318 lines
15 KiB
Plaintext
318 lines
15 KiB
Plaintext
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... Excerpts from BLADE BARRIER Book #3
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by Dean Tetreault
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>>> a cDc publication.......1991 <<<
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-cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc-
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______________________________________________________________________________
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...Transposed by WHITE KNIGHT...
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======================================================================
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===================== A CUT ABOVE THE REST =====================
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by DEAN TETREAULT BOOK 3 MAY 1986
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"I came, I saw, I conquered."
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======================================================================
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LET'S GET THE SHIT OUT OF THE WAY FIRST BEFORE WE MOVE ON DEPT.
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APOLOGIES:
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To Heidi and Markie for spelling your names wrong.
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To anyone who was upset over "This Kid's Mutt" - the story was ficticious.
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To Heidi for referring to her as a dumb chick - Heidi says she's a dumb
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wench, bitch, or cunt, but never a chick.
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THANKS:
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To Larry for the comics for cut'n'paste.
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To Markie for the free beers.
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To Prett "he never calls, he never writes" Woodburn for being such a faggot
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at times.
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A.D.L. - True, there's more to life than just playing one note, but that's
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all I know how to play right now. Bear with it, maybe I'll change.
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This book is not dedicated to anyone, especially not that Prett "tooling for
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anus" Woodburn!!
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Cover art by Dean T., as well as all writings and cut'n'paste within
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(Drawings not available in text version (no shit!))
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The story "Corpse" in this book does not take into account certain scientific
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facts, rigor mortis as a good example.
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_
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"My Old Friend"
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It feels so good. Watching the pigs die. Look at them. Look at their
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faces as the bullets rip through their flesh. This UZI feels so good in my
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hands. My old friend.
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Shit man, I am totally unstoppable. The cops shoot me, again and again,
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but their bullets just pass through the emptiness of my soul. I am the
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Terminator. I squeeze the trigger and put the last of the pigs to the ground
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in one mass puddle of carcass, blood, and piss.
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I walk into the convenience store. There's two people hiding behind the
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counter, no, wait,....four, including two little kids. The UZI hums once again
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and blasts right through them. I hate killing kids, but then again, I hate
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kids. Each drop of blood seems to float through the air in slow motion. I
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paint the wall behind them crimson, each droplet adding to the masterpiece.
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It's so beautiful. I look out the window and see the destruction I've created,
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and I feel so proud, so tough, so free. I hear a voice from above.
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"Hey, what the fuck ya doin' down there, givin' yourself a blowjob, ya
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faggot?"
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I look up. It's Nerf. That's not his real name, but everyone calls him
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that.
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"Shit, this is the best party I've had in ages, an' your sittin' in the
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corner with your head between your knees! An' you're drinkin' wine coolers!
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What a faggot!! Shit, ya really oughta start takin' drugs. Drop acid, ya
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pussy!!!"
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I get up, grab my coat, and walk out. Nerf's such an asshole. He's my
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best friend. He's my only friend. And he knows it.
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On the way to my car, I notice three kids sitting on the front lawn. I
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recognize one of them as someone who likes to beat the shit out of me. I'm not
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good at fighting or running, but I'm great when it comes to getting beat up.
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"Hey faggot, where ya going?", he says in a drunken voice. Whenever he's
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said anything to me, he's been drunk. I don't think he ever stops drinking.
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Normally I just keep walking with my eyes to the ground. But this time I'm
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real pissed.
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"You got something to say to me, motherfucker?", I say, walking towards
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him. Before he can reply, I go into a spinning back-kick that connects with
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his face. His jaw snaps clean off and slides back into his head like a desk
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drawer. He's dead before he hits the ground. Everyone starts clapping their
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hands and they're cheering just for me.
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"Hey fagboy, I'm talking to you!"
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I just keep walking, with my eyes to the ground. He's just mouthing off
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tonight. I get in my car and drive away.
