Hair on the Cutting Room Floor

Hair on the Cutting Room Floor

By: David McGhee

Woke up yesterday and had my usual cigarette. May I talk for a while on how cool it is to smoke? I mean, you get cancer, which gets you pain medication, which makes you happy! At least that's the way I'm looking at it. I can't take opiates at the moment because I'm on Suboxone, which is an opiate blocker. The shit is strong too! I remember being on like four milligrams and trying to shoot up about sixty dollars worth of heroin. Absolutely nothing happened. No high and no happy David. Curse you modern medicine!

Not that I was trying to kill myself that time, because I was, but more importantly I should say that there is nothing more awesomer than an upside down jock.

Now that I got that out of the way, let's talk about waffles. My old boyfriend wouldn't eat them because he said that they were invented in the great depression or some shit like that and they were made to feed a ton of people with minimal money and effort. I happen to love waffles. Plus Pancakes are cool too. But I like a huge Belgian waffle with walnuts on my plate, smothered in blueberry preserves and eaten with a fork. Why would anyone eat a loaded waffle with their fingers? That's just crazy talk.

Crazy talk is something I do well. I swear, every time I see a tall handsome man I get the compulsion to go up to him and congratulate him on being tall. You know, because chicks dig it. Fucking shallow pieces of shit. Not that men are much better. I can't tell you how many times I answered an online personal ad that proclaimed that said gay man will only go out with other tall handsome gay men. Although I'm sure if a straight man wanted to, he could mount one of these guys. But that would at best make him bisexual. Which is cool, even I have partaken in the vagina from time to time. I just believe that the world is better off without me in the gene pool. So no babies for David. Imagine me reproducing? I was enough to handle by even the most hardened of mental health professionals as a child, why in the fuck would I put a mini me through all that shit?

Although I would like to have a kid someday when I'm all moneyed up and skinny. I bet my adopted son will grow up to be tall and handsome and fuck the living shit out of bitches simply because tall handsome men are all sluts. Tall people have no feelings.

Erin, her friend Mary, and I went to Empire Beauty School so they could get their hair did. I waited patiently in the waiting area for about five minutes reading my Stephen King book (it was and still is “It.” Which is basically a bajillion pages. But it's sooooooooooo good!) before I headed out to the cutting floor to bug my friends.

Mary is Erin's neighbor and she is pretty cool if I do say so myself. Although “cool” and “David” rarely ever go together, so take that for what it's worth. But she was nice to me and gave me cigarettes (remember, CANCER!!!) and she even told me that I'm a nice person.

Smiley face.

El, oh, el.

I wish I was a big old jocky man whore. I'd be making babies left and right and fulfilling my evolutionary duties. That's right, I said “duties” and not “doodies,” as in taking a poo. As in bending over and hugging your knees while a fourteen inch shit as hard as azurite comes out of your bung hole and clogs up the toilet. Every fucking time! Fuck you Suboxone!

Suboxone is an opiate so it will make you constipated.

Chaboni Greek Yogurt just called me a day ago and told me that they'd pay for my medical bills that were incurred from eating said yogurt, which was recalled. Man, oh man, does food poisoning suck! I thought I was having one of the worst migraines ever that day. I remember crying for hours because the pain was so bad. Frank came home later that night and gave me a shit ton of pot. But even then all it did was help me sleep through the horribleness.

But I have Medicaid, which means that my medical bills were paid for. I told them initially that I wasn't looking for money but then people were telling me that I need reimbursement for my pain and suffering. I don't know... I suppose I could use a little bit of money. It would help pay for the more expensive things in my life. Like food and water.

I rarely drink sodas anymore. Credit goes to my partner, Frank, for segging me away from soda and into a more delicious and nutritious (my ass) alternative that is water. Water isn't so bad if it's really cold. I mean, really, really cold. As in almost freezing. Our dumb shit refrigerator does the trick. Thank God for malfunctioning appliances!

Anyways, we were at the hair cutting place and I was walking around talking to the student barbers. Not all of them welcomed me, but this one was especially nice to me. Her name is... Well... I think I forgot? Cham... Something. But she was awesomely nice and put up with me for a whole thirty minutes before Erin and Mary got done did with their hair.

Holy high I'm shit right now! If I knew how to make the appropriate emotocon, believe me I'd use it.

Speaking of shit, did you know that I got H Pylori?

What?

You did? Oh... I see how it is. You're just going to read anything I write now aren't you? Pfft. But it's okay to read my stuff. I have a lot of love for what I do. Fuck. I wrote three full length books and put them up as ebooks for free! And I got like, a bajillion downloads (One More Suicide hit 2,200 downloads. Go me!).

Oh yeah. The point. Not to lose you or anything but I sort of do that. My doctor today said that I very well could be ADD. Which stands for Attention Deficit Dis... Oh look! A squirrel!

*Chases squirrel to it's secret underground layer and almost caught the squirrel until I saw a bufly!*

Bufly! Bufly! I remember I drew this this one time when I was younger. It makes sense when you think about it. This was a doodle for my old band Ginkins. Man those were good times.

I loved recording the recordings we recorded. You can hear them and experience the David over at: http://goodbyetimebomb.bandcamp.com. I remember that our drummer was a homophobic mother fucker. It's why we ultimately let him go. That, and he was a dick. I mean, he was cool to me sometimes but me being in the closet can only hear so much about how he should beat gays up and shit. Later on I found out that our bassist Mike felt the same way. Because he came out a while ago. So I suppose I'm just writing this to justify having pissed someone off.

Plus another drawing I did.

Oh look... A birdy!

Anyhoow... It was Chelly! Chelly was the cool barber over at that beauty college. She talked about how she had gotten her grandchild (of the female variety) an Easy Bake Oven. Remember those?

*Easy Bake Oven*

Yeah. Chelly and her grandchild both loved Goldfish Crackers. So it was only logical that when said grandchild had gotten such a clever little device, that she would make her one Goldfish Crackers. So one thing led to another and she wound up frying Chelly's goldfish in the fucking thing. Saying she was making crackers. What a little fish killer!

