Joel Brooks

3692 Gracia Paseo Spring Valley, CA 91977 www.ozenoz.com (858)226-1893

Business Project Manager

Innovative and effective business management professional with over 22 years of experience in project
management, human resources, various database network systems, stock and inventory tracking and
cost analysis, sales and acquisitions and business solutions. State-of-the-art technology skills combined
with proven ability to manage account relationships, develop and deliver sales growth, and successfully
implement and oversee complex projects. Outstanding strategist distinguished for proven leadership
and team-building skills, conducting detailed evaluations and implementing processes that improve
efficiency. Noted specifically for skills in multiple project management, creating highly competitive
product lines, office environment friendly supervision of employees, and highly organized target
approaches in competitive markets.

professional experience

The Virtual Lending Source, San Diego, CA

Account Executive-

Reporting directly to CEO, provided leadership for five employees, multiple business accounts and
thousands of contacts; manage network database of pre-existing and newly established clients.
Provided leadership on accounts acquisitions and maintenance, wrote new contracts for newly acquired
clients, procured and contacted new leads. Completed multiple deals responsible for generating
millions of dollars in financing, with 100% completed within scope, schedule and budget. Team
member of business expansion into social networking marketing moving the business into multiple
project phases.

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 Average four new clients per month exceeding company expectations. Ticket tag kept at a high buy in.

Successful projects included the financing of consumers in the market via both clients and lenders in
prime and military loan categories.

Worked in the procurement of new territory and establishing new leads to generate marginal market
growth.

Helped in establishing team procedures for acquisitions and working on multiple executive accounts
maintenance.

Interface with internal and external auditors accounts in the auto loan processing business.

Manager, Project Management

Tasked with creating a competitive business to showcase and sell the new social networking marketing
platform. Created an external entity capable of producing complex web design infrastructure to
established clients. Drafted legal documentation for the initial start-up, organized Human Resources
and Team Leadership Departments where there were none pre- existing, established budget, created
templates, developed competitive business plan and strategy and hired staff.

Able over the next two years to expand the business start-up plan to include both venture and investor
capital in the market.

Joel Brooks Page Two

Invented a new marketing tool for the web design Frontiers project utilizing experimental video
sequencing programming.

2
 ATnT, San Diego, CA Bethlehem, PA

Account Executive/Customer Service Representative

Contracted initially through The San Diego Marketing Group. Responsible for territory management
and new account services procurement in Business to Business accounts. Later moved into private
consumer market dealing with high speed fiber optics accounts acquisitions. Then at the outset was in a
customer service position after relocating to Pennsylvania and was immediately considered in track for
the floor management position.

Responsible for functioning within complex ATnT database used for client retention.

The Wildflower Caf And Gallery, Bethlehem, PA

Proprietor

Provided Director level management in organizing musical performances by worldwide famous local
celebrities. Cooperated in constructing new menu items and specials on a daily basis. Performed stock
and supply status checks and cost analysis, ordered replacement. Helped in development of marketing
strategies to further client base. Managed employee functions and pay, special events staff.

Clients included some very high end and trendy artists whose work was displayed and sold on
commission.

Developed capacity-planning document, which detailed workload, and staffing requirements -

instrumental in re-organizing and managing the Project Management department.

3
 Aronimink Golf Club, Newtown Square, PA

Professional Golf Caddie

Provided premier service to the worlds elite leaders in a very private and formal business setting.
Responsible for maintaining all etiquette and procedures for grounds keeping and social nuance
purposes. Advised players on conditions, club selection, putt reads, swing advice and how to tips.

Runner up team in a Member/Guest Yearly Tournament.

Responsible for highly sensitive notables on business rounds of golf in which the club was booked full
for one groups event.

Caddied for the club professionals and guest professionals to provide expert advice on our course and its
subtle tricks and trades.

