Tag: humour

Reboot, An Evolutionary Tale

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part 2

Previously:

I’ve nothing but time young dude, so help an old man out here, what’s going on? Are you with the Geek Death Squad?”

Hey, are like Gandalf or something man? Is this Middle Earth here?”

“You head is spinning because of the buffering JT, it’s a side effect of dying. It will go away once your operating system is renewed.”

Fuck Dee Bays, I’m going where I wanna go dead or not! Stick it myself?! I‘ll stick it where the fucking sun don‘t shine baby. One last ride downstream, to hell with Interface Mountain.
II
The anger began subsiding while having fun jumping from rock to rock attempting to negotiate my way downstream. The ice cold water rushed up over my feet, some rocks were slippery some not so much but all in all I just had a great time laughing and jumping. Who needs serenity? Rock jumping was always one of the most fun things my friends and I did when we were teens on our vacations in the Catskills. Criss-crossing the streams looking for the water falls, stopping to smoke some weed here and there, just the most carefree days ever. Those were the days man, getting stoned, listening to rock, climbing rocks, riding down waterfalls, skinny dipping, making love out in wilderness, doing whatever we wanted without a worry in the world. It was so much fun and so relaxing. I was so into the memories I barely even noticed that the fish in the stream were hopping along following me downstream until I heard one speak. Yea, yea, I know, it sounds all hallucinationy and trippy, a little too much THC, but I hadn’t smoked anything in ages and wasn’t in possession of anything now. But I had no doubt it was a fish talking when it jumped out of the water addressing me directly , “Isn’t this great? Makes me feel so serene.” I laughed, partially because a fish was speaking to me and partially because I was feeling giddy, “Yea your right there Mr. Trout, it is almost serene. Its actually…..wait….Did you say SERENE?” Trouts were now jumping all over the place. I heard a stupid fish tell me it felt serene, just like the old dude wanted me enjoy. Co-incidence? No way! I spoke to all the trouts in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “Okay, way to weird, there’s something fishy here!” The trout all began jumping and giggling, “We’re all fishy JT, on a scale of one to fin, we are most definitely fin possessing talking fish.” Now I’m conversing with a group of rainbow trouts! “Cut the shit! Fish can’t talk, is that you old dude?” But the giggling touts wouldn’t stop, I felt like I was trapped in some Billy The Big Mouth Bass infomercial. My own personal Hell, a bunch of fish making fun of me. “Old dude old dude fish can’t talk, young dude young dude fish can’t walk.” A chorus of trout singing like school children. One trout stopped in front of me peering up from some rocks, “Fish can’t talk? Says who JT? We have always talked, you just never cared enough to listen JT. You humans are so wrapped up in your own worlds you never take the time out to try and communicate with other species unless its for your benefit or pleasure. You trap animals in labs for testing, stick us in zoos or aquariums so your kids can gawk at us, or pen us up and force feed us to make us big so we can feed and clothe you. You always act like you’re the most important thing on this planet but you’re far from it. Only in your deaths are you ever properly humbled. That’s why you guys only get rebooted. You’re no longer a part of the cycle of life, you disregard the laws of nature. Time for you to leave this stream, you don’t belong here. We don‘t want you here.” All the other trout had become silent creating a pounding silence that I remembered all too well. All the times I got into real bad trouble with Mom and Dad they would gang up on me to grill me with questions and accusations to near breaking point. I remember the silence thundering out a pulsating uneasy rhythm, a loud yet inaudible thumping warning me that I had no way out, I was caught. Busted. This is absurd! I want to cry because a trout just put me in my place. I felt a tear sneak out and roll down my cheek. As if on cue a towel hit the top of my forehead and covered my face. “Wipe off the tears JT, time to go.”
I recognized the voice in an instant. Old dude. “Hey man what was that all about? You get talking fish to make a point for you? Then force me to dredge up an unpleasant childhood memory? Why, just because I wouldn’t do what you wanted me to? Okay I get, I get it, you win old dude. I’ll go to the top of the mountain. Just no more of this weird shit man, it’s freaking me out. I just wanna get this over with.” I waded through the stream to the bank in the direction the towel had come from. “You don’t need to climb anywhere JT, you’re at the top of Interface Mountain.” I wiped my face with the towel and looked around astonished. Sure enough, I was at the top of the mountain looking at an amazing waterfall just below my feet. The water shot out a good ten feet over the mountain to what had to be a two hundred yard drop of sparkling silver sheets of moving water. “How the…what the….I thought you said you weren’t a wizard old dude?” Old dude was now sitting in front of me suspended in air without visible support, “I’m not a wizard JT, I’m a cloud, a data base. Its not Dee Bays, its D-Base. I am all the genetic information of humanity, the database of human existence and evolution. You’re here to be rebooted into another human life form but first I am attempting to load some information into you so the next human will grow up with some of your memories.” He placed his hand gently under my chin and closed my gaping jaw, “Wait, what? You’re implanting memories in me before letting die? I don’t get it, why?” Before I knew it I was sitting suspended in front of him. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised, I mean I’ve been through a very strange death ordeal, the geek, Gandalf here, the mountain, talking to some angry trout, so why not float on air while some cloud injects me with memories? Sounds pretty plausible. “Not implant false memories in you JT, just pass along your DNA with a little more information designed to get humans back on track in evolutionary terms. Not so much passing you memories but more like echoes of memories. Did you ever just know something and not remember why you knew it, or gone somewhere familiar? Or see a place that intrigues you an you can’t figure out why? That’s not coincidence JT, its memory echoes of previous lives. You have echoes in your head that track back as far as the dawn of civilization. Take the fight or flight gene, or the fact that toxins smell putrid to you. Those are echoes you have from previous lives, ones who discovered the hard way that toxins can kill. That’s what evolution does, it takes these echoes and creates new defenses and strategies from them. Unfortunately, somewhere shortly before the Agricultural Revolution humans began practicing rituals that go against the law of nature. Life my son is a system of perfect synergies. Trees absorb the energy from the sun, supply homes to millions of creatures, give us oxygen, and when they die they feed millions of micro-organisms which are eaten by insects. The insects are eaten by larger predators and those predators eaten by even larger ones. And when creatures die they feed the vegetation through decomposition. A perfect system. Well perfect until humans began burning their dead, bogarting the vegetation, and killing other creatures because they MAY eat plants you determined you could own. You can’t own things that grow freely, but humans don’t care about that, they lock up food keeping it away, tear apart ecosystems to build factories. You destroy more than you create. Progress is one thing, you’re evolving to be smarter yet you still aren’t smart enough to see how life works. Not just for humans, but for all things.”

