hey kids, how about a quarter rat anyway, just a thought. -ed staff

parody? because we are the voice

awk·ward adj \ˈȯ-kwərd\ Definition of AWKWARD 1 obsolete : perverse 2 archaic : unfavorable, adverse 3 a : lacking dexterity or skill (as in the use of hands) <awkward with a needle and thread> b : showing the result of a lack of expertness <awkward pictures> 4 a : lacking ease or grace (as of movement or expression) <awkward writing> b : lacking the right proportions, size, or harmony of parts : ungainly <an awkward design> 5 a : lacking social grace and assurance <an awkward newcomer> b : causing embarrassment <an awkward moment> 6 : not easy to handle or deal with : requiring great skill, ingenuity, or care <an awkward load> <an awkward diplomatic situation>


the tip
WHAT WHITE ELEPHANT - a subsidiary of BIGOTRY INDUSTRIES - a division of CONJECTURE TECHNOLOGIES INCORPORATED You can find this issue and past issues at scribd.com/whatwhiteelephant or even email us at what.white.elephant@gmail.com & we’ll send you a pdf (maybe, if we’re in the mood). We’re also on Facebook, and on Twitter @what_elephant (if you’re into those sorts of things). Physical copies are on a first come, first served basis (offer void in Tenneesee). We only usually print 50 or so copies (cause we don’t have any sponsers; because we’re too lazy or principled or something to have any) and most are sent out through our awesomely amazing mailing list. You can submit your mailing address through the various forms of communication mentioned above to be added to said mailing list, however we will not mail anything within a 30 mile radius of Midwestern City (we’re cheap pricks & figure it’s easier to hand you a copy than spend 88 cents to send it 4 miles away five days later). If you are a local, please contact your nearest regional zine representative about obtaining a physical copy.

of the service industry. en français.

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A short story coupled with a first person narrative, Ladies & Gentlemen



Our fearless hero, Chatty Kathy explores Berlin with his beautiful tall & bat-shit insane Amazon with hilarious results




In my first five years, I was only vaguely aware of my poor luck. Shortly after birth the doctor placed my head in a helmet


...14 ...17

My soul is in the wrong place. I want the wrong things. I’ve always wanted the wrong things



1) I want others to see exactly how bat-shit crazy nuts insane these people are, and 2) I want to know who and where my enemies are



ARIES - Don’t sweat the small stuff, Aries. Who cares if your parents are still getting hot & heavy after all these years? It could be worse Aries-- they could be making porn. This month will seem like a romantic comedy; full of hilarious situational humor. You will also have the opportunity to explain jokes to those dim-witted around you. Just be patient, kind, and hold their hand while you lead them to the punchline. TAURUS - Your sister is probably getting fingered right now. It’s not because she’s easy anymore, sometimes things just work themselves out that way. Your mom is totally baking right now, and before you say anything about it, I’m not being sexist-- it’s totally in the stars! Mercury retrograde and all that jazz. Trust your suspisions this month you tricky stubborn insensitive bastard. Now is the time to lease used furniture. Everything is always a garage sale away for you. GEMINI - Seize the day. If not today, maybe then tomorrow. Some will surely acknowledge your effort. If not you could always fail a drug test and head on back to the big house. It’s much easier than actually trying. Someone will try to get you to take a “free” puppy this month, but they don’t allow puppies in jail. Bummer. I didn’t care too much for that man who flounced upon that poor handicapped child. Your charity will provide her another chance to bamboozle the world.

CANCER - It’s been a difficult month for you thus far, and now you’re all out of speed. All work and no play has turned you into a total dick, so make sure to take the time to bitch about it to everyone who doesn’t care. You should probably be a little nicer to your boyfriend next month, he’s doing the best he can. In the end make sure to keep up the hard work you’re putting in, It should pay off in the long run, but you’ll probably need more speed. LEO - Notice that thick tension surrounding you at work this month? It’s not just your imagination, everyone actually does hate you now. You can only push your tits out so far before your back starts hurting and your asthma acts up. You put the convenience back in convenience store. Here’s a tip: Leave the daddy issues at the door next time you show up 45 minutes late to work, and wash your hands, we all know where that finger’s been. VIRGO - You’re a darling & a sweetheart. Things have been rocky the last few months, but things are starting to turn around really, and not just in that cliche sort of way. You should bake more this month-- everyone loves your baked goods! You should have eaten those clementines though, now they’re shribbled and no good. If you haven’t read this by the time the peels mold, you’ll have some groovy hallucogenic dreams. Dreams are good, the window into the soul, or so I’ve heard.

LIBRA - Your desire to eat out Putin’s heart will intensify more than normal this month. Let the power of the political system compel you. Creamy black men suck good labia. At least that’s what my mother always told me. You will ask a woman named Anna a question at work, and she’ll ask you for a blowjob. Disregard whatever you do. You will be 18% more meddlesome this month due to how boringly nonexistent your social life is. Try out a new hobby this month like solving jigsaw puzzles. SCORPIO Your bridge will collapse from underneath you. Find a way back up, or just find a new way. You will find solace in both. I hope you didn’t do something stupid last month like have coitus with a loose & free spirited Aries, because you probably have an incurable STD now. You should probably get tested by a reputable medical source, and stop taking free health advice from a unreputable printed source. In other words, don’t believe everything you see. SAGITTARIUS - The stars are actually smiling on you this month, Sagittarius. The prospects are great for you to find a kick-ass job this month, provided you get time off from your shitty, soul-draining job to look around for one. Keep your spirits up no matter what. A stranger will approach you in daylight hours and make a loud rude comment. Don’t let it get to you... he’ll be hit by a car later that day. Karma works quick like that. If you can spare the time, get away for a day or two. The lake is magical this time of year.

CAPRICORN Your dog will chase a green ball across the street and will incidentally be hit by a car. Sorry. You shouldn’t be so political...Vote Romney 2016. Or not. No one really cares who you vote for, let alone if you even care to engage yourself in the political process. You should move to China despite your lack of not knowing Mandarian. The cow says moo, after all. Have a good month, this month, you deserve it buddy.

AQUARIUS - It’s been nearly 85 degrees for 3 months now, don’t you think it’s time you tamed that yard? Your friends aren’t calling your house “The Jungle” to be funny. You will have the urge to travel & reinvent yourself this month, but first you should work on mastering paying your bills on time. No one likes a crybaby, Aquarius. It’s not cute anymore no matter how times you hear on the contrary. A Gemini will put you in an uncomfortable position this month, and no pun intended.

PISCES - A lot of the people you rely on are not very happy with you this month. It could be that you keep shitting on them and not caring, or maybe it’s your passive agressive attitude. Either way keep up the good work. What’s the worst that could happen? You’ll probably leave two of your most reliable people high and dry this month, so make sure you throw and extra big fit when they abandon you. Grow up buddy.


