ADULT CONTENT WARNING – PROCEED WITH CAUTION – FHCKED UP DARK
On the eastern outskirts of VanCity on the Northern shore of the Fraser River sits an ominous institutional looking building. A building spared from the flames of developers’ desires. Its hallways inhabited with phantoms living in a spectral world.
A yellow taxi pulls into the driveway. JG jumps out. His hair freshly died (dyed) blonde. His clothes clutch to his obesity.
A second taxi arrives. Nelly J slithers out.
“JG, what are you doing here?”
He whines.
JG asks where the fuck, is here?
The building blends into the river’s bank. It is made up of slate concrete and a dirty white veneer, shattered through the years. Piercing through the window is a series of cubicles filled with people who are staring anywhere but out. The buildings tattered awning splashed with pigeon shit and an unidentifiable smear of larvae.
The entrance emblazoned with:
A yellow taxi pulls into the driveway. JG jumps out. His hair freshly died (dyed) blonde. His clothes clutch to his obesity.
A second taxi arrives. Nelly J slithers out.
“JG, what are you doing here?”
He whines.
JG asks where the fuck, is here?
The building blends into the river’s bank. It is made up of slate concrete and a dirty white veneer, shattered through the years. Piercing through the window is a series of cubicles filled with people who are staring anywhere but out. The buildings tattered awning splashed with pigeon shit and an unidentifiable smear of larvae.
The entrance emblazoned with:
JG
“I received a call. The deep gravely voice on the other end of the line told me I’m a winner. My judgments are incredibly astute. He told me to jump into a cab and come to this address.”
Nelly
“OMG, meeee tooo, I’m a wiiineeer; Wee wiiin! Oh, oh—the doors opening, over there. Here comes someone. What did we win? What did we win?”
A tall, lanky man approached. He was sporting a white lab coat. He had a patch on his left eye. His face was emaciated.
“Hello, lads. I’m your welcoming committee. That always cracks me up. How can one man be a committee? Anywho, welcome to (inaudible mumble) your new home. Isn’t it delightfully sterile looking? Oh, by the way, my name is Patch.”
Nelly + JG in unison.
“Did he just say: NEW HOME?”
Patch’s attire consisted of red, green, and black and white slacks. If you prefer, trousers, along with a white hooded lab coat. He pulled up the hood. His face disappeared turning into a shadow.
Nelly + JG looked stunned. They appeared to be lost—but only slightly more than usual as life skips past them.
PATCH
“Follow me, follow me-follow me. Don’t you love the remarkable cadence of my singing voice? Hey, you, the less fat one, are you Nelly J? You are. Frap. Great, I’ll make sure to line up your selection of exhilarating merit badges.”
Nelly’s eyes watered. He stumbled to speak. He couldn’t find his voice. He mouthed: "PATCH" while reading the pink patch embroidered on Patch’s hoodie.
PATCH
“Nelly J, how’s about I call you Nelly for short? Perfect; such a time saver, you know what they say: time is of the essence. And, JG, I presume that’s who you are? I was told your weight balloons like a yo-yo. That doesn’t make any sense. Oh well. As for the ballooning, this must be an up time for you. I’m not trying to be mean. Besides, your girth may be a blessing here. Screw that, if anyone deserves to be fat shamed, it’s you.”
JG fumes.
“JG, you think all Muslims are damaged? You certainly are a fine piece of work. Your mind must be firing on all cylinders. Just so know: I'm not, being sarcastic.”
JG SCREAMING
“They’re all damaged. Admit it?
PATCH
“All cylinders—I’m not sure if you are capable of thinking. You are a charm. Your words flash clarity on your selection, why you’re here. Follow me, both of you are rising stars!”
JG now shuddering
“Do you think he’s fucking with us?”
Nelly
“Ewe, did you just wet yourself?
JG filled with angst
“We are so superior to this fucker. Look what he’s wearing. He’s an idiot. C’mon, Patch, what-the-fuck-ever, I hate him.”
