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“Old friends seem much closer now.
They stand the test of time somehow.”
Good night to drop the needle on this 80’s classic if you live in the Northeast.
With Charlotte, it never felt like cheating because it never felt like love. It always felt like what it was supposed to be in the first place; an overpowering, unadulterated hunger for flesh with a genuine sadistic regard towards dignity that would spiral itself into an uncontrollable feeding frenzy of self-respect and warm body fluids; otherwise known as hot, throbbing lust.
She never played hard to get and she would never make him pay. She was the All-American whore next door. She was one thousand Penthouse Forum stories rolled into one rapturous page-turning novel. She was an unsuspecting, upper-class nymphomaniac who knew how to scratch an itch.
The sex was just that. Sex. It was wonderful because it was just what he had imagined, hoped and anticipated it would be and it was predictably average because it was what he had always imagined, hoped and anticipated it would be. It was uninhibited masturbation with the presence of a live body. The feeling was mutual and Charlotte was the ‘come inside and leave your condoms at the door’ kind-a-gal. And there was never any spooning or sappy pillow talk or any gestures of gratitude. The gratitude being expressed, already, in various selflessly compromising acts; it was understood.
Rules were established in rapid accord. One rule was that the sappy pillow talk and spooning stay reserved for their significant others, the ones they each loved so dearly. There was no lip kissing other than when applied as a basic fundamental first move. Another rule was to stay focused on the main objective at hand: a couple of jarring orgasms delivered as quickly and as easily as possible. Making a day out of it would be a form of lovemaking and that was not what either of them wanted from each other. They had their significant loved ones for such things.
© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers
Driftwood
(Book I)
In Case You Were Too Stoned
(A Retrospective)
“Yo dude, check it out.” Nigel turned the dome light on in the car, pulled a picture of out of his pocket, and handed it to Mahdakis. It was a photo of a big-titted sperm dumpster with nothing on but a pair of panties, her hands placed strategically over her bare breasts “This bitch is hot, huh?”
“Mm.” Mahdakis shook his head unimpressed. “Yeah, man a real piece of ass, dude.”
“Dude, she’s fuckin gorgeous! I fucked her last weekend. I took that picture!” Nigel was lying about taking the picture. “You can get chicks like this too!”
“Watch the road, will ya?”
“Got it.” Nigel grabbed the steering wheel with both hands again.
“I have a girlfriend.”
“C’mon, let’s get real for a moment. That thing? Back there? Nicki? That’s what you like?” Nigel shook his head in confusion. “You can do better you know.”
“Maybe.”
“So you’re a chubby-chaser, huh? What’s up with that, anyway?” Nigel made a left-hand turn without signaling and cut off an unsuspecting car that blared its horn.
“She isn’t fat!”
“She is. She’s humongous, dude.”
“Her tits are humongous; it’s an illusion….sort of.”
“No sort ofs about it, you’re doin’ a……..dude you got ketchup all over your mouth.”
“But I didn’t eat anything…oh shit!” Mahdakis grabbed hold of the rearview mirror and studied the red substance that was all over his chin and inside his mouth. “Ahh, sick man.” He opened the window and started spitting profusely.
“What’s the matter dude? Are you alright?”
“It’s blood man, it’s blood, not ketchup!”
“Where are you bleeding from? Are you gonna be alright?”
“It’s not my blood, man. It was on Nicki’s face.”
“Ah, sick!” Nigel also started spitting profusely out the window for some reason. “What happened to her?”
“Nothing. She was just fine. I think she got it somewhere else.” Mahdakis continued his spitting and wiping off his face with the bottom of his T-shirt.
“It’s someone else’s blood?”
“I think so, yeah.”
“On her face?”
“I’m almost positive.”
“Positive? Positive for AIDS is what you’re going to be if you keep hanging around these people.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Fuckin aye. See what I mean? You need to date nice hot chicks like this, in the picture. I guarantee she wouldn’t be seen out in public with aids-infected blood stains all over her face.”
“Maybe not on her face.”
“Dude….whatever….the point is, you’re hangin’ with a demented crowd and stickin’ it to a fat chick who’s destined for AIDS. You wear a condom at least, I hope.”
“Nah man, I hate those things.”
“YOU’RE GONNA DIE!”
“Mm.”
Original Artwork: Fabian Corona
© 2016 Mark Rogers
Paradise In Purgatory
(Book IV)
“Okay, okay…sit down.” As Pumpkinhead sat down at a corner table in the coffee shop, Captain H threw his sandwich on the plastic tray and continued, “How do I communicate with the little green men?”
“Little green men?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey dude, did Jezebel sell you some of that liquid acid? That’s to be taken in small doses, you know. I hope you didn’t slurp that down.”
“Don’t be coy.”
“Coy?” Pumpkinhead picked at his hash browns. “You sure you mean coy?”
“Yeah I mean coy; you know like a wise-ass.” He took another bite of his sandwich.
“A wise-ass is just a wise-ass. If you’re coy, then you’re a bashful, or a shy wise-ass.”
“But you’re still a wise-ass!”
“Only if you use that particular adjective in there, otherwise you’re just a demure person.”
“Stupid?”
“Huh?”
“Stupid….a stupid person. Like, ‘that guy skipping across the street is acting a bit demurely’.”
“Because he’s demure, he’s stupid?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Being demure has nothing to do with stupidity. Did we go to school in the same country?”
“Demure means stupid.”
“Demure means coy!”
“Not all stupid people are necessarily wise-asses, Pumpkinhead! Like the jerk off skipping across the street, he’s just a stupid ass – not a wise-ass.”
Pumpkinhead stared at him as he chewed his food, “How do you find your way home at night, anyway?”
“Let’s get back to the little green people.”
“Leprechauns? They’re not real.”
“The Martians!”
“Oh…the aliens.”
“Yeah, whatever you wanna call them.”
“Aliens. Yeah, now they’re real. I know because I’ve seen them.”
“I know you have. That’s why I need to talk to you. You see, Muffin Man told me that Rad told him he was talking with Mahdakis, who told him that Floyd had just told him that he and Pumpkinhead, that’s you, had seen Squid. Is this true?”
“I’m not sure what you just said. I got lost after Rad…But I have seen Squid recently, if that’s what this is about.”
“That’s what this is about.”
“Yeah, he said he’s not of this Earth anymore, dude.”
Captain H grabbed Pumpkinhead’s wrist, “What does that mean? What did he mean by that? Not of this Earth? Is he a ghost? Is he gonna come after us and kill our families and rape our house pets?!”
“Calm down dude, will ya? Get a hold of yourself man!”
Captain H took a skeptical bite of his soggy hash brown, “What are they about, Pumpkinhead? Why are they here, and what do they have to do with us?”
“Dude! Are you serious, man? The aliens brought us here millions of years ago; they dumped our ancestors off on this once desolate planet like bags of outgrown clothes.”
“What are you saying?”
“Dude, the first people who arrived here were criminals from outer space somewhere and no longer any good to their communities, and therefore were dumped off here with no feasible way to return; they were prisoners.”
“What about Adam and Eve? Prisoners too?”
“Oh come off it, will ya? For that mater, what about Santa Claus?”
“Hey! Jesus Christ is my lord and savior, Pumpkinhead! Don’t speak ill of good people like him and Moses and so fourth.”
“Well which is it? You’re talking about two different books now.”
“Society as we know it starts with Jesus Christ, everyone knows that. We are his children; not some filthy, slimy Martian people’s. That’s why when Jesus was born, the calendar date starts on zero; we build from there. That is the origin of our existence.”
“What about Adam and Eve, then, all those years ago?”
“Okay, good point.”