Yeti Detective

So... Awkward... I’m something of an expert on the subject. Having no sense of personal boundaries, either for yourself or others, will lead an eventual mastery of the awkward arts. Allow me to expound some of my experiences so that you may learn from my example. I was over at this couple’s house. We were having fun, drinking, I think someone was sewing something, there was a kung fu fight. Normal party stuff. To add an awkward layer to this story, the girl-half of the couple was someone I had harbored a massive crush on for over a decade. She had the good taste to date every single one of my friends in a row with no periods of single-hood in between. So nothing had ever gone on there, really. Anyway, her boyfriend and I were the ones who had had the drunken kung fu battle. He decided that a good way to celebrate our new-found camaraderie would be to share his girlfriend. She was perfectly ok with this, owing in some part to the fact that there had always been a very strong sexual tension between she and I. (I had attempted to 3 way them at another time because if you want to sleep with a girl who is attached, it’s only proper to include her boyfriend as well. And I am nothing if not a gentleman.) Also, I think it is every (straight) woman’s fantasy to see her boyfriend make out with another guy, if not anally penetrated while having his hair pulled. Ladies, I’m not gay or anything, but I’ll go there if that’s what you’re into. Call me. So, sexy times commence. Or do they? Does something else happen? Perhaps it does. Perhaps Mr Macho Kung Fu Fighter Who’s Too Good To Make Out With Me While His Girlfriend Watches And Touches Herself Intimately starts crying and locks himself in the bathroom.

Now, I understand that everyone’s feelings work in subtly different ways. I understand that some people feel “jealousy” or “happiness” or other feelings besides “drunk” and “xanax.” And if he had walked in to me just balls-out making his girlfriend my new Realdoll and started crying and locked himself in the bathroom, I would understand. Daytime TV has given me that context. But, mother fucker, when you are the one who suggests we go all fingercuffs on your lady, and she consents, you do not have the right to have a nervous break down as soon as the genitals come out. Not in a civilized society. That story ends with me walking home 11 miles, because maybe you can still make love to a woman while listening to the abject sobbing of a grown man in the next room, but I find it distracting. Seven out of ten on the erotic scale, at best. Do you know what else is awkward? Accidental home invasion. Don’t tell me you haven’t been there. So I was hanging out with another couple. (This leads me to believe that hanging out with couples is bad news. Don’t couples hang out with other couples almost exclusively? Shit must get super awkward.) We had just left the after party of some other party and were having our own after-after party. It was the world series of partying or something. I don’t know. I often find myself in bizarre situations. Anyway, they lived very near a castle. I won’t say which castle, because I’m about to confess to a felony or something. The castle was a construction site at the time because it was being renovated. They very boldly proclaimed their disdain for The Man and their love of participating in rebellious acts such as breaking and entering and loitering. I sympathize strongly with a love of crime, because criminal endeavors seem to be the only ones at which I have any chance of success, and thus I also love them. So they tell me all about how they break into this castle ALL the TIME and just hang out in the dark, spooky recesses. I’m like, “I like dark, spooky recesses.” So we decide to break into the castle. No big deal. I’m pretty

sure it’s not even a crime to break into a castle in America. Wasn’t America founded on the breaking into of castles? Fuck castles. We go to the castle, and I climb into the second story window. I know kung fu. Did I mention that? It makes crime much, much easier. I can scale buildings and run 6 miles while drunk. All it took was a few years of horrible, torturous training. I’m not bragging, I’m just... I’m definitely bragging. God, I’m awesome. So I climb into the second story window, because it was left open by the construction crew. I let my friends in on the ground floor because normal people can’t scale buildings. We fuck around inside a castle for a while. The boy half of the couple (it’s always the boys that start the trouble, isn’t it?) wants to steal the blueprints to the renovation, which I am slightly uncomfortable with. Don’t they need that to, like, build a castle? We find an office with power still going to it. I found this odd. But then I found a set of sweet headphones, and stopped questioning it. Boyfriendguy started a debate about the second law of thermodynamics. He was belligerently in error and refused to see how I had destroyed his position, so I sneaked off to make out with his girlfriend. I don’t know if that’s the traditional thing to do. I was not on the forensics team in high school. So, let’s get to the awkward part. Remember we’re all drunk and/or on various illicit substances. We decide to head into the upper levels. Once we get to the third floor, dogs start barking. Now, I don’t know if you’re a crime person, but dogs barking is the absolute worst sound in the world. Worse than a car alarm. Worse than a burglar alarm. Because if you set off an alarm, you can still run. You can jump a fence. You can hide in the shadows. The alarm doesn’t chase you. The alarm doesn’t point out your hiding place to the men with the sticks and guns and handcuffs who drag you away and put you in a cage. Dogs have been known to do that. We were on a staircase when this happened. I grabbed Girlfriendgirl’s hand and we started running the other way. Boyfriendguy, not in the state of mind he was most familiar with, tried to reason with the dogs. Then I heard the other most terrifying sound you can

hear while in the midst of crimes: strangers’ voices. Fortunately for me and Girlfriendgirl, the humans were very distracted by Boyfriendguy trying to talk their dogs out of a dograge. We escape, unnoticed, out of a second story window. I got to do a sexy catching her off of a roof move. Ten thousand bonus points to probably banging your girlfriend, by the way, guys. Never let another guy catch your girlfriend off of a roof. She’s definitely going to bang him at that point. I’m speaking from experience here. I’ve banged a lot of your girlfriends. Unexpectedly, Boyfriendguy comes out of the front door. He’s being harassed, but not assaulted, by the castle’s occupants. They are yelling many things. I can not make out all of them. However I did make out the following exchange: Boyfriendguy: “I did not break or steal anything!” (This is basically true, though he displaced the blueprints, and I definitely stole some headphones.) Occupant 1: “Get out of here! We’ve already called the cops.” Occupant 2: {whispering} “We can’t call the cops. We have so much weed upstairs.” Occupant 1: {also whispering} “Dude, I’m bluffing.” That was when I decided to grab Girlfriendgirl’s hand and run, yet again. As it was a construction site, there was a fence around the entire goddamn structure, and the only exit was the driveway down which Boyfriendguy was currently confidently strutting. As I passed him I yelled, “RUN, MOTHERFUCKER!” The last next thing I heard was, “Oh my god! How many of you are there?” Only one, baby. Only one. *the preceding article represents one or more completely hypothetical situations. Neither the author nor the publisher admits to being complicit in any crime, including those wherein the statue of limitations has expired. The author and the publisher are both completely aware of their 5th amendment rights, so fuck off.



