Thursday, May 14, 2009

Caffeine Dream

Dark. The sky was clear. Breathing in you were likely to burst your lungs out of fear that some of that perfect air would get away. The street lights flickered, dancing to an unheard beat; the patches of land beneath them seemingly being created before your eyes only to be swallowed up again by the darkness. The distant rumbling of thunder was all that broke up the rhythmic chirping of the poor crickets, who seemed to have such a hard time sleeping this time of year. Car. The only one to be seen. The driver carried a faint smile with him, a forget-me-not given to him from this perfect night. Engine off. A cloud across the moon, and as if on queue, the world slept.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Bumpin' and Shakin'

Having recently become a bit more of a social person, I've had occasion to meet a lot of new people. Normally this would be great, but it appears that while I was in my hermit stage of life something that I feel very strongly about has disappeared. I'm talking about the handshake.



I went to my new friends Michelle and Jeff's place for various social gatherings this weekend, and wasn't offered a single handshake; instead I would be greeted with a closed fist pointed in my direction. Unacceptable! There is no universally accepted way to fist bump, and everyone has their own little "moves" that they throw in at the end. I don't know about you, but I don't like a person to make me feel like a dope seconds after meeting them.

The handshake. Now there's something I can get behind. Fact! The handshake is a great way to assert your position as "alpha male" right from the get go. People don't say, "I admire that man's hand choreography." after a fist bump, but you give that same person a nice firm handshake and you will instantly be respected. If you do some simple hand exercises, they might even walk away saying, "I'd imagine he could crush a brick with that hand!" That's what really counts.

FACT! Has this ever happened to you? You offer your hand for a nice shaking, only to have to settle for a bump from the person. Seconds later, BAM! You're stabbed! You know why? Because you didn't get to check his wrists for concealed knives. Safety first, people.

FACT!!!!!! Girls are impressed when you can pick up on their sub-conscious feelings. Imagine you're on your first date with the gal from the malt shop. Instead of going in for a hug, you shake her hand, and in doing so notice that they're a little sticky (from the malts.) Shabam! You offer her a moist-nap. That's preparedness. Maybe when you shake her hand you notice they're a little clammy? Wham! You get in your car and turn on the air conditioner, maybe offer her a nice cold Shasta. Feel a ring on that handshake? Odds are she's married or a Wiccan, which let's you know that there is no need for going through with the date, simply wish her the best and drive off.

What I'm trying to say here is, please stop bumping my fist.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008

I'd love to go, but...

...I've got that pog tournament.

Monday, September 1, 2008

Untitled

A man sits on a couch in a cluttered apartment. Pizza boxes and beer bottles litter the small coffee table in front of him. He is screaming profanities into a headset while playing a video game. He is wearing a stained undershirt and old sweats. A 5 o'clock shadow adorns his face, and his hair is in desperate need of cleaning. The door opens, and a golden man enters wearing a top hat and an old suit. He is painted head to toe with sparkly gold paint, and when he walks a faint whirring noise can be heard. He quickly moves to the table and sweeps it clean with his arm before slamming a few crumpled up dollar bills and some change down. He begins to speak but is inaudible. He spits a tiny kazoo out of his mouth and starts again.

"Seven dollars and 63 cents."

The couch man has a look of shock and horror on his face from the statement.

"What?! Dude, you were out there all day, you should have at least fifty bucks!"

"Yea, well, as it turns out holding still is a lot harder than I thought when it's 100 degrees outside. Plus I'm not very good at the robot, I told you I wasn't!"

"So what if you make a shitty robot, you're covered in gold! People should have been giving you offerings as though you were their GOD!"

"Fuck you man, I told you I didn't want to do this. That juggler you said wasn't very good? He was INCREDIBLE! I had to reapply my face paint three times because he made me cry. I CRIED! There is no way I'm going back out there tomorrow, it's your turn."

"Aw man, come on! I told you that I'm helping out our cause by staying here!"

The golden man sighs and begins taking off his suit.

"You've got to listen to me man...you are NOT going to get sponsored to play video games. You've been trying for a year, and the best response we've got from a potential "sponsor" was him laughing in your face. Nobody else has even said anything before calling security. I've been out there every day this week trying to get us money. You haven't been out in months."

"Whatever man, I went out like two weeks ago!"

"Oh, that's right. And you remember how much money you came back with? Negative two hundred dollars. Seriously, challenging passersby to foot races? And offering THEM money if they won?! You're not even that fast!"

