48

Of course I had to blow a tire on the Shalamov Memorial Highway mere moments after I dropped my reality shifter and broke the screen and wasn't anywhere near a mall kiosk where some smelly man promises to fix it within an hour only to tell you that they ran out of that part but hey here's your device and torx screws and metal shields and yeah I ripped the ribbon cable like a fucking idiot but aren't you the guy that once drove his truck loaded with roman candles into a city bus?

Thumbing it for an hour, trying to get to the next exit, eventually a copy of the next Timothy Pinching novel was thrown at me from a passing school bus. I was able to read about 30 pages before I gave up, which is good, because I couldn't do more than 15 with his other novels. 

When you write for nobody, everybody will try to read it and then pretend it's great. 

I'd make it to the off-ramp just in time to watch the diners and gas stations and motels shut down due to the quarantine. I would be rounded up and placed in the gulag or laogai or Fuckbutter Emporium due to referring to something as "flame retardant" when I meant "homosexual with an extra chromosome".

47

After the employee picnic, I said, "fuck it" and threw the keys into the crowd. Nobody picked them up because, you know, after you manufacture the final version of a time machine that will take you 3 months ahead or 300 years before, you can't exactly depend on the open source community to keep tabs on the source code and not add wheelchair access to it in order to be more inclusive.

I didn't have much to pack but I did stick around long enough to see people off. Many chose to live in the past. Some chose the future. No police arrived to stop me so I assumed they were all well off. Some begged me to continue working on it but what else is there to do? The product is done.

Eventually, I would use the machine during an atomic blast and end up in infinity where I belong. Or at least I thought I belonged, but hell, at least I could tell people I was out of time and mean it.

46

I wouldn't call it a recovery but things were looking good, what with my new job as Chief Kitten Inspector Manperson being proclaimed as the #1 college graduate goal in the universe. After I had pulled 3 women from a sewer and ordered them washed in the sea, I retired with full benefits and my choice of biscuit or coleslaw at Kentucky Fried Motorolas.

I moved into an apartment across from Fuck 'n' Hell's Hardware with a full array of video games, coloring books, and a kitten who thinks it's wonderful to walk on my face at  in the goddamn morning every morning hoping I'll wake up without another conspiracy theory bellowing from my bowels about how 7-11 was an outside job and you can't take that away from me.

There's nothing good to eat on TV anyways.

45

I had just closed down the orphanage or prison and was ready to head out to Clucksville when a garbage truck full of hubcaps sideswiped my brand new Nabisco Roadster Elite Mk. IV. It was a treat for myself after caring for the children or prisoners or general pains in my goddamn ass. I earned it and with all the vegetables I had grown in the garden (that was MY idea) and fed them and hugged them and told them hey you can't save the world but you can help make sure it doesn't get any worse, well, I forgot what I was saying but I know everything about tomatoes and beans you dumb asshole.

Look, what I call you up and ask you how you are doing, that's all I'm doing you paranoid assminer. I don't want to fight or fuck you. I just want to know how you are doing. That's it, and that's all. I'm really trying here.

But I had to shut it down and watch my car get bashed but hey I still have my knapsack of clothes, food, and drink.

None of the children or prisoners were there to send me off because they had asphyxiated themselves on moldy coffee grounds long ago. I never got around to burying anyone.

44

Even after all this time, I remember nothing. Actually, that's not true. I slowly lost the memory of...eh shit, can't think of it. It was there and then it was gone. Even hacking the savegame file in my head did nothing but unlock all weapons, which I promptly used to level a desert a nuclear power plant.

Some time later, I awoke to find Adam Baldwin crying that there never is a DC Cab panel.

43

Who was the president at the time? It wasn't me, but they pinned it all on me anyways. What exactly am I talking about?

Are you shitting me?

Like it even matters. After snorting some random powder some dipshit threw at me thinking I would take it and pass it along and say hello and oh hey that's what I was doing, I decided to hit the nearest train station and hope it took me to a half-way decent buffet because holy fuck I was hungry. Not eating is as bad as having sex all the time. Or is that the other way around. Seriously, I can't tell.

The Cola Wars were over and the city was busy with the removal and scrapping of the loser's signs. Hey, at 95 cents a pound, a billboard was worth pulling down and hauling away. You could still get the other kind to drink, but you dare not do it where anyone could see you.