I’d really like to know. First off this month, with a sigh & heavy heart, I want to give my condolences to one of our contributors-- almost contributors for the loss of their zine, HBA, or HFE, or DBL Royale with Cheese, or something like that. Raising a zine is almost nothing like raising a real baby. For starters, zines are made of paper, and no one calls Paper Protective Services when you drop, or accidentally neglect your paper baby. So my deepest sympathies, it’s hard to get a zine off the ground, almost harder than getting people to submit or play along... sadly the written word isn’t as powerful as the Almighty Marketing Dollar Money-shot. Television. I thought it was a good theme idea, Yeti. I would also like to take a moment and thank all our subscribers for not only reading & devotedly loving our magazine, but praising its high graces, and spreading the word about us to all their friends on every social media site known to the internet. Seriously. Promote us. I’m not above begging, or offering bribes. I’d also like to take a brief instance to thank the city of New Orleans for hosting our latest zine adventures. Your bars kept us slippery, your citizenry

kept us witty, and we truly appreciate the warm & kind hospitality that only your city could provide. It’s my deepest & most sincere wish that our fat American tourism dollars keep you nice & slippery witty. And classy. Definitely classy. I would also like to thank Quarter Rat publications for all their hard work. Making a zine monthly is a tough & often thankless job especially when publishing views or themes that envoke a strong critical response. And thanks for every single copy of your latest issue that I looted from all the French Quarter business establishments I visited the week I was there. And you wondered why your popularity started to skyrocket... Secondly (thirdly, fourthly) I want to share my appreciation for your zine efforts by doing a satrical parody of your zine. It might seem catty and meanspirited in places, but I promise it’s only meant in the kindest, most flattering way possible. I’m thinking of doing it around October, not coincidentally timed with our next zine adventure down there. And when all your attractors inquire about why your zine is missing from all French Quarter establishments, and a cleverly snarky parody zine is in its place instead, you can smile, and relish the fact that you made an impact on me, and I in turn, wanted to surprise & impress you. Surprise. I stole all your zines & replaced it with mine. Suckers. I’m sure you won’t notice at all, what with you being busy trying to create/market/sell/embellish/ragtag a television reality show together. Did you guys ever find that crummy rathole apartment to shoot in? I’ll let you sublet mine for cheap in Midwestern City...

The moment when you text somebody and they text back “Who is this?”
That moment when your dentist keeps asking you questions while their hands are in your mouth

That moment when someone’s explaining their “crazy ex” and you realize that they’re actually that one who’s crazy.

I have a dig bick. You this read wrong. That moment when you read that wrong. You also said moment after.


papa putting it in nana

The moment when you wake up and have no idea what day, month, or year it is. That moment w you read that wr You also said ment after.
That moment when someone doesn’t know the difference between your and you’re.

That moment when you’re checking yourself out in the window of a car and realize there’s someone inside.

The moment when you finally take a decent picture of yourself, but then as you continue to stare at it, it gets uglier.
That moment when you spell the word correctly but it just looks so wrong, so you just stare at it forever.

The moment when you realize you’re wrong in an argument, but you keep arguing anyway.
That moment when someone starts to cry & you don’t know how to react.

Six rules of sawing: 1. CORRECT TENSIONING OF BAND SAW BLADES: Carry out vibration test to check the proper tensioning of band saw blades. Band saws “Hakansson Saw blades” are slack tension saws, i.e work with a tension by 35-50% less than the rival carbon saws. Slack tension of band saws, ensuring sufficient stability, reduces the influence of fatigue effect at constant bend at 70% and more, consequently, significantly increases the service life. Energy consumption is reduced by 20%. 2. SELECTION OF RIGHT LUBRICANT FOR BAND SAW BLADES: Never ever use water as a lubricant for the blades of band saws. Water is not a lubricating material and should not be used for many reasons. Besides, water is not permitted as lubricating material and it also rusts on band saw blades, leading to corrosion and inappropriate chip swelling. This prematurely destroys the body of band saw blade and its gullet. It also dry rots band saw tires or V-belts. It is not required to lubricate the blade if resin is not sticking on the saw blades. If sticking takes place actually, then we can suggest you the following: To obtain proper lubrication, mix HIGH ADHESION SAW BAR OIL with 50% kerosene or diesel fuel. Apply the obtained solution with the help of sprayer on both sides of the blade about once every four minutes during the operations of machine. After lubrication is applied, sound of cutting decreases by more than 50%. Do not apply again until the sound



Josh Motte


For a pool party, they were visiting that old fag who did his own elaborate landscaping, over on Pickwick Avenue, the one whom Daniel had introduced to Frank the week previous at the Neverland Ranch on drag night. Josh Motte had driven them, and without checking first Josh had also invited Jeff Constance, that insufferable lawyer, to meet the three of them there. Daniel only learned about this in the car on the way to Mr. Anderson’s, two blocks from the house. In a gesture of formality that mirrored the neighborhood—Mr. Anderson lived two alleys away from a leafy enclave where the young governor and a number of the older Springfieldian families lived—the old fag actually liked to be called Mr. Anderson; perhaps he clung to a dimming sense of courtesy, but it was more likely that he wanted to assert authority over others and see what that got him. Certainly he had very specific instructions for Frank, so after he had parked Daniel and Josh and Jeff outside on the pool deck—at a table where he served them from a pitcher of sangria spiked with expensive cognac—he winked at Daniel and asked Frank to come on into the bedroom. Frank said he would, after he went to the bathroom, so Mr. Anderson went on ahead. Frank was a little weirded out by the bathroom, which featured a toilet lid made of a clear material, in which sliced-up seashells were suspended. The walls were done in pink and black tile, and Mr. Anderson had placed three kidney-shaped bowls of differently scented potpourri on the back of the commode. Other than that, the surfaces were bare. He searched the counter with his eyes

but didn’t find so much as a toothbrush, much less a bottle of cologne or a shaving brush. This began to worry Frank, as he wiped his bottom, for he didn’t see any soap for washing his hands. But, at the last moment, he saw a little pink savonette, almost indistinguishable from the tile. Frank washed his hands and pulled off his shirt and stripped off his jeans, revealing his swim trunks, and he folded his clothes and went to the bedroom. Like Mr. Anderson’s garden and the bathroom, the bedroom was full of perfectly preserved mid-century oddments, one of which was a ladies’ walkin closet the size of Idaho stocked completely with brown and gray suits, except for one rack given over to golf wear and another to overflow outerwear that would not fit in the foyer closet, including a prized Russian sable car coat and a purple trenchcoat. Also, the pillowtop mattress was dressed in Egyptian cotton sheets, in mint green, covered by a coral-colored quilt with a vaguely Native American pattern. On an outstretched orange wing of cloth, Mr. Anderson lay, his knees bent over the edge of the bed and his feet planted on the floor. He looked a little like the love child of Henry Kissinger and Al Gore. When he saw Frank enter the room he clapped his hands. A roseglass lantern, hanging above him like the bottle that caged the Sybil, lit up, as did a pair of more purplish lamps on the bedside tables to the left and right. Beneath one of them was an ashtray, in caramel glass that glowed like a melted candy. Instead of ashes, an envelope lay in it with “Franklin” written in a curlicued hand. The carpet was plush under Frank’s bare feet, and with each step he received a puff of rose petals and cinnamon. Mr. Anderson wore black silk underpants that draped over his hairless thighs like sheets on old furniture in a shut-up Victorian. His hair and skin were


white; in places, he almost clung to his tanned, blondie past. Daniel, were he there, might have looked at that body and felt an unsettling thrill of premonition: Mr. Anderson was past sixty-five— well past it—and his looks were a perfect ruin of his former self. In the 1980s Mexican Villa era of Springfieldian food and fitness, Mr. Anderson had lost a hundred pounds on the Atkins diet and went on to run the Boston Marathon, landing on the front page of the Leader & Press for his unusual efforts. The story was framed on a wall above the bed, complete with a photo of Mr. Anderson in training, cheered on by the woman who at that time was his wife. Now his back slouched, and he made deals with men like Daniel and Frank. Frank approached the bed, and Mr. Anderson perked up with attention.

