Tag: sarcasm

Yes, I Read A Clockwork Orange in My School Daze

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Lesson in Civility

I enjoyed to writing but it came as a surprise to most that I also loved to read. Many of the teachers believed that I didn’t read because they knew my “type”. That meant worthless lazy potheads who don’t have enough ambition to read. They took me for a non caring loser who didn’t give a shit about education. Most of the time I just thought ‘fuck them’ cuz they‘ll always think their better than us.. I had just finished reading a complex and unbelievably outrageous book called “A Clockwork Orange” in which the characters had their own slang language making it a more difficult read than most. I walked into Mr. Refester’s class prepared to debate the attributes in this fine book that was to be the focus of the days lesson. Refester, or Reefer as we called him, always tried to trip me up. For what ever reason this fucker really had it in for me. It was no surprise that he directed many questions to me in an attempt to mess me up but I had the proper answers. That pissed him off so with his stupid smirk he asked me what happened to the main character in jail. The character, Alex, had killed a fellow inmate and gotten deeper in trouble. When I relayed this info to Reefer he shot me a distain filled glare and revealed his stern teacher voice. “That never happened in the book JT that only happened in the movie. This proves you didn’t read the book, you only watched the movie. Try reading next time instead of taking the easy way out like always. You get a zero for the day.” I was angry beyond belief. I had not even seen the movie and I loved the book so much I read it twice. Well I let him know this in no uncertain terms but he didn’t hear a word I said. Instead he went into a tirade of what happens to lazy marijuana smoking kids who try to fool their teachers. There is no doubt in my mind my face went from crimson to purple with anger. Periwinkle purple if I remember my crayola’s correctly. Tired from working last night, still slightly buzzed from second period, and angry as castrated hornet I flipped. Sick and tired of being unfairly judged I stood up to better state my case and looked around the room at my peers to see who might lend me support. Anyone who read the book would know I wasn’t lying and that was what happened in the book. Every last one of them turned their heads, looked down at their desks, or just smiled in approval at the injustice being thrust upon your friend and narrator. So all alone I stood on my oddy knocky infuriated and decided to stand my ground. After offering my own version of the account and pleading my case, Reefer just stared at me and said ‘Sit down Mr. Hilltop. Maybe you didn’t hear me. You get a zero for the day.” That was the final drinking tube that crushed the dromedary’s back. I eyed the door, thought about my options and what would be the smart thing to do. I knew the right thing was to sit down, regroup and go find a copy of the book to prove my credibility. The right thing has never been my forte. With that in mind I mumbled “Fuck you” just loud enough for everyone to hear as the silence blanketed the room. I then thought what the fuck, might as well give a parting blow to the asshole spineless peers in my class as well. I walked towards the door as Mr. Reefer kept yelling at me to get back in my seat and sit down, but the ship had already started sailing and was probably gonna sink anyway. I wanted to leave no doubt that I had read the book so as I opened the door I turned to my classmates and using the books slang in my most silky golass I creeched, “You bunch of vonny grazzy devotchkas and chellovecks. Nary a one of you had the yarbles to open your silent rots and speak their golass on behalf of yours truly. I’ll not slooshy another slovo. You can all kiss my sharries. My appy-polly loggies to the young devotchkas but enough of this chepooka. Seems I will always be on my oddy knocky in this excuse of a classroom. Bog save you all my droogies” As I slammed the door for effect I started to regret my actions already but I knew it proved I was in the right and now the whole class would have no doubt, unless of coursse they didn’t read the book and didn’t understand the language I used. I was right right right but still in deep shit. I was scared but also hot and needed to talk to someone, so I went straight to the cafeteria to find just one of my droogies, er friends.
“Hey Patrick, whats up bro?” Patrick was a cool bud who seemed to be friends with everyone, jocks, hitters, greasers, hippies and even the brainiacs. But today he was alone at the table which was cool by me, I needed to calm down anyway. “Hey whats happening JT? You skip class man?” “Yea bro, something like that. Fucking just had a fight with Reefer and walked out of his class.” “Oh man that sucks. What a douche that fuckhead is. Come on over after school and I’ll sneak out the bamboo pipe.” Fucking A Patrick, you’re the fucking best. I know I’m gonna get in a shitload for this. I think I told him to fuck himself in front of the whole class.” At first Patrick looked at me with deer in headlight stare. I saw his eyes soften up and begin to cave in on the sides and he began his loud guffaw of a laugh he had become famous for. “Ah ha ha oh my gawd JT, you said it out loud? That’s the funniest thing I ever heard.” We both laughed for about five minutes and as soon as I composed my self I said “I don’t think Reefer thought it was funny. Anyway whadda ya gonna do? Fuck him.” “You may get in trouble JT, but it one helluva great story to have. We can talk about it later. C’mon over after school, I got some black hash that’s preamo.” “Thanks bro, we can always count on our friends. No one else, but always our friends.” No sooner had I said that when one of the school principals pets came up to me and said “Justin, Mr. Winston wants to see you.” “Yea, that sounds about right. Catch ya later Patrick. Right after school?” “No problem JT, I’ll be waiting.” Time to pay the piper, whatever the fuck that meant!

Dead To Writes

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eulogy
Beginning With My End In Mind.

