“For the record, you completely crushed my pussy.” she said; parting her lips a bit.

“I have to recharge.  You are going get up, go to the kitchen, warm up 2—no—4 slices of pizza; not in the microwave either. Use the toaster oven Benji!” Veronica said. Benji  popped out of the bed and headed for the door. “Also, a cocktail.” She added. Benji grabbed his junk, slapped his ass, and began dancing. “I got some ‘cock tail’ right here for you toots!” he said.

“Ummm….you are actually making my pussy dry. I literally need a humidifier installed in my cervix.” Veronica said. Benji’s ego shattered.

“I’m going to go warm your pizza—“ he began.

“In the oven.”  

“In the oven doll face.” Benji headed toward the kitchen. Veronica watched as he strode away. She saw him visibly depress a bit. Fuck….he is so sensitive. “Benji—“ she called after him. Benji stopped and faced her. She laid back in the bed and spread her yams. Benji froze. 

He was hypnotized. It had been over a year, yet the boy still lost himself in her face. He would do anything for her. She was his Venus.  He worshiped her.  

“For the record, you completely crushed my pussy.” she said; parting her lips a bit.
“For real?” He perked right up.

“You absolutely wrecked me.” she blushed. The room could barely contain Benji’s ego. 

Kolabati shared his sentiment.........

10 years after the New York Incident

 (‘SEE NIGHT WORLD’ OR ANY OF F. PAUL WILSON’S NOVELS and excuse my typos) 

"The world was fool enough to believe that it had conquered The Otherness." Richard said. Kolabati shared his sentiment. “It’s not over Johan. You’re wrong. We need to prepare. I can feel it.” A queer sensation had been crawling up her spine since high tide. “I disagree. My research says we won. It's been 10 years.” Johan said through gritted teeth.

He was turning red. Why won't they just accept that we are at peace? He had lost the person he cherished most during the first collapse. He felt that if he could finally find his resolve, and settle in to enjoying this peace, then so could they! “Your research is exactly akin to astrology—pure, fucking, hokum." Richard said this with far to much bass in his voice. Johan swirled his scotch around in his glass. 

Johan found this laughable considering that Kolabati and Richard claimed the high tide played the catalyst in incomprehensible battle between The Otherness—a consciousness you could only call evil on an extremely good day, and the Ally—a consciousness with the attention span of a goldfish, who isn't  as concerned with us as it is winning an intergalactic chess match played with our world. The most we can expect from it was benign insouciance. "You have to let this go Kolabati!” he said, banging his glass on the table. “Johan…” She couldn't reach him. Every attempt to get through to him about their impending doom ended the exact same way.  It took a second invasion for Johan Augustine to admit he was at fault. 

The room shook. “W-what....?” Kolabati surveyed their faces. They were as stunned as her. The next tremor floored them all. Johan began to rise, but lost all constitution when he looked through the window. A moment later, adrenaline soaked his system and triggered a massive heart attack. He was one of the lucky ones. He didn’t live long enough to witness the macabre in it's ethereal form.

The power grids were knocked out like they were made of tin foil. The city’s lights went dark methodically and one by one—echoed by an equal number of human souls being snuffed out. The spikes were grotesque. They were thousands of feet long tore through the earth. Lava—or what could have easily been blood—sloshed around in their deep crevices. They seemed alive. If trees grew in hell, they would look just like these.

They shredded through skyscrapers without effort. People died in droves. Goddamn droves! The Otherness herded humans towards their death and supped on their misery! These things literally nourished themselves on  suffering.

No one was spared in the city—not a woman, man or child. The very earth was alive and obliterating any and all life it found. The Earth was black and red, however in the following months it cooled to an ash gray hue. The spikes—having ended their climb—could be seen from space. Then it happened. 

The O-DNA molecules began to replicate. The desolate and twisted thing our world had become; combined with the desperation of the survivors served as the sustenance it required to maintain itself in our dimension.  It rewrote the DNA sequence of any embryonic life form it came across—plant, animal, or man. The possessed life-form then burrowed into any section of the earth that held dinosaur fossils and consumed them Said fossils being the remnants of their ancestors during the first attempt The Otherness made for our planet a few millennia ago. From there they made their ways to the nearest spike, burrowed into the ground, and slept.

 After a painfully short gestation period The monsters erupted into the world; lousy with O-DNA. In fact  they absorbed any available DNA from conscious life on our world, They fed on anything. Consuming any matter from the old world appeared to be their primary function. They were excellent at their job. Roughly a year later the world fought back and won. That was Mrs. Pozzessere’s doing. She gathered a rag-tag conclave of the once hidden powers that be, and lead a revolt against the very evil they ushered into their world. They won......but not without substantial heartache.

Hide and seek…

Alisa was 7. She tugged at her father’s scarf, begging for his attention. “No Alisa. Your father is busy.” her mother said. “Boring….” Alisa was clearly unaffected by the trauma the world had suffered. She skipped ahead of her parents giggling. She ran towards an abandoned warehouse. Luckily they lived in an area least affected by the collapse, though everything was still a God damned wreck of a nightmare.

“Hey! Alisa!” her father yelled. “That child! Where could she have gone?” her mother asked. “Papa! Mamma!” she squeaked from behind them. “Hide and seek!!” Alisa yelled; running into the warehouse. “Alisa!” her mother objected. Her heart was playing drums inside her chest. She started after Alisa, but papa shut down her pursuit. “What’s the harm?” he said. “So you want to play hide and seek Alisa?” he asked. “Not yeeeeeeeeet!” she was enjoying this.


“Hide and seek...” he said. Alisa was busy looking for the perfect hiding space.  She spotted a banged up cabinet that somehow survived the planet’s decimation. “Come and find me!” she yelled out at her father.  “All right! Now where is my….Alisa!” he said. Alisa giggled, eyeing him through the cracked door.

**CRACK**
**CRACK**

Several gunshots rang out. Two of them and in swift succession; followed by screams. “It’s the Aragami! Run!!” a voice echoed throughout the warehouse. Alisa was terrified. She was all alone in the cabinet. She tucked her knees into her chest and went silent. “Alisa! Where are you!!!?” Her father was frantic. Her mother ran towards him in the exact same state. “Dear, where is Alisa?!” she said. She was sweating through her orange turtleneck, and her golden mane was slightly ruffled.  Their baby girl was in another world. She had completely disconnected. Those things are out there! Those things! Those things that ate Tommy!

They yelled until they were hoarse—hoarse and desperate. “Alisa!!!! Alisa!!!!” they echoed each other. Eventually their voices reached her. Alisa snapped out of it having found her resolve. “Mamma! Papa!” she yelped. It was still too late. The thing snatched her papa up in it's maw; snapping his body in two and chewed. At the same time it ran her mother through with what appeared to be a horn. Her 5 year old psyche couldn't handle this. Alisa went numb. She stared at the thing wide eyed.

It was terrifying. It radiated darkness. It's tail was long and had what appeared to be a huge and disfigured flipper attached to the tip. It's skin was a sleek and oily black. It's face and body appeared to be half lion, half God. Her father's split and mangled body hung from it's mouth. Half of him was covered by the creatures blood soaked beard. The thing  had several onyx spikes protruding from it's head. Her mother was sloppily impaled on one of them.  The creature began to leave—but suddenly—it stared directly into the cabinet. A moment later, it's face was buried into the crevice her face was crammed into. Alisa screamed.