The train wasn't there, and I ended up eating sex most of the time. This coupon is worthless, too. Assholes.

42

I had finally decided on a helium tank.

Yeah, I have.

You know what I have read? If you do it right, you can fill a goddamn trash bag up with it, attach a hose from the Toys R Us tank, duct tape to your neck with your fucking head IN it, and a minute later, you aren't the wiser.

I tried to make a plan on how I would fuck up the afterlife, if there is one. If not, who cares. If there is, I'd be ready.

Once hitting the afterlife, I would sit.

Yeah, sit. And wait for some motherfucker to move me.

I'm tired of this life, folks.

Time....to die.

41

I had finally settled down in a place where no one knew who I was...which was just as bad. Because I had come from beyond the borders, I was expected to fix this, cure that, fuck this, eat that, to the point where I boarded up my front door and sat around and watched asshole cartoons all day.

It wasn't long until all of the world's governments found me and hauled me to court, only to find out I didn't have anything to give up, including my freedom.

I spent the next two weeks trying to concoct a drug that would not only take the person to another world, but keep them there, surrounded by everything they have ever lost, dead or alive.

This proved to be quite the money maker because nobody could come back and bitch.

Nothing lasts forever, even if you want it to.

40

Okay, fine, fuck this. Fuck the entire planet. And I tried. I really tried, and failed.


Just as I found out that the nuclear keys I won from some Russian col0nel were in fact real, but hey guess what, didn't do shit if you had two people with you, so now I got two keys and no bombs. You want to know how many peobut not

I sulkily (is that a word?) moved from the facility and didn't care. I was gangraped with drugs and no drugs or pussy or cock), which later on it pissed me off but not eno0ugh to care. Give me a minute to care, yo?

39

They had finally tracked me down and after a 4 hour or 4 year stand-off, I finally got down on my knees with hands raised and surrendered. It wasn't that I wanted to get caught, it's just that I couldn't damn well ask anyone why I was being chased, but due to the irradiated path I just left, I figured I'd be a smartass and ask anyways.

After I was processed I was taken to a non-descript room with a table, two chairs, camera, window, and who fucking cares what else. I was made to sit there for an hour or two before some woman in a suit entered and made her way to the chair opposite to me.

"Okay," she said, sitting down while rubbing the stress out of her eyes. "Okay, let's see." She began to thumb through this phonebook-thick file that was apparently on me, sighing every once in a while. After a few fucks and damns, she laid her glasses on the table and nodded to the window.

A man entered with a baby.

"We'll forgive everything if..." and I knew what she wanted.

I would raise this child. I would read to it. I would play games with it. We'd bake cookies and biscuits together. I'd take it out to the dirt mound with a spoon and dig with it. I'd carry it to the many colors the forest has and explain everything and what it was seeing. I would feed it, bathe it, dress it, hold its hand, hug it, and finally, put it to bed.

All the while I was thinking this, and by the smile I felt on my face, the child grew a few years. The man took the child away at once.

"Never mind," the woman said, shaking her head. "You even fucked that up."

Goddammit, what did I do?

38

I was tired of the same old thing, so I decided to end it all. The noose wouldn't stay around my neck, mainly because I kept pussying out at the last moment. Nobody cared that I was going to and that just brought on more shame.

Finally, I handcuffed myself to the post and hung. I must have blacked out, because I'm still here.

37

I didn't feel the need to be here. They were opening a new food shelter for the displaced assholes who thought it was a grand idea to build their homes on the side of a mountain, which pretty much grew a conscience and said "hell with this" right before systematically dislodging various rocks and roots from itself. Of course, I have no evidence of this, but I heard the prick think it. Either that or I should stop injesting whatever a random person gives me, valid not offer right now.

They needed someone to spread the reconstituted meat protein on bread, hand it out, and smile. They never said anything about not furiously swinging a shovel around my head. I made a note of this and chalked it up to bad vapors because I had all the access in the world to a shovel but never made my move. The spread I was spreading didn't smell bad; it was pink with tiny speckles of green. All I wanted to do is finish my shift so I could sneak out the back, hotwire a bike, and bolt into the future. I never got around to doing that because they were showing this really great martial arts flick afterwards and, you know, I like watching that shit so fuck you.