Although I can't complain, I used to feed my old piranha (If you want to get technical then it was a red bellied pacu) small frogs. It wasn't as cool as you'd think because he was so big at that point that he (or she) swallowed them whole. Where's the fun in that? I wanted to see some blood!

Thank God I still have some manly mental functions. I dislike men who are flaming. It gives gay people an accurate name. Well, you have your queen and your butch. Being butch and being gay. Does that make sense? You're basically straight except you get fucked in the ass by a dude.

Erin got together with this guy named Kurt and she seems very happy. So congratulations to her!

Seriously, he's cool. And cute. He is so secure with his sexuality that he even sent me a nekkid pic on ma phone. It was good. The dude is like five foot four and he looks very good nekkid. All skinny and has those lines above the hips and shit.

I think I'm going to strive on doing a post every other day. That way I can do some more short stories in between. So until then, see you BrandonPirkle!

How to Rule at Free Art Museum Day

How to Rule at Free Art Museum Day

By: David McGhee

I woke up at around six this morning and immediately checked my Facebook and Twitter. Because that's just what I do before getting out of bed. Every day. Same thing. It's because I swear when ever I get a response to something I completely flip my shit and say “Holy cock of Christ! People are interacting with me!” But most times than not it will be some shitty invite. I don't mind it when people do them. In fact I do them myself when the mood strikes me. But nothing is a bigger letdown than seeing that you have five new alerts and all of them are inviting me to some shitty party or show. I don't go out anymore people! Respect that or... Actually you can still send me invites. I don't want to be a jerk. But it does suck to see that no one responded to my witty post about a military man's penis. Ugh! What do you people want from me!?

Shh... Don't be like that. Daddy didn't mean it. Here. Come to my sweaty arm pit and I will wrap my arm around you and tell you that it's all going to be fine. It will. It just takes some time. Unless you have diarrhea, in which case things will never be fine again. And it's all your fault!

Frank was kind enough to leave me a cigarette on my book case this morning. You know. It's a case that holds books. And it's full! I need a new one. I wonder if I had two book shelves, would that mean two cigarettes in the morning? A girl can dream I suppose.

I recently got H Pylori from food poisoning. And it's all Chobani's fault! You see, a while ago they recalled some amazingly delicious vanilla yogurt that I ate before the recall went into effect. Ergo, intestinal bacteria swimming inside my uterus. Or wherever I hold that stuff. I was so sick for so long that I was starting to get used to the sickness like I did with my Hep C. With that shit you're tired all the time and you're sick all the time. It's like having a minor to medium cold every day for the rest of your life.

You see, I was a very bad heroin addict at one time. Like “Holy shit, let's hide the jewelery!” addict. Yes I stole from people and companies. I never really robbed anyone but my folks. Even then my father wouldn't press charges. If only they had gotten my Aspergers diagnosis along with the Suboxone in the first place. Man I did some stupid shit.

I remember being two bucks short and coming up to the little Honduran dealer. I rolled up the money in a ball so that he would just jam it in his pockets and not count it. I was hoping on that. But that day was destined to be a real dick slap to the face. And not the good kind of dick slap either. No, this is either a three inch penis or a five foot schlong just pounding away at my cheeks. What bullshit!

Anyways, he counted the money and he and his dealer buddies started laughing and calling me a “punto.” I'm sure that they were saying that my hair was amazing, but instinct told me that it had to be a curse word. I begged the man for just on ten dollar piece of heroin. I was in so much pain from withdrawal that I was literally crying in front of him and his compatriots. I saw them laughing and then the one that had the shit stopped smiling. He pulled a black balloon from his mouth and held it over his head. He started laughing again and he said “Bark punto!”

I felt a shot of freon course through my veins. I had never been so humiliated. But truth be told, I do it pretty often and really should just sort of shrug it off as another day at the beach. If Denver Colorado had beaches? It is literally a desert that was gentrified into a livable city. All those beautiful trees downtown? All transplants.

I did as I was told. Then he made me beg. I swear he would of asked me to hump his leg if it he had drawn it out further. He spit in my general direction and threw the black balloon far over my head and almost into the gutter.

“Adios punta!” They cackled as I was on the side of the sidewalk looking for the piece amidst all the crap that seems to accumulate near the storm drains. After a few minutes I was about to give up and just go turn myself in or something. I was in so much physical and emotional pain that I was sure I would kill myself soon. And I'd do it while in withdrawal. I swear I don't with opiate withdrawal on anyone. No matter how tall and beautiful they may be.

I went into the Arbys and smoked half of it on a piece of tin foil (because I hadn't yet discovered the joys of shooting the stuff up) and kept the other half for later. I don't know why I always did that. I would just be smoking / shooting it again as soon as I got home anyways... It's more the ritual I think. The ritual of using drugs is more times than not, the biggest thing you need to get over. The prepping of whatever you're doing brings just as much pleasure and security as actually doing the stuff.

Having no money and recently high, I decided to go pan handle downtown Denver and maybe get some money for a Jamba Juice. If you don't know who they are well it's this smoothie place that uses fresh everything for their stuff. It's sooooooooooooooooooooooo good! Even though they took it off the menu, you can still order an Orange Berry Blitz. Trust me on this. That's citrus up your ass son!

I had made two dollars when I walked up to a nice looking lady in a black baseball cap and a brown jacket. I asked her if she would have any change so that I may partake in Jamba Juice's Jamba goodness.

So instead of giving me a dollar or whatknot, she fucking slaps some cuffs on me and tells me that I'm under arrest for “aggressive panhandling.” What the fuck? I mean, I said “please” every time. It didn't have to escalate to this you know. But she was proud of her kill and I walked silently and deeply crushed. She brought me to a gaggle of plainclothes officers. They sure did look like officers too. What homeless person works out enough to have guns the size of Texas (I only use this metaphor because, as you may know, everything is bigger in Texas) I was more than intimidated by these people.

