A second Excerpt: I need help with the ending. If you have some good jokes please leave a comment

Crossroad

The devil always dances best in the pale moonlight. That’s why he was out on that particular evening when I came acrosst him at the cross roads. I ain’t never seen any body kick up a dust storm quite like that. I remember the moon was shinin’ down silver light on the cross roads, lighting the devil up like a Fourth of July sparkler. I came walking up from the north-bound lane of a country dirt road and there was the devil just kicking up about the wickedest dirt storm I ever seen. His feet was a flyin’ as fast as any crop duster I ever saw, an’ lemme tell you, I seen many a crop dustier in my day.

I was a tad scared at first, I walked this particular stretch a road dozens of times and I never herd so much as a cricket fart, but this particular night there was as close to a cacophonous riot of stringed instruments as one could’a ever imagined. The sound was close to deafening, but had a sweet melody that reminded myself of the brook that babbles ‘cross my back forty.

I came creeping up cause I didn’t wanna disturb nobody’s festivities uninvited, case there was a maybe a lynchin’ or p’raps a corn liquor ho-down comencin’.

Now myself, being a person raised with good manners by good people, didn’t wanna go intrudin’ on someone else’s jubilation. My gran’daddy Gideon helped bring me up proper an’ educated with a good helpin’ o’ the bible and some amount o’ sensibility regardin’ other folks’ covortin’. So I hunkered down ‘bout twenty or thirty paces from them crossroads, kinda near the bushes, an’ jus’ watched fer a spell. Well I’d be Jesus damned if I didn’t see a quartet of demon’s playing a god’s damned bit o’ fine blue-grass. I seen this one feller, right there in the middle of it all, doin’ bout the best dammned hambone I ever saw. He jus’ kept on a-stompin and a-clappin’ an’ hootin’ an’ a hollerin, creatin’ a terrible ruckus.

Those demons was all scaly an’ red, lookin’ like theys just crept outta the bowels o’ hell itself. Had themselves a certain unholy glow ‘bout them. I don’t know rightly how else to describe it ‘cept maybe that the glow kept meltin’ from red to yeller, almost as if they was bein’ lit up from the fires below as them fires burned up another anguishin’ soul.

The fiddler was ‘bout as scrawny as a weathered scarecrow, but he shore could run that cat gut crost them fiddle strings jus’ ‘bout faster than I ever heard anyone else pull ‘em. The base player, on the utha’ hand, had one crooked hoof settin’ right up on that upturned wash tub, while looking like a ree-tarded pachyderm, just hammerin’ away on that one thick piece a rope, keepin’ near perfect time. I tells ya, ah kin still feel that base palpatatin’ in my own heart to this very day.

The one demon, playin’ that damned gee-tare, might well as had fire flowin’ from under ‘is fingernails he was playin’ so fast. It sounded as if hellfire itself had taken the most tortured screams from down below and harmonized them with the wooshin’ roar of a gas fire. An’ he was jus’ part-a the rhythm section.

The demon banjo player might a been Ol’ Sam hisself had I not know who the dancer was. You wouldn’a ever been able to see his fingers dance across the strings, but he shore knew how to make that banjo sing, howel even. That Charlie Daniels feller didn’t have nothin’ on this ol’ fiend. Might have been the most beautiful thing I ever heard had I not been so scared I thought I might’a shit myself.

As hauntingly beautiful as the music was, despite how much I wanted to just run out there an’ jamboree myself to death, weren’t nothing gonna make me step out there an’ answer a challenge from the devil, who was locked up in his own revelry. I sat there, hunkered down in the bushes, ‘bout as transfixed as a body could be, watchin’ the devil kick up the wildest dust devil I ever saw.

He was dancin’ there in a sharp black suit, ‘plete with a bolo tie and a pair a shiny rattlesnake boots. He had a little black bowler perched on his head that wouldn’t a come off if Michael hisself came down from heaven on high to snatch it from him. He just kept on slappin’ ‘is knees and stompin’ ‘is feet, an’ kickin’ ‘is legs creatin’ a terrible ruckus. He jus’ kept on cavortin’ and carryin’ on in a hellacious manner, not givin’ a good gosh darn ‘bout what anyone else might-a thought.