MY ETERNAL GRATITUDE TO THOSE WHO TOOK THE TIME TO ACTUALLY READ THIS. PLEASE LIKE WHEN YOU ARE DONE SO I CAN SEND YOU A SUPRISE.

Roughly a year later the world fought back and won. That was Mrs. Pozzessere’s doing.

10 years after the New York Incident

 (‘SEE NIGHT WORLD’ OR ANY OF F. PAUL WILSON’S NOVELS)

"The world was fool enough to believe that it had conquered The Otherness." Richard said. Kolabati shared his sentiment. “It’s not over Johan. You’re wrong. We need to prepare. I can feel it.” A queer sensation had been crawling up her spine since high tide. “I agree. The sensors I developed confirm this. It's been 10 years. An entire God damned decade.” Richard said through gritted teeth.

Johan was turning red. Why won't they just accept that we are at peace? He had lost the person he cherished most during the first collapse. He felt that if he could finally find his resolve, and settle in to enjoying this peace, then so could they! “Meanwhile, your research is exactly akin to astronomy—pure, fucking, hokum." Richard said this with far to much bass in his voice. Johan swirled his scotch around in his glass. "You have to let this go Kolabati!” he said, banging his glass on the table. “Johan…” She couldn't reach him. 

He had dismissed all of their claims the moment they approached him claiming the high tide played the catalyst in an incomprehensible battle between The Otherness—a consciousness you could only call evil on an extremely good day, and the Ally—a consciousness with the attention span of a goldfish, who isn't  as concerned with us as it is winning an intergalactic chess match played with our world. The most we can expect from it was benign insouciance. Every attempt to get through to him about their impending doom ended the exact same way.  It took a second invasion for Johan Augustine to admit he was at fault. 

The room shook. “W-what....?” Kolabati surveyed their faces. They were as stunned as her. The next tremor floored them all. Johan began to rise, but lost all constitution when he looked through the window. A moment later, adrenaline soaked his system and triggered a massive heart attack. He was one of the lucky ones. He didn’t live long enough to witness the macabre in it's ethereal form.

The power grids were knocked out like they were made of tin foil. The city’s lights went dark methodically and one by one—echoed by an equal number of human souls being snuffed out. The spikes were grotesque. They were thousands of feet long tore through the earth. Lava—or what could have easily been blood—sloshed around in their deep crevices. They seemed alive. If trees grew in hell, they would look just like these.

They shredded through skyscrapers without effort. People died in droves. Goddamn droves! The Otherness herded humans towards their death and supped on their misery! These things literally nourished themselves on  suffering.

No one was spared in the city—not a woman, man or child. The very earth was alive and obliterating any and all life it found. The Earth was black and red, however in the following months it cooled to an ash gray hue. The spikes—having ended their climb—could be seen from space. Then it happened. 

The O-DNA molecules began to replicate. The desolate and twisted thing our world had become; combined withthe desperation the survivors served as the sustenance it required to maintain itself in our dimension.  It rewrote the DNA sequence of any embryonic life form it came across—plant, animal, or man. The possessed life-form then burrowed into any section of the earth that held dinosaur fossils and consumed them. They were remnants of their ancestors during the first attempt The Otherness made for our planet a few millennia ago. From there they made their ways to the nearest spike, burrowed into the ground, and slept.

 After a painfully short gestation period—the dark earth serving as their womb—the monsters erupted into the world; lousy with O-DNA and any DNA sequence they absorbed from conscious life on our world. They fed on anything. Consuming any matter from the old world appeared to be their primary function. They were excellent at their job. Roughly a year later the world fought back and won. That was Mrs. Pozzessere’s doing. She gathered a rag-tag conclave of the once hidden powers that be, and lead a revolt against the very evil they ushered into their world. They won......but not without substantial heartache.

Hide and seek…

Alisa was 7. She tugged at her father’s scarf, begging for his attention. “No Alisa. Your father is busy.” her mother said. “Boring….” Alisa was clearly unaffected by the trauma the world had suffered. She skipped ahead of her parents giggling. She ran towards an abandoned warehouse. Luckily they lived in an area least affected by the collapse, though everything was still a God damned wreck of a nightmare.

“Hey! Alisa!” her father yelled. “That child! Where could she have gone?” her mother asked. “Papa! Mamma!” she squeaked from behind them. “Hide and seek!!” Alisa yelled; running into the warehouse. “Alisa!” her mother objected. Her heart was playing drums inside her chest. She started after Alisa, but papa shut down her pursuit. “What’s the harm?” he said. “So you want to play hide and seek Alisa?” he asked. “Not yeeeeeeeeet!” she was enjoying this.


“Hide and seek...” he said. Alisa was busy looking for the perfect hiding space.  She spotted a banged up cabinet that somehow survived the planet’s decimation. “Come and find me!” she yelled out at her father.  “All right! Now where is my….Alisa!” he said. Alisa giggled, eyeing him through the cracked door.

**CRACK**
**CRACK**

Several gunshots rang out. Two of them and in swift succession; followed by screams. “It’s the Aragami! Run!!” a voice echoed throughout the warehouse. Alisa was terrified. She was all alone in the cabinet. She tucked her knees into her chest and went silent. “Alisa! Where are you!!!?” Her father was frantic. Her mother ran towards him in the exact same state. “Dear, where is Alisa?!” she said. She was sweating through her orange turtleneck, and her golden mane was slightly ruffled.  Their baby girl was in another world. She had completely disconnected. Those things are out there! Those things! Those things that ate Tommy!

They yelled until they were hoarse—hoarse and desperate. “Alisa!!!! Alisa!!!!” they echoed each other. Eventually their voices reached her. Alisa snapped out of it having found her resolve. “Mamma! Papa!” she yelped. It was still too late. The thing snatched her papa up in it's maw; snapping his body in two and chewed. At the same time it ran her mother through with what appeared to be a horn. Her 5 year old psyche couldn't handle this. Alisa went numb. She stared at the thing wide eyed.

It was terrifying. It radiated darkness. It's tail was long and had what appeared to be a huge and disfigured flipped attached to the tip. It's skin was a sleek and oily black. It's face and body appeared to be half lion, half God. Her father's split and mangled body hung from it's mouth. Half of him was covered by the creatures blood soaked beard. The thing also had several onyx spikes protruding from it's head. Her mother was sloppily impaled on one of them.  The creature began to leave—but suddenly—it stared directly into the cabinet. A moment later, it's face was buried into the crevice her face was crammed into. Alisa screamed.

MY ETERNAL GRATITUDE TO THOSE WHO TOOK THE TIME TO ACTUALLY READ THIS.THE MINI MOVIE TEASER IS BELOW.
Sentinels: The Next Generation

The curious cases of Kendrick Johnson & Ryan Singleton Part I

The curious cases of  Kendrick Johnson & Ryan Singleton Part I
_________________________________________________________________________________

I want to open by helping you to understand just how grim the practice of organ donation is. The first assumption leads you to believe it’s an altruistic decision—only requiring you to check a little box as you register or renew your driver’s license. Then of course if you happen to die, your organs go to a person in need.  Unfortunately it’s not as simple as that.  You don’t have to be completely dead before they begin harvesting your body. In fact all the doctor has to do is verify that you cannot pass a few rudimentary tests. (They splash ice water in your ears, check your gag reflex, poke your eyeballs with cotton swabs etc.) Said tests are brief and if you fail them, they hook you back up to the respirator to keep you breathing and your blood flowing.