2011- Lehigh University, Bethlehem, PA Attended Business Lectures, Humanities Classes

2009- Associated Technical College, San Diego, CA Attended Telecommunications Courses
2003- Jay Mohrs Looking For The Funniest Man In America, Los Angeles, CA- Special
Guest
2002- Penn University Law School, Philadelphia, PA Offered to attend
1997- Amway Distributors Conference, Atlantic City, New Jersey Sales Leadership
Excellence Series

Joel Brooks

3692 Gracia Paseo Spring Valley, CA 91977 (858)226-1893 joelbrooks@ymail.com

4
To Whom This May Concern;

I am very pleased to be introducing myself to you at a time when I see, your esteemed team is
deemed with recieving another member. I am very enthusiastic about returning to work for a team
outside of the one I own, and have built and had so much success with over the past decade or more.
From what I have read and researched about your company online, it is a far cry from the humble
startup I have been enveloped in for these years, however to my excitement and good cheer, the
responsibilities I would be taking on and sharing compare quite nicely to the work I am accustomed to
doing. I hope you will take a serious read through journey of my resume, and give me ample
consideration as to moving forward in the next steps of the process to becoming a valued member of
your group.

As I often tell my partner, as an individual I am worth so much to the world. But as a member
of a team or group I can amplify and extend that reach not only for myself economically, but for
numbers that go well beyond a sole entity. Thank you very much for your consideration, and I look
forward to hearing from you, and getting your thoughts on what we can offer each other.

Beneficially Yours,

Joel Brooks

1977-1991 - Kid

1991-1993 - Time Union Paperboy Schenectady, NY

1992-1993 - Club Caddie, White Manor C.C., Upstate NY

1994-1997 - Club Caddie, Aronimink G.C., Newtown Sq., PA

1994-Fry Cook, Carmines Pizza, Newtown Sq. PA

1995-1996 Server, Albertos Newtown Squier, Newtown Square, PA

1995-1999 Server, Finley Catering, Philadelphia, PA

1995-1996 Ski Technician, The Skiing Racquet, Newtown Sq., PA

1996-1997 Gas Station Attendant, Galmin Exxon, 9th and Bay, Ocean City, NJ

5
Mar.- Nov. 1997 Club Caddie, Galloway National Golf Club, Galloway, NJ

1998-2000 - Club Caddie, Aronimink Golf Club, Newtown Square, PA

2000-2001 Barista, Starbucks, University Ave., Ann Arbor, MI

2000-2001 Server, The Red Hawk Bar and Grill, Ann Arbor, MI

05/ through 08/ 2001- Server, The Gandy Dancer, Ann Arbor, MI

2002 Club Caddy Aronimink Golf Club, Newtown Square, PA

To: corey@bigbookspublishing.com

Subject: Query: IT The OZENOZ Story

Dear Mr. Corey,

As a researched expert on the topic of using the art form of writing as a tool for recovery from
the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune, I felt that expressing my unique talent for IT should not
go to waste. Entertainment is valued by expression of self, in the world of entertainers a sinner is a
saint. The streets can leave you physically, mentally and emotionally scarred. My proposed title: IT:
The OZENOZ Story shows the gradual development and progression of one ill jam rapper. How
much rap could a jam rapper rap, if a jam rapper could jam rap?

This book has been years in the making, as it is divided into four main sections each written in
their own content style. IT is the story of my life, IT is the research through my strife, IT is the grit in
my spit (rap), IT is the whit in my art lit

In addition to marketing and selling IT: The OZENOZ Story, I would also be able to sell IT
through my website, OZENOZ.com and promote IT through the music put to the lyrics IT contains. I
will be booking a tour to perform and promote my musical act OZENOZ in the summer. I am also
developing a book and screenplay about the shady aftermath following the completion of IT. This title:
Black and White: OZENOZ and EMINEM (and after all were only ordinary men) is also attached in a
three chapter sample here.

I have included a full copy of the manuscript for your perusal. I look forward to hearing from
you and sharing in our combined opportunity.

Thank you for your consideration.