When one of them asked me if I had anything in my pockets I just up and said. “I got heroin in this pocket.” and I pointed to my left pants pocket. They first patted me down and then they went into my pockets. They found the piece of tin foil with the little piece of stuff stuck to it like molasses on a hard winter's day.

Yadda yadda yadda

So anyways, we went to the Denver Museum of Modern Art. It was their free day and we tend to like free things, so we went. In the car I read silently to myself. A little big book that goes by the title of “Stephen King's 'IT.'” Not that it's little at all. It's fucking one thousand and one hundred pages. It's a beast! And I love it! It's by far one of his better books. I was told that there will be a scene with children gang banging each other so I will keep a lookout for that. Only in my mind they'll age to post eighteen years of age and they'd all have man hair. Mmm... Man hair. More men need to show it off, because man hair is super sexy fellas!

Did you know that a man's sweat will turn on a straight girl / gay guy with his arm pit pheromones. It's true. Looking at a sweaty sexy man in a book is one thing. But to be right in front of this tall awesomely awesome dude and smell his musk up close? Fuck yeah!

I hope this doesn't make me into more of a freak. That's the last thing I need is to be demoted lower on the corporate ladder of life. I bet that that game plays more like chutes and ladders. One roll you're on your way to the top and then you slide back to the bottom. Usually with no money, no phone, and a sore bum.

From now on I'm going have to charge for my services. I'm asking two fiddy and a bag of skittles. Oh baby. Oh baby. Oh baby. Are you turned on yet? Hrmm... Neither am I. So let's look at a redheaded macho man!

Now that I've gotten your attention, we stopped at a doggy event over by the Platte River just before going to the museum. It was called “Pugs in the Park” and I was immediately drawn to their pudgy stupid gazes. Pugs should be mandatory house pets for anyone who is allergic to cats. I like to think that their pudgy pugness was one of God's many slip ups. Seriously, they look like Siamese cats only with Downs syndrome. You can sort of see it? Right?

I had a pug to my left and a pug to my right and one other pug bouncing against his / her caged fence. I had so much pug that I will be shitting black and white for a week now. Not that I ate them. That would have been just flat out rude. I'm sure you have to buy it first before you can eat'em.

It was all really just a blur after that. We wound up in the art museum and I will swear to you that I totally spaced between the puggity puggy pug pugs thing and arriving at the museum. I was totally like “What the heck?” Because I was told not to curse in the museum. There's kids in there you know...

I took out my phone and took these pictures just for you.

And then not even a fifth through with the museum... My phone died. Which is really a shame because I eventually found some nude paintings that I would of liked to have shown you. But I suppose you could just do that on Google images. I know I use that feature to look up naked male celebrities without paying to get into whatever site the picture is located on. That's the cool thing about Google. It will show you the pictures of any website for free! You just got to know how to look.

Normally I try the actor's name and then add “nude.” If that doesn't work then I also try “naked, penis, dick, covered in jams and jellies, and just all that sort of bullshit you'd expect from a juvenile.

I never felt like I grew up really. I still have this small kid's body and it pisses me off. Why couldn't I have been normal? Living with Aspergers sucks at times like these because I can't help but over think everything in the smallest details. Some hot dude looked at me at King Soopers (Kroger for you eastern folk) and I smiled back. He looked disgusted and probably went to have tall skinny person sex with some hot chick he just met because, well, straight men be sexin it up with anything that has a hole. Sadly though, this doesn't ever seem to be the case for my ass. Apparently normal men have “standards” and “set sexuality.” Fucking A! I say take your boxers off and let me take photos. Am I perverted? I don't think I am...

You see, my fascination with tall skinny men is that I wish I could be them. Darwin's evolutionary survival of the fittest thing has got me wondering many times if I would have been dead in any other era. What with all the suicide attempts and such? Back then they thought mental health issues were best dealt with in a locked institution. Geesh! And here all this time I bet you were hoping that I want to have intercourse with said men.

Nope. I am barely sexual. I swear I like never jerk off anymore. I did it tons back in my early twenties (I wouldn't touch myself in high school because I hated my body that much. It used to be that just taking my shirt off would ensue a thunderstorm of tears) but to be honest, it's really not that big of a deal anymore. So if I'm not getting sexual gratification from such things, then why do I do it? Because I like to imagine said hot men living a slutty life and using their good bodies to make more babies. Men be all slutty like that. I just wish I could be a normal 5'10”-6' 150 pound brown eyed football watching, bitch fucking, beer drinking good old boy. Even if just for a second.

I use humor a lot to deflect my hurt. So if you ever see me in a clown suit down at the mall and I'm screaming obscenities at the passing young children, you can bet your social security check that I'm just working through some problems. By being a clown that shouts mean things to children. See? Funny huh? Oh you're such a bore...

Slim Pickens Does the Right Thing and Rides the Bomb to Hell release and the first chapter of my new book Tall

Boy am I ever excited! My book about a guy with Asperger's who discovered a town full of alien Republicans is finally done and available for a limited time as a free ebook!

Get it hea!

And here's the cover for said ebook as well as the backside!

And here is an excerpt from my new novel coming in a few months!

It's called Tall. It's about a snotty good looking rich kid who's life just shits on him.

Tall

By: David McGhee

Chapter 1

“I have AIDS.” Damian said as he puffed on his cigarette. He blew two smoke circles that grew in the air and dissipated into nothingness.
Rusty shot up where he lay on his mattress with not box spring; it lay on the hard wood floor, making the jolt hurt Rusty's boney butt. “What?”

“I have AIDS.” Damian said with a smile. He took another drag on his cigarette and blew it in Rusty's face. “So we're gonna fuck forever right?” He gave Rusty a quick kiss on the forehead, Rusty pushed him away violently. Damian fell back into the bed and put his hands around his head.