I’m writing a eulogy for someone. It’s a person I know inside out, that’s been there for me through thick and thin. Someone I’ve known my entire life. Me. After all, I was there when I traveled down that birth canal without a paddle, I was there when the doc smacked my ass, and I’ve been with me ever since. Obviously I’m not dead yet, but I’ve been to too many funerals and heard too many eulogies to know that without my assistance in memorializing me it would lack the humor, conviviality, and sarcasm my last formal spoken memory should encompass. I don’t want my wife or my kids to struggle over what I would want said so I’m taking out the guesswork.
When I say I’m writing it sounds like I recently started it but the truth is its been a project now for a few years. I keep putting it on the back burner and tell myself “No worries, you have plenty of time.” Hope I’m right because I love writing and I’m not ready to stop. I still have way to many things to say. Ergo I write. I’ve got tons of other projects in the works. I’ve done quite a lot of writing over the years. I wrote poems, most of which suck, a song or two, also sucky, as well as a number of short stories. I’d like to write a few more before my best used by date. I’ve been working on a novel on and off that so far has taken up more than three years of my life. But fuck it at least I’ve settled on the title. Of course nothing is certain except taxes and de…….Nevermind! It’s the third title actually but I really like this one. And as of now only two or five chapters have been re-writes and I am relatively certain of its direction.. So between being the foremost authority on me combined with my love of writing, it only makes sense that I should write my own eulogy. In fact, I highly recommend it everyone but get started soon because its not as easy as it seems.
The first problem a writer encounters during their own eulogy is that dreaded re-write. Nothing is ever perfect. First I just change a word, then I change a sentence, and before I know it I’ve said fuck it and erased the whole thing just to start over. I have my strong finish, and my cheery opening, and know most of what I want to include so I just need to settle on the finality. As I was writing it I struggled with what my format should be.
After a number of musings and a fair amount of wine I finally settled on a basic format. The first paragraph should be about what I don’t want. I don’t want anyone to mention god in any way shape or form. I respect others faiths but I’m the dead one here so I call no mentioning god. Check that, god can be mentioned if its like “Oh my fuckin god he was a pisser“, or “god damn he was funny” or “oh god don’t stop, oh god yes,yes,yes” anything along those lines is permissible. Maybe the last one should be in the privacy of your own whereever. Also I don’t want anyone to say to my family that I’m with god now. If I’m wrong about the whole heaven and hell thing I’ll be taking the elevator to the basement anyway. That doesn’t mean you should tell them “It’s okay, he’s with Lucifer now” either. And by all means stay away from the clichés. “I’m sorry for your loss” sounds like something Mr. and Mrs. Hallmark says to their grieving loved ones. Just share memories and remember the good times. I’m not really going anywhere I just made it to the next level.
Also, I don’t want anyone reciting religious scriptures or saying prayer over me, especially a stranger. You want to pray do that shit on your own in silence. And pray for yourself not for me, I don’t want any prayers. I’m an existentialist, we don’t pray we think. So meditate, its my funeral and I’ll have it the way I want. Seriously guys it’s the most important day of my death so cut me some slack. Here’s what I want everyone to do. Laugh, tell jokes and funny stories, get drunk, sneak out and smoke a joint, do whatever you need to do to make it fun. Thats what I want, a fun funeral like Chuckles the clown got. I want people to say “Damn I wish he was alive so he could die again. What a great time I had. This was the best funeral I’ve ever been to.” That shit would please me to no end. Maybe even make a dead man smile. And please don’t worry about making me blush I have no circulation.
The next stipulation was to honor me as my life was. I ask for a mug of beer. The good shit too, not that crap beer flavored water, but a good craft brew. It’s not like you need to buy it for me ever again. Next to that a shot of vodka, preferably Grey Goose. Leave them at a table as if I were sitting there and then have a party. My son will toast me adios ghost by downing the vodka at the end of the night. No sense in wasting good vodka!
The final stipulation was choosing a good play list. I may be dead but that’s no reason I should be subjected to crap music. No disco, no opera, no hymns. Good music, party music, maybe a tribute to the different decades. Ones with a good beat that you can dance to. I made a list of all my favorite tunes and even chose a few lines of lyrics to highlight that meant something to me. I don’t want my dead spirit to rest in peace I want it to Rock In Peace!
As far as what’s done to my remains, here’s where it gets a bit dodgy. Realistically whoever gets left behind should choose what to do with the physical remains cuz they’ll be dealing with them, I’m moving on sans remains. If it were up to me I actually have two choices. One to be put into a compost somewhere so I can continue to enrich the earth. A sort of true eternity, always contributing life back somewhere. But as I understand it that’s complicated. The second wish is that whatever is left, be it bone or ash, be buried under a dance floor at a popular club. How cool would it be to have thousands of people dancing on my grave?
By far the writing of the eulogy is what was the most difficult. I had to write it with humor, candor, and a degree of sensitivity. As much as I’m writing it for myself, my family will hear it as well so its probably not the best time to let out any secrets. But it will give me an opportunity to let everyone know I don’t regret dying, I had a wonderful life. Hard as it may be I’d prefer people be happy for me. It’s the loved ones left back on earth that need consoling, not me. I’m the lucky one, I’ve gone to those proverbial greener pastures.
I believe I am about three quarters done with it but as some of you may know once I get started I sometimes become long winded. Sometimes I just go on an on and on about this and that until….never mind. I’ll just say its close to being done. I’m trying to so as much of the event planning as possible. I‘m a really good cook and I wish I could do the cooking but that would be way too creepy. The party is almost there. I’ll tell you one thing having almost completed the written segment of my passing has been quite liberating. I feel like once I finish this eulogy I’ll be ready to move on, to go wherever it is I go, to say good by sweet world. In fact I know I’ll be ready to take the next step. Bring on the closure! ………..Then again, maybe I’ll put it on the back burner just a little longer………….PEACE

The Copperfield Christ

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Forward

Lucifer, Beelzebub, The Antichrist, Fallen Angel, Prince of Darkness, Ozzie Osborne, whatever name he goes by he is the devilish serpent in charge of all things evil. Satan is one bad ass Samuel Jackson. He’s the Mothah of all fuckahs and he will strike down upon thee with GREAT vengeance. Essentially Satan is the dark angel of everything fun. Wait! I mean evil, yea that’s it, evil! Satan wants us doing nothing but eating forbidden fruits all day and night. But not God! Oh no, God is good God is great. He’s our lord god in heaven. Blessed are the meek, the lord is my shepherd I shall not want. This is the sort of crap I was taught as a kid anyway, before I uncovered Godgate, The great god Swindle. It’s a scandal of biblical proportions making Noah’s soggy story more like a three hour tour ending up on an uncharted dessert isle. The truth took some serious feather ruffling and that don’t fly with me. It started before the birth of Jesus and continued until the truth became so blurry they should give Claritin instead of wafers at communion. How did I get there?
Like most kids I was raised to believe unconditionally and to never question authority. Besides questioning why was unfulfilling and always ended up in the same old cul e sac. “Because I said so!” Please that’s the best you got? WTF? There isn’t a Vulcan worth their pointed ears that could find a nano sliver of logic in this ridiculous answer! Fascinating! Seriously, it has no empirical value and is tediously rhetoric. It’s an answer that defied challenge for one reason. I was unable to respond it because “that’s just the way it is and I could like it or lump it.” It‘s the law! I grew up I learned a lot about laws. How to bend, break, twist, and get around them. I also learned that not obeying laws can have consequences. Bad consequences, like incarceration or fines. Then one day I heard someone mistakenly say, “Laws are made to be broken.” Epiphany.
I wondered why laws were created in the first place? Laws of the people and for the people to keep the “authorities” in control. Laws were made after someone did something authorities didn’t like. Yea,yea, I hear you, laws are the framework of a civilized society, to protect people from those who may take advantage of others and shit. But who is making those laws and more disconcerting who is making sure the laws are being followed by the ones who made them? Laws by nature are bathed in hypocrisy. It’s illegal to steal from another human being, but its okay for some humans to steal gestating babies from chickens. Stealing eggs and selling them is okay. A stretch I agree, but fundamentally we allow some humans to make money stealing from animals, capturing them and raising them for anything from shoes to coats to dinner or to lab experiments. That however is a different fight. My focus today are laws.
There’s a mysterious group of humans known only to us as “They.” They say it may rain, they say you only live once, they say you can’t take it with you, they care about you, they paved paradise and put up a parking lot. “They” are in charge, and “They” make the laws. They make them because we don’t know how to live life fairly. They decide what the proper punishment should be for our crimes. They do this for our own good. They sound so…..parental!
I was born with a rebel spirit and I had a problem with authority from the start. When Mom told me alcohol was bad I started drinking, when she told me marijuana would lead to heroin I smoked pot, when she told me masturbating would make me go blind I…….. lets just say I have first hand experience in the art of self autoeroticism and I still have 20/20 vision. Rebel spirit caused me to question everything. EVERYTHING! Mom forced me to attend Sunday School, and one day I was cutting out with a friend to smoke cigarettes behind some trees. We got to talking about all the fun we were missing out on and it came around to old Lucifer. Why is Satan portrayed as evil and horrible if he insists we do things that make us feel good? Satan encourages sex and god forbids it if his conditions are not met. Unmarried sex is forbidden. Sex between members of the same sex is forbidden. Why would God make sex feel so fucking good and then forbid us to do it how we like? Not having sex can make horny teen boys unpredictable and stress them out making them violent. What’s the point of dangling a carrot (phallic symbol alert) in front of the horses mouth? Why make it a sin to do things that feel so good. The big guy talked to Moses disguised as a burning bush (another symbol alert). Then he laid down some laws. A few were more common sense than laws like don’t steal or kill people, but others a tad vague. I’m not allowed to covet my neighbors wife. I didn’t even know what covet meant, I had to look it up. If he doesn’t want us desiring why does he make us all so damn sexually attractive? He made flowers with their organs hanging all out in the open and has us staring at their gonads saying, “Oh how pretty” and even sticking our noses right into their floral sex canals to breath in the sweet aroma of desire. We can covet the hell out of flowers, but don’t gat caught looking at your neighbors cleavage, that’s a sin!. My favorite law is no worshipping images. Oh, like the cross? Statues, busts, paintings, rosaries, all sorts of ways to pay homage via an image. Today there isn’t a Christian alive that doesn’t worship some company logo! (No coincidence the leading iLogo is Apple) So I’m not buying into these laws, or “commandments” that are being force-fed to us through religion. That’s why I started the investigation in the first place. Unfair laws.
I don’t mean to take his name in vain but God damn they made a lot of laws back in the century! And God has us jumping through hoops still today. He makes us pray, assemble in buildings on the day of his choice, and makes us get all dressed up just to listen to how bad we are. Then he makes us give money to the dude that just read us the riot acts. He makes us sit on wooden benches til our asses have cheek bruises plus we gotta kneel down before him. First he makes us pray, then he makes us look like fools by singing songs we really don’t like or fully understand. “Ave Maria!”, “He walks with me and he talks with me“, “Nearer my god to thee“, “The rugged cross“, all such repetitive songs. Who wrote these hymns the Dr. Seuss of Christianity? “Onward Christian soldiers“….Hey! Wait a minute, whaddaya mean soldiers? Is god indoctrinating us to fight a crusading war? Or maybe, just maybe it’s a ploy by god to make us look like jerks sinning silly songs sans karaoke. Maybe god’s pranking us with all those laws! Otherwise why would we follow him and obey all his rules without raising a question. Because he said so?! Oh I get it, god is a Mom!
I can’t except not asking questions. Questions are the main reason I began this investigation in the first place. I wanted to find out who God was and who Satan was, and how the Bible came to be the defining word on humanity. My investigation took me back to the fourth century and I uncovered secrets that have been kept for thousands of years. Are we worshipping the right entity or was there a major switcheroo and ultimate coupe de gras? One thing is for sure, the struggle for power today has deep roots that go way back. You’ve heard the stories “They” want you to hear, now hear the stories that have been buried, and the people that were killed just for talking the truth in caverns, taverns, and campfires throughout the Middle East. Read carefully and choose what you believe wisely. The truth may not set you free it just may scare the Hell out of you!. Or into you.