Now, I wanted to skee-daddle on outta there, but this unholy ho-down was right in my way, an’ me, bein’ a good Christian, didn’t wanna cause no kinda unrest ‘er inneruption on my own behalf. I was taught to give the devil a wide birth if I ever saw him. But then the good lord saw fit that I had to go and make water myself. I tells ya, the pressure built up so bad my pecker felt like the St. Francis Dam ‘for it burst back in ’28. As a man who can’t tolerate no pressure I stood up to go relieve myself. That’s when I felt the eyes of Ol’ Sam fall upon me. I musta rustled some branches or sumpen, cause it felt like two burnin’ hot coals of Pennsylvania black rock touched down ‘tween my own shoulder blades. Scared me half to death it did. T’ain’t no doin’ ta have the devil take notice of ya like that. I felt it sear me to my ever lastin’ soul.

Now, I tried to make like I was going the opposite direction, like I didn’t even know what was a transpirin’ over in them there crossroads, but Ol’ Sam weren’t gonna let me off that easy. He is ever the opportunist, always lookin’ fer a fresh soul. He saw me try to turn tail an’ run off, when he bellowed in a voice, loud as Gabriel’s own horn: “Now hey there, Jasper Lou, where in tarnation d’you think you might be getting’ off to?” I stopped dead in my tracks, stiff as a jackrabbit caught in a pair a headlights. I sorely did’n want the devil talkin’ to me, no sir.

Unfortunately, when Ol’ Sam addresses you proprerly you ain’t got no choice but to listen. So’s I turn around, ‘bout ready to wet myself, an’ I says: “Well sir, I ain’t exactly shore of where I was headed but I know that I shorely don’t wanna be anywheres near here, if you kin believe that.”

“Well why not Jasper Lou? Why wouldn’t you wanna be down here in the crossroads dancing in the Devil’s Jamboree?”

I kin tell ya now that I didn’t want no part of the devil’s games, but as you kin imagine I was ‘bout as stuck as an old coon inna tree wit’ wolves prowlin round unnerneath. So’s I turn around and try as best as I might to accept my damned fate. I turned to The Devil and I says: Well, Mister Devil sir, I’d rather not partake in your sociabilities if’n it pleases ya. Y’see I gots me a wife back home an I gotta get back to her ‘for she starts worryin’ too much. You unnerstan’, we bein’ newley weds an’ all. Y’unnerstand donch’ya sir?”

“Oh why yes, but of course. I wouldn’t dream of keepin’ ya from yer blushing bride. I just thought that you might need a helpin’ hand is all.”

And by gawd-dammnit if he didn’t have my complete and full attention right then and there. I tells you times were rough back then and any kinda helpin’ hand you could get, you took. I pulled the hat off my head and set there wringing it in my hands for half a spell. I was trying to figure how Ol’ Sam might be able ta screw me outta my everlastin’ soul an’ weather or not I’d be willing to trade it.

Ol’ Sam was watchin’ me the whole time I was contemplatin’ my situation’. I could see the glint in his eye that suggested to me that he might think he had found hisself a proper mark. I kin tell you, though, that my momma didn’ raise no fool. I knew that you can’t never trust the devil, you gots to be smart about it, look for any loophole that might work agains’ ya. An’ try to ask fer somethin’ simple.

I ain’t gonna lie, me an’ Nancy Jean had fallen on a rough patch, as we are all want to do from time to time, but I didn’t know if I wanted the devil to be the one to bail us out at the expense of my ever lastin’ soul. So’s I stood up, still feelin’ the pressure built up behind my pecker an’ I said: “Mr. Devil, sir, if you don’t mind, I’m gonna go relieve myself behind this bush over yonder and contemplate yer words, sir.”

To which the sly old fox replied: “Sure, sure, take you time I gots all the time in the world.”

So I went over there to relieve myself, behind that bush, and I got to thinking; what exactly would it be that Nancy Jean an’ me could use that the devil couldn’t possibly corrupt. As the puddle grew bigger ‘neath my feet I figured that there was only one course of action; challenge the devil to a contest I couldn’t possibly loose. Now I knew this to be slightly less then foolish, but when yer cornered by the devil you don’t get much of a choice. I set there ponderin’ an’ ponderin’ till I came up with a solution that I thought I could handle. I shook off, tucked myself back inta my overalls an’ sauntered up to the devil.

He set there lookin’ at me expectantly, as if he already knew what I was fixin’ to propose.

“Alright Ol’ Sam…” I says, “What have you got to offer me that I can’t get on my own?”