“Mm-hm,” Pumpkinhead took a sip of his ice coffee, “And what about all the other shit that happened before him?”
“It wasn’t done properly; it doesn’t count because it didn’t work; it’s like we got a do-over when he was born.”
“More like the Romans forced some shit on the world because they were paranoid about their own existence and survival.”
“Hey! Don’t knock the Romans!”
“Aren’t you like Indian, or Black, or something?”
“A little of each; but I still respect the good book.”
“You know that ‘good book’ is what drove the Europeans over here to slaughter the fuck out of your Cherokee ancestors, who by the way, put stock into the belief in alien life form.”
“They did?”
“Oh yeah, it’s well documented. And, that ‘good book’ is also what the Europeans thought entitled them to go to Africa and make slaves of your other ancestors, because the followers of that ‘good book’ believed that anyone else, or any other race of people who didn’t believe in it, were inferior and therefore, they should be conquered and converted. And if memory serves correct, back in those dark ages, most of that African continent had very different beliefs….and still does! So pardon my confusion about your love for Whitey and the ‘good book’.”
Captain H gave consideration and said in a rather hushed tone, “Fuckin’ European scumbag bastards; I got to start reading more stuff.” Then, opening his arms as wide as possible, he focused an obsessed stare up towards the ceiling and, with veins bulging out of his neck and forehead, he yelled on the top of his lungs, “KILL ALL THE WHITE PEOPLE!”
© 2013, 2014 Mark Rogers
Benevolence & Betrayal
(Book III)
In Case You Were Too Stoned
(A Retrospective)
Remember when we had no deadlines, no responsibilities, no self-respect, no goals, and no motivation to execute any of them even if we did?
Back then things were simpler and more confused
If you remember (or forgot) the 80’s, then you’ll appreciate some of this. Or, if you are curious WHAT REALLY went on in that time, this is not a bad place to start.
The latest installment of the series, FREE on Kindle unlimited……
© 2016 Mark Rogers
Paradise In Purgatory
(Book IV)
Waking to the fuzzy feel of the rapidly fraying silk sheets, her naked curvaceous body intertwined with his and, and more importantly, to the comforting knowledge that he was safe. Safe in her arms; cocooned within a calming sense of belonging, purpose, want, and need; the beat of his heart, once again accompanied with a melody. He was with his true love.
But with all that, came the familiar air of uncertainty. The uncertainty of what she was thinking (and why), or scheming to do next (and when), and then, how long this euphoria would last. But it was his choice, and he knew the plausible consequences. He knew he’d forfeited all control the moment he stepped towards her; yet he stepped anyway. The serpent that was their twisted, masochistic passion for one another had reawakened itself and was cotton-mouthed; thirsty for new blood. And in its unyielding quest to quench the thirst, would lead them both down a long spiraling ride of emotional anguish and sexual nirvana, as only a serpent can be held accountable. Continue Reading
Father, hear my silent cries,
Mother, read these naked eyes.
My heart, it longs for a land that never dies;
My mind, it longs to kiss remembrance good-bye.
“Lie with me.”
“Fly, be free.”
Condemn myself in virginal honesty.
Allow me truth, the meaning of life;
To feel the warmth of a fluorescent knife.
A land so rich with cerebral treasures,
And filled with love beyond any measure.
Lie with me.
Maddened from lachrymal rains
Rusting these mortality chains,
I depart and rid my thirst for pain.
I now leave and feast off the reaper’s vein.
“Lie with me.”
“Fly, be free.”
Deliver my soul to endless tranquility.
Arms of the gods, wide and receptive,
Anticipate effects from the sedatives.
My mind, body, heart and soul of debris
Forever purged in eternity.
Fly; be free.
*****
The castle lights are shining bright,
The drawbridge door lets out a roar.
I’ve one last chance to make the dance
And take reward for freeing the sword.
*****
I’ve made it home,
Safe and sound;
Free from world
And its endless rounds;
Rounds of sadness,
Rounds of gladness,
Rounds of blindness,
And Rounds of madness
Rounds of diffusion,
Rounds of illusion,
Rounds of depression,
And mass confusion
—the bell has rung………your song is sung—-
— light’s flash red………the silence grows deep—
—you’ve found your bed………now go to sleep.
………and rest well integrity’s wayward child
for soon you must return to these wretched shores
of the lost……………..and of the wild.
© 2001, 2012, 2017 Mark Rogers
Scenic Photograph © Kien do
Placid Animosity (B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poetry)
Click here for further barbaric use of the English language.
“Dude, do you have to sit so Goddamn close?”
“Sorry,” said Tony, scooting over towards the window.
“And why the fuck aren’t you in the back, anyway?”
Tony looked in the back seat at Floyd, Frank, and Snowy, who were already packed in like sardines. “I don’t know. I thought three in the front and three in the back was a much better fit.” –Bobble-bobble-bobble
“It’d be fine if you weren’t one of the three up front!”
“What the fuck’s your problem man?”
“Oh man,” uttered Floyd, putting his forehead in the palm of his hand.
(inhale) “Here we go.”
“Huh…huh-huh.”
Jason turned around to address the three in the back, “You wouldn’t be laughing if you were in my situation How would you feel if you were up here sitting next to a flaming queer?”
“Say WHAT???”
“Huh-huh-huh-huh. Not good.”
“Who’s a flaming queer?”
“You! You haven’t been able to keep your fuckin’ eyes off of me since we met. Winking at me and spewing derogatory remarks in my direction. What the fuck’s the deal with you? I don’t go that way.”
“Neither do I, you narcissist fuckin’ nut-job!”
“Nut? Job? An interesting choice of words. Not crazy, insane or wrong…but NUT! And job! You know why? Because you got my nuts on your brain!” Continue Reading
Window of time — years ago —
The birth-givers disrobed and produced babies to throw
into the abyss where they would not grow.
But grow they did, from seeds to weeds,
into carnivorous men and goatish women
longing for tall fires in deaths’ cold breath of life.
Thirsting for sexual domination
in the semblance of licentious obedience,
Ball gags, Whips, Rubber sheets…
Love in Chains
Invigorating cruelty served up daily
with their bread and wine,
While upon the heavenly humiliation
of invasive maneuvers they would dine.
And the birth-givers, who no longer spoke
in bombastic tongues,
Could only watch with shameful amusement
as the perverted night ate their young.
Top Drawing – Bacchanal Of Putti by Nicolas Poussin
Bottom Drawing – Unknown. Originally posted on Sassydog.net
© 2012 Mark Rogers
Placid Animosity
(B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poems)
“Jesus Christ Frank; what the hell happened to you?”
The large group of friends turned and stared at Frank Slates black and blue face with cut marks, as he started to explain, “Well I…”
“Did you get into a fight?”
“No, I…”
“You walked into a train?”
“Or an industrial sized fan?”
“Th…the power went off abruptly a-as you were going down an escalator?”
“Imaginative Jack, but no.”
“I have a guess!”
“Calm down, Rizzo!”
“I know what happened,” said the silhouette of a leather capped young man, standing confidently with one foot on The Rock, and lighting a Tijuana Small cigar, looking away, out onto the Brandywine River. “You paid a hooker for some rough sex. She tied you up to the bed, pulled your shirt up, your pants down, then circled the bed like a shark while pounding your body with a soap on a rope. The soap finally broke off and flew across the room; she sat on top of your ankles and went down for a while, bringing you to the brink of orgasm.”
“So far, you’re pretty close.”
“She stopped, stared at you, and laughed sadistically. You wanted to come but you were tied up and there was nothing you could do. She sat on your stomach and slapped you silly on either side of the face with rough open hands. It was then it hit you just how very strong she was for a woman. Then, as if confirming your anxious suspicion, she stood up and pulled her pants down, revealing the largest cock you’d ever seen, and dangled it tauntingly above your head.”
