villains noun \ˈvi-lən\ Definition of VILLAIN 1 : villein 2 : an uncouth person : boor 3 : a deliberate scoundrel or criminal 4 : a character in a story or play who opposes the hero 5 : one blamed for a particular evil or difficulty <automation as the villain in job … displacement — M. H. Goldberg> Origin of VILLAIN Middle English vilain, vilein, from Anglo-French, from Medieval Latin villanus, from Latin villa First Known Use: 14th century

you foe.
WHAT WHITE ELEPHANT - a subsidiary of SUPER VILLAINS INCORPORATED L.L.C. - a division of NURSE! I SPY GYPSIES RUN! 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 (although for all the trouble that’s worth, it’s probably not worthwhile). We’re also on THE INTERNET, and on Twitter @what_elephant (if you’re into those sorts of things).





2. ...1 4. ...4 6. ...4

I can hear you dying. the slowly quiet everwhirring fan blades turned complying with their original design. as usual,



Her skin was a fair pale color, her eyes a deep blue surrounded by an angry blood shot red.




Abby is still sitting there, in my head and in this novel, presumably with his thumb up his butt.



It was crowded that day, smoke dust and other particles of shit looming throughout the air not to mention the curling of illegal smoke lofting from one decrepit room to the next.



No ma’am that hookah isn’t for smoking drugs, yes sir, those crickets are real and people do buy and eat them, no, i don’t fucking know if our shirts are pre shrunk,.







ARIES - Don’t be so mad this month Aries, the worst is already over. For you anyway.The things you’re so upset about aren’t as real as you think they are, or they just don’t matter as much as you think they do. The Geminis in your life are really laying on thick these days, so make sure you keep them at arms length, and if you need help with any questions make sure you hit up the Aquarius in your life. They could really use a friend these days. Just remember that calling the kettle black isn’t allowed after Labor day. TAURUS - I heard Wanda broke up with Laura. Yeah, she’s sad that she can’t make it work with her. What? You’re going to ask Laura out?! Don’t you think thats kind of, you know, selfseeking? Activated charcoal helps with food poisoning too--and by food poisoning I mean the arsenic Wanda’s going to try to slip into your dinner when she pretends like she isn’t still hurt. (O_x) (A blackened eyed bitchface) In other words, stay away from angry ladies named Wanda. GEMINI - Your “time of the month” is lasting all month Gemini, and more than one person is glaringly over it. If you’re feeling spritely, try to make multiple people freak out at you, then write about it. Or at least start to an then bitch out because you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Avoid the aries in your life, They are not afraid to hit you, and they more than likely want to more than you’d like to believe they do. Lay low.

CANCER - This month switch from being a cutter to being a crier. Show everyone you actually do have a heart that beats for something other than yourself. Selfish bastard. Tuesday is coming so don’t forget to check the oil level in your car. The stars this month are in the ‘mechanical failure’ conjecture so you wanna take care of basic maintenance. If you’re feeling frisky, hit up a Scorpio or a weak and cowardly Capricorn; you’re guaranteed to get syphilis. Slut. LEO - October is coming. It’s a shit month to be alive in, but you’ll figure sometihng out by the time summer is over. Whenever your store is on fire, don’t worry about putting it out. Once flames are involved, it’s a job for someone else. Firestarter. There’s a Gemini in your life wanting to fuck shit up, so give them your trusty pocket knife, make some popcorn & watch them fuck shit up. Enabler. Stop doing heroin or I predict you’ll really like doing heroin. Shit happens. VIRGO - Whatever.

LIBRA - Libras are the superior sign of the enite zodiac. Everyone either affirms to this wholeheartedly, or are too stupid to know what to believe in. Regardless Libra, you are a creature of grace, beauty, debonair and us lower creatures are blessed by your outerworldly presence. This month will be fileld with random acts of kindness bestowed upon you, a raise at work and a general overall feeling of happiness and superiority. Your lucky numbers this month are whichever numbers you want to be lucky you cleverly silver toungued devil you. SCORPIO - Your car is going to break down Scorpio, how is that for a fucking prediction? What-- you don’t have a car?! You are the worst first world trust fund baby ever. Speaking of babies, have more. What? You don’t plan on having any babies? I just poked holes in all your condoms. Bitches. You have enough/ too many? Your husband was really getting wasted at the titty bar when he said he was getting a vasoctomy. Just let it happen and waste the best years of your life going towards ungrateful baby assholes that will end up resenting you when they’re older anyway. SAGITTARIUS - At some point you would think having both pink eye and hepatitis A would encourage you to get away from all the bullshit in your life Sagittarius, however you are somehow enchanted to the allure and all the gossip. Homo say what? Spend a little less time this month traveling and more time soul searching because you don’t have one and should really... Find one? Make one up? Steal someone elses? Whichever is most usually ordinary and comfortable for you, you soul stealing succubus starfucker you.