I really had to mull this over, I mean I dig that he‘s right about some things but we need to survive as a species. I can think of a number of assholes that could use some of his echoes, but why me? “So stop me if you heard this before, you want to plant that info into my DNA like a gene splice, send me down the river where I’ll be what? Born again? Are you Gandalf the Baptist or something? This is crazy man. Listen old dude, all due respect, but I am not like that, I care about the planet and what humans do to it. Okay, I may not belong to Greenpeace, I’m no Ralph Fucking Nader or anything but I did my part and I love animals. Not like throw red paint on a mink coat PETA love but loved none the less. I understand we treat animals real shitty sometimes and I wasn’t like a vegan or anything but I understood and disliked the way animals were treated. Hunting for sport seemed selfish and wrong to me. I respected other life forms and have always kept an open mind about life. Now I’m dead and you keep playing head games trying to make me feel bad about how humans have acted and frankly G its not my damn fault. I care and I understand. Why not peddle this stuff to the jerks who need it” Old dude was smiling like he had just sunk my Battleship. “Yes JT, and where do you think your feelings came from? Evolution takes many years, many generations and your generation was a big step. But lately humans have been stepping backwards and going back to the old school concept of destroy whatever doesn’t fit your needs. So we are renewing our efforts to help save humanity by reprogramming your evolution. That cable I gave you is loaded with echoes which you will pass on in an attempt to get humanity back on track before they destroy themselves completely. If humans don’t evolve correctly there will be no need for an asteroid to cause mass extinction, you guys will blow the whole planet up by yourselves. The cable is attached to your body, just take the other end just like a USB terminal, plug it in over there then ride the falls to your reboot.”
I felt for the cable and sure enough, it was attached like an adult umbilical chord. I stuck the other end into a waiting socket and the sensation of spinning returned. I was buffering. I turned to look at Gandalf one last time and jumped into the waterfalls into total darkness. Wonder who I’ll be this time.

Reboot , An Evolutionary Tale

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reboot

Part I

Last thing I remember was sudden darkness and the sound of shattering glass all around accompanied by a coarse rhythm of twisting crunching metal. Car accident? Yes, yes that’s it, I was driving down the highway in a mad rush because I was late for work and then…..and then… then what? Everything is so damn foggy. Wait! Where am I? Feels like I’m in the haze of dry ice smoke at a rock show but maybe its?…Well it sure don’t smell like weed so probably not a rock show but where am I? What’s with all the smoky mist? I was in my car on the way to work and what? Oh shit now I remember, some asshole came across the median and right into……. Oh fuck, I was in a bad accident, I’m in a hospital. Yea, that’s it, I’m in a hospital and….. No wait, that can’t be right, the mist, no tubes or wires, no beeps, not in a bed, I’m…ah I’m in a…No! Wait! I’m fucking dead man? My flair for the dramatic not yet dead I paused for effect…..That’s when it began to settle into my head. I was killed in a car accident and now I’m in….. In where? The morgue? Heaven? Purgatory? The “Heaven Can Wait” waiting room? Is my AS2 guardian angel Clarence Odbody coming to take me away and earn his wings? But that’s not possible, I’m an existentialist, and if there is God he isn’t about to let me hang out on his turf, he’d probably send me to one of those special places I hear them talk about in churches. So then just where the Hell am I, pardon the expression? Actual Hell? As I was pondering my death fate a loudspeaker broke the unearthly silence. “Hilltop, Justin Thyme? Is there a JT Hilltop here?”
Before I heard this announcement I was merely confused. I thought I was all alone but I must be in a group of some sort and someone is paging me. Now its like “Peeewwww…. Mind blown!” Here I am trying to figure out what the hell is going on with my death when I get mind-fucked by a loudspeaker. Do I stand up or do I pretend I didn’t hear it? I was right at the point of making a decision when I noticed standing right in front of me was a young dude. “You’re JT, yes?” I gave this, this, umm, entity the once over. A nerdy looking kid somewhere in his late twenties with thick rimmed glasses and a bargain store suit that was a bit to big for his small clunky frame. He had thick but very short dark black hair and not a hint of a smile on his face. He didn’t even look my way as he was running his eyes over something on a clipboard waiting for confirmation from me. After a few seconds of silence he spoke in a monotone voice, “Don’t make this difficult Mr. Hilltop, you’re already dead so you really have nowhere else to go. Just come with me please.” He never even waited for acknowledgement just began walking away. I stood and blindly followed out of the misty mist.
At first I was kinda hoping he was in search of his lost personality but I wasn’t gonna wait to find out. I decided I would try and engage this nerd so maybe he could help acclimate me as to just where I was, “So this is your job? You come to bring the dead to their destination? Who exactly are you working for?” His pace quickened, “Something like that Mr. Hilltop. I work for no one and everyone now just come along please, no time for idle chatter.” I processed his statement. No time? Maybe he has no time but if I’m dead what the fuck do I care about time? “I have nothing but time young dude, so help an old man out here, what’s going on? Are you with the Geek Death Squad?” The nerd shook his head as though I was exasperating to him, “Mr.Hilltop you died! You have ceased to exist. You were in a car accident, a drunk driver hit you head on. Looking over your file sir it seems about as an appropriate way to die as I’ve ever seen given your pension for the bottle. That or cirrhosis anyway. Your at the terminal right now, and please no lame jokes about the name terminal its been done a few million times over the years by people far less witty than you think you are. I’m your agent assigned to take you to your Sherpa who will assist you in your transition. Now please keep quiet and continue to follow me we’re nearly there.” The only sound after his stern admonition as the tapping of our feet and the cursing under my breath.
I reached the end of a hallway feeling like my head was spinning. Not really dizzy, but constantly spinning. Grumpy the young douche-nerd opened a door speaking to someone on the other side, “I have a very uncooperative Mr. Justin Thyme Hilltop here sir. He never shuts up and he is now your problem, not mine. He’s all yours Dee.” The door opened wide so I walked inside, or actually outside. I found myself on a beautiful mountain about half the way up. Surrounded by gorgeous greenery of tree’s and shrubs, the sound of running water combined with an assortment of indefinable sounds made from various animals. An old man with long white hair complete with matching silvery beard stood in front of me. “Hey, are like Gandalf or something man? Is this Middle Earth here?” The old man smiled warmly like…..well like Gandalf actually, “No Justin, I’m not Gandalf, I’m certainly no magician or wizard and this is nothing like Middle Earth. This is Interface Mountain, I am your Sherpa, Dee Bays. Its my job to lead you back to the Mainframe after discovering your rightful place. Hopefully you can be re appropriated correctly.” I chuckled, “You’re who then and this is what now? Sorry old dude but I didn’t get a word of what the hell you just said. All I wanna know is are you the one who can tell me what exactly is going on here?” The old man had very old eyes, much older than even he himself, yet they were incredibly calming. It was as though those old eyes were a separate entity that seemed to put me at ease. Old dude placed his arm over my shoulders, “It’s okay Justin, or do you really prefer JT?” I smiled, “You can call me whatever you want but I prefer JT. How much longer do I have?” The old dude let a small laugh slip out, “Are you in a hurry JT? I can speed this up if you want?” I was pretty sure he was teasing me but just in case I answered with fear and desperation, “No,no,no, seriously, I’m in no hurry. Its just….Well my head is spinning and I feel confused.” Old dude began walking up a mountain path signaling for me to follow, “You head is spinning because of the buffering JT, it’s a side effect of dying. It will go away once your operating system is renewed. When someone dies their faith dictates their destiny, and you my friend to use a Zodiac analogy, are an Existentialist with Buddhism rising. Therefore your destiny is to reach a sort of nirvana of your own through serenity. You don’t get to reincarnate exactly, no heaven or hell for you but you get to see what really happens at the top of the Hill of Life, Interface Mountain. Some get to believe they are in heaven or hell, some Jahanna or Jahannam, still others get to believe their fates are to be placed on various cycles of life. But in the end it’s all the same, everyone goes to the top of the mountain.” I thought this over in an attempt to make sense for quite some time as I aimlessly followed him up the mountain path heading toward the sound of running water which was getting closer and closer.
Within minutes we reached the source of the sound, a running stream, where old dude sat down. “Sounds serene, yes JT?” I sat as well, “Yea serene, but why would I want serene now? I mean I’m dead right? So why wouldn’t I want to take one last fast ride with blaring rock music? What’s so cool about serenity if that’s what I’m always gonna have now?” He looked at me with a hint of curiosity, “I think you are misunderstanding JT, you’re not going to be surrounded with serenity, your going to be surrounded by nothingness. No serenity, no rides, no music, nothing! This is your last chance to enjoy the feeling serenity brings so enjoy it. Once you complete the climb its just over. Nothing, kaput, nada. Your life has ended my boy and there’s no turning back, no other worlds, nothing. Everything ceases.” Suddenly those warm comforting eyes seemed cold and dispassionate, “Well then why the fuck are we doing this? Just let me fucking die for Christ’s sake!”
The old dude stood up speaking in an exhausted tone, “Maybe its best if you finish your trek alone. You’re in such a hurry to finish dying just go on ahead by yourself, stick it yourself!” He handed me some kind of cable wire, turned and walked away. Feeling a strange aloneness I began chatting myself up, “Who fucking needs him anyway. Stick it myself? What a dick, doesn’t even speak English right. I’ll stick it myself all right. Maybe I won’t even go up the mountain, maybe I’ll just run down the stream. The fuck with him man, I’m outta here.” I turned and began following the stream towards the bottom of the mountain. “Fuck Dee Bays, I’m going where I wanna go dead or not! Stick it myself?! I‘ll stick it where the fucking sun don‘t shine baby. One last ride downstream, to hell with Interface Mountain.”
TBC

