Archive for the ‘Short Stories’ Category


Siberian Summer

Eduardo  Jones

I remember it was raining; it was one of those days you dreaded during a New England summer in a tourist trap. Cold, wet, and raw, not a fun- filled day by any means. I wouldn’t have even ventured out into it, if I wasn’t such a creature of habit. (more…)


American Grafilthy

Edaurdo Jones

11:00 am – I’m Awakened; by an angry Verbs bitching, about being behind schedule.

“Wake up you yellow -bellied bastard we’re way behind schedule! Pack a bulb for me and Slimmy. Oh, by the way Catlin spilled the last of your ether all over the blackjack table.”


“It’s the end of the world baby, so let’s have fun.” Camu Tao.

Fuck These Pakikillians!

When operating a clandestine lab, there are certain steps one must take to go unnoticed and out of prison. The first is; you never put anything in your name. The second is; you only rent from slum lords. The types you know are never going to show up to perhaps do some maintenance on the house, or mow the lawn.


Where, who, what, or why to begin? So let’s start at this very moment in time. I’m high on a cocktail of uncut cocaine, booze, the kindest of the kind, and some new molecular alteration of MDMA, sitting in front of fifty-two inches of high definition subliminal corporate media greed machine. I’m busy letting my fingers dance across the keys in some un-Godly rhythms, allowing my subconscious to poor out across the page. My mind is dumbfounded as I realize I have been given the task of telling this story. I find it a blessing and a curse all wrapped into one. The past, the present, and what some hope to be the future are about to become intertwined in the following lines. All that is asked is that the following acts are not judged, but rather just seen for what they are. Nothing more, nothing less.


So, I got an email the other day informing me I’ve been assigned the task of writing about why print is dead. What the hell kind of horrible fucker would assign anyone such a task?  Probably the same type of miserable bastard that would pack a box chock full of puppies and kittens, then toss it into a river.  Right about now, I feel like spending 15 buckaroos to  jump on the good old Fung Wah to the Big Apple, endure 4 hours of breathing egg roll farts, along with  braving the driving skills of a washed up Hong Kong stuntman, reminiscing about his glory days, while using this driving job as training tool for a most glorious come back to the silver screen.  Once in NYC I’ll pay a visit to that horrible prick Sykes. I’ll put his family jewels in a mason jar, then  keep them in my office as a warning to other editor types about the consequences of assigning me such putrid tasks . But for now, I’ll have to think about- who the hell would have wanted  print dead in the first place?

It isn’t going to be easy getting to the rotten core of this apple. Luckily, I know just the type of scum to help me.  The type of  God less bastards who’d tie their own mother’s fallopian tubes into knots and cunt punt her uterus up through her nostrils if the price is right.  God knows I don’t want to make that call. But if need be, I’ll have them spoon feeding some techno geek his own testicles in order to find out why print is dead, and who the hell wanted Print’s ticket punched in the first place? First things first though. I need to polish off this bottle of scotch in order to smear some preparation H on this raging cerebral hemorrhoid of a story.

In this high tech age of techno geekery- status update – twittering-youtube link- porno coated-instant information- high speed- celubutant gossip- blogophiliac- age of despair we have been thrust in- it’s no wonder Print is dead. I wouldn’t be surprised if the poor fucker took a .45 caliber aspirin to ease the pain of trying to keep up with the  internet.  Between the internet and these God damn tree hugging bastards trying to save every tree on the planet the poor fucker must have been in rough shape.

I suppose this could be a lead. I’ll go deep cover and infiltrate the perverse underground culture of the eco nazi. It’s going to be a rough task. I’ll have to stop bathing for a month, tie dye everything I own, change my name to Sky Whisper, and travel with no less than three dogs of an indeterminate breed everywhere I go. I’ll  start writing folk songs about the evil lumber jack raping the earth mother’s womb. Once I’m belting these songs of the earth mother out on street corners, open mic nights at coffee houses, and the parking lots of hippie fests across the country, surely in no time these vegan tree humping paper haters will let me in on how and why they assassinated print.