Rusty felt all the blood drain from his face. “You killed me.” He said in disbelief. “You fucking killed me...” He felt around his bottom. Damian's stuff was still leaking out of him. Why, oh why, didn't he use a condom? He never had to use them with chicks before. Usually he'd just cum in their twat and Dad would pay for the abortion.

“I didn't kill you.” Damian said condescendingly as he took another drag. “It's plenty manageable with medications, diet, and exercise.” He ashed his Marlboro on Rusty's night stand. Burning a hole into the hard stained oak. “You could use some more muscle sweetie.”

Rusty couldn't speak. A terrible hairball of “what the fuck!?” was stuck in his throat. White hot rage blinded his field of vision. His mind was more barren than usual. Usually he thinks about hot chicks and fucking hot chicks and eating hot chicks out and fucking hot chicks. What was he going to do now? He couldn't have sex now. This guy took away his identity. How can you be a straight man when you got AIDS? Despite the myth, AIDS amongst heterosexual American males is really quite low, minding you that they're not using intravenous drugs, which raises your chances by a gazillion. But Rusty had never done anything stronger than pot. He didn't even drink alcohol for Christ's sake! He ate healthy and worked out an hour a day, cardio with some weight lifting. How could he, the model of virility and health, have the most feared disease on the planet?

That is aside from that virus that makes you shit and vomit yourself uncontrollably until you die from it.

“You ruined my life...” Rusty said, sitting naked in his bed. He felt around his newly widened asshole. Damian hooted. “I'm going to kill you.” He said with a straight face and all seriousness. “I'm going to kill you and it would be justified homicide.”

Damian shook his head and lit another cigarette. He smiled. “No such thing unless your life is in direct danger. Trust me honey, gay rights have come a long way and you'll be very well known amongst the gay community who killed poor old Damian Counter.” He squished his lips and made a kissing sound. Rusty stood up and immediately got light headed as his blood pressure went dangerously low. He saw white envelope his world and then he woke up on the bed. His back and head hurt because it was just a flimsy mattress.

“I pass out?” Rusty asked.

Damian took a smoke from his cigarette and groaned “Awe.” He put his free hand on Rusty's head and massaged it. “Poor baby.” Then he blew a puff of cigarette smoke into Rusty's face.

Rusty decided then and there to kill him. He turned around with great swiftness and plunged for the fucker. But Damian moved quickly and Rusty found himself hitting the wall. He felt his knuckles buckle and crack. He was in immense pain.

Damian sat back and was alarmed. “What on Earth are you doing?” He asked sardonically.

Rusty shrugged his broad shoulders to get the kinks out and popped his neck. Then he said “I told you. I'm going to kill you.” Rusty then straightened himself out and did a few jumping jacks.

“Think about it first.” Damian said as he shielded himself from the oncoming blow. Rusty stopped before he hit him. He felt a wave of nausea flow through his muscles and stomach as the memory of the Buster kid. He couldn't hurt this man. No matter how much he hurt him. He remembered the time spent in Juvy. It would be like that. Only with much bigger guys and he wouldn't be slapped on the wrist again. He was an adult now and that would be a class A one felony on his part. Damn legal system! Always keeping him down. He would just call the cops instead.

He sort of walked / ran to his phone that lay inside his pants pocket, which was thrown across the room in a fit of lust. Oh dear God why did he have to take that chance and have that experience with another dude. He was a vagina man and should have never strayed. He found his phone and in a moment of rage smashed it on his forehead. It didn't crack (thank God) but it did dial his mother. He disconnected the call and dialed “9-1-1”

“Whatcha doing sweet thing?” Damian asked nonchalantly as he blew another ring of smoke out.

“Calling the cops on your fagot ass!” Rusty shouted.

Damian said “Tisk tisk tisk.” He shook his head. “You have no idea what gift I just bestowed on you.”

“Fucker!” He shouted as the operator picked up.

“Excuse me sir?” The female operator, probably black or a white girl with heavy emphasis on the ebonic tongue. She said it in a very irate way. Indicating that she did not like the implications of being called a fucker.

“No, not you.” Rusty said in a hurry. “I need to report a crime.”

“What would be the nature of this crime sir?”

It was then that Damian shouted “No! No! Don't hit me!”

Rusty put his hand over the phone's receiver. “Will you stop that!”

“What's going on sir?” She asked, a little more alert this time.

“I've been...” Rusty was cut off with Damian's cries for help.

“Please send somebody!” Damian shrieked with terror. “He's got a knife! Oh God, he's got a knife!”

“Sir I'm sending somebody over to your address.” She said in a frightened but normal tone of voice, almost as if she forgot to act like a rapper. “Please sir. Put down the knife! It's not worth it!”

“I don't have a knife!” Rusty shouted as he did a face palm.

“Please! Oh God! Now he's got a picture frame!” Damian got up casually walked toward Rusty's dresser. First he straightened his golden terry cloth robe the he took one of the picture frames that sat atop the dresser and hucked it across the room. Where it shattered near his 60” HD flat screen. It was a picture of the first girl he ever nailed, back when he hit a growth spurt and stopped being a dork. He remembered when he went from five five to almost six, six over night. Suddenly girls wanted to be with him. It was the best thing ever and he pitied short people. Because in all reality people treat a tall man differently than a short man. A tall man commands more respect and is seen as the dominate figure in a room. Why a man of his stature and attractiveness could cum on the face of any young girl he wanted to. This girl in the picture though. She was the result of hormones driven to the brink of thermonuclear explosion and a pack of condoms he got from Walgreens. When he brought them home and tried to seduce her he found out, seven bucks later, that they were too small for him. The girl, apparently never had been with a man either at that point and didn't really know whether or not his size was normal, complimented him on what would be the tool she would from that day forward forever compare every other guy too. But he was still embarrassed of it in that way that all young men are before they've had the privilege of getting naked in front of another person with regularity. It was hard and when she touched it he nearly came. He calmed down a little and drove back to the store, a recent gift for turning sixteen had been a brand new car and a license to drive said car. He found out that, despite the condoms not fitting correctly, he could not get a refund. Apparently you cannot return a used condom. So he spanged for the extra four dollars from passerbys outside and within twenty minutes he had the condoms and the girl. The entirety of a minute's worth of humping, grunting, and elbows being rammed into stomachs, resulted in a quick dismissal of bodily fluids. When he took the condom off she wanted to see it. She had never seen male seed before. It was quite a load. She mentioned that that would have been hell to clean out if he had not worn it. Especially with it being planted eight inches inside her.

