Wednesday, April 22, 2009


It had been a few weeks since the city had been plagued by any of those individuals. You know, unhip people. Folks who wouldn’t learn what was in and what was out. The last time anybody like that had lived here they had been scared out by the extreme ostracism the townies had shown. If you didn’t get with the times, no one would speak a word to you.
At least the social climate was better than it was in the 60s. Back then in Gregricksburgh, the Un-Participants (as they had come to be called) were forced into tiny ghettos where they couldn’t get any work. They couldn’t even work as house help for the wealthy and popular elite because they didn’t have the correct French Maid costumes; they couldn’t get into the clothing stores because they weren’t dressed appropriately. An Un-Participant would have been most lucky to scrounge up money for a bus ticket out back then.
Now things were better. The Un-Participants trying to come into Gregricksburgh were merely chased out. Mostly they didn’t want to come anyway; why would anyone like them want to? Besides that, there were screenings at the age of sixteen for all children of residents, if they wanted to stay. If you decided not to take the test, or failed, you could be sent out. Sixteen seemed to be a good age—kids were just starting to catch on. The quick-witted ones, anyway. The rest wouldn’t be happy in Gregricksburgh, at any rate.
The streets were currently painted pink and orange, as of five years ago. The constant changes created many local jobs and kept the city fresh and clean. Residents were supposed to wear colors contrasting either pink or orange (or both, optimally) and so downtown and surrounding areas were alive with vibrant colors. All restaurants were required certain menu items and disallowed others. And clothing stores were heavily scrutinized by the Listmakers, of course. Currently, coffeeshops were run by the local government and were on every other street corner, so citizens could enjoy the best drinks at the right times. Before bands could begin having shows or even practicing audibly they had to have an audition in front of the Listmakers.
The last Un-Participants to show up, as has already had been stated, were chased out. Before they were, however, they made quite a mess. They had been disturbing the peace by playing their strange music (loudly) wearing ugly clothing and having unauthorized kinds of pets. Gregricksburgh wouldn’t stand for such ridiculous displays of individualism, especially when it was done in the most incorrect way. Gregricksburgh was too fine of a town for that. Too polished, too perfect. Nothing would tarnish its glamorous reputation as the Most Tight-Knit, Most Perfect City.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009


I was trying to do a post of a drawing I did yesterday, but I couldn't figure out how to scan it with Alexander's scanner and I couldn't borrow a camera.

This space reserved for when I can post the drawing.

I'll do a story post later on tonight, after work.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Rip Current

A couple things:
1. I didn't write yesterday because I was really sick (aka hung over).
2. You should vote on the poll. I'm going to be writing about it at the end of every week. I'll explain this blog's setup later at the end of this week. "Ego" week, that is.

Now, onto today's story.


Janice hasn’t been there in so long that she had forgotten how it made her feel. Sometimes she would wonder if she would ever go back. This place inspired in her a deep melancholy and pure happiness, all at once.
The tide was slowly drifting out. It made her want to get in and be absorbed into the giant mass of water, never to be seen again. No one would ever be able to hate her anymore. Her life could end, and with it all the sadness she carried, like so much dirty laundry. A waste of a person. She shouldn’t waste the precious resources that more beautiful human beings need. She could just go.
Janice knew that she was almost a miscarriage. Placed in intensive care from the moment she was shoved out of the womb. She had always suspected that her parents blamed her for their extreme poverty. Hospital bills still came in; the interest built faster than they could pay. When Janice had tried to move out of her parents’ house at the age of 18, they had made her get a job and stay to help them pay. Her mother had threatened to transfer the debt onto her if she attempted to leave.
The last time she had been to the beach was with her old friends Sara and Margot. The three of them used to hang out all the time. Well, until Sara had started dating Fred, and Margot got with Jolene. Fred and Jolene were best friends, of course, and so the four of them began hanging out all the time. Janice started feeling like an unimportant tagalong and stopped spending her days with them. Janice didn’t have anyone to turn to, so she then just filled her time elsewhere. She accumulated online friends that lived hundreds or more miles away.
The lack of face to face human interaction might have driven her to severe depravity and self-degradation. She had decided to come to the ocean today because none of it was really worth all this pain. The water was a bit chilly—it made her hair stand on end. Maybe, hopefully, the last time it would ever do that. The sun was on its way down. Maybe she would wait for it to set, and then start swimming towards it.
A sandpiper was flitting nervously across the sandy terrain. Janice noticed that it had four children excitedly following behind. She smiled. If only life was that simple. If only she could experience such a simple joy. If only, if only.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Sallow Susan