The sly fox grinned, and I swear to Jesus Christ almighty that I heard a growl more feral than anything I ever heard. I heard cougars in heat sound more pleasant than the sound I heard utter outta his infernal throat. It set my hackles up to raised.

Now, I knew the devil to be a regular swindler, cheat and general brag-about. But I ain’t never heard him to be a jokester. I knew myself to be a bit of a joker and I thought I might be able to challenge him to a contest of jokery. “All right boss, here’s how I see it, I challenge you to a contest of jokes. I got some that I don’t think you ever heard. If I get even one joke that you can’t get the punch line to, me an’ Nancy Jean get to live out the rest of our natural lives in peace and plenty, an’ we get to wave to St. Peter as we pass the pearly gates to spend the rest of the ever after up in the heavenly kingdom. If you best me an’ guess the punch line to every joke I can think of then you get my soul for an eternity of damnation. Is it a deal?”

“Well Jasper Lou, you do get straight to the point donchya, I like that in a fellah. Alright it’s a deal. A contest of wit and humor it is. All you have to do is tell me a joke that I can’t guess the punch line to and you go on your way fro the rest of your natural life and after-life with no interference from me. If I guess every punchline to every joke you know, I get yer everlastin’ soul. Are those terms agreeable?”

I had’a set there a spell and think through it all. after I set ‘n thunk a bit I decided that there was no way I was goonna get outta this sos I go up to Ol’ Sam an say: “Yessir, them terms is agreeable. If I win you leave me an’ Nancy Jean alone, you win an’ you git my soul.”

The Devil smiled an' his forked tongue snuck out to wet his lips. “Well then Jasper Lou, If you would be so kind as to put down your mark on the dotted line here I believe that we can begin.” He swept his hand over an old stump and a infernal contract appeared outta thin air. This weren’t no ordinary contract neither. It was about as thick as my forearm is long. I ain’t sure but the leather mighta been made from human skin. Wouldn’t be no lie to say that I felt the jeepers run up ‘n down my body as I opened the cover to set my mark on the line.

With that bit of uncomfortable business concluded we commenced to tellin’ our jokes.

An Excerpt

“Hoo-Boy! Jackson just got gunned down in the street!”

“What? How do you mean gunned down? Was he killed in a hail of bullets or was he called out?”

“Oh he got called out alright, by that mean som-bitch china-man. Funny thing is, Jackson got shot in the back.”

“Now that’s just down right cowardly. If yer gonna call a man out, you’d best have the grapes to stand there and take what you git, ‘stead of havin’ yer man hidin’ in the shadows.”

“See, now, that’s what I thought. An I went an’ checked the alley where the shot came out of. And you know what I found there?”

“Huh?

“Nothin’ but Jackson’s old six gun. The barrel was still smoking. How’s that for weird?”

“Well, it’s plenty weird, but weird don’t surprise me none in this town no more. Not since that storm with the green lightnin came through here some years ago.”

“What, you mean that St. Elmo’s fire storm?”

“ Yeah, I reckon. Didn’t know there was a special name fer it. Figured the green lightning storm was good enough. How long ago was that now?”

“Shoooot, must be on six, seven, years by now. When was it that Old Farmer Brown and his creepy wife moved on into the Old Hanson Farm? It was bout a season before they got here I reckon.”

“Yep, it was bout that long ago, bout six, seven, years passed now. Them folks may be a tad odd but the make some damn fine cheeses and sausages. Reminds me, the missus asked me to stop by their place and get some milk and butter. Hope they aint sold out yet. Looked busy in the market today.”

“Aw they had plenty when I went through there bout an hours time past. You should be fine. What do you reckon theys gonna do with Jackson’s body now? Last time there was a gunfight they just left that body in the road fer three whole days ‘fer somebody came an got it.”

“Well I imagine his widow’s gonna wanna have him interred at the church. Prolly burry em tommorrah. Poor Molly. Shes’s gonna be mighty broke up bout this. Anyone see where the china-man went to after the shooting?”

“I heared some folk say that them chinamens took of towards the woods out side a town. They prolly still there. Why d’ya ask?”

“Meh, I dunno, sure has been a long time since we had us selves a good ol’ fashioned lynchin’. I think I might go see what old Jedadiah’s up to. See if he still makes that real good rope.”

