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Ar·ma·ged·don noun \ˌär-mə-ˈge-dən\ Definition of ARMAGEDDON 1 a : the site or time of a final and conclusive battle between the forces of good and evil b : the battle taking place at Armageddon 2 : a usually vast decisive conflict or confrontation Origin of ARMAGEDDON Greek Armageddōn, Harmagedōn, scene of the battle foretold in Rev 16:14–16 First Known Use: 14th century In the New Testament*, the place where the kings of the earth under demonic leadership will wage war on the forces of God at the end of history. Armageddon is mentioned only in the Revelation to John. The name may mean “Mountain of Megiddo,” a reference to the city of Megiddo, which held strategic importance in Palestine. Other biblical references suggest Jerusalem as the battle site.

WHAT WHITE ELEPHANT - a subsidiary of BLAMMO!, L.L.C. - a division of THE BIG LETDOWN INCORPORATED You can find this issue and past issues at scribd.com/whatwhiteelephant or even e-mail us at WHATWHITEELEPHANT@gmail.com & we’ll send you a pdf (unless the Mayans have killed us with their calendar system). We’re also on THE INTERNET, and on Twitter @what_elephant (if you’re into those sorts of things). Physical copies are on a first come, first served basis (we’re poor) and can usually be attained by knowing a guy, that knows this other guy that knows someone on our editorial staff. They can usually get you a copy. If we’ve run out of physical copies, shameless begging and undying flattery will always catch our attention. If you’re subscribed to our mailing list, you’re not getting a copy. Have you seen the price of stamps lately? We ain’t running no charity over here. Well, okay, we are-you got me there, but we haven’t mailed anything out since the Politics issue, and until we pull ourselves out of soul-crushing poverty (or until the world ends) we’re probably not mailing out any issues. Sorry. I’m not sorry.




My brain is rather disjointed at the moment. I feel as though I’m leap frogging through some written continuum of time.

white Jesus as your Lord and personal sailboat?


It’s the most horrible time of the year. I don’t hold out a particular hope for the fate of mankind.

Beyonce as your Lord and personal diva?



It has been thirteen days since the world changed. December 21st, 2012 came and went without incident.


What if this, were the last poem I wrote? Would it hold up, to scrutiny? Would it be worth a read?




If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser perosns than yourself.



ARIES - It’s a good month to play dumb, Aries. No matter what you do or say, be completely vague about it. Trust me on this one. A friend will come to you for advice, and despite having sound wisdom to give them, button your lip and act indifferent. “When life hands you a dick, suck it really well.” “The rain in the plains fall Spain.” You’re not crazy, you’re fancy. You doing a great doing Aries. Lovely face. TAURUS - Get some bookends for your days. Include some new reading, and brush your teeth you gross motherfucker. Did you know Herbert Walker Bush was hospitalized for bronchitis? He was a bomber pilot in WWII. You knew that, of course. That’s basically what makes Bush, bush. I wonder how Bushs’ bush looks... Do you think they have sex in the dark? Mistresses? Laura Bush can’t fuck worth shit. Oh-- high society. Anyway, have a good day, don’t be a train wreck and again-- don’t forget to brush your teeth, they’re fucking gross. GEMINI - You help me understand better what it is I’m thinking about, and trying to say, and sometimes even how I’m going about my life. The sun rises many times a month, so don’t count your chickens before they hatch. Even if it happens sooner at first, but then later as the month goes on. It’s a good time for transidential mediation, It’s going to get darker in the evevning. Fuck you Earth axis shift. Random things, mouth avoid, go to sleep early.

CANCER - The pink flamigos in your yard are completely worth it. Trash mammal. You’re going to get hit by a car tomorrow-- how’s that for a prediction of the future? If that doesn’t do it for you, you will adopt a starving African child, and then they’ll steal your wallet. There’s going to be Big Bang Theory marathon on this week-- set your DVR! The debate over capital punishment rages on this week when hundreds of citizens argue over who gets to strap you in. LEO - Guitars are on their way out. I had some serious syntax issues on that sentence. Grammar? Who knows. On the road is coming out as a movie. Did you read the book? I didn’t very much. In other totally obscured non-horoscopes, you’re doing a good job at being a real person this month. No addiction, or pregnancy problems are getting you down this time around! If you’re waking up and peeing a lot in the middle of the night, you problem have prostrate cancer. Unless you have a vagina. Cancer. VIRGO - How are things going this month, Virgo? I hate to be a Debbie Downer, but we’re all going to die. In other words, stop procrastinating because everything could be over before you know it... like in three weeks. Probably not though. Just in case the Rapture takes its sweet time, you might stock up on hard liquors. And house boys. and cocaine. They all come in handy when in a pinch. Especially the latter.