PATCH
“Poor, naïve, man-boy, we just met, didn’t we? Sorry about my laughing. I can’t help it. Today is going to be enjoyable. If not for you—for me for sure—I’m Muslim by the way. I’m anything you disparage. Maybe I’m just fucking with you, Sunshines'.”
“I received a call. The deep gravely voice on the other end of the line told me I’m a winner. My judgments are incredibly astute. He told me to jump into a cab and come to this address.”
Nelly
“OMG, meeee tooo, I’m a wiiineeer; Wee wiiin! Oh, oh—the doors opening, over there. Here comes someone. What did we win? What did we win?”
A tall, lanky man approached. He was sporting a white lab coat. He had a patch on his left eye. His face was emaciated.
“Hello, lads. I’m your welcoming committee. That always cracks me up. How can one man be a committee? Anywho, welcome to (inaudible mumble) your new home. Isn’t it delightfully sterile looking? Oh, by the way, my name is Patch.”
Nelly + JG in unison.
“Did he just say: NEW HOME?”
Patch’s attire consisted of red, green, and black and white slacks. If you prefer, trousers, along with a white hooded lab coat. He pulled up the hood. His face disappeared turning into a shadow.
Nelly + JG looked stunned. They appeared to be lost—but only slightly more than usual as life skips past them.
PATCH
“Follow me, follow me-follow me. Don’t you love the remarkable cadence of my singing voice? Hey, you, the less fat one, are you Nelly J? You are. Frap. Great, I’ll make sure to line up your selection of exhilarating merit badges.”
Nelly’s eyes watered. He stumbled to speak. He couldn’t find his voice. He mouthed: "PATCH" while reading the pink patch embroidered on Patch’s hoodie.
PATCH
“Nelly J, how’s about I call you Nelly for short? Perfect; such a time saver, you know what they say: time is of the essence. And, JG, I presume that’s who you are? I was told your weight balloons like a yo-yo. That doesn’t make any sense. Oh well. As for the ballooning, this must be an up time for you. I’m not trying to be mean. Besides, your girth may be a blessing here. Screw that, if anyone deserves to be fat shamed, it’s you.”
JG fumes.
“JG, you think all Muslims are damaged? You certainly are a fine piece of work. Your mind must be firing on all cylinders. Just so know: I'm not, being sarcastic.”
JG SCREAMING
“They’re all damaged. Admit it?
PATCH
“All cylinders—I’m not sure if you are capable of thinking. You are a charm. Your words flash clarity on your selection, why you’re here. Follow me, both of you are rising stars!”
JG now shuddering
“Do you think he’s fucking with us?”
Nelly
“Ewe, did you just wet yourself?
JG filled with angst
“We are so superior to this fucker. Look what he’s wearing. He’s an idiot. C’mon, Patch, what-the-fuck-ever, I hate him.”
PATCH
“Poor, naïve, man-boy, we just met, didn’t we? Sorry about my laughing. I can’t help it. Today is going to be enjoyable. If not for you—for me for sure—I’m Muslim by the way. I’m anything you disparage. Maybe I’m just fucking with you, Sunshines'.”
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Patch found it to be astounding Nelly + JG didn’t sprint or waddle back to their taxis—instead, they followed him down a long seemingly endless hallway. Glass cages darted out from each side. Inside each cage sat two individuals locked in silence. They stared intensely into each other’s eyes.
PATCH
“Guy’s, don’t you love the sterile stink of the hallway? It reminds me of the clean-stench of a hospital. But, here, death unfortunately never arrives. Trust me; you’ll pray for death. Sounds, enjoyable, right?”
Words drip from Nelly’s mouth—words drenched in condensation.
“Why are we here?”
PATCH
“Why are you here, Nel? I assure you’ve earned it. The two of you have reached a phantasmagorical level of devolution. You’d do the dinosaurs proud. Your innate ability to lace life with judgment has won you, well, this! You are the Champions of the Future. Future—rich! I want to burst into laughter. Do you like my slacks? How have you two managed to become dinkier with maturity—a rarity—that’s why the selection committee selected: YOU(S).”