Writing The Great American Cupcake

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Butcher, Baker, Story Maker

I am a chef by profession, a baker by accident, and perusing my original passion by choice. Before its too late. That means writing, using words to formulate artistic expression from the rambling thoughts that burn within this cranium. Or hippocampus or whichever part of the brain deals with the mysterious and unexplainable mental explosions.
I first got into cooking as a way to make money. I was 16 and already a rebel spirit who didn’t fully understand that knowledge was power. It wasn’t easy knowing everything but it was a chore I took on gleefully, making sure everyone knew how clever I was using my biting sarcasm. I had a decent job in a restaurant and knew I could do it all on my own and had no need extended education. Besides, I needed beer money, weed money, money to entertain lady friends, and money to save for a better ride. A beat up VW was cool for smoking pot with the guys but not much of a chick magnet. With only my beetle to cruise for love with I had to rely on my unyielding charm in order to get laid. Fate introduced me to a free-spirited hippie chick and then began its legendary twisting. Hence life snuck up on me and I found myself with a pregnant girlfriend. Ever the idealist I did the honorable thing and got married. We gave it our best go but it meant trading in my dream of writing the worlds hippest novel to a attending cooking school so I could raise a family. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about today, that’s just a situation that took me off the course of chasing what I wanted, to become a writer. Missed opportunities but WTF.
I’m still cooking for a living. I did do some butchering, I worked at a number of high end New York City Restaurants, and food became my focus and my passion. The years pealed by and I became better and better at cooking, and more and more knowledgeable about food. It sidelined my passions until now. So this tiny segment of the writing world is where I am, and as small as my audience is they are faithful and encouraging. I was fortunate to have trained under a French chef who was young, passionate about food, and very cutting edge. He taught me technique, dexterity, and how to convert my pent up creative energy into food. He showed me that cooking can be more than just a job, it can be a creative outlet. That’s when I realized that writing is not so different that cooking. They both involve all the senses, as a chef I need you to enjoy the smells, textures, and tastes, and I need to make you see the beauty in my presentations and hear the sounds of what eating good food brings forth. Proper cooking is performance art. A writer needs to make you feel the same things without any props, with only words. We can’t use color, texture, aroma, taste or sound, we have to make the reader sense them, believe that they are right there.
That when I thought about this experiment. To describe the parallels between writing and cooking as it relates to science and art. Since cupcakes are what have become my marked territory these days, I’m writing the great American cupcake.
The first thing I do is conceive the composition of my cupcake. What the main flavor, where will I start it and how will I get to the end. So I don’t know what my finished product will be, but I know where to start. Once begun the cupcake will write itself. So I gather the basic elements of the story and place them all in a mixing bowl. Once in the bowl they blend together and begin to take shape. I have the basic start, the batter. Chapter 1.
Now I know what the cupcake will be about and its time to fill in the events. I need to follow some structure so the batter is symmetrical and forms in a manner consistent with the rest of the finished cupcake. If I baked the ingredients before mixing, the storyline of the cupcake wouldn’t make sense. It needs to have integrity. I choose what size pan and fill the batter in. Now its time to place it in the oven and let things begin baking. But at what temperature? That decision creates the first conflict the cupcake faces as the true story takes shape.
After the conflicts have percolated enough and resolutions have been achieved the cupcake comes out of the oven. I have my base and I set up the standards to follow. The look, smell, and taste of the story will remain consistent from here but I must add some more flavor and juicy situations, and of course some more conflicts. My brain has been working overtime, so now I need to decompress a bit. I let the story cool and I get drunk. Not because I want to, but because my art is so important to me I need to suffer. Hangover, here I come.
A good three bottles of wine and restless sleep has worked wonders for my cupcake bakers block. Idea’s course through my head while I’m in the shower. Why always in the shower?? I get my best ideas when I’m wet, naked, and without paper or pen nearby. My wife merely shakes her head as I run dripping wet from the shower to the desk to try and commit the recipe to paper. She suggests a small tape recorder but my problem is I’m old school, and my creativity runs through my fingers. Besides, I hate the sound of my own voice, it makes me sound so dorky.
At any rate the pounding of hot water on my body shook loose a new cupcake plot twist. A pomegranate and plum custard filling! A cupcake love triangle, which always interests the reader! So be it, the very second I arrive at the bakery I take out my keyboard and begin to prepare the tasty custard, with its silky rich texture. Once it becomes cool enough I inject all that drama into the center of the story. Now the cupcake continues to write itself and takes shape. But this is the tedious part, filling in all the cracks. Maybe I should go back and rewrite part of the cupcake, I sense that something about it just isn’t perfect. I struggle with the cupcake for days and finally decide to keep going to the end when I will edit the whole thing.
Now for the icing on the cake. (that wasn’t an analogy, its time to ice the cupcake) I won’t say the icing is the most important part of the story, but it has to have a powerful statement, and have the consumer understand how the entire cupcake came to this point. It needs to leave a lasting impression. Maybe even set it up for a cupcake sequel.
The finish has to have everything. The look, the feel, the taste, and a sense of continuity leaving the one eating it with a sense of closure. After ingesting the tastes the reader has vested so much personal time in its impotents to reward them with a strong finish, the story should leave a good taste in the readers mouth and hopefully such a good taste they will think about the baker next trip to the bookstore.
I guess what I’m really saying here is directed to the young written (or typed) word expressionists here. Never quit, never give up. If you have to take on a job to live do it, but continue to write in your spare time. All your work is worthy, don’t toss any away. Even when you get pissed at what you wrote and in a fit of self deprecation decree your work unworthy don’t. Put it aside, pour a vodka, light a joint, meditate, so whatever calms you down and chill. Rest the brain waves for a while. I have a few notebooks of written emotion that have been discarded and sent to a senseless death. Keep writing, keep dreaming, keep believing. A cupcake will go stale but a great idea will last forever if you put it into words…..PEACE

Busted, Disgusted, and Can’t Be Trusted (the consequence)

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Be wise and don’t wise of to a southern cop. Especially if he’s your jailor