LIBRA - How’s that impenetrable wall working out for your Libra? Remember when I wished you a happy birthday, but remarked it was probably your last one? It’s totally your last one-- we’re all gonna die in 2 weeks! With Mayans and calendars! Not really though, so don’t go slutting it around town wearing your skimpiest outfit and stripper boots. Unless it’s a typical Tuesday. Also-- call an Aquarius in your life that is quickly slipping through the cracks and needs some sort of lifeline to a caring, loving world. Also, do some laundry you filthy pig. SCORPIO - Hey... Scorpio, long time no see. Did you have a good birthday last month? (or in October?) I would’ve asked sooner but there were no horoscopes last month. Shitty, I know. How’s life working out for you right now? If things are working out, keep that shit up, and conversely, if things are letting you down, you should probably shake things up a bit. Whatever you do, don’t take advice from random strangers-- that shit’ll fuck up you! You should probably spend the next three weeks living like the end of the world is coming. Thanks a lot Mayan assholes... SAGITTARIUS - You’re going to catch the flu. I know this is an awful madeup prediction, because you do already have the flu, but that’s your fault for never washing your hands after touching EVERYTHING in the world that hundreds of filthy people have touched before you. You unsanitary whore. Take lots of vitamins and if that doesn’t work, spending half your paycheck at an holistic organic food store will probably fix whatever ails you. And if that doesn’t work, I hear booze does wonders for problems.

CAPRICORN - I haven’t really seen you in several weeks, so uh, stop being such a flake? I really don’t know what to say, Capricorn. When you inspire more rivalry than camaraderie, you really can’t wonder why you don’t have more friends. Pull your head out of your ass and get some fresh air for once. Around the 14th of this month, you will get sick from a highly contagious & filthy Sagittarius. It really won’t matter because we’re all gonna die a week after that. Not really though, so don’t go credit card crazy, we’re not all gonna die. Yet. AQUARIUS - You know how the saying goes, “When times get tough, the tough break down and lose their shit”. Metaphorically, of course, you still have most of your shit. Proverbially. Naturally by now though, a lot of other people have your shit still. Ironically. I wish I could offer something inspirational to say to cheer you up, but everything sounds kitschy & cliche. Whatever happens, don’t do anything drastic, and whoever said that things come in threes should be punched in their sex parts. Remember, whiskey is handy, but cocaine is quicker. PISCES - You’re doing a great job Pisces-- you probably don’t hear that as often as you should. You know. Name one thing that happened this month that shouldn’t have. What’s one thing you could’ve done differently to cause a different outcome? I wasn’t kidding about the espresso machine. Get one. Put all those rumors about being a tea snob to bed once and for all. While we’re talking about it, make your bed. All three of them. I thought of something profound to say, but forgot. Whatever.

Yeti Detective
Not gonna lie to you, reader. I’m hungover like John Holmes doing a headstand. I guess I’m supposed to write about Mayans? What the fuck ever. Mayans built a time machine three thousand years ago, and they’re used it to send their entire population to December 21st, 2012 where they planned to illegally immigrate to America and shit out just a fuck ton of anchor babies, which will be really easy for them to do because they were all fit as hell and basically naked all the time so the instant they come out of the time portal literally the entire country will be waist-deep in ejaculate within five minutes because even our sexiest modern people are doughy, mole-covered grandma-looking dipshits compared to the ugliest goddamn Mayan you ever laid eyes on (which would cause you to tear through your your dungaries with the sheer force of the boner. Even if you’re a girl.) For communism. Now that’s out of the way, I want to talk about my generation. The Millennials, or whatever. I read an article on some website I don’t remember now, but it said that Generation X were the oldies born from 1960 to 1979 (nice saggy balls, gramps), and the Millenials are the generation born from 1980 to 2000. That’s what I’m basing this on. I don’t have facts. I don’t need facts. You’re just going to lie there like some Terri Shiavo asshole while I spoon feed the golden meal of my intellect into your slack, drool covered face hole as you stare blankly at that one spot on the wall, anyway. Challenge your goddamn self, reader. Come on.