Nelly + JG in unison.
“We never liked you.”
PATCH
“Sweet, unison; a second time, the repetition brings me honour. You don’t know me and yet; I’ve earned your approval. Stop. Hmm, Room 6868-minus-6202. I’ll be damned. Here’s your new room. Quaint isn’t it: 4 x 6?”
“I know it’s sparse. Two chairs. They aren’t comfy I might add. I just did add. Your asses will surely hate them. Do you want to know what the fuck, is going on, why is the room a glass chamber? You probably want to know who those people are gawking inward. Do you like my smile? I just had my teeth whitened. Glistening, don’t you think? I’m messing with you. Anyway, JG, may I call you John? Why are you panicky? Don’t, do you know how many John’s are in the World? I know three. And, besides, I read your chart, pouring over it like a fine-tooth-comb, maybe not a comb, I did give it a thorough read. With the chart’s last word read there is no better way to describe you other than an all-caps DINK.”
PATCH
“Guy’s, don’t you love the sterile stink of the hallway? It reminds me of the clean-stench of a hospital. But, here, death unfortunately never arrives. Trust me; you’ll pray for death. Sounds, enjoyable, right?”
Words drip from Nelly’s mouth—words drenched in condensation.
“Why are we here?”
PATCH
“Why are you here, Nel? I assure you’ve earned it. The two of you have reached a phantasmagorical level of devolution. You’d do the dinosaurs proud. Your innate ability to lace life with judgment has won you, well, this! You are the Champions of the Future. Future—rich! I want to burst into laughter. Do you like my slacks? How have you two managed to become dinkier with maturity—a rarity—that’s why the selection committee selected: YOU(S).”
Nelly + JG in unison.
“We never liked you.”
PATCH
“Sweet, unison; a second time, the repetition brings me honour. You don’t know me and yet; I’ve earned your approval. Stop. Hmm, Room 6868-minus-6202. I’ll be damned. Here’s your new room. Quaint isn’t it: 4 x 6?”
“I know it’s sparse. Two chairs. They aren’t comfy I might add. I just did add. Your asses will surely hate them. Do you want to know what the fuck, is going on, why is the room a glass chamber? You probably want to know who those people are gawking inward. Do you like my smile? I just had my teeth whitened. Glistening, don’t you think? I’m messing with you. Anyway, JG, may I call you John? Why are you panicky? Don’t, do you know how many John’s are in the World? I know three. And, besides, I read your chart, pouring over it like a fine-tooth-comb, maybe not a comb, I did give it a thorough read. With the chart’s last word read there is no better way to describe you other than an all-caps DINK.”
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Fear came swathing down taking Nelly + John in its clutches. Flames pierced Nelly + John’s eyes rendering them blind. In their vision challenged state, next, they were blasted into the seats in the cage. Their arms froze. They screamed in silence as words escaped them, John’s wet-spot continued to grow more substantial on the crotch of his trousers.
PATCH
“You’re home my friends! May I call you, friends? Welcome to Dinosaur College–maybe not college. Oh my, Marge hates it when I try to be creative. The two of you are shadow bringers instead of purveyors of light so, the world is about to repay you. Everybody is about to repay you. Even, the Muslims—Dink—I mean DINK. Childish, I know. My name is Patch, after all. Didn’t like it as a child—but it grew on me—do you guys like it? Use your words. I’m betting about now: you guys may be regretting coming back to life.”
“If you’d like I can share the program with you?
PATCH
“You’re home my friends! May I call you, friends? Welcome to Dinosaur College–maybe not college. Oh my, Marge hates it when I try to be creative. The two of you are shadow bringers instead of purveyors of light so, the world is about to repay you. Everybody is about to repay you. Even, the Muslims—Dink—I mean DINK. Childish, I know. My name is Patch, after all. Didn’t like it as a child—but it grew on me—do you guys like it? Use your words. I’m betting about now: you guys may be regretting coming back to life.”