The Brutal Truth
This was no Sunday stroll these two backwoods hooligans planned to take me on. As I was escorted down one corridor I noticed a cigarette machine with a paperback book on top. Thinking I may need some reading material over the next who knows how many days, I grabbed the book as we went passed without the goon squad seeing it. We made many turns and I was confused about where I was until we stopped at a door that said “Interrogation Room” If I was confused before, I was completely perplexed now. Not sure what interrogating planned but I h they had a nervous feeling about their interpretation of the word interrogate. As it turned out, having nothing to interrogate was the plan. Jimbo opened the door and led me inside. It was a relatively empty room. Four chairs, three on one side of a small wood table, and one lonely chair on the other. It was apparent which one was mine and Jimbo led me right over to it and signaled for me to sit down. Nervously, I sat. It was Billy who spoke as Jimbo moved the other chairs and the table to the corner. “Boy, we need to git an unnerstandin’ tween us here. Firstly, I done never wanna here ya call any of us law officers turn-key again. That get through all that hair into yer brain boy?” With serious alarm I shook my head yes. I was in a very precarious position and was quickly weighing my best options. He stared at me with razor eyes and said “I caint hear you boy, I asked if yew understood!” I sheepishly let out a soft ”yessir.” I was taken aback at how wimpy it sounded. Even the echoing on the near empty room was scoffing at me. Jimbo lifted his right foot up in the air and brought it down hard. He kicked me with his “County issue” stiff leather boot. He had reached up higher than I would have thought he could manage with his roly poly body and landed the heel of that boot directly in the muscle portion of my left bicep. Both me and the chair were caught off guard (pun intended) and went sailing across the floor in search of the wall. My head hit something hard, and I knew I had found the target. A flash of pain and a second of darkness warned me a major headache would accompany me later. Jimbo walked over to my shaking body and got about an inch away from my ear. “He asked you if you got that boy? You lose yer tongue or sumpin?” He didn’t need to scream so loud, what with me being a half inch away and all, but he did feel a need to cover my ear in spit as he yelled. Now I was at a horrible disadvantage and needed to react quick to win these guys over and get out of here. I looked him in the eye and said clearly “Yes sir, I got it. I will not call you turn-key ever again.” It took about all the strength I could muster to say it. Billy was picking me up and Jimbo assisted the chair. “Now that’s much better boy” Billy was now speaking with an air of superiority that he enjoyed immensely. “Sit back down now boy, we don’t want you falling off your chair agin y‘all might hurt yerseff” Big bad Jimbo leaned down to my dry ear and began to talk in a half whisper. “Let me tell ya how this is gonna go here yankee boy. We dun like no strangers comin roun here causin no trouble. We don like you, but y’all gonna be here a while so you need to git the rules straight. Theys pretty simple. Rule one, we are always in charge and you nevah nevah talk back to any one of us.” I was nodding my head in agreement, but before I could get a word out, Billy Boy had whacked my left calf with his baton so hard I felt fire surging up my leg and go numb in seconds. First pins and needles then my calf was throbbing. Jimbo looked over on the floor saw the book that took flight when me and the chair went airborne. With a mocking disgusted look he picked it up. “Boy, now what the Hell is this? Lookie here Billy, hippie boy done stole someone’s book.” He shook his head like the condescending asshole he was, “ Now see , hairbag, this is just the kind of thing we wants to avoid. Where’n the hell y’all get this?” I gently shook my head trying to think of an answer that would appease him, but to no avail. “Nevernin boy, it ain’t matter no how.” He placed the book up to my temple, pulled back his baton to hit the book so hard my head snapped back. A new pain shot through my head. Throbbing, burning, and pounding like I had never experienced before. The chair and I both tumbled to the ground again. Billy walked over to where I had fallen, and stepped hard on my calf. “Is this the spot where you hurt yaseff boy?” I felt throbbing all over, in my leg, my head, and now in my stomach. When I looked up Jimbo was standing over me with his baton by his side and a sadistic smile on his face. I felt nausea whirling up and feared if I puked it would just piss them off more. It snuck up into my mouth and I clenched it shut and swallowed. It was even worse than the mornings year old oatmeal. I was having trouble breathing which is when I realized I had just been whacked in the stomach with his baton. Now my solar plexus and ribs ha joined in the misery. My head was spinning and my eyes had teared up and I everything looked blurry. Jimbo picked me up and locked my arms behind me. Billy took the book I had found, and placed on my temple again, and whacked the book again. He moved the book to various places on my face and continued the beatings. “See boy, you did us a favor with this here book y’all stole. Ain’t gonna be no marks on yer face, but I bet its gonna hurt for a long time comin’ You ain‘t gonna steal no more books, are ya?.” Jimbo sat me down in the chair, or should I say threw me into the chair where I collapsed in pain and exhaustion. I could hardly breathe, and barely speak. I looked up through the tears in my eyes and watched them parading around with ugly satisfied looks on both of their faces. The beatings continued for what seemed like an hour, but was more likely only five or ten minutes. They applied the book and baton combination to various body parts, mostly concentrating on my face and arms. It was accompanied with their hideous sadistic laughter. They were seriously enjoying it but I was beginning to fade in and out of consciousness and began numbing up. I swallowed another mouthful of vomit for fear of worse beatings. My entire body was throbbing and aching, and Billy got right in my face again. “So I think we have us an unnerstandin’ here, right boy?” He pointed the baton to my face and smacked it with his other hand. The hard wood made a direct hit to my nose and I could immediately feel blood trickling down my face. It took every ounce of strength to just nod yes. Satisfied, Billy stood up and smiled at Jimbo. “I think he unnerstans Jimbo. Maybe we should get this nice young law breaker something to drink, he looks like he has a mighty thirst. Maybe you better fill out a report bout how he got into a fight with another inmate. Use Chester this time” They both laughed. Billy left the room and Jimbo picked up the paperback and handed it to me. “Keep it son, you earned it. Now don’t y’all go nowhere ya hear me?” I looked up at him but everything was still blurry. I knew he was very close because I could smell his stale smoke breath. He grabbed my pony tail and lifted me off the chair, put his forearm to my chest and flung me as hard as he could into the wall. I collapsed and just laid on the floor, not sure if I couldn’t move or just didn’t want to. He threw what I hoped was a clean handkerchief at me and told me to clean myself up. I heard the door close and sensed I was alone. I think I cried as the blood from my nose was thinned out with tears.
After abut a half an hour I scrambled to stand up but fell again. I couldn’t put any pressure on left leg without feeling intense pain. I managed to climb onto the chair and rubbed my leg. My head and face took turns pounding out a tribal beat. I could actually feel the blood coursing through my veins as though my defense system was an ER on full alert. Blood to the injured areas, STAT! Blood rushing to my injure face, my swollen forehead, and my still throbbing leg. I was breathing hard and the dried blood on my nose made it more difficult. My ribs and my stomach hurt. I had been worked over real good, like Cool Hand Luke. Now a puddle of crying beat up excuse of a man was sure his street creds were all but over.
The door opened up and it was Jimbo again. “C’mon boy, it’s time to take you home.” He walked up close and stepped hard on my foot with his fat ass digging in his leather heel. A twist for good measure then a sarcastic smile and wink. Billy walked in with a bottle of water and threw it at me. “See boy, we takes good care of our crimy-nals in these parts. I sure hopes we got us a good unerstanding now.“ They each got on one side of me and basically carried me out of the interrogation room and back down some more corridors until we reached the general population of the jail. I was hobbling along limping and bent over like a captured animal. It was as if they were parading me around all proud of how tough they were to beat up a prisoner and making a statement to the others about who is in charge. They walked me to my cell and tossed me towards my bed. I plopped down on my mattress. They left and I just laid down and started to re-live the beating. Everything hurt. My face felt swollen and my spirit had been broken. I was barely conscience of my surroundings, but I heard noises all around me. After about a half hour, I fell asleep and dreamed. I had one of the most vivid dreams of my life. I dreamed I was going to a big mansion somewhere in the sky, and wondered if I was dying. The song “Spirit in the Sky” played over and over in the dream. I was in and out of lucidity for the rest of the day and night. Tomorrow would be another day

Cupcake Tops With Peeps?? Off With Their Heads

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Watch Me Pull An Easter Bunny Out Of My Hat