The Grass is Always Greener

Inside the bar was dark and smoky. The green-glass shaded lights above the pool table were the only things piercing the darkness. Old gamblers and pool sharks swam around the tables anxiously waiting their turns to enter the feeding frenzy that is college I.D. night. Stoned hippies, drunk jocks and coked out frat boys are easily parted from their money and their women as the chemicals artificially inflate their confidence and ability. The air headed sorority girls, who accompany them, make the best trophies of the night. The locals love it when the college kids go slumming in their bar.

The aroma of stale beer and cigars hung heavy in the air, almost as oppressive as the noise blaring from the ancient jukebox that still plays seven-inch E.P.’s. A group of peroxide blonds flipped through the menu giggling over names like Wayne “The Train” Hancock, Waylon Jennings, and Merle Haggard while looking for the most recent top forty single.

Some drunken fools pranced about on the dance floor, each with a drink in their hand spilling it down the back of their date. It was autumn and the bar brought in hay bales and pumpkins for decoration. The hay bales wouldn’t stay baled for long and the pumpkins would mysteriously walk away by the end of the night to find new homes on front lawns or smashed in the gutter.

Every stool, table and chair was occupied by at least one person and in some cases two or three. Each booth was packed with five or six people. All of the booths were bastions of laughter and good times, except for one. People looked nervously at this booth and shied away from it with the feeling that if they sat down there they might never get off the tattered Naugahyde again. This booth sat in the farthest, darkest, and dankest corner of the bar, hosting a single tortured soul in this house of merriment and mirth. Situated next to the restrooms, the sour stink of vomit and saw dust lingers in the air. This booth was usually reserved for pimps and their merchandise.

Jonathan had been occupying this spot for the better part of a month, his company credit card ensuring that he gets to wallow in his misery for as long as he damn well pleases. The seats are torn and are stained with what one can only hope is beer and not a more foul liquid. He drinks his first beer in three swallows and then asks for a shot of rail whiskey because he has lost all self-respect. Any man who respects himself would order a whiskey by name from a shelf. He slams the shot and gets another beer. Round after round this cycle continues as Jonathan sits and cusses like a sailor under his breath and chases away anyone who would try to sit with him.

Jonathan was in his early twenties, too young to be so full of self-loathing and anger to be drinking his life away in a dive bar on the outskirts of town. He hasn’t even lived a third of his life yet, but he can’t stop thinking about the choices he’s made. The big choices: picking one girl over another in high school; saying one thing to a friend when you really meant the other; choosing to party instead of doing homework. In short the kind of choices that you make when you’re young that shape you into the adult that you’ll become. Each time he thinks about the choices he’s made he can’t help but assume his life would be better if he had chosen differently.

His second hand suit was crumpled and creased in the wrong places. He knew that he shouldn’t sleep in his cloths. He’s usually so blind drunk by the time he gets home that he passes out on the couch with the T.V. on. He hasn’t shaved in over a week and the blue-ish stubble of his midnight colored beard gives his face a deathly pallor. He knows he looks like shit and doesn’t care. Each time he looks in the mirror he just smiles and says: “No rest for the wicked.” He couldn’t remember when he stopped caring about hygiene.

Every night Jonathan sat in the booth at exactly five p.m. after his incredibly boring job as a sales rep for a small box company. He doesn’t eat, he just drinks. He’ll stop at White Castle on the way home. Like clock-work, he would look at his watch at exactly 11:11 p.m. at which point a tremble would touch his lips. The tremble continued until it became a slow, steady, labored breathing. The heavy breathing led to a soft crying which in turn led to a silent sobbing. Every night Jonathan would sit in his booth with his head down and his body would heave and shudder with each ragged, tear choked, breath from 11:11 till 11:34. At 11:34 his tears would dry up and he would lift his head up feeling like a newborn baby facing the world for the first time. His head, filled with that great emptiness and calm that follows an emotionally charged sob, took over and he could look at the world, this bar — his life — with new eyes. A sense of awe and wonder would fill his alcohol-addled brain. Absentmindedly he would lift the pint glass in front of him and drain what was left into his mouth and order another round.