CAPRICORN - You’re feeling a bit meek this month so stay away from the brooding Aqaurians, the tempermental Geminis, the shit-smelling Sagittarius and the arrogantly superior Libras. in fact you should probably stay away from just about everyone Capripcorn because it’s your month to be everyone’s whipping boy & scapegoat (unless you’re into that sort of thing). Sadist. If you’re bored, you could always take up a hobby like zine-writing, or zine planning organizing. Whatever you need to tell yourself you’re doing something worthwhile. AQUARIUS - We all know you’re having a rough time, water bearing baby. What we’re all annoyed with is how eventful your latest pity party is. No, I won’t R.S.V.P. online. And you wonder why everyone says it’s a bad idea that you own a gun. Stop being such a Negative Nancy otherwise the month is just going to suck all life and hope out of itself. You know, what you call the day that ends in ‘y’. You’re good at creating your own reality around you; self-destructing doomsayer ‘n all. PISCES - Hippie. Incense much? Smell much? No one is digging your odor no matter how many times they lie to your face. Did that hurt your feeling sweetiepie? Maybe it’s time to start surrounding yourself with more real people and less ass kissing sychphants. Ask someone to tell you what those big words mean. In other made up news, you’re going to lose a toe nail. I don’t know how, stop touching me like that. I’m mean, not a psychic. Your lucky numbers are 38, 6, 51, 27, 19 and blue. Shut up bitch.

Yeti Detective Villainy. I suppose we’re all someone’s villain. We’ve got jilted lovers, and would-be friends whose fondness and affections we couldn’t or wouldn’t return. Maybe you’re someone’s villain because you’re a member of the non-working class, lazily sponging off of their tax money which they would rather put toward a heated enclosure over their inground pool or a second S.U.V. Maybe you’re someone’s villain because you leveraged your advantage, privilege, and position to completely fuck the economy so you could evict their grandmother from the house she’s lived in for 50 years and sell it to yuppies at a thousand percent profit. It’s all the same, really, when you think about it. As long as you don’t really think about it. One of my current roommates said, “The villain always has to be stronger than the hero, otherwise the hero isn’t overcoming anything challenging,” and I think that’s pretty good. I think we need villains. We need something to overcome. We require challenges to make us stronger. Zen is pretty neat because your goal is to overcome yesterday’s self. You are your own villain. The stronger you make yourself, the stronger the antagonist you’ll have to defeat tomorrow. But what do I know about Zen? I’m just some drunk asshole. Let’s talk about something I do know about. Sins. What creates a villain? Is it trauma? Is it just being human? Ghandi was a hero to millions, yet he admitted in 4 FILTH


his biography to abusing his wife when she refused to clean the toilet. Napoleon was feared globally, yet he was a hero to his people. Everyone’s hero is someone else’s villain and vice versa. Humans are terrible, but I’ve drank that well dry, so let’s talk about psychopaths. A psychopath is only part of a human, and only the terrible part. In all liklihood, they were born that way. How can we judge them? Can’t I judge a tiger for thinking I’m food? They were born that way, so what the hell? Let’s do this. Psychopaths are the best because they are the ultimate proof that people are terrible. Not because there is something wrong with them that makes them hurt and kill other people. That doesn’t make them the best. That just makes them scary. What makes them the best, in my terrible eyes which are directly connected to my horrible, diseased brain, is the specific thing that is wrong with them. You see, what separates a psychopath from a normal human is the lack of amigdyla function. The amigdyla is the part of your brain that causes fear or anxiety. Psychopaths are not capable of feeling these things, and so they aren’t capable of empathizing with them either. What would you do if you weren’t afraid to do anything? How would you treat people? You’d probably like to think that you would be less afraid to approach strangers and tell them how you feel about them, good or bad. That’s probably not untrue. Psychopaths do that as well. One of the defining traits of a psychopath is charm. They’re charming because they act, in public, the way most of us wish we could act. They’re murderers because they act, in private, the way most of us would act if we weren’t afraid to act on

our darkest impulses. That is an important lesson. If you take away a person’s fear, they don’t become a hero. The loss of anxiety doesn’t result in the pursuit of lofty ambition. It creates a monster. A hero is someone who overcomes their fear. A real villain, a devil, never had it to begin with.

it happened like this
Slain Brain
I tried living in KC once, and by living in I mean that I went to rescue my friend who went for the weekend when her car broke down, and once I got there to save her, my truck broke down (and accumalated roughly 280 parking tickets at UMKC before they had it towed.) and was resigned to crashing with 2 guys in a 1 bedroom apart where she had been staying; guy one was named Jay (the apt lease was actually in his name) an ex-dj, current apathetic college student and purely theoretical cock-denying bicurious. Do you remember those massive 500 cd holders? Jay had roughly 15-20 of these. I discovered music like I never have at any other time in my life. Of course it was all shitty house music from the late 90s. Meh. Roommate number 2 Alex (not on the lease, but ended up paying all the rent and apt utilities) former titty bar bouncer and current methamphetamine dealer. sometimes weed, and coke, and mushroom, and lsd, and strange drugs with research chemical names, but really just mostly meth. God there was so much meth. it was actually a very interesting 3 months. Josephine (my friend I failed to rescue) and I cleaned a lot around the apartment (thanks crystal meth) and we were REALLY into roleplaying back then and I think because we were so quirky and creative (read because we cleaned up after everyone) both Jay and Alex grew affectionate towards us and were happy to have us as pseudo roommates. the traffic over there was insanity. by the time people stopped coming over