Another holiday another challenge. It doesn’t matter your culture, your religion, or your nationality, if it’s a holiday and your in the food business in any form, you need to know all about it. That’s how an existentialist baker ends up being challenged with tapping into the cultural aspects of holidays like the one facing me now, Easter. Yea, yea, yea, I get it. Palm Sunday Jesus came to town on his ass (I have to admit hearing this as a kid made me chuckle). Him and a dozen compadres ate together for the last time and it was a feast fit for a vampire. All body and blood. One of the twelve dudes dropped a dime on the J man and Roman guards whipped him and then crucified him. A few days later his ghost rose from the dead and they proclaimed it a holiday. Celebrating his death seems counter-intuitive but religious obsevervances have always befuddle me a bit.
No matter, I’m not making a cupcake that rises from the dead nor am I making one out of wafers or wine. I am tapping in to the cultural aspects of Eater. The happy stuff, like the candy part. So what do I have to work with? Chocolate bunnies are too old school and besides, they already have a stronghold just being themselves. Jelly bean are a must, I can do something with those classic favorites. What else? Peeps! Now there a tradition worth raising some insulin levels over. A marshmallowy ball of cooked sugar coated in……more sugar of course. Only colored sugar.
Not just yellow anymore, these stretchy marshmallow treats shaped like little chicks come in array of color these days. Pink, Green, Blue, purple, and the old standby, yellow. And not just little chicks, these Easter basket must haves can be either a chick or a bunny. Gender appropriate candy, amazing how much we have evolved. Evolutionary advances aside, I plan to stick to the original. Well original shape anyway. So I’m set. I will use jelly beans for one and Peeps for the other.
Just making a jellybean cupcake or a marshmallow cupcake is not much of a challenge for The Existential Baker. I need to dig deep own into my creative culinary depths and so something different. So not cupcakes for this holiday, but Cake Sliders. Or maybe I’ll call them stuffed cupcake tops!? Elaine made it work with muffins on Seinfeld so WTH?
The first one will be Stuffed Jellybean Cupcake Tops. Now I am somewhat of a jellybean aficionado. Gourmet, No name, spiced, Jelly Belly, all brands, all types. I’ve tried them all. (with the exception of the jelly bean featured in Harry Potter. However, if they were available to me…..) But The Existential Baker can’t just make what he like best, I need to make what works the best for my cupcakateers. After careful sampling of a number of easily available jellybeans it hit me like a sugar rush. A stomach ache. After a few Zantacs and some Pepto, I went back to my notes and discovered that the winning bean contestant was the “LifeSaver” brand jellybeans. Why them? None of them singularly overpowers the others, the coloring and size is perfect, and the flavors blend effortlessly. Since there are apparently no beans left from the testing I went out and got ssome more.
My first attempt was a bit of a disaster. I placed some vanilla cake batter in the whoopee pans, topped them each in an artistically arranged collage of jellybeans and popped them in the oven. Cooking time is about 12 minutes so I checked them after about six. To my dismay the designs had sunk to the bottom and seemingly disappeared. No worries, I’ll flip them over when they finish and cool. Uh uh..No, no, no! Thee delectable cute innocent jellybeans refused to let go of pan. The cake part had no such attachment and instead of having my base I had to carefully clean the mess and start again.
Once bitten twice shy I settle on the same theme with a new approach. This time I filled the pans with vanilla cake batter and right into the oven. After six minutes I removed the pans, sprinkled them with jellybeans in a totally random pattern and back into the oven. It had to be done quickly and efficiently, and I felt like the Jason Bourne of cupcakery. Identity, Supremacy, and Ultimatum. The most perfect looking cupcake tops ever. Randomly arranged and barely beginning to show signs of melting they were a masterpiece. Now to cool and fill.
A variety of flavors began dancing in my mind. What best to fill these beauties? I settled on a strawberry custard and chopped up the remaining jellybeans and folded then inside. The result was a pleasing pastel pink custard dotted with an assortment of tiny bright-colored jellybean segments. I placed a scoop of the delish filling on top of half my cupcake tops, reserving the prettiest ones for the toppers. Another success for the EB’s guests at Jarets Stuffed Cupcakes this weekend. But I’m not done there, I need to do something with the Peeps.
“Peeps for my Peeps” cake sliders take center stage to the cupcake tops understudies. This time I used a heart shaped pan, because I love my peeps. Not the candy, my peeps. Yea, I have peeps! A few anyway. But I digest, lets move on. This was a bit more of a challenge for a few reasons. First those cute little chickies are hard to cut up, and if you put them in a bowl together they begin to re-knit into a glob of marshmallow madness. The other challenge was the presentation. What I wanted to do was top each heart shape slider with a head of the Peep. Just the head, the whole Peep would look messy. But will the EB look like a murdering marauder who hangs the heads of his prey like a trophy on the wall? A game hunter proudly displaying his kill for all to see atop a cake slider? Will it cause lasting scars on the hearts of my little peeps? Will my peeps children forever view me as the villain that slew packets upon packets of sugary chicks removing their heads? Profound quandary. I mean after all I am a lifelong pacifist. I admit to killing more than one lobster during my days of restaurant life. That lobster scream still ways on my conscience. But these Peeps are not and never have been alive. So I can move forward with eight inch chef knife in hand and remove the heads of my peeps. The candy, not the people.
There it is. Heart shaped chocolate and vanilla sliders waiting patiently to morph into a treat. I had reluctantly beheaded all the colored Peeps and set them aside. What to do with the bodies? Wrap them up in blankets and toss them in the sink? No, no way. I want the short temporary lives of those seasonal marshmallow favorites to mean something. So I cut them into pieces. This created another problem. As I mentioned they have an uncanny ability to reform into larger pieces of themselves in various shapes. My solution was to cut and mix in small batches using some marshmallow fluff to keep them bound . Success! Next I took said mixture of mallows and folded them into some vanilla mousses. The result was a bowl of marshmallow mouse dotted with pastel pieces of Peeps. A scoop on a heart shaped cake, topped with another heart happed cake, then adorned with a small dollop of buttercream. Then the prized peep head went on top. Cute, but I feel like they are all looking at me now. Menacingly!! How I suffer for my art!!
Happy whatever you celebrate. If you don’t celebrate any specific occasion, then Happy Life.. What better to celebrate than that???….Peace

Unholy Thursday (the last straw)