“If you’d like I can share the program with you?
|
“OMG, the look in your eyes, priceless, did you think I said sphincter? I did. I do have a beautiful smile. Thank you(s). You asked about the people outside: they’re evolving. They, feel sorry for you. But, and this is a big but: like yours John, they will accept whatever the outcome may be.”
HELEN
“Patch!”
“Oh, hey, Helen, nice lab coat. I like the Helen patch, sweet, you’ve brought another chair—for who?
HELEN
“Patch!”
“Oh, hey, Helen, nice lab coat. I like the Helen patch, sweet, you’ve brought another chair—for who?
HELEN
“Patch, I’d like you to meet Mr B. He may, or may not be a permanent fixture? Room 666 is going to be a bigly special room. Maybe we can even add Bigly, one day?”
Mr. B
“Nice to meet you as well, I think? What is this place? How did I get here?”
HELEN
“What’s the last thing you remember, Mr B?”
Mr. B
“Well, I had messaged a friend, a writer friend. I asked him to join me for a drink. When he arrived, I poked his belly and then joked about how big it was getting.”
HELEN
“You poked his belly, fun. Why didn’t you tell him he looked tired as well—I find those two things to be awesome conversation starters, don’t you? Sarcasm, you think I'm sarcastic, never Mr B. How did your friend respond?”
Mr. B
“Strangely, not well, he went off a little, he barked, my comments made him feel like crap. I told him he’s not fat. I suggested I am doing him a service by letting him know he’s gained a few pounds. I don’t think he agreed?”
HELEN
“Hand over your Mensa Card, Einstein. It’s unfathomable anyone would think telling someone they're fat would go well. Except, John, poke away. I don’t know your writer friend, but from your words, I think he’s likely an outstanding measured-thinking funny-as-hell, writer.”
Mr. B
“It didn’t go well. It went horribly. He told me to piss off. He said he knows when his clothes are a little tight—an indicator he’s gained weight. He said he doesn’t need an asshole “friend” pointing things out. He asked me if I felt better by making people feel awful. Can you believe his reaction?”
HELEN
“Yes, yes, I can. Continue please.”
“Patch, I’d like you to meet Mr B. He may, or may not be a permanent fixture? Room 666 is going to be a bigly special room. Maybe we can even add Bigly, one day?”
Mr. B
“Nice to meet you as well, I think? What is this place? How did I get here?”
HELEN
“What’s the last thing you remember, Mr B?”
Mr. B
“Well, I had messaged a friend, a writer friend. I asked him to join me for a drink. When he arrived, I poked his belly and then joked about how big it was getting.”
HELEN
“You poked his belly, fun. Why didn’t you tell him he looked tired as well—I find those two things to be awesome conversation starters, don’t you? Sarcasm, you think I'm sarcastic, never Mr B. How did your friend respond?”
Mr. B
“Strangely, not well, he went off a little, he barked, my comments made him feel like crap. I told him he’s not fat. I suggested I am doing him a service by letting him know he’s gained a few pounds. I don’t think he agreed?”
HELEN
“Hand over your Mensa Card, Einstein. It’s unfathomable anyone would think telling someone they're fat would go well. Except, John, poke away. I don’t know your writer friend, but from your words, I think he’s likely an outstanding measured-thinking funny-as-hell, writer.”
Mr. B
“It didn’t go well. It went horribly. He told me to piss off. He said he knows when his clothes are a little tight—an indicator he’s gained weight. He said he doesn’t need an asshole “friend” pointing things out. He asked me if I felt better by making people feel awful. Can you believe his reaction?”
HELEN
“Yes, yes, I can. Continue please.”
|
Mr. B
“I stressed, I’m a friend trying to help. I said, I didn’t call him fat. He said, I’m stupid. He asked me how I’d feel if people came up to you and without gauging your mood, and said: you look fat and tired. I don’t understand. I never called him fat.”
HELEN
“But you said you poked his stomach and made a comment, right?”
Mr. B
“Sure did. But it was out of friendship. He didn’t agree. So, I changed subjects. Is that Nelly J + John in the cubicle—I fucking hate those guys.”
HELEN
“What did you change the subject to?”