The conspiracy could run even deeper. According to the book of revelations when mankind accepts the mark of the beast from the Anti-Christ the apocalypse will begin. I do believe I discovered what this mark is. It’s to be a number assigned to each and every man, woman, and child if my memory serves me right. So therefore I say it’s an ISP address or a Friend ID # on any social networking site. Surely only Satan himself would want print dead in order to fulfill this ghastly prophecy and bring on the end of days.  I’ll have to work my connections and link up with Tom Hanks to get to the bottom of this one.  No one knows the inner workings of the Catholic church, the knights templar, and the Illuminati better than him. Well maybe Nicholas Cage, or perhaps Harrison Ford. Fuck it somebody in Hollyweird owes me a favor and I’ll be cashing that one in if need be.

So I suppose it’s time to start gearing up on my quest to find out if print really is dead, who killed it, and why? I’ll be meeting my contact Octavio a one eyed El Salvadorian gun running dwarf with a taste for Mescal, sodomy, and cock fighting at an undisclosed location to gear up for this mission. Together we will hit the open road on Octavio‘s WWII US military package Harley Davidson 42WLA complete with sidecar and machine gun turret . Across this great country we will beat down any  and all doors and leads we need to get to the bottom of this. This mission will surely take us straight into to the festering bowels of this nation’s seedy underbelly. But we are up for the challenge.  Who knows? We maybe we’re coming for you.  May God have mercy on your worthless soul if this is the case!

“Hello, it’s me. I was wondering if you could help me out again. I know we never talk, but I’m in way over my head this time, and if you could just please get me out of this, I’ll do anything you want……..”

These are basically the same words, a million junkies, whores, thieves, and residents of the gutter, have muttered to their Gods, when they are deep in the shit, and all hope is lost.  None of them ever keep this promise, when all is said and done. We are all god-less until our moment of need.

I’ve committed more than my share of despicable deeds over the years. But I never actual got the opportunity to view myself at my worst. Well today I watched a nightmare. The video below is me a little over a year ago.

During this phase of the game I was no longer teetering on the razor sharp edge of my sanity. I had tumbled deep into the abyss that is psychosis. The two sides of me, the day, and the night, were at war. I had honestly come to the conclusion; I was the Devil himself. Why else would I be doing, what I was doing? The good part of me, the tiny sliver of hope in me, started whispering in my ear. “You know what you’re doing is wrong. Look around you, this isn’t righteous. You’re the Devil.’” So, what did my twisted mind do?

I ran with it.  I started exploring every avenue. I figured; I’d write myself a letter from the Devil, and read it.  This was the worst thing a lunatic in the throes of egomaniacal delusion could do. It somehow made me honestly believe, I was the devil himself. That and the cocktail of high grade LSD ingested 10 milliliters at a time, and marathon sessions that lasted weeks, smoking meth, had successfully shattered my psyche to fragments.

How I came back down to this realm of reality? I’ll never know. I say this ton, and I’ll keep saying it for the rest of my days on this planet “Fate is a fickle beast.”

I had completely lost myself to a beast beyond my control.  The one tiny shred of a fingernail grip, I had on reality though, that somehow pulled me back across the edge. It’ll be one year on October, 5 this year, since I stopped the insanity, and began finding my way back out of the darkness, that had consumed me whole. I’m by no means proud of the way I was. But, I have a problem trying to pretend it never happened. Some may say I’m crazy for sharing things like my stories, and videos, like this.

I think it’s my way of healing myself, and if I’m lucky, people can relate to this, and just maybe, I can inspire someone else to change, because if I can change, anyone can. I mean how many of you honestly were preaching Satan sermons to a room full of friends?

It’s a sick memory I wish I could forget. But I have it live in living color. I kind think of this video as a gift. Getting to see myself so far gone that I can’t even believe I made it out. Is sobering, it makes me grateful for everything I have.

Some of you are going to find this extremely disturbing, lord knows I did. But I find it only appropriate to show the evolution of mind, body, and soul I have achieved over the past year.  This has brought even deeper introspections into my actions over the years.

Here’s the words to this thing. Since you can’t really here me through the rag….