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Man, that dinner was to die for!
Now neither Cosmo nor Jesus had any clue what was going on and they just kept on trying to save the garden. Cosmo created more miracles to enhance Jesus’ image and Jesus kept teaching and preaching all over trying to get the youmans back to global synergetic activity. He was gaining ground but his message was being misinterpreted. He became very frustrated and began referring to Cosmo as God just like the people did, and he even went as far as to use it as a threat. “You need to seek Gods forgiveness for your sins or he will bring great misfortune upon you.” It seemed to work so much better than plain old reasoning. People trembled at his feet, washed his feet, kissed his feet (Which really pissed Mary the jealous off). They were worshipping not only this God, but Jesus as well. The ego stroked so often becomes inflated to a huge hard self centered chaotic balloon. . (much like the body part that had caused so much of the situations herein). What I’m saying here is went to Jesus’ heads. Both of them! He began to believe he could control these mere mortals. He was healing crippled people, lepers, and handing out forgiveness as if he himself were a full fledged god. On one very memorable occasion he came into a temple while traveling through Jerusalem and did not like what he saw. Old people playing bingo for money, a flea market of rip off sellers, sex being sold openly, and no one seemed to care he was there. He went up to a money monger who was conning people with a game of three card Monty and tossed the cardboard box with the cards and cash all over the floor. Everyone stopped and stared mouths agape as Jesus yelled, “Get out all of you! Get out! This is supposed to be a place of worship but you have made it a den of thieves. Get out!” Everyone left uncomfortably thinking that Jesus had just had a breakdown, and Caiaphas saw this a the perfect chance. He got Annas and told him to set the plan in motion. The end of Jesus was in sight and Cosmo was at the District visiting Mary Anne and was unable to step in and help.
It’s well documented how Judas betrayed Jesus just before their big dinner but there are a few undocumented occurrences that were left out. First of all it wasn’t supposed to be the last supper, it was an awards dinner where Jesus was gonna give props to his twelve disciples. Before dinner Judas came up to Jesus really high on opium and tried to lay a sloppy French tongue sporting kiss on Jesus while at the same time reaching down and massaging his rod and staff. Concerned when his man meat began to respond eagerly he through Judas away. “Judas stop this sinning. I don’t want you to do that.” Judas was now spurned and yelled “Cut out the dramatics you know very well you want me to do it. Fucking A, now I’m glad I told that fucking Lucifer where you would be!” Silence spoke volumes. Judas had thrown Jesus under the bus and the shit was about to hit the fan. Tears welled in Jesus’ eyes, “Judas, must you betray me with a kiss?” Judas took his seat and sat in silence, ashamed of what he had done. Jesus took his place at the head of the long table.
“My faithful, this was meant to be an award dinner to show my appreciation for you, but it seems we have a traitor amongst us this eve.” All eyes turned toward the nodding out Judas Iscariot. Jude tried to play it cool, “What? Wait, you all think its me? Fuck each one of you all have skeletons in your closets. Paul, did you tell Jesus about the goosing you gave Mary? Oh yea, that’s right Jeez, Paully boy was hitting on your honey. And the murdering Thomas who has actual skeletons after killing the women who doubted his sexual orientation.. And you Bart, any mention of the crown of thorns you made for Caiaphas? Didn’t think so.” Jesus cut him off loudly. “Enough! That’s enough, its over. Okay, here’s the deal, They are going to crucify me, shortly after dinner tonight. Some of the hotels already have ’Jesus Slept Here’ signs in front of their hostels.” Peter spoke up, “No, it can’t be true messiah!” Jesus looked sadly at denying desciple, “Peter, Peter, Peter, you know its going to happen. I know you’ll deny this but I heard you tell Simon it was going down tonight.” Peter objected, “No, its not true.” J man just shook hi head. “I swear, its untrue Jesus, I said nothing!” Jesus turned to Andrew and whispered, “Check this out, he will deny it again. Three time he’ll deny it.” Everyone was looking at Peter except Simon, who was looking up at the ceiling and whistling hoping to be undetected and left out of the conversation. Peter stood, “It’s not true.” Andrew addressed the group,“ ”Holy defecation, its as Jesus predicted, Peter denied it three times.” Sensing the dinner was getting out of control the leader stood up and grabbed a goblet of wine. He held the goblet high, “Drink my faithful, drink your wine as it were my blood.” The men all looked at each other in confusion. Blood? Its fucking wine! But hey, oh, this is Jesus talking so they humored him. All guzzled their wine with abandon muttering things like “Yes, your blood. Uh huh, were drinking your blood JC.” Then Jesus held up a loaf of bread and began ripping parts off and handing it to each man. “Eat this bread as it were my body.” Now the men were thinking that maybe Jesus was tripping or something, but they obliged, each filling their goblets of wine to the top before taking the bread.. The rest of the meal was silent, most wondering if Jesus should be committed.
By the time they were finished, more wine had been consumed than food. One by one the men passed out where they sat. All but one. Jesus wasn’t tripping, he wasn’t even drunk. He was wondering what the fuck happened to Cosmo and why he had left him alone to face this. He looked up towards the eternal clouds and clasped his hands. “Pops, where are you? Do you know what they are doing to me? Okay, I know you did the miracles and shit so I guess you have a plan, I just wish you would share it with me. But its okay, I’ll go. I’ll walk into the belly of the beast an await your advice.“ But alas, Cosmo couldn’t hear his words. Cosmo had been summoned to the Bobaloo Galaxy for a seminar “ Mind Over Anti-Matter” held by the universal science mind of TED. Jesus walked into the Garden of Gethsemane and the rest is history. As for Judas, he went back to Lucifer for something stronger, and Lucifer of course made it way too strong and Judas OD’ed. By the time Cosmo had returned from the Bobaloo his son Jesus was dead on a cross.
Shock filled Cosmo to the brim. Shock and anger. His beloved youmans had not only lost their way, they had killed the only son he and his love Mary Anne had. The worst part was how violently they killed him. Cosmo turned his back on his youmans and headed back to the District to be with Mary Anne and the child who had become Jesus’ body double. There he would remain for eighteen hundred and twenty three years and he returned just in time to see some dude named Louis Pasteur had figured out the world of tiny little organisms he called germs. After checking out his garden Cosmo “thought, holy shit, what the fuck has been going on here?” He needed to review what had been going on in his garden during his absence so he went to the videotape.
Cosmo and Mary Anne watched the various stages of growth the garden had undergone since their son was killed. Some of it was appalling and some of it endearing. Overall Cosmo was filled with more disappointment than he had expected. “Look at all this Mary, all the wars, famines, and diseases on Earth! What the burning underworld could they be fighting over?” Mary was very bright and able to grasp situations well. “Cosmo, these battles they have been waging seem to have two things in common. Arbitrary lines of land ownership and the belief in different gods. They have been killing each other for so long I believe some of them have forgotten why. Look at all these atrocities Babe, wars fought in Rome and France between protestants and Catholics, Sudanese war between Christians and Arabs, The Crusades, The Inquisition, my sweet nebula what have they done to the memory of our son?” Cosmo shook his head, “it’s true my love, they have blighted the memory of our son and used it as an excuse to kill and maim. Its deplorable. And they have undergone deadly plagues, measles, anthrax, rabies, typhus, small pox, and the bubonic plague. The Black Death. The Bubonic plague that spread everywhere and claimed over 75 million lives. How could those micro-organisms possibly get in my garden?” Mary Anne thought carefully before giving her opinion. The persons name she was about to use was a source of some displeasure in her relationship with Cosmo, but he did after all know what kind of work she did before they became an item. Even so, Cosmo was not happy that Mary Anne had some history with Mychrighton. “I’m not sure I should mention this or not babe, but Mychrighton is pretty well known for his experiments in micro-organism in the Andromeda Strain Galaxy.” Too upset to allow jealousy deter his thoughts it was an a-ha moment for Cosmo. “Of course, the pathogen killer, using satellites to destroy his own creations. Saved by the brilliant Lucy when she introduced the Kalocin that became a universal antidote. I have to figure out a way to introduce Kalocin in the garden. Maybe this Pasteur guy can help.” If Cosmo had dropped Lucy’s name on purpose to counter the subconscious feeling of jealousy it worked. Mary Anne’s face reddened ever so slightly and she angrily reminded herself of the once hot and heavy relationship that was all the rage in the District gossip papers. She thought about firing back with another comment about Mychrighton but took the high road because of the important work ahead.

Life Is A Cabernet Old Chum (the anti-easter saga continues)

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Spill The Wine, Dig That Pearl
(I need a miracle every day!)

