How to Wipe Your Butt

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Didn't Even Get a Hand-Job Offer

I had just finished stuffing my fucking face with an exorbitant amount of Korea's finest fried chicken when my son decided he wanted to try his luck at the "over and up poke'em game" across the way. These piece of shit money traps are on every street corner and outside of every convenient store in this tiny country. They're better than those claw grabbing horse shits where you couldn't pick up a feather wrapped in double sided tape with magnets all over the fucker even if it was tied to the end of the claw. Some little prick would pop his head around the corner and shake the machine and the feather would drop like a heavy handed bowler scooping up mash potatoes at an all-you-can-eat dick sucking party.

Ahem.

So my son's playing this game at a dollar a play. It's going to cost him about five bucks to make the ding-dong light-up flower he's aiming for fall and I don't give a shit. He'll owe me the money and pay up by the end of the week. If not I throw his favorite toys out the window. So, I just keep shoveling dollars at the little bastard while I try and finish a cigarette. After about the third dollar I notice this fat dirty looking Korean guy sitting on a bench behind us. Nothing out of the ordinary. He didn't seem like the normal rabble that hung around though. He seemed a little less dirty and not quite old enough to be at that rock-bottom beg-for-your-beer stage in life but what the fuck do I know. I barely looked at the guy. Until he stands up and gets right behind my son. So I give the guy a look. Just a quick "let's make sure you're not a dangerous dirt-bag" look. The guy gives me the quick head-nod as if he was passing me some secret fucking code that only him and I would understand. Unfortunately I didn't and looked away real fast. I realized that he might have just passed me the "I'm homeless and will jack you off for a couple of bucks" nod. Man-o-man, I sure can pick'em. The one homeless guy that wants to jack me off and he's fat.

Well, I didn't really want to be jacked off anyway, I had jacked off earlier in the day. I watch my son lose another one of my dollars, hand him another, and just to be sure I glace over my shoulder again. Big fat smelly dirty rotten tooth guy is still there and he gives me the same quick head-nod signal! I'm thinking, how do I say in Korean "sorry, but you can't twist my crank shaft because I have a stomach full of fried chicken. And another thing, my son's playing this game." I just about gave him the universal sign for "no playing with my dick-O" when he started speaking some piss poor broken English. I get the gist of it though. He just wants money. I give the guy five bucks, didn't get jacked-off, didn't even get offered to get jacked-off.

Would it hurt these begging bastards to at least offer to put their hands on the private parts of the beggees? What's the world coming to? I think they should show those starving children in Africa making the universal "I'll jack you off for food" sign into the camera. I bet they get more donations. I'd donate more just because I'd love seeing the commercial. A bunch of blister bellied orphans with flies walking right across their fucking eyeballs pointing into the camera, then pointing to themselves, then making the "jack-off" hand signal. I'm not saying it's funny that they're hungry. Fuck that shit. Hungry isn't funny. Before I crammed six days worth of fried chicken meat in my mouth I was a grumpy shit bag. Now I'm doing okay.

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Smelling the Flowers

When trying to decide between two evils I think it's best to just flip a coin. As a matter of fact, I think the coin flip is probably the best way of going about making any decision. Should I shower today? Coin says no. What about brushing my teeth? Nope. How about wiping my butt? Yes.

Of course you just can't walk around flipping a goddamn coin every time you need to make a decision like you're a fucking Batman villain. You'll look like a jackass and people will stop taking you serious. Being taken serious by everyone is very important. I know because the coin told me so. That's not entirely true. You only need to be taken serous by people you want to be like or are scared of. This could be any number of people depending where you're located on the social ladder, but generally this would be your boss, teachers, lawyers, members of the opposite sex, dogs, lions, and all large meat eating semi-aquatic mammals.

