Toilet Paper

So people why is it when you get yours hands dirty you wash them. If you face is dirty you wash it, but (pun intended) after you shit you wipe your ass? Doesn't that seem wrong to you? Really, if you sneeze you never say oh just wipe your hands it is clean enough.
People it is time to start the ass washing revolution. We do it with babies, why not with us as adults? Just think about it, your turd cutter is with in inches of your sex toys even if you wipe front to back like we were all taught your sweat can carry that little bit of bacteria down your crack and on to your naughty bits. I think we should all demand that public bathrooms have a wet nap service. We should have disinfection wipes at our convience. Maybe it is just me but I don't want my nuts getting shit on them it creeps me out, or just maybe I have had too much free time on my hands?

Her

This is an excerpt from a story I have been working on. I have come to a block but this is one of my favorite chapters. I must thank my friends who have pushed and prodded for me to keep writing even though I have not. Sioux B, Mary Cha, Miguel, and Jenna all rule. One day I will finish this story. Promise!

      “Hey asshole, you fucking blind or did your your boyfriend’s cum seal your fucking eyes shut?” Sabby vomited at the faceless driver of the car that just buzzed us as we rode into to work. She is very eloquent when she is angry. 

Sabby, or Sabbatha Lynn Green as her parents named her, is a beautiful women when she is isn’t cursing drivers with blurps that make rap stars blush. Oh yeah I guess I should explain her name. Her parents were both heavily into the metal scene and named her after what they considered the first and best metal band, Black Sabbath.  Problem was, they were expecting a boy, whose name was going to be Sabbath Bathery Green. Well when they were surprised by a little girl, they came up with the name on the spot. Her Dad jokes “We added in the “Lynn” cause we knew that with our shitty influence she would probably end up being a stripper, so we might as well help her on the way.” So you see where she gets her attitude from. Sabby is just my nickname for her, everyone else calls her Sab or Sabbatha. I am the only one that gets to use that. She beat the shit out of me the first one hundred times I used it when we were new in our relationship. She use to say “Sabby sounds like someone’s fucking pet. I’m not a fucking creature that you can call and I come, it takes a lil’ more than that Cheeks.” 

We met about three years ago. A few days after hell broke loose in America. She was helping people that had been injured in the riot fires. I myself was injured not due to fires, but some asshole that knocked me off my bike and then proceeded to try and make a bike rack out of my ass cheeks as he screamed “you fucking liberals, it is all your fault.” Hey I am all for beating people up but assuming someone’s political beliefs is just going to far, and besides the handlebars do not go into a bike rack the wheels do, idiot. Anyways Sabbatha and I met as she was attempting to figure out how to bandage lacerations in-between and around my glutes. She did her best not to laugh as I explained to her the extent of my ordeal.  I never really got to see her face as I was laying face down in a cot trying to hide my shame. I did however get to see her legs as she walked by me to get more gauze. I remember thinking that they were the sexist sticks I had every seen, but with my luck the top half would look like Quasi-modo with a touch of the witch from Snow White. She told me her name as the pain killers kicked in and the last words out of my mouth before I passed out were “Sabbatha oh yeah like Black Sabbath, ROCK ON.” Fucking really smooth. 

When I woke up I had no dignity as I realized that I was laying face down spread eagle due to the amount of bandaging amongst my buttocks. The entire burn ward, being short on supplies did not have blankets or curtains up. We were in a gym and the entire room got to see my gauzed out net, basketballs, and bat. I did my best to roll over but a voice from behind was there to tell me that if I moved I could possibly rip stitches. “If you move too quick you might end up having a set of bloody spokes.” At that moment I realized I was in love.  It was Sabby and no one else had every used my spokes euphemism for the anus. I did my best to raise my head to see the face to voice of my soul mate.

“Relax there cheeks, you might strain too hard and prolapse.” I quickly put my head back down. She let out the cutest little giggle. “Just fucking with you man. You can move all you want but walking is going to be pretty hilarious, probably look like a baby trying to walk with a diaper wedgy.”  I did my best to sit up, which just led to more of the twig and berries show for the whole room. I caught Sabby trying not to look and laugh, she was a little red faced. When I finally was able to get into a position that sort of resembled sitting, I finally looked at my angel. She is gorgeous. Not cute! She is fell out of fucking heaven, make men cry, women foam at the mouth with jealousy, no words to describe, straight beauty. She’s about five foot four, maybe shorter. Her hair is a luxurious black with chunks of velvety rose color throughout the shoulder length strands. She has the most intoxicating and rich blue colored eyes to ever gaze upon earth. Her skin is absolutely perfect, a slight shade of pink naturally with no signs of aging to be seen. Pop Noir artists have tried for years and failed to replicate lips as plush and inviting as hers, with the cutest lil’ beauty mark above them just off to the right. Her legs I described earlier, and much to my surprise, the rest of her body matches those stems equally. Her proportions are what all women dream of, a waist that is exactly ten inches smaller than her hips and bust, which I must say is so very ample. I came to find out later that it was all natural.  No way in hell would this deity of lust and beauty ever talk to me. She would surely laugh at any offering of conversation I could muster up. Well I better make it count you know, put my best foot forward and all that happy horse-shit. 

