Saturday, June 20, 2009


Your hands are freezing, Samantha, let me put some gloves on them.

No, Richard, I don't like gloves.

Why do you always say you don't like gloves? I don't understand how somebody could not like gloves. What's there not to like about gloves? Besides not being able to handle your keys well-- there's nothing bad about gloves! No, really, Samantha, don't roll your eye's at me! This is serious! Well, it's not really, serious, but it's serious.

What does it matter to you?

It matters because your hands are freezing! For no reason, other than, you don't like gloves! Ridiculous! I have an extra pair of perfectly good gloves right over there in my Dotson, and you won't put them on to warm up your frozen hands, because you don't like gloves! That's so stupid! Why don't you like gloves? I don't get it.

I don't know. It's stupid. I guess I just feel like they make me look like I'm trying to be cool, in a way?

Oh... Yeah, I guess I do the same thing with sunglasses... But, gloves are weird.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

"I'm not afraid to live," said Billy the mouse to his best friend of six months, Alex the mouse, right before he jumped off the table and into a small box filled with Styrofoam stuffing. From Alex's view point it looked as if Billy had been swallowed up by the stuffing. "Billy? Billy, are you OK?" Alex heard nothing but silence. He yelled this time, "BILLY?" Nothing.

Alex knew from the get go this was a foolish idea. But Billy insisted that Alex was just being a worry wart. Alex couldn't really disagree with this point, he had always been a worry wart, and half proud of the fact-- it's kept him out of danger. He could always live vicariously threw the dangerous acts of others, like Billy. Billy however was the only one Alex ever actually liked as a friend. Billy not only was risky, but smart. It wasn't just the adventure that kept Alex stimulated, but the adventures that Billy chose. Alex recognized Billy as unconventional... special.

After the arduous journey back down the table Alex sat in front of the hole that he and Billy had previously chewed through the bottom of the card board box as an escape hole after jumping from the table into the foam.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Gregg's adventures PART 2

Gregg looks up at the stupid tree and surveys his options. The tree stands about twenty eight feet high. The cat was at the tippy top. The nearest branch to Gregg was about eight feet above his head. Looking at the tree trunk through the light rainy mist, Gregg, recalled the title of a, Bon Jovi, album his older sister owned from his childhood: Slippery when wet. He noticed a six foot span of weathered rope, that looked like it would break in a strong breeze, hanging down the trunk. It was with in easy-reach, so Gregg grabbed it and gave it a good tug. Besides it being super slippery, it was surprisingly strong. Gregg reached his right arm up as about as high as he could reach, grabbed the rope, and wrapped it around his hand a good-couple-times. Waisting no time, he hoisted himself up with one simultaneous push of his right leg off the tree, and pull of his right arm on the rope. He then clasped the first tree branch, with the rope attached to it, with his left hand. It was far less slippery than he had imagined; Probably the bark. He then reached up with his right hand and grabbed the branch, pulled himself up with the help of his feet and legs, and positioned himself as comfortable as possible, onto the branch, and squatted like an Indian. It was then that he noticed the rope had actually grown into where the branch and trunk of the tree met-- or they had grown around the rope. He imagined the little girl, when she was even more little, playing with a then fresh rope, throwing it over the branch until it stayed or got stuck, some years ago. He then looked up at the tree, and remembered to hate his situation again.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Gregg's adventures PART 1

Gregg stood on the damp sidewalk. A light drizzle of rain hitting his face, unprotected by his rain coat. He was looking sympathetically at a nine year old girl crying her eyes out, worried about her cat that was stuck, dangerously high, in a, dangerously old tree. Gregg was a little bit high, from taking a hit of pot before leaving his house to get a hot dog and slushy from the neighborhood Seven Eleven. He hated being in this situation. What other choice did he have but to help this poor little girls cat?
"Don't worry, he's gonna be fine. He's a cat. They're made to be climbers!" Gregg said trying to comfort the girl. It was pointless, she was in hysterics. He imagined, for a moment, one of those dramatic Hollywood scenes where the hysterical person is slapped out of it. He decided pretty quickly that was probably not the best option given the circumstances.
"I'm going to get the cat. Don't worry, it'll be fine!" Gregg cheered as he walked off towards the tree.
He looks up from the base of the tree, and hates his situation again.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

Dancing on graves

When I was a young man I lived in small town Louisiana. Our house was by a highway. Next to the house was a small field. On the other end of the field was a small graveyard, also by the highway. This graveyard would simultaneously disturb me and not bother me what so ever. My sisters and friends and I would sneak over to it like it was some sort of mystical off limits weird place, and peer through the chain-link fence. What an ominous place.

One night when I was a teenager, a few friends and I had been drinking a bit and decided to go pay our respects to the random dead people at the graveyard. It all started off harmless enough. If I recall correctly, we were debating if it was actually a bad thing to walk on someones grave. And to display to us how much he didn't care- and of course to get a rise out of us- one of my friends started to dance on one of the graves. Up and down, slinging about, doing a lazy jumping jack sort of a thing, he wore a large proud smile as you heard his giggles and the clacking and grinding rocks being kicked and strewn about, from the very nice rock bed over the grave. Some of the rocks where flying out of the partition and onto the well manicured grass. We couldn't help but to laugh too. You know the kind of laugh I'm talking about. But we also knew we had to end this horrible charade. I don't remember which of us pushed him off first. That's right, I said first. He did it numerous times again as we pulled and pushed and laughed and yelled, "come on dude seriously stop!" We didn't care so much, morally, about disrespecting the dead person, I think the biggest concern (especially for me) was that someone was going to see evidence that someone had danced on there loved one's grave. I was also imagining the next day my father being pulled away from watching his cherished TV show, Dr Who, to have to deal with someone asking him if his children had danced on their mothers grave. My friend quickly realized he had milked as much out of it as was possible, and we began to clean up the evidence. We left with our heads hung low.

My dad never got a visit.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Delusion is my confidence

I feel my confidence grow stronger when I attach it to some sort of fantasy, as if it's not really myself that has to live up to something, but some sort of make believe character or situation. It's only then that I feel the true soul of myself unleashed.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

If I were an Angel

If I were an Angel, I would go to everyone in the world and softly touch them on the back, sending a comfortable shiver through their body. I would then whisper into their ear: "Slow down a little, and appreciate what is around you... really appreciate what is around you-- Good, bad, ugly, pretty, different, similar. And for the love of God, try with all of your might to have empathy towards your fellow man... unless they're a shit-head. Then I would fly back to heaven and indulge in as many variety flavored pudding snack packs my little angel heart desires! Damn it feels good to be an Angel.