Now Jesus had his core group set, Mary the repentant sinner always at his side (and then some), and his band of merry men strolling through the countryside giving motivational speeches and teaching classes on how to live the natural laws of life. They were becoming quite well known but they needed something big. Something really big. Something that would put him over the top and get him noticed globally. They needed a miracle! The bait and switch.?! That’ll work. There was a high profile wedding in town to which both he and his mother Mary were invited. It was a kick ass affair but the celebration had run out of Ernest and Julia’s jug whine. Jesus’ moms came to him and said “Honey, we’re all out of wine. This is our big chance Jee. Time to do something huge. Make your miracle my son.” Jesus was ready with eight gallons of wine hidden behind a tree, and spoke very loudly so all could hear what he was saying. “Simon, bring me some water. This party is not over. I‘ll make wine for everyone.” While his Mom created a distraction Jesus switched jugs and soon the party continued with all in attendance believing he had changed the water into wine. Jesus now had mad street cred’s. It was all anybody talked about for the next two weeks. “Did you hear about this guy Jesus? I heard he took a gallon of water and turned it into 40 gallons of preamo wine. An urban legend was forming and it got bigger as it grew. 40 turned into 60. 60 turned 100. Soon he not only turned water into wine but brought 10 huge pigs to BBQ. He carried them across the river! It was incredible. Everywhere you went you heard about some dude named Jesus, his hooker girlfriend, and his 12 faithful followers roaming the world feeding the poor, healing the sick, and stopping war. The towns and villages were abuzz with hope for their future. Everyone was elated. Well not really everyone. Remember that dude Herod, and the salad loving Caesar? They were none to happy. Neither were the hierarchy of the Jewish religion. Seems like Jesus was gonna have some problems with the Romans and the Jews. They didn’t like having their authority challenged. Something evil was afoot.
The camel shit hit the fan when the antichrist came to town. The who? The antichrist. Remember earth Jesus’ sister Rosemary? Well Rosemary claims her and “The Superbly Endowed Evil Dude” had a baby and his name is Lucifer. Lucifer the antichrist. Rosemary’s baby all grown up was challenging this righteous dude trying to make people feel god to a duel of apocalyptic proportions. A revelation of epic battle was here to upset the forbidden applecart. His first stop was with a Jewish high priest named Caiaphas.
Cosmo caught oracle like wind of this. He was profounly alarmed and arranged for Jesus to sneak away for a secret meeting and update. “Hey pops, how’s Mom?” Como hugged his son. “She is well J, she misses you a lot. How are things going in the garden?” Jesus shrugged his shoulders, “Well it’s not easy pops. I have my disciples and my family behind me, and some other follower but it’s going kinda slow. I pulled off a fake miracle and that got me a lot of new followers but I need to do something big. I gotta tell ya pops, for some reason they call you God, not Cosmo or a god, but God Almighty. They are scared shitless of you.” Cosmos eyes sparkled with a touch of pride, but he knew that he needed to stay on point. “Yes, yes, I see how they act. But we have bigger fish to fry here my son. Those people will come around. Here is the deal. I’m gonna help you and create some more of the miracle things that work. I’ll have you heal some lepers, help the poor, and let’s see….Walk on water! That’s great, you can walk on water. That should convince the doubtful that you are the real deal three course meal. Once they all believe in you all you need do is get them back on the path of live and let live an teach them how to live a good life co-existing with the rest of the living things in our garden.” Jesus gave it some deep thought. “Easier said than done Dad, but I’ll do my best. I think I have a few cards left up my sleeve.” Cosmo gave his son a stern glare, “Its not what’s up your sleeve that concerns me, its what’s in your pants. Which brings to mind son, what are your intentions with Miss Magdalene?” Now it was Jesus turn to glow with pride. “She’s a looker eh Dad? I think I may bring her back to the District some day. I really do like her, I’m not using her.” The glare sprung into a knowing man smile. “Just be careful boy, men have been known to do some pretty crazy shit for a woman.“ Jesus chuckled, “I hear ya Pops, she does this strange thing to me and wants me to’ Cosmo cut him off not wanting to hear about his sons sexual practices. “Never mind that Jesus, just make sure your decisions only come from your main head. Now get going, I’ll set up your miracles.” Cosmo described his plan. “Your disciples are on a boat fishing and the boat is stuck. When you get down there I will freeze the sea just long enough for you to walk out and save them in front of a big crowd. After that it’s up to you.”
Jesus went down to the sea and just as Cosmo had promised the disciples were stuck out on the water and a huge crowd had gathered by the shore. Judas cried out, “Jesus, help us!” The big J man closed his eyes and started walking, and true to his word his father froze the water beneath his feet with each step and gave the appearance of walking on top of the water. He grabbed the line of the boat and to the jaw dropping amazement and cantankerous cheers and applause he guided the boat to shore and saved the group of hapless following fishermen. A thunderous display of accolades followed and word spread very quickly. Soon everyone had heard of this dude who claims to be the son of God walking on water, and changing water into wine. With the hand of Cosmo as his guide he roamed the countryside with Mary and his band of merry men healing sick people and feeding poor. At one point the took one loaf of bread and fed twenty people, but by the time the story got out it had evolved into feeing thousands with only one loaf of bread. Jesus was rapidly becoming the most popular man on earth. People everywhere spoke of his good deeds, his teachings of tolerance, and his ability to convey Gods forgiveness to those in need. But not everyone was happy about all this pomp and circumstance. King Herod, and the emperor Caesar wanted nothing less than to have this guy Jesus killed. Caesar summoned one of his high priests and told him something must be done. As it turned out that high priest was none other than Caiaphas, who had become fast friends with Lucifer the anti-Christ. In private meetings of the Jewish high priests and the leaders of Rome they set about a plan to create a more permanent solution to their problem. Caiaphas spoke to the cabal, “What then to do about Jesus of Nazareth? Miracle wonderman, hero of fools. No riots, no armies, no fighting, no slogans, one thing I’ll say for him Jesus is cool.” Lucifer sneered and made a pfft sound. Caiaphas continued, “seriously guys, how shall we deal with him? Any suggestions?” Annas, the high priest of the newly formed Roman province spoke first, “My dear Caiaphas, I have a bag of silver and we have Lucifer right here with us. That dude Judas is strung out on opium and I feel he is vulnerable. What if we have Lucifer become his dealer and give him high grade shit and then raise the price drastically. We can force him to make a deal with the antichrist for a bag of silver and a supply of opium. We can not only get the 411 on what this Jesus fucker is doing, we can have Judas set him up.” Caiaphas smiled one of the biggest shit eating grins any had ever seen and replied, “
Annas, you are fucking brilliant. Lets go nail his ass to a cross!”

The Gathering Of The Desciples

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United We Stand
Unbeknownst to Cosmo, two mean ass dudes has heard about this baby Messiah and were not happy at all. One was the emperor of Rome, a dude who loved garlic laden dressing on his Rome-aine lettuce, the other a King. The emperor Caesar and King Herod. Herod was the meaner of the two, and when he found out from the wise dudes that they had hidden the baby somewhere in Egypt he ordered every male child two years or younger to be put to death. Caesar took a different route having heard from some shepherds about the whole Johnny the Baptist Revival thing. He ordered Johnnies head to be cut off and brought to him on a silver tray. He eventually got the head, but it was too late as Jesus had already been successfully baptized, schooled, and well hidden from the clutches of evil. For 33 earth years.
But now it was time for part two, the switch. The real Jesus had been trained and taught what to do and now had to set out an find a bunch of disciples to help him get the word of Cosmo out. Fake Jesus was extremely confused but he liked Mary Anne and had lots of computer games left from real Jesus so it was a bit easier to swallow. Real Jesus though, really had his work cut out for him. It’s not easy making friends when you introduce yourself as the Messiah. The first two men he met were Andrew and Peter. After a lot of convincing they finally believed that he was the son of God they had heard about and would follow him to hear his teachings. They had some friends down on the shore fishing and they took Jesus there. With his fantastic personality and great training from Mary Anne it wasn’t long before he had a handful, twelve to be exact, of disciples. They sat in a large circle an introduced themselves. “Let me start. My Name is Jesus and I am the son of a Jewish carpenter who taught me his trade. Well let me clear that up, Joseph is my Dad but my real father, my biological father is a God and he sent me here on the garden….I mean the planet Earth to teach man how to live correctly. Men have strayed from the path of nature and are creating wars and killing creatures they don’t like and generally fucking up the landscape and acting like the world belongs to them. So in a way I’m here to save you from yourselves. If you guys follow me and listen and learn from me together we can go back to following the natural laws of life and survival. Any questions?” Of course a litany of questions rang out like “Does that mean I don’t have to serve in the military? Can we still have sex? You mean we can’t kill any animals? Etc.” Jesus held up his right hand which would soon become his signature move. “Okay, okay, I get it, you all have a lot of questions. Let me just put it this way. If you follow me and do as I say you will all live happy and fulfilled lives. Now let me find out who you guys are and what your names are because I think we will be hanging together for a long time here.
The men began introducing themselves. “My name is Simon, sometimes known as Peter but that’s a long story. I have been a disciple since I met Jesus. I want to follow.” “I’m Peters brother Andrew, and I too want to follow.” I’m James” “I’m John” “My name is Bartholomew but you can call me Bart, and I believe in Jesus” “I am Phillip” “My name is Thomas and I must admit I am somewhat skeptical but I’m willing to give this guy a shot. But as I said, my name is Thomas, or Tommy, and I have my doubts.” Mathew, or the Matt Man, and unlike doubting Tommy boy here I trust in Jesus.” “My name is James too, but to avoid confusion call me Jimbo.” Ah, my name is like Thaddeus, no jokes please, but please call me Thad.” “Damn, my name is Simon too, so I guess you’ll have to stick to being called Peter to avoid confusion there other Simon” And finally the twelfth. “Hey Y’all, I am Judas. Judas Iscariot and I do believe in Jesus and I will follow him and listen and obey. You are my liege, my lord Jesus, and I will be a faithful servant unto you……Trust me.”
So it was set, Jesus had his followers and would now set out to change the world with their help. It had been very stressful getting to this point and the J man was feeling a need of some relief. He went to a house of ill repute and choose a prostitute with which to help him relieve his stresses. Her name was Mary (What Another Mary?) Magdalene and she did for Jesus what Jesus’ mother had done for Cosmo. She spent hours very skillfully extracting every ounce of seminal fluid in his body and did things to him he had only had wet dreams about before. She was satisfied beyond her expectations as well, with Jesus being half god and all, and she had a never ending smile stuck to her cheeks. Mary sensed a deep connection to Jesus. “Try not to get worried, try not to turn on to problems that upset you. Jesus. Don’t you know everything’s all right?” Maybe it was the sexual explosions or maybe it was her tenderness, but it touched Jesus deeply. It was moving and made Jesus feel calm and relaxed as he never had before. “Mary, I don’t think I told you this but I am the son of a god and I have been sent here to save the world. I have a posse of 12 guys with me and we are going to change the world. Would you follow with us?” Worried she was being asked to pull a train she glared at him suspiciously. “Are you saying with you or do you expect me to do all 12?” Jesus shook his head an laughed, “No, of course its just me and you in that way. By the way, the sex has to be our little secret. On the surface we need to appear righteous and free of sin. In private, well anything goes baby.” Mary smiled. “Okay Jesus, I’ll follow you and be your maiden. Changing the world huh? Ha, and they said I would never amount to anything. Wish my friends could see me now!”