He thought of the girl he had lost it too and felt an awful sadness. How was he going to get laid again now? Sure he could wear a condom but what girl would want to take that chance? He knew he wouldn't if it was him. Oh God, what has this man done to him?

“Sir!” The operator broke his trance. “Please stop throwing things! Please settle down! We are here to help you!”

“What?” Rusty said, exasperated. “I'm not throwing things! This crazy bastard is the one throwing things!”

“Sir please!”

Damian pulled out a pocket knife and cut along the dermis of the back of his hand, purposely missing the veins. “He just cut me!”

“Stop that!” Rusty screamed. He had tears welling up in his eyes. Then they heard knocking at the door.

“Police! Let us in!” A bellowing voice said behind two inches of door.

“Please!” Damian cried. “This monster is attacking me!” Then he walked calmly over to Rusty's coffee table, picked up his hot punk glass vase, the one his third girlfriend gave him, and threw it just iches from Rusty's head. He artfully dodge it and it smacked into the white wall behind him, smashing into approximately one hundred and four pieces.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Rusty shouted.

There was more knocking. Rusty ran to the door and unlocked it. He lived in a loft downtown that had six units. He could hear people talking next door. One lady, in a light green terry cloth robe with short dark brown hair and green eyes, peered out her door at the three men standing at Rusty's door way. In Denver it was customary to send two policemen on all calls. Regardless of the nature of reported act of criminal nature.

Nature... N.A.T.U.R.E.

Just rolls off the tongue don't it?

Rusty stood in front of the two men and it was then that he realized he was naked. The two cops stood there stunned at what they saw. One man seemed to have anger on his face. “Would you please put some pants on boy!” The Hispanic one said. The taller white cop had a pudgy face. Rusty disliked him immediately because fat people aren't to be trusted. Rusty nodded and went to the other side of the room and pulled on some boxers. The policemen followed him in and saw a small slender man of varied ethnicity sitting in bed, clothed in his golden terry cloth robe, looking terrified with an open gash on the top side of his palm.

“Please help me sir!” Damian pleaded. “He cut me!”

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa now!” Rusty stuttered. “He cut him himself! Check the prints on the knife!”

“This is a domestic disturbance and you sir are under arrest!” The Hispanic cop, no doubt feeding off of the authority the five foot five man got from wielding a badge. A Napoleon complex for sure. Rusty hated those kinds of guys. Why couldn't they just accept that they're short and no one will ever love them? He let the policeman take him by the wrists, he swung him around and cuffed his hands behind his back.

“Check the knife!” Rusty shouted, not believing the absurdity of it all, started laughing.

“You'll be laughing all the way to jail you fucking dingle-berry!” The taller white cop said. His name tag said “Rodriguez.” The Hispanic cop's last name was “Kerry.” Named from what ever odd mismatch of family history they had. Officer Kerry pulled Rusty from the room and walked him down the hall to the elevator. Rusty was in a daze where everything he saw had a white and green aura to it. He was sure he was going to faint again but did everything he could not to. He started breathing deep, oxygenating breaths and slowed his pace. Officer Kerry tugged at him harder and Rusty got up to speed. Kerry pressed the elevator button and they waited at the elevator entrance.

“He gave me AIDS.” Rusty said, not believing in the words that were coming out of his mouth.

Kerry took his hands off of Rusty, visibly disgusted, and rummaged his pocket for some latex gloves. He put them on. “No reason to knife the guy.” He said with fear in his voice. “You can probably get off with probation.”

“That's the thing.” Rusty said with a sigh. “He did it himself.”

“Have you touched the knife?”

“No.” Rusty said with relief. “He pulled it out of his pocket.”

“Well the crime lab will tell us more.” The bell rung and the elevator opened.

“Wait.” Rusty stopped. “Why am I going to jail?”

“If you're so innocent then you have nothing to worry about.” Kerry said stoically and without emotion.

“Hey wait! I'm innocent!” Rusty shouted.

“Are you resisting arrest son?” Kerry tightened his hold on Rusty's cuffed hands.

“But I didn't do anything!”

“I've seen your type. Always was the big kid in school and you picked on kids much smaller than you.” Kerry said with a snarl. “I eat rancid dingle-berries like you for breakfast, lunch, and if I'm doing a night shift, dinner.”

Rusty stared at Kerry for the longest time. “Why does everything with you involve poop hanging off of ass hair?”

Rusty stayed back but was shoved by the officer. “I didn't beat you up in high school! Stop projecting onto me!” The officer tugged at him some more and finally Rusty willingly went with him into the cold elevator. Rusty's bare size thirteen feet were frigid and chilling to the touch. He suddenly had a spark of inspiration, He said “I want a lawyer.”

The elevator closed with the sound of a grown redheaded man weeping.  

Untitled and Undressed

Untitled and Undressed

By: David McGhee

So by the time I wake up this morning, Frank is all like, “Hey!” and he then pulls the blanket off of my body. “We's gots to go to human services today. For our food stamps.” Yeah, we take food stamps. Let me reiterate a little here... I'm disabled due to kidney function problems and my Asperger's. Drew has Crohn's disease and probably a steroid induced case of acute autism. Frank is the only able bodied / sane person amongst us. But his job, as they tend to do, they laid him off. At first when he filed for unemployment they were all like “Nuh uh!” And gave him the raspberry. Then he came into human services with me this morning and they were all like “Denied unemployment? Approved food stamps!” And I celebrated with a Diet Coke. Because I'm cool like that.

