Tag: micrologues

when you’re set to be a failure, i mean, what else is there? it’s like that indian caste system business. people are born into their lives. here in america we like to say you can be whatever you want, but i don’t think that’s true. i think you’re stuck with what you’ve got. maybe that’s limiting. maybe that keeps you from achieving greatness. but it’s freedom, man. that’s what freedom is. knowing exactly who you are and what you’re here for. then you don’t have to worry, you don’t have to “figure shit out,” shit like that. you just know. you’re a carpenter. you’re a laborer. you cut hair for a living, you … drink beer. that ain’t failure. that’s life. everyone’s gotta be a drone so somebody can be the queen.

i threw a grenade at patrick today. it wasn’t real. or, it was, but it was decommissioned? inert? what’s the word. anyway, i threw it at him and he was upset. understandably. but that guy’s such a wimp i wanted to toughen him up, you know? i wanted him to get over his fears. like his fears of grenades. i mean we’re all afraid of grenades, mrs. reynolds. we’re all afraid of them, but that doesn’t mean you can still be a pussy. you know? i’m gonna get a lot of detention for this, aren’t i? damn. all over a stupid grenade.

it’s cozy here, the fireplace, the mountains behind us. i think this will do nicely. mom said this cabin was built over a hundred years ago, but i don’t see that. it looks like fifty years ago, sixty tops. everything inside is brand new. take a seat over on the couch. take your shoes off, let me get the camera set up. the lighting here is nice, i don’t think we’ll need too many overhead lamps. is it cold? does it feel cold to you? it might be fine, since we’re about to fuck, and the lights … it’ll get warm quick. you look nervous, but please, it’ll be okay. it’s pretty easy, only an hour or so and then you’ve got five hundred dollars in your pocket! after that you can do whatever you want. the cabin was just location, my mom was nice enough to loan it to us. believe me, i know that sound weird as hell. so if you don’t mind taking off your clothes now, we can get started.

jeremy threw at least fifteen batteries at that guy last night. kind of a dick move if you ask me. but then i started wondering … where did jeremy get all those batteries? does he just have batteries in his hoodie pocket? and if so, what for? are they new? old? does he keep the used ones because he doesn’t know what to do with them? i do that sometimes. they’re not supposed to do in a landfill! i think. but you can’t just keep them cause they’re dead–i guess jeremy’s idea is a good one. just toss them at people you don’t like.

lordy, lord in heaven, lord god father up above, fuckin’ god lord head of all gods, please hear my fuckin’ plea, okay? just hear me out sweet jesus love god lord, lord of all above and all below. if you don’t give me a sign not to, i am going to murder my neighbor. she is a fuckin’ bitch, a piece of shit bitch cunt who took my shit and i am going to stab out her eyeballs with these here sewing needles. i’m going to do it unless you tell me right now not to, but you have to tell me, like, you gotta speak it right into my ears, cause if you don’t or if you’re too quiet or something i’m gonna stab her, i’m gonna stab her eyes out and stab her brain through her nose. so give me a sign, right now. i’ll be quiet right now. just one sign, great good jesus lord. come on. here we go.

i’ve got all this grease on my forehead. i don’t know what’s going on. it’s hot out and yeah i’m sweating a little bit but i’ve never had this problem before. i think it’s my hair gel. i think it’s leaking down my forehead. this is what i get for being this fancy-pants lawyer type now. gotta keep my hair slicked bad, you see. gotta keep this suitcase. gotta shake hands. always shaking hands. but man if you know how to get this grease offa my head let me know, cause it’s gross as hell and makes me look bad.

if you’re trying to piss me off, you’re doing a great job of it. why don’t you come over here and say those things to my face, yeah? i fucking dare you. you’re a maggot, you’re worse than a maggot, you’re the shit maggots eat. no, you’re worse than the shit, you’re the cancerous blood embedded in that shit, the cancerous tumor lodged in my fucking gut. so you keep talking, yeah, yeah, you keep talking, you keep telling me what you think is gonna piss me off, boy, i don’t give one shit, except for that shit i just gave, that cancer shit, that’s you, you’re a cancer shit! you fucking cancer shit!

of course you think that way. you’re ignorant. you’ve never changed your mind about a goddamn thing. that would be fine if your opinions were rooted in anything worth a shit, but they’re not. it’s just bullshit stuck in your dumb head, and we’re all jackhammering your skull so we can get that shit out but your skull is *thick*, man. thicker than molasses. and it’s gonna get you killed. so that’s why we all stay away from you, at least me, because i know you’re dead already and i don’t want to have to mourn you, you know what i mean?

well, everyone’s dead. that’s number one. even the pastor, he killed himself, actually, before the massacre. blew his brains out. it’s just you and me now, sarah. alone in this fucked up city. you want to get out? we can get out. but the pastor told me something that i can’t reconcile, sarah. he said you shot lucy. he said you killed her. did you kill her? because if you did, that changes everything. i don’t want to be enemies with you but if you fucking killed my sister i will resign myself as the last human in san lucero, if you get my drift. so you talk, now, or you’re dead.

donald duck never wore pants, right? and mickey mouse never wore a shirt. and goofy wore a whole damn outfit, even with a vest and shit. so what’s up with that? donald duck was a sailor and he never wore pants. you know that shit would not be tolerated in real life. at least a guy can walk around with no shirt on. also does mickey ever take those huge gloves off? does he wear them because he has huge puffy black hands and he’s embarrassed by them? or are they so comically huge because underneath them he just has weird spindly mouse hands like real mice do? i bet it’s that. mickey always seemed like an anxious guy. it’s the laugh.