A short story about aging, rock n' roll, Axl Rose, Bangkok, and the pursuit of happiness...
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Fucked up stories and poetry from the gutter of the Internet!
Tuesday, July 7, 2020
"The Karen and Axl Rose" by Kim Cancer
A short story about aging, rock n' roll, Axl Rose, Bangkok, and the pursuit of happiness...
CLICK HERE TO DOWNLOAD THE PDF!
Saturday, June 20, 2020
Sunday, June 14, 2020
METH LAB TEN YEAR ANNIVERSARY! The return of the Chemist...
Excerpt from Starchblood: A Novel
NYE, 1999.
Lisa was partying with her co-workers at T.G.I. Friday’s when she first met Colin, and although there’d been some flirtation, they’d never hooked up before that night. Two weeks later they moved in together. His extended family approved well enough, but often made strange observations about Lisa like:
“You’re smart, cute, in college… Why are you with Colin??”
She saw something behind the bloodshot tea shades of his eyes, an unvarnished distance that 6 months later paved way to a rollback while he pissed the bed in his sleep, leaving her mortified and unsure about the future. She did her best to coax him into attending AA meetings, abstained from drinking during short stints, and took her turns at the podium or head of the circle to discuss triggers.
But the parties at work were still too much of a draw for Colin. It was close to the Superbowl and St. Louis was the favorite in the point spread against Tennessee by -14. Friday’s had organized a pre-gamer that Saturday, because the crew would be light & generally knew how to keep secrets. Colin thought this an opportune time to try out a batch of GHB he’d bought from his brother, Eric, a pharmaceutical rep working in Rio Rancho.
“Don’t overdo it man. Seriously. Just a shot will do you.” Eric poured a capful into his Corona. “It’s so strong, I’ve actually been using it to cut back on my drinking. You metabolize booze so fast, you’ll be good to drive home in just a few hours.”
“I’m not an asshole. I can handle my shit.” Colin replied, reaching for another cap.
Eric jerked the bottle out of his hands. “If you’re just planning on killing yourself tonight, it’s not going to be on me.”
Colin promised to keep it light on the drinks that night…
It took 3 ambulances to load up the night-shift as they teetered on the edge of drug induced comas. The general manager was admitted to Presbyterian’s ICU and fired, later settling in life as the food/bev. Manager for a golf course in Santa Fe[1].
When he was finally canned for stealing and distributing $5 coupons and place-mats, Colin tried a stint as a delivery driver for Pudge Bros. Pizza. Lisa knew the anxiety of a new job would be a hindrance on his performance and would make him breakfast before his afternoon shifts began, before leaving for her new job as an educational assistant at Albuquerque Public Schools. The transition period took some adjustments and one night, after an especially hard week, she came home to the faint odor of rum and burrito vomit, seemingly emanating from somewhere on the front porch.
She heard virtually simulated car chases and drunken laughter inside the house and when she opened the door, Colin was sprawled out on the futon with bits of crusted black beans, potatoes, and cheese stuck to his shirt. Ray, his much older brother, had called to inform him that their grandmother had died. Colin was too distraught over the news to go to work, and Trey had been by to reminisce about the old woman’s legacy.
“Bullshit!” Lisa smacked him. “Get the fuck out of my house! Now!”
“Fuck you!” Colin stammered. “You think you’re so perfect? You’re not. Just another fuck up li-“
Lisa shoved him to the ground and continued to kick him in the stomach until a trickle of blood formed at his mouth. After he was forcibly removed from the situation by the police, days later he called from a few blocks away.
“Just listen, okay? I know you don’t want to see me, but I got you a car. Problem is-“
“Here we go.”
“… problem is, I got pulled over on the way to your house.”
The arresting officer grabbed the phone. “Is this, Lisa?”
“… yes.”
“Mrs. Dushane, we’re arresting your husband and impounding the car, unless you can pick it up.”
“He’s not my husband.”
“Pardon me?”
“I’m not Mrs. Dushane. And I don’t own a car.”
[1] Colin didn’t lose his job, or go to prison, and was later promoted from server to bartender. If you had a decent rapport with him and worked the same shifts, he’d serve you liquor in kid’s size cups.
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