“Ahh, no……that didn’t happen.”
“Yes it did, and furthermore, you still wanted to come; you didn’t care how. So you focused only on her…his…..its…long beautiful blonde hair and smooth tan complexion, an angel from the neck up. You were mesmerized by its beauty to the point where you didn’t even mind the cock now jamming in and out of your mouth. That’s right, you sucked the monstrosity in total bewildering admiration, but you were not sure why.”
“I’m not sure why you’re saying all this.”
“Maybe it was the irresistible cleavage, the smooth hairless legs and firm buttocks, or, perhaps it was just about it all being the largest cock you had ever seen, and you didn’t mind…didn’t mind at all…She….it…did the work for you as it stood on the bed with its hands on its sides thrusting its pelvis, shoving itself in and out of your mouth as the back of your head hit the wall violently, over and over and over again until the thing laughed hysterically and came on your face.”
“Hee-hee-hee-hee!”
“Yes, just like that ……………..you were confused…”
“You’re confused; you know that?”
“…humiliated. He ….she…..got up to leave, but you were angry, and, finally managing to break free of the Hoover vacuum belts that had you bound to the bed, you lunged at it with intent to kill…her…him…it….whatever….but you forgot that your pants were still on, down by your ankles at this point, and you tripped and fell, smashing your head through the glass coffee table.”
“Now that part really happened, sort of.”
“Eeeww. Frank, you’re disgusting.”
“You lay on the floor helpless, as the thing looked down on you in seductive victory.” Mahdakis took a drag off his Tijuana. “Then it got weird.”
“Then?”
(inhale-exhale) “Here we go.”
“The beautiful transvestite walked over to the bed-stand and, with all its brute strength, ripped the clock radio out of the wall and tore the cord out from the insides of the device. It then began to whip you with the electrical cord, laughing sardonically as it pulled out a copy of Gideon’s’ Bible and recited passages from Leviticus 18. It finally dawned on you that coming here was probably a bad idea……You defecated yourself and began crying for your mother, and then…..like a phantom, she exited the room, presumably leaving you for dead…or worse………. alone…to die in your own excrement, blood, and semen.”
“None of that ever happened! This isn’t true,” Frank pleaded for a moment of sanity.
“Then…..” the silhouetted figure continued.
“There’s even more?” –Bobble-bobble-bobble “Someone shut him the fuck up, will ya.”
“The chamber maid came in.”
“Now we’re talkin’. Ha-ha.”
“Goiter, shut up and stop rubbing your palms together,” a voice said. “That’s very disturbing.”
“Shut up! I wanna hear how it ends.”
“….But it wasn’t really a chamber maid. It was an FBI agent who had been working undercover as a chamber maid for the better part of six months, trying to bust up a heroin ring, headed by the owner of the hotel. Frank wasn’t part of the plan, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I wasn’t at any place at any time. Where you getting’ all this from?”
“….And the FBI agent, well, he was just being a chamber maid.”
“He?”
“Yes…he was undercover as a she, and he saw you lying there, Frank; bleeding and helpless. But there was no time. The agent had just been made by one of the dealers. He needed to get out of the building…..and fast! So he swapped clothes with you, taking his wig off his head and putting it on yours, then he boogied out of the room, and ultimately, the building.”
“Is that it?”
“Then.…”
“Christ.”
“The dealer busted into the room and saw you lying on the floor in a wig and a chamber maid outfit and smashed the butt end of his rifle against your ear before realizing that he had the wrong cross-dresser……
“I’m not a cross-dresser.”
“….But, being one to always seize the moment, the drug dealer eagerly unbuttoned his pants. He pulled out his…….”
“Alright….we get it!”
“Fuckin’ aye, dude. Take a valium.”
“And THAT is what happened to Frank.” Mahdakis puffed on his cigar.
“That was my guess,” Rizzo said, “I was going to say the same thing.”
© 2012 Mark Rogers
Crimes Seen
(Book II)
The court jester dances for you alone.
Cracking smiles for the royal funny bone.
Paranoia picnicking on your brain,
For fear someone will do to you the same.
So I close my eyes and fantasize
Dirty peasants polishing your demise;
Brutus pouring wine for the dinner guests.
And this, at last, Laying your soul to rest.
Now the queen is forced to bare skin for me,
And her backside explored improperly.
And the princess, tied down, will soon follow
As soon as she capitulates to swallow
The distasteful plebeian atmosphere
Of mutiny and revolution cheers.
But, first we must elope in Atlantis
With the dead are new born, a lot like us.
HAIL! HAIL!
The queen is dead!
God let us, now be forever wed.
HAIL! HAIL!
Take what’s yours,
Leave your friends, open new doors.
Sitting on my newly acquired thrown,
I watch elders crippling from the bone.
Fecal matter floating down city streets
Where the protestants hold clandestine meets.
Guillotines are chopping off pagans’ heads,
Famined children still have yet, to be fed.
But, I cannot help them. I’m just a tool
For the Roman Catholics and their jewels.
Hey now, I like this role,
I do nothing and I’m in control.
Bow now and kiss my cheek,
Bathing in coin, I laugh at the meek.
© 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers
Placid Animosity (B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poems)
Click here for further barbaric use of the English language.
“Where you off to in such a hurry?”
“They just kicked me out of school,” said Mahdakis, stopping to acknowledge Floyd. “I guess I got to start looking for some sort of a job, or something.”
“Well that wasn’t very nice of them. What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Ya had to do something. They don’t just kick you out of school for doing nothing.”
Mahdakis took a puff of his cigar. “Apparently they do.”
“Hmm…who knew?”
“Hey dudes! What’s up?” Nicki said, coming out of the school, slapping them both on the ass. “Shouldn’t you guys be in class, or something?”
“Us? I thought you graduated a few months ago. What the hell are you doing here?”
“I just wanted to say hi to a couple of teachers. Ask how their summer was, you know?”
“Did you have sex with them?”
“What? No! What’s the matter with you?”
“Then why are you talking to teachers when you don’t have to?”
“Never mind.”
“Mahdakis just got kicked out of school.”
“For how long?”
“Forever long. Mr. Fuss said if I quit on my own, it will look better on my record, so I did.”
“Shit man, what did you do?”
“Nothin’ Hee-hee-hee-hee. He did nothing!”
“And it seems that’s not an acceptable practice.”
“Well, duh,” Nicki said, getting in his face. “You’re supposed to do something, anything…but you can’t just do nothing.”
“Ahh….and nothing is not something, is it?”
“No, it’s not.”
“But anything is something.”
“And something can be anything.”
“Most definitely.”
“But you can make something out of nothing, people do it all the time.”
“And you can make nothing out of something, although it’s not recommended.”
“So where did I go wrong?”
“It sounds like you were trying to make anything out of nothing, buddy, that’s the problem here.”
“Okay, but can’t you make nothing out of anything?”
“Sure. Politicians do it on a daily basis.”
“Now I see.”
“Alright, enough of you assholes. Anyone seen Tony?”
“He went to pick up his car this morning, and then go to work. They offered him new full-time hours. If it works out, he’s hoping his birth-givers will let him quit school.”
“Quit school?”
“Well at least he can say he was doing something.”
“He can’t quit school! And where the hell is he? That asshole! He told me to meet him here because he didn’t have a ride!”
“I don’t know, Nick, but he left a while ago, and what do you mean, quit school? Why not? Thousands of people do it every day.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
“Or wrong.”
“But it does make it trendy.”
“I’m thinking about doing it!”
“When?”
