So it wasn’t until just recently (this year in fact) that I finally jumped on the cellular telephone bandwagon. I had been reticent for a long time to join the cellular fold for a multitude of reasons. I have always felt that if I need to make or receive a phone call I will make sure I am by a phone. I value my time alone highly and I don’t need any of my douche bag friends interrupting a nice relaxing drive on the freeway. No offense to my douche bag friends of course. Above all I absolutely hate being “that guy”. You know the one I’m talking about. The guy in the gas station, super market, dildo supply warehouse, liquor store, et all who is SO damn important, whose time is SO valuable that he cant hang up the phone for two minutes so he can pay for his fourteen inch black rubber phallus. However the one piece of cell phone related culture that drives me up a wall faster than any other is the dreaded fucking headset. It makes me want to knock out every one of your blue teeth with a fucking hammer. It takes a very special kind of self absorbed vapid asshole to walk around with one of those things strapped to your head. If you hold your finger up to me one more time with the intent to inform me that I must wait a moment so that I may blessed with your attention I will break the fucker off and choke you with it. As truly horrifying and nauseating as it can be I choose to walk the earth fully immersed in the world around me. I suggest you try doing the same.

I have come to realize that a precious few things actually inspire and spur me to write. Rain, rage and women. I had two out of three today so I sat down at the ole typin’ machine to do some damage. You see the problem is I can’t just sit down and think, “What really pisses me off?” and let it flow. The blind and burning rage needs to be fresh and organic. It just so happens I was served some free range, cage free, farm fresh rage today while I was at work.

            She came in first. One of the few things that actually makes me like my job… No not a woman. I work at a comic book store. women don’t go to comic book stores, unless they are there because of a guy. Kids are one of the few things that actually make this job enjoyable and I’m not talking about teenagers. Teenagers are horrible loud and mindless automatons who bug the shit out of me. And I’m not talking about babies either. Babies are disgusting, parasitic, eating, shitting, screaming machines. However when it comes down to it I don’t like all kids either. I like the shy ones, the quiet ones who are glad to be there and want to see something different, something that might change their lives, even if they don’t know it. Kids that remind me of a young Jaz Brown make me want to stop and share everything cool that I know and tell them it’s not going to suck forever… Just most of the time. This girl fit the bill. Her father however was blind heartless cock who had know idea that he was raising a little girl who would do anything to get the attention of the opposite sex just because he couldn’t be bothered to get off the fucking phone and act like she was worth it. He was a loud talking dick with a headset jammed in his ear.

            “Yeah well if they don’t get it together down there in administration some heads are going to roll… yeah well, that’s what I told her… Well I cant wait to lay off that little Russian fuck in the mail room.”

            They were in the store for about a half and hour and he was on the phone the whole time. Something would strike the young girl, excite her, light the flame under her heart and he just couldn’t be bothered. It made me want to tell her that it was going to be ok, that she could come live at the store. I did not do that however. What I did do was walk over and talk to her because her father was obviously talking to someone FAR more important about things that just absolutely COULD NOT WAIT. It took her a few moments but soon enough we were talking about what kind of art she liked, what sort of covers looked interesting and what a horrible douche her father was… Well maybe not that last part.

            I suppose the moral here is: HANG UP THE FUCKING PHONE and show some interest in your daughters life otherwise Ill be seeing her in “Tight Young Virgins 12” in ten years.

She smelled of sex. It was mind numbing. Her lipstick had pulled outside of the confines of her lips, dragged out onto her chin and various places it obviously should not have been. Her eyes lightly rolled back into her head leaving no doubt that she was under the influence of a litany of psychotropic drugs. Her chest heaved as she moved in my direction. she flipped her hair back. A flash of glistening metal. She had been modified. A shaft of medical grade stainless steel implanted directly behind the right ear. At specific intervals a dose of a high quality derivative of MDMA was injected directly into the ventral tegmentum. I’ve often wondered if Fritz Haber’s intent was to aid in the creation of mindless sexual automatons for the personal use of the rich and powerful in the 21^st century.

In my line of work I have often had the misfortune of running into individuals such as this young woman. She once had a life, plans, dreams and family. Now her dreams consisted of heavy petting and hot violent copulation. The first time I encountered one of these poor souls I was not aware of the reality of the situation until my pants were around my ankles and she was bent over the hood of my Chrysler. Her screams were, I’m sure heard in the next province as I took core samples. Once I understood that her advances were not made at the behest of my stunning good looks I was appalled and even a little hurt. I held her down and unscrewed the reservoir of drugs from her skull. I now know that there is no going back for these people. The unspeakable acts that are performed on these young women are only tolerated under the influence of massive quantities of massively expensive drugs. The girl I liberated is now spending the rest of her life in a maximum security mental institution. The last male guard assigned to her cell block was found with his cock manually removed and forced into his lower intestine. I suppose it’s arguable that she was better off before I got to her.

I was standing in one of worlds best known underground members only sex clubs. I struggled to keep the whiskey in my glass as a lovely young lady who may have once been a literature major savagely pawed at my meaty parts. Just another day at the office. Lawrence Bishop was a revolting meatball of a man. I smelled his cheap cologne before I saw him. The irony that this man could buy and sell entire countries and yet still insisted on wearing the most inexpensive cologne available was not lost on me.

“Stacy! Come here!”

Bishops voice was all at once commanding and nauseating. Stacy’s head snapped in his direction as her hand froze on my manhood. Her eyes again began to burn with unexplainable passion as she sauntered over to Bishop and ran her hands over his elephantine chest.