Nobody paid any attention to my ideas. I voted to collect all trash can and trash can lids and convert them in a Ferris wheel where random seats would catch fire.I also tried to pass legislation whereas it wouldn be illegal to name a bridge after me. I begged for a rifle and for some dickhead to shoot me in the face. No on all 3 counts. I was starting to think I wasn't too welcome here, and was pretty sure someone could do my job for me, but its been years since I owned a decent pair of shoes, and while the daughters grew, that narcissistic waste would continue to deny herself the oxygen needed for normal brain function, and I needed to do was post an audio clip of her screaming at her son, and her life would cease to have any purpose, and I could for once stop and do what ever the fuck it is I want to do as opposed to what I am supposed to do. In the end it would cost me. But only for a little while.

My eyes were going bad. I would be blind before I would be dead.

36

I ache, and I'm tired all the time. The chemicals that surround me, either through my own actions or not, are finally getting to me. I can no longer hold my breath for longer than 5 seconds when scoping another asshole celebrity and I certainly can't run from the entourage. I figured it was time to change shirts and not show up at my present job anymore, sit down, learn a new trade, and hope to shit that it turned out better this time.

For the first few years, it was fine. I wrote a few pieces about how you don't need to soak a 2X4 in motor oil for years, just a couple weeks is fine. I never felt the need to get in touch with anyone concerning my whereabouts; my agent was pretty pissed about this one, but who cares? I'm doing what makes me happy.

After the company became a huge conglomerate of success, I left in the middle of a board meeting, headed for the north, and was told some time later they were still cleaning up the bodies of those who had jumped from the top.

They blamed those on me too.

35

This was the cave that many had ran to for no other reason other than the news anchor popping a PCP tablet or two and making shit up as the marquee ran below his chest on the television. That goddamn television is reason for the season and fucking it all to hell, man. That was years ago, and the after effects had long since worn off, but I could finally go through what was left behind and examine artifacts lost to reason and reliability.

I mean, really, who the fuck would lug a bandsaw all the way up here?

You couldn't make this shit up. I set my bag down and kicked through a pile of debris until a doll's arm showed itself for the first time in years. I rummaged around and brought it closer to my dirty brow, having a moment of emotion I wouldn't dare have in public. I thought about its owner, either dead before the end or the victim of having some asshole of a sibling who thought it would be great to hide the one thing that make for a fuck during this time.

I put the doll in my bag. I stood there staring at the flap and decided against this theft. I took the doll out and put it on top of the pile, hoping that if for some reason the kid lived, she'd find it.

Then I thought that maybe the kid was a boy, and that made me feel all the worse. Given a time of uncertainty, a boy chose the one thing that wasn't expected of him to care about; there wasn't anything else to latch onto.

Then I thought maybe the boy's dad was some hard-ass that didn't want his son playing with dolls, and that made me all the more pissed.

I camped that night in the cave, keeping the fire low as to not attract strangers.

I woke up the next morning, ate my rations, and set off towards the nearest town to burn it to the ground.

34

I couldn't watch television anymore, so I promptly sold it for a vial of green goo that was supposed to make it so that when god made his monthly appearance, I wouldn't grab hold of his tie and try to swing him around. The shit was supposed to work for 6-10 minutes without interruption. If you were properly stretched and warmed-up, it could last longer. That, and a proper diet, will get you a great pile of shut your fucking mouth with a please and thank you k thx dickhead.

It was time to see my first patient anyways.

On the docket we had Jimbo Baby Carnes, whose symptons consisted of shitting idols in the shape of a cross of a Smurf and a canteloupe. I told him he was fine, keep taking care of your kids, never mind what the wife says, and in the end, the kids will know you did good. He left, but not without scribbling "BONER" on the wall with a crayon. "I feel good, dude!"

I closed shop and started work on my next post-apocalyptic novel, but realized I was typing the evening news word for word.

Hope no one minds.

33

"SIT UP STRAIGHT, YOU ASSHOLE! TYPE IN THE DARK!"

I totally didn't need to be here.