special moments in time The Gentry Simile
When I was given this assignment/theme “Awkward” I had to stop and think. Think about all of the places I have been, lived, visited, and things I have done. With no specific moment was assigned to write about, I had quite literally a lifetime of things to choose from. Let me tell you my friend, that is hard to narrow down. Do I write about the time while waiting in the parking lot for my mental health therapy appointment a crazy dude came up, and I am STILL not quite sure what he wanted, muttering about diapers and change and The End of Days? Or the time I was walking down the street in a not so nice neighborhood in Dallas, TX around the time of “way to early/late when only tweekers are out a.m.” and was offered a curling iron for the low low price of only ten dollars? Or how I told my father I was gay while he was hooked up to a dialysis machine so he could not chase me down and beat the living shit out of me, and

his only response was “well Son, don’t go doin none of those vodka enemas”. It seems, like many of my compatriots, that I have an abundance of awkward moments. I have a lifetime supply to choose from. But, alas since I am a lazy fucking bastard I am going to write about one time in particular. Long ago in a land far far away back in once upon time time (Dallas, TX circa Summer 2000) I was “involved” with a Czechoslovakian immigrant named Jarko (last name omitted due to legal/privacy issues) who loved giving head even more than I do. And let me tell you bitches, I ABSOUTELY love to suck dick. Well one day he was going to town downtown and he went a little farther than he intended. In short, he puked on my cock. Now this could be handled in one of two ways. End the trip with a quick detour to the washroom. Or, after a quick trip to the washroom have him continue his journey to my pleasure. Being the crusty little gutter punk I was when I was 20, I reached over grabbed what was to be a cumrag, wiped off the rainbow shower, and pushed his face back to finish the business at hand. This was to be the best most awkward moment ever on two accounts. 1. it was great head, and 2. it made him puke again. The only thing I could do was look at him, wipe the biological hazard material from my situation, head home drink a beer and shower. I still wonder whatever happened to Jarko.

they are trying to kill me

It’s so cluttered in here. I swear they are trying to kill me. They’d like nothing better than to see me dead, Ladies and Gentlemen.

But it ain’t gonna happen!
Well, it’s gonna happen. But it’s gonna happen when *I* decide! People die, Ladies and Gentlemen-that’s all you need to know.

let it happen



So Carissa and I decided it’s like for one last trip to go to Berlin, it was going to be our last trip. Carissa is like an Amazon, okay, so she’s black Italian Irish, ya know, that kind of thing, she’s hulking. She was hulking, now she’s respectful, now she’s lost all this weight. She’s a school teacher, she got her masters degree in finance, and it’s like ya know, any exotic kind of flare she used to have is completely gone. Do you know what I’m saying? It’s completely gone She’s totally respectable, and she’s lame to hang around with. But back in the day, ya know what I’m saying? It’s like ya know she just lost her scholarship at Penn state, ya know playing basketball, by smoking pot, and generally being bad. And so it’s like she went and became a military policeman in the army, that kind of thing, she lifted weights ya know she was huge, and was just gigantic do you know what I’m saying? But we always traveled together and this was like our last trip So we decided to go to Berlin. Berlin at this time ya know they were just starting to rebuild Berlin, It’s was Circa 1999, 98, and uh, it’s like the Soviets truly weren’t coming back, So they were gonna go, and everything, and they were going to rebuild the city ya know that kind of thing. It’s like, if you went there, Berlin had not been like, ya know rebuilt, since World War II. They kind of half assedly built it, that kind of thing, and when we went there, there were cranes. So we went there, decided to go, and it cost a phenomenal amount of money, even in Deutschmarks ya know because we decided to take the I.C.E. because we only had 3 days to go there, it was gonna be our last trip together and I thought it was gonna ya know, I hyped it up in my mind, it was gonna be our last trip. I hyped it up in my mind that it was gonna be great. Okay she was on the rag and she was absolutely a raging bitch man, the entire way. From start to finish. She was an evil ass, ya know what I’m saying? And psychotic. On top of that she was unpredictable, it was like “what the heck? Are you kidding me?” Which means ya know we weren’t like romantically involved, or anything like that. Ya know what I’m saying? It was like she would go, and it’s like, she’d be flirtatious, do you know what I’m saying? Then a shadow would fall over her face and she’s be right back to raging bitch, and she was awful. I went and bought her redbull, she threw the cans at me. Ya know what I’m saying that kind of thing. She sketched in her sketch-book, or like wrote, ya know what I’m

saying? It’s like, in her little notebook, ya know what I’m saying, the entire time. She was an absolute asshole, either stone faced or being abusive, the entire time. Ya know what I’m saying. She like critiqued me, ya know what I’m saying, the fact that I was skinny, do you know what I’m saying? Or parts of my male anatomy, do you know what I’m saying? Or what not, she was just being evil. Ya know that kind of thing. And it just went on and on and on. Ya know that kind of thing. She bitched about basically the transfers, the fact that it’s like ya know, I didn’t book ya know, and later train trip, and I was a cheap ass. Ya know it’s the I.C.E. train, we’re still gonna have to take the express train the rest of the way. So it’s like, we get up there, We finally get to Berlin, if anyone’s ever been to Berlin, it’s like, most of the cities like Frankfort or Hamburg, they have like districts, ya know what I’m saying? So when you get off there you have like, a red light DISTRICT. You have a shopping DISTRICT. You have an entertainment DISTRICT. Do you know what I’m saying? You have these districts and they’re usually well set up. Ya know what I’m saying? You walk around like Frankfort, my personal favorite. Berlin is a big, gigantic, sprawling mess. Ya know what I’m saying? If you’ve never gone there, it’s like everything is torn up, ya know what I’m saying? Cause’ of the Soviets just absolutely did a number on it, ya know what I’m saying? We had better trips before, we had the Amsterdam trip, and I’ll talk about that, which was AWESOME! Do you know what I’m saying. Most of the trips up to this point have been ABSOLUTELY AWESOME! I haven’t talked about it years, my trip to Amsterdam, or Stausburg, or any of the other places, or the deployments, ya know what I’m saying? But generally I had a great time with her. Because 1) I’m a little guy so she was so big and strong, she’s like the only female, up to that point, had gone to SRT school, do you know what I’m saying, for the MP’s and actually graduated from. Took her two tries but ya know had actually gone. Ya know she was a badass. So she was totally hot. Ya know what I’m saying? She had this bizarre exotic combination of black, white and Italian, you know what I’m saying, she had the best of both, ya know what I’m saying, her hips were huge. Beautiful face, people say “name how’d you get such a pretty girl” cause’s she’s an absolute psychopath. Know what I’m saying? The main reason I kept going with her is cause I only had sex with her once, it was awful, that was the group sex experience I’ll tell you about that later. But I found out that, any guy that she slept with she would eventually ditch. Do you know what I’m saying? And totally destroy them either by trashing their cars or taking their money or what not. So I basically just made her my travel bud-