Juice Box Hero (by Not From Around Here)

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kill

Juicebox_Hero_by_vagabondx

Standing in the rain, with his head hung low
Couldn’t have a Capri Sun, his Mom said no!
Heard the roar of the toddlers, he could picture a scene
Bit the day care worker on the leg, they all heard her scream

He grabbed one juice box, tore the straw away
Shot some juice in his eye, so the very next day
Took a six pack Juicy Juice, behind Moms refrigerator door
Didn’t know how to open it, but he knew for sure
That the one juice box, felt so good in his hands
Didn’t take to long, for him to understand

Just one juke box, straw way down low
Be the hit of the daycare, only one way to go
So he started sipping
Ain’t never gonna stop
Gotta keep on sipping
Before the juice spills out the top
An be a Juice Box hero, Hi C in his eyes
He’s a juice box hero, heard the other kids cries
Yea juice box hero, Apple and Eve in his eyes
With that one juice box, he came alive
Come alive today
So he’s gotta keep sipping
He just can’t stop
Pass another Capri
That boy has got to stay on top

And be the juice box hero
With juice in his eyes
He’s a juice box hero
At nap time he cries
Gimme one juice box
don’t gimme no lies
Just one juice box
Now he’s a juice box hero
Yea a juice box hero
Stars in his eyes
JUICE BOX!

The Seven Habits Of Highly Caffenaited People

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habits

Independence, your freedom to have coffee
Habit 1. Be proactive. Don’t stop at one cup in the morning, go for broke and have three or four, if you’re extra tired, add a shot of espresso to each cup. Move your hands constantly, talk like an Italian hand-speak master, this way no one will notice how much your hands are shaking from all the caffeine.

Habit 2. Begin with the end in mind. Establish your daily coffee needs with wherever you get your coffee. If its with a barista be sure the coffee artist understands not only how quickly you need to caffeinate, but exactly how you like to arrive at ultimate caffeination. You have achieved caffeine nirvana once the barista makes your coffee just before you’ve even arrived. If you start at home, have the coffee maker ready before going to sleep. Set the alarm if it has one.

Habit 3. Put first things first. Be sure everyone near you in the AM understands how important it is for them the STFU before you have had a minimum of one coffee. Once trained good family members will rush a coffee to you as soon as you wake up.

Interdependence, your journey to work

Habit 4. Think win/win. You know you need to be properly caffeinated prior to arriving at work to keep you from murdering your co-workers, so plan your trip wisely. While driving choose a lane with the least amount of traffic to lower the stress of the assholes on the road that have no idea how to drive. Never place the coffee between your legs, at best everyone will think you peed your pants and at worst you’ll have extreme genital discomfort.

Habit 5. Seek first to understand, then to be understood. The first part is easy, listen to what your co-worker needs are and understand that they have just as many rights as you. The second part is tricky and best practiced after a few coffees. Get your co-workers to understand you don’t give a shit about their fucking needs you only care about having another coffee. Be sure they understand to NEVER, under any circumstances have the last coffee without immediately brewing another pot. This will make things at work much clearer and understandable.

Habit 6. Synergize, create a co-operative atmosphere. Now that your co-workers understand how to best deal with a highly caffeinated person such as yourself use some guilt tactics to have them buy the type of coffee you enjoy most. Also establish the fact that anyone drinking decaf has no rights and should be forced to drink it outside in shame with the smokers.

Continuous Improvements

Habit 7. Sharpen the saw. This is important. Literally sharpen the saw and be sure all your co-workers know that you are not only capable of using the saw, but you can handle it efficiently and accurately. This will help to balance your resources.

The Devine Tragedy

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dante 1

By J. T. Hilltop

This is my homage to one of the greatest poets and creative minds that has ever existed, Dante Alighieri. Its not meant to mock his incredible work but rather celebrate it in my own dark way taking my own creative liberties. I don’t profess to have an iota of Dante’s talent but the best way to honor an artist is to allow their inspiration to flow through your own soul, which is what I hope I did .