I can party with the best of them yo. The first desk jockey to interview us before the real interview at human services was a big handsome hulking man of a man. I asked him if he was a man whore and he told me that he used to be. But now he has his girlfriend. So I imagine them fucking like rabbits now when I masturbate.

For what ever odd reason. Be it the pot, be it the psychoactive medication I take, be it tulips and ham. But I feel pretty damn good today. I threw up a little this morning but that's a normal thing for me. You see I have Hep C. I got it using a dirty needle that the person explicitly told me that he and she and he and he and she and he and he had it, but I didn't listen. I thought if you run scolding water through it then you can kill the virus. Boy was I ignorant. Next thing they're going to be saying is that the pull out method is around 96% effective if performed properly. Wait? That is a fact? Really? Wow... Huh.

So I'm sick all the time now. I smoke pot to give me an appetite. I used to look like this

But now I'm at a healthier weight.

Not necessarily being healthy though... But yeah. What's cool is that the marijuana, more specifically CBDs, help so much with my nausea and it even helps me act more normal in social situations. It calms me down. Plus I suffer from horrible depression. Dysthymia is a low to mid grade depression for every day of your life. It's caused by a chemical imbalance. Yeah. I bet you're saying “Unbalanced? Not David!” But it's true. I do have a few screws loose in the old noggin. One day I wonder if they'll ever come out with a drug or a procedure that could cure my brain.

I hate being so weird. I wish I was a normal five foot ten one hundred and sixty pound brown eyed brown haired man who likes pussy and football. But instead I turned out an autistic gay who can color coordinate. If there is a God then he obviously made us to amuse himself. What a dick.

People always ask me, me being an atheist and all, what will I say if I die and there is a God. Well to that I reply that if he truly is omniscient then he'd know how much I've suffered in life and that I have never wished anything bad on anyone other than myself. I'm the kind of guy that would push a kitten out of the way in front of a speeding zeppelin so that it might hit me instead. He should know that. Plus I have never been able to hate anyone. I have a predisposition that mandates I treat everyone as a friend instead of the constant threats they are.

Let's talk about Gary. I was doing great before I met him. Then I am spending all of my money on crack. Probably around five thousand dollars worth to be exact. The thing is is that I'm an extremely poor person, so me thinking back now on how I was that resourceful without stealing... Man it blows my mind. Like this one time I was two weeks away from getting my financial aid and I panhandled in the student complex (the one where all the schools have their shops and clubs) and got the forty five dollar (plus tax) writing book for creative writing.

Man did I bomb that class... I was writing a lot but I had no voice or direction. It was only in the end after I had suffered through so much during the semester that I found that I actually can write funny stories that make people laugh. All this time I was thinking I'd be a horror writer or a serious nihilist like Chuck Palahniuk. No. My voice is that of the fart noise.

Perhaps I could be a comedy writer? That would be cool. I'm basically just making this up as I go along. Aren't I pretty?

*David*

Everyone knows that the butt is where the doodie comes out. Right? Well I'm gay, so that's where the penis goes! Hey yo!

*rim shot*

But seriously. I took it upon myself to picture and critique my butt along with those of my roommates.

As you can see hear, Frank has a strong back side with muscular features just under his tight, manly shirt. His butt rarely sees things entering it, making him the opposite of a power bottom (which I am) and more of a “I'MA GONNA MOUNT YA!” kind of take charge man.

Notice how the pants extenuate his personality. That's called surrealism. Or at least it was back in my day. What do kids do now for fun anyways? Crack probably. Or at least that's what I would do if I had my whole life in front of me.

This butt belongs to my other roommate, Drew. Drew is a tightly wound person. So much so that if you gave him enough lip his eyes would probably pop out of their sockets. I've actually seen it happen on some medical shows. I shit you not.

See how his khakis scream out for reassurance? How the boot cut fit is a commentary on our shitty, shitty foreign policy? I'm just jacking you off, we have a pretty good thing going now that Obama is in office. Imagine what would of happened if Romney won? They're already cutting food stamp benefits! Which sucks because we like to eat food. It sort of makes us live.

Frowny face.

No el, oh, el.

And now for my butt. As you can see it has a worn out look to it. Probably should bring it in for a servicing. They say you should do that after every three thousand miles. It just keeps things in the right place and they make sure it's all working correctly.

Many notable penises have crossed over to my colon over the course of my brief but prolific sexual life. You see, I think anyone over five nine and skinny is cute. So I've invited many a tall man to my rear. I never got word on whether or not my milkshakes would bring the boys to the yard, but freely offering it up online certainly helps you stay not lonely.

Which comes to the other part of this erotic friend fiction. After the handsome man would fuck me he'd cuddle (sometimes) then leave in the morning or right after. I could never make a connection and when I try to bring up the idea of us two being friends they are always like “What? You mean you want more than my cock? Fuck off you damn Yankee!” Well... Not in so many words. They normally just stop responding to my calls and texts.

Man I've done a lot of horrible things in my life. Ever steal from your parents? Like a lot? I've done it. And now I feel like shit because I'm so much better now and my mom is dead and I can't show her that I'm not a filthy smack shooting creep anymore. I wish I could. People say that I'll get my chance in heaven but for the last time, there is no heaven. All make believe. I've been in a week long coma before and it felt like a blink. I closed my eyes and opened them and a week had passed.

Albeit that was enough time to kick my smack addiction, but not long enough for the habit to break. So I was back on heroin highway.

I remember meeting a lot of strange and interesting people during my drug days. Like the guy who was snorting coke off of his coffee table shouting at me to never do heroin because it would fuck my life up. Or the homeless guy with AIDS who shares needles. Thank God I never contracted that shit.

I have a friend whom I've lost contact with and I just found out recently that he got bad blood from a transfusion and he got the virus. I mean the bad one. As if the others are good? What a bummer... And he has such a huge dick too! I mean it's like ten inches! And he's handsome as all fuck! He had a kid before this happened. A boy. And that boy is going to grow up to be handsome and have a big dick just like his father. Yes. If you hate / accept / love your penis size then you can thank your father.