dy, and when she was sleeping I would go out and hit up the red light districts or a park, you know what I’m saying, and pick up trade there, you know what I’m saying, that’s basically, it always worked, I didn’t have any kind of problem with it whatsoever, cause’ I was pretty young and I could do it. So anyway it’s like, we got there, and she’s being an ass, she decided to wear of all things, she didn’t shave her pits, ya know what I’m saying, her kind of Italian black hair is all over the place in this big huge sprawl, ya know that kind of thing, and she wore like, for some reason she wore keds. Ya know that kind of thing. Grey jeans, do you know what I’m saying? Some kind of bizarre tank top, with a flimsy little strap across it, there’s a name for it, and it’s like that. Her arms were unshaven, ya know what I’m saying, she looked greasy, nasty, she didn’t bleach her mustache out, ya know what I’m saying? I was just like “good god” do you know what I’m saying? Ya know it’s like, “ don’t dress too much for this” ya know what I’m saying? She had a backpack. She STUNK! Ya know what I’m saying that kind of , thing? She always had problems with female hygiene but this particular time was like she just WREAKED like bad dairy. Ya know what I’m saying that kind of thing? She was just AWFUL! That kind of thing, and she was just like behaving badly, just, just bad. She was bloated too. Generally she’d blow up and retain water. So it’s like we went out, we got there, and it’s like, we got off the train so it’s like “let’s go” we were looking for like a street car or something. There are no street cars in Berlin at this time, there’s only buses and maybe a couple street cars. We’re so used to going other places with maps, Berlin doesn’t have any of that. We only knew where the tourist traps were so we’re gonna go see at least the Brandenburg gate, ya know what I’m saying, get a room, Carrissa’s like “I’M TIRED I WANNA ROOM!” So we go out we look for a room, I thought it was a pretty good room, It was 120 Deutschmark, which would be like roughly about, it’s like the equivalent of a holiday inn. Immediately she’s rags into me cause’ it’s only a 3 star, that kind of thing, I’m like “really?” Ya know I’m like paying child support, ya know, it’s like “you’re fully free to chip in on this room if you want.” That kind of thing. So we get in, it’s not a bad room, It’s one bedroom, ya know what I’m saying, a sink, television, it’s nice, there’s nothing wrong with it, She just proceeds being a royal cunt to me the entire time. It’s like “why don’t you drop your stuff ya know, take a nap, ya know you could’ve napped all the way on the train but didn’t. Ya know that kind of thing? You wanna take a nap, take a nap” she didn’t. So we decided to go to the Brandenburg gate, and (something) museum. I try to be nice, I bought her a flower, she threw it at me,

ya know that kind of thing? So we went to this park, it was this drugged out needle park, old Soviet era park, It’s just dreadful, and we’re just tanking cause we can’t get around anywhere, cause’ we didn’t get a cab, didn’t rent a car, there’s no like, other places in Germany you can take like street cars and everything, ITS JUST SUCKED! I complimented her shamelessly, she’s just being a total BITCH! She’s either being totally stoic and cryptic, or abusive and that’s it, I just can’t stand it. I’m trying to do everything, ya know what I’m saying? I’m on the verge of tears here because, It’s like my best friend at the time and it’s like “really? What is going on here?” So she says “maybe if you wanna go back to the room I’ll just wander around” It’s like quit, at this point I’m like “Quit being an A-hole.” Ya know cause at this point I’ve just had it. So it’s like, we’re walking along, I’m fuming, of all things, she manages to score from a European cab driver. She was like flirting with this guy, it’s not easy to get free hash ya know what I’m saying, that kind of thing, but it did, and then I got invited to a party, I did not attend. So we’re walking along and lo and behold there’s a freaking TGI Friday’s ya know what I’m saying. Suddenly she livens up, I’ve had it totally up to here with it. She’s punished me and she’s been jumping up on the bed going “CHEAP DATE!” Ya know what I’m saying? “CHEAP POT!” Ya know that kind of thing, we rolled it up in a trident wrapper and smoked it, that is pretty cheap by the way. Ya know I was like “WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME LADY!? WHAT THE FUCK?!” So, and she’s being unreadable. So she wanted to go, and it’s like, eat at TGI Friday’s and remember I offered to take her other places, like this nice little sidewalk cafe, and all that kind of shit, but she’s like no, she wants to eat at TGI Friday’s. She wanted to go and I’m like “I’VE HAD IT! FUCK YOU BITCH! FUCK YOU! I’VE TOTALLY HAD IT!” I’m like “I’m going home” She’s like “You can’t leave me here you’re an A-hole” It’s like, I’m not going to fucking TGI Friday’s, I’m not having cheese sticks, I’ve totally had it. That kind of thing, and so she’s like “you get back here.”. So she grabbed me. This is a big girl, ya know what I’m saying? This is a BIG, hairy arm-pitted, lesbian, She was very pretty. She’s grabbing me, ya know what I’m saying it’s like, So I just hit her, ya know what I’m saying, I hit her, two shots to the ovaries. I’m mean straight in the baby maker. It was like “BAP BAP!” Ya know what I’m saying, that kind of thing. Floored her. I dropped her on her ass. Then it’s like I grabbed this, massive feminine stuff, know what aim saying, out of her bag and hit her in the head with it, just like “FUCK YOU”. Just bounced it off her. It was some sort of like body wash, It’s like I double


My life was awkward from the moment I knew existence. My momma, having conceived me on the hood of a 85 Ford Mustang in the back lot of the local roadhouse to some guy whose name she thinks was Chuck, decided to submit her application to one of those reality TV shows where the mother gives birth on camera. And so, it happened. For $5,000, my momma and I had our 23 minutes of fame. By the time I was old enough to understand, it was only one more notch in my awkward totem pole of life. In my first five years, I was only vaguely aware of my poor luck. Shortly after birth, the doctor placed my lopsided head in a helmet. When I was two, my legs were so crooked, I couldn’t yet walk and the doctor put braces on both legs. As I began to speak, I suffered from a lisp and stutter so bad that even my nana made fun of me. I was held back twice in pre-school because I couldn’t spell my name, which I forgot to mention was Oscar Meyer…Weiner. Yes. That’s right. Dear sweet momma, named me after a hotdog ‘cause she craved them so much when she was pregnant with me. Grade school is hell when your name is Oscar Meyer Weiner, you wear leg braces, and your claim to fame thus far in life is being ejected from your mother’s hoo-haa on national TV. More awkward, until I was 12, I called hoo-haas va-jay-jays because my nana is an Oprah fan and that’s what she told me it was called. That, too, happened awkwardly when I was six and walked into the bathroom and spotted my nana on the toilet. I asked her where her whizzer was, and she said, “Oh, Oscar. Nana doesn’t have a whizzer. Nana has a va-jay-jay.” Back to being 12, Tyler heard me attempt to insult a girl by telling her she could stick her phone and her head up her va-jay-jay. Tyler’s my best friend now, but back then he beat the crap out of me and told me not to be a faggot or it wouldn’t be the last time I got beaten up.