"AND FOR FUCK'S SAKE, PUT THE GODDAMN OVERALLS AWAY! NO FIELD WORK! NO FIELD WORK! *NO* *FIELD* *WORK*!"

Okay, so by sitting in this class, naked, with the rest of the imbeciles who weren't fast enough to escape the onslaught of the new government's armed forces, staring at my cock, stylus in hand, tablet on desk, learning about the the preamble to the new constitution that *I* fucking wrote. None of the colonels gave a shit; they figured it would boost morale if at least *one* student got an A in the class and wrecked the curve.

So, I did just that. After aceing the mid-term, I quietly packed my things and set fire to them. My roommate, a Mr. Ian Fletch Jennings, set fire to himself as well, hoping I would stay to put him out and apply a salve, but I opted to forage in the wild for food and clothing, and do just that for as many years as it took for the people to overthrow the new regime.

But it never happened. Oh, you can walk down Corridor St. without a weapon and nobody will bother you, but they won't even look at you should you ask for the time. "Time has little meaning here, son," they'd say. "I mean, look at the city hall. It never moves!"

Can't argue with that.

32

The sun surprised me. More that it caught me off guard. Emerging from prison. Again.

You know, it wouldn't be such a big deal if they didn't actually keep me on display out by the main entrance. Anybody that I had relations with for more than 3 days would stop by, stare vacantly into the plastic divider between them and me, blaze up a smokable drug, and finish with a twitch of the eyebrows and a spit on the ground. Not a word was ever traded.

The halfway house I was assigned to was missing a lot, namely other people. I had the run of the place in which to turn it into a place of worship, never specifying the denomination. Nobody came. Not because of the inherent confusion, but because I had mined the front lawn.

I figure, hey, if they care enough, they'll try.

It wasn't until much later I realized that everyone had better things to do, namely combat the massive amount off radiation that was headed towards us all due to some technician not getting laid by his wife, but not wanting to cheat, so being in the moral stalemate he was, he promptly threw a bowling ball into a crucial part of Reactor #8. It was one of the few things he had bought for himself. Everything else he spent on her.

It was nice that nobody was begging me to bail their asses out again. Really.

But it's nice to feel wanted. Sometimes.

31

The winter apocalypse has come and gone and now, many hours since, The Great Melt has begun. I took upon the neighborhoods in grief as every house began to awaken from its dark slumber. Slowly, trodging slowly in the cold, armed with a makeshift melee weapon consisting of a sharpened hubcap tied to a mop handle, the world began to reboot. I knew I would have to lose my animal skins and tarp for clothing and turn to traditional wear soon.

Regardless, school was cancelled. Not for me, though. I gathered the children in a group and fed them promises of glory and money and video game systems and sent them to their deaths by convincing them that every police car seen needs to be lifted and moved to the sea. I did this for no other reason other than to see if I could do it.

Eventually, they cancelled my account.

30

I had enough of the taste in my mouth constantly driving potential customers away because, you know, nobody wants to get close enough to someone with "that look" on their face so they go elsewhere for services and wares.

So instead of finding an alley to blaze up a cigarette, I walked rather briskly to the edge of the city and gained 20 hit points in the process.

And, seriously, because you need to know this, I mean come on, it really isn't any of your goddamn fucking business what I saw there at the edge.

29

The next day I headed out only to find that my last entry got the best of me and now I rely on complete strangers to make it a point to leave me completely alone in public or flash some titties or balls, whichever is funnier at the time, prices subject to change.

It makes for a terrible story for someone to experience something terrible when said someone doesn't believe in anything, either god, satan, Cher, ghosts, aliens, or Keith Our. It was the way that felt right with me, which fucking sucks because it doesn't take much for something to drain the color out of my face. That, and believing in nothing doesn't leave me with a lot to turn to in times of despair.

Whatever.

28

He had me arrested for the 9th time and this time it was for a good reason. The last 8 times were because I snickered at his views on the afterlife. I knew he wouldn't press charges because even calling the police was a risk on his behalf but he couldn't help himself. After all, you never know if you are going to get a genuine officer of the law or some asshole on the take. Knowing that, I decked him.

After I was set free from the back of the cruiser, he went and cheated on his wife. She wouldn't know this until she got up in the middle of the night months later to seek a pain relief pill, only to find him and her together liplocked outside of the front door.