This keeps the organs protected and allows them to begin cutting. This practice often takes place regardless of whether you begin breathing on your own again and in some cases, even if you are still showing brain activity. Please bear in mind that while this practice is utterly macabre, it is 100% legal. So if the legal practice of organ harvesting is morally ambiguous, how can we possibly believe the illegal markets to not be exponentially worse?

  Let’s talk about Kendrick Johnson. Introducing Kendrick can almost be read as a script considering there appears to be an almost cliché and unyielding surplus of innocent black children murdered in America these days—however  I will say that regardless of how cliché it may sound—it is, like many other of these tragedies—the truth.

   Kendrick Johnson was a 17 year old, African American athlete who dreamed of playing pro ball. He attended Lowndes High School in Valdosta, Georgia. On January 11, 2013, Kendrick Johnson was found in a rolled up wrestling mat in the gymnasium of the school—dead. Did you automatically assume foul play? I did. But how much of that is social conditioning? Are we now conditioned to believe every black child that dies under questionable circumstance is a victim of conspiracy? Maybe. So how about we try to  look at this case with no pretenses and examine the facts.

The Georgia Bureau of Investigation swiftly stated that he died from positional asphyxia which means he was in— or placed in—a position that prevented him from breathing. What position or how he got into it remains a mystery. Regardless, the case was ruled an accidental death by the Lowndes County Sheriff's Office however, an independent autopsy conducted by a private pathologist in the service of Johnson's parents came to a different conclusion, finding that his death was caused by blunt force trauma.

The family was traumatized and demanded answers. They are finding that those answers—if granted at all—will be hard won. Next I want you to look at this photo:

This is a photo of Kendrick as he was found, rolled in a mat tucked neatly in a corner. What disturbed me about this is that there is no credible information available as to how he got rolled up into the mat. Also, notice how neatly he is rolled up. If for some incredibly preposterous reason he attempted to crawl into this cylindrical mat, whose opening was hardly suited for his size—the ends of the mat should be overlapping. To better understand what I mean, please take out a dollar bill and wrap it around your finger tightly and slide your finger out. It will drag several layers out and form a cone-like shape.  See what I mean? Now imagine that the mat was rolled as pictured, and then imagine him somehow wriggling into the tiny opening. All of the rings in the middle should be pushed in dramatically. That is not the case here. It seems more likely that he was wrapped up in the mat.

On October 31, 2013, the U.S. attorney for the Middle District of Georgia announced that the office would open a formal review into the death of Johnson. (A full 10 months later.) It is now almost July 2015 and the investigation is still pending and the Federal Bureau of Investigation is participating in that review process. That said, the story doesn’t end here. An independent autopsy revealed a gruesome fact. All of his organs were missing. The family was furious and demanded answers while the coroner and the funeral home played an infuriating game of hot potato with the blame. They finally came to this conclusion:  Johnson's internal organs were said to have been “destroyed through natural process" and "discarded by the coroner before the body was sent back to his home town of Valdosta”.  Don’t worry, I rolled my eyes at this part as well, but try to remember we are being unbiased. They found that his body had been stuffed with newspaper and other unnamed items. The funeral home was exonerated as this is apparently an acceptable practice.

The family hired attorney Benjamin Crump and filed several inquiries and eventually filed a law suit naming a total of 38 respondents. There has yet to be any publicly available information about where his organs ended up. There was also an disproportionate amount of focus on the funeral home’s poor practices rather than what the coroner did with his organs, why they denied having removed them, and more importantly—how, why and what does “destroyed through natural process" mean exactly?

Next, let’s talk about the surveillance cameras. In November 2013 approximately 290 hours of surveillance video from over 30 cameras that covered the gym area was released. A forensic analyst (Grant Federicks) found that tapes from two cameras are missing an hour and five minutes of footage while another set is missing 2 hours and 10 minutes. To date, there has been no explanation of as to where they are. [the missing video] The family believed this to be a cover up.  Jim Elliott, the Lowndes County Attorney, stated that the allegations of a cover-up are "unfounded" and "baseless".

 This is also when a seemingly innocuous speculation came from the president of the SCLC. (Charles Steele, Jr.) Steele—a black man—and one time a president of the local NAACP made the following statement directly after: “The Johnson family’s legal counsel not been entirely truthful in their statements and that there is no cover-up in this case.”

 First, no one asked his opinion whatsoever. Second, he had literally no interaction with the people involved in this tragedy so how could he possibly know?  Also, what are they being dishonest about, and if they were, how the hell would he be privy to this information when no one else is? To make such a rigid and finite statement with no provocation is indicative of the very same cover-up that he claims doesn’t exist.  So now we have people attempting to shift public opinion by challenging the credibility of the grieving family and their legal counsel as well as the funeral home—all of which distract from some very clear facts:

1. The coroner should have simply disclosed where his organs were.

2. The coroner needs to clarify why and what “destroyed through natural process" means.

3. The video surveillance. Where are the missing hours, and why did they conveniently vanish during times that would have given this case at least a modicum of clarity?

4.Where are his shoes? Did they magically vanish?

There have been several claims from anonymous sources stating that Kendrick was dating a young white female and that this didn’t sit well with several of his peers. I can attest to this unique form of drama—having grown up in the south and almost exclusively dated white girls. I fought often, and had my life threatened more times than I can count. However let’s completely take the racial element out of this.

 If we are talking probability, it seems more likely to assume he was either playing far too rough with his classmates and it ended badly (Any mother of little boys can tell you that boys don’t know the difference between danger and recreation. I have the scars to prove it.) or he was attacked. Those involved may have had no intention to kill him—likely attempting to hurt or scare him, but they went too far. They then rolled him up, left him there, then disposed of his shoes. However this doesn’t explain why the video surveillance tapes are missing, nor does it explain where his shoes and organs went.

Again, it is now Jun 2015 and this case is still under investigation.The family has filed a suit; claiming Kendrick was bullied repeatedly by several peers and that the school board did nothing to stop this. One of the bullies had an FBI agent as a father and there has been speculation that he was involved in the cover-up—however this is only speculation from the family’s counsel. We won't know until further information is released. However it should be noted that as I said prior—The FBI is involved in the entire review process. Also, bear in mind that it is alleged in the lawsuit that Johnson was lured to the gym by an unidentified 'white female' and that it was there that Brian Bell and his brother are alleged to have assaulted Johnson. The lawsuit further alleges that the father of the boys, FBI agent Rick Bell, encouraged the boys to assault Johnson.  I wish I could give the family answers. I wish I could give them closure. All we can do is hope that justice prevails. This is not the first time a young black man was suddenly missing organs. Part 2 will cover Ryan Singleton, a young black male. Also from Georgia. Also found dead with missing organs. 

In closing I would like to pose a simple question: 
If several vital parties claim that the Johnson families claims are without warrant and baseless—then why has this investigation taken the feds so long to complete?

How they spy on your phone!

(PhysOrg.com) -- Recently, researchers have been developing carbon nanotube-based thin-film transistors (TFTs) in the hopes of creating high-performance, flexible, transparent devices, such as e-paper and RFID tags. However, one of the biggest challenges holding back the transistors’ performance is a trade-off between the properties of metallic and semiconducting nanotubes that make up the transistors. In a new study, researchers have developed a new way of fabricating nanotube networks that partly overcomes this problem, and show that the nanotube networks could be used to make transistors as well as flexible integrated circuits (ICs).