One night after he finished work he went to his usual seat, ordered his usual drinks, and did his usual crying. This night was different. The leaves had begun to change and there was a crispness in the air that Jonathan didn’t recognize. He new something different was going to happen, he didn’t know why and he didn’t know how he knew but, none the less, he was sure that tonight would be different. At 11:35 someone approached his booth. He looked up ready, and even a little excited, to chase them away with some creative insults he had been cooking up. He looked up when the spectral shape of a woman’s shadow drifted across his beer soaked table. When he tried to speak his tongue wouldn’t move. It couldn’t move. It was as if the booze had finally pickled his tongue and left it to sit in his mouth, useless. He couldn’t possibly let any of the vile things he had prepared slide past his teeth to fall upon the ears of this angel. To say anything to this heavenly creature at all would be as profane and contemptible as kicking god in the balls. Jonathan remained silent as she stood there waiting for him to invite her to sit.

As she stood there waiting for his invitation and peering into his eyes, Jonathan took the time to look her over and to decide if she was real or an alcohol induced hallucination like so many pink elephants before her. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a low cut black tee-shirt as was common for girls from this part of town. Her arms hung limply at her sides with her thumbs threaded through a belt loop, her hip cocked out to one side. Her raven black hair hung in loose curls around her shoulder and framed a face of delicate white skin. A roguish smirk hid under a pug nose.

When Jonathan looked at her eyes he could feel time lurch to a halt. They were the most wonderful and terrifying eyes he had ever seen. They looked like the reflection of a moonless sky at midnight in a still pond. He could feel himself gazing into these quixotic pools of eternity and felt a sense of tumbling through space towards an unknown destination at an accelerated speed. He pulled his eyes away from her hypnotic gaze, and looked at her as a whole. She was a stranger to him to be sure, but there was something incredibly familiar about her. All the same, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It made him feel dizzy.

“May I sit here with you or is your foul language going to scare me away?” she asked with a smile.

His jaw moved weakly, trying to form words. Instead of speaking he stood up and held out his hand, gesturing for her to sit. He had to show her that chivalry was, in fact, still alive. He was speechless and found it hard to believe that a woman of such perfect beauty was talking to him. She sat down with a smile.

“So chivalry is not dead,” she said with a twinkle in her voice, “It’s not often that a man gets up for a lady anymore. You look like you need a drink, can I buy you one?” she asked him. He could only nod. He felt like he was dreaming. “What are you drinking?”

“Uh-uh-uh…” stammered Jonathan.

“How about one bourbon, one scotch and one beer?” she smiled at her reference to the song. She never got tired of that joke. Jonathan noticed the laugh lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes and thought for the billionth time that she was beautiful.

“Yea, uh, th-that sounds great.” He stammered. “Sorry, I’m not used to company. Not many people talk to me here.” he paused feeling the blood rush to his cheeks and the quickening of his pulse, “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Oh I’ve had lots of names, but tonight you can call me…” she paused, thinking, “Lucy.”

“Muh-mines Jon…”

“Jonathan. I know.” She interrupted, “I know a lot more about you than you know.”

He had never been very suave with the ladies but he was a drunk now and riding the same wave of artificial confidence as the jocks at the pool tables. “You are too beautiful to be here in this dive, at this time of night, on this side of the tracks, on your own, talking to me; the lonely, sad, pathetic drunk in the corner.” He paused wondering if what he wanted to say next would amuse or frighten her off. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to happen. “Did one of my friends hire you to come cheer me up?”

“What?” she brought a hand to her mouth to hide a smile.

“uhhh, never mind. I just thought that… never mind.”

“Thought what?” the woman asked. She was curious what it would be this time. She’s had this conversation literally billions of times and the questions were often similar, occasionally unique, but rarely dull. This was one of the interesting parts of her job.

“Well I just thought that maybe you were a call girl hired by one of my friends. Beautiful girls like you don’t come up to me and buy me drinks.”

She just smiled and giggled to herself. Just then the drinks arrived. She lifted her bourbon and motioned for him to lift his. “Not quite…” She winked, clinked his glass, swallowed the shot and set the glass down with a thud.

Jonathan gave a nervous little laugh after he set his empty glass down.

“So, why so glum chum?” she asked him after she took a long pull from her beer.

What the hell, I might as well tell somebody. “I broke up with my girlfriend for very stupid and selfish reasons.” He felt a little better after admitting that. He hadn’t really talked about it with anyone till now.

“It can’t be that bad…” She replied. “Believe me, humans have been around for a very long time and they have made some pretty boneheaded decisions.”

Jonathan lifts his scotch in salute and takes a sip.