After trying to blame it on me, he eventually broke down after figuring out that the approach he was taking wasn't working. Another piece of her died that day, prompting me to step for my official duties.

I would sit down with her and review all of the shit she had taken from him. I would conclude that she should have overdosed on sleeping pills years ago (she had in fact tried this before, but being the inexperinced suicider she was, she ended up sleepwalking through the house until the ambulance came). We would look around the house for shit he had bought with her money; I could have stopped him in doing this, but I really didn't want to fuck around with any police, so I let it happen.

"Why do we let him do this to us?" I asked while standing with her in the kitchen.

She sauntered over the the sink, gazed out the window, and slowly said, "We want to see how it ends."

It did make sense.

Would we grow old together? Would I be by his side in the hospital? Would she finally snap and drown him? Strangle him with a length of cord?

Would he finally realize what he is doing and become the nice person we know he can be?

We looked at each and knew we were fucked. No, we couldn't just up and leave him. We had to stick around and see how it all played out because morons like us never give up; we just give in, and that is what has kept us mindfucked for so long.

Agreeing to a non-suicidal pact, we decided to continue what we were doing and hope for the best. We would stand there resisting the urge to hold each other's hand in comfort, but that wouldn't have been fair for him, had he saw us.

That, and hope we would have power of attorney one day. It would kind of make it all worth it, ya know?

27

"Now you tell me how the fuck that can happen," he said, lowering the rifle. He was dressed in a mechanic's outfit and had enough oil in his hair to sink a buffalo. And he was blind.

"I spent 40 years of my life copying your bible by HAND and now I can't pick off who I want!" He seemed angry.

"Well, that really not my..."

"FUCK YOU!" he said as he whipped around to face me, slamming the butt of the rifle on the ground. "Something a little more than a candle would have been nice. Look at my face!"

Milky white eyes.

He continued to rant and rave as I wandered off to the nearby interstate, thumb in the air, avoiding the semis, and hoping nobody would stop because I'm pretty sure I shit myself.

26

I had crossed some distance due to time dilation whereas all I wanted to do was visit San Anna Springs Downtrodden Tree Place before we moved in and shit on the fucking place when I realized we were going waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too fast and hit an asteroid particle.

I would arrive 17,737 years in the future with no credit cards or keys and pretty much end up a display next to a Sega Master System.

25

The symbol you display on your flag was inspired by I. You found courage through my words. You and your little merry group of fucking rag-torn rebels are doing this in hoping that I approve. I have given you drive. You eat not to quell your hunger but because its one of those things you have to do to, well, stay alive.

I, on the other hand, just saw the damage you did while I was watching television and saw that you were on your way here to collect me and escort me safely to the awaiting yacht that you apparently learned to hijack from a book or Claude Speed or some bullshit so now I have to stay peering through bent kitchen window blinds hoping the fuck that you don't mistake me for an officer of the law or ice cream man or pope or religious-experinence-inflicting satelite.

Seriously, we'll make it to the boat right before you fuck up and accidently propel a bullet from your shoulder slung rifle right through my goddamn chest leaving me to stare at the sky for the next 14 hours while I bleed out and hallucinate and have a conversation with my brain and have it tell me it's showing me this shit because if it doesn't I will flip right the fuck out with what reality really looks like right about now.

And you didn't even bother to ask if I wanted to go with you.

Christ shit!

24

"I'm not even going to bother telling how the fuck she got in here nor do I feel the need to explain myself or yourself or the cat's self or even why blast processing was essential to Sonic the Hedgehog. In fact, you will FIND that I do not care whether or not the outcome of this income or how if you fry rice justa liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitle too fucking long it tastes like hash browns."

Then he stopped.

"Holy fuck, I did it. I can market this. Hard fried rice as hash browns. I will own fast food breakfast and laugh at those with their super NRG bars of whey and the fact they are out of touch by eating oats in the hall."

Then he stopped again.

"That's what we'll need. Hall & Oates. Those motherfuckers will promote the product or at least sing about it for 30 seconds and by then the game will be coded albeit with bugs because I'll force the product to market too early and reap the benefits and ah shit I have cancer."

Then he died.

23

REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO! REBUILD THE ISO!

