocks back the milk like its vodka.
Youve got quite an arm on you, sonny, He says cheerfully. Outta join a boxing league or sommthin,
The Bartender shrugs modestly.
A man in a derby (whered he git
A town painted ChocolateAfter satisfying our, what seemed to be, ever-growing computer loving ways, my colleague and I made it over to little Italy. As soon as I made my way into the square, I could feel everyone's eyes locked on me and my racial disability. I was fresh meat to these people, a plate of spaghetti with all the tomato sauce and parmesan cheese sprinklings. My colleague found it imperative that we purchase some ice cream to satisfy his increasing hunger that seemed to be spreading from a certain drug, or many certain drugs that we had been taking prior.A town painted Chocolate11 years ago in General Fiction
My face was glistened with sweat, which is why I agreed to get some ice cream. On any other condition, I would never have done so. I've learnt the hard way that dairy products and many drugs don't exactly make the best mix. But heat, it seemed, was swarming over me, blazing my skin like a rotisserie cooker. We approached the counter, about time it seemed. The walk seemed to take days. I remember my colleague saying something like "Plac
The Summer After Las VegasThe Summer After Las Vegas9 years ago in Articles & Interviews
I sat in lawn chair on the beach, wearing nothing but my aviator glasses and a pair of old Hawaiian swim trunks. In the past 48 hour I had done enough drugs hold a D.A.R.E rally at a local elementary school. 2 tabs of acid, some mescaline, a line of cocaine, a cigarette soaked in a form of heroin, and a bottle of jacks Daniels old No. 7. I was completely out of it, at first it came slowly the feeling that I was being watched, eyes were all around me, ugly faces staring at my sweaty half-naked body. Ive got to get out of here! but my body refused to move, my limbs had reduced to Jell-O. Thats when I saw who had been watching me, that bastard, a fat sweaty Samoan puffing on a cigarette kicked sand into my face. My body finally reacted I shot up frantically slapping at my face and spiting sand. You filthy son of a bitch I said falling back into the hot sad.
Look at your sorry ass he said offering a hand. He reeked of mariju