“How about right now? Hee-hee-hee-hee,” Floyd laughed, slapped him on the back and started walking away from the school with him. “Want some company?”
“Sure. The more the merrier.”
“Yeah, let’s see how fuckin’ merry you guys are standing in the unemployment line. What the fuck? What are you idiots gonna do with yourselves?”
“I don’t know,” Mahdakis confessed. “I guess whatever teenage dropouts do.”
“Wanna get high?”
“Sure.”
“Listen to yourselves. What a bunch of fuckin’ B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S.”
“Okay Mrs. Smarty pants, what would you do?”
“I don’t know,” said Nicki, swinging a set of keys around. “But I have my birth-giver’s car all day, nowhere to go, and a bag of purple microdot.”
“Where’s the car?”
“The Jeep’s over there, right in front.”
“I thought you couldn’t park there.’
“Student’s can’t park there but I’m not a student anymore, remember?”
“See? You get all kinds of special privileges and access to the school once you don’t go here anymore, or have any real use for it.”
“But while you’re here, you’re treated like an animal. This makes sense to you guys?”
“It’s incentive.’
“Incentive would be getting a blowjob from your teacher after a good grade.”
“That’d be a lot of blowjobs.”
“Not if she taught you idiots. Besides, what if it was a guy teacher, you assholes? You want some old dude slobberin’ all over your cocks?”
“I don’t know, that wouldn’t be so bad, I guess.”
“She says it like it’s a bad thing.”
“You know I read somewhere that Japanese female-birth-givers do just that for their male offspring, when they bring home a good grade for the semester.”
“That’s just sick, you know that. What kind of a normal person would want their female-birth-giver giving them head?”
“Have you ever met Floyd’s female-birth-giver?”
“Shut up, dude.” Floyd looked over at Nicki and said, “Normal is all how you are raised. If you’re taught that this is normal, you don’t think of it as odd.”
“Meaning, the female-birth-givers go down on their offspring when they’re young? What are you, an asshole?”
“It’s true. In that same report, they explained how they masturbate their male offspring when they’re very young so as to stop them from crying, and continue this practice well into puberty.”
“Makes sense.”
“What??? Mahdakis, where do you come up with this shit?”
“I read a lot.”
“Maybe if you read more of your assignments instead of whacking off to National Geographic, or whatever, you wouldn’t be repeating your senior year again.”
“Aren’t you paying attention? I’m not.”
© 2011, 2014 Mark Rogers
Driftwood
(Book I)
In Case You Were Too Stoned
(A Retrospective)
What the fuck man, let me in!” Jason demanded, standing on the third stair from the top, pushing on the door to Snowy’s room, which was above his grandparent’s garage. “Stop horsing around, Snowy, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll…..”
“You’ll suck my dick! What the fuck are you doing here anyway? You’re supposed to be here tomorrow,” Snowy said, pushing back on the door from the other side.
“Tomorrow? Yeah, right. But the real party is going on tonight. Good thing I got my ear to the ground.”
“And I’m gonna put your face to the ground, with it, if you don’t stop pushing this fuckin’ door! Now, come back tomorrow.”
“What the fuck is this? Come back tomorrow? Are you joking around or something?”
“Does it look like I’m joking?” Snowy said, grabbing a broom and shooing him away, like an oversized rodent. “Now get down the stairs motherfucker, and come back tomorrow! This is the only way I could do it. You’re ruining everything!”
“I’m ruining everything? What’s tomorrow? Get that thing away from me.”
“There’s not much room in here, Jason, so I had to throw the party in shifts. One group of friends tonight, and one tomorrow; all different people; one’s that you and I know from way back.”
“But, why can’t I just stay here now and not come tomorrow?”
“Because, there will be too many people up here.”
“So what?”
“So, the Fire Marshall may come and shut us down, or something.”
“Shut you down? Fire Marshall? Have you lost your mind?”
“No. Besides, if you don’t come tomorrow, like I asked, I won’t have any one cool to hang out with?”
“Why did you invite un-cool people to begin with?”
“I was gonna ask the same thing,” said Rizzo, from inside the room.
“Rizzo!” Boodles yelled walking through the door and past Snowy, without a problem.
“So, I have to hang out with the un-cool people?”
“Stop your sobbin’ before I snap you in half.”
“Yeah, right. C’mon, man. Rizzo’s here.”
“Yeah, and do you know why she’s here? Because I asked her to come tonight, like I asked you to come tomorrow night. You don’t see her showing up last night at my house do you, slim? No, she show’s up when she’s asked because that’s the respectful thing to do, and not show up unannounced like a Kirby fuckin’ vacuum salesman!”
“Fine. Sorry about that. I’ll come tomorrow so you have someone cool to hang with. But I’m here now, so let’s hang now, as well.”
“Hey, can we come again tomorrow?” Pablo asked in an instigating manner.
Snowy got into Jason’s face and said, “See what you’re doing? If you come both days, then he’s gonna wanna come both days, and Rizzo will have to come both days, then everyone’s gonna wanna come both days, and pretty soon it’ll be fuckin’ anarchy. Look at these people in here, you’re getting them all riled up.” Jason looked in at Pablo, Rizzo, Cannoli, and Jack sitting peacefully and talking softly among themselves. “You’re about to incite a riot. If you don’t go, I’ll be forced to call the authorities!”
“Ha! What are you gonna tell ’em, ‘Hey officer, there’s this crazy guy at my cocaine party, and he won’t leave.’ Huh? Fine……Boodles, let’s go.”
“I wanna stay,” she yelled from inside.
“We can’t! The Grand Pooh-Bah of Parties is kicking us out.”
“Oh, c’mon,” Boodles whined.
“You’re fine,” Snowy assured. “HE has to go, though.”
“Say what? She’s fine? She can stay but I can’t? She wasn’t even invited. How much of that shit have you had so far?”
“But she was your ride, right?”
“Of course!”
“That’s fine. I allotted for most people to come with a person who would be their ride. But she can’t come tomorrow, too. You’ll have to drive yourself tomorrow or find someone else to take you, someone who isn’t here tonight.”
Jason stared in disbelief and poked his finger hard on Snowy’s chest. “Fine, but this is some fucked up shit, and I’m not going to forget it. Boods! C’mon, I need a ride back to my house, apparently.”
“Take Dakota if you’re leaving, unless you can find a ride later.” Snowy looked at the saucy longhaired brunette in the tight jeans.
“I’m coming back,” Boodles informed him.
“No you’re not. Once you leave you can’t come back.”
“Say what? Why not?”
“Because you’re HIS ride, and that’s the only reason you’re allowed to stay, and she wasn’t invited without Carl, so she has to leave with you, unless someone gives you a ride later on.” He looked at Dakota.
“Okay. I can get a ride later. Pumpkinhead is coming, right?”
“Far as I know.”
“I’m staying,” Dakota said confidently, walking into the room, and plopping herself and her purse down, next to Cannoli and Jack Carrot.
“Well, I don’t wanna go,” said Boodles, as Pumpkinhead came walking up the stairs, behind Jason.
“Okay, stay here,” Snowy said, pushing her back in and addressing Pumpkinhead with his eyes. “Dude, stay right there.”
“Yeah, what’s up man?”
“Can you give Jason a ride back home? He’s not feeling himself tonight.”
“Ahh man, what a rash. I just got here, dude. Can’t we chill for a minute?”
“No,” said Jason sarcastically, “because once you’re in, you can’t leave and come back…those are the rules.”
Goiter, who had been standing behind Pumpkinhead laughed and said, “Can’t we get some sort of ticket stub? Ha-ha-ha.”
“What the fuck is he doing here?”
“Say what?”
“I thought you were coming alone.”