Part 1 (The Inferno)
Out Of The Frying Pan Into The Fire
One more for the road. Unfortunately for me that was my mantra, my raison d’etre. My mission statement was to always have one more to bring me closer to total oblivion. One more toke, one more beer, another shot another pill another tab, everything to excess. Maybe it was a design of mine to dull my mind and make my life seem more livable, or maybe I just couldn’t say no, but no matter, over indulging and sinning have always been concentric to my world. I enjoyed living on the edge, and I took Mr. Joel’s advice to heart, I laughed with the sinners instead of crying with the saints. But I am a storyteller and ever aware that every story has an end. Dying is something we all do, both sinner and saint, so I guess that’s why this ex sinner is here now, to relay my story of the afterlife according to JT, as interpreted by the poems of Dante Alighieri. Truth is I didn’t even realize I was dead at first, I thought I had passed out from my many over-indulgences on that night. I mean I truly believed I was only halfway along life’s path when I had woken from a stoned and drunken stupor in the dark wood. I mean really, a lion, leopard, and wolf in Crab Hollow? Please. However, when the three beasts began howling, growling and coming for me like I was an all you can eat buffet I decided they were not delirium tremors or hallucinations but something I better run like the wind to escape.
Shaking off a hangover is not an easy task it normally involves some coffee, a water splashing, and a few aspirin just to start but I had to make do with a quick self slap, intense head shake back an fourth and feets don’t fail me now attitude. I ran deeper into the wood with three mean ugly beasts hot on my trail.To the best of my recollection there was a charging hungry lion, a mouth licking fast leopard, an a bug eyed howling wolf with sharks teeth. They were coming fast si I had to act quickly. I needed to choose which path to take, hope that my choice was one of the paths would lead to salvation. But I was never known for my smart choices so its no surprise the path I took was not the straight way, but rather the twisted path along which the sun becomes silent. With each rapid lurch forward my lungs pounded and burned in shorter and shorter spurts. The muscles in my legs protested to the extreme work out and threatened to form a sit in but my mind overruled their objection so the running continued driven by primal fear. The path was littered with obstacles, logs, small boulders, and thickets but I negotiated them with the grace of a wildebeest. When my foot hit an unseen tequila bottle the pain shot up my shin, cracked my knee joint, making my entire lower right side numb. I remembered back to all the nature shows I’d ever seen realizing the wildebeest, graceful though it is, never fare very well but was more often the fodder of every predatory animal around. What else is gnu? At any rate it seemed appropriate that it would be a tequila bottle that ended my last hope of escape. I normally took things with a grain of salt an tequila was no exception. A kind of Karmic retribution. As I crashed to the ground my shoulder bravely led the foray into the next wave of pain that would likely precede the final pain of being torn to shreds by a trio of very strong jaws fitted with sturdy and sharp incisors. Mercifully the smashing of my cranium into a large stone put my lights out just as the hot anxious breath of the three beasts sprayed a layer of soft anticipatory saliva across my body.
To say I was confused when I woke up a second time is an understatement. I was downright flabbergasted. Did I die twice? Am I hallucinating about a hallucination? And the most perplexing question I pondered out loud, “Where the hell am I?” Believing I had asked myself a rhetorical question I was taken aback when a reply came, “No, you’re not in Hell yet JT.” I squeezed my temples together expecting some clarity to pop out but it was an unsuccessful attempt at sorting things out. Before answering this foreign voice I needed to apprise my situation by rubbing my eyes and taking a big long breath. Well the fact that I was able to take that breath was encouraging, but the voice was still a bit perplexing. I looked in the direction of the diction and sitting cross legged by a small fire was a skinny Buddha or something. At second glance he looked more like a short thin Roman wearing traditional robes if one is headed out to the local Roman bathhouse or perhaps a geeks orgy. “How do you know who I am, and who are you?” He sneered at me condescendingly, “I know who you are because I’m your guide. My name is Publius Vergilious Maro, but you can call me Virgil. I’m here to lead through the paths of death and salvation, and trust me JT, I didn’t ask for you. Your history seems somewhat self indulgent and self destructive if you ask me and I believe my time would be better spent with a plethora of other dead people.” His biting remarks were overshadowed only by the fact he called me a dead people. “Wait, what? I- I’m dead? So what are you saying Virgil, you’re my hell master? Damn man, do I need a safe word or something” I was sorry I had placed such a sarcastic inflection on his name the moment it slipped past my vocal chords. “Look JT, you showed little regard for life while you were living so don’t act so surprised to find out no one cares you’re dead. Deal with it. I could have left you with the three beasts to get chewed to death but I didn’t, I literally snatched you from the jaws of massive pain to take you through to the next stage. We have a lot to see so I suggest we get started. First things first, we will begin at the gates of Hell.”
A lot for me to digest. This Virgil dude said we were going to the gates of hell and I’m a bit concerned that’s where I’ll be left. Is that what he meant by the next stage? Am I doomed to spend all eternity with a major sunburn up to my ears in a world of defecation and rotting meat? I made the decision at that moment that hallucination or not I will apologize to Virgil and be cool with him from here on in. If there’s any possibility I can skate past Hell that’s the way to do it. But to skate, Hell will have to freeze over. “Hey Virgil, I’m sorry man, I’m a bit confused. Its not everyday you die and its taking me a while to shake off all this crazy stuff happening to me. You lead and I’ll follow, just try to keep me in the loop, okay?” Virgil smiled as though he had won some rappers beef battle or something, “No worries JT, in fact once we enter the gates there are nine loops I’ll keep you in.” His smirk left me uneasy.
I followed this scrawny Roman cynic along a dark twisted path deeper in the wood until we reached a clearing, the path leading to a huge mountain with ebony black smoke flowing out the top and fire red lava-like ooze dripping out like hot strawberry sauce cascading down a vanilla ice cream mountain. It caused my stomach to growl with envious hunger pains until I saw what was at the end of our path. A huge cave with heavy ornate wrought iron gates straight out of Transylvania. An emo’s dream come true, there were little sculpted ogres and gargoyles across both doors with hideously adorned door handles. Etchings of death heads, skeletons, monsters of all types were literally everywhere I looked on the gates. Just inside the gate was a huge statue of a three headed half man half goat kind of creature with blood dripping from all three mouths. I shivered at the sight. The stench coming from the mouth of the cave was of rotted flesh and spoiled milk. There was a pulsing dull red glow surrounding the doors. Above the doors was a plaque held by the ugliest monster any child could have imagined from under their bed. The plaque read “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi Ch’intrate” I looked to Virgil, “What’s that say, lactate on sperm you chinstrap? Is that some kind of weird Satan punishment or something?” Virgil showed his first sign of accepting me as he chuckled lightly, “No JT, that’s not what it says. You need to start taking this more serious son, the plaque reads “Abandon all hope, Ye who enter here”. This my boy is the gates of Hell where we are about to begin our voyage. Look around the outside here, see all those people?” I looked around, everywhere around the cave were people wandering aimlessly, swatting at the air and wincing in pain. They all looked confused and purposeless, with vacant eyes. Some had their heads on backwards unable to see where they were going, other had their eyes plucked clean out of their heads, an many were carrying their tongues in the hands in front of them. All of them looked lost and hideous, “Who are they, the ones that abandoned all hope?” Virgil wasn’t smiling now, he was very serious, “No JT, those are the ones stuck neither in heaven or hell. They are the souls of those who chose to do nothing when they were faced with a moral crisis, ones who could have made a difference but chose not to lift a finger, or say a word. Rumor has it that Pontius Pilate is among those souls as well as those who did not fight on the side of the angels during the Rebellion Of Angels Conflict. These souls turned their backs when asked for assistance, or guidance. Pontius could very well have kept Jesus away from Caesar but disregarded the dream sent to him into damnation from the Romans. He and all the others are assigned the punishment of an endless quest to find and save their souls, while constantly being stung by wasps an hornets. Maggots, ticks and mosquitoes eternally suck the blood and tears of their consciences. They gaze upon their faces all swollen and welt ridden to constantly remind them of the repugnance of their actions, or inactions. And these guys aren’t even in Hell, this is merely the outskirts of Hell my boy. You and I are about to descend down the nine levels of Hell. That’s where the real horrors exist.” TBC