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I drive around for a while. I don't feel like going home. Not yet. I
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drive back and forth through town, music blaring. I eventually pull over and
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just sit around and check out what's happening. Then I see her. This Week's
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Infatuation. She's walking down the road, right towards me. I can't help
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staring, but she's perfect. She stops right in front of my car. I get out and
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go over to her.
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"Oh, I need you so much!", she moans. "Please let me be your fuck-slave
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for life!!"
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Someone grabs my hair and nearly yanks me out through the window of my
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car.
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"What the fuck are you staring at, faggot?"
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Oh shit, it's the chick's boyfriend -- a football player. He puts me in a
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headlock. I'm hanging out my car window, I can't move. His girlfriend comes
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over to us and laughs in my face. After a good minute, he lets go and shoves
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me back in my car. He stands in front of my car for awhile, taunting me to run
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him over. I just sit there and do nothing. He's beaten me, physically and
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psychologically. And he knows it.
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I drive home. I've had a terrible night. I go straight to my room and
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lock the door. I reach under the pillow and pull out my old friend. My only
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true friend. He doesn't do anything. He just waits patiently for that second
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of truth.
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"Well, old friend, it's time". He already knows it. I put the barrel in
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my mouth and pull the trigger. I wish I could wake up from this one.
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"Smiling Faces"
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I just read something that really bugs me. Here's an excerpt. It's
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called "5-11-85" by Henry Rollins, from POLIO FLESH, page 34.
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"I have learned to question smiling faces. I don't trust
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smiling faces anymore. When someone smiles and reaches out
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to shake my hand, I try to guess what they want from me and
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when they will try to sink the knife in.... When someone
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gives away something, they want something in return, somehow,
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someway. This is a game that gets played on many levels.
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Don't take candy from strangers unless you're willing to
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take a ride in the car."
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I give my writing to lots of people. Do I expect something in return?
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The more I think about it, the more I realize I do. I expect complements,
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friendship, and constructive criticism. I expect people to tell me I'm a great
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writer and that I'm real cool. I expect people to print my stuff and help me
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achieve fame and fortune. I expect it. And shit, when I got the chance to
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talk to Henry for a few minutes at the Providence gig, I was one of those
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smiling faces, shaking his hand a couple of times, telling him about all the
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free goodies I just mailed him.
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I don't know if this is what he had in mind when he wrote it, and I don't
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know if there is anything wrong in wanting recognition and attention - it's
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only human. But still, I feel kinda funny right now, I feel low.
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"Chance Meeting"
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We collide
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By accident (Fate is cruel).
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I ....
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.... Never thought I'd see you again.
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We both say "Hi"
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And talk but don't say anything.
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Each aware of the other's uneasiness.
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I feel ....
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.... Out of place.
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I feel soft.
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My teeth feel like styrofoam -
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My eyes are marshmallows.
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I want to melt away ....
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We eventually part, each
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Relieved we've survived
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Another chance meeting.
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"Things I Wanted to Smash"
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I saw a car that had a stuffed cat with glass eyes in the rear window.
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Every time the right directional was used, the cat's right eye blinked in
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unison with the tailight, same with the left side. I wanted to smash it.
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I saw this little boy eating an ice cream cone with his dad. Sorta
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reminded me of when I was a kid. I wanted to smash that ice cream cone right
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in his face.
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"Corpse"
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When I walked through the door, I wasn't surprised, or shocked even. I
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don't know why, I just wasn't. You were standing there, in the doorway to the
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kitchen. Just standing there, head in the clouds, walking on air. Just
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sta...... hanging there, eyes rolled towards Heaven. I noticed you didn't use
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a rope. You used the extension cord from your computer. What a fucking
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computer whiz geek you were. You were always flapping about how computers were
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going to kill off all of mankind someday. Well, they got you. What irony.
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What a shame.
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I let you hang around for a while. I don't know why, I just don't feel
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like cutting you down right now. What an asshole you are. We were supposed to
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go to ZZ Top. I've got front row seats and you were supposed to drive. How am
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I gonna go now? Fuck man, we're still going. I don't care what you say, we're
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going to see ZZ Top and you're driving.