to either chill, or smoke out, or score, or chill and score, the sun was coming up and we tried getting as much sleep as we could. Unless we had been doing speed all day, in which case we would clean or make lists. We make a lot of lists. I’ve seen them since then and they’re all gibberish. By the time the morning crowd would come by (teens on their way to school, 20s on their way to work) Alex would wake us up with Good Morning rails, and the teens would roll a few blunts. I was wide awake, anxious, stoned and paralyzed. Alex’s meth was yellow. I couldn’t remember the exact color to say, compare it to another object in descriptive similarity. The best thing about Alex’s meth was that he cut it with a product called VitaBlend. VitaBlend was a Metamucil like powered supplement of vitamins and minerals. And it’s color was the exact same yellow I previously had difficulty describing. My moral outrage at consuming so many amphetamines was tempered by the fact that I was snorting my daily essential vitamins and minerals as well. I don’t remember eating a lot while we were there. I do remember a ground beef, rice and season salt concoction. This guy that worked at Panera brought us a huge trash bag brimming full with the old bagels. I remember toasting a bagel one day, and when I went to eat it some random guy shouted all quick-like, ran into the kitchen and slide a small sheet of aluminum foil out from under the toaster. Strew over the foil were bread crumbs, bagel chunks, cinnamon sugar with a tiny pile of anhydrous crystal in the middle. He scrapped everything together into one rail (waste not want not) and snorting it all in one toot; crumbs, cinnamon sugar, crystal ‘n all. Josephine’s mother eventually rescued us. I came back with Marine dress sword, a pair of thigh-high boots two sizes too small. I had lost 34 pounds. I avoided KC like the plague until two years later when I started going up to buy bulk amounts of hash and opium.


MAYFLY Marshall Edwards
So I stayed. Maybury took a troubled breath, and began again. “I’ve talked a lot of shit in my day, Philip. But nothing we dreamed of could ever prepare me for what I’ve seen.”

I smiled, trying to stir a germ of good humor in the mix. “Prepare you for dying over and over, you mean? I should think not.” Maybury cackled in his way, jagged, rough, and tempered by years of trauma. “Ha! ‘Dying over and over.’ I must seem like a spandex superhero to you. No, no. The dying is the least of it.” The swaddled man shuddered, idly fingering his I.V. “Let me tell you… The first time I died, I -” “Knock, knock,” a woman’s voice boomed from over my shoulder. I turned and saw a sculpted woman, dusky and athletic, cool slate eyes set behind half-mast lids.

Something was clearly wrong. The steady hospital bustle that had earlier helped lure me to sleep had gone silent. Shaheen’s pace prodded me through the entryway and into the ward. Through the buzz of climate control I picked out a sickening crackle. I paused to listen, but Shaheen grabbed me at the shoulder, forcing me onward. As furtively as I could manage, I searched for signs of the hospital staff. Phones rang unanswered, and it was all I could do to not rush over and snatch them up. In the window of a second – as we passed the galley kitchen, I saw an orderly in indigo scrubs face-down on the floor, writhing uncontrollably, his gasps and strangulation audible for a moment, then silenced as we passed the doorway. “I apologize, Philip -” Roger stamped along weakly, some of his usual humor returned. “Shaheen here is my personal assistant.” “I’ve told you, Maybury, I prefer that you call me ‘bodyguard,’” the woman said, seemingly to empty space. She produced a staff ID card and swiped it on an electric strip. An elevator answered our summons and we filed in. “Is that so. Tell me, sweetie – if you’re my bodyguard, how on earth did I die again this morning?” Roger needled with a child’s glee. “You’re the one who wanted a day to yourself -” The elevator doors opened to reveal a shorn-headed security guard, speaking into his comm with his back to us. “Come on. No gawking.”

“Ah, Shaheen. I was beginning to wonder about you.” “Put this on,” the amazon commanded, tossing Roger a grey trench-coat that unfurled as it flew. “We have maybe three minutes.” “Did you have much trouble?” Roger slipped off the gown and tucked his little frame into the coat.

“No. No trouble.” She rolled her shale eyes toward me, heavy in their Olmec grooves. “And this one?” My foetal response died in the throat under her dead, wild gaze. I shook my head. “There, you see.” Roger stood into hes pants and slipped on his loafers. “Now, let’s go.”

“Oh, he’s fine. He’s an old friend of mine. He’ll be no problem – will you, Philip?”


“You first,” Shaheen intoned, mocking sweet, and gestured with her hand. I obeyed, Shaheen following uncomfortably close behind.

“Yeah, I’m headed there now. Must be a problem with the phone lines again. Damn contractors-” He turned then and saw us, contorting his wormy brow. “Excuse me! This is a staff elevator. You’re not allowed to…” He stopped, mouth agape, jaw quaking. His eyes rolled in his head and he made a guttering noise as if struck in the throat with an open palm. He had not yet sunk to


his knees before Shaheen ushered us on to the parking lot. “Don’t ask,” Roger rasped secretively in my ear. “She’s sensitive, poor dear.” “W-will they be all right?” I heard my own voice quiver with terror. Maybury frowned at the sunlight as we stepped free of the building. “Mm. Surely. Well – mostly.”