This will still be somewhat topical since Mayans are coming to fuck us all to death and end the world, and my generation were planning on doing that anyway. We’re unprecedented in a number of ways. The Greatest Generation respected their elders. Generation X hated their parents because Gen X was almost entirely comprised of self-centered, lazy, incompetent dickpipes who were mad when they had to get a job and pay their own rent. My generation hates its parents for being so goddamn wrong about everything and fucking up the culture, society, and environment while refusing to believe that fucking up the culture, society, and environment is even a thing that is possible to do. I mean, if they’d done it on purpose it would have at least had a kind of cool super villainish appeal. But they didn’t. They’ve destroyed the world with the perfect storm of their laziness and stupidity, and they wrecked most of the people in my generation by applying these same traits to their parenting responsibilities. Millennials don’t give a shit about anything but smartphone apps and social networking. When I look out on the young people of today just now beginning to take the reigns of society I see fields and fields of stupid assholes wearing sneakers with their suits and trying to pretend their fucking Great Clips haircut cost $300. Stop it. Stop trying to play their game. Their game is terrible, and they’ve already lost most of the pieces, anyway. They are literally too stupid to ever realize this, and now they’re sliding down the steep inline of dementia. That slope is slick with their own shit. Imagine that. Visualize it. Your mom is sliding down that shit-slick slope even as she’s posting racist shit to facebook. I hate your mom. And you should too. It’s all her fault. It’s her fault you can’t find a job, and even if you do manage to find one it pays shit, doesn’t have health insurance, and the retirement plan is “die

young.” It’s your mom’s fault that the rich have gotten so rich that money is just a way for them to keep score now. It’s your mom’s fault they can’t teach science in public schools. It’s your mom’s fault it’s easier to get heroin than birth control. Fuck your mother. Now we have to rebuild the entire goddamn planet and virtually every aspect of human civilization from scratch. Even the north pole. THEY LOST THE FUCKING NORTH POLE! HOW IN THE SHIT DO YOU EVEN DO THAT? WHERE THE FUCK DOES SANTA LIVE NOW? GOD DAMMIT I AM SO ANGRY! Here’s the rub. They broke everything, ruined our lives, and left us emotionless husks who’s culture basically revolves around hating everything, but we’ve got to fix the future. We can’t pass this mess on to the next generation. The next generation likes Justin Beiber and that fucking Friday song. The next generation will not be equipped to deal with the issues we find ourselves dealing with. So we have to stop pretending like we live in a normal world and have the same opportunities our parents squandered. We have to stop trying to climb the corporate ladder. It doesn’t even go to the third floor anymore. We have to stop giving our resources and energy to the ‘Job Creators.’ They have never actually been that thing. They aren’t going to fix the world. They don’t care if the ice caps melt and the sea levels rise. The poorest amongst them owns at least one pleasure cruise ship, and staffing it will be easy when the time comes for the proletariat to choose between servitude and treading water. The future they will create will be bad. Kevin Costner’s Waterworld bad. Do you want to live in a shitty Kevin Costner movie? (They’re all shitty. I know your fucking mom loved Dances with Wolves. That Postman bullshit is her fault too.) Didn’t fucking think so. So, what do we do? How do we rise up in a world where The System has unmanned aerial drones that will shoot you down with mis-

siles from the sky or, if they can’t find you, shoot down your brother so that they can get you at the funeral? THINK IDIOT! Who builds the drones? Who flies them from a remote bunker? It’s not a fucking Gen Xer. Have you seen those assballs try to play videogames? No. That’s us. We build the cool shit. We know how to fly it to kill people we’ve all been raised too sociopathic to give a shit about. We can take them back. We can build better ones and not give them to The System. We are the sharp young kids who will work for twinkies 60 hours a week for a greedy, stupid, lazy Gen Xer because they have the money. They’re not giving it to us, obviously, twinkies are cheap. But now the twinkie factories are gone. Gone is their source of power over us. Rise up, Millennials. Rise up and cast off the twinkie shackles of your golden, cream-filled oppressors. Take the blue pill. I just took a handful. Wait. Are you supposed to take the red pill in that movie? I don’t remember, and frankly I’ve got too much momentum going here to just flip applications and Google it. Do your own research. Take your own pills. Because I’m not sharing my stash. DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING TOUCH MY STASH! FUCK YOUR MOTHER!





Guy Debord

thought I’d left it here last night. It was right here, beside my bed. I was even thinking about it right before I fell asleep. Uggghhhhh. This is disgusting. I get out of bed, slap some pants on, wash my face and head to the kitchen. There, my step mom is standing, making some goofy breakfast that my step brothers like. I’m usually not at the breakfast table, but there’s always a little bit I can steal from everyone’s portion to get me a good start to the day. Chew a piece of gum,head out to my car. Driving to school, I curse at myself, give dirty looks to the stop sign that almost hit me, and I am just not too awfully happy to be at the place I am. I pull up to the school parking lot, and I get out of my car. Scanning over the back seat, I decide what I should take into the school to work on. I’ve got a bunch of crap to get done. So I grab a notebook with a pen at the end, and lock my doors. Walk into the school, a couple of people give the nod, some “hi”s and “what’s up”s. Where did it go? It was right there when I went to sleep. I tore apart half of my room. Now I’ve got to go home and clean it, I did such a thorough job. As I take notes in class, I’m not registering a single thing the teacher says. It’s in my book, but I don’t know what it says. What did I do with that thing. Where did it happen to go. It went somewhere. It’s still in this realm of things, our understanding of existence. It’s there. Next class, the teacher makes us do a group project, and we get it done. I joke and talk with my peers in passing, but I’m sure they know something else is keeping a big chunk of my attention. Lunch, I have some food and sit at my table. There’s people there, and they talk a lot. I get in on a couple of conversa6 ASEARCHINGNARRATIVE