She had only last planned driving down the highway. She didn’t know where she was headed, but it didn’t really matter. Things just needed to be made right, and if anyone was going to do it, why not herself? She needed to escape. All that mattered was that she put as many miles between her and Chicago as possible.
A familiar sound buzzed through the car. Text message. Good thing the traffic was slow at three in the morning.
suz u r in NO condi. to drive…that shits gonna get fucked thats MY car tu no
“Bullshit!” Susan screamed, all of a sudden. Her voice was a little scratchy due to not being used for nearly an hour. “Bullshit bullshit bullshit!”
Susan felt as if she had helped make at least half the payments on the Plymouth she was sliding down the highway in. But José didn’t give a fuck. He didn’t give a god-damned shit. She would just hand him the money. He probably didn’t even spend it on the damn car; he probably got laid every fucking night by a different girl, leaving her at home by herself. The creditors were always calling. He didn’t answer the phone because he was always gone, doing something mysterious. If she even asked where he had been he would just tell her to shut up, goddamn it. Sometimes he wouldn’t even speak English for her.
She had always wanted to want to escape. She just didn’t think it mattered all that much, for a long time, whether she stayed or left. Susan had a very high boiling point. Like copper, or something, right? That stuff takes forever to boil.
“Who gives a fuck!” Susan’s frantic voice again. “It doesn’t even matter what I do now. I’m stuck here on the highway. I have nowhere to go! No one to see! Fucking, goddamn son-of-a-bitch no one!”
Susan usually made it a point never to curse, but these sure were extenuating circumstances. She had nothing but the car, her CD case (“Ironic” by Alanis Morissette was playing medium-softly), her cell phone, a duffel bag of clothes and a toothbrush, and the vodka she had under the passenger side. She didn’t even have her wits any more, it seemed.
“Shut the hell up!”
The road was empty on I 80-W out of Chicago. Cars weren’t out at 3 AM, they all respected themselves well enough to be asleep at this time of night. They had jobs, friends—pasts, futures. You know, everything that everyone wants. Like a sitcom, like a Hallmark card.
She figured she could make all the way to Iowa City. Start fucking fresh. Maybe she could make things right this time. No more stupid relationships. No more stay at home and live off the trust fund. No more no life. She would change her name. Blanca. She had always liked that name, for some reason. She wanted it for her and José’s child, but it had turned out that she was infertile. So if she couldn’t give the name away, she would keep it. Hold on to it tight.
All of a sudden she remembered what he had said, two nights ago. “I don' t da una mierda maldecida dios qué usted hace con su vida! Aren' ¿t nosotros en esto junto? Pozo no más. I' m en esto para mi uno mismo de mierda ahora,” from which she could only figure out tht he was switching between Spanish and English, his alcohol intake sure was showing, and that he didn’t care about what she did anymore.
So she left. With nothing to her but some collected items and a beautiful, beautiful name that almost fit her, she left.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

The Adventures of Horace Greeley

Marcus Greeley. What a name. It really looked good in gold on his prurient desk. City commissioner. What a job! He was in charge of safety, mainly, but he liked to work around the title a little bit just to get the ball rolling on some important issues. Like last week when he cut the ribbon at the mall’s grand reopening. Really, it was Horace Sneedler’s job, but he couldn’t make it. Marcus wanted the Pineview Mall to be a safe place, and so he cut the ribbon. Newspaper pictures and everything! He loved his name, especially in print. Marcus Greeley. It just sounded right. Very upright.
He always thought of himself as a man of principle, and strived to make things right according to his own virtues. Like last month, at that used car lot. He didn’t let that waste of a man Vicks Misstoman sell junk cars to an unsuspecting woman. She was just looking for a car to take grocery shopping, but that garbage wouldn’t have made it halfway back to her house. He sold Janine Larson his own second car, even though he loved it, just to ensure her safety. Things like this always reminded him of what a good guy he was. Mrs. Larson sure was a great lady herself. He thought of her as a wonderful wife, and a respectable woman for that. She didn’t feel the need to stir up any controversies in town, and her house was always one where safety was valued.
Marcus Greeley knew this because he was around pretty often. He felt quite at home in her house. Gregory Larson and he were golfing pals. Marcus was sure that they were such good friends because even though he always outplayed Greg on the course, he never gave him any trouble for it. Only subtle encouragements. A little advice here and there, but never a quip or bite of sarcasm escaped his lips. Sometimes he would chuckle a little chuckle to himself, but never audibly. Even last Saturday, he remembered, he had outplayed Greg by 40 strokes, and not an ill word! Marcus did wish that Greg would take his counsel, if only to improve his game, but Greg was a prideful man. He would always push away at Marcus’s tips. Marcus really enjoyed Gregory’s self-assertiveness; it made him just the right kind of man for Marcus’s company.
Afterwards they would always hit the “19th hole” to get a couple of beers and relax. The unstated rule had always been that the player who played their personal best for the day bought drinks, because he would feel a bit happier about how the round had gone and the day been spent. Marcus could always spend a little more on drinks, so he always made a point to. Sometimes he would pitch in a bit more when it wasn’t his turn to buy, so the two of them could get something nicer. He just wanted his friends to have the best and the safest. He felt it important that they never drove after golf because it wouldn’t be very safe to drink and drive. Janine would always pick them up.
Sometimes he wondered why he didn’t have the best of everything. He aimed for it, but he felt that he would never have as good a family as the Larsons. He looked at them with such envy. They had a little boy on the way, the most adorable cat Whisper, and the most loyal dog, Yeller. Named after the classic, of course. The Greeleys might never reach such a harmonious balance. His son was always off to a bit of mischief, and his daughter was with a new boy every few weeks. He tried to raise them right but he was always so busy with his work as the city commissioner he never got to be home. Being a single father, parenting was quite the challenge for him.
His wife was dearly, dearly departed, leaving only a note behind. The note appeared long yet was made nearly illegible by dark crimson stains. Only one segment could even be called readable.