"Hey, I did track and field in high school...I just figured the speed I had then would stay with me."

"You threw shot put in high school, jack ass!"

The golden man walks away, and returns a few minutes later with a beer.

"Dude, what are we gonna do?"

The couch man has returned to his game, his attention drifting back to it during the golden man's absence.

"I'm...gonna...kick this guy's ass is what I'm gonna do..."

His brow is furled, his tongue out. The golden man is now also distracted by the game, having momentarily forgotten his anger. Couch man scores a kill on his opponent, and jumps up in celebration.

"That's right, fuck you bitch! Tryin to use that cheap fuckin gun on me, but I don't even need to use it CAUSE I GOT THE MAD SKILLS!!"

"Owned!" The golden man is also quite ecstatic, and gives couch man a powerful high five that obviously hurts him.

"Was he ranked, man? Does that help you move up at all?"

"No, it's that kid from Deleware."

"What?! You promised me you would stop playing with him, he's eight years old!"

"Yea, an eight year old ass."

A few moments of silence pass before the golden man speaks.

"We have to get jobs."

"Yea..."

Sunday, July 27, 2008

There goes my hero.

The bus drops me off at Colfax and Grant. I have a rough map in my head of the bars I want to go to. My first night downtown since got here. I have never seen so many people on the streets, coming from a town with no night life. I drank up the lights, the sound, the people, and the alcohol. Last call. Gonna go for a bit of a walk, check out the city. I love it. It's cold enough to see your breath and people are scurrying from the bars back to their warm homes. The sound of cars and laughter begins to die down. I look at the street sign, and have no idea where I am. Check my watch. 3:30. Fuck. The buses don't run this late. Better call a cab...with...my...cell phone that I left at the bar. Fuck. The streets are empty. It's freezing and I chose to dress for style. My flip flops, tank top, Hawaiian shorts combo has severely back fired. Getting kind of scared. Getting very cold. I can't take it anymore and start crying. A few minutes later my tear filled eyes are blinded by a car pulling up next to me.

"Now, son, you are hardly dressed appropriately to be out in this kind of weather, where is it you're headed?"

(through sniffling) "I..I...I don't know, mister. I just moved here, this was supposed to be a fun night...."

I begin uncontrollably sobbing.

"Alright, alright, that's enough of that. Get in, we'll get you warmed up and home."

I didn't care that this man was probably going to murder me, at least I'd be warm when I died. I get in the car.

"So how long have you been here?"

My shivering is beginning to subside.

"About 3 months, I live a bit away from downtown so I'm not too familiar with it yet."

"Ah, well, while you get warm how would you like a tour of the city?"

"Um...ok."

Creepy. But whatever, I could probably down him if I had to. Wait, what am I talking about? If he tries anything I'm fucked, I don't know how to fight. He begins showing me the various sports arenas and museums and points of interest downtown. We stop at a gas station and he buys me a snapple. He doesn't say much, and neither do I. He offers me some saltines he had in his glove box, and they are delicious. He shows me everything I'll need to know to enjoy myself in this city. As we make the turn into my apartment complex I begin to panic. I don't know how to repay this guy...shit! What if he threatens my life if I don't give him all my money. Plus, now he knows where I live! Stupid, stupid Sean!

I tell him what building it is and he parks in front of it.

"Uh...sorry man, I'm kinda broke. I don't really have any way to repay you..."

I begin getting out of the car, hoping I can make a get away if he lunges. By the time he speaks I'm out and have the door shut.

"Oh, no no no. I don't expect any repayment. Consider this a moving into the city gift."

Oh, wicked. Free ride.

"Wow, thanks a ton Mr....hey, I never got your name."

"Well, just call me Mr. McCransky."

"You mean...wait...seriously? Are you the--"

"That's right, I'm the mayor. Welcome to the city."

He left without saying anything else.


Author's Note: This idea was a lot funnier in my head, and was also a lot shorter. I for some reason felt like I had to keep adding to it while I was writing it. Deal with it.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Oh, hello.

I quite enjoy writing. Actually, that's not true. I hate writing, but I love thinking about things to write. I would one day like to make something that at least 100 people read though, so it's a hurdle I'm going to have to climb. Anyways, I'm gonna start writing short stories, crappy poetry, funny words, thoughts, whatever. I want to put something up once a week. So...er...welcome.

Friday, June 13, 2008


Comical!