tions, but don’t devote myself entirely, to anything, all day. Two more classes, it’s about the same as last two. Just doing things on auto-pilot and being distracted by that stupid thing. Funny how one thing can be a very…emphasized facet of the mind. School is out, and now I’m heading to my car. I’m going off to where I was last night. What did I do last night? The same thing I do on every other night that doesn’t have anything worth remembering. I worked. Hopping on the highway, I take the fast track to my little call center of a despicable corner of the world. I walk in, and I look under tables, over chairs, and through people. Within five minutes of being there, I have such a frantic expression, people want me to leave so they can go back to be cool and collected about what they’re doing. I give up. It’s not there. I did go to Pizza Hut last night to grab my dollar Personal Pan. Mmm, I love it. This is the first time I’ve been wholly distracted today, up until I called myself on it. What did I do with it? So, I run up to my favorite place to get substandard, overpriced food, and ask anybody that was there last night if they found something that fit my description. Anybody that’s been paying attention this long, will more than likely guess what the answer was. They had not seen it. But, I scored some free breadsticks. Well, I have one more place that I can tear apart before I decide that it has actually gone and left this realm of feasibleness; my neighbor’s house, of course. I head home, burst into their house (I don’t remember the last time I knocked on the door) and throw Jessica a half a box of breadsticks. I rush into Tony’s room, and after moving a few things he curses at me for waking him up. “Get over it,” I say.


“What are you even doing?” “Looking for that one thing.” “You lost it? You had it when you

I run back out of the house with this information. It has to be there, it’s where I went after seeing him. I scan the ground as I traipse over it as deep of a depth as my eyes can muster. I run up through the house, and into my room. At this point, I’m sure that something swallowed it. Probably the earth. It’s gone. I lay on my bed, and look at ceiling. After a bit, I open my eyes because they closed as I had fallen asleep. I put my feet on the ground, and my shoe is beside it. Sitting there in the shoe, is a Gameboy with a shiny Pokemon game in the back. Man, I love my video games.



I’m not in the mood to write this month. Hell-- I wasn’t in the mood to write last month. We have a little joke around the zine offices. Our lives seem to conform around that month’s theme. February? We all became horrid junkies. November? Half the staff quit, and half our contributors didn’t submit. At first the coincidence was very amusing, but the last few months have been extremely depressing. My life has become disappointing, to the point of the end of the world. January’s theme was planned on being the “Death” issue. It’s funny you see. The end of the world issue followed by the death issue? Classic. I’m not so superstitious to think things have happened because of our themes, but the way things are going, it’s starting to

creep me out a little bit. My grandmother died two weeks ago. I kept telling myself over and over again not to write about it, but I can’t help it. She was my best friend. She was the one person in my life I can be completely open and vunerable to, and she still loved me and only wanted the best for me. She was a ray of joy in an otherwise ugly and bleak world. She taught me about kindess and humility. She was the one person in my life that has never judged me and most importantly, never abandoned me. I really wish the events in my life did not lead to this point. The cuts, bruises and fractures I can handle. The gossip and hateful lies I can handle. I think I’ve done a pretty good job at handling whatever bullshit has been thrown at me. But this is too soon. It’s just too much for me to handle. If this is the moment in my life where everything I care about is suddenly & tragically ripped away from me, memo to life, I can’t handle it. My friends have been amazing. Thank you so much. They have let me breathe, be slightly erradict, and most importantly myself. They haven’t sugar coated, or said tried and tested generic words of empathy. They’ve been real. And that’s what I need most right now. Realness. I’ve dealth with my fair share of frauds, hucksters, and con men over the years, and it’s nice to finally take a long deep breath and just cry.

I appreciate you all for being patient with me during this difficult time. I promise I’ll come back stronger than ever and I have you all for being so considerate to me.