Okay, but it still won't work...

22

After countless yet fruitless hours of negotiating, I decided to tell the crew to fuck off and go gome and that I alone would handle the rest. The 30 or so hostages that had turned on their captors who then wrestled their guns back out of the hands of the hostages had now turned into a gigantic clusterfuck that nobody really wanted to sit down and figure out. I entered the establishment where they were holed up in and over the course of 5 weeks or years, I convinced each person to commit themselves to ending their lives or creating a new religion, whichever worked out first.

When the President of the Earth found out, he was rightly pissed. That was a lot of people to lose; a lot of people she couldn't say, "You even been in MY SHIT? I'll bet you haven't, you son of a bitch! You ever forget that, you better back the fuck up and ask for ME because I'LL be the bastard there to assist you in remembering!"

As I was forcibly dragged into her office, I couldn't help but to notice the smell of kerosene and coffee; two of my favorite things, just not together, especially after all that has been accused of me. She waved her guards out and it was just her and I.

"You know what you did, right?"

"Yes." I said.

"Teach me."

That threw me through a loop. It turns out she had reached her personal breaking point just minutes ago and wanted me to show her how I did.

"Sure, I'll do that. Right after I buttfuck myself with a torch. You think you're going to convice the universe to kill itself YOURSELF? Not in this lifetime, you asshole. That's my gig."

She began to speak up. "AH AH AH!" I said, and then continued to the door.

The fucking nerve of some people.

21

Looking back on it, I could have done it a hell of a lot easier, but neither you nor I have time for that shit.

It all started an hour before everyone wakes up in the morning 3 days ago when the telephone rang and woke everyone up. I answered it because I really didn't want to hear the answering machine beep every 10 seconds telling me there was a message waiting but hey the caller may not have wanted to leave a message so shut up. The caller represented the new local government and we were being told to evacute because someone had put the Konami code into the reactor too fast and was causing the meltdown, but that's not when the real trouble started. You see, they didn't want me or anyone else to know the truth.

Everyone has 30 lives now or full weapons and shields, depending on where you were standing at the time.

"I'm staying. Fuck you. I have the advantage."

My neighbors were packing their meaningful things in their vehicles when I finally gave a shit enough to look out the window. Soon the neighborhood would be vacant and I...I would wander the streets with the intention or breaking into everyone's home and urinating on the bed sheets.

I would die 60 years later after accidently slitting my wrists on a can of potted meat.

20

Old friends may come and go, but enemies fucking do nothing but piss me off with these idiot autobiographical movies they make about me. Most of them aren't even close to being true. Out of the 37,000 movies that came out last year, 35,000 were about me and even 31,000 of those portrayed me as a hero when all I've done in my life is pick three names out of the phone book and annoy those people until suicide was contemplated.

I received my award for being the giant asshole of the earth, and waited until the auditorium calmed down before I spoke. I waved everyone down into their seats.

"Ladies, gentlemen, people who aren't sure. Yeah"

With that, I took my award and left the stage, bypassing the lovely meat and cheese trays donated by the same people who voted for me to have this award.

Nah, I didn't think it was very ironic either.

19

I had the worst job of them all, I found out. I had just unpacked from a trip to Santa Columbine which, you know, doesn't exist because I'll be go to hell if I'm going to tell you SHIT about my adventures in great detail, and had just put my things away when I was dragged to the convention floor and placed on top of a pedestal after it was determined my present employment fucking blew primates. I made the mistake of asking how in the hell they came to that conclusion. Each person introduced themselves and told me about what they did for money and after the 2nd person I finally lost it and violently attempted to break my own neck.

Needless to say, I failed.

I returned to my job, which was reading every spiral pad of poetry that was presented to me. If it was written with a pencil onto 3 hole punch notebook paper, it was REQUIRED that I read the motherfucker. Not love it, not hate it, not judge it. Just read it. I was not allowed to run away or attempt suicide. I was allowed to swing a shovel at whomever felt brave enough to bring me my lunch, which passed the time.

I guess I ran out of lives or missed the 1-up or didn't enter the correct cheat code fast enough because I found myself outside in the sun, dazed. I really didn't feel the need to ask why, so I didn't, and went back to washing the pencil lead off my hands.