6
J.E. Ayers Brooks

1425 C Street

San Diego, CA 92101

joelayersbrooks@live.com

http://www.OZENOZ.com

Table of Contents

Table of Contents.........................Pages 1-2

Introduction...................................Page 3

Chapter One..................................Pages 4 - 19

Chapter Two..................................Pages 20 - 26

Chapter Three...............................Pages 27 -31

Chapter Four.................................Pages 32 -35

Chapter Five..................................Pages 36 - 38

Chapter Six....................................Pages 39 - 52

Chapter Seven................................Pages 53 - 63

Chapter Eight................................Pages 64 - 69

Chapter Nine.................................Pages 70 - 75

Chapter Ten................................... Part I Pages 76 111

...................................................Part II Pages 112 128

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...................................................Part III Pages 129 135

....................................................Part IV Pages 136 -186

.....................................................Part V Pages 187 200 Chapter Ten.....................................Part VI

Pages 201 225

....................................................Part VII Pages 226 - 268

Chapter Eleven..............................Pages 269 - 646

Chapter Twelve..............................Page 647

Chapter Thirteen............................Page 648

Chapter Fourteen...........................Pages 649 - 656

Chapter Fifteen...............................Page 657

Chapter Sixteen...............................Page 658

Chapter Seventeen...........................Pages 659 - 668

Chapter Eighteen.............................Pages 669 - 673

Chapter Nineteen.............................Pages 674 - 682

Chapter Twenty................................Pages 683 - 684

Chapter Twenty One.....................Pages 685 - 691

Chapter Twenty-Two.........................Pages 692 701

Chapter Twenty Three.....................Pages 702 724

Afterward...........................................Page 725

INTRODUCTION

I will begin this in the customary fashion I would any date. In Times New Roman 13

Point, double spaced. On December 24th I will have another year clean and will need one thing.

8
 A woman I love in my arms. One who has read this book and who does not think it is either: a.

working manual

b. a license to kill

See, I love my life. It's just, every thought I have is valid enough to stick on the page. If you

think you can handle that, you are either:

a. nut

b. addicted

If you answered d, nun of the above and c is filled in with true dat, then give me a yell:

ozenoz@live.com. I accept unsolicited manuscripts which have not been copywritten, or righted or are

leeward vessels in progress not perfection..

Submissions must be five foot to six foot, and preferrably filled with juicy details about former

lives. If these criteria are not followed, then blindness and blandess will be the resulting quotient,

rendering our date: a rack of lamb, yet uneaten.

If you are between the ages of 19 and 22, please drop me a line:

dabroken@hotmail.com. Entries must be filled with juicy details such as Skype address, favorite porn

star and how many shots of Jack it takes to make a Jack o' Lantern smile. P-p-p-please no High School

stalkers if you can help it. Smoke em' if you got em. Just not all of em' at once. By the way, morning

O.J. and the Simpsons are best served pulpy and cold.

Chapter 1:

Catty

Sometimes the fucking answer is to not do the drug, said the corpse to the thriller.

Sometimes the Depakote is the answer, said the corpse to the future drug.

9
Sometimes the job is the answer, said Advait, the Nurse Practitioner (in not so many words).

Maybe it's me but if the answers were that simple, they wouldn't be answers. After all, we are

all human, and perhaps a little white horse... (ellipsis)

Take that!, said the horse pill to the filler for the drug addicts emotional pain.

Take that. I am writing on it. After all, the book transforms the writer and if it's the way, well as
former LSD addict Richard Alpert put it in not so many words...

I have to make amends. I am a former atheist acting on it. Messianic Judaic complexes
worsened by an Am I Evil? Catholic remarried only (not by her own hand) mother who wants to play
matchmaker for the eclipses of my ellipsis.

That being and same thereof and to.. the priest who married her didn't say about my baby's
momma who isn't a baby.

Joel, he's six years old, and you need to take your medication my mother says in my head.

She has another new new husband, a doctor. Sue me doctor.

What do I call this chapter? Chapter one would be regret and shame and loss and degradation

and guess what? It's just chapter one. I love it.

And you know what else, the old sketch from Saturday Night Live fag says in my head in my
own voice I am thspecial!

The specialist of the best-est of the best-est son. The best-est son? Well I hope Shane Malachi
Michael, my son, thinks that his Grandmother (who prefers to be referred to as Mom- Mom) thinks so.

One day I will get to see him again.

Again. Again the echomaster unplugged voice effects pedal for my mind declares
openly against my own will as the Depakote plotting continues. It is the way of the way of the way...

Saaave YOURSEEELF!!! FROM ALL THE LIES OF THE....