Dustin’s Grey Half

I’m not happy with much of anything I’m putting down on the page at the moment. I’m also not happy with the great bulk of what I’m reading. I love a great story that’s well-written. I also love clever phrases and the like. However, I hate shallow people who, from their own vanity and pseudo-profundity, attempt to artificially mine creativity from cavernous hollow skulls filled with shit. My brain is rather disjointed at the moment. I feel as though I’m leap frogging through some written continuum of time. Nothing much makes sense and at the same time, I know it’s all real. I’m not talking in riddles. I’m not bullshitting you. There are no hidden messages here. This is a glimpse inside my head during one of the times when the atmosphere is heavy and the whispers climb to perceptible levels. The apartment is filled with lazy ghosts made of sticky membranes. They prick my finger and sting when I try to breach them. Big stinging dark red caterpillars. They cling themselves from the ceiling and diagonally down to the walls like some extra-dimensional insect breeding its young. That’s what it feels like in my house. For instance, this weekend I visited my canine companion’s grave. I sat there and chatted with her for a bit. Eventually I took walk through the woods and down some old railroad tracks. I was meditating on life, the paths we choose, and the ones chosen for us. My mom had earlier said how there was a man attending her church now who she didn’t quite understand. “He speaks...odd. Like, he knows what he’s saying, and the way it’s said is often beautiful, but it doesn’t always make sense.” I told her I understood because the way I speak with myself in my brain would prove itself to be an inefficient communication model

were I to verbalize it. She asked for an example. I told her about being on the tracks and thinking earlier that day. “I was thinking about her,” I said, “and I thought about the lessons that life gives us. But that’s not what I said in my head. The way I phrased it there was, so I came this morning, to this place of mourning, to remember and curse and give thanks, and to learn those things which only the grave can teach.” She said it was beautiful, that it sounded like poetry. I reminded her that it wasn’t intended as such - it’s just how I speak in my head, but not out loud. People give their power away, I think. Most often, it’s not taken, but rather relinquished. I think most people are so consumed with the idea of money that they’re incapable of thinking about it on a rational and logical level. It’s just money. One day, you’ll end up either in an urn on a shelf or in a casket in the ground. Either way, no matter how large your home, the best you can hope for is a few cubic feet (or cubic inches) where you can rot. And I say all of that as a proud capitalist pig. Nearly everything tastes like stale Saltine crackers right now. Really old ones. And some asshole has swooped, a thief in the night, and robbed me of all the square salt crystals on the tops of my crackers. That’s the best part about them. Being crazy isn’t like being insane. The two are completely different things. Insane people can’t put gas in their vehicle, send an email, or craft interesting conversation. Crazy people can. I don’t even know if “crazy” is the correct descriptor for it. I don’t think I’m crazy; I think I suffer from some sort of hyper-sanity. But to the pedestrian sheep running about believing they’re famous (you just don’t know it yet!) and brilliant, brief glimpses to those of us who see things they can’t imagine - it must seem crazy to them within the frame work of their cloistered lives. They make rules solely for the purpose of breaking them and then declare themselves the new Rebel God Kings. These people are both pedantic and pitiful.

I saw a documentary on trepanation once. It’s where you drill a hole in your skull. I thought that’d probably feel good. The same way it hurts when you’re a kid and you have a loose tooth, but feels good at the same time to slowly press it out. I think it’d feel alright. When I sleep, there’s a guy outside of my window. He hangs out there, breathing slowly on the pane. By the time I realize he’s there, the window is fogged over. He makes everything grey. I can only see the outline of him. I feel like he wants to hurt me, but he can’t for some reason. And I can’t make him go away. He’s just there. Breathing on the glass; waiting for me to invite him inside.

Kninja So... The end of the world is nearing our generation. Right? Is it not? Who the fuck are you Mayans? Your first calendar created war among your people, so you created another one that is making a ridiculous amount of people in this century believe the world is going to end. Go you. You rock. Thanks for the sacrificial temples and your shitty calendar. We love your work. Now, on to the next one. How about that Phosphorus shortage coming up? Have fun with that one. Oh yeah, solar flares rock. We enter our sun`s solar maximus in 2013. There is a better chance of catching the Zodiac killer than being destroyed by our sun. Enjoy your life. Have no worries. Events that cannot be changed should not effect our minds, but they do. Live in the now, and do something that will make your heart beat.