“I saw him hitchhiking on the road. He had nothing to do.”
“So why does he have to do nothing here? Why couldn’t he do nothing somewhere else?” (inhale-exhale) “You just don’t know when to leave well enough alone, do you, Pumpkinhead?”
“What the fuck, man?”
“Fine.” (exhale) “But you’ll have to stand outside, under the tree. There’s no more room for anyone in here.”
“There’s only five people in there!”
“Can you give this joker a ride back, or not? Dude, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“What are you going to do,” asked Goiter, “give him a blow job? Ha-ha-ha.”
“I’m gonna crack you in the fuckin’ head, is what I’m gonna do!”
“Alright man, let’s go.” Pumpkinhead motioned to Jason.
“Hang on…Boodles, come here for a minute.”
“C’mon man, let’s go.” Pumpkinhead said impatiently. “You wanna come, Goiter?”
“Might as well, I’m in no big hurry to start standing under a tree all night.”
© 2012 Mark Rogers
Crimes Seen
(Book II)
Tony and Mahdakis sat on the front porch stoop of Tony’s female-birth-giver’s new home, enjoying a cigarette as she and her new companion, Radcliffe, scurried about inside preparing the next course for Thanksgiving dinner. Mahdakis didn’t know that’s what they were doing in there. He thought dinner was over and that perhaps they were washing up or preparing dessert. After all, the six of them had already indulged in appetizers such as ricotta stuffed mushrooms, fried zucchini, marinated mozzarella balls, and antipasto salad. Thereafter, Mahdakis and Nicki were already stuffed and barely managed to get through what they assumed was the main course, baked eggplant lasagna with an asparagus feta salad, immediately followed by a mandatory helping of freshly sliced roast beef and a side of roasted garlic and rosemary potatoes. But this was the Italian way. Mahdakis and Nicki were of the white mutt nationality and knew not of such unabashed gluttony. They also had not grasped the concept of sampling only a bite or two of this and that instead of devouring everything in front of them as rapidly as possible.
It was growing dark outside; the clocks had been turned back. Light from the television in the empty living room smacked enticingly up against the glass windows every once in a while, reminding those outside that there was a game on. Dallas was playing the Vikings. Nicki Tater and Tony’s brother, Pedro Ravioli, took a drive to get some more beer and some smokes. Pedro was clean-shaven with short black hair and was built like a Sneetch, but without the star on his round belly. “Quite a dinner ma’s rustling up in there, huh?” Tony Ravioli said. “You better have some more room in there.”
“Oh man, I don’t know about that. Hey dude, what the hell happened last Saturday night? Why was Polly crying?”
Tony shook his head in bewilderment. “Dude, I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“I was right outside your bedroom door with Sally, about to come you know.”
“You were; what about me?”
“Dude, I was holding Sally up by her ankles and…..”
“Spare me the visual, will ya? I think I saw anyway. She was upside down, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah! You like that move?”
“Not for me, no. But hey, if sucking on an ugly chick’s mound of meat is your thing, well then God bless. I mean, someone’s gotta do it, right? And it sure the hell ain’t gonna be me.”
“I had to finish myself off, dude. Thanks a lot.”
“I’m sorry. I………What? Where?……Where the fuck did you finish yourself off?!”
“Well I don’t know exactly; it was dark. But I guess somewhere on the couch.”
“The couch? You blew your fuckin’ load on my couch?”
“Maybe it hit the carpet instead. Like I said, it was a little dark and I couldn’t see where it went.”
“So that’s your thing? You just blow loads all over people’s houses whenever you feel like it?”
“I had to! I heard that if you’re worked up that much and don’t let yourself come, you can get blue balls or something.”
“That’s an old wives’ tale. Besides, this whole fiasco is your entire fault anyway.”
“How is it my fault?”
“Hey, you pulled me aside, after you and Sally finally arrived, and told me that Polly takes it in the ass.”
“That’s what Sally said.”
“Well guess what, she wasn’t taking it that night!”
“You tried that move on the first date?”
“I didn’t try anything, I did it! She gave me great head, so I flipped her over and shoved it in, thinking she was really going to dig this.”
“Who digs that?”
“Polly! That’s what you said! You said Polly likes getting fucked in the ass!”
“She hates getting fucked in the ass; that’s what I said.”
“No you fuckin’ didn’t, Mahdakis! You pulled me aside and said, ‘Psst; hey, Polly takes it up the ass.’”
“Right, but I didn’t say she liked it! She can’t stand it, actually!”
“That is some information I could have used!”
“Hey!” The front door opened and a middle-aged man with glasses and a balding scalp stepped outside. “It’s getting a little loud out here don’t you think fellas?”
“Sorry Radcliffe.”
“Sorry.”
“Your mother said she will be serving in about twenty minutes, okay? So be inside. Where’s your brother and Nicki?”
“I don’t know; good question.”
“Well let’s find them or your mother will have a fit.”
Radcliffe went back inside to give the television its much-desired attention, as Tony put his cigarette butt out on the cement walkway and looked away from his friend. “Where the hell is Pedro and Nicki? We need to eat soon.”
“That’s okay, man. I’m gonna pass on dessert. No offense but I’m not a sweets guy myself. Nicki said she was stuffed, too.”
“Dessert? What the fuck’s the matter with you? My birth-giver slaved all day, you can’t leave now!”
“Fine. What is for dessert anyway?”
“Homemade tiramisu and fresh cannolis I think, but that isn’t the point! Skip dessert if you want, but we’re serving the main course now!”
“Main course? What the fuck are you talking about? We just had pasta and beef!”
“I’m talking about the turkey with fennel sausage stuffing!”
“The what?”
“And the fish! We haven’t had the turkey yet. You can’t leave, motherfucker!”
“Fish?”
“With homemade bruschetta!”
“Jesus Christ. How am I supposed to eat all that?”
“Just eat a little! She worked hard all day and last night!”
“Fuck man.”
Nicki and Pedro pulled up in the car as the door to the house opened once again and Radcliffe stepped out. “Oh okay, everyone’s here; just in time. Good, now we can eat.”
“Awesome!” Pedro yelled, springing like a rocket out of the passenger’s seat. “That’s what I call timing.” As Pedro got to the porch he smiled at Mahdakis and said, “You coming in, or are you just gonna stay there looking stupid.”
Mahdakis looked at Nicki, who was still in the driver’s seat, and mouthed the words, ‘There’s more food’.
She stared helplessly back at him, wiping her nose then mouthing the words ‘Are you kidding?’
He shook his head ‘no’ and took a step towards her car.
“I have to get back home,” she finally said announced out the window. “This is my Mom’s car and she needs it back. Mahdakis, if you want a ride, come now!”
Mahdakis felt six very disapproving eyes staring at him on the porch and could not look at any of them. He took another step towards the car and simply said, “Sorry, I have to split, too.” Then picking up his pace towards the car yelled back. “Thanks for everything. Tell your birth-giver that what I did eat was the best I’ve ever had. Awesome!” He jumped in the car as Nicki quickly put it in gear, “See you tomorrow!”
Nicki made a U-turn at the end of the dead end road and sped out as if they had just robbed a bank. “Where to Mahdakis, my love?”
“Anywhere…Southpoint. I don’t care; just get me away from all this food. These people are nuts!”
“No shit man, how can people eat like that?”
“And there were only six of us. What the hell?”
“Crazy,” Nicki said sniffling and wiping her nose again.
“So what the hell took you and Pedro so long?”
“Oh, damnedest thing; I had to gobble on his cock awhile in exchange for a bag of coke and he couldn’t come. Ha-ha-ha…Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
Mahdakis looked at her face. She was smiling, probably trying to instigate him. He wasn’t going to bite. Even Nicki had more scruples than to mess around on her boyfriend right under his nose with the brother of her former boyfriend, right under his nose. “Funny,” is all he said.