Father and Son

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I’ve been called many things over the years, most of which were not meant to be complimentary, but when your own kids give you a nickname it most likely has meaning behind it. Now my son has had numerous names for me, again most not meant to be complimentary or to may face, but the one truly endearing name he called me was “My old man hippie Dad.” My boy was a typical son, lazy and rebellious, and I can’t say he never lifted a finger to help but in truth I wish it had been more than the middle one. And I had some rather uncomplimentary names for him as well, but the hippie dad was always said with love. He is very creative and a few days ago he upgraded my paternal status to “My Anti-Corporate Hippie Dad”. Now I’m not one for titles per say, but I must admit this one has a familiar ring to it. In fact it is the complete opposite of what my own Dad would have been, a big business company man. My Pops was an ultra-conservative father who believed big business was responsible for the great American dream and he toiled at his company until he retired.
Many times we become the opposite of our parents and I am definitely in that category. It started out as a rebellious stand but became my persona, my essence. I first grew my hair and donned bell bottoms and balloon sleeve shirts to piss him off but it rapidly became my lifestyle. This is mostly because all the politics and ideals my old man had were way too conservative and far too head up the ass-ish for me to latch on to. You know, the typical 50‘s mentality, the man is the head of his castle and the woman cooks, cleans, and tends to her “duties“. Now normally that would suggest sex, but I have four brothers and one sister so by my calculations my parents only had sex six times so my Moms duties were surely something other than sex. Otherwise, ewwww!! Anyway, acutely aware of what narrow mined principle I was raised on I attempted to instill in my son what I believe to be a fair, sensible and inclusive set of values to live by. I tried but my son ha some good rebel genes in him as well. I still remember the day I knew all my planting of peace love and understanding seeds would be in vain. My son, who once offered me rays of hope by rebelling with Mohawk hair dyed a fuchsia pink, wearing Anarchy tee shirts, and piercing places in his body I would never have considered came home one day wearing penny loafers.
“What the hell are those and where did you get them? What happened to your army boots and Converse?” My boy looked at me defiantly, “I’m getting an office job, I want to work in corporate.” He may just as well have ripped the heart out of my chest and kicked it like a hacky sack. My son wants to be a business man. Worse, he wants to be a big man in a corporate position. Where did I go wrong? I had attempted to give him the benefit of years of my own rebellions. I took him to his first rock concert when he was an eight year old playing Kriss Kross on his Walkman. We went to Giant stadium to see Faith No More, Guns and Roses, and Mettalica and it rocked his world. The change was instantaneous an I knew he was on the road to being cool. It worked out so well in fact we went to lots more shows together, lollapalooza, warped tour, all the time with his hair changing from pink, to green, to orange. I helped him put a ton of gel in his hair so he could have spikes. I pushed him into his first mosh pit, was with him for his first time crowd-surf during a Rancid show, and watched him thrown off the stage during The Ramones. It was a unique an enlightening father an son bond. I did everything I could to encourage him to embrace the idiosyncrasies of his generation the way I had mine. Except without a fight. My father and I came close to fist fights over my hair, my clothes, and my music and here this young lad is encouraged by his father. I just assumed with such a close relationship that we would have similar values. And what o I get in return? A son wearing penny loafers, wanting a three piece suit, and neatly trimmed hair. Was it just to piss me off? My father giving me Karmic retribution? Even worse, I never in my wildest imagination ever believed my own son would become a republican. I feel like I have failed as a father.
Okay, maybe I’m being a bit harsh on myself, in truth he has a very strong value system, he is very respectful of women, of minorities, and of people in general. He is a good man, a son any father can be super proud of. A fantastic father to his own children, a loving and supportive husband, and he calls up his old man a few times a week just to chat. We have a treasure chest of awesome memories that can keep us laughing all night, have similar tastes in food and drink, and in reality are very similar each other. Except when it comes to style and politics. Politics placed a huge wedge between my father and I so I was a bit concerned that it could effect my relationship with my son. But blood and love is so much thicker than political water and we found a mutual respect for each others opinion and don’t focus on the differences. I never wanted my son to follow in y footsteps because being a chef in reality is nothing like is seems watching Top chef. It’s a grueling non forgiving industry in which the small reward is knowing you have gone down a path not many can master. You really need to have your heart in it because restaurant life can strip[ you of your heart. I wanted my son to forge his own footsteps and he has, but not completely. After taking him under my wing and working him down to the ass bone he told me in no uncertain terms that he did not want to be a chef. I was relieved, we opened a bottle of wine to seal his promise. He went to college but to my dismay his training with me moved him up in the ranks at his part time job at Cheesecake factory. He used that to his advantage climbing not to the upper echelon of culinary commander but to the managerial hierarchy of the restaurant industry. He is now a general manager of a very prestigious restaurant and very happy. But he’s still republican!
The bottom line is we all have to be true to ourselves, to who we truly are and both my son and I have done that. He is a bit of a metro-sexual, having his hair and nails done, he dresses conservatively, has no more ear, nose or the piercing formally known as Prince rings (although on windy days he still whistles) but he is who he is and I respect that. We’ve always had strange names for each other, he was GI Joke, Schmedly, puke of Earl, I was the ol man who lives upstairs, Happy Hippie Dad, the parental units unit, and grounding master. But I’m proud that he’s my son, I’m proud that he has worked to achieve what he wanted, and I’m proud of who he is as a person. I’m also proud to have him call me Dad, but more than anything I now beam with pride when he calls me, “My Anti-Corporate Hippie Dad”

An Ode To What Is Owed

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bill

They come by snail mail every day
And in emails to my phone
They even call me on my cell
They wont leave me alone

I get so anxious at their threats
I reach for calming pills
Relentless chases every day
Those neverening bills

Bills bills bills
That all I ever get
Bills bills bills
Aren’t they over yet?

Bills bills bills
Everyday a threat
Bills bills bills
Keeping me in debt

Even my kids will suck me dry
they pluck my wallet clean
C’mon pops I need some cash
I’m their ATM machine

Credit, debit, cash, or check
How can I pay today
Everybody wants my money
Make them go away

Bills bills bills
Pouring like a flood
Bills bill bills
The Man is out for blood

Bills bills bills
Piled up at my door
Bills bills bills
They’ll take my life for sure

Car payments mortgage payments
Electric bills and gas
Sales tax and income tax
They even tax my ass

Collection agents , IRS
Both federal and state
Mortgage was refinanced with
An unfair interest rate

Bank fees, home repairs
so many bills I’m seething
Late fees and penalties
Plus extra cause I’m breathing

Bills bills bills
Getting bigger all the time
Bills bills bills
Think I’ll have to turn to crime

Bills bills bills
Maybe I’ll rob a bank
Bills bills bills
I can hear the handcuffs clank

Every time I turn around
Someone’s hand is out
Looking for my money
There just ain’t none about

Insufficient funds again
Better find another bank
have no money to start anew
And only bills to thank

Bills bills bills
In such a giant pile
Bills bills bills
They rob me of my smile

Bills bills bills
Creditors want a lot
Bills bills bills
Can’t give what I don’t got

Cashier’s keep acting all sarcastic
Don’t be so unkind
Maybe you should pay in cash sir
Another card declined