It’s the most horrible time of the year. The Mayan calendar ends in a few days. Instead of assuming that maybe the natives ran out of room to carve dates into bone or leather or whatever those folk wrote on, the western world has decided that it must mean the world is about to end. To this point, major motion pictures have been released and hours upon hours of shitty faux-docudramas are available on Netflix detailing how we’re all about to die. “But, you don’t understand how the periods of the Mayan calendar work!!!” Yes, actually, I do. And probably better than you do. Some idiot watches a 60 minute glam-doc on H2 in between marathon episodes of Ancient Aliens and suddenly decides for him or herself that they’re experts on the “End Times”. This is like me watching a special on the Higgs-Boson particle on the Science Channel and sending in my resume to lead CERN. Will Earth come to an end? Yes. In a few billion years our sun will expand into its Red Giant phase of life, boiling away our oceans, scorching the planet surface, and then consuming us whole. If you’re living on Mars, you and yours will probably get a few extra years, but if you’re on this planet? Well, hope you like that tan extra crispy. All of our dead in their coffins will essentially become human meat versions of a pot roast left in a

This is insanity.

crockpot for far too long and, given enough protection, one could conceivably walk on dry ground from England to France. Well, I don’t hold out a particular hope for the fate of mankind. I think about it this way: if the church had been in possession of thermonuclear weaponry during the dark ages, do we really think the any Muslims would be alive today? Hell no. At best, we’d be cracking that glass parking lot to get to the oil all the while donning our radiation suits. And at our best, we’re no further along than humans 1,000 or even 5,000 years ago in our physical evolution and only marginally better in our psycho-social mutations. Luckily, the Vatican didn’t have plutonium power back in the day. However, we have such capabilities and have dared to test, and in two instances actually used, the sun incarnate on earth to incinerate our fellow primates. The reality is that there are still peoples on this living sphere who are as primitive with their cultish practices as the Christians were several hundred years ago. However, the reality is that these people are about to get access to planet-killing weaponry. When I was a kid, I watched the move The Day After. It was, to my five-year-old brain, a realistic portrayal of what was going to happen if the Communists decided to launch an attack on us. Well, communism is the least of our worries now as the Shia mullahs of Iran seek nukes to drag the final Imam back up from the well where he’s allegedly been in occultation for the past few centuries.

Our species has a bit of a selfdestructive streak. Instead of marching in the streets for Washington D.C. to act against Tehran and their desire for oblivion of us and our allies, Americans are much more concerned about the The Real Housewives of Atlanta/Beverly Hills/Compton/Wherever. The number of followers we have on Twitter means far more than the number of hours we spend improving ourselves or conversing with our children. The opiate of popularity is the only thing that matters any more. We’ll continue to drink this elixir deep into our guts knowing on some level that it’s rotting us from the inside out, but that doesn’t matter. Someone else will deal with Tehran and the madmen of the world – there’s no need for us to get involved. Just make sure you’re beautiful and that everyone likes you. And you’ll live forever. Sometimes I wonder if there were Mayans such as this alive in ancient times. Perhaps that was the reason for so much human sacrifice – tell the stupid ones they’re beloved for giving their lives for everyone else when really, we’re just thinning the herd. A crude, but effective, plan to further the cause of the species.



Spike 2.0
It has been thirteen days since the world changed. December 21st, 2012 came and went without incident. Much to the chagrin of the doomsday cult some called the Church of End Times but most referred to as Doomtards. They were fully convinced the Mayan calendar was correct in predicting the last day of humanity and in the week prior to the supposed end of the world the poor bastards killed themselves. Gathered in a warehouse with an inch of standing water and ran an extension cord from the ground to a high output generator. Even they went more peacefully than most. 2013 passed as well, and nothing of further note transpired then either. But February of 2014 begun The Return. The movies had it all wrong. It didn’t start with house fires and ambulances careening wildly into the side of a flea market or a sub shop downtown. It began slowly, with a creeping fog undulating slowly at irregular intervals all over town. It certainly seemed a bizarre twist of the weather what with it being so cold and dry for the past several months. The winter had been hard on our city, harder than usual, and the fog simply another oddity. A story to tell the grandkids about. Only the grandkids never came. It was Sunday morning, immediately following the fog when the first headstones were discovered, toppled forward into open graves. Three of them, all pitched forward and down as if pushed over by vandals. Only no one could fathom who would do such a thing, considering who the graves belonged to. The graves were of eighteen



year old Allison Gray and seventeen year olds Travis and Sarah McElheny. They had been in a car accident three days before the fog came. An unfortunate turn of events occurring shortly after the twins had been picked up from a party in Allison’s Escape. They’d been drinking and called her for a ride, apparently she lost control of the vehicle for reasons unknown and the three went over the guardrail on Farm Road 8. Many locals blamed the location; the area was known for deer crossing the two lane road in the night. The SUV landed on its roof, four feet deep in the river running alongside the road. All three had drowned before they could escape the vehicle. The entire city mourned, those three were among the most loved students attending Mid Central High. At the top of their class, they had broken social barriers and were friends with virtually every classmate they encountered. Active in the community and all from well to do families, they had no enemies whatsover. No explanation for the open graves and broken stones. The defacing was even featured on the morning news, and the tragedy of it all was fresh enough that a good portion of the town went reaching for their Kleenex. As the week of the vandalism wore on, it became apparent that there was something amiss around town. Dogs began barking at nothing, tempers flared, 911 calls began steadily increasing and the very sick began behaving strangely; all of the terminally ill patients at the hospital began acting unusually lethargic, their breathing became shallow and their skin started to droop with dark circles underneath their eyes. Even the air itself changed. It felt almost... electric. It was clear that something momentous was happening. The hospital became