I guess it’s time I just told the truthI guess it’s time I just told the truthWell by now I guess everyone’s sick of the old stories. So I’ve decided to just tell you what the hell is really going on.Many a person has asked. What my job is?What does it entail? Well it’s really quite simple my friend. I’m a collector of course. I collect the weak, the greedy, the corrupt, the ignorant, the foolish, the lazy, the vain, and all different assortments of character flaws.How do I do this? Well it’s a fine art I’ve perfected over several thousand lifetimes. You see I can sell ice cubes and porn to blind Eskimos. The only thing is I’m not selling any kind of product. I’m selling a dream nothing more than that.I simply exploit the very characteristics I collect. I show them a system they can never follow. Due to the fore mentioned flaws. Then well it’s not hard to tell exactly what the hell they had to sell.The funny thing is I’m not even evil, contrary to popular belief. It’s just the job I was tossed down into.Why?Because I’m funny, smart, handsome, and look so very harmless looking. My eyes are hypnotizing and trusting. But look a little bit deeper and you’ll see yourself shadow boxing with your soul. I’d like to thank Nathaniel Clark for that dark piece of gold.Why do you think I love my dark glasses so much. After all those tinted lenses are the fences that hold back a trillion tortured souls.You see only so many of you are actually allowed to walk through those pearly gates. So I have quoatas to make. It’s my job to hold you all back.I show you how easy it is to be just like me! The problem is none of you are me. You’re human- you have free will. I’m only allowed to follow the rules I’ve been shown.I can’t force you to do any of the things you do. I just know what makes you tick. Some of you seek power, others stardom, throw in the occasional sadist here and there, and then some…. Well…. They’re just plain stupid.Those are the easiest to collect. They don’t even understand the basic concept here.Sure you’re probably reading this not believing a single word of it. If you know me though, you know I only ever speak the truth. Haven’t you ever wondered why I act so old, but look so young. Or why I look like or remind you of someone you used to know? How I can speak in any accent, or seem to talk in many tongues?Because I am a mirror reflecting everyone and everything back into the world. Hey it’s a gift from the guy who told you…. To be very-very-very-wary of me. He’s far more twisted than me. That’s all I’m saying.Let’s dispel some of the myths you may have heard about me. I can stand on holy ground. Shit, I’ve been to church hundreds of God damn times. Hell I even tried being born again.I’m not everywhere all the time. I’m not omnipotent. Only Santa Claus knows if you’ve been bad or good. Well him and the guy looking down at all of you.I do have a rather strange form of immortality. Yes I can physically die, but then I’m just reincarnated and the cycle begins again and again.I only need to personally collect X amount of souls per life time. See I have a clause in my contract that allows me to collect other souls with no contact. The ones who break the big ten as I like to call them.My job is to get the ones teetering on the edge. What you don’t know is this. The minute your soul was created, you signed a contract with God. One to obey HIS rules. So for example Serial Killers, child molestors, and rapists…. Well,  I have no part in that. They are in direct breach of contract. Which means. Guess what? They automatically don’t pass go, and I still get their soul.I just travel a bunch. Some how some one all ways takes me in. I rarely ever have problems. In fact most people love me!I guess, in a way, I just use reverse psychology. Don’t do this. Really that’s against the rules! I thrive on the simple fact that most people think they can beat a system, any system. Their way will surely be better!HA,HA,HA,HA,Ha……………..You’re all such foolish children! Incapable of just listening. The very, very, very, few of you who actually listen. They pass a test. They never even knew they were taking.I’ll tell you from the very beginning, exactly what not to do. Don’t do those things and I can’t take it. But like I said I know people and I’m very good at my job. So I see the flaws in you. The ones you don’t. Then I tempt them with my laws.For instance…. Show some young man how easy it is for him to get what he wants from my game. Sex, admiration, money, shit even just a simple high. Then they almost always want to play. They don’t see I’m really very honest. They feel they need to lie, cheat, steal, and manipulate to get what  I have. Absolute nonsense. Honesty is always the best policy.I’ll allow you to fuck up and smile about it. Watch you dig your self deeper and deeper. Then simpley because I’m your friend to the end. I need you I really do. You’ll start giving me whatever you can. Just to keep getting it. Until there’s nothing left to give me but your soul.Here’s a simple equation to show you who I am. It’s my birth date. It is and always will be for all eternity March 18th. March is the third month representing the ascending number 3. How many times does 3 ascend into 18? 6 correct? So 3/18 = 6+6+6 or simply put 666.Well by now you’re either bored or very frightened and thinking about staying very,very,very far away from me. Or just maybe, you think this is just a joke. Well if you do think this is a joke and want to test it.Go ahead. I promise I’ll get everything I want by the time you and I are through.I really was his favorite Saint. Until that tiny little disagreement a few thousand years ago. Oh by the way it really did start with some forbidden fruit. That was the  original rule. Anything but that fruit! Don’t blame me! Blame him! He gave you free will not me! I just said ” Hey why not eat it?”He always knew he only had so much room at his house.So he hooked me up with a place to take all the free thinkers.Of course it’s evolved from fruit into powders and pretty little crystals, but hey it’s all the same. Most of the time I just act like I’m out of my mind, and don’t have a clue. But I always do. Every penny short is just another one I’m getting back. Until well, all the penny’s in the bottom of your wishing well won’t save you from hell.In closing I’d like to paraphrase some of the better ones people have used to introduce me and where you’ll be heading…There’s plenty of room at the Hotel California….. I’m pleased to meet you… Hope you guessed my name…Your best friend, S.P.S. I just wanted you to know I like you so much. That I’m hating my job right now. I really just needed to get that off my chest.