“Well I ran into two old high school sweethearts around the same time and they both started flirting really hard with me and I was like ‘Hey these girls are hot and my girlfriend is like old news and stuff.’ So I dumped her. I thought it was time to get some new action. I’m still young and in my prime, why should I be tied down with just one girl right now, you know? Unfortunately my motives must have been obvious because both the girls from high school stopped talking to me, and the ex wouldn’t return my calls. After I realized what I had done, who I had hurt, and what I had lost I decided to come here and start drinking till I either ran out of money or the will to live, so far the company credit card hasn’t been maxed out yet.” He felt better for admitting all of this out loud to the strange woman and himself. He felt a burden lift from his heart. A sort of weightlessness and warmth filled him, something similar to a sip of warm bourbon on a crisp autumn evening. A small smile parted his lips.

“Well that’s not the first time I’ve heard that type of story. Why is it that people never seem to be satisfied with what they have until they willingly give it up?” she said.

“Well you know what they say about the grass always being greener…” he replied with a dismissing wave of his hand.

“Not really. I’ve never understood that particular saying. I’ve always been… well I’ve just always been.” A frown began to touch the corners of her mouth and Jonathan thought his heart might break. She checked the pocket watch hanging from her belt. “I’m sorry Jonathan, but its time to drink up. This is the last round. It’s almost time to go.”

At first he was confused. Where were they going? He refused to believe that he had made that good of an impression that she was going to go home with him. That was just plain impossible. He reached for his glass and watched in awe as his hand passed right through it. He tried again two more times just to be sure it was happening. Then a spike of awareness stabbed him in the brain. He knew who this woman was. To make thing even more strange, he remembered where he knew her from. He remembered her bending over his crib when he was a tiny baby boy, and she whispered something in his ear. Something that he felt was part welcoming, part gentle warning; like he was just a visitor in someone else’s home and would have to leave after a while. The words were just faint echoes in the back of his memory, a little too distant to be heard, but he could feel them, feel the power and the weighty meaning that they carried. He stopped grabbing at his glass and accepted his fate. “How long have I been coming here?” he asked her.

“Well you’ve been coming here for a little over a month but you’ve been dead for about a week.”

“How come you didn’t come to get me sooner?” he asked feeling like a child for some reason. Probably it was because he was in the presence of a being of infinitely vast knowledge and experience, an incarnation of one of the fundamental forces of the universe. Perhaps it was because he realized just how foolish he had been in the last month and would not be able to make a better choice next time. Perhaps it was simply that the most beautiful woman he had ever known had come to help him.

“Well it seemed to me that you needed a little extra time to mourn your loss. Sometimes heartache is the worst punishment of all. But you’re going to a different place. A slightly better place than here.” She said.

“But don’t suicides go to hell?” he asked nervously.

“Well if you want, that could be arranged, but it’s not the only option. You see, you didn’t even realize what happened so you are sort of exempt from his little guidebook. The truth is, I don’t really know where most people go. I just help them along to find the door.” She finished her beer and swallowed the last of her scotch. “Its time to go…”

Jonathan sighed and finished his drinks. He was still a little confused but took the woman’s hand and let her lead him out the door and into great beyond.

A Warning Wrapped in a Tirade Surrounded by Mumblings

It sort of seems like the end of the world is coming sooner than expected. What with all the revolution in the middle east, rising gas and oil prices, the republican douche baggery in the mid-west, federal investigations into "radical Muslim" Americans and now this tsunami that almost destroyed Japan. It seems that the end of the world is to be fraught with a bunch of little shit gnawing at the edges of civilization making it merely uncomfortable and difficult for a while till the axe man cometh to deliver the final blow.

I was more or less under the assumption that it would come with a lot of pompous fanfare. I’m not going to lie, I’m kind of hoping for the heavenly host to descend from heaven and begin rapturing the hell out of everybody. At least, then, one minority group can claim victory and we can end the religious argument once and for all. I’m not a terribly religious man, and if the world does end in a religious prophecy, I don’t particularly care which one. It would be nice if it ended on a more positive Buddhist note, with everybody attaining enlightenment and ascending to a non-corporeal existence, but people are, en masse, too stupid and selfish to attain as complicated a notion as nirvana.