clogged with an overflow of very sick individuals, many with strange stories of being attacked in the night by dirty, shambling figures. The descriptions varied. Sometimes the attacker male, sometimes female. Sometimes large or small. A few of them even described children. One thing they never varied on though, there was nothing human about these creatures. Every tale indicated the figure walking stiffly as if dazed, mouths stretched open in wide grimaces. The victims filtered in with bites on their arms or legs. Disgusting things, turning black within hours of the altercation. Families noticed their loved ones had gone missing. The police department became overwhelmed with reports of assault during the night. It was then, watching the news on my break at the hospital that I saw my first zombie. I heard the call light ding all the way down the hall, and as a nurse’s aid I knew I should have gotten up to check on whichever patient needed my help, but I sat transfixed by what I saw on the television. A woman had actually shot and killed her husband after he came home and tore a chunk out of her arm. Her eyes wild, she gestured to her bandaged arm as the reporter leaned in for a close-up shot of the damage. Reflected in the victims eyeglasses were the lights of patrol cars. That was one of the things you had to appreciate in a town this size. Everyone knew everyone and word traveled quickly. The news crew had nearly beaten the sheriff to the scene. As the handsome reporter, Gary Oberson leaned in with the microphone, a gunshot sounded. The camera spun to locate the source of the sound, throwing white light onto the sheriff. He had been thrown across the hood of the squad car by a large, gray- haired man wearing what

looked to be a suit. It was hard to tell from all the dirt. That and the missing sleeve. It appeared as if there was a large chunk missing from his shoulder, appearing as if it had exploded outward, almost like the exit wound of a high caliber firearm. Another gunshot rang out but it was too late. The man holding him down ducked his head and returned with a mouthful of flesh. A guttural snarl arose from the sheriff and the left side of his uniform was instantly awash in scarlet. He had actually bitten the sheriffs throat out! The large attacker then shook his head, releasing the flesh and ducked down again, his face already coated in blood. The snarl became a gurgle and the sheriffs boots which had been drumming the ground, fell still. “Dear God in heaven.” the reporter was heard, whispering off camera. At that, the man turned and lurched forward, knocking the camera to the ground and blackening the television screen. I can’t say precisely why, but the whole incident was so disturbing, so in-your-face real, that it sickened me on a fundamental level. Without fully realizing it, I turned my head and retched violently. Bringing up every bit of the bologna sandwich, chips and soda that I had just eaten. I wiped my mouth, tasting bile as the emergency test screen came up on the tv. Somehow I knew all of the recent strangeness was connected to the horror I and countless others across the city had just witnessed but it just seemed so surreal. Some time after the screen went dark I woke from my stupor, starting at the sound of the call button which hadn’t stopped dinging and was now the only sound in the room. I stood on shaky legs and began making my way to the desk to shut off the

persistent bell. As I walked I wondered about the attack on the news. Could that have been real, that horrible, violent scene? If so, that sheriff was most definitely dead. And what of that dirty guy in the suit? What was his problem? He had looked almost... dead. The more I thought about it the more far-fetched it seemed. Surely it was an ill timed hoax. Pressing the button, I noted the room number 816. Of course it would be at the opposite end of the hallway. I made my way toward the other end of the ward slowly, still stunned by the unbelievable sight I had only just begun processing. It struck me that the floor seemed too quiet. With the call button no longer sounding it was eerily silent and for the first time since break I realized I was alone. Where was Nancy? The nurse should have been at the station. It was unlike her to be away from the desk for so long. Maybe she had just went the restroom during my break. That must be it. I rounded the corner and entered the last room on the right. My eyes widened in shock as the horrific scene came into sharp focus. The crimson blood was a stark contrast splashed all over the gray tile floor. So much blood. Without thinking I rushed to the patients bedside. Had I ever seen that much blood before? The elderly woman was covered in the stuff. Hands shaking, I reached to take a pulse, or to check if she was breathing. I’m not really sure what I was doing. It all happened to fast to think. I was simply reacting, my body on autopilot while my mind attempted to recover from the shock. As I moved closer, the woman jerked her head towards me and snapped her teeth mere inches from my probing fingers. Jerking back, I slipped in the blood. As I fell I noticed the gory scene trailed into the private

restroom, door standing slightly ajar. Bloody hand prints led across the floor and up the door frame. I stood upright and relief flooded over me. The patient was confined to the bed. As I rose back into her field of vision she started to groan, a deep throaty sound that raised the hair on the back of my neck. Staring in silence, her name came to me suddenly. Edith Martin. She had become combative upon admission and had to be sedated and restrained. I think she had been admitted due to a stroke. My eyes slid left, to the gruesome bathroom. If Edith was still in bed then who... My heat leapt in my chest. Nancy! I crept slowly across the room on wooden legs. Apprehension filled me as I slowly reached out and nudged open the bathroom door.