Shaheen remote-started the car as we approached, and no sooner had we piled in than she swung the car out of space and jutted toward the road.”I’m guessing the police will be after us?” I queried causally, as if asking if the Giants were playing this coming weekend.

“Come on,” Shaheen ordered, ad we hurried behind. Surely, I could have tried to escape then, amongst the cars of the lot, and with the main entrance to my left. But I did not run. The woman, clad in black and jut forward like a grim prow, held a power I could not begin to comprehend. I dared not test it. And despite the fear of the unknown that gnawed at my gut, a thousand questions bubbled up, straining against the lid, demanding answers.

“That’s likely,” Maybury perched like a gnarled scavenger bird, cradling himself with his arms linked to the ankles. “Does that bother you?” I take a breath and started, “Look, you’ve already thrown a wrench in my day, and before the authorities crash our little party I’d like to hear about the first time you died.” Once again, the hex-headed light shown in Roger’s eyes, his mouth erupting in a snarling grin. “Yes. Oh yes. Let’s start there.”


i wrote these words last night while fearing my own mortality. i can hear you dying. i was woken up this morning with the news. you were dead because you were dying. i heard you dying. no one knows except the fire fighters, paramedics, coroner, police officiers that responded to the scene; county policy. my father had grown increasingly restless the past few weeks staying over there. yet this morning brought the inevitable news everyone was shocked upon hearing. then my aunt, and mother, and me. the relatives in Kansas, and the city of such. my internal universe starts to gasp and freezes.

i can hear you dying. the slowly quiet everwhirring fan blades turned complying with their original design. as usual, at least for as long as they could. this is the only sound disturbing the silence of the room. my heart races to fever pitch while my eyes dart around the room. another seizure in aesthetics it seems to be. a car door slams shut outside and the neighbors dog starts barking.

my phone lights up disturbing the previously described train of thought. the point of view skews and veers into another angle for just a moment before it realigns with all its over strings of symmetry. too many short breaths now. scared and shaking echoing out into oblivion. my dog sets his head on my lap to catch my attention and when my gaze settles on his he runs across the room to chase a fly. A fly in the room. This is the only sound breathing the love of the room. My bones ebb slowly to an apphrensive termination while my thought swim around me. another literary device in perpetual motion. my phone lights up again crashing the aforementioned point of reference.


Her legs hung over the edge, her watery eyes glancing just past them at the running water below her, her body prickled with a soft shiver as her thin fingers held tightly bending with the “L” shaped rail she clung to. Long blonde tendrils flew with the chilly winters wind tickling at her temples and frosty pink cheeks. Her body perched upon the side of a bridge. The bridge wasn’t old, or in bad shape, there was no rust, nor missing bolts, it was just a bridge. It was short, only about 50 feet long, but it towered at least 100 over the water. The pool was deep, murky and dark, evidence of the rapids that pushed the water down stream. If the fall didn’t kill her, she was sure to drown. Her skin was a fair pale color, her eyes a deep blue surrounded by an angry blood shot red. A thin drop fell from her puffed, swollen lower eyelid, trailing slowly down her cheeks. Her mind was blank as she absently swung her legs, her bare feet grazing the freezing metal of the bar below her, her eyes gazing, almost longingly into the water. He was on a walk, his hands tucked securely into the pockets of his blue jeans, his boots tapping at the ground as he took each step. His eyes wandered aimlessly before landing on her, her body leaning haphazardly over the river. His hues studied her, her pail skin, swinging legs, practically sitting half naked on the bridge, only a t-shirt and shorts to cover her small body. As he stepped closer he noticed a soft glistening on her cheek, leading to a tiny damp spot on the breast of her top. Her head echoed with the clicking of hi steps, almost hoping he wouldn’t stop, hoping he would keep going. No sooner did his body lean against the railing, his forearms holding his weight as he glanced at the water, into the pool he had sunk a fishing hook into so many times, not once looking at the girl that sat

beside him. A silence ate at her, her bottom lip quivering as she lifted her hand, wiping off her cheek with the back of it, sniffling her nose. A soft country accent rang in her ears as he spoke, “Think of all the things you’ll never get to do.” With that he was gone, dragging his boots along the road again, leaving her to stare at his back, almost bewildered as the gears in her head turned, her teeth finding home in her bottom lip. “What would you say if you had 60 seconds to talk a person out of taking their own life?”