Putting end of the world scenarios aside (with great reluctance, because they are kinda fun to postulate on), I’ve been hearing about all of these events that are taking place around the world and here in our own back yards and I have noticed some disturbing correlations. I could use the old cliché; those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it, but I wont. There are plenty of smart people out there who are paying attention and trying very hard to get the rest of us blind idiots to see what is happening. Take the Middle East and northern Africa for example. Egyptians stage a successful, mostly peaceful and non-violent revolution in January of 2011. Then the next thing we know Yemen, Bahrain, Iran, Iraq, Jordan, Tunisia, Saudi Arabia, and Libya are all experiencing some sort of civil unrest. The leaders of those countries are power hungry despots who, for what ever reason, can’t or won’t listen to the will of the people they are governing. I’m not trying to cast blame or judgment or claim that there is a better way of governance. I’m just making a laymen’s observation. Now that all of these Middle Eastern and north African countries are experiencing civil unrest to varying degrees for varying reasons it has affected things here at home also. The countries are major oil producers for the entire world. Let be explicitly clear that I am in no way developing a conspiracy theory. These are just observations about recent events and the connections between them as I see it. So now that there are threats to the power structures of these oil producing nations oil prices have to go up. That means more expensive gas for us here in a country whose entire economy is based on ridiculously cheap petroleum.

I’m sure that some reading this is rolling their eyes and groaning because they are trying to see where I make the conspiracy theory, or because they think I’m full of shit and don’t know what I’m talking about. That’s fine, go ahead and roll your eyes and groan. It cannot be argued against that our country relies on the cheapest gas and oil prices imaginable. Without it our cities would crumble. Good bye New York, good bye Chicago, goodbye L.A. none of those places would function very well without cheap oil. But I’m getting distracted form the current events theme of this tirade. On to the mid-west. Now we have a lot of republican duche-baggery going on here. Both the Wisconsin and Michigan governors are pushing legislation through that can essentially enable them to become the kind of leaders that are being evicted from their offices in the Middle East. They are stripping people of some serious rights. If unions lose any kind of power the dismantling of our rights is quickly ensured. It’s a very small hop from dismantling, discouraging and stripping unions of their power to suddenly banning public assembly for any cause or reason. What the fuck would happen if the planned parent hood funding dries up completely and then some pro-choicers want to hold a protest about it. Do we get to see the riot cops show up and disband the assembly like they did in Wisconsin to prevent the democrats from entering the senate chambers? That’s not something I’m ok with.

Then there is this new shit in Michigan where the governor is trying to push legislation that gives him the right to declare an economic emergency in any town in Michigan. Then he can appoint ANYONE he chooses to come in and act as the relief coordinator, including but not limited to corporate representatives. These relief workers have to power to nullify contracts, remove elected officials from office, and remove township status of cities and towns. What the fuck! That has the potential to bring back company towns and company script to replace the ever weakening dollar bill. Might as well go back to the gold standard. At least then we know what is actually worth something. Again, I’m not trying to create conspiracies where none exist, I’m just making observations.

So we seem to be living in an era punctured with unusually potent social and political unrest. This, in my opinion, is a good thing because it’s the only way humans are going to evolve at all. But will we even survive that long? For the past few years it seems to me that we have been witness to more and more devastating natural disasters. There was hurricane Katrina, the tsunami that killed 300,000+ in the Philippines, the Haitian earthquake, the tsunami in Japan that was caused by an 8.8 earthquake. When are the volcanoes around the Pacific Rim going to start exploding? It’s getting to the end of days here folks. I’m convinced of it, although I probably haven’t convinced any of you and that’s fine.

I was beginning to worry about the whole end of the world thing but I changed my mind. The world will remain, it all just relative really. And perspective. Whether the end of the human race comes at the hands of dissatisfied constituents, power mad rulers, good old mother earth, aliens or the righteous hand of god has yet to be seen but I think that we will see increasingly bad shit happen over the next few years till it all comes to a breaking point and the shit really hits the fan. But like I said, I’m not going to worry too much. The worst-case scenario is that I don’t survive the coming calamities at all. The best case scenario is that I do survive and won’t have to pay my student loans back.

Waxing Poetic

Hey there, hi there, ho there,

Wont you sit by me for a while?

Its been a tough day and I could use the company

No? Oh you're going to the dance with the other boy.

oh, not boy, other girl? Oh, well I wont keep you then.

Hey there, hi there, ho there,

How are you ? Come have a seat.

I swear I don't bite. Unless that is,

of course, if you'd like me to.

No, no, that's alright, I understand,

you are a busy bee

and your friends are lonely for you.

Hey there, hi there, ho there,

take a load off and talk with me.

