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David Bowie is Dead

by Jayme K.

Before Sunrise Press

This edition published in 2013 by Before Sunrise Press, Copyright 2013 Jayme Karales. The right of Jayme Karales to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs, and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without written permission of the publishers. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for danger. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. For more information about Before Sunrise Press and its numerous publications, please visit: BeforeSunrisePress.com

Hey, hey, hold ontime out. How do you spell diabetes?


- Ken Dereste Dorcely

Forward

This is a book. This is a self-published book. So in the minds of many readers, this is not a real book. But it can be a real book to you, if you accept it. Accept this book as real and itll become real. The criteria of the majority does not need to be your own. You can hold Black Santas Revenge to the same standard as Rat Race and no one will judge you. Who cares if its only 20 minutes long? If it means something to you, then it is important.

The Truth

I wish I could be a shitty local rapper instead of an introspective thinker with a writers sensibility. I could get, like, 40 Facebook likes a day by finding words that rhyme with kush, and fuck, and liquor, and not have to write paragraphs about shit that nobody wants to read. I could wear a fitted baseball cap with the stickers still on it. I could type like a person with a 6th grade education. I could take pictures of my drugs and post them on Twitter. And Id be patted on the back for it. Fuck writers. Fuck readers. Fuck you. Im going to steal a beat from someones SoundCloud and pursue something new in life. Something worthwhile.

Fast Food

There was a person standing in front of me at McDonalds and I felt the urge to follow them out to their car, but they didnt have a carthat person had a bike and they got on their bike and peddled out into the street and no less than fifty seconds later that person was steamrolled by an ambulance. There was a person standing in front of me at Burger King and I felt the urge to follow this personwhether they had a bike, or a car, or just two legsbut the moment we left Burger King I lost sight of him since there was a gorgeous woman walking past me and I got distractedhowever, a little less than a minute later he caught my eye again and it was at that exact moment that he was run over by a hearse. There was a person standing in front of me at Wendys and I felt the urge to follow them out of the eatery and I did, and we watched Two and a Half Men together on his couch before sharing a glass of milk and parting ways.

My Ghost Writer

Michael Keaton

Were well liked right now, everybodys favorite, just for this minute, So I think itd be a good idea to disappear, vanish from the map, slip into the ether, never to be seen, We can be like Dave Chappelle, but well stay hidden, We can be like Michael Biehn, but well be remembered, Lets stop right now, and make an impact.

High School is the Best Time of Your Life & I Have Proof

3 Meals a Day

You live on the internet, the internet is your friend, the internet is your one true love, You have your breakfast, and eat your eggs with RedTube, You have your lunch, and eat your sandwich with Xnxx, You have your dinner, and eat your steak with eFukt, and then you puke, and devour that.

Not Our Place

The mall isnt a place for introspective thinkers, so we sit at home watching reruns of bad TV shows, and pretend like our problems dont exist, I want to shed my skin like a cicada, get away from the Newports, cheap pizza, train rides to work, and unsatisfactory sex that leads to festering emotional issues that neither one of us has the courage to bring up and resolve since it would be awkward and so we vent by blowing up over what should be basic anger due to stupid shit like not taking out the garbage, or forgetting to wash the dishes, or running over the dog with your moms Honda, I think I might have my texting shut off, so you dont bother me while Im serving coffee to ungrateful strangers, And I think I might also quit my job, get in a taxi, and go to the airport to leave for Portugal, I dont think youd find me there.

When Youre Feeling Down, Just Remember That There Are Obese Black Men That Wear Purple Satin Pajamas in 90 Degree Heat

Three Cheers for Genital Warts

Imagine if every guy youve slept with, had runny, yellow pus, dribbling from their dicks, only seconds before jabbing their member, into that hole beneath your nostrils. Imagine if every woman youve slept with, suddenly called you up, to let you know that that wasnt acne, around their pubis. Imagine if every baby you ever knew, sprung from your loin, with bright blue eyes, and an instinctive nature to destroy.

This is Called, When Acting Passive Aggressive Blows Up in Your Face

SNES

Sometimes I wonder, if well look back on moments like these, five, ten, fifteen, or eighteen years from now, and say to ourselves, "Man, it was really fun to sit around and do nothing."

This Was the Best Fucking Chinese Food Ever

Dairy

A lot of people think that failure is a bad thing, but Im here to set the record straightfailure trumps success 10 out of 10 times. Success is like eggnog. Its great when its in season, but nobody wants to drink fucking eggnog in August. Failure is like milk. No one ever says anything good about milk but without it you wouldnt have pancakes, or waffles, or ice cream, or yogurt, or cheese, or anything thats actually delicious. Enjoy your success while youve got it but dont for a minute think that youd have it without all that milk.

Jayme K. is the author of the novel Disorderly, as well as numerous short stories, essays, and poems. His work has been published by UnHollywood, Underground Books, Miracle E-zine, Nostrovia! Poetry, Slasher Studios, Your Daily Subvert, Moon Project, and Flash Fiction 365. He lives in Boston.

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