The researchers, Dong-ming Sun from Nagoya University in Nagoya, Japan, and coauthors from there and Aalto University in Finland, have published their study on the fabrication of high-performance TFTs and ICs on flexible, transparent substrates in a recent issue of Nature Nanotechnology.

“We have shown that, without consideration of carbon nanotube chirality, the as-grown carbon nanotubes can be used to fabricate high-performance TFTs and ICs, leading to a simple and fast technique for low-cost, flexible electronics,” coauthor Yutaka Ohno of Nagoya University told PhysOrg.com. “Lightweight and flexible devices such as mobile phones and electronic paper are gaining attention for their roles in achieving a smarter and green ubiquitous information society. It is important to manufacture such devices at extremely low cost in replacing conventional paper-based media such as newspapers and magazines. Our work can provide such technology.”

As the researchers explained in their study, nanotube networks contain both metallic and semiconducting nanotubes. While a greater amount of metallic nanotubes increases the transistor’s charge-carrier mobility, it also decreases the on/off ratio.

Since both of these characteristics are important for overall transistor performance, the researchers in the new study found a way to optimize both characteristics by fabricating a nanotube network with certain unique properties. For instance, the network’s morphology consists of straight, relatively long (10 micrometers) nanotubes (30% of which are metallic) compared to other nanotube networks. The new network also uses more Y-junctions than X-junctions between nanotubes. Since Y-junctions have a larger junction area than X-junctions, they also have lower junction resistance.

After building the transistors, the researchers fabricated an IC capable of sequential logic – the first such circuit based on carbon nanotube transistors to date. In sequential logic circuits, the output depends on both the present input as well as the history of the input, so that these circuits have storage or memory functions.

The researchers predict that, by scaling up the fabrication process and using improved printing techniques, these nanotube-based TFTs could lead to the development of large-scale, inexpensive, and flexible electronics.

“Our near-future plan is to demonstrate roll-to-roll fabrication of CNT-based TFT arrays and ICs,” Ohno said. “To do so, we need to replace all the lithographic techniques by high-throughput printing techniques. For commercialization, we have to improve the uniformity of TFT characteristics more, but we are aiming at commercializing within five years.”

Read more at: http://phys.org/news/2011-02-carbon-nanotube-transistors-inexpensive-flexible.html#jCp

“You are the type of stupid bitch who pokes holes in her boyfriend’s condoms and your best friend gets pregnant!” I yelled at her.

**CHAT LOG**

Idontbreathe: I love that band!!!

FrankyChitown: I hope I can take you to see them. Ya know I play guitar?

Idontbreathe: Yeah….that would er…be nice.

FrankyChitown:  Come on Eleanor we should meet!! I promise I’m not a creep.

Idontbreathe:  It would be nice, but also impossible.

FrankyChitown:  Yes it is. If you don’t like me that is fine. If it is something you really wanted to do, you would. It is that simple.

Idontbreathe: No it isn’t.

FrankyChitown: Then why!

Idontbreathe:  Because I am dead…..

FrankyChitown:  lol!!!

Idontbreathe: This is not a joke…

FrankyChitown:  ……what the fuck is with you? Are you really a man, or some fat bitch?

::Idontbreathe has left the chat::

-July 21, 20XX

BEING A WOMAN or ‘MY TRIP TO FAIL-MART’

So today I went to a multinational department store. I stood in the aisle and watched a middle aged woman with frilly hair fumbling about with boxes in the feminine hygiene section.  In her left hand she held a box of tampons; in her right a yeast infection test kit.  She kept eyeing over her shoulder terrified that someone would see her, somehow ignoring the fact that at some point during her venture she would be surrounded by people sorting through their items, angry babies being shushed, people shooting death stares at said babies’ parents, and checkout personnel; all who might catch a glimpse of her feminine products. 

I suppose the checkout person is the least of her worries—as they see it all, and are more preoccupied with crabby old ladies arguing the price on the fabric. Then again, I suppose her inconspicuousness was validated considering American social norms. Unknown to her there were two unsightly security guards ogling her. They were large, surly rejects, the kind that lacked chins and necks. I’ve been following this ratchet bitch for a week. Her name is Angelica and she is one messy thot. For those not familiar with the term ‘thot’ I suggest you spend a little time on urbandictionary.com and become accustomed with urban vernacular. “You are the type of stupid bitch who pokes holes in her boyfriend’s condoms and your best friend gets pregnant!” I yelled at her. No response.

I watched as she swiftly tossed the kit back on the shelf and placed the small box of tampons in her purse. I hardly assume this lady had intentions of stealing them, and aside from me—no one was watching her as the guards had left. Not to mention her attire boasted at very least upper middle class—and she wasn't black—so it was a bit silly that she was of the ilk that would allow such a social stigma to shame her into regarding one of the most definitive—no, ethereal of female biological functions as embarrassing. I mean she went as far as hiding them in her purse instead of using a basket like normal people. I found this strange as this was Chicago, not the bible-belt. “I wonder if I was ever like that?” I thought. I also wonder how she would react if she knew I was standing directly in front of her? She glided out of the aisle snatching a bottle of Midol, and sliding it into her purse coupling it with the tampons. I’ve often pondered why menstruation even exists if you aren’t ready to bear a child. I’m certain there is a scientific or evolutionary explanation, however­­—if an egg isn’t fertilized, then why should women be preparing for anything? I should Google that. Not that any of this applies to me.

I simply weep for those who suffer from the almost sinister pains of endometriosis, cysts, and the veritable cornucopia of medical conditions that were bestowed upon us by God as a penance for one of our poorest representatives. “Eve was such a bitch.” I thought to myself. Not that I am a Christian. Though often I meander the halls of churches. The murals I’ve seen depicting Adam, Eve, and the snake in which I affectionately refer to as ‘The Devil’s three-way’ particularly intrigue me. I am of the opinion that I if temptation had never been introduced into the garden in the first place then this poor lady would have no need to cram embarrassing products into her purse to hide her shame. Besides, Oscar Wilde mused that the only way to get over temptation is to give into it. I would have ate that god damned apple with a grin. I digress.

One of the most sensational benefits of being dead is that I don’t have a period anymore. No cramps, no blood, no tampons, no pills, no accidents, and no more one week grumpy boyfriends. Grumpy boyfriends? Hmm. I suppose the downside is that I can’t get laid anymore. I should rethink this. At any rate I couldn’t waste much time lamenting as I had a quest to complete. The new patch to my favorite online game had been released, and I had no way of playing it without money for the monthly fee. I also have no normal means of attaining money. I began walking towards the checkout when my focus was broken by an obnoxious voice over the intercom system. “Attention all customers. The time is now 9:55. We will be closing in approximately 5 minutes. We ask that you please make your final selections and proceed to checkout. Thank you for shopping.” the speaker blared in a static riddled, annoying fashion. A  customer next to me was frantically fumbling with the snack cakes. “High fructose corn syrup is bad for you.” I said to the paunchy man waving a finger in his face as if he could actually see or hear me. (I assume that at this point you’ve deduced that I am a ghost.)