You look lovely today, I dare say.

Do you look fat? No of course not

why would I think that? Right then, well, off you go,

just keep all of your party people in tow.

Hey there, hi there, ho there,

come take a powder with me, have a rest.

it's hot out there and you seem the best.

What? Oh right, the time for tests and degrees is at hand.

Well, no more of your time then will I demand.

Hey there, hi there, ho there...

Baptismal

In one quick motion it was all over. It seemed too easy. It’s time to leave now. I’ve finished my business. I wrap up my tools and descend the staircase. Strangely I’m calm. I thought it would be different. I thought that there would be more of a rush, a sense of power. But instead there was only a small amount of regret. Regret that it should have been harder. The job was too easy. I had always heard that the first one was the hardest, that the first one would stay with you for the rest of your life, haunting you. I can already feel the memory of the experience fading like the after image of the Roadrunner as it speeds away from Wile E. Coyote. I can barely even remember her name. Janet maybe. Or was it Selma? I don’t know. I don’t think it matters now.

Things seem to be sharper in contrast now. I had never really seen the wood grain on the handrail of my apartment building before tonight. Hell, I never even realized that it was made of wood before. It’s beautiful. All of the skinny lines worn down and polished by thousands of tenants touching it, rubbing it, using it for stability. A sudden flash of memory darts across the landscape of my mind. A couple is fornicating on the staircase as I am walking to my apartment. She is bent over moaning and holding on tightly to the banister. He looks at me as I try to pass unnoticed. “Aint a free show old man!” he spits at me. I run. This had suddenly turned into a bad neighborhood. Perhaps that is why I had done it. It had been a good neighborhood once upon a time.

I’m walking past the spot where that act of desparate love had happened and I can see their ghosts still humping madly as I descend. Still calm I finally reach the landing and decide to check my mail. It had been a few days and I was expecting some over due bills and a movie. I didn’t even realize my keys were in my hand till I heard them jingling musically, like wind chimes. My mother had wind chimes on the back of her house. She was a mean old bitch. Hardened by a life of mistreatment, which she had passed on to me. Never let me take it easy, she always had me doing chores or beating me for not doing them well enough. But I remember that I liked the wind chimes. The only beautiful thing in our house when I was growing up. The mailbox was a disappointment as always. Someone else’s discreet brown package was in my box again. I kept them whenever that happened. Usually they were pornos. Sometimes worse. Once I got a snuff film. Another time I got an ear preserved in a brownish fluid in a glass jar.

It was time to leave. I sighed. I had grown to like it here. The anonymity that comes with living in a large apartment building was comforting. I never had to talk to my neighbors. Most of them are foreigners so I couldn’t talk to them any way. I stepped into the cold night air. Stepping through the threshold I feel everything washing off of me, being left behind in the foyer of the building. It was like a dry baptismal. Everything bad I had ever felt about myself or anybody else washed away in the soft orange glow of the streetlight. It all stayed behind me in the den of sin I had come to call my home. I see the garbage can that is provided by the city, for the first time. It was right there, right there on the corner. Right in front of the door. I’m shocked that I had never seen it before. I couldn’t think of a better place to dispose of my tools. I probably should have left them in her apartment. No way to track my movements either way. No direction to lead anybody who would want to be looking for me. I don’t really want to leave the claw hammer. It was a good hammer. It was the first one I bought. I learned how to be a carpenter with that hammer. It was too dangerous a thing to have right now. I deposited the bag into the garbage can and walked down the road.

I could hear the sirens now. I was a block away. There was nothing to tie me to the building now. I had left my wallet in my apartment. As far as anyone knew I was just a derelict hobo roaming the streets looking for change or a meal. I’m headed to the park a little ways from my old apartment building to sit on a bench. After what fells like an eternity that was set in fast forward I sit on one of the wooden park benches. It’s damp. Was the damp from me? I guess it doesn’t matter. I look up at the sky and feel the early misting of a thunderstorm settle on my face. It’s cooling. I smile. Simple pleasures for simple men. The baptismal I had in the doorway had remade me into a simple man. I raise my hands to wipe away the water and everything goes black. The blackness is terrifying. I wonder if this is how she feels. With my face in my hands I weep. I’m not sure if it’s joy or sorrow that I weep for. All I know is that I am washed clean of my sins and have been given a new life. Something profound had just happened to me. It starts to rain and I am laughing.