Guy Debord


After grabbing a salad with romaine, feta, tomato, green pepper, pineapple and olive, he gets to that park where some protesters met up to plan protesting. Today there’s some other kind of group with children. It’s a fine Sunday afternoon, the first one to feel clearly like spring this season. Parking his car, he pushes it back out and positions it closer to the next car. Grabs his salad and leaves his windows down, doors unlocked, goes away to find a space to sit. Under a tree is a small patch of white flowers with a view of the car and sun to make brown arms. He tries a new dressing on his salad; the kids all yell something at the same time. The dressing isn’t so great as the usual; the kids aren’t wearing uniforms or anything, but they were conspicuosly concise in their timing of that one, single yell. Across the flowers, over by his car, in the trunk of a BMW is a lady with a long, orange, flowing skirt in the wind and the midrift of her back showing. The dressing is pretty good with these fruits and vegetables. She’s hunched over in the trunk, maybe packing up things for the park excursion, except she wasn’t there when Abby parked his car. The wind shows the forms of her. Maybe she’s sharpening knives, the wind pushes gently, or piecing back together the dope cookset she’d been letting simmer while excercising her right to yell with others. Where is that big gust from the unexpected direction? Maybe she’s packing up bikinis for her show, man she’s hot. This salad is crunchy good. She’s been in that trunk a long time. She pulls up a baby out of the trunk. Huh. She puts it in the car and gets the driver door open. The gust comes through, and Abby’s car perfectly blocks the view he can only fantasize about now, which is about as good as it gets. Abby runs off after the gust takes off with his salad lid. He tosses it away into the wastebin, and she’s still poking around her car as he gets into his own. He puts on music, it’s the noisy bit of the record and not the suave bit. He looks over into her car and sees a beautriful lady not far into her twenties. He wants to tell her, “You are beautiful.” but he doesn’t.

It was crowded that day, smoke dust and other particles of shit looming throughout the air not to mention the curling of illegal smoke lofting from one decrepit room to the next. Jane was there with me, she felt the need to get out and hopefully find a lucky lady since we didn’t get to celebrate our killing victory last night. Killing those sonsofbitches felt damn nice, metal and human what a disgusting face. “Ronnie! Whatcha spillin’ tonight? Hopefully that shit you handled Steve last week, he damn near fell on his ass after two...” “Yeah, I got some. You’re lucky. Jim’s been feeling a little forgetful of the deal we started off with so I had to remind him of the five item discount, otherwise known as my fist. Damn rat tried to cut me off again…”He replied as his brogue of voice, deep and cut, lashed at my ears, “I got payin’ customers to take care of, I mean look at this grand palace ‘ere. Fucking fabulous right?” He said as he slid down the black liquor, looking around again I say I couldn’t really take him serious, though it was the most populated Headouts within these shitty parts. Women and men slouched in their chairs, found their partners of choice leering with their scraped up guns and knives, looked as if they were at the goddamn Hilton—that is from what I could remember of it. Turning back around I saw Ronnie entertain some regulars, obviously sharing stories of their killings and at times telling of their losses as the looks of sadness swept along their eyes, yet not for long as he seemed to cheer them up in his own way, offering a drink on the house in remembrance. It always seemed to go like this. Almost all of us rogues at Headouts found peace in the dirty and family like atmosphere, smoking and drinking, though not without reason.

As I took another sip of my drink I felt as if I could feel that punch Ronnie gave Jim. Yet it still couldn’t dull the constant ache of those damn memories. Before hiding out in shackled houses and feeling the daily weight of a gun in my hand. Before everything. 9 years ago… “Rick can you believe that shit? They are actually expecting us to believe that we should do that? Give our bodies up or some ‘higher level’…I’m amazed at the load of bullshit they keep allowing within politics. I swear it gets worse every time during elections.” “I don’t know Denny, I mean they kinda make since…” he replied, still walking after I stopped, his stride not altered as he didn’t see my offense. Suddenly taking notice of my absence he turned around in confusion and came back toward me with an almost stoic fight left in him. “What do you mean Rick? Make sense? Have all those fucking cases finally melted your brain…? You can’t believe that bullshit… right?” I asked, honestly worried that he did, and that the repetitive notions throughout our television might have done the deed. Rick looked away from me and slightly shuffled his feet, then almost hesitantly turned to face my direction. “Denny c’mon man, I mean look …I’m not the most religious—for good reason of not knowing what the hell will happen after they put me in the damn ground. Wouldn’t you want to know that you wouldn’t have to face any of that? The worry, the fear and just know that you’ll never leave your family? Never worry ‘bout disease and just…the unknown. They’ve got something going for them; they’re striking the very nerve within our souls and fixing it. They are curing our fear of death.” He said after a lone breath, the crinkled corner his eyes of showing the apprehension of his thoughts. I backed up and so did he. We broke eye contact and slowly fell back into step. “You know, “I paused with a laugh,”…all this serious talk left me really fucking hungry.” I said with a smile as we kept walking during

our lunch meet-up. Returning the same he replied, “Your right, what about Joe’s down the block?” Looking at his watch,”…we got about 30 minutes left till we gotta go back into the box.” “Sure, sure...” I finished as we made our way back through the busy streets and loud horns of traffic. To Be Continued in Next Month’s Issue.