Politicians want my money too
They hang around and linger
They tell me I should lend a hand
But all they gets my finger

Bills bills bills
The death of me yet
Bills bills bills
I’ll never be free of debt

Bills bills bills
Make me drink till I get blotto
The only way I’ll pay my bills
Is if I hit the lotto

Happy Father Day to all you other ATM Dad’s out there

Psycho Kaler…. Qu’est-ce que c’est

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kale

Despite my age I remain for the most part in touch with the fads and fancies of the young. I engage in most of the social media sites and no, I’m not a stalker, just like to stay in touch with the youth because quite frankly for me they are no loner the future, but the present. One way I accomplish this is to listen to the popular music of the day in an attempt to shed a light of understanding their concerns. Music reflects each generation and much of it is born of anger or frustration and by design sound like crap to the older generations. I can relate to that sentiment and like most generations believe mine even invented it. I remind myself how I was as a youngster the media dictated much of my emotions and how I felt, for me the Viet Nam war the defining event. So I get how much of an impact media events can seem monumental while young. Crisis today such as Solange vrs. Jay Z in elevator UFC or the marriage of Kanye and Kim, (a figurative and literal big ass wedding) can have lasting effects on the physiological status of the young and hip. So I dig fads and try to remain aware of what is “hip” or popular.
In my days as a chef in New York City it was essential to be keenly aware of any and all food trends and to follow their lifeline. As an example I’ll chart the course of the darling of the dairy industry through the eighties, goat cheese. What could possibly sound more delicious than curds of aged smelly goat’s milk? But it was tasty and it hit the culinary world balls out. (Or should I say it was a Hella hit?) Prior to its mainstream culinary popularity it was consumed mostly in posh (or arrogant, depending on your view) French fromageries by intelligent beret wearing cheese lovers. But in the early eighties it made appearances in many fine NYC restaurants over salads, such as Aged goat cheese coated in crushed philberts, sautéed and served over a bed of mesclun lettuce with a warm raspberry hazelnut dressing. Many upper eastside bistros served a similar dish and eventually goat cheese made its way downtown to some of the more trendy restaurant, grapes, pear, and goat cheese sautéed over fresh baby spinach with walnut vinaigrette. Not long after that it settled into Greenwich Village where it cemented its place in hip culinary culture by becoming a cheese choice on burgers and as a pizza topping. These days its found its way into the family chain restaurant industry at TGI’s and the like. It was one of the food trends that successfully made the transition to culinary fame.
I supported the goat cheese movement the moment I tasted it, stigma of nanny goats gruff aside. There is another new trending food though I am having difficulty getting behind. Kale! Kale is nothing more than a spinach imposter that even gets snubbed by Brussel sprouts. Touted as the worlds healthiest food and despite its attractive purple variety kale tastes like bitter angry collard greens dipped in ipecac and sautéed with fine metal shavings. While I will admit to its health benefits and its outstanding array of vitamins I come from a time when kale was considered urban seaweed. And I also admit it had a rough upbringing, it could not have been easy in a family consisting of broccoli, cauliflower, and collar greens, between the constant harassment of children who despise the entire family as early as its pabulum eating stage, and then the horrible George Bush moment when a sitting American president admitted openly to not liking broccoli, kale had to live in some pretty dark shadows. And yes the cute curly leafed veggie held prominent status in the middle ages, but at that time chastity belts were all the rage as well, and well… when’s the last time you hear of anyone wearing one of those things? Hell I’ll even cop to have used purple kale in many a crudite display in my career, but for me kale has a special dark spot in my heart, I once confused it for spinach in a high pressure moment.
I was in culinary school, our chef instructor was know for handing out reports when he caught you off guard. Its well documented the times he had students scratching their heads trying to guess at the height of a curry bush while most of the other students chuckled. Many a student was given an assignment of listing the 16 essential ingredients in curry or the genetic difference between fruits and vegetables and so on. With only two days left in his kitchen I had so far escaped being given a report an was certain I could finish the last two days without consequence. I experienced a minor lapse of attention during the height of service the chef handed me a pan of braised kale an yelled “JT, take this spinach over to the veg kitchen right away” I obediently grabbed the pan and offered a smug “yes chef”….. That’s when he stopped me. “Oh so this is spinach huh? Suppose you bring me four page report tomorrow on difference between spinach and kale?” Busted! Caught off guard that sneaky premeditating chef had me cold. I have never forgotten that stupid report. I was up until after midnight working on the damn thing without the benefit of Google or Wikipedia!. Perhaps that’s why I know so much about this new and hip uber-healthy bitter star of a veggie, and maybe, just maybe its why I harbor some degree of anger as well. Perhaps the bad taste in my mouth is not the result of this leafy wonder cooked incorrectly but the taste of a memory scar from my school days. That’s it, its time to forgive and show what a big person I am so right this minute I’m gonna cook up some braised kale with caramelized leeks. Wait, I almost forgot, no hip new dish is complete with a tried and true food fad, so I’ll top it off with some broiled, ash covered aged goat cheese…

The Existential Bakers guide to breakfast (and other food related nonsense)