The Malt-Liquor –Butt- Naked- Booty- Bash

In the spring of 1999, I met a character, that I would push every limit imaginable with over the years. There are types of personalities that just click, souls that have been together for a hundred life times, repeating the process of life and death over and over together throughout time.  Verbs and I share this sort of connection. I cannot even remember who actually introduced me to this lunatic, but I remember the first adventure we ever partook in together like it was yesterday.

The 90’s were a time when I thought LSD might as well have been a miracle health elixir. I really don’t remember a day; I wasn’t ingesting it by the handful. I’d wake up and eat quarter sheets for shits and giggles, then take off on my bicycle down High street to get into whatever adventure I could. Along the way I’d spin out every person I knew on LSD, sometimes people I just met as well. There was a time when people would be just walking down the street and run into each other completely out of their heads, and be like, Oh, I see you ran into Eddie today too, huh?

On one of these adventures I ran into Verbs, there was a sort of instant connection, it was as if we knew each other forever and had just been reunited. It turned out Verbs loved acid too. So we quickly gobbled down a few dozen hits, between me, him, and this kid he had with named Lost.

Somewhere along the line, right around the time the acid was just kicking into high gear, during that beautiful crest you hit as you’re beginning to peak, Verbs and I decided we needed to get rid of Lost. So how did we go about this? We put him on a Greyhound bound for Cleveland.  Probably not the nicest thing in the world, just tossing him on bus with a head full of acid, but hey, we wanted to get rid of him, so why not ship him far away from us as possible. Lost was actually from Cleveland, so it’s not as cruel of an act as you think. We just cut his trip to Columbus short.

Spring time in Columbus is mating season. It’s honestly my favorite time of the year to be in Columbus, thousands of girls exploring their sexuality, unhindered by parental control, for the first time in their lives. The minute that first week in the spring hits, they can break out that little sundress, and when that first gust of warm spring air hits their box, they go into heat. Its true of all animals, spring time equals mating season.

I needed a way to capitalize off of this gift from Mother Nature. A house party would be an excellent way of doing so; unfortunately I was living in a tiny studio apartment. I was discussing this plan with Verbs, when he told me his girlfriend was going out of town for the weekend that Friday. We could have the party there, provided we cleaned up the mess, and hid any traces it ever occurred.

Now every good party needs a theme, one that will give the party the proper vibe. The whole purpose of this party was to get drunk and laid. So I had the perfect name in mind. I’d run into Nasty and Broken-back earlier in the week.  Broken-back had got his name by passing out on his roof drunk, and rolling off of it, onto a BBQ grill that lay below, breaking his back in the process, hence the name.

Anyways, I’d inquired into, what they’d been up to, since I’d last talked to them?  Their response was “Shit, homie. It’s been nothing but malt-liquor-butt-naked-booty-bashes all week.  This would be the perfect name for our party.

Every party needs a flier, a good one, one that draws attention. Now here is a small problem, this is going to take away from the progression of this tale, but it’s very important to clear this up, as it is very relevant to the story. There have always been arguments over who actually came up with the idea for this flier. Mostly because we threw a follow up party to this one, and the fliers were along the same line. So Steve and Rita always try and say the fliers were their idea and we made them at Rita’s house. Well that is true, but only for the second party. The first party I have to give credit to Mabel for the fliers.