Beautiful. All the Lonely people where do they all come from? Do they come from my
apartment left behind in San Diego? No cause that was just a room where I snorted crystal
methamphetamine in between smoking shit and drinking shit and shitting... (myself). LOL. The text
message didn't come in right there, but do I vibe the woman behind it.

Baby's Mamma. Mam -mam. LOL.

10
 What do you want? I want Rock and Roll. Long live.

I played guitar in that basement apartment until my fingers were covered in callouses so thick I
could knead them out to about two inches from the tips. I could play thick strings on that damned
acoustic at 225 double time on the mixolydian noodling over Trey Anastasio in between sessions of
wood burning.

Yeah right, says the asshole brother in my head named Asher Brooks. A brother who is not
one of my own father. My mother was widowed by mine at age 22. I was 3. She denies having any
selfishness issues, but the bitch ain't got it through her damned head yet that when she taught me to be
selfish, it was so I could (motherfucking says the would be stepdaughter in my head, and not my
half sister by adoption) S-U-R-V-I-V-E.

Oh well. There are two types of chords as Joe Pass said. Major, Minor and Chromatic.

Agree to disagree with everyone including the Risperdal that is making my fingers shake at the
moment as I simply try and fend off the step dad who gave me his last name so has a complex about me
out-doing his kids. The thrice divorced fag-git who beat me bloody at 11 and kicked me out at age 15
for being a normal kid. Fag-git KYW News Anchor who needs to get a taste of his own chase you out
of the house screaming at me... as he probably did from my mother.

Wow. Spell check just tried to complete mother in the previous sentence with a motherly fucker.

I'll fucking KILL YOU he was screaming at the top of his lungs when I chose to go out on my
own and meet a girl I probably could have married. Had I had the balls to tell him that he should watch
his fucking step. But how do you do that?

Tears in my eyes, thorns of another time from a journal I wrote when I was 15 after being
thrown out. My shaking hands right here because of the Risperdal. I guess it's time for that too. I have
been refusing the Depakote for a week now and am fine. Drug Addict.

Your no doctor step dad Brooks wrote in a text to me earlier with some fatherly advice.

Let me get really misguided here and just tell him to bend over. Norton! I
know that you know that I know that you want to fuck me!

SO GET IT OVERWITH YOU FAT FUCKING PIG.

Sense and Sensibility. The wife I never got because I was too short on funds to get the ring and
make the right way in the Michigan I knew. I was a 22 year old kid. In Ann Arbor. Living. Living. But
enough about me. You know anything about life? Cause I ask myself, if I can face tomorrow, let alone a
whole year of this shit. Is there something I could say to make you change your mind?

11
 Never thought I'd have to love this song. Union. My love was wrong. Crabby days gone by, I
have to admit that it's what I need. A divine precept brought on by the Rabbi who just dropped off my
computer. My rabbinnikus. LOL.

If it were only the wave of the past and not of the future. I need a new and updated system,
cause the present one is Able- Disabled version of the economy. I have to economically stimulate this
addicted ass so, off we go to the races.

The answer is in the mix. The mix that is playing on my computer. Spanning from the mid

seventies to the late- to- mid decade that began the millennium. The time when I had a year clean.

Right now, time check. (count, count)

Well, four months clean and sober from all substance abuse on the day before my adorable little
sons' sixth birthday this coming Saturday. I haven't seen him... Leaves begin their color change...

In the mix. Not.

Live From New York, ITS SATURDAY NIGHT!!!

If I could ever abstain from my violent aggression towards those with apparent wisdom then
maybe I could go back to the group meeting that I love over at that church in Bethlehem. Where I am.

Again. Wherever you go, there you are.

The seasons change and they tell me where they go...

October Morning Wind. The day that I drove away from Jessica's life. DA man out of the life of
the girl who I intentionally impregnated far before our time. That's just the growing pains of a
yunkie as the Mexicans I leave behind in my thoughts from San Diego would tell me. Or the more
recent Mets fan who was the House Manager at the shelter where I was staying over the winter. The
winter that nearly killed me. The winter I thought I knew all the answers.

I thought I was smart, thought I was right. Thought it better not to fight. That the time would
prove her wrong. But I don't know. It is the way of the time to stand up and be the abandoning father
that I became. The way is the way is the way is the way.

That is the war in my head anyway.

