Tag: Mark Rogers

  • Close Encounters of A Preposterous Kind

    Close Encounters of A Preposterous Kind

    2016-07-15-21-25-02“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

    Front Cover for Benevolence & Betrayal (book 3)
    Benevolence & Betrayal
    (Book III)
    Front Cover for In Case You Were Too Stoned to remember cover
    In Case You Were Too Stoned
    (A Retrospective)

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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  • One Enchanted Evening (R.I.P.)

    One Enchanted Evening (R.I.P.)

     

    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
    Placid Animosity (B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poetry)

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  • Wishful – Sinful

    Wishful – Sinful

    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.

     louis-xvi-execution

    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.

    anarchy

    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

    Placed Animosity front cover
    Placid Animosity (B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poems)

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  • (we are) The Road Crew

     

    “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

    Front Cover for Crimes Seen (book 2)
    Crimes Seen
    (Book II)
    Front Cover for In Case You Were Too Stoned to remember cover
    In Case You Were Too Stoned
    (A Retrospective)

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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  • The Silent Fright

     

    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

    Placid Animosity

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  • Pumpkinhead’s Theory of Anti-Prosperity

    Pumpkinhead’s Theory of Anti-Prosperity

     

    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

    Front Cover for Benevolence & Betrayal (book 3)
    Benevolence & Betrayal
    (Book III)
    Front Cover for In Case You Were Too Stoned to remember cover
    In Case You Were Too Stoned
    (A Retrospective)

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

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  • Yesterday = Today

     

    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

    Placed Animosity front cover
    Placid Animosity (B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poems)

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  • Ch-ch-ch-changes…..

     

    To deny change is not to grow,

    Or ever pass go,

    And never to know

    The answers to questions

    You long for today.

     

    Head of clay,

    You can say that today

    You don’t care to be aware

    As long as you  stay- – – –

     

     – – -the same

     

    remain- – – –

     

    vegetablized, minimized,

    – – -emotionally paralyzed.

     

    Frozen memories of a yesterday

    That you once knew

    Never to digest or recess

    Inside of you-

     

    There is unrest.

     

    You hate your life

    But you love yourself so.

    Soundly impossible,

    They’re one in the same bro.

     

    As the world changes,

    So must our causes and views.

    It is changing now—

    Turn on the news.

     

    I used to believe

    In justified homicide;

    A life for a life, an eye for an eye.

     

    But,

    Change soon found me

    With it’s merit and zest……

    ….. And now, jaded heart of failed test’s,

    I believe life eternal would be best.

     

    © 1990, 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers

    Placed Animosity front cover
    Placid Animosity (B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poems)

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  • Remember Tomorrow

     

    “The only good thing about today is it’s still young and there’s still hope we will die before it’s over with.”

    “That’s the spirit. What do you have against waking up tomorrow, anyway?”

    “Tomorrow’s the reason I wanna get it over with today! Tomorrow we have to do this bullshit all over again!”

    “What makes you so sure?”

    “Because I am.”

    “Oh.”

    “Because tomorrow is the day we pay for our wasted yesterday.”

    “Which is actually today.”

    “Exactly!”

    “But it hasn’t been wasted.”

    “Not yet. But it will. And all we can pray for is that today–”

    “Or yesterday tomorrow.”

    “–stops right here before tomorrow settles in.”

    “The day after tomorrow, yesterday.”

    “Right.” (more…)

  • Farewell….

     

    Sunlight blinds his eyes;

    paroled at last.

    Don’t follow me,

    tay in the past.

     

    You will always be a special friend

    But this is now and that was then.

     

    You gave me character,

    you made me wise;

    But, I’ve outgrown

    that deceitful disguise.

     

    Your meaning long expired. I once again, move on.

    You only existed to lead me to dawn.

     

    Your anger so volatile,

    your passion so rich,

    I lead you to fall

    into the endless abyss

     

    of nightmarish memories and dreams unfulfilled,

    Where wide-eyed restless youth alas, grows to be killed

     

    By the insatiable heart, swollen with emptiness

    and festooned with scar;

    The heart which catapulted your journey

    for that sun above, away so far.

     

    The unreachable sun,

    The intangible sun,

    The alluring and tempting, orgasmic sun;

     

    The sun which now

    Burns through my eyes

    Visions of aging terror.

     

    I bid you farewell young man,

                   ……see you in the mirror.