I believe black men have bigger dicks on average here in America because back in their tribal days the people would wear little to no clothing. So of course the females could see what the other guy was packing and of course, they chose bigger dicks. It's a fact of life. Big dicks rock! They are things of beauty! But you know what else is a thing of beauty? Normal cocks. Ever have ten inches up your rectum? It's not a nice feeling. I imagine a woman has the same feeling. So after all the huge cock I've gotten in my life I'm happy to be with a (mostly) normal sized man.

Who am I kidding? Dude is hung! What the fuck!? Why does everyone else have a huge fucking penis!? Sure girls say it's good enough but I know their really thinking that they want to fuck Collin Farrel. Dude had a nude scene in “Home at the End of the World” and they had to cut it because the audience couldn't concentrate after seeing his massive man Wii remote. So yeah. To all those who have big dicks out there, I have one thing to say...

Oh wait... Frank advised me that asking for naked pictures of my readers would be in bad taste. See. It's things like that that I have no clue on whether or not it's truly an appropriate thing to say. I swear I can recall everything I learned in psychology but I simply refused to step on cracks. Oh man...

*sigh*

And if you ever wanted to see band photos from Ginkins then here you go!

And

Man these are old... I miss Mike King. He was such a cool guy. He had a similar sense of humor to me and never got mad when I would say or do something stupid. He just stood by me and I accused him of not caring about me. I put him through a lot. I'm sorry Mike... At least we have the music still.

Man. I'm going to go watch Frank and Drew play Mario Kart now. See ya nerds!

But before I go... Artsy photo time!!!

Kick Ass Two Kicks Ass!

Kick Ass Two Kicks Ass!

By: David McGhee

So the day started like any other day of mine. Frank woke me in the morning and told my sleepy self some important things to remember. Then I went back to sleep and promptly forgot everything. All I know is that there was a cigarette on my book case when I woke up, and that made me happy.

Smiley face.

El, oh, el.

So after the first cigarette of the day I realized that I was all alone in the apartment. I think at that point I was remembering that Drew had a doctor's appointment. So I wasn't freaking out too bad. I took it upon myself to watch the original Naked Gun on Netflix. I forgot how much I love old Zucker Bros comedies. It sucks that they suck now. I mean... Have you seen Scary Movie Five? The only thing good about it is the opening scene with Charlie Sheen and I'm not even sure if that counts because the man probably doesn't even remember filming it. Geesh!

All the old jokes and one liners came back to me during the movie. “Nice beaver!” “Thanks, I just had it stuffed.” Pure comedy gold! Not as comedic as say a knock to the crotch but the movie has taste and style. It's the only movie series to get better with every sequel. One day I shall sit down and watch the other two. But for now I'm happy knowing that I gave the Zucker Bros a royalty check from watching Naked Gun on Netflix.

Weird Al Yankovic appears in every movie. Did you know that? The first movie he's coming off the plane. The second one has him being the bad guy in the corner near the door telling the copper that they've had it, coppers. And the third one he is with Vanna White I think at the Oscars. I could look it up but then that wouldn't make me a lazy bastard. And I don't want to disappoint my audience, do I? The only logical solution is to just make shit up.

We ran into this bearded guy at the Further lot at Red Rocks and apparently he made nice with Frank and Drew because they hung out with him a little before coming home. Hell. Who wouldn't wanna hang out with this guy?

Upon their arrival home I was told that I better get my good shoes on because I was going miniature golfing. Woo hoo! Now for the pregame breakdown. I paced the house about fifty times building myself up to it. I counted my steps and washed my hands six times in an hour. Man I needed a cigarette. So I got one. And then it was gone. And I was sad.

When we got to the miniature golf place we noticed the closed sign on the window. Not to be deterred from having a good time we all yelled “FUCK YOU MINIATURE GOLD ESTABLISHMENT!” and looked up some movie times.

Kick Ass 2 seemed like the best option. So we went to Dickies BBQ to eat and kill some time. Let me tell you their brisket and chicken are soooooo moist. It was like eating into jelly almost. Or Jell-O. You may have heard from various sources that there is always room for Jell-O. Let me let you in on a little secret... Depending on how big your container is, there is not always room for Jell-O. It's complete bullshit! That is unless they mean that there is always room in your stomach for Jell-O. In which case I'd also like to call shenanigans. What horse cock! If I'm full the last fucking thing I'm going to do is eat some Jell-O. What do they think I am? Fucking David the Jell-O eating machine who eats Jell-O after eating an already big meal? Fuck you. And the horse you rode in on.

We got to the Elvis Cinema (dollar theater) and bought our tickets for Kick Ass Two. It was slow getting started but when it went into full swing, oh man did it get gory! That girl, Hit Girl (I will not be bothered by IMDB right now. I have my reasons.) was so fucking awesome! And that geeky guy who plays Kick Ass went from scrawny geek to muscular hot sex man! I bet he gets tons of blow jobs for his body on top of the fact that he's starring in two major motion pictures. I'm sure he rides around in a limo in downtown LA snorting coke off of a hookers ass.

I've done that before. Not the limo thing but the snorting drugs off of a hookers ass. No one said the hooker had to be male though. Or even female. From what I remember I just saw it's ass. It could have been Betty White for all I care. I mean... Really. Cocaine!

Damn shit will numb your jaw and take all of your money as if you had married it and it's now seeking custody of the children. Fucking bitch. She can have them! What retard would put me in charge of a kid's life? I mean... I can barely figure out which shoe to put on first let alone feed, shelter, teach, and guide a youngster into prosperity would be the last thing that I would be qualified for.

But then again many people come into parenting without any prior knowledge and extensive criminal records and they have children just fine. Problem is that gay men don't get no love when it comes to adoption. Rosie O’Donnell went through hell in a malfunctioning golf cart to get her kid. And Dan Savage... Well he got his kid because all in all he's a pretty stable human being.