It's all a mystery. God grant us the serenity...

When am I going to stop grinding my teeth and wanting a little blue chunk? A little piece of
heaven. A little more Depakote than I took tonight would do the trick. The sex I want is for the tips for

12
the tips. I want the ananda, sat shit and all. If only it were that simple. If only. I am so far from the
home I once knew that it is going to be a long ride home if I ever go back.

And while I'm on the topic of geographical location changes, lets just say that cost of living is
complete bullshit. It's all relative. Cost of living is based on the exact square footage in the
environment you wish to be in. It's political the way in which it is adjusted. So I have no reason
whatsoever to go back to the sunny place where I know I will not be comfortable. Bad joke, but here I
don't live on the fault line. I love in a cheap house shook by the sewage system every time a truck
passes. In a house that can't stand up to the fire test with me living on it's third floor if I were to get in
the middle of a cigarette battle.

I am living in a three bedroom house with eighteen bedrooms made for people like me. People
who don't even like themselves (though they do love...) let alone me. LOL. Anyway. My friend my
friend he had a knife, a statement of his former life. When he was easy. When life was too. Or maybe
just when she had her legs spread open for the time of my life. Sat Chit Ananda. Pure Light Bliss. A
little chunk of blue.

Like that who's who nomination I got in 2003 only to not even fill out the form and mail it
back in. Never realized truly what an honor it would have been to be published there that year. I am
who's who without the money for the stamp. Trying to mix up a bad batch of rhymes and guitar and
juice flowing on the computer learning how to make well... this.

Hmph.

Hump back whales like me have to hump back whales like me. That's what she told me today,
that Jessi bitch did. I have to say if she'd let me just be a hump backed whale then maybe she would
understand, but she doesn't know the Joel from San Diego or the girl he fell in love with.

Those evil natured robots, they're programmed to destroy us. The women of the world. If those

evil robots win...

Then I know she can beat them. My ex girl in the San Diego I know and afford. The affordable

side anyway. And the milk from Hawaii, damn. Hula hula to you. Auto complete just finished the you
in that sentence with youRSEEELF. Haha. Uh huh.

Technology isn't what we think it is these days. It is a bunch of ill mannered programmers who
think that they can destroy my psyche more than it is already by formulating mega multi millionaire
nations which won't give me Social Security. Or welfare. Or food stamps. Or the right to claim that I
never will because I am too smart to claim that I should, even though I have been hospitalized more
times than an ailing 73 year old with hips from fucking and sucking the grapes out of garden hoses; like

Buster Douglas. Not that I know. Buster. As Mam-mam would say. Ooof. That one hurt.

13
(done to Whitney Houston)...

And Ieeeyiiii will aaaalwaaaays love glooo...

Glue in any form. Huff and puff and blow this house down on the other side of town. If nothing
else this book will make for great dialogue. Have fun with the beats and the rhythms. They are emitted,
admitted, taken backward, refitted. Omitted the shame you acquitted me sane to release the remitted.
Like an idea, this crime. Give me six up, Tao, the line. Spinning faded and hated, delegated, degraded
the tainted love you created, infiltrated and made it easy to be what I made. And shit nigger, you paid it
the time, should have been you kill her, fine. But you turn whatever to wine so with this, Mike, may I
find. That it's time, time, time for the last rewind. For ugly tore up bitches on my useless dime. She
packed up my belongings that ho', and left em' on the corner for the po' to pick me up. See what Im
saying? Guess I got fucked.

Punctuation ain't my forte. But spitting all over the keyboard is. And jizming. And jazzming.

And the Ming dynasty may have been right. What is love and what is hate? And why does it... matter?

Is to love just a waste? And how... can it, matter? Oh.

I love Jessica with all of my heart and I will never get her back. I got her back though. In the
rappingest sort of spit game you can shake on. I can shake my pepperoni pizza freckles on over there
and go nikki spiffin in lickedy dick, or not.

Did somebody steal her heart away? God, you're the only one to mend my heart. Everybody
gives a smile and says to let her go. I don't know if I can be that strong. Quote. Robin's Song. Union
with John Corabi being crabby like me. I been cryin' here cause its not me.

I can't stand this pain without you, do you feel that I ask myself Did you really feel the way
you told me...