Tyler is totally not awkward. And he is the only reason I don’t get beat up daily. My nana still kisses me on the lips. My dad turned out to be my mom’s gym teacher. And my mom dressed me in sweater vests and loafers until I was in 8th grade. I’m a senior in high school now, and I continue to get myself into awkward situations. But none has been more awkward than the most recent: senior year British Lit. Mrs. “Wert Face” Hathawert tried very hard to make Shakespeare fun. English teacher fun, that is. Not 12th grade, spring semester, just-get-me-tograduation kind of fun. We were reading Macbeth. And we watched it. And we performed it. All the boys in class were pretty enthusiastic about Lady Macbeth writhing on her bed, touching herself, and calling out: Come, you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, and fill me from the crown to the toe topful of direst cruelty! We had no idea what she meant, but it sure looked, well, interesting Old “Wert Face” doled out roles and costumes randomly without care or concern for awkward gender issues. “Oscar,” she insisted, “you will play Lady Macbeth, and you will wear this.” And she held up a kilt, not a heavy, woolen, Scottish kilt, but a couple of yards of plaid cotton fabric purchased at the local dollar store. I was still the awkward, dorky boy, who would rather laugh at himself than be the butt of everyone else’s jokes, so I was determined to play the role with gusto. A kilt, eh? Real Scots don’t wear skivvies with kilts, so I stepped out to costume up… big awkward mistake. Let’s just say that as I played out the role of Lady Macbeth, calling on the spirits to unsex me, my voice rising to its apex, that wasn’t the only rising that happened. I finished my lines, expecting great aplomb. The room was deathly silent; Old “Wert Face” was bright red and not looking my direction. Slowly, the snickers drifted out from behind the front row. I lowered my arms, head, eyes, and looked down. It was apparent; the spirits had NOT come to unsex me. In fact, every classmate of mine knew exactly how I was feeling about Lady Macbeth at that moment.

Never before had my name been more appropriate or more awkward. Every awkward moment in my 18 year-old life culminated in this very moment.



birded her, and I’m like “I’M OUT OF HERE!” As I stomped off, ya know like a screaming little bitch fit, and I’m pitching one, ya know what I’m saying, right in front these Germans. Walking by they’re like “What the hell?” So I get up and walk. I’m actually concerned that I might have actually hurt her...NO. Ya know what I’m saying? As soon as I get up and turn, in typical Carissa fashion, she’s so Italian. Just like, she gets up, rushes me, I feel her hands, ya know what I’m saying, digging into the back of my neck, ya know what I’m saying? I’m like “This is gonna hurt” One of these things you learn in MP is wrestling techniques, and one wrestling technique is: You put pressure, ya know, against someone’s head. They automatically ya know, resist against it, and they let you do it, Do you know what I’m saying, that kind of thing. Basically they let you toss back, get off balance and they face-plant you. So basically she put my head back, I reared back, and she caught me, ya know what I’m saying? And she totally flung my head into the concrete. I went basically head first, into the concrete, ya know what I’m saying? She basically face-planted me into the concrete, ya know just BAM! That kind of thing, my nose just exploded just (raspberry noise) It just blew up all over the pavement. Ya know what I’m saying, I’m totally out of it. It’s not over. She goes, she grabs me and starts freaking, puts me in a choke hold, ya know what I’m saying, a riot, SRT choke hold, and is literally choking the life out of me. That kind of thing. I cannot get out of it, It’s like a real choke hold not like one these fake ones. I mean a true- do you know what I’m saying? She’s locked up my legs and she’s got me in a choke. That kind of thing, and she’s like, Germans are screaming and going ape shit. So any ways I’m tapping out and she’s not letting go. She’s not releasing the hold. Do you know what I’m saying, she’s cussing me out, do you know what I’m saying “you little faggot” Just ripping my head off, that kind of thing; And uh, meanwhile Germans are going crazy, ya know what I’m saying? That kind of thing. My face is destroyed, my nose is destroyed, I’m bleeding all over the place, that kind of thing, Turning purple, She’s not releasing the hold at all, with Germans running all over, screaming for the cops. One crucial part I forgot to mention, leading up to this, while we were walking along, I can’t believe I forgot this part, it was prior to this, ya know, before I lost it. She says “this is no way to treat a lady, this is not how you treat your girlfriend.”. Okay we’ve been traveling around for over a year, ya know that kind of thing, we had like, ya know, pseudo sex once, Maybe twice in a drug altered state. Either way it was no great shakes. It’s like, if you’re gonna be friends, that male female thing goes out the window. Ya know, go to parties, we go out separate ways, you do your

thing, I do mine, ya know what I’m saying that kind of \thing. Don’t pull this whole “this is no way to treat a lady” or “how dare you get me a shitty room” or what not. Ya know what I’m saying? That kind of thing. So finally she releases the hold, cause she knows we’re gonna go to dinner. That kind of thing. Now I’m like crying, it’s like “I CAN’T BELIEVE IT, I PAID FOR THE TRAIN!” By the way I’d been drinking profusely during this whole thing-(Kathy went on to make weird voices about buying drinks and trains in a crying bitch fit voice and talking about women responding to crying babies in public) Even lesbians have maternal instincts, and she’s like “okay just stop crying” and I’m like “NO YOU STOP IT!” Ya know that kind of thing. I’m just like going off, it’s like role reversal, ya know that kind of things. Once upon a time she looked like Wonder Woman. So anyway she drags me in to TGI Friday’s. We get cheese sticks of course, do you know what I’m saying, have it her way. She’s like “Come on try the cheese sticks, they’re awesome!” And I can’t stop crying, like sobbing uncontrollably, ya know what I’m saying, and bleeding profusely in the TGI Friday’s in a booth. So we order those and it’s like all these people are like... (The story trails off into nothingness for a moment) So for the rest of the trip she’s pretty nice, ya know what I’m saying cause’ she basically demolished my nose do you know what I’m saying? It’s like, it was fresh and continued to bleed for the rest of the time I was there. We went and saw the rest of Berlin... Berlin was a bust that kind of thing. Out of all the places we’d gone, I’d say Berlin was the lamest. I decided to drink myself into oblivion for the rest of the time I was there. That’s pretty much it.

of the month

Proper Ettiquette?
After 5 days of house sitting for a friend, what appropriate course of action follows next? 1) Leave bags of trash for the owner to dispose of OR 2) Lock the key left behind inside the house (surely they have another one handy)

cast your vote

#6 - Fuck Eric

Guy Debord

What makes home? Safety. So that means a bomb shelter is home? No. So. Fuck that Eric kid. Religiously tolerant intentional commune. I want to be a missionary for the connection to the mystery, the personal relationship with Jesus Christ, the ability to hear the natural order, and take away the religion. But, what good does that do anything? Like somebody asked me, if a person is happy, why not just let them be? It makes them question more. But if people really are just a step or two above animals, the same, but with cognitive thought (which is everything, I hear) the awareness of the self, the options other than yes and no. Animals only answer yes no questions. Just let the herds roam, I suppose. All I can do is take care of myself, maybe integrate into my own herd. I can cross herds? I can ask them questions? Can I disrupt things? Disruption is cause to dismantle, no matter how meager the result. I shouldn’t be at peace with people following religion. My preference and soul say so. That’s a yes no answer, but I’m not going to drive myself with the unlimited options. The only thing that matters is what my actions are, so that will come when it comes. Not when I’m typing something on note pad that I want to post on P&E, even though it’s completely trashed, technically speaking. I’m going to post it. I posted it. This is four minutes later. I feel bad for plaguing an internet message board with such an obliteration. Ha, no I