    © 2001, 2012, 2016 Mark Rogers

    Placed Animosity front cover
    Placid Animosity
    (B.U.R.N.O.U.T.S. Poems)

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  • ….And The Seed is Planted

     

    Mahdakis got off the bed and walked towards the small refrigerator to get himself another beer. As he did, he spotted a record in Nicki’s box of personal items. It was a F.A.G.G. Metal album by the biggest F.A.G.G. Metal band in the world, Penis Poison. This album would be their Opus Magnum and, much to the chagrin of Mahdakis, one of the bestselling albums of the decade. It was called, ‘Look What the Cat Did on the Rug’. He examined it further, “Man, these dudes look just like chicks. In fact, I’d probably have sex with the bass player.”

    Nicki laughed, “It’s a great album. You know half those songs, too.”

    “I do?” He looked at the unfamiliar titles.

    “You should. They’re on the radio all the time.”

    “Oh.” he put the album back, “I don’t listen to that thing.”

    “Well you should. You are a musician after all.” Nicki chuckled and grabbed a beer out of the fridge. “Not all F.A.G.G. Metal is bad ya know. Those guys are really quite good and put on a great live show.”

    “So what?”

    “So what. Listen to you. Why don’t you try something before you shit all over it?”

    “Whatever.” Mahdakis browsed over her personal items again.“What are these?” He picked up a pile of notebooks.

    “Don’t touch those! Please put those down,” she said, buttoning up her blouse, her tits flopping all about as she did.

    “Sorry. Are they personal?”

    “Are they personal? That’s my box of personal items. What do you think? Everything in there is personal, stupid.”

    “Shut up.”

    “You shut up, and leave those alone.”

    “Okay. Sorry.” he said, moving away from the box.

    “I’m sorry. It’s not really that big a deal; it’s just a little project I thought I might start someday, but it’s incomplete and wouldn’t make sense to anyone. So, I don’t want anyone to see it until I’m done……whenever that is.”

    “What kind of project is it?”

    “I write, baby. Those are my journals….sort of.”

    “Sort of?”

    “They’re stories….about us.”

    “You and me?”

    “You, me, Tony, Floyd, Rad…everyone we know…even Jez is in there.”

    “Like a documentary chronicling our moves?”

    “Sort of, but not really because some of the stories are real but involve people who were never a part of that story, and some stories I made up but include real people in them. Either way, all of the stories go nowhere and are just meant as a chuckle.”

    “So there’s no plot; the stories reflect the truth of our real lives.”

    “Ha! I guess so.”

    “What if you make a plot by demonstrating in these stories how our lives have no meaning to their existence?”

    “Huh?”

    “The plot to the story then becomes that there is no plot to the story.”

    “That’s genius!”

    “I have my moments…but why is someone going to want to read these stories?”

    “I don’t know…to laugh…feel better about themselves?”

    “Nice. Maybe you should thread these stories together and make a real book out of them.”

    “I don’t know if I have the patience for that. Besides, do you have any idea how hard it is to write a novel?”

    “Not a clue; I don’t even read now that school’s out. But putting a book together can’t be that difficult. It’s just paper and stuff.”

    “Ha-ha-ha…Ha-ha-ha-ha! You’re an idiot you know that?”

    “I could do it.”

    “Yeah right; I’d like to see you try.”

    “Fine,” Mahdakis said, lighting another cigar indifferently. “You know, one problem is that few of our friends read; whether it be because they can’t or because they haven’t got the attention span.”

    “I know.”

    “So who’s the target audience?”

    “I don’t know!” she said, feeling berated by his relentless questioning. “It’s just something fun that I like doing. I probably won’t ever release them. Fuckin’ aye. Leave it alone. Let’s move on.”

    “Fine.” But he couldn’t leave well enough alone, and said, “So why bother starting something if you have doubts about following through?”

    “Hey asshole, you have your dreams, I have mine. Is that okay with you?”

    “Okay.” Mahdakis gave her project consideration. “What will you call it? The book or the short stories? You have a name for it yet?”

    “I don’t know.” Nicki paused and shook her head dubiously. Her face flushed. “The Burnouts…..or some shit like that.”

    “The Burnouts? What the fuck kind of dumbass name is that?”

    “It’s just preliminary, fuck-head! God, why are you being such a dick?”

    “Because it’s a stupid title that implies the author is most likely just as stupid, which must mean that the story or stories are ten times as stupid.”

    “So? It’s about burnouts; it’s supposed to be stupid.”

    © 2016 Mark Rogers

    Book Cover for Paradise in Purgatory
    Paradise In Purgatory
    (Book IV)

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