“Ha-ha-ha….Ha-ha-ha-ha! Okay, Southpoint it is. Let’s see if Curly and Pumpkinhead are around since we’re driving right by.”
“Cool.”
The truth of the matter was, Nicki hadn’t been joking about the Pedro Ravioli thing, and as a matter of fact, had begun dating him behind Mahdakis’s back, so she would tell him two decades later……“Ha-ha-ha…Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
© 2016 Mark Rogers
Paradise In Purgatory (Book IV)
“This is bullshit, Frank! What the fuck do we need Carl and Floyd for, anyway? Huh? Wanna tell me that?”
“I dunno, I’m just tellin’ you what I heard from Floyd. I guess your brother feels sorry for them and wants to give them some sort of a job by lettin’ them help out with the band.”
“Fuck ‘em! We are the road crew! Not them!”
“I thought you and Floyd were really tight these days.”
“Not when the prick’s cutting in on my action, yo! Christ, neither of them even owns a vehicle.”
“I know.”
“So what’s that gonna do? We got just as much stuff to carry around in the same number of cars, and two more people to find room for!”
“Yep. I know. I think maybe he just feels sorry for them you know, living out on the streets and whatnot.”
“Bullshit, man! Floyd slept at my house last week while my brother slept out on the street with Carl. What the hell’s he talking about?”
Frank took a chug of Budweiser. “I don’t know about that. Floyd says they haven’t seen Mahdakis much this past week.”
“Well, he sure the hell ain’t stayin’ down at Pock’s and Dakota’s.”
“Dakota’s not even staying at Pock’s and Dakota’s. Huh-huh-huh-huh. Hey, ya know…that’s right. We been there every night, and ain’t seen him but for rehearsal.”
Pumpkinhead took a big long drag off a joint. “Haven’t seen him once, dude.”
“Well where is he, then?”
Pumpkinhead exhaled with exaggeration, “I don’t know. He’s into girls, I know that.”
“And what are you into?”
“I am too, asshole! But he likes to play house, if you get my drift!”
“That’s kind a gay. But you know what? You got an attitude problem. What’s with being so hyper all the time?”
“I’m not! I’m just an expressive person!”
“Well, express the fuck down, then.”
Pumpkinhead took another long hit and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Where the fuck is he staying at night, I wonder.”
“Someone said they saw him walking in Old Norford, the other night.”
“Ah no.”
“You think he’s back with Jezebel?”
“It would explain his presence there….Copper Tom lives there too, but I doubt he’d be visiting him.”
“Why does Mahdakis hate him so much?”
“Probably because Copper Tom’s a fuckin’ asshole, that’s why!”
“He wouldn’t be such an asshole if your brother wasn’t always yelling at him.”
“MY BROTHER YELLS AT HIM BECAUSE HE’S A FUCKIN’ COKE ADDICTED, GOOD FOR NOTHING, DEGENERATE PIECE OF SHIT; THAT’S WHY!”
“Don’t fuckin’ yell at me. I’ll pick you up by that giraffe neck of yours and fling you into the river.”
“I’ll mess you up, dude!”
“Ha-ha-ha-ha! I’ll squish that pumpkin head of yours until your brains fall out your eye sockets!”
“Yeah, you wish.”
“Huh-huh-huh-huh. That’s it? That’s all you got?”
“For now.”
“For now,” Frank repeated, “oh well, you know what?”
“Mm.”
“At least it’s better than sleeping on the streets with Carl and Floyd.”
“What is?”
“Your brother…..with Jezebel, or whoever he’s with.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it’s her, dude. She really pissed him off last time. He was real hurt and shit, but hey, fuck him and Carl and Floyd! What’s up with that? Why the hell don’t they just go home and sleep?”
“Because they’re not allowed to. Huh-huh, Remember?”
“That’s a bunch of shit, dude. My female-birth-giver’s always crying at night because that asshole won’t come home half the time, or call to say where he is. Carl and Floyd, same thing. Ask Kim if you don’t believe me. They just want people to think that they’re on hard times so they have justification to be idiots. All it is, is a way of validating their own laziness and lack of motivation, thereby giving them an excuse to accomplish nothing.”
“Wow. That’s a concept, right there,” Frank said, staring out at the Brandywine River, “I mean, that’s pretty ingenious.”
“Ingenious? Are you smoking crack?”
“No. I’m the same way as them, but I have no excuse for the way I am…….Wish I had thought of that. Huh.”
“Frank,” Pumpkinhead said cautiously, “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything, but you’re a little……slow….sometimes, brother. You don’t need an excuse.”
Frank turned his head towards Pumpkinhead and the two of them sat on The Rock staring at one another until Frank started laughing uncontrollably. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-! Ha-ha! That’s what I want people to think! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Huh? Are you serious? Why?”
“I guess to validate my uh, lazy…….whatever it is you said. Huh-huh-huh. And to get people to feel sorry for me sometimes. Girls dig it, too.”
“Oh.” Pumpkinhead sat stupefied. “So you’ve no reason to feel envious of them, Frank. You got your own gig going on.”
“That’s right.” Frank lit up a Marlboro and took a long drag. “Now…….let’s talk about this accident that Carl and Floyd are going to have.”
© 2012, 2014 Mark Rogers
Crimes Seen
(Book II)
In Case You Were Too Stoned
(A Retrospective)
It was an enormous mansion lined with wall to wall cocaine users and big-haired, scantily clad sperm dumpsters; it was a party of no less than four-hundred people; the occasion was the long awaited release of the Open Fly debut album, ‘Rock Out with your Cock Out’, and anyone who could show up, did. Most everyone wanted a piece of the Open Fly action, and wanted to be around them because they were indeed, cool. Or so the trend-following record label wanted everyone to believe.
For better or worse, the music scene had really taken shape. If any guy was going to make it in the music business at this point in time, he needed to possess, not only the pelvis and cheek bones of a nineteen-year-old girl, but the shaved legs as well; all stuffed inside tight genitalia-strangling spandex. Another major requirement for being considered relevant in the present music world was exposing a freshly waxed chest, with a full head of hair teased no less than ten inches above the skull, and if you wanted to make it really big, you wore hints of blush, eyeliner, and sometimes lipstick or colored lip-gloss and made puckering kissy faces at the big-titted sperm dumpsters in the audience while you played your guitar solo or bass fill. It didn’t hurt your image to grow your nails long and have them painted up in some effeminate manner either. And, of course, Open Fly lived to be flaming F.A.G.G.’s and were therefore the talk of the town, all the rave, the big cheese, the flavor of the day, in a fashionably gender confused world of what was regrettably now the biggest fad in music – Female-Aspirant Guy Groups; commonly known as F.A.G.G. Metal.
Basically, the scene had shifted from angry restless rebellious youth of the streets fighting for or against a cause; sending a message of hate, love, and a desire for a better planet (accompanied usually with some very interesting and talent-packed songs), what was now, nothing more than a bunch of wealthy, testosterone ridden, beautifully groomed, long-haired, would-be-jock-otherwise, mama’s boys out for nothing more than to penetrate the prettiest and stupidest bitch they could find; And the bait? Nothing more than a nursery rhymed melody sung over a 1-4-5 progression played on a shiny electric guitar, and a line or two of white powder. It was the roaring gay eighties.
Open Fly had just landed a minor contract with an up-and-coming record label. Their music was carefree, la-dee-da, drink-some-beer-and-fuck-some-chicks-in-fast-cars kind of music. It disgusted Mahdakis to no end that these types of bands were what was now being signed and granted small tours with even bigger, more well-known, la-dee-da, drink-some-beer-and-fuck-some-chicks-in-fast-cars kinds of bands. It spoke volumes for what was supposed to be his generation.