Some have a way with words, others say &#@K it

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

What Are Words For?
Freedom Of Speech Is Accompanied With The Responsibility To Listen

Words. Play on words, word to my Mom, word on the street, word of honor, big words, small words, funny words, all kinds of words. That’s why most of us are here on WordPress! We write because we are passionate about words. I love words. I use words. Sometimes I even eat my words. (a good reason to sugar coat my words). Words have gotten me into passionate situations. Words exercise my vocal chords keeping them in shape so they can get loud during conjugal episodes. My words come out of my mouth faster than a horny bumble bee on Viagra during sex. Well if its good sex that is. (mine, not the bumble bee’s). Words convey my thoughts. Words are thoughts with the speakers turned up high. Words are words whether your like it or not.
We all use them. They express, teach, and communicate. They frighten, warn, and ease the pain. They have unending uses. When used correctly they can coax feelings of euphoria, send you into a panic, or make you feel like shit. What they don’t do is offend! Oh I hear ya, people can say some real mean shit and you get pissed, even offended. But its not the words that did that, it was the person that used them. Words aren’t hurtful it’s the intent behind them that aches.
I don’t speak French but I worked in a French restaurant. While I couldn’t tell what the chef was yelling at me I got the gist of it. Oddly the words themselves sounded beautiful. French is definitely the nicest language to get bitched out in. And that my friend is no merde. (that means shit, I learned quick)
Shit, a good place to start, because the specific words I want to focus on are the PROFANE words. What makes a word profane? If you are offended by profanity than you should just get the fuck out now because Ima bought to let the shit fly here.
Words do not offend me because I understand they are merely words. When I was very young I said shit at the dinner table and my Mom dragged me right to the bathroom and stuck a bar of Ivory Soap in between my mandibles. All 99 an 44/100 of it. Soap didn’t taste clean nor did it make my mouth feel clean. Actually it left a film, and never showed me the fucking err of my ways. I didn’t curse at my Mom but the soapy lesson was futile in keeping me from thinking fuck this!
My mom wanted me to understand that some words are bad. A little later I was helping my brother with his car and I broke some piece of shit little rod. Fuck man, if Mom had heard what he called me she would have needed an entire case of soap for his mouth. He let me know that I was a stupid mother fucking piece of shit asshole with shit for brains. And that was jut the opening line. But what struck me about all that profanity was that he never struck me. He didn’t even wail on my arm in that one spot where his fist has bull’s-eye radar for. I was shocked because for him punching me was more a form of communication, a greeting almost. Hey Buddy(WHACK) Hows it hanging(WHACK AGAIN). Same exact spot! Hitting me was as natural as yawning.
So I was feeling hurt inside my head but I wasn’t hurting outside my head. The massive profanity laden lashing he gave didn’t leave a single fucking bruise. I got it then. The words only hurt if you let them. Of course they were intended to dehumanize, deflate, degrade, and emasculate me but only in my brothers mind, not mine. I was almost tempted to smile at him and say “ Repeat that mother fucker, and Fuck You very much”. I also knew intuitively that if I used words incorrectly his fists would then handle the rest of the conversation. But I learned a lot about words that day.
The truth is words are only hurtful if you allow them to hurt. Maybe it’s a turn the other cheek thing. The concept of a spoken (or screamed) bastion of lingual symbols may make you feel bruised around the ego but if you just think (not out loud) “fuck this and fuck you, I fucking rock and you’re the asshole“, it’s a tad easier on the ego. The Id too! Profanity can be abused though. Use it to right to expresses great emotion and it can carry tremendous strength. He hit my arm, then my face and I was fucking pissed. That underscores and endorses how mad I was. But He fucking hit my fucking arm, then the scumbag fucking hit my god damn face. I was so mother fucking pissed I shit a fucking stone is overkill, and instead of the emotion it’s the profanity that becomes the focus.
Blaming words is fucked up. How did fuck become bad anyway? It’s a beautiful act. I do it as often as possible and you should too. Do you think it would be nicer to fornicate? If I said fornicate yourself is that mean? Who the fuck died and left the censorship police in charge of words? Fecal matter is okay but shit is a sin. You can say he showed her his penis but call it a cock and there will be hell to pay. Sounds like someone is being hypocritical! I won’t mention titles but it seems young boy molesters do a lot of telling people what they can or can’ say. George Carlin became the shit after he came up with the list of seven words you can’t say. I laughed my tits off. Which really isn’t a bad thing to say cause like George said, “Tit’s don’t even belong on the list.”
There are however two words I choose not to use. It’s a personal choice and I don’t believe the words are at fault, but society, at least by where I am. Society in general has turned both of those worst into concepts. The “C” word and the “N” word. First cunt. It has come to be a concept of severe degradation to women. The use of it implies that concept and unfortunately has become synonous with hatred toward females, and I love females. Calling a woman a cunt is a profound insult in my area and I just opt not to say it. The second, nigger, has also become a concept. Yea I get it, they can call each other that and its okay, but if you’re a white boy its not. That’s kinda sad, but its born out of anger and outrage. The term if spoken by me carries a concept of profound hatred of one race, a race which my ancestors treated less than human. Somewhere in my heritage its likely that an ancestor lynched a man because of the color of his skin. I am ashamed of that and I wish I could change it but I can’t. What I can do is make a conscience decision to not use the word.
So that’s it mother fuckers and father fuckers, I am done letting my shit fly. I am not a religious person, but I recognize that many are offended by profanity. Honestly I find way too many Christians to be all god is good, and love each other and shit but are the first ones to throw stones at strangers. But I don’t want to get political and I respect their belief (hypocritical or not) and attempt to refrain from using it in front of them. On the other hand, if I slip, fuck em. Suck it up asshole! I make an even stronger effort around kids because its their parents responsibility to explain the bullshit of censorship. That’s what its all about, censorship. Say or write what ever you choose, but have the integrity to own up to it. Accept responsibility for you words and who is hearing them. “Freedom of speech bears with it the responsibility of their intent”………………………….PEACE