I walked to the nearest register that appeared to host well-to-do midwesterners—and like a flash of sexy lightning there she stood, dressed to kill. She had a Louis Vitton bag slung over her shoulder, a dress which looked equally expensive and a pair of Manolo heels all of which at retail value could feed a small African village. “That will be $249.56 Miss.” the cashier stated, placing her item in a small bag; giving her a snide look. I was extremely curious as to what she purchased at such a low end department store that could have possibly cost that much, however my eyes were locked on her shoes. I miss shoes. Hell I miss clothing in general. Not that I have much to be modest about; it’s not as if anyone can see me. As a spirit, tangible things—food, hair pins, earrings—all pass right through me. I can however touch and move things. It takes focus, but I can. I really like shoes though! As the dame rifled through her purse I became hopeful. “Show me those little plastic digits lady.” I thought; my avarice fit to burst. As I said prior I have no practical means of attaining money so I waited patiently as she fumbled with her bag, hoping that she had a decent credit limit.

 I should also note that I’ve no means to write the numbers down. I mean, I could hold a pen and paper, but that might raise quite a few questions. So I’d spent a lot of time on the internet reading ebooks on how to increase ones memory, however as I began to utilize the techniques something crazy happened:

I learned that I can directly interface with computers and electronics. I don’t even have to type, but more on that later. Remembering things became second nature to me though, albeit there are tons of things I wish I could forget. I occasionally wander through some of the worst neighborhoods in Chicago completely unscathed as no one can see, touch, or hear me. It sounds fancy, but I assure you it is terribly macabre.

 (Wow, I used macabre in a sentence. Neat.)
Anyhow, after I stepped up my memory game, gathering credit card information from unsuspecting snobs had become my past time. If you live in the Chicago area and have ever checked your credit card statement and found odd purchases, or subscriptions to gay pornography sites, then that was likely my mischief. Terrible I know, but being a slimy trickster amuses me. I know women pretend to conform to most social conventions, however, I’ve observed several and  have come to the conclusion that women are men with boobs.  I also like dating sites.

So ya, the Barbie pulled out like, the largest wad of twenty dollar bills I’d ever seen in my life from her purse. “Shit, another stripper!” I said. I seek out those who appear to be financially well off as they are far less likely to notice the $24.99 is coming out of their account every month to suit an invisible girl’s late night gaming habits. I normally don’t bother with such low end stores, but it was close, and I couldn’t bear another trip into the loop on a noisy train. I'm sure you are thinking: 'Simply take some cash from the register, or from the strippers purse!' Unfortunately, the game company only takes plastic, and even if they did take cash I’d have no way of paying without causing serious alarm. Also, could you imagine a cashier explaining to her boss that the cash just floated out of the register? Funny right? I interfered with humans for quite some time until the incident. (More on that later. Long story.) Luckily a nice well-to-do looking gentleman happened to be purchasing a few petty items and almost as if he were attempting to impress the cashier he popped out a black card from his jacket. 

“YES!” I yelped, taken aback by the prospect. Eventually most people notice the money being billed to them as they tend to keep a closer eye on their spending in lieu of the recession. So occasionally my gaming profiles are swiftly deleted and investigated for fraud. This really isn’t much of a problem as I can’t get caught, though it is extremely frustrating to begin a whole new character from scratch. I wonder if was I this much of a geek when I was alive? With this black card the sky is the limit! I committed the numbers to memory instantly and skipped to the exit. This swanky peacock just purchased gum, and chapstick on a black card. It’s highly improbable that he will notice such a meager amount being subtracted from his limitless resources, so I could milk this cash cow for a while.

My merriment was interrupted by the anti-theft alarms being set off by the same woman who I assumed was too embarrassed to allow her tampons to be seen in her basket. “Blocking the exit were her two flabby admirers. As the two guards pulled her aside I knew exactly what had happened. “God damn you, Eve.” I thought to myself. As I walked toward the exit, the two security goons had pulled the lady aside demanding to look through her items.Suddenly, a look of realization washed over her face. In her rush to get to—where ever thots go at night—she completely forgot to remove and pay for the items! Now it would appear as if she was stealing tampons. Fucking Tampons! So, by attempting to avoid embarrassment, she was about to embarrass herself. This reeked of irony. There was a hush over the crowd of onlookers.

People loved a spectacle so long as it didn’t involve them. The larger of the two oafs began reaching for her purse. Her face was a wreck. This could have been the most embarrassing night of this woman’s life; however, I happened to be standing next to a fire alarm and an open cash drawer. I’ll have you know that not one person in that crowd as much as questioned why a large stack of bills suddenly shot out of the register and into the air. They all but tore each other apart picking up the money, and the frizzy haired women slinked away, grateful and unscathed. So yeah, that was that.



As I said before I like dating sites. Prior to creating this journal entry, I was filling out a free dating profile on a popular dating site. I’m perplexed as to how women date online. (Or at all really.) People lie. This isn’t as synonymous with the internet as much as it is with life in general. The internet is merely a part of the liar’s toolkit. I am always amazed at how easily women fall for completely transparent lies. I’m not sure it’s an issue of naivety either. I think the real issue lies (Pun not intended.) in loneliness. Most women are more willing to believe a lie than to consider that they are lonely and willing to settle. I know what real loneliness is. Most don’t even have a reasonable facsimile. I’ve spent the past 5 years as a ghost, completely unable to speak to anyone. Meanwhile, humans are surrounded by other humans so if you are lonely, it is your own damned fault. I know this from watching several of you. (Yes. I am a people watching creep-ass.)

 Victims of self-fulfilling prophecies, desperate to sort out why a certain someone doesn’t love you, meanwhile ignoring a very pertinent question: “Why do you care?” I am certain that most of this stems from parental issues. Without a proper father little girls aren’t properly spoiled loved well enough to have a standard viewpoint as to what they should expect. I could rant about how men need the same for various reasons, but I don’t much care for their gender. I’ll explain that soon enough. (Again, I have seen the worst of you people.)

I’ve noticed that American society is completely devoid of standard-model parental units all across the board. I read somewhere that 50% percent of first marriages, 67% of second and 74% of third marriages end in divorce. On top of that as of 2013, 40.8% percent of all births were to unwed mothers. This frightens me. (And I am dead.) At some point, some of you will probably think, ‘You don’t have to be married to raise a child properly.’ You are correct! So, why the fuck don’t most of you? Also, you don’t have to wear a safety belt on a rollercoaster either. Good luck with that, I’ll hopefully see you on my side soon. (I could use the company.) Again, I deplore men; however what I have noticed is that regardless of the almost insurmountable difficulties the fem-fighters of the past overcame, with little gratitude, women defaulted to waiting on prince charming once their so called unalienable rights were obtained. I’m sure Ayn Rand is turning in her grave or at very least journaling about this from hell. (As according to Catholicism that is where she likely is.) I wonder what rent is like in hell? I suggest you girls remember that a few years ago we weren’t allowed basic human rights, yet you squander that freedom on petty relationships and reality shows depicting spiteful women chasing staged relationships, and men who are clearly not into you. (My tongue is thumping my cheek. I absolutely love The Basketball Wives and the Bad Girls Club. Sue me.) 

It was around 3:00 am when I arrived at the public library. I assume the staff there hates me. Several times during the night I’ll come across a book or magazine I want to read, and most I’ve been able to manage is to knock one on to the floor and turn the pages from the floor. I feel very little guilt though. It gives them something to do. Besides, your tax dollars pay them to work and it’s been my experience that they do little more than shush people and talk on their cell phones. Some time ago I had memorized the administrator passwords to their computer network and created my own profiles, and I remember to delete the log files after each visit. I also use several different libraries as to not arouse suspicion. Another peculiar subtlety of my disposition is intangibility. I pass right through walls, yet for some reason I don’t fall through floors unless I direct my attention to doing so.  I can also sit, which is good for late night gaming or chatting, but I never seem to get tired, and I don’t believe I have ever slept.