I swear when I was younger I used to wait by the pool table where my father sharked and he'd have me go to and from the bar giving him drinks. And my mom drinks. And their friends drinks. I was always wanting to help out regardless of the situation. But I've learned over the course of my life that if you protect shit your going to have it smudged all over your eyeballs in a big old handful of shit to the face. I'm serious. I used to be a heavy drug user and it totally fucked over eight or so years of my life. I mean it helped me fuck it up further. I was doing plenty of fucking up before I found heroin but damn... Fuck. Man that shit will become your whole life if you let it.

I remember before I got heavy into it I tried coke. Off a hookers ass. And I was telling the man who was in a band who owned the apartment that I had tried it once, loved it, and promptly cut ties with the guy who supplied it. It was just too scary. I knew I loved pain pills so smoking heroin seemed like the right thing to do. Why did I do it for so long? Imagine living under a cloud of self doubt and pure hatred for everything that is yourself. So much so that it physically hurts to move because your so depressed. I mean knot city and puking every time I went out in public. Heroin... Heroin made me, for the first time, feel like the world was a good place where people loved me.

Of course I know now that people love me but I didn't have the mind at the time to see it. I had the whole scene in front of me. The whole Denver oyster at my doorstep and I first fuck it up by being a creepy weird guy then I solidify my reputation as bad news when I started smoking dope in the bathroom at the Hi Dive. I know they knew. That's why they always kicked me out whenever I went to a show there. I don't blame them... I just hope they can forgive me for all the stupid stuff I did both sober and on drugs. It was sort of embarrassing being that weird guy. Persona non grata. I used to burn bridges so unwittingly that I was totally dumbfounded as to why my best friend Mike broke off our relationship only to find out later that, well to be truthful, I was sort of a dick.

I mean... The guy has a life. I should of known that. But I was seeing the world through the eyes of an undiagnosed autistic. I didn't know that what I feel and how I work were normal things for people like me to do. Most kids get diagnosed with Asperger's at age four to six. I wasn't diagnosed until 2009. Giving me plenty of time to fuck my life over before trying to pick up the pieces and rebuild my Emerald City beyond the hills. If only someone would of caught it sooner...

The funny thing is that I believe the Denver Police and the Denver Justice system saved my life. I wouldn't be here now if it weren't for their tireless efforts to rehabilitate me. It took damn near five years and a stay at the state mental facility in Pueblo Colorado... It was there that a psychologist took me aside and told me to look into Asperger's syndrome. I learned more about it and I was shocked to find out that people like me exist everywhere. People like me who can calculate the dimensions of a three dimensional sphere the size of Jupiter just using our minds and a little technology, but we don't look both ways before crossing the street.

I swear I can remember almost every fact I hear about science or something but when it came to remembering what my friends look like in a crowd... Or names. It usually takes me a while to learn names. I've developed a system of nudges and pulls to test the weather of a person before unleashing certain aspects of my personality. It's hit or miss and I miss more often than not. But on the times when I'm on, it's the greatest feeling in the world.

Smiley face.

El, oh, el.

Hrmm... Also today I designed a new button. Here is the new button.

It was supposed to be funny but it turned out more like modern street art with it's slang and cartooning. Definitely modern. I wanted it to come out cute and funny but instead some poor asshole is going to believe that it has some hidden deep meaning just below the kitten's eyes. Well let me tell you what you'll see if you look closely. Vectors and pixels. That's it my friends.

*sigh*

I've decided to go to the Art Institute in Denver in the Spring. I'm good at art and it's going to be nothing but art projects so... I think I'll at least do better than I did at CCD. Oh man the drugs I've bought from that campus... I swear everyday it was like walking into velociraptor refuge wearing nothing but lamb chops to cover my groin area.

The old junkies would curse at me when I didn't give them money. Then they'd curse me for getting back into the junk. Then they'd curse me when I told them that I was done with the Denver drug scene. I'd like to tell you that this decision was based more on my moral resolve instead of how shitty the quality of the coke downtown was getting... But it is what it is.

I now live in a wonderful apartment with my love and my roommate love. I love them because they are made of candy kisses smothered in caramel hugs! I know. Pretty deep huh?

All in all I think I had a pretty good day. Maybe tomorrow I can write some more and do a little running. I've started the foundation of my running career already. I've started walking ten blocks a day down hill and up. And I've started running little bits of it. I've found the secret to not getting that stitch in your side. The secret is to use meditation like breathing while you are being constantly active. You breath in real slow and exhale equally slowly. You'll get the urge to take in one quick deep breath but that will put you on the road to stitch town. You have to resist that overwhelming feeling and just keep your breathing paced. You'll be fine. I promise you.

Speaking of which, I was taught something called “Heart Math” in the state looney bin. You see you find a nice quiet place to sit or lay down. Then you imagine yourself in a calming setting. Then you choose your animal that will be by your side / on your lap. And you just concentrate on the touch of the animal's skin / fur on your hands.

Me personally, I pretend I'm in a library with a kitten on my lap. It's purring and kneading on my lap. It's so into me petting it that sometimes I drop it. But then I pick it up and resume loving it. While doing this I concentrate on my breathing. Timing my petting of the kitty with the breaths I take. I get so in the zone that I can get my heart rate down to like fifty or sixty beats per minute. One time I hit fifty five and they had to have me stop doing it. It was funny because everyone was certain that I wasn't paying attention during the lectures. But the joke was on them because when they first brought out the heart monitor I was the only one who could do it. But then I taught the other ones who wanted to learn how to do it. Soon whenever something got out of hand in the ward we'd just go sit down and pet our animal while breathing in and out slowly.

I suppose you could try it too.

Go ahead. I'll wait.

Probably do a little writing while you are doing so.

What are you waiting for?

Fine!

*does a little dance, makes a little love*

Pretty much most of my artwork for other bands is right hea! :-D

I do art and such. I like doing posters mostly but if any of ya'll need anything graphic oriented then let me know! :-D

Enjoy the pictures of stuff that stuff stuffed stuff!!!