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What is The Breakfast of Champions, Wheaties or the philosophy of Kilgore trout? Wheaties, the breakfast of champions is a crispy wheat and bran flake that was the result of an accidental spill, much safer than the spills of Exxon, BP, or Chernobyl, but more in line with the legend of “Hey, you got chocolate in my peanut butter.” With Wheaties, the self proclaimed champion, some wheat bran mixture fell onto a hot stove and formed a handful crispy flakes that eventually was converted into a recipe. Unlike the chocolate peanut butter legend this Battle Creek legend is true. But that’s about as exciting as it gets though, a rather non descript cereal flake, not frosted, puffed, honey nutted, or multi-grain, just a simple boring flake that floats in milk an cries out for sugar. Not much of a champion! Kilgore Trout on the other hand is a incredibly interesting character developed by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. in many books, most notably The Breakfast Of Champions. Kilgore is a profound thinking science fiction writer of such nail biters a s “Venus On The Half Shell“; which alone makes him more worthy of the title IMHO. Much more interesting than the boring bran but unfortunately Kilgore can’t cook very well and half shells are about the extent of his culinary knowledge. Not a single thing to do with food. So where does that leave me? To this unrelated and frankly unnecessary quest for some of the most fundamental culinary queries such as which came first the chicken or the egg, are cucumbers really cool, can man live by bread alone, and most importantly, are we what we eat?
As it applies to food EB is the self crowned clown prince of cupcakery. Ergo, the Existential Baker’s answer to most queries is let them eat cupcakes. But that would be a self fulfilling and stomach filling prophecy. There are far more profound question at play here so let me get started. So which really did come first from an existentialist bakers point of view? In an attempt to avoid questioning the intentions of the chicken crossing the road or putting all the eggs in the same basket I developed an experiment. While at brunch this past weekend with a friend I gulped down my first mimosa then ordered a chicken salad for myself, and and egg salad for my guest. Now I wait to see which comes first. To my dismay, they arrive at our table simultaneously on the same tray, so I could only conclude that neither the chicken nor the egg arrived first.
How is this possible you ask? Well if instead of messing around with salads if I had ordered a bowl of primordial soup instead I would have found my answer. Primordial Soup is a delicacy in this era an a recipe passed down from more generations than one could imagine. The very first bowl of Primordial Soup, depending on which book you consult, was served up some three and a half billion years ago. At that time solar cooking was all the rage, and quite frankly the only available form of cooking. Not to get too technical, like most soups it begins with a mirepoix, the basic onion, celery, carrot, except this soup has a base of carbon .nitrogen, and potassium, lightly sautéed in ultraviolet and seasoned with various forms of sodium. Once these elements are translucent copious amounts of hydrogen is added and its allowed to simmer for a few million years. Once the soup is done its serve on a warm tectonic plate and served hot, much unlike revenge. The key to the significance of primordial soup is that during the simmer process an egg gets formed, and by the time the soup is fully done the egg is hatched and come out a fully cooked chicken. So from a strictly technical standpoint, it was the egg that came first, however it was the chicken that was the firt to leave the soup and walk out on its own. Whew, glad that’s out of the way, now on to the coolness of the cucumber.
Cucumbers are by nature a phallic shaped vegetable and the butt of many jokes. Joy toy look alike aside even before it had sexual reputation it was known for its coolness. Before it was cool it was used strictly by hipsters but only ironically. But what exactly made the cumber of cue cool? Well to begin with, its in the gourd family, infamous for their lack of sanity as in “Out of ones gourd”. How cool is that? But there’s more, the cool cucumber hangs out with the veggies but is in fact a fruit. Yea the sneaky cucumber has fooled grocers for generations who insist on placing them with the lettuces. These luscious garden favorites have been around since ancient Egypt and used as an anti swelling agent by early Roman soldiers. Not cool enough? Well what else do you know that gets sliced then placed on supermodels eyes to just hang out? Yes indeed, the cucumber has been cool ever since its mention in a poem from the 1700’s that stated, I am as cool as a cucumber, could see the rest of womankind. Cool!
So two myths explained, time to explore mans (or woman’s) ability to live on bread alone. While bread is indeed a food often eaten at Staples as well as being a staple food its nutritional value is relatively limited. If one opts to live only on the bottom of the food pyramid then one would survive for a period of time, but bear in min a pyramid is actually an ancient tomb and the antagonist of not too good schemes. But if you insist you will perish from malnutrition and all the carbs and gluten would make you unpopular in modern culture. Of course its not physically possible to live on bread alone but that’s taking it out of its original context anyway. The question arises in the bible when Jesus states man cannot in fact live on bread alone, but the J man always spoke in metaphors and was not a nutritional expert. Can one live without spiritual guidance? That’s the jist of the phrase as it was meant in the Bible and on that note I would have to answer no, man cannot live on staples alone he or she needs some form of profundity in their lives but not necessarily religion. If its religion you want there are a plethora of choices ranging from downright bizarre (cannibalistic or exo-planatery rituals) to the chanting monks with nothing to say. But organized religion is not needed, you merely need to use your imagination. Mediate, pray, or just communicate with life and you will have something of substance to go along with your emotional bread. Or bread an chocolate, that works too.
This brings me to my final culinary query for today, are we in fact what we eat? Well I’d imagine if it could reason a dung beetle would object to a simple yes and it’s a bit more profound than saying something ridiculous like “What am chopped liver” because that’s what you had for lunch. We are what we eat to a degree, without proper nourishment we would perish so by extension the healthier our food choice are the healthier our bodies will be. But as expressed previously we do not live on bread alone, and nourishing our bodies is essential but so as well is nourishing our minds, our souls. Eat healthy and go to the gym and your body will look good, but learn and experience, enjoy and smile, and you will feel good inside and out. Imagination is exercise for the mind and the more exercise you get the more muscular your brain will become, and the opposite sex digs big brain muscles.
Feeling good is one of the reasons we have foods that aren’t the healthiest choices but taste so damn good, like bacon, French fries, Doritos, or yes, chocolate cupcakes. What they lack in nutrients they make up for in endorphins that come rushing out of our pickled pituitary glands when food makes us feel happy. Foods such as cupcakes (shameless plug) release hormones in our brain that just make us feel good all over. But keep it in moderation, we should balance our feel good with our look good.
Beyond food there are things we ingest mentally that hold just as much significance as food. Take music for example. For me, rock and roll I like the powerful multi-vitamin of the brain. I personally love classic rock, which I suppose is like taking Centrum Silver, but it makes me feel good. Music is like soul aerobics, it makes us dance, or sway, it gives us words to think about, or draw emotion from, and it just plain feels great. Music nourishes the soul. Along with music, poetry, books, theater, and education are some other metaphysical foods that make us what we are. Digest as much as you can, read, feel, experience. They may not give you the body you want but a consistent diet of culture (no not yogurt culture) will help you attain the brain you’ve always dreamed of. Maybe that will be my next Niche. I’ll make a video called “A Healthy Brain In Three Weeks With The Existential Bakers Mind Diet” Maybe even spin off into “Brainweight Watchers” or “Cortex90 Hippocampus Fitness Workout”
So to review existentially, it doesn’t really matter which came first you still need to break some eggs to make a chicken omelet, if you keep chill you will be as cool as a cucumber, don’t put all your bread in one loaf, and if you really want to be healthy feed your mind and your body. Above all, excersize your imagination and challenge your mind always. Peace

Grimmer Than Grim Tales Presents, Sinner Ella, beneath the silver spike heel slipper

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A Sick Bastards Fairly True Fairy Tale
J.T. Hilltop

Part one: Dress for the job you want to give
What’s the deal with the story of a young chick who is tossed into servitude to her jealous step sisters and overbearing step Mom who magically transforms a pumpkin into a coach and herself into a diva to seduce a rich prince, then fleeing when time catches up with her. Not only that, she happens to leave behind a slipper luring the prince into a kingdom wide search for the fantasy woman’s foot who will fill that slipper. Lost slipper? Please! More like some Jimmy Choo”s Come hump me pumps she wore to entice Princey boy. Prince have a shoe fetish maybe? What kind of trickery is used to make mice look like horses? Who is this Fairy Godmother and why did the repo-man show up at midnight? Only the sick bastard can answer these poignant questions so here is JT Hilltops version of events from his “Sick Bastards Fairly True Fairy Tales.” I’m here to unravel the salacious subplot and reveal the half truths of this sacred story. Salacious indeed, the true tale, or should I say tail, has what it takes to rise up beyond your horny expectations. I hope to make it stand up in court and render an explosive climactic verdict. Open wide!

There’s many versions of this sordid tale but the most well known and accepted by far is the version told by our old pal and inspiration behind theme parkery Walter Disney. So that can only mean in my search for truth the sick bastard will begin to take that treasured tale and twist it into a warped shell of itself. This isn’t the fairy tale your mama read you at bedtime, this is the story of the not so innocent Sinner Ella, the shapely and strikingly beautiful high heeled seductress with a secret helper and a gift of satisfying the most voracious sexual appetite that give her a much needed advantage …With a Wham Bam Whatta Slam Bibbitty Bobbity Bada Bing Bada Boo!