Back to my dating profile. I sat there, blankly staring at a screen that began asking me absurd questions.

Marital status: Separated. (From life! lol.)

Do I have children: Nope! Unless you count my cat. (More on that later.)

Do I smoke: I wish I could smoke weed. It looks fun.

Do I drink or do drugs: See above question

Religion: Now that is a touchy subject.

It’s not that I am opposed to any particular dogma. Rather that I am living proof that the belief systems of most major religions frankly do not apply to my current situation. I personally find people obsessed with religion or any type of ‘-ism’ rather annoying. In fact the only thing as annoying as unyielding bible thumpers, are zealous atheists desperately forcing their perspectives on others, meanwhile ignoring the fact that they are little more than the other side of the same coin. They can no more prove that there is no God than religious people can prove there is. It’s as if they are all afraid to say, “Fuck if I know.” I suppose I should mention a couple of things here. I don’t remember if I was religious or not as I don’t recall anything about being alive. Even now, most of what I’ve learned—I learned; sitting in a church pew next to other people trying to figure it all out; skating that paper thin line between spirituality and rationality. Of course no one can see me aside from my cat. I call her Momo. It means peach in Japanese. We’ve known each other for some time now in fact, but again we can talk about her another time. I digress.  We were talking about the big R, created by the big G, and administrated by a bunch of As’. I suppose my curiosity with religion began with waking up dead. You may find this completely absurd, but I took it rather well.

I woke up giggling. It was the strangest sense of euphoria you could possibly imagine. I imagine it is much like what I’ve observed of women in the midst of those sexually charged late nights laced with ecstasy and cocaine. Not that I have a clue as to what any of that is like; I have however occasionally observed naive girls with massive black hole insecurities desperately being filled—if only temporarily—by copious amounts of methamphetamine and cock. I believe the looks on their faces reflect what I felt that night. My rebirthday. Not that I know what I look like. Mirrors don’t reflect me. I wandered through the grave yard for hours, before I realized that I had no idea who I was, how I died, or why this was happening. I decided to go back to my tombstone for clues, but it was a wash. I had completely forgotten where I got up at. Without missing a beat, I took a name from the nearest tombstone. My name is Eleanor. Eleanor Devereaux. I am a ghost. Wait. Now I’m lost. I’m not sure how I went from religion, to cocks and cocaine, to being a ghost, but you might want to prepare to deal with it. Remember that euphoria I explained earlier? It never stopped. My focus wanders more than any scatterbrained, vapid reality show reject you’ve ever seen. I feel no pain, I am not bound by gravity, and I can run—really, fucking fast. I found a temporary focus mechanism in my addiction to the internet, literature, and fashion. It all calms me, albeit I suppose my affinity for fashion comes from the fact that I can’t wear clothing. Maybe I was a model in a past life? Who knows? As I was saying, fuck religion. (I think.) 

So all in all I don’t know WHAT to believe, so I selected ‘agnostic’

Pets: Yup. One pissy cat.

I came to a part in the form that asked me to describe myself in one word, yet it gives me a finite amount of choices. This was, ipso facto, contradictory bullshit. I was disheartened when I didn’t find the word GHOST, in the list, nor did I see an option to write in either. My luck. That was when I saw the term fashionista! This resonated with me. It is such a cliché, I know. But it suits me.

The next portion of the questionnaire asked about my intent with their fine website. I selected ‘casual, no commitment.’ for obvious reasons.

What is the longest relationship you have had: The minimum time you can select is under 1 year. So basically those who haven’t had the luxury of being in a committed relationship lasting  more than a year; have to become liars, or were simply shit out of luck. The question regarding my annual income made me chuckle. I have stolen in the upwards of $50,000 this year alone. I have blown most of it on shoes I can’t even wear. Remember that euphoria? It makes me do very silly things. I just love shoes in general. I spend an exorbitant amount of time on fashion blogs and forums. I live vicariously through the tales of other women. In fact, one particular online entity I’ve encountered is a girl who uses the moniker Ashley. 

I find this hilarious as there are no extraneous alphanumeric characters following her name. All of her all of her internet moniker’s were simply Ashley. This includes all of the popular networking sites. It is as if she waited in line for the unveiling of every pop culture social media site and immediately registered the name. I like her. She kept it real. I had become accustomed to the vapid musings of grown women behaving like teenagers ranting about loving this brand or that, yet not providing any real explanation as to why spent more money on fashion than they did neccesities. I've seen lousy mothers spend entire child support checks on a purse, meanwhile feeding their children chips, and kool-aid for dinner. The ‘why’ is rather simple. Their opinions are handed to them. It’s true. 95% of people make up their minds about, well—everything—based on the opinions of others. That leaves 5% who actually use logic, rationality and critical thinking. They buy labels without any concern of the quality of the product. They simply wanted to have something their peers did not.

I finished my profile without bothering to upload a photo as my only option was to steal someone elses. I’m not much of a swagger jacker, so I left it blank. You would be amazed at how many guys hit me up anyway. I’d go on to make idle conversation, and meet up with several men, all claiming to be perfect. I even got catfished a few times. Not that they could see me of course. I did notice a pattern in the men that I met and I have a cornucopia of tales I could tell, but one in particular stands out so brilliantly that it faded my other dates if only by contrast. I’ll talk about that terrible day some other time. I’m slightly at odds about telling that particular story as it’s pretty horrendous, and completely shut my dating game down. I mean it’s not like I was directly responsible for what happened, rather my actions caused the debacle. His online moniker was DrakeBoutThatLife2015, and while he came off as a dreamboat he was more like a barnacle attached to a sunken ship. Meeting him is what led to the ‘incident’.

My name is Benji Gillis and I don’t give a fuck who Luther is!

My name is Benji Gillis and I don’t give a fuck who Luther is!

1.
Keisha wimpered.

Bam Bam  had her pinned down on the cold asphalt. He groped her crotch as he ripped her shirt off; spraying the walkway with buttons. The alley was blocked off by a fence behind the apartment complex. The only exit doubled as the entrance. Cars sped by; paying them no heed. Not that he was worried about being seen as he had Bunchie and Reggie posted by the entrance as look outs. Besides, in this neighborhood the pedestrians fall into one of two very rigid categories:

Category A:  Those who would join in on the debauchery. They likely rationalized that she wanted it.

Category B: Those that would pretend they saw nothing. They likely rationalized that it was none of their business.

This place was Hell.

This place was both Sodom and Gomorrah.

This place was Chicago, Illinois. Population: In desperate need of weeding.

BamBam, was a short little fuck, but he was the ring leader of their rag tag parade of failure. All 3 boys were completely devoid of any form of guidance; be it parental or otherwise, and most teachers felt they were lost causes. Not that they regularly attended class. He struck her hard across the face. “Shut the fuck up bitch!”  he screamed into her ear; covering her mouth.

Keisha cried through his fingers. 

BamBam waved his cohorts over.  The boys ran from their lookout posts. “Hold this bitch down!” Bunchie lumbered over and pinned her arms down. She couldn’t move as Bunchie was literally twice the size of BamBam, and every bit as snot nosed and ugly. Reggie hesitated. He was visibly uncomfortable with what was happening, but couldn't chance losing any street credibility. “Hey, I’m gonna keep watch alright?” Reggie said.