I tried to introduce myself, but the first attempt sounded more like alphabet soup in a blender. I regained my composure and poured on the charm. “Hey you are pretty funny for a broad, by the way my name is "Character X", and only people that are intimate with my ass can call me Cheeks.” Quicker than a crack whore can ask to suck your dick for some cash, Sabby retaliates “Oh, so you have a great many people intimate with your ass, or am I the first?” Oh holy shit she is witty as well, and I just went from loving this woman to worshiping the toilet paper she used to wipe her ass. Does it get any better. I remember thinking to myself at that exact moment, there has got to be something wrong with her. A fascination with feces, hermaphrodite, black widow serial killer, likes to fuck dead corpses. Something has got to be wrong with this girl. 

She laughs which allows me to keep on going “Well since you were elbow deep in there and got to know my turd cutter on a first name basis I guess it’s o.k.. Oh yeah by the way did I happen to say anything offensive while I was in never never land?” Sabby proceeds to tell me her complete loathing of the “rock on” thing or any variation of it. She has had to deal with it her whole life. She tells me that the only thing I’ve got to be embarrassed about, that came out of my mouth was uttering the words “mommy help” when they went to change the bandages. Great she now thinks I’m a goddamn Momma’s boy. We converse for awhile and she explains her name to me and is actually quite surprised that I got the correlation between band and her name. “Most assholes only say the rock on thing after I tell them my story” she squeaks out in a sarcastic little girls voice. We talk about what we did for a living, what we wanted to do, being that the future at that time was so very uncertain. I realize during this conversation that my lust for this woman is justified. The way we talk and banter back and forth is natural. It is like the rhythm of a song, it just flows. The wanting to be with her is no longer that it is now a need. She is my better half. 

        I don’t know if she felt it then too, but not a day has gone by since that moment that I have not seen her or talked to her. Three years seems like such a long time when thinking about work, sports or movies. With Sabby it seems way too short as if someone is putting a film in fast forward that I just want to leave on pause for the rest of my life. 

We roll down the street after her little episode just a few more blocks and we are back to the grindstone. I always let her take lead when we ride on narrow streets. I tell her it is because she is a stronger rider, which by the way is partially true. The real reason is even after three years of being behind her on every ride I still love watching that ass on a bicycle saddle. It is just like a girl on the back of a crotch rocket, which is the exact same shape it takes when you bend someone over the back of a couch or a chair. My personal favorite position. 

        We get to work, an eco-friendly building that looks similar to a glass house on crack. Large and awkward, it is positioned in a way so all it captures the sun with it’s walls of solar panels, thermodynamics water heating pipes. I miss old architecture. Bricks, masonry, squares and rectangles. Since 2009 California.., I’m sorry, Califas has mandated that all buildings newer than 1969 had to be retro-fitted to more sustainable energy sources. Since  we no longer purchase electricity from the United States we have to come up with different ways to fuel our country. God it has been three years and  I still can’t get used to saying “I am a citizen of Califas” when I go across the border into Vegas. 

       Sabby and I work for a rehabilitation company.  Our jobs which are boring yet somehow fulfilling are training people for positions in new fields. We have trained construction workers to become farmers, and farmers to become construction workers. We get to see the change this country has gone through at one-on-one level. When the shit hit the fan and people left Califas for America in fear of becoming a traitor we had to fill the positions. I mean for fucks sake someone has to know how to build a house, we can’t all just live in one house together. Exaggeration I know, but really so many people left in fear and confusion, that we who stayed were left with our dicks in our hands. For example I was a god damn high school janitor and Sabby was a nurse. She fixed up shit heads while I mopped up after them. This shit happens and I go through three different positions. I was a electrician. That failed when they realized I was better at electrocuting myself than getting juice to people. I was delivery guy, but my temper got the best of me on that one.  Let’s just say that there are a few cars that now have paint jobs resembling Jackson Pollock pieces. Now I am a retraining and adjustment coach. Government sponsored program that pays pretty damn well, but the real benefit is we get to reshape this strange country of ours one piece at a time.

Welcome

So talking to my good buddy, Coconut (A.K.A. Gilbert), today and he asked me what I wanted to do in life. A question that over the past year and a half or so has come up so much in my life. All I could say was "I want to be creative." That is all I ever wanted. I used to draw, paint, write and rant. It's what kept me going. Anyone that knows me well knows I love telling stories of my past that make others laugh, think, feel and kind of revolt. Well Coconut suggested I create a blog and just post short stories to get my brain flowing. The problem is while I love talking, I hate people seeing my work. I fear rejection of my ideas, my creations, and my personality. While I can talk shit all day long I worry people my be offended by my way of writing which has been described by a dear friend (Mary Cha), with a hugh smile on her face, as shit, poop, poop, fuck, fuck! To paraphrase her ever so slightly.

Well in the words of Laura in High Fidelity "The professional critic is putting something new into the world." (might be wrong I didn't look it up). So to put in not so many words I created this blog so I can just put up short stories, essays and what not as they come into my brain.

So jump into my head, hear my thoughts and leave comments. Or don't and go fuck yourself for not caring about my feelings you selfish pricks. Thanks! First story should be coming soon hopefully within a week.