butt cheek
butt cheek
poop in the box
butt cheek
butt cheek
poop in the box
pee in the face
pee in the face
5.21.2015
Science Fiction I
He got out of the Army a year after the war between the capitalists and the last communists started. When his hitch was up he worked for the Red Cross for awhile, sold drugs, built a church and started a much needed hospital.
Black blood roared out of him like the Mississippi. He felt like John Wayne at the end of The Sands of Iwo Jima. Don't they all feel like the Duke when their fate is to die, in a far off almost forgotten land, protecting the rights of like minded but less empowered people?
His nurse smiled. "It's a miracle you're alive, buster."
She has a nice smile, he thought, tried to smile and said softly, "it ain't no miracle Ma'am."
"It kind of is," she said and walked across the room to attend to another solider.
He thought about his buddy, Brown. Where is he? Is he dead? Could he be that lucky he thought and tried to laugh. Tubes invaded his body, fluids drained out and flowed in. He laid on his bed and stared at a banner. Through These Doors Come the Most Deserving of Men, our Patients. He waited for the nurse. Sometimes it took a couple minutes, sometimes a couple hours or days. They all ran together. He slept a lot.
The room was dark red, music blasted,"I Want To Rock And Roll All Night And Party Every Day." A man and a woman sat at a table sharing a bottle of rum. She wore a blue dress, he wore jungle fatigues. "Do you want another?" she asked.
He laughed. "What do you think?"
"You don't want to know," she said and poured.
"Probably not."
"What are you still doing here?"
He shrugged. "What difference does that make."
"It doesn't. I heard you were in the Middle East . I guess I heard wrong."
"I never left."
"I heard that too"
"Lets get out of here," he said and drained his glass.
He took her to an Embassy, surrounded by people who had lost all hope for what they barley hoped for. "A pity," he said.
An NCO opened the gate.
"They don't want to be saved," she said.
"Hurry," the NCO yelled.
"Why are they climbing the gate?"
"They don't know what else to do."
"I can relate to that."
"Bullshit."
He waited until he saw her chopper clear the trees. The guard told him at the gate that he might not have an embassy to come back to if he left. Soldiers ran down the street shooting their rifles over their shoulders at an advancing tornado. The revolution is over he thought and headed to his bar, and
it's probably a good thing.
A Native was singing Sweet Dreams on a sophisticated sound stage, under state of the art lights. "Sacrilege," he said to himself and walked behind the bar. "Where did you find her?"
Brown smiled. "She found me."
"She can't sing."
"We're packed."
"We're always packed."
"So it don't matter. She looks good and gives great head. The men love her."
"I bet. Looks like the shit finally hit the fan."
"It was always going to. I'm going to miss it though."
"Yeah it was a blast. When's her break?"
Brown laughed. "You want to play thirty one?"
"Why not?"
"What the fuck!" Brown yelled. A tank somewhere behind him blew holes in the forest. A jet overhead dropped napalm in the holes. Soldiers lay all over the field. Brown seemed to be the only uninjured man in his squad.
Mac laughed. "Nothing happened man. This is a dream."
"You wish. I have to find Jackson and get you a dust off."
"Jackson's dead," Mac said and pointed at a tree. Jackson was laying behind it.
"This is fucked."
They both laughed. Brown found Jackson's radio and called the dust off. A specialist on the other end told Brown he had to get to a secure LZ two clicks south. Brown threw Mac on his shoulders and ran.
Someone knocked on his door. "What?"
"Get up. It's five."
He opened a window.
"A yellow bird
with a yellow bill
was sitting
on my window sill.
I lured him in
with a piece of bread
and than I smashed
his fucking head."
He pulled on his sweats and a T-shirt and followed the choir of voices through the woods to a creek. Brown handed him a cup and a rifle. He sat on a rock and took a swig. "They should fly over that tree in about five minutes," Brown said.
Black blood roared out of him like the Mississippi. He felt like John Wayne at the end of The Sands of Iwo Jima. Don't they all feel like the Duke when their fate is to die, in a far off almost forgotten land, protecting the rights of like minded but less empowered people?
His nurse smiled. "It's a miracle you're alive, buster."
She has a nice smile, he thought, tried to smile and said softly, "it ain't no miracle Ma'am."
"It kind of is," she said and walked across the room to attend to another solider.
He thought about his buddy, Brown. Where is he? Is he dead? Could he be that lucky he thought and tried to laugh. Tubes invaded his body, fluids drained out and flowed in. He laid on his bed and stared at a banner. Through These Doors Come the Most Deserving of Men, our Patients. He waited for the nurse. Sometimes it took a couple minutes, sometimes a couple hours or days. They all ran together. He slept a lot.
The room was dark red, music blasted,"I Want To Rock And Roll All Night And Party Every Day." A man and a woman sat at a table sharing a bottle of rum. She wore a blue dress, he wore jungle fatigues. "Do you want another?" she asked.
He laughed. "What do you think?"
"You don't want to know," she said and poured.
"Probably not."
"What are you still doing here?"
He shrugged. "What difference does that make."
"It doesn't. I heard you were in the Middle East . I guess I heard wrong."
"I never left."
"I heard that too"
"Lets get out of here," he said and drained his glass.
He took her to an Embassy, surrounded by people who had lost all hope for what they barley hoped for. "A pity," he said.
An NCO opened the gate.
"They don't want to be saved," she said.
"Hurry," the NCO yelled.
"Why are they climbing the gate?"
"They don't know what else to do."
"I can relate to that."
"Bullshit."
He waited until he saw her chopper clear the trees. The guard told him at the gate that he might not have an embassy to come back to if he left. Soldiers ran down the street shooting their rifles over their shoulders at an advancing tornado. The revolution is over he thought and headed to his bar, and
it's probably a good thing.
A Native was singing Sweet Dreams on a sophisticated sound stage, under state of the art lights. "Sacrilege," he said to himself and walked behind the bar. "Where did you find her?"
Brown smiled. "She found me."
"She can't sing."
"We're packed."
"We're always packed."
"So it don't matter. She looks good and gives great head. The men love her."
"I bet. Looks like the shit finally hit the fan."
"It was always going to. I'm going to miss it though."
"Yeah it was a blast. When's her break?"
Brown laughed. "You want to play thirty one?"
"Why not?"
"What the fuck!" Brown yelled. A tank somewhere behind him blew holes in the forest. A jet overhead dropped napalm in the holes. Soldiers lay all over the field. Brown seemed to be the only uninjured man in his squad.
Mac laughed. "Nothing happened man. This is a dream."
"You wish. I have to find Jackson and get you a dust off."
"Jackson's dead," Mac said and pointed at a tree. Jackson was laying behind it.
"This is fucked."
They both laughed. Brown found Jackson's radio and called the dust off. A specialist on the other end told Brown he had to get to a secure LZ two clicks south. Brown threw Mac on his shoulders and ran.
Someone knocked on his door. "What?"
"Get up. It's five."
He opened a window.
"A yellow bird
with a yellow bill
was sitting
on my window sill.
I lured him in
with a piece of bread
and than I smashed
his fucking head."
He pulled on his sweats and a T-shirt and followed the choir of voices through the woods to a creek. Brown handed him a cup and a rifle. He sat on a rock and took a swig. "They should fly over that tree in about five minutes," Brown said.
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