“Whatever nigga. I knew you was a bitch! Wait till I tell Luther.” BamBam replied. BamBam would be the first person to tell Luther that he bitched out.  This was their initiation. If they were going to become legitimate members of Crook County—a gang that had been sending shockwaves throughout Chicagoland—they had to complete a simple task:  Find Jerry Gleason’s daughter and give her a sample of what Luther’s crew does when debts are not paid.

 Of course ‘simple task’ was gauged by mob standards and all of them—Keisha—included, were far too young to be engaged in such behavior. Bam Bam was 16, Reggie was 15, Bunchie was 14, and Keisha—sadly enough—was 12, but in order to move up in rank you have to do as you’re told.

Keisha cried.

BamBam had his cock in his hand; having fumbled with his belt buckle in an attempt to get out of his jeans, which was ironic considering that he sagged his jeans damn near his ankles. He kept trying to get it in, but being a novice he had no clue as to what he was doing. Sure he bragged about fucking girls but the truth is, all 3 boys were virgins. “Bitch open yo' pussy up! You keep pushing me out!” BamBam yelled, still covering her mouth.  Keisha bit down hard on his pinky.

“OUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCH!!!” he bellowed. He slapped her so hard across the face that her cry was silent. Her face numb, and eye twitching—she resolved to accept her fate.  Bam Bam got up and examined his finger. She bit him down to the bone. Bunchie was now on top of her. His chubby face and acrid breath turned her stomach. He slipped one of his dirty, untrimmed, pudgy fingers inside her. Keisha froze. His dirty, jagged nails snagged and scraped her insides. It felt like razor blades. She flinched, but resolved to stay still. Her body tensed up and she closed her eyes.

 This was wrong. This was so wrong. Keisha was a good girl—an A student. She did her chores, and had taken care of her younger siblings after their mother passed. She made sure they were fed, bathed, and in bed before their father Jerry got home. She was the personal home chef, tutor, maid, and nanny. Occasionally, she even had to take care of their father. He’d stumble in drunk and pass out on the couch.  She would make sure there was plastic covering on the furnitue in case he pissed himself, as well as a blanket to keep him warm.  And she always set the coffee timer so it would be ready in the morning, however by the time old Jerry woke up, it was cold. Still, he appreciated the sentiment; choosing to warm it up in the microwave. He was so proud of her. She was the only good thing in the world he had left to lean on when Cheryl passed. This was wrong. She did everything right. She was a card carrying Christian and shamelessly boasted that she would serve the lord, and save herself for marriage. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. This was so fucking wrong.



Bunchie’s long, dirty and unkempt nails were cutting into her. He had the look of a wild, thirsty dog. “This bitch fucked my hand up! It won’t stop bleeding!” BamBam yelled.  “Hurry up Bunchie I’m a shoot this bitch!” Reggie finally spoke up. “Don’t! Luther just wants his money, if you do that he is going to be mad!” Reggie was frantic now. I don’t want to do this! I don’t want to be here, but Mom. I gotta take care of mom! His thoughts raced. “You such a bitch made ass nigga! I’m starting to think you don’t like pussy.” BamBam laughed.

Keisha screamed. Keisha cried. Keisha squirmed in agony.

“I got it in! Hey y’all I got it in!” Bunchie beckoned for BamBam. “You’re in her asshole stupid! Cover her mouth! Somebody in the building might hear us!” BamBam said. Bunchie covered her mouth as he slid out of her.  “Just get up! I’ll try again!” BamBam shooed Bunchie off the girl and mounted her again. “Please stop!! NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Someone please help me!!” ” Keisha bellowed. Bam Bam slapped her quiet again. “Bunchie cover her god damned mouth! Somebody is going to hear us!” Someone did.  

2.

Benji ignored the first scream. He was used to it. Chicago was a wild place and it’s not like he resided in the best neighborhood. He’d slept through it all. Murders, rapes and gun shots were as normal as the chirping of the birds here on the west side of Chicago. He used to lie to his son—telling him the gun shots were fireworks; but ended the charade when the boy made an astute observation. "But dad, it's March. What are they celebrating?" He stirred a bit, but a minute into his lull he realized that there was no going back. He was awake. I’m never going to get any sleep. It was Sunday, his only day off. He was home alone for the first time in ages and he just wanted a nap. He looked at the clock. It was blinking 12:00. Great another brownout.  He stretched while yawning and stumbled towards the kitchen in search of coffee. The pot was empty. Great. I forgot to set it last night. He press a few buttons on the coffee pot and walked toward the cabinet in search of a mug, but he noticed several lined up on the counter. Attached to the counter was a note:

“Dad, Grandpa is taking me to the skate park. I washed all the dishes you left in the sink since MONDAY. I set the coffee pot, but if the lights go off again, there is a 50/50 chance you wont have coffee in the morning. You can pay me in cash or in cash.”
-Bean

He shook his head and laughed. Occasionally on Sunday mornings— Gary, Bean’s maternal grandfather and Benji’s only source of child care—would take Bean to the skate park, allowing Benji to finally get some rest. He worked 2 jobs, he hustled, yet still they were barely making it above water. When the coffee was ready, he poured a cup and sat at the table. Gary had left a copy of the Tribune. He thumbed through the pages, half reading articles here and there. He didn’t much care for the paper. The internet had become the world’s news beacon. Most of this generation depended on social media for the news. His real issue was how poorly written the papers were these days. From the articles, to the advertisements, there were so many typos, grammatical errors, and poorly written prose that he couldn’t bear to read it most of the time.

He slid the coupons section out for himself, and the comics for Bean. He enjoyed couponing. It reminded him of the times he was young. His mother would sit at the table and clip them out while he laughed at Calvin and Hobbs. He exhaled. I’m taking my black ass back to bed.

Keisha screamed.

Keisha cried. 

Keisha squirmed in agony.

Benji heard her.

2.

Bunchie hovered over Keisha and BamBam—bovine lummox that he was—while Reggie watched solemnly. He kept attempting to slide into her, but missed his target with every unimpressive stroke; however her inner thigh was getting the business. “The fuck y’all doing?” Benji said, walking onto the scene. Reggie and Bunchie froze. “Y’all  don’t even know how to fuck a bitch? Y’all weak as fuck!” he said. He walked past Reggie, pausing long enough to give him a side eye birthed from the deepest pits of hell.  A faint recognition danced about Reggie’s face. He immediately looked away. When he reached the pair, BamBam sprang into action; pulling up his pants, and brandished a pistol. The .22 had long replaced the 9 millimeter as the handgun of choice for so called thugs and pseudo gangsters alike, however here stood this boy—this toddler—with a 9 aimed at Benji’s gut; cocked to the side, like a glowing effigy; dedicated to every  90's gangster movie in existence.

“Mind yo business nigga!” BamBam said. Benji wasn’t fazed.   “Calm down family. You fucking behind my building and you can’t share the pussy? You bogus!”  BamBam laughed and put the gun away.  Benji looked down at Keisha. She was somewhere else. Some faraway place that housed the tiny bit of happiness she had left. She was looking through him. Benji walked towards her, grabbing his crotch for accent. “Hold up! Her panties are still on? Y’all aint even got it in yet?!” Benji clowned them.  “Hey nigga, I was about to!” BamBam replied. “I got it in!” Bunchie bellowed.