Jesus After Easter

Let me just start this by saying i am hot as fuck. Not like “oh shit that’s sexy” hot, more like i’ve been sweating my mother fucking balls off for hours on end from the time i went to work til now (10 hours later). I don’t work a hard job, well i do, i work my ass off every time i go in, but it’s not a labor intensive job. It’s retail for fuck sake. I work at a place where my biggest requirement is to pitch random nik naks to old fat tourists who are either scared or way more into the gawdy jewelry, than they are the hookahs and hats with dreadlocks attached to the back of them. I have to try to convince people that the things jesus tells them are wicked aren’t so wicked afterall. no ma’am that hookah isn’t for smoking drugs, yes sir, those crickets are real and people do buy and eat them, no, i don’t fucking know if our shirts are pre shrunk, maybe you should stop eating so much fucking fudge and try to pre-shrink your body before you try to wear a small that’s obvious made for less than obese women. I especially hate it when people come into the store with small children, and they can’t seem to continue being parents while there in the store. They assume my customer service also qualifies me to be a babysitter while they shop for clothes. Granted they usually do spend a wad of money on rasts hemmed button-up shirts and elastic waste-band skirts, but at the price of their children taking every free sticker i have to offer, and sticking them on every single suface except the ceiling, then losing interest in that and pouring an entire days worth of water out of a diffuser onto themselves, and arguing with me when i tell them that

i told them not to touch it previously. Needless to say there are a lot of shitty as mother fuckers that stumble into my little shop of horrors, but most of the time that’s only the bottom of the barrel when it comes to exhaustion in the work place, I wonder if i can get workman’s comp for pain and suffering. I’ll look into that. When i’m not dealing with brain dead tourists or small children, i’m dealing with our emotionally unstable managment and our robot associates, that only know how to move or act if you tell them how, when, why, how many or then how again. In the last month or so my work load has tripled. I did get a promotion to a higher up postion, so of course more is expected of me, and that part i was expecting. Duh. Although the things i’ve been having to do are way out of my job description and i should be getting paid WAY more than i am for it, especially since i’ve been kicking some fucking retail ass. In the last month my manager transferred to a new store, and we have yet to get another manager to take her place. Instead the manager’s assistant (1st assistant as we call it) has had to play manager and i have had to play assistant. I’m responsible for telling the people below me what to do and how they should do it, which is kind of cool and totally feeds my ego. I get to play boss, but that’s a lot more to take on than i was ready for, and i wasn’t supposed to be doing quite this much this early. I also have to deal with an unholy amount of paperwork every day, some days more than others. I wouldn’t have to do so much if the pretend manager wasn’t such a spiratic basket case. She’s the type of person who does a really good job analyzing the things that need to be taken care of, she’s just extremely bad at trying to figure out what to do when. she tries to do and think about every single thing that needs done at the exact same

time, and then unloads her irrational thoughts onto me to try to sift through and relay to the other employees. This series of operations is a daily thing and it leaves me doing all kinds of crazy shit that leaves me sweating my ass off at a job where i’m just supposed to be talking to fat people. Instead i end up running back and forth from one end of the store to the other repeadtedly all day, and then up this ladder, and onto this platform, and changing this lightbulb, and fixing that computer and satisfying this handicapped idiot associate. I also get the pleasure of making sure these lazy fuckers don’t just stand in one place and gossip about hairy legs and the crazy manager all day. That’s my job goddammit, and if i don’t get to do it neither do you. Luckily because of all my hard work and lack of time off things have actually turned around recently and i’ve actually been able to come home and turn my brain off, instead of creating new spread sheets and trainging guides so that people will know how to do the job right. We’re not overflowing with inventory in the back of the store, or having to maze through it every time we need to shit or change a tampon. We also get the opportunity to actually focus on the customers so people will stop stealing sunglasses and incense. It does seem like it’s only a matter of time though, before everything melts down again. i guess we’ll see. They’re gonna have a really hard time if/when i decide to leave this location and transfer to another store so i can actually start making goal and bonuses. hopefully anyway. When that time comes i’m sure i’ll have another useless article for youse to get bored with halfway through. Enjoy all my typos, I wrote this after another trainwreck of a day at work. Keep it classy you jerk ass mother fuckers. DON’T GET YOUR HOPES UP


Her unforgiving chains of clandestineness rip through my chest and pollute the purity that is my patchwork heart, till every stitch oozes and seeps the toxic sludge of decrepitude. Powerless. Completely and utterly powerless, every damn time. But that’s the thing about her, when she focuses on you, she makes you feel like you’re the only thing in the universe. Its her gift. Maybe it’s a gift given too freely. I remember college, that’s when I first saw her. It was a time of flighty passions, where things seemed obsolete and time moved too quickly. Then you realize that everything you believe to be true changes. I often ask myself why some of the most beautiful gifts are the cruelestmaybe because sometimes the ugliest ones tell us the most about ourselves. I said once through the channels of petulant candor, thatI’ve never met anyone like you before. However, that’s not necessarily a good thing.

me she would be anything less than twenty ways from crazy and wouldn’t fuck like an animal, just like these broads do. The crazy ones always make the best lays, maybe that’s why I love them so much. But once again I was wrong. The silent conversation of our predestined lust changed me forever… I want you to plunge your fingers into the silk clothened crevices of my cognizance and have your words paint intricate swirls in my mind with the tip of your wet tongue. I want your obfuscations to be as carnal as the fantasy at the edge of my fingertip. I want my lips wet with your warm oozing euphemisms.