don’t, it just hurts my sense of self a little. But my preference says to not worry about what my brain tells me all the time. My soul is in the wrong place. I want the wrong things. I’ve always wanted the wrong things. I want to go to the otc campus, and walk through the halls, and find out what my next step is. I want to turn things in to my teachers, and see their smile when they see my face later on. I want to get really good grades, and start conversations about things, and sustain them, but not get caught up, and not tangent. I want to hit it deep, and hard and fast before they know it’s coming, when they’re vulnerable and least expecting it, violation feels sexy. That’s what I want. Is that the wrong thing? Welp, I’m going to start making pokes at the mystery based on clues I gather. With practicality, of course. Ha, mystery with practicality. She wants to give me everything, I want to be a missionary. What a pair. I just sent that to her. I don’t think she’ll like it. She wants to give me everything she is, the pain the love the good to bad, she doesn’t say those things, but it’s what she means. It’s what I want to get rid of. I want to be with my thoughts.
#18 - Negro. Grandma’s house. Do I love you?

I don’t think I’ve typed anything up for quite some time; the last few things I have saved up were conversations I had with random people on the internet. Pretty sad shit. So, I’m at Grandma’s house for a bit. Me and this girl are interesting, at this point. I think we’re still trying to work out the finer points of our dynamic, for lack of a better way of putting it. She’s with her brother right now, and we will not be texting dirty things to each other anymore. I have a bunch of saved messages that I should go ahead and write or


type up. Then I will be able to save more messages, eh. Grandma’s house is pretty good, honestly. I like both of them, even if I have things to say about them, I’d say. Today was the day at St. John’s Cancer Center. Chub building. It was gnar. I felt sick, about half of the time, sorta. I just, I dunno. It was surreal, I suppose is what I’m saying. Do I love her? I wonder, if maybe the person being loved is the only one that can truly know. That being said, I’m pretty sure I do. I just sent her a message, “I have a genuine trust and affection for you.” This is a ripoff of the message Slain Brain sent me the other night, when I asked him if he really loved me back. She texted back quickly, saying “Yeah?” I said, “Yes, definitely. Beyond doubt.” Too many words. God, we’re going to fuck each other up. One worse than the other. I don’t get it. It’s too weird. In other news, this closet at Grandma’s now smells like my home, which I realize is a really good smell. My brother has been remarking on it. My old oldschool is cracking. No more ollies. I will probably retire it soon.
#24 - Job Hunting

I had a copy of Firefox version 1 from 2005. I’m trying to clean some stuff up without deleting every possible thing. I think I’m going to take this over to my dad’s sometime so he can tell me what is up with some of the things on my C:. My grandma and grandpa are encouraging me to get a job pretty well, but, I don’t know how to tell them that I won’t take a pee test. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck j fkdsajfkaldfjkdvjkfdfuck fuck.

I don’t feel quite that way, but something close to it. Something that doesn’t really resemble it, but is on the same wagon of fuck. So, something that chaps my ass, is that I can’t get a single person to keep up a journal. You know, something they’ll read when the feel old, and it will help them relate to when they were a whippersnapper. I guess that’s what these are, you know. I’m leaving something to the people that want to be around when I die. Which at this rate is fairly few people. I’m hoping there are some fundamental truths, or pictures of situations, but I think most of my writing is too scattered and shittty for many people to really get into it. it would have to be made into a coloring book for very many people to care. Or a high budget film with lots of cgi. My grandpa took me to fill out applications, anyway. That’s what we did today, after putting up some chicken wire to keep the squirrels out of the garden. I don’t know what the chicken wire will do very much. Anyway, he would sit out in the car, while I went in to fill out applications. We went to a few motels, including the Budget Lodge, which is actually a hotel, but damn. It is a pretty rough place. They had signs saying not to touch plants, and a sign that says unruly people will be escorted off the premises. Things like that. Saw a buddy at Subway. Saw a buddy at Domino’s. I think Domino’s would make me want to die more than ever, honestly. The smell was terrible, and the people looked fucked. Went to my dad’s, and he wasn’t there. Played with the dogs, stole a tomato, and showed Grandpa a thing or two. Locked and closed the garage. Went to an air conditioning repair joint. Grandpa knows everyone. Back at the place. Here. Cleaning up the computer. FIN

Dustin Wood
I hate to be boring. One of the few things I hate more than to be boring is for others to bore me. What I love, however, is good conversation and, if the option presents itself, a good debate and argument. Talent varies greatly in this particular field, but one of the ways I always know if I’ve managed to frustrate (if not verbally castrate) my opponent into submission is by their resorting to an argument based upon Hitler and/or Nazi reductionism. To say “Nazi Reductionism” is to give the rhetoric a more elevated sense of propriety than it deserves. For anyone who cares, the line of reasoning will become familiar all too quickly if indeed the mind hasn’t already worked out its machinations. The scenario goes something like this: Person A and Person B are arguing; Person A traps Person B with a logical statement from which Person B either cannot fully comprehend or formulate a reasonable rebuttal thereto; Person B then either refers to Person A and/or Person A’s argument as being what one would expect from a Nazi. Why so many go to this seemingly safe island of argumentation I’ll never understand. I hate boring people and those who make Nazi-esque comparisons in debate or in print I find to be dull to the point of absurdity. Making such an argument is unoriginal and anti-creative. It requires no thought or cleverness on the part of the speaker. I can only conclude that in their limited abilities, they believe that to use such a comparison is to wield an unstoppable force of rhetorical skill that others shall cower in the glow of their magnificent mental prowess. Let me make this perfectly clear – I fucking hate it when people abandon all originality and resort to Nazi reductionist arguments.

However, in recent days, a spat of words coming from the religious far-right has frustrated me to no end with my own words. When I first sat down to write this article, I didn’t have to even consider the arguments I wouldn’t make. I wouldn’t say “Hitler”. I wouldn’t say “Nazi”. Anyone can do it; it’s cliché and brainless as shit. I thought about other acts by which to compare the words of these men to: the Armenian genocide in the early 20th Century; the Killing Fields of Cambodia as Pol Pot exterminated his fellow countrymen; the Alhambra Decree expelling the Jews from Spain in 1492; Rwanda – the list could go on. If nothing else humanity has a rich history of atrocities from which to draw comparisons. Perhaps it’s because the Holocaust against the Jews is the one most studied due to its breadth or due to the heavy American involvement in World War 2, or perhaps because human atrocities themselves have been perpetrated to the point that man’s inhumanity to man has itself become a cliché. As to this last part, I secretly hope that such is the case so that decency toward others of our species may be looked upon as unique and with reverence spiced with a desire to conduct oneself in just such a manner. All of this, or perhaps at least most of it, is a exaggerated throat clearing and apology to you, dear reader, for the sin of which I am here now going to perpetrate against your person. In recent days, a trope of the Christian-right (I think the term Christian Fascists would be more appropriate) have come out not just as opposing the act of homosexual sex, but in actively calling for those who by their very nature desire to do so, are to be beaten, criminally prosecuted, forcibly interred to concentration camps, murdered; perhaps most disturbingly, they have even enlisted those among us who are truly innocent to sing praises about the eternal damnation of homosexuals to the rousing approval and laughter of the adults they trust. This is not a matter of gays v. religious fanatics. To put it plainly - these