Instead of flipping a stupid mother fucking coin, try picking a color. For instance, you are standing in line at Starbucks and you're trying to decide whether to fart or continue to hold it in. You look over your shoulder and see there's this smoking hot Russian ballerina doing the splits behind you and behind her is the West Virginia State Cheer Leading Squad and they're all bragging about how well their noses work. Seems like the fart or no fart question is pretty obvious doesn't it? Well, not so fucking fast. If you continue to hold in your fart it's liable to work it's way up into your throat creating a dreaded fart burp. Blowing a fart burp into a Starbucks employees face is like begging the Pope to let you finger bang his butt-hole--not recommended. So you decide that if the next thing you pull out of your pocket is red, blue, green, or purple you will fart, if it's black, tan, brown, or light brown you'll fart burp. It's so fucking easy to do.

Get with the program. This isn't rocket science we're talking about here. I don't even know how many times I get asked shit like "What if my dad says, no?" or "Should I go dancing?" These things DO NOT matter. The only decisions that truly matter are the ones that get you money or sex or compliments. Compliments are so fucking important that it doesn't make sense. And for fucking sake, get your compliments in front of other people! If some low-life tells you that you look cool when you walk and no ones around to hear it, it didn't happen. Think of it like this, would you believe that someone walked up to another person and said "Hey pal, you walk cool." Of course you wouldn't. No one talks like that.

Lastly, take the time to smell some flowers. It's not an accident that they smell nice. If they wanted you to go around sniffing sewage recycling plants then guess what? They'd smell nice, but they don't.

Love,

Zane

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Beacon's Point

     “Beacon’s Point?” Gill rubbed his chin. He’d heard of the place before. It was supposedly haunted by the ghost of a little girl who was murdered there in the 60’s. “I’m not sending the guy’s down that road. They’ve seen enough for one day.”

     “Oh, for fucks sake. You’re not thinking about those old stories are you?” Herb said. He looked around at the five other men standing beside the road. “Sure, they’ve seen a lot today, but detouring four miles ain’t helping them either. Not because of some stupid fucking ghost story. I say we head straight into the Point.”

     Bill wasn’t sure if it was the ghost of the little girl or something else that twisted his stomach at the thought of Beacon’s Point. He remembered when he was nine years old his grandmother told him that Beacon’s Point was a “nasty place teenagers went to rub and scrub their bodies on each other.” He didn’t have any idea what she meant by that and always assumed that it had something to do with taking a bath.

     By the time he actually saw the Point for the first time, as a teenager, he got to experience the rub and the scrub first-hand with Jenny Coulders. It was an awkward affair with Jenny doing most of the rubbing and scrubbing. Bill just sat there like a corpse with a hard-on. Even though he was getting his dick rubbed for the first time, he couldn’t help but think about the ghost.

     At one point—Jenny had moved on from the rub and was now doing some scrub—Bill actually convinced himself that he did see the ghost. He was just about to make a mess in his underwear (for the second time) when he saw movement outside the passenger window. He thought it looked like someone with a flashlight

     “Someone’s out there,” he whispered.

     Jenny paused mid-scrub to look out the window.

     “Oh, shit! It’s my dad!”

     She bolted upright and into the driver’s seat in one swift fluid motion. Both of them sat silently staring straight ahead waiting for the inevitable knock on the car door from Jenny’s father. Bill boner quickly faded into his slick and sticky boxers. His heart pounding in his chest. After what seemed to be several hours the two relaxed, accepting the fact that no knock was coming.

     They were stuck in an uncomfortable silence. Bill was trying to figure out what his next “move” should be while Jenny wondered just what the fuck she was doing all the way out here with a loser who was too afraid to pull his tiny dick out.

     The mood had passed for Jenny as she turned the key in the ignition.

     “I getting hungry. You want to—“ she never finished that sentence.

     The window next to her head exploded inwards taking the top of her of her head clean off. The object that had flown through the window exited the car via the roof through an eight-inch slit it created with lighting speed. Bill only saw the tracers. He looked down at the severed scalp and passed the fuck out.


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