But this was no longer his generation. He banished it – along with some of the respect he had for its followers, which were many of the good friends he still had. He was not about to shave his mustache or sell out at any cost, but nor was he taking any immediate opposing action to do anything against it either. Instead, he seemed content in doing nothing with his music for the meantime.
Meanwhile… on the other side of town, in the rear parking lot of Barely Bagels, more stupidity was rearing its ugly head, as Frank, Carl, Dakota and Goiter prepared to attend the aforementioned F.A.G.G. Metal party…….
“Anybody wanna get going?” Carl said, impatiently.
“Why, you in a hurry for some F.A.G.G. action tonight? Ha-ha.”
Carl punched Goiter on the shoulder. “Shut the fuck up.”
“Ow!”
“Well he’s got a point, I mean…..they could dress a little more masculine, don’t you think? What’s up with those hair-dos, anyway? Why do chicks dig that? Dakota? Do tell.”
“Not all chicks dig it Floyd; me for one. I think they’re a bunch of poseur idiots. But if you must know, most of the other girls like it because it’s upbeat rock-n-roll that keeps things light and fluffy and doesn’t bring you down, or remind you of everything that’s wrong with your life…and the world.”
“Huh-huh, you mean like Mahdakis’s shit.” Frank Slate shook his head. “Good cripes. I love the guy, don’t get me wrong, but Jesus Christ, stick a fork in me when the song’s over, will ya?”
“I can never tell when his songs are over.”
“Yeah,” Frank continued, “sometimes I think the whole concert is just one long-winded song. And I’ll be damned if I ever know what the fuck he’s talkin’ about.”
“It’s called theater, dummy.” Dakota took a drag from her cigarette and blew it in his face. “But I guess a simpleton like you wouldn’t understand.”
Frank grinned, knowing she was only teasing. “Huh-huh-huh, you’re a nasty lil’ cunt, ain’t cha?”
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Whoa,” Carl screamed at him, “Easy!”
“I’m just kiddin’. Heck, I roadie for the guy, you know.”
“So you’d think you’d know more about what’s going on with him than you do,” Floyd said.
“Yeah, but I don’t.”
“And therein lies the genius that is Frank Slate. Ha-ha-ha!” Goiter laughed all by himself.
“So basically, F.A.G.G. metal is music that doesn’t burden your brain with any strenuous thinking,” Carl summed up.
“And that’s why so many people like it, and the radio plays it all the time,” Dakota agreed. “It’s ear candy for simple people with limited artistic capacity…
“Of which, there are many.”
“…people who hate having to think, and can only handle simple melodies running through their head.” She took another drag and exhaled as Frank earnestly absorbed what she said. “I mean you might as well play nursery rhymes on the radio.”
“The radio, I-I can’t even listen to it anymore, it’s so full of that F.A.G.G. Metal shit. Fuckin’ disgusting,” Carl hawked a big yellow loogy on the ground.
“You know what Mahdakis says?” Frank asked, trying to remember the conversation.
“This ought to be good.”
“He says that the government’s in cahoots with all these big companies that buy up radio stations and play uh…..what does he call it…..Mind Numbing….yeah, mind numbing music that’s meant to keep the American population…us….ignorant and distracted from what’s really going on. He says, that uh…..that these…these same companies also buy up music rights from older deadbeat artists…”
“Deadbeat?”
“…and uh….what do they do….they uh….yeah, since they now have the royal rights…”
“….Royal rights?”
“They were knighted,” Dakota whispered sarcastically.
“… they make the stations that they bought up, play these same songs over and over again, which makes them rich because the more people hear something, Mahdakis says, the more they want to hear it again because they know it’s safe and………they like uh….status quo, or whatever word he used; and that it will be the same for F.A.G.G. Metal years down the road, you know, because it’s a simple friendly kind of harmless music that brain-dead folks and their nice little children, although I think he said mindless children, will probably like years later. He says it’s all some sort of a…..a net to catch the most American fish at one time, or something like that, I think.”
A long hush of abysmal silence followed as everyone stared at each other, wondering if Frank was done. Floyd shook his head and broke the silence. “I’m not sure what’s worse, Mahdakis and his conspiracy theories, or Frank explaining them.”
Goiter laughed, “Makes it sound twice as insane as it already is.”
“And trust me,” Carl lit up a smoke and said, “neither one of them needs any help sounding insane.”
“Ha-ha!”
Frank turned and walked towards the car. “Fuck it. I like the radio…and F.A.G.G. Metal.”
“Me too, Frank,” Goiter said. “I’m right behind ya pal.”
“Hey-hey-hey, none of that. Just ’cause we’re goin’ to a F.A.G.G. Metal party together doesn’t give you the right to fuck me in the ass.”
“Then what exactly does?” Dakota asked.
Carl rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Can we just please get the fuck out of here already?”
“Yeah, alright,” Frank conceded, “let’s go meet up with our F.A.G.G. Metal friends and suck some F.A.G.G. dick all night long…..Mmm.”
Floyd stared at Frank. “Jesus Christ, Frank. Sometimes I wonder if you even know what the hell you’re saying.”
“Everyone hop in.” Frank got in his car and started it up. “C’mon, let’s go!”
© 2013, 2014 Mark Rogers
Benevolence & Betrayal
(Book III)
In Case You Were Too Stoned
(A Retrospective)
“God is an evil, demented, son of a bitch!”
“Oh my.”
“And I’ll tell you why Robin, you wanna know why?”
“Of course I do; who wouldn’t?……..But I’m afraid to ask.”
“I’ll ask.”
“Okay Fred, go ahead. Ask.”
“Fine. Howard, why, as you so gracefully put it, is God an evil, demented son of a Bitch?”
“Because he gave me the smallest penis on the planet!”
“Aaahhh, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Oh, come on, you have to be exaggerating.”
“Robin….when I’m naked, it looks as though I have two belly buttons.”
“I think God compensated for it though with that nose. Hee-hee-hee-hee!”
“Yeah, go ahead and laugh jokeman, laugh away; Laugh while your wife is having sex with black men on the front lawn, in broad daylight.”
“Hey, I didn’t write that joke! Fred handed that to me. Hee-hee-hee-hee! I wish I did, though. Hee-hee-hee-hee!”
“I knew I didn’t want to ask.”
The clock radio, sitting on the soiled shag-carpeted floor, blares out the syndicated morning radio show on WYSP. A listless right arm falls on top of it slamming the button down. The hand attached to the arm fumbles about and finds a half empty can of Pabst Blue Ribbon leaning against the radiator. Mahdakis takes a pungent gulp and opens his eyes, acknowledging the dawn of another hapless, miserable day on this wretched, grey planet.
It is past eight o’clock on a Wednesday morning. The birth-givers and his younger brother, Pumpkinhead, have long gone to work…as most responsible adults have.
Our hero stumbles downstairs groggily, and turns the TV on as he begins to fix breakfast, a vegetable omelet with an abundance of cheese; enough so to scorch the frying pan beyond color recognition. The cartoon, Inspector Gadget is on; he watches with mild curiosity as he seats himself at the lonely cedar kitchen table wondering if anyone ever thought of making a porno version of Gadget, “Go, go gadget penis!” But his happiness is quickly subsided, as he is once again smacked in the heart with reality, and reminded that for the first time in four years, he is with the absence of true love in his life. For whatever reason, he liked being in love and having a girlfriend. Was it insecurity, or just an overwhelming need to possess another person’s affections? It was good that Jezebel was out of his life. But now he had no one else to blame for his problems…and he hated that.