Once upon a bunch of thyme the 21 year old gorgeous Ella Fuchs was a good cook and sandwich maker who understood the value of a well placed sexual favor. In and out of church she was known as Sinner Ella and her list of sexual accomplishments earned her the coveted “Peoples Choice of Jumbo Golden Globes Award.” Her home movies, be they consensually filmed or secretly filmed received an XXX rating. She used her sensual piercing cobalt eyes and thick alluring lips to render her an advantage with just about everyone. Just about. Her sexual antics seldom worked at the home in which she lived with her frigid old step-mother, Lady Tremaine and her two step sisters Drizzle and Anna Sthesia who could best be described as…..well, homely. They were jealous of Sinner Ella because as a child the pretty Ella had won Bare Naked Toddlers and Tiara’s one year and was headed for fame and fortune in the erotic film industry. That is until her Mom, Clover Honeybear Boobaleboo passed away leaving her alone with her father. The old boy didn’t trust himself around his sensuous daughter so he married Lady T. to help raise her and prevent him from a life of incestuous scandal. One night he went out for a pack of cigarettes and never returned. Poor Ella was forced to live a subservient lifestyle to the step sisters and step Mom. Sinner Ella prayed that one day someone rich would come by so she could use her oral wiles on him to get him to take her away. It was a sad situation but Sinner was sure that she could lick the problem.

Lady Tremaine was concerned about the competition Ella would give her own daughters so she destroyed all of Ella’s sexy gowns and threw away all her shoes. All except the one pair that Ella had hidden away, her no fail Jimmy Choo come and get me pumps with the spike heel and ankle straps. Sinner had seduced many a man and a half dozen women using her hump inducing pumps and she knew some day they would once again tickle the libido of someone who could free her from her circumstance. Some day!

“Ella you slut make us something to eat and don’t forget to feed Lucifer.” Drizzle seemed to enjoy ordering her slave girl around but Anne Sthesia was a tad more nice, knowing that Ella had a skillful tongue. Anna called from the bathroom, “Sinner, I need a towel to dry off.” Ella knew what that meant, it was more like a moistening up than a drying off. She put some chicken in the oven, fed the cat Lucifer, then headed up to the bathroom with a load of clean and folded towels. “Put the towels down and come lick me.” Anna was sitting on the edge of the tub so Ella put the towels in the cupboard and knelt down between Anna’s knees. She gently rubbed the inside of Anna’s soft white thighs. She hadn’t even been in the shower yet. Ella traced large circles around Anna’s thighs using her soft carnal touch making Anna breath hard before bending her head forward to allow her tongue to go to work, hungrily lapping Anna’s happy patch paying extreme attention to her glee spot. Ella knew exactly where to touch Anna who was gyrating her hips around Ella’s long curly blond hair letting out a soft “Ohhhh my” Ella’s instincts took over and she expertly plied her tongue vigorously as Anna’s moans got louder and louder until she climaxed. “Oh my God Anna, come bathe with me.” The two set in the warm water as Ella tenderly washed every inch of Anna’s body with soap and saliva. No sooner had she finished bathing her when Drizzle’s voice screeched out, “Maaaaa. They’re doing it again and she’s gonna burn lunch!”

Sinner Ella quickly jumped up from the tub, dried off, dressed and ran down to the kitchen where Lady T was waiting, face all scrunched up in a scowl. “God damn you little hussy you’ll be the death of us all. Keep your slutty girlie sex crap to yourself you dyke and finish cleaning up this house. I’m taking the girls shopping to get gowns for the Princes Balls. I mean the Princes Ball on Saturday. You make sure all the chores are done and maybe I’ll let you go too.” Ella smiled to herself dreaming that she could dance with anyone let alone a Prince, but she also doubted it would ever happen. Nothing good ever happened to Ella since her father abandoned her. She worried the only dancing she would ever be involved in was pole dancing or lap dancing at the “Daddy Issues Perve Palace Bar” in town. She obeyed of course, served the chicken lunch and then cleaned the rooms of the three witches that were ruining her life. After lunch Lady T took the girls out shopping while Sinner Ella was alone in the house dancing with a broom pretending it was a man. She then used that man to sweep up all the floors, then she cleaned the dishes and straightened out the living room. She looked over at the three piles of dirty clothes thinking her chores would never end.

While scrubbing the kitchen floor Ella heard the three shop till you drop self centered ladies come home all excited. “Come Sinner Ella, come see what we got for the Princes ball.” Drizzle held up a spectacular Ann Tyler Blue sequined full length gown with a long slit up the thigh. “Ewww Mommie, I like! I bet that Prince will want to do me right there on the dance floor.” She then opened a shoe box, “Especially when he see’s my sexy calves in these black leather Prada’s here.” Sinners heart sunk a she mumbled to herself “you mean steers there sweetie, your calves blew up years ago” But the shoes were remarkable. Patent leather Saffiano pumps in Nero black with two and a half inch heels. A shiny pointed toe shoe that would reveal just the right amount of toe cleavage. Sexy yet sensible they were quite hot, but still nothing compared to Ella’s erection enticing Jimmy Choo’s. If only she could wear them to the ball and dance with the Prince. If only! Then Anna held up her gown, a fiery red Jovani full length sleeveless V neck sure to highlight her more than ample cleavage. She would surely look super sexy in that number, but worse, on top of that she would be wearing silver Manolo Blahnik’s with open toe and jeweled bows. With nearly four inch heels they came pretty close to Ella’ shoes. “Ewwww, I’m gonna look hot. The hell with the Prince, I want to do the Princes sister.” Lady T slapped her daughter, “You better get that lesbian thinking out of your head right now. That’s for little trampy whores like Ella! Get to church tomorrow and pray away that gay!” At first Anna objected, “But Mommy dearest,” then thinking the better of it just said, “You’re right Mommy, I’ll go to church.” But the telling glance she gave Ella let them all know that no gay would

be prayed away anytime soon.

Still believing her Dad would one day return it surprised Ella when Lady T showed off her newly bought wardrobe as well. Ella was now certain her step Mom was as willing to entrap the Prince with womanly wiles as her daughters. Maybe she even believed she would fare better because Lady T held up a very sexy black appliqué cocktail ball dress that would reveal almost all of her back, much of her slightly sagging cleavage, and all of her long sensual legs leaving very little to the imagination. Spaghetti straps revealed most of her smooth skinned back and breast to take center stage to any mans eye and the sheer full length see through lace bottom made it one of the sexiest dresses Ella had ever seen. But the killer was when she pulled out a pair of shoes from the shoebox. Coal black Ostrich teazers with six inch spike heels with zipper up and straps to criss cross up her calves. Ella was stunned, shoes that rivaled her very own hump me pumps. Sinner Ella hid the tears that were sneaking down her cheeks and left to her room as Lady T bragged, “You ladies may have youth on your side but I’m gonna knock that Prince’s brains and wallet off and snuggle myself right into the castle with this number. I’ll have that young stud screaming my name and Gods name in the same sentence while begging me for more. I’ll show you how to bring the sexy girls, just you watch your cougar Mom tie a leash around his royal shlong! Get ready for a new Daddy girls, Mama T is brining sexy back!”
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