Mr. B
“Light shit, comedy; like how you must be careful about who is present when you tell certain jokes.”
HELEN
“How did that go for you?”
Mr. B
“Why are they staring at each other? Creepy—this place has a sterile stink to it. It reminds me of the time I woke up as a cockroach, long story—maybe I can tell it to you over a beer sometime.
“I stressed, I’m a friend trying to help. I said, I didn’t call him fat. He said, I’m stupid. He asked me how I’d feel if people came up to you and without gauging your mood, and said: you look fat and tired. I don’t understand. I never called him fat.”
HELEN
“But you said you poked his stomach and made a comment, right?”
Mr. B
“Sure did. But it was out of friendship. He didn’t agree. So, I changed subjects. Is that Nelly J + John in the cubicle—I fucking hate those guys.”
HELEN
“What did you change the subject to?”
Mr. B
“Light shit, comedy; like how you must be careful about who is present when you tell certain jokes.”
HELEN
“How did that go for you?”
Mr. B
“Why are they staring at each other? Creepy—this place has a sterile stink to it. It reminds me of the time I woke up as a cockroach, long story—maybe I can tell it to you over a beer sometime.
HELEN
“You’re not going anywhere soon; a cockroach, interesting. Please go on.”
Mr. B
“I respect my writer friend; his opinions are spot-on-the-point. I was just trying to help. But he still chose to call me stupid. He may have added: fucking stupid. I told him: some racist jokes are best told only to certain audiences.”
HELEN
“How did he respond to your tremendous fresh insight?”
Mr. B
“He stated in an unwavering bent: there is no such thing as a racist joke. I tried to tell him there was. He was adamant there aren't—that there are only racists telling what they believe to be jokes—and then, they whine about political correctness. And then-POOF—in a flash of light—I’m here. What is here? Am I going to prefer to be a cockroach?”
HELEN
“This, my friend, is your new home, for a while at least; with Nelly + John.
“You’re not going anywhere soon; a cockroach, interesting. Please go on.”
Mr. B
“I respect my writer friend; his opinions are spot-on-the-point. I was just trying to help. But he still chose to call me stupid. He may have added: fucking stupid. I told him: some racist jokes are best told only to certain audiences.”
HELEN
“How did he respond to your tremendous fresh insight?”
Mr. B
“He stated in an unwavering bent: there is no such thing as a racist joke. I tried to tell him there was. He was adamant there aren't—that there are only racists telling what they believe to be jokes—and then, they whine about political correctness. And then-POOF—in a flash of light—I’m here. What is here? Am I going to prefer to be a cockroach?”
HELEN
“This, my friend, is your new home, for a while at least; with Nelly + John.
|
The light FLASHES once more. Mr B’s body slams into a third chair. He can’t speak. He can’t use his arms. Mr B’s + Nelly’s + John’s eyes flipped into the opposite of cross-eyed, eyes split. Each of them had one eye staring directly at the other two.
Wheels clattered off in the distance. Marge was coming: pushing a cart full of trash.
PATCH smiling chin-to-chin
“Lunchtime, hopefully, the kitchen fully cooked the kibble. Remember the last time Marge: Room 222—after eating, Eddy, had two slugs crawl out of his nostrils—ewe!”
With “ewe” freshly typed, Chapter 10 concludes--TO BE CONTINUED—in what is guaranteed to be the most read WEB BOOK in the history of reading — WEB BOOKS: a somewhat gleefully dystopian futuristic fantasy story:
Wheels clattered off in the distance. Marge was coming: pushing a cart full of trash.
PATCH smiling chin-to-chin
“Lunchtime, hopefully, the kitchen fully cooked the kibble. Remember the last time Marge: Room 222—after eating, Eddy, had two slugs crawl out of his nostrils—ewe!”
With “ewe” freshly typed, Chapter 10 concludes--TO BE CONTINUED—in what is guaranteed to be the most read WEB BOOK in the history of reading — WEB BOOKS: a somewhat gleefully dystopian futuristic fantasy story:
SOON COME
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