Create a reality in the blue of my eyes that leaves me tantalized and raw, turning my inhibitions over to the creature I can become. Play with my moist senses til my the eyes of my perception roll back in a moment of the truest truth. My pons are the bridge which you straddle with engorged reticular formations, effervescent, and vitiate my moralities. My skins begs your aggressive amygdala to run Perception is the cruelest form of reality. its salacious licentiousness up and down my cells, Because then reality only exist within the lens you lightening them up like the magic that lies in beview it. tween my soft thick flesh. But what do you do with a dirt caked lens? Then at the point where I can take no more, your I wanted to find a person whose matching intellect eyes open mine in pure ecstasy leaving my world allows us to go through an entire journey of pure, screaming to be defiled over and over by your sexually charged transcendence without a single flagitiousness. touch. Leaving only my vociferous response of your I was craving a intellectual orgasm so bad, the inimitable perversion bouncing off the walls of ache in my loins could be felt outward to the end my cerebrum- covering my subconscious in the of my toes, to the tip of my skull. sticky white of your intellect and filth. This is what leads every path-walking individual to live the sentence of the reprobated. It’s so pre- And ill thank you by drawing the universe on the dictable you can almost smell it, heavy in the air, back of your hand, so that every time you stumlike the cigarette smoke that chokes your eyes in a ble a glittering sidereal net will catch your fall. bar too small and unloved. I looked up from my sweat dripping coke and This is what keeps me writing with the force of rum to see it. Like a flashing red sign screeching a pure and nasty addiction, even if what I write every hellish warning, but at the same time holds means nothing. Because there is a ton of reality every single thing that made me want her more- out there that we never experience that other the bat of her eyelash, the slight twinge of her creatures can. mouth. Life is made up of a series of moments channeled The way she orders her drink, in just a way that through the eyes of right now. positions her body enough to give me a glimpse I saw a side of myself in that moment that I did of its glory, but not enough to directly say she’s not perceive before, and in that moment it was interested. more real than any other experience felt within the physical realm of my perception. Broads like her have been playing this game for way too long, to not know what they are doing. -HandfulOfEuphemisms KIDDING. There was nothing about JUST this specimen that told



The Man With The Green Hat
One day you called with a redefined minute from previous minutes in which you had bathed my soul with yours Not in a synopsis of past mood distilled into sixty seconds but with a kernel of truth rasped raw through reasoning and seasoned with the marrow of your being I told you then that you had found the facet most likely to shine and bring you a nine point nine out of a possible ten And then again one day you wailed on stage in your hometown with nothing more than a cold whispered breath Driving nails of awareness into my psyche I took away from you a certain greatness you let slip that Arkansas day Keep it here with me in my way and use it as touchstone when feeling tender gives way to frustration One day you spoke in a living room we shared for an evening and your eyes were loud to me with obsidian fire


I keep that burning desire with me ever and whenever I feel like folding I think of you --hot blooded for the right in life and I stand strong And one day you sang a song to make for me a gift of your spirit and I thank you for letting me take from you that greatness you let slip

Fi lth
Daniel Jones
i had a heart to heart with said opponent. (the heart.) he blamed me for the sudden mix up and i blamed him for the open baiting of the truest form. i started to yell as he walked away with a pouting lip and a suitcase filled with past loving. then i noticed he just needed the hair of the dog. so i poured one and told him to love fully and wholly immersed in the what can-be. he looked at me suspiciously and nodded with a tilted grin and whiskey on his breath. back in the saddle and with guns at hip, he told me he was going to call romance out at high noon and one of them was going to fall. then i tipped my glass back, staring at his shadow and thought, here we go again., luckily.



I’ve broken into hearts like houses and stolen all of the little things, caps to pens and backs of earrings, every book of matches and the wicks to all of your candles. I’ve taken the commas from your declarations of love and stuffed them in between all of your everyday conversations. I’ve stolen the middle period from all of your ellipses. I keep them in my pockets like penny candy and occasionally, give them to children on the street who are no strangers to me. I am the bad guy in your fairy tale.

little things

I want to write you. The way you smile at me And tell me I’m beautiful The way you I don’t know. I struggle to put you into words I choke - roll phrases on my tongue Until they’re nothing special I want to write you. But you’re unexplainable So brilliantly complex A mystery I can’t solve I don’t know. You send my heart chasing shadows Send electricity through my skin Plant thunderstorms in my mind I want to write you. But I’m afraid If I write you right How wrong will you become?