Mabel was this mountain of a man; he weighed in at around 400lbs, and had a pension for extreme perversity. The kid was a porn junky, you’d go in his house and he’d always have porn scattered everywhere, as well as a group of rather unusual sluts, he’d have performing all kinds of depraved sexual acts, in exchange for drugs.

We were all brainstorming up ideas for the flier, when Mabel says.

“Why don’t we just take a black marker and write over the page of one of these magazines?”

It’s a brilliant idea; I mean sex sells, so if we’re trying to get people to come to our sex party, we might as well have people having sex on the flier, right?

Every great party or event is sponsored by something; so I decided we needed a sponsor. Not that the sponsor was even legitimate or anything it just sounded professional. So we decide who better to Sponsor a malt-liquor-butt-naked-booty-bash, than Olde English? So of course, that goes on the flier, along with security provided by Nasty Nate. This was my way of avoiding any waves with Nate over stealing the name.

We ended up printing off close to a 1,000 of these fliers, wall papering the entire campus in smut. We’d spell out crude phrases like “Get Laid” “Ass” “Pussy” and all other kinds of vulgarities. Over the course of the next week this campaign caused more than a few accidents on campus, from drivers being distracted by looking at our porn campaign. I’d also be assaulted by a group of bar burning feminist for degrading women. I had handed them a flier unaware of their political views, and they chased me for three blocks kicking, punching, scratching, and hurling bottles at me, for being a pig. They obviously could not appreciate the creative genius behind this party.

Now every good party needs music; so I’d handle this by getting DJ PRZM to spin the dirtiest booty house on wax, in a tag team set with DJ Self. This would make the message crystal clear, “Do you want to fuck?” Because, we certainly did.

I’d spend the day of the party buying every liquor store on campus out of 40oz. bottles of Olde English.  After all I claimed the party was sponsored by them. By the time I was done we had four 50 gallon barrels full of 40’s.

Verbs decided that there was no way we could let anybody in the house. If something got broke or stolen he’d have to explain to his girlfriend why. So we took her dressers out on the porch to set the turntables up on. This would work as a makeshift stage. We locked all the doors, and the restroom policy was one at a time for the girls, with Verbs supervising their movements, the guys could use the bushes, problem solved.

PRZM and Self arrived around 9:30 and began setting up, by 10 the first 12 inch hit the platter. Before long the music was drawing in freaks by the drove.  The message was clear, the party was here. Within an hour the entire yard was filled up with people. Music is a powerful thing; it can make you feel any emotion when properly delivered. It didn’t take long for the people to get into the groove.

The entire yard was overflowing with people virtually fucking the speakers to the 4 count, girls were getting topless and pussy popping everywhere you looked. The vibe was a simple one SEX. I don’t know if it had to do with the vibe, or maybe it was the fact I probably ate a half a sheet of acid during the course of the day, and popped handful of rolls, but at one point I was butt naked swinging my cock across the porch to the music. I was a man possessed.  Possessed by sex!

Once I was back in my clothes; a big booty freak who appreciated my performance pulled me aside, and feverishly began sticking her tongue down my throat and grabbing my cock. I wasn’t alone, it seemed like everywhere you looked couples were disappearing into the shadows, fucking behind dumpsters in the alley, or making out in the bushes. I’d definitely achieved the vibe I was going for, as the hours went on it just kept getting crazier. Mind you we’re right there on campus, this party isn’t taking place out in the woods, or on a farm. This hedonistic orgy was happening on the front lawn of a highly populated area! It was turning into a smashing success.

I have no clue when or how it ended, because I left with the big booty freak I’d met, in order to go back to her house and really get loose. I’d awaken the next the day tangled up in the sheets, and slip out unnoticed. I spent the rest of the day helping Verbs clean up the mess. Unfortunately we forgot to clean up one key piece of evidence. We’d gotten distracted and decided to go get a drink at a bar, and well, we ended up leaving Verbs girlfriend’s dresser out on the porch with the flier for the party taped to it. She’d arrive at the house before we returned, and found it there. Once Verbs and I got back it was far too late. We found everything he owned on the porch. Life is all about beginnings and endings. This would be the end of him living with his girlfriend, and the beginning of his adventure living with Mabel…….