n won’t ever fucking know the pain I felt, not even now wh

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Hey, can I talk to you for a second?

Nel’s pregnant. You might think it’s funny now, and honestly, you wouldn’t be too far from correct. I mean, about a month ago, she thought all those pregnant teenagers were hilarious. She would take cheap shots at their once cute clothing becoming ill-fitting, along with their jumping hormones. Especially June, the girl that Nel hated ever since the second grade. Not to mention Stacy, Rachel, Catherine. But you’d think that Nel would try to distance herself as much as possible, to the point of wearing condoms at least.
Maybe Nel’s worries went further than you’re assuming—maybe she was just hating those girls because she was jealous. But that’s silly, I mean, really. Who wants to ruin the rest of their life just for some ridiculous babydoll fantasy? Nel didn’t wear dresses, or makeup, or talk about boys. She wasn’t any kind of typical girl. Though in her non-normality she was a regular type of girl too. You know what I mean: the “I’m-so-much-better-than-them-they’re-stereotypes” kind of gal. Nel really means well for herself, which is why she goes to parties and makes herself known. She was the girl that wasn’t the others. You wanted to get to know her and she’d push you into a muddy puddle. Basically the opposite of June, the pregnant prom queen. The inflated balloon of a popular girl, floating over the proverbial Macy*s Day Parade of Homecoming Week, or whatever special goes on at school. You know I don’t pay attention to that crap.
Maybe it’s because you think you’re so suave, but I know what you’re wondering right now. Was it you? Well, what if it was, you bastard? Ron’s party was a ton of fun—a double-kegger. You got drunk, I got drunk, she got drunk, we were all way past driving condition. But we left and this is where things get even more hazy. Nel doesn’t remember where she went, and neither do you. I know what you did, and I’m going to tell the entire junior class right now, the entire lunchroom, if you don’t take responsibility for what you did.
Why do I think it was you? I could hear you, upstairs. My bedroom isn’t far from Nel’s, and being a typical little brother, I know exactly how to be on top of everything that’s going on. I know that you were “on top of” something else, and that something threatens to inflate just as much as the giant June. But I won’t let that happen. You’ll go to her during sixth period, and you’ll tell her to get an abortion. You’re not going to take care of the fucking kid, so don’t let me catch you not doing what I say.
What do you mean, you think you can handle it? You can’t take care of a kid. You’ve heard the phrase “a child having a child” before. I’m not going to be connected to that at all. I’m going to Harvard, god damn it, and no one is going to ruin my run for the Presidency with some stupid high-school-level scandal. One day, I’m going to be on the big stage, and I don’t want to answer any questions about what you did way back when. How you ruined your son, you didn’t take care of him, I had to pick up the pieces. That doesn’t sound all that bad, but I need to get everything in my life done before age 36. The youngest President ever…can you see it now? My name in lights. That is, if you don’t ruin my chances now. Get on with it, lunch is over now, sixth period is coming up.
I’m sick of you talking back to me. I’ve got some good dirt on you and I’m not afraid to spread it. Don’t think I couldn’t hear everything last night, especially the bit about you apologizing for the size of your dick. Don’t think that didn’t fuck with me too. Don’t think I don’t work hard for what I want to accomplish. Don’t think I really give a damn about your future, or Nel’s, for that matter. Get out of my sight. You disgust me.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

A Small Discovery

I've been on a huge craigslist binge lately, dreaming about a new (working) car. Also a job. Anyway, I've looked around an extensive amount and found something hilarious. In case you're reading this later and the listing is gone, it's some guy selling a Pokemon game called "Pokemon Chaos Black." I've seen stuff about this before when I've been on YouTube adventures; I think this was the first thing I saw. Obviously this is just some kid. Apparently the hack isn't even finished.

The hilarity you can add to this is that this guy lives in Eugene. Who would have guessed? I never expected to live in the same town as such a talented guy. I would say he doesn't live in Eugene and he's just trying to pawn some of these horrible things off on some unsuspecting buyer, but then why would he advertise the site?