“You will have to excuse Stacy here. If it has a cock she wants a piece of it.”

“If she didn’t you might never get laid Bishop.”

Bishop threw back his head and his numerous chins jiggled as he let out a horrendous gurgling laugh. Stacy looked up at me hungrily as she pulled Bishop’s flaccid lesion covered cock out of his pants.

“That’s why I like you Evan’s you don’t pull any punches do you, you old son of a bitch?”

I turned away from repulsive scene next to me and looked at the bartender as I drank down the rest of my whiskey. I needed to get this over with and soon.

“McCarthy sent me Bishop.”

Bishop ran his meaty paw through Stacy’s matted hair while I watched reality sink into his thick skull. I caressed the handle of the knife in my jacket pocket.

“And what precisely does Mr. McCarthy want from me?”

The bartender poured me another drink. Bishop continued,

“You can tell him he can have his daughter back if that would make things right between us.”

I swallowed the whiskey feeling it warm my stomach. I turned to face Bishop trying to avoid taking in the vision of Stacy suckling at his mutilated cock.

“You and I both know it’s too late for Stacy to go back. She can never truly go back.”

In one deft move I pulled my blade from my jacket and plunged all ten inches into Bishop’s non existent neck. Blood sprayed across the room spattering various stunned rich and powerful men. He fell to the ground clawing at the crimson gash. I bent down and pulled the knife from his body allowing more of his vital juices to splash out onto the floor. I wiped the blade on his 10,000 dollar Fioravanti suit and lit up a 5 cent smoke. I made my way to the door as Stacy continued to ravish the corpse of what was once one of the most powerful men in the world.

Like most straight men with a set of testicles hanging from between their legs there’s a part of me somewhere that wishes I was capable of performing the ol’ fuck and flee on any pretty young girl which causes the blood to flow in all the right places. Unfortunately for me and fortunately for a few pretty young girls my parents chose to raise me with some respect for the fairer sex. It’s this engrained belief which has resulted in missing out on more than a few nights of filthy no-strings raunchy sex. On the second night of my first US tour I had one of the most painful experiences regarding my inability to treat women as objects. I had a girlfriend at the time and as if it’s not hard enough to be away from you significant other there also just happens to be all kinds of girls willing to offer their bodies for single serving use simply because you’re in a band. The show was in Seattle and there was a blonde girl with a figure that was capable of throwing babies into seizures. It was painfully obvious that this young lady was desperate to get a chance to try to damage my sensitive parts. And good god did I ever want them damaged. The way she presented it seemed like a perfect idea regardless of what any girlfriend’s, wives or priests had to say about it. Despite the fact that there was a part of me making a list of all the depraved acts I wanted to perform in, on, around and to her we had to leave that night to play Vancouver the next day. I proceeded to explain this to her and mentioned that she should ‘come on out’, as if it was just short drive across town to drop off some movies to the video store. I hopped in the van to leave certain that I would never see this girl again. However it seemed that this young lady was far more persistent than I gave her credit for. She did show up in Vancouver and this time she had brought back up. Between them, these three girls had enough curves to give a café racer wood for months. During our set I watched these predatory sex demons point at me while exchanging what I’m sure we’re tactical methods any army would kill for. After we had finished playing, they descended like vultures.

“We’ve got a hotel room a few blocks from here,” they told me “we’re just gonna go back and get naked. You should come over.”

‘Yes’ I thought, ‘I should come over. I should come right over. In fact we should leave right now. I’m not sure I have enough time to preform all the depraved acts I have written down in my note book here. Times a wastin!’

Although the reality the reality of the situation was that I didn’t say that in fact I didn’t say anything like that.

“Umm… That sounds really cool. I mean… I would love nothing more than to go back to your hotel where the three of you will be uhh… Naked. But I you know… Have a girlfriend”

I had figured that the unveiling of this information would be just cause for these ladies to relinquish their campaign. However, the one flaw in my rational was due to the fact that I had yet to learn one universal truth. That being that most girls wanna get laid as much as most guys do. The statements that followed were not unlike the ones I received later upon relating this story to many of my male friends.

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

“It doesn’t count if it’s in another area code”

“When are you ever going to get a chance to have sex with three girls at once?”

It was this last rebuttal which had almost caused me crumble. I’d like to tell you that I’ve had plenty of chances to have sex with three girls at once. Perhaps I have and just didn’t realize it but I can tell you this; none since have been served in such a blatant and enticing fashion.

The four of us went back and forth for a while I leaned on the flimsy crutch of an excuse that was having a girlfriend. Finally they relented.

“Look, we’re gonna go back to the hotel take all our clothes of and smoke some pot. If you decide you wanna come by here’s the room number”.

So I stood there holding the golden ticket watching them walk away while they pawed at each others asses which I’m sure were the flavor of some exotic candy the likes of which I would never taste. As regret washed over me like a punch to the groin a friend of mine walked over and asked me,

“What the fuck did you just do?”

As I explained to him what I had repeatedly told my hunters it started to sound even more ridiculous.

“You’re a jackass.” He declared as he snatched the hotel number from my hand and disappeared into the night. I didn’t see him til the next day when he showed up at my hotel room. I had tried desperately not to think of the kinds of things that had gone on in that hotel room but I knew there was no way he was going to let me live in comfortable ignorance. He walked right up to me with a satisfied and smug look on his face smiled and said,

“Wanna smell my fingers?”

I told him that I couldn’t. I had a girlfriend after all.