Daniel Jones what if this were the last poem i wrote? would it hold up to scrutiny? would it be worth a read? i should have grown my beard a lot longer and chipped a poem into two tablets. that would have solidified it’s timeliness. if this were my last poem i would need to mention everything all of my other poems embody. whiskey, weed, pussy, masturbation, whiskey. if this were my last poem it would have to be brutal and scribbled in a cockroach’s handwriting. that would solidify it’s timeliness.



who i’d like to Peanut Scholar meet

should. Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With I guess this dude. Desiderata by, Max all its sham, drudgery, and broken Ehrmann ....................................... dreams, it is still a beautiful world. ....................... Go placidly amid the Be cheerful. noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. Strive to be happy. I make bad decisions and am As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons. going to have a wonderful life. I try Speak your truth quietly and clearly, to, in general, create a positive exand listen to others, even to the dull perience for the people around me. I and ignorant; they too have their sto- want someone else to type this up for ry. Avoid loud and aggressive persons; me. I don’t know who I am. I know too much about me to know what’s getthey are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with ting through to people and what’s not. others, you may become vain or bit- I like people, and adore crazy people. ter, for always there will be greater I sometimes get way harsh way fast and lesser persons than yourself. En- with certain people that I don’t even joy your achievements as well as your know, if I feel like they are too obnoxplans. Keep interested in your own ious or dumb. I have the gift of gab, career however humble; it is a real the ability to say a lot without repeatpossession in the changing fortunes ing myself, and could fill this bad boy of time. Exercise caution in your up. I over-talk subjects. Beat that business affairs, for the world is full dead horse till it’s mashed. It’s probof trickery. But let this not blind you ably annoying to hang out with me. I to what virtue there is; many persons wouldn’t suggest it. strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it

“Colin Farrell is, very Irish because he, your-son-after-2-years parental run-ins. born from lady parts” that’s the best I feel like I should invite him over so he haiku ever. can cockblock my roommate one last time before he graduates. for old times Can we just disagree to not agree? sake, ya know? Science doesn’t love you... science doesn’t even like you. It killed your par- How many people slept in the bouncy castle last night? ents.

You gotta face it-- you’re twice as reck- Gas station champagne. And before you less and half as talented as most people. say anything I’ll have you know it’s imported. From California. So get fucked. No offense. You’re too late. He has eggnog and whisYou don’t stand a chance against our key and all seven seasons of buffy. He shan’t be coming home tonight. baking soda volcano, bitchface. i would really appreciate it if you would stop texting my girlfriend.

Rather than putting your name in guys phones, you just texted 90999 to donate $10 to Hurricane Sandy relief and Went to a wedding reception last night, then gave it back to them. woke up with a Christmas tree and the rest of the keg. She’s next.

Cooked breakfast with his mom this morning...I’m like the housewife of one Dumbass I drove... you sat in the pas- night stands. sengers seat and steered with a paper This is a mass text. Does anyone know plate. where I am? i know a math teacher that staples Burg... and then she said I drew a line on her er King applications to failed tests. forehead with my cum and whispered Sex on bubble wrap = best decision “Simba”. ever. I’m fucking your sister right now. I would do horrible things to your vagina. Prove it. So I was just driving high and I stopped to let a pinecone cross the road because Renamed my iPod as ‘the titantic’ so when I plug it in it’s says ‘the titantic is I thought it was a hedgehog. syncing.’ i just walked into a room at this party and someone yelled “dibs!” You motherfucker. I’ll pick you up. Avoid slightly awkward no-we’re-not-dating-but-I’m-still-screwingTHINGSOVERHEARD 19




“Oh illustrious skin peddler! Will you thrust thine horse all the way home to your haus & put thine pequeno headlights away?

Sergeant Heartstomp - CHICKEN LITTLE Madame Super Duper - BIBLICAL SCHOLAR Peanut Scholar - ROMANCING THE STONE Butchcat Bitchmouth - THE STONE

“Step 1; set time. Step 2; watch & listen [pop!]; Step 3; Remove top.”