“Shut yo fat ass up Bunchie! You stuck it in her booty.” BamBam spat at Bunchie. “Fuck you BamBam, with your short ass!” Bunchie was clearly sensitive about his weight. “Hey, y'all need to be quiet before the police come.” Benji said. “That is why Reggie bitch ass is watching out. He don’t like pussy.” Bam Bam said. Reggie never turned around; he just kept watching his feet.  “Hey family, please go watch for people. Your boy is going to get us fucked up out here! He isn’t watching the street.” Benji said. BamBam complied, stopping at the entrance and smacking Reggie on the back of his head. Keisha’s eyes had glossed over. Benji was squatting next to Keisha when he noticed Bunchie the oaf hovering next to them. His stubby dick was out and he was rubbing it at an alarming rate. Disgusting. Benji gave her a once over. No blood. Good.   Her shirt was torn, but she had a wife beater on below it. He leaned down, stroked her hair, and whispered in her ear.

Listen carefully baby girl. I know you are scared. You should be. I am not going to hurt you. I am going to pick you up, and I am going to toss you over the fence. When you hit the ground, you need to run wherever you need to go, as fast as your feet can take you. This is the important part. Remember their names BamBam and Bunchie. Got it?

Keisha was still dazed. Benji tapped her face a few times. “Got it?! Their names are BamBam and bunchie.” She suddenly came to. With her lips quivering, and tears washing her face, she nodded. Benji looked over his shoulder to make sure the other two weren’t watching. He looked at Bunchie who was still playing with himself  and sprang into action; hoisting her tiny body up and tossing her over the fence. He heard her fleeting steps shortly after he tossed her. 

“Nigga why you jacking off!! You let her get away!” Benji howled into Bunchie’s face. Bunchie was confused to say the least. “Yo! This fat motherfucker let her jump the fence!” Benji yelled. BamBam stormed towards Bunchie. He was furious. So furious in fact, that he didn’t  notice Benji swiping the pistol from the back pocket of his oversized jeans. “Nigga put yo dick up!” BamBam screamed. The sight was comical. Bunchie was at least a foot taller, and an easy hundred pounds heavier.  “B-but wait. I didn’t do nothing! He-“ Bunchie froze. “He what nigga?!” BamBam noticed Bunchie’s gaze was locked on Benji. He turned. His own gun was pointed at his dick. He called for Reggie, but Reggie was gone.

“I don’t know if it’s Jim Crow, the status quo, the prison industrial complex, hip hop, or gentrification that spawned no good niggas like you three. I’ve discussed this topic at length with numerous people. I mean, can you be blamed when your ignorance may very well be the result of constant social tampering by a system that puts more effort into the appearance of not being racist, than it does not being racist? Are you three really at fault when the system is designed to make cretins like you?”

“N-nigga what the fuck is a cretin?” BamBam stuttered. “My point exactly!” Benji said. He fired off a round between BamBam's legs.  BamBam jumped backwards—a heartbeat later, his pants were flooded with piss. “Oh wow. So you didn’t have the safety on? I should probably do society a favor and shoot your dick off before you reproduce. Ironically enough, you would have probably shot it off on your own  at some point.” Benji smiled.  “And you, Biggie Smalls. Put your dick away. Nobody wants to see that shit.”

Bunchie hastily put his tool away and zipped his pants. “So this is how it’s going to go. “I don’t want to see either one of you on my block—no fuck that—I don’t want to see you niggas in Bellwood again! Capeesh?” Benji accepted their silence as confirmation.

“Now that we have that settled, let’s work on punishment. I wager not a one of you are over 18 right?” They nodded in agreement. This is perplexing. I don’t want to shoot you unless I have to, and if I break my foot off in your asses, I will end up in jail.” Benji  monologued. That was when it dawned on him. “Since you think it’s okay to force people to do things, let’s see how you feel when it’s done to you. Hey, Biggie, hit him in the mouth as hard as you can.” he said gesturing his free hand towards Bunchie, who immediately lumbered back, preparing to deliver a haymaker. There was clearly some unresolved resentment between the pair.

“W-wait wait wait!! BamBam yelped. “Please let him hit me with the hand he didn’t touch his dick with!” he pleaded. “Oh? What? Even better!  Big papa, put the fingers that were on your dick in Spud Webb’s mouth.” Benji openly laughed. “N-no no no! Please! Mister please! Why you doing this to us! We didn’t do nothing to you!!!” BamBam was sporting visible tears. Benji’s demeanor changed—noticeably so. There was now ice in his veins. “Did she say no?” Benji asked. Silence.

 “I asked you a question nigga!” he screamed. BamBam openly wept; shuffling about in a puddle of his own piss. “Y-yes. But we had to. Luther made us!” BamBam said. “No one made you do shit! Y’all are damn near grown!  You had a choice.” Benji’s  temper cooled a bit, but his disposition was unchanged.

“The salt ye take is the salt ye must pay for. I read that in a Stephen King novel. I’m sure it’s based on some parable, or proverb. Either way it applies.” Benji said; stepping back and leaning against the building adjacent his. “So here is the deal. In a white neighborhood the cops would be here by now because of that shot, but both of you know they aren’t coming. So I could shoot both of you right now, and by the time the cops found you, that little girl—“ Benji paused.

 He began to shake. His blood was boiling. He wanted to rampage. He wanted to beat the meat off of their bones and then beat the blood! His fury seemed to be fueled by some lost memory. He bridled it and continued. “—that little girl will have told the police, who don’t give a fuck about black children anyway, let alone two rapists! She looked like she just left church and you snatched her off the street because some nigga told you to?! Do you niggas not have mothers? Sisters? Aunts? What if that was your niece!” He howled at the pair. “B-but it’s different if it’s not your family.” BamBam stuttered.



****CRACK****

Benji slapped fire from BamBam’s mouth. “Owwwwww! Man, you said you weren’t going to hit us.” BamBam wimpered. “I sure did. My brain works differently than most humans. I’ve been having several conversations with myself from the moment I saw you boys. The amount of thoughts flying through my head at any given moment would probably confuse most people, but I’ve adjusted to it. In fact the moment I realized that the cops wouldn’t care about two dead rapists, I realized that they would be equally insouciant about a grown man beating two teenage rapists to death. But let me apologize for that. I did that in anger as my actions can seldom keep up with my thoughts. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. So Big Pappa! Chop chop! Put your smelly dick fingers in his mouth and we are done here.” Benji said.

“W-wait! I can—“ BamBam began. Too late. Bunchie immediately plunged 3 of his greasy fingers into BamBam’s mouth. BamBam bit down hard out of reflex. Bunchie howled and slammed his fist into BamBam’s skull. BamBam crumpled. Meanwhile Bunchie—attempting to escape—slipped in the pissy puddle and landed on top of BamBam; bumping his head against the building on the way down. Oh shit! Benji thought. Reality swooped in carrying the truth on its back. These were still underage children—one of which he hit very hard—and forced to suckle his friends ratchet dick fingers. Not to mention, his finger prints were all over a pistol of unknown origin.

He began to walk away, but he heard BamBam talking shit from beneath Bunchie. “N-nigga this aint over yet. When Luther finds out, you dead!” he said weakly. Benji turned slowly, his icy demeanor returning. “Tell him if he got an issue, he can come see me. My name is Benji Gillis, and I don’t give a fuck who Luther is.” Benji said.

“You should fucking care nigga.” A voice echoed behind him. Benji turned. Reggie had returned. He was standing next to a medium height man whose eyes were as dark as his skin. BamBam struggled with consciousness. He caught a glimpse of Benji walking towards the pair as he faded. Good Reggie. Ya’ll kill that nigga.