Lying on the table, to the right of where he is eating, is a yellow note pad with writing on it. It is a song that he had started the day before yesterday. There are only four lines written on it:
‘Lovers may go but new ones will show
As the faces change and the years go by.
But I’m too weak to smile
And I’m too strong to cry…’
He gives pause as he considers adding another line. In the background he hears the desperate plea of a foiled bank robber being captured by Inspector Gadget, who had used his Gadget legs to extend up into the air another twenty feet, thus allowing him to walk over traffic. Mahdakis thinks for a moment how that would really come in handy…as long as everyone else didn’t have the same capability. Because then, you’d have the same problem with traffic congestion, but just twenty feet higher above the ground.
The twenty-year-old peels a pen up off the floor. The pen is covered in some unidentifiable goo (most likely something Pumpkinhead spilled on it last night while making dinner for himself at one in the morning while stoned off his ass). Mahdakis adds six more lines to the would-be song:
‘As destiny pulls me away
Towards a much more cloudy day
And there’s nothing more to say…
..But to face the truth and realize
That it’s time to break these emotional ties
That keep me locked up behind cold eyes.’
There.
His work was done for the day. Still chewing his food, he gets up from the table, walks to the kitchen and dumps the plate into the sink. ‘Someone will clean this up, they always do. Every day I put dirty plates in here and the next day they’re gone.’ He turns off the TV and heads upstairs to rub one out and take a shower.
It is almost ten o’clock by the time he is dressed.
There.
Two hours killed without too much thinking. But how to destroy the rest of the day? His birth-givers told him he’d best find a job soon…..‘or else’. He didn’t know what ‘or else’ meant, but it didn’t sound promising. He had come to appreciate the comforts of a real home (warmth, electricity, his own room, a toilet), and was in no hurry to return to the lifestyle of living under bridges, in friends’ cars, and in laundry mats as he had done with Carl and Floyd only a year ago. He walked to his upstairs bedroom window and stared outside, deep in thought, trying to remember the events of the night before……
Photo: "I have got a crush on you," by Tor Alden Art: "The Burnouts" by Liz Aikler
© 2016 Mark Rogers
My tree stands alone
In the midst of a
Vast grassy field.
Allow me to introduce to you,
A place where time and reason
Both must yield.
I come here often
In my mind
When my heart is weak of feeling
Towards mankind.
It is my one and only
True salvation.
But, we are taught,
A shameful destination.
Vertigo!
Ecstasy at a stand still.
The stories this tree could tell.
The dream is the same
Time and time again…
I emerge on to the scene
Hypnotically focused upon my tree.
The tree………………
The root of all my evil.
It awaits me;
And as I draw near,
In my state of slumber
I can hear
My girls’ voice
Beckoning with fear.
“I won’t be coming home dear.”
I’d ask you to join me for a picnic ’neath my tree—
Cool in the shade.
But I know you are timid and frail
And one must not be afraid.
Color, creed and status
Lay defenseless
Here or anywhere
Around the aura
Of this wilderness cathedral.
For the tree is my stage
And each blade of grass, a spectator
Filled with curious envy
The sun is my spotlight
Beaming down hard
upon my every move.
My subconscious directs
And northeastern winds supply a subtle groove.
Ahh, placid animosity.
Peace and tranquility
Stem from this tree.
I must have some,
I must take a leave…
So I climb the tree
And give it my all.
And the rope around my neck
Breaks my fall.
And now I see
And now I crawl
Upon dirt floors
….in an ancient hall.
© 1991, 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers
Placid Animosity (B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poems)
Click here for further barbaric use of the English language.
Puppets dance uniformly
In boundaries of assigned squares
Starvation and gluttony
Rapidly grow into a common pair.
Portrait couples,
Afraid to catch an eye,
Stir in quiet shame
Of feeble attempts to rekindle
Sparks……of a Duraflame.
These are but a few dark truths,
Which add to the sum of Silent Fright,
And which swiftly fall from my heart
Now that I have seen the end’s light.
© 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers
Click here for further barbaric use of the English language.
Pumpkinhead spun around at the foot of the bed to face his older brother, Mahdakis, “So here’s how it works; every Friday at the end of the month, you go up to NYU.”
“The one in New York?”
“The same.”
“But what if the last day of the month doesn’t fall on a Friday?”
“It doesn’t matter. Just go on the last Friday of every month!”
“How long are you going to be locked in this asylum?”
“Not much longer so you’ll probably only be doing this one time. But you gotta unload the shit for me.”
“Cool.”
“You’ll go to the Rubin dorm or Rubin Hall; something like that. It’s on Fifth Ave. Ask for Black Tom. He knows to look out for you. He’s really cool and mellow.”
“And black?”
“And black. Now, he’s gonna sell you the shit. You’re going to buy a pound of bud. Make sure it’s good bud and not shake. Black Tom won’t jerk you around and he usually gets nice stuff, but just make sure.”
“What if it’s not?”
“Not bud? Then don’t buy.”
“Alright. So far so good.”
“You’ll need about twelve hundred dollars.”
“Say what? Where the fuck am I going to get that kind of money?”
“Jesus Christ! Calm the fuck down, man. Don’t you have a job or something?”
“Yeah, I got a job, but my money’s pretty much tied up.”
“Well un-fuckin’ tie it because you have to understand that while twelve-hundred may sound like a lot, you’ll be selling ounces at two-hundred dollars!”
“So wait…..a pound, right?
“Right.”
“And there’s …uh….sixteen ounces in a pound?”
“Last time I checked.”
“So that’s thirty-two hundred dollars?”
“Yeah man, like a two-thousand dollar profit if you don’t use any yourself. You have the capacity to make even more by selling it in small nickel and dime quantities.”
“You must be rolling in the dough by now.”
“Not really man, I got the car payments and the insurance…”
“That’s it though. You got nothing else. Where’s all your money?”
“It’s rough man because we spend twelve or fifteen hundred on a pound sometimes and then end up selling just about the same amount. We break even more times than not.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. You should be making an extra two thousand or so off each deal.”
“Right. But then we need to set aside twelve more for the next buy.”
“So you should have two thousand in your hand.”
“Black Tom and I smoke a lot of it.”
“You smoke all your profits?”
“Basically.”
Mahdakis stood staring at his brother in disbelief, “What’s the matter with you, man? You were always so good with money.”
“I am good with money. I’m just not good with pot.”
“Jesus.”
“Hey man, stop raggin’ on me dude. It pays for itself and the gas to get to and from places, man.”
“So you and Black Tom smoke a half pound in a month? You smoke half your investment?”
“Easily.”
“What if you bought twice as much? Two pounds instead of one?”
“What good would that do?”
“Then you’d be able to have another pound and a half while still having the other half pound for recreation.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because it’s two pounds instead of one.”
“But we smoke up half of it.”
“Right.”
“Half of two pounds is one pound. We’d be smoking an entire pound instead of just half.”
“But you wouldn’t have to!”
“Sure we would!”
“Why?”
“Because we smoke half. That’s how it goes!”
“But don’t smoke half!”
“But that’s what we do! You said so yourself. If we didn’t smoke half then we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. All buying two pounds is gonna do is create more for us to smoke and generate more of a profit loss!”
© 2013, 2014 Mark Rogers
Benevolence & Betrayal
(Book III)
In Case You Were Too Stoned
(A Retrospective)
Slow and languid, the train of thought
which still insists passion be bought
under hazel skies children are taught
to worship God………….so greedily sought.
© 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers
Placid Animosity (B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poems)
Click here for further barbaric use of the English language.
The B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Chronicles 
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