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I eventually cut you down. I don't know what to do with you, so I just
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slide you underneath my bed.
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I had trouble sleeping that night. Remember how, when we were kids, we
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used to be scared of monsters under our beds? Well it's like being a kid again
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with you under there. I had to keep hanging over the edge of my bed and
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peeking under to make sure you hadn't moved.
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The next morning I slid you out from underneath. "Want some breakfast?",
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I asked, then laughed out loud. I kept poking you, and waiting for you to
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move, but you didn't. Any second now, you'll get up and we'll start wrestling
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or bashing each other over the head with empty 2-liter plastic soda bottles,
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like we always used to. You never did move, though.
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As the days passed, I started to have lots of fun playing with you. I
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don't mean anything queer, I just mean playing with you. I use you as a
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foot-stool. I prop you up in a chair with a lit cigarette and a book. I write
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all over you with a thick magic marker. I draw a beard and mustache on you,
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put a Manson "X" on your forehead, and draw anarchy symbols all over your body.
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Shit, I've never had this much fun in my life! Every kid should have a real
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live corpse to play with!
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The fun lasted for about a week. That's when your stupid bitch girlfriend
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showed up. She wanted to know where you were. She was crying. I said I
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didn't know, trying my hardest to keep a straight face. I started laughing.
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That pissed her off and she slapped me and started screaming something at me, I
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can't remember what it was. I don't blame her for freaking out, I'd be pissed
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if I were in her shoes. I wanted to scream back at her so bad. "You'll never
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take him away from me again!" I kept my mouth shut, though. Relax, man. I've
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got the last laugh. I hold all the trump cards. Your girlfriend was always
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splitting us up. We were best friends for life, we did everything together.
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Until she came along. Well, this time she stays home all alone. It's you and
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me both, and she's out in the cold. Your girlfriend left on a flood of tears,
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and was back in an hour with the police.
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My lawyer says I've got nothing to worry about. The autopsy will prove
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that I had absolutely nothing to do with your death. They're just going to
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lock me away for about a week for some counseling and whatever. They said that
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I couldn't cope with your death and I went temporarily insane. Whatever. I
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just hope they let me out soon, I can't wait to go dig up your grave and play
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with you some more .....
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"Tattoos"
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Hey Rollins, you think your tattoos are cool? Check out this kid I used
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to work with. He's got both his arms covered, back and front, with Superman
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and the Flash. And he's got the Super Friends on his chest. No shit. I swear
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on my 3 inch cock that I ain't shitting you!!! I bet you can't say that you've
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got the Super Friends on your chest, can ya, Henry? .... No, I didn't think so.
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"My Car"
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My car is an extension of my penis.
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I love my cock very much. It's a 1978 Chevette. Yeah, true, my cock is
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small, but it gets great mileage. I beat on my cock very hard, and frequently
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too, but I also take good care of it and replace any worn out parts. I get
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very angry when people sit on my cock, or lean against it, because you might
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scratch it. I bet if I showed you my cock, you'd like it very much, too.
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Check out Dean's story "Shitbum" in the comic "Ashes" #2 from Caliber
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Press. For a copy of his book BLADE BARRIER, send $3.95 to:
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Primal Publishing
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107 Brighton Avenue
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Allston, MA. 02134
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_ _ ____________________________________________________________________
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/((___))\|Demon Roach Undrgrnd.806/794-4362|Grassroots..............new # soon|
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[ x x ] |NIHILISM.............513/767-7892|The People Farm.......916/673-8412|
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\ / |Tequila Willy's GSC..209/526-3194|The Works.............617/861-8976|
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(' ') |Lunatic Labs.........213/655-0691|Ripco.................312/528-5020|
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(U) |====================================================================|
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.ooM |1991 cDc communications by Dean Tetreault. 01/03/91-#153|
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\_______/|All Rights Pissed Away. |
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