I want You

A hopeless fancy



I fucking hate not having a car. I spend so much time and energy each and every day stressing over how i’m going to get a ride to do this or that. Most days i’ll set my alarm many hours in advance so i have time to wake up way early enough to get blown off by multiple people before i have to resort to messaging my dad. He always comes through for me, but just like i’m sure most parents are, that ride comes with a price. He’ll bitch at me the entire way to where we’re going, or he’ll keep track of every single mile we’ve traveled so that he knows how much to charge me. Yesterday he gave me a ride to work, after i offered gas money of course, I asked him if five bucks was enough to suffice and he said that was fine. When i had to ask him again he gave me a ton of shit about the fact that i only gave him five. fuck that, i asked him if he wanted or needed more and he told me no. Sometimes i think he does shit like that just so he’ll have something to bitch about. On the rare occasion that he’s not bitching, he’s retelling me a story or something that he’d already told me 3 times the week before. Every day that i need a ride to work, which is most days of the week, i have a really hard time finding someone who will come through for me, even when i’m offereing incentive. Today was especially difficult, i don’t know if it had to do with luck, or lackthereof, but i had a hard fucking time with it altogether. I woke up 5 hours before i had to go in to work today, with hopes that i could wake up and concrete a ride hours in advance, so i wouldn’t have to stress about it and have the morning to enjoy myself doing my normal routine: wake up, smoke a cigarette, take a dump, find some good porn and beat off, then watch some tv or something until i need to get ready to go. Today was all over the place. I thought i’d have a ride for hours, before i was notified that it wasn’t a possibility. “no worries” i thought to myself, “i still have plenty of time to line something up”. I posted a status or two about need-

Hello Satan

ing a ride and what time i needed to be there and ra ra ra, and waited for a reply. All i ended up with was a few likes. Gay. So i got a hold of a friend of mine who is usually pretty solid about it, she’s really reliable, and she told me she would call me right back to let me know if she could or not. I guess it’s my fault for assuming that she’d come through, but i took the time in between her getting a hold of me and didn’t worry about trying to line up anything else. Which knowing now, was a huge fucking mistake. i had about an hour before i needed to go in and was just about to jump in the shower when she texted. She texted to let me kno she couldn’t help me out because she had a bunch of stuff to do before she went in to work herself. I wasn’t upset with her because i totally understand how that goes, however i was upset that i’d wasted so much time relying on the idea of he being able to help me. The only option i had at that point was to text my dad and ask him. i got the usual response from him:”i guess, when?”. I always know that means trouble for me. luckily the last couple days he’s had people with him so he’s kept his bitching to a minimum, but still he made sure to guilt trip me as much as he could. Work kind of sucked today too. For the first couple hours i was fine and had no problem being there, but as the day progressed it got more and more muggy outside, and with that it became disgustingly humid, and began to creep into the store. Needless to say i spent most of my day covered in a film of sweat and humidity, and it collected in my hair making it look horrible and encouraging it to dangle in front of my eyes and stick to my forehead, so i was constantly pushing it back. Eventually i got pretty pissed off and rather colosterphobic because of the heat and volume of customers. So i began to shut off from work and my coworkers, which of course they immediately noticed. It was a stark difference from my normal shenanegans.



I’m observing them in their natural habit. So far everything’s fine. But someone’s feeding them booze... All I can see is John Travolta’s crotch!

a joke format about a joke format about a joke format about a joke format about a joke format about.

When I got out of the shower I realized that this is the nicest I am going to smell I feel weird fron basically huffing paint all all day. It’s all downhill from here. day. Saw so many hipsters in a group. What ‘You know... a digit or two.’ “A digerido?!” do you call that many? A flock? I know! A flannel. A flannel of hipsters. But I want to sit here and have desperate thoughts. I got a phone call at work. I picked it up to answer and the receiver flipped out “The decision was between me & god.” of my hands and I dropped it. “Parkour” ‘I think you got some bad advice.’ I whispered. My asshole is like, bleeding.

We can go get out cars washed by Christians! I gave my 5 yo a balloon. Within 5 minutes it had popped on the ground. “It I wish everyone could see how I look was too young to die!” she weeps. when I eat cherry yogurt without a spoon. Letters. Because “Here, I licked this, and now it’s yours.” “You guys wanna try some mayonnaise on your burger?” ‘FUCK YOU!’ Are they GOOGLING “Does time travel turn your insides to liquid?” I would play guitar or drums of only I had some. I’ll dance instead an air drum, and I just woke up from a dream involving play with my hair. something called “spider court” where I was charged with the spider version of I’d sing if I had a mic, oh that’s not a crimes against humanity. mic silly. That’s my jam-on-stage-quietly stick. What do I have to do to get Bill Murray to whisper secrets to me? God.. This is gonna be an interesting road trip if they’re already fighting over HOT SINGLES IN YOUR AREA. INDIVIDUwho’s right. ALLY WRAPPED CHEESE SINGLE SLICES IN YOUR AREA. HOT GRILLED CHEESE You know... that Johnny Cash/Trent SANDWICHES. ALL UP IN YOUR AREA. Reznor song they did together... I always say “Fuckin’ Jonah Hill” too. I’m opening a children’s clothing line called Sons Of Britches. The Day All The Ink Pens Ran Out. A joke format about a joke format about




“I have removed the bullet. And three others, a blowgun dart, two shark’s teeth, a tip of a bayonet, and a meager handful of buckshot. You may want to learn how to duck.”
“Well met! You did that with his own finger?”

Sergeant Heartstomp - TRUST FUND BABY Peanut Scholar - THE GREAT DECIDER Butchcat Bitchmouth - SWEETIE SUZIE BAKER Jesus After Easter - MARATHON MAN Flesh Cherry - SKID ROW RUNAWAY









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