people truly pine and long for the forced displacement of a law abiding minority in a secular republic and for that minority to be subject to the most inhumane of treatment premised upon warped view of the world. These people are not merely the enemies of gays and lesbians – these people are the enemies of humanity. They are enemies of modernity; of a secular republic which protects their religious freedoms; and of the enlightenment. They are the enemies of any thinking human being. Luckily, with 21st century technology, it’s easy for us to identify these people: Charles L. Worley, pastor of Providence Road Baptist Church in Maiden, North Carolina called for gays, lesbians, and “queers” to be placed in, what is effectively, a concentration camp so that they can die off. Later, audio of Fuhrer Worley surfaced from a sermon wherein he stated, ““Forty years ago they [LGBT people] would’ve hung, bless God, from a white oak tree!” Tim Rabon, pastor of Beacon Baptist Church in Raleigh, North Carolina, listed the states where gay marriage is legal and stated the country isn’t far from legalizing marriage between animals and humans. Ron Baity, pastor of Berean Baptist Church in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, called for gays and lesbians to be prosecuted under criminal law. Sean Harris, pastor of Berean Baptist Church in Fayetteville, North Carolina, made statements effectively calling for parents to strike their children if any effeminate behavior was detected. Apparently, if it’s not enough to pray-away-the-gay, there’s always the option of beating the fag out of them. Curtis Knapp, pastor of Hope Baptist Church in Seneca, Kansas, recently called for gay and lesbian people to be put to

death by the government. In other words, he’s the Himmler to Fuhrer Worley. Jeff Sangl, pastor of Apostolic Truth Tabernacle, in Greensburg, Indiana, can be seen in a recent video smiling approvingly as a small child in his congregation takes to the stage and sings that, “Ain’t no homos gonna make it to heaven.” It’s too easy to call these people Nazis, but perhaps we don’t have (or even need) a better comparison for the collective call to assault, prosecute, inter, and murder a minority of persons in our midst. It’s also too easy to dismiss the rantings of people like Fred Phelps of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas. It’s easy, because when you see someone holding a protest over the funeral of dead military personnel, you correctly assume that the person must in some way be insane. However, to my knowledge, none of the above persons have ever held up a sign at a funeral that read something like, “Thank God for AIDS.” Yet, if you look at the Westboro Baptist Church’s website, you’ll see that they also call for the criminal prosecution of homosexuals and for the applicable sentence to be death. The delivery system of the message may be different, but the substance remains the same. As the old saying goes, don’t look at the bottle, look at the contents. Even with my disgust for these people and their venom, I find myself at odds with many of those around me. “What they’re doing is hate speech! And hate speech should be a crime!” one person said to me online. Another suggested that their houses and churches be burnt to the ground.
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has your finger been?

No, I’ve come to what I believe is a better suggestion. It’s partly based in my absolute belief in our right to freedom of speech and partly based in my desire for self-preservation. I want these people to keep talking. I really do. I would beg for them, every time they open their mouths, to say exactly what it is that they think about gay and lesbian people. This is for two reasons. First, I want others to see exactly how bat-shitcrazy-nuts-insane these people are, and two, I want to know who and where my enemies are. This resolution of mine has made things awkward with a few of my cohorts. Perhaps because it is so uncomfortable to read and hear such things, or perhaps it’s because making them shut up is the easy thing to do, or perhaps to ask for more of it, as I advocate, is to come across as asking for some masochistic verbal debauchery. However, to shut these people up or to even call for it is the boring thing to do. And I hate boring people. I want them to keep talking. I want to see my enemies. And the enemies of humanity are the enemies of you and I.

down by you as you’re walking, and you just assume they’re going to kidnap you.

The moment when you’re waiting for a text but then you realize you’re the one who didn’t reply.
That moment when someone you deleted off Facebook tries to add you again.

The moment when Katy Perry thinks she kissed a girl, but really it was Russell Brand.
That moment when the guy who discovered milk realizes he has to explain how he found it.

The moment when your sarcasm is so advanced that people actually think you’re stupid.
That moment when someone’s laugh is funnier than the joke.

The moment when you buy a bag of air and there’s chips inside.
That moment when you get home and look at yourself in the mirror thinking…. did I really look like this all day?

The moment when someone asks you what’s wrong and they’re the problem.
That moment when you’re trying to end a conversation and the other person won’t stop talking. That moment when you’re in a serious situation & all you can do is laugh.

The moment when you realize your family loves your best friend more than they love you.
That awkward moment when a car slows

The moment when all the booze runs out.

are having sex right now




I think there is no bearded woman that’s When I gamble and win I feel like the prettiest girl at the bingo hall. trying her best.

“Guns kills people!’’ ...Yeah and spoons I just heard a chain saw solo. Bitchin’ made you fat? Had a student ask me if the singer of Obama is not a brown-skinned anti-war Nickelback was Kurt Cobain. I failed the socialist who gives away free health entire class and set them on fire. care. You’re thinking of Jesus. Make like its thanksgiving and gobble Excitement: discovering “beaver fever” gobble! is a real disease. Disappointment: its My new deodorant is orange blossom giarda. Fuck that. and cranberry. It smells so good I want I like my women like I like my whiskey: to drink it. twelve years old and mixed up with coke. I’d rather be trying to get a truck out of Thanksgiving, 2019: “I’m so sorry you a ditch in the dark in Mexico right now. got raped when you were 13. I thought something was off about that guy. But I didn’t say anything at the time because I was afraid your mom would yell at me. So, um, pass the yams?” I blame Satan for making me get drunk and show my vagina to Cajuns.

“Get your foot off of his head!” is not That shit load of Mountain Dew right be- something I thought I’d have to say today. fore bed was a great idea. When I was a kid, sometimes I’d run home to Mommy with a bloody nose and say, “Mom, my friends beat me up,” and my Mom would say “well then they’re not worth having as friends, are they?” At the time, I figured she was just trying to put a positive spin on having birthed an unpopular pussy.




I just went to symptom checker on WebMD and now I’m never leaving the house again. Home from grocery shopping with two small kids in a thunderstorm. Lugged everything in. Now smell like sweat and desperation. Fellas?

It is surprisingly hard to sneak out of a I killed lots of monsters in my dreams last night, in case you were wondering. race car bed. How many times do you have to keep I haven’t been allowed to eat today or starring each other before you’re con- most of tomorrow. I would kill a hobo for some sushi. sidered common law married?

“I did not mean to affront your sweet & tender affinities by publicly commenting on your dainty steed and your breasts of quaint stature.”
“I have a pretty pussy! God make me get drunk and flash it around Cajuns.”

Sergeant Heartstomp - CRYBABY Madame SuperDuper - SONGWRITER Killer Jack Attack - INSENSITIVE FLAKE Peanut Scholar - DEAD WEIGHT DRIFTWOOD Butchcat-Bitchmouth - VOICE OF REASON









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