Tears and thorns in my eyes for the answers I cannot surmise of the dreams and on and on...

Did you cry those tears or were you joking?

Yep. I do still. Over success. Cry a lot. But I have an interview I eeked by for the first time (not)
in Excel and Word and Data entry for a quality control in the mix for ATnT customer service with the
casino. Jackpot? Nah. Just the chips are all blue and so is the book I carry to the meetings every night
where I drink like a sieve and smoke. And sieve and sift the wisdom I cannot find from the second half
of this book, which is the book. The good book. The one I cannot read right now, because I will realize
that I was there all too soon with someone else when I should have been by the bedside watching my
son come out of that big huge...

14
 Pieces of my life they keep falling down on me... October Morning Wind. Also a Union song
from the album of the same name.

I can't wait for that again. To hear it. I thought to myself as I raced home as I raced through
turnstiles on Christmas leaving an Encinitas Drug Study for a Caraprazile research. Sue me. So
anyway.

I love you too. she said. How do I accept that it won't happen again now? Do I accept that at

all? Is it all in the first step from me or is it step by step on the journey of a thousand miles like I took
before I left the Dunkin Donuts I stayed up in all night Christmas night when I arrived at The

Allentown, Bethlehem, Easton airport. Meditating with Amma and praying that the sunrise in India
was my sun rising with my son to meet his father soon. Which didn't fucking happen. Yet. And it's been
118 days. It's fucked up.

Is it me, or is life after High School? says the monologue I want to write adapted from
Silver's begats and be gotten begats on Facebook. Is there life after High School, cause I can't stand
this bullshit. I made friends with no one my entire life. And no one answers me all the time. He says
some pretty fucking funny shit too. Now then, back to business. (adjust tie) Is it me or are the faithful
departed just that, the faithful departed?

Beware of STD's I guess I tell myself.

Fag-git says the would be 18 year old stepdaughter from the 16 year old mother who raises
my son everyday from the depths of my despair. I can't stand it. Tabloid, sex, drugs, strychnine,
anything to push away. Crabby. My old meth buddy knows the man himself. Knows him well enough
to get some sympathy from the city of Brotherly Love, which is indeed so very close that I can't yet
bring it in on the KYW I should be listening to while typing this out. Daddy News. That's what Asher
said when he was about three. My sister, I will leave her out of it. She's only 17. And born the day
before me. So I've got a scorpio for a baby momma who is eleven days younger than me and on the
cusp, a sister who is 15 years and one day younger, and a horoscope from the jackpot lotto, I figure.

Jackpot. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you all. Baby. Not.

Smoke my hoochie, say that I'm the devil... screams John Corabi from Motley Crue, TELL

THE TRUTH!!!

Since 1977 I tell myself from the annals of the next half of the book after the poetry I can access
in the mindless babble in the e mail account that opens up my mind in the later stages of the business
toke. He was a great seducer, the KYW News Anchor. SMOKE THE SKY!

But I'm normal, says the junkie in my kind mind of thoughts racing. Not kine. Not kine.

15
Strychnine. A lot of it. Enough to take my feeble ass into a near death psychosis from it in the year
nineteen-ninety eight. In the year two thousand!

I WAS FUCKING THE FAT PIG... I was in love with.

Isn't that thspecial?

Listen, the snow is falling... next song in the mix. Another person who my old
methamphetamine corrupter buddy writes to from the rat infested, cockroaches being eaten by the
spiders that line the walls. That was the apartment down the hall from me in San Diego. Reminded me
in the video at points today of the man in Michael Jackson's Stranger In Moscow video. I was the
homeless guy in the winter after, this past winter.

Between London and...

Thank you Yoko. For being my friends hold on tight at Christmas every year. He is truly the ties
that bind me together at times, but that's fucking scary cause I won't even be at his funeral soon. Get
clean and sober, man. And then maybe you won't be the Weird Fishes from my mix. Radiohead. All
of this is my music from you big buddy, I love you. I love myself too, so Ha.

I don't wanna be your friend, I just wanna be your lover...

Forget about your House of Cards, bud. Forget about mine? Every day I can, which is only
weekends and holidays. Including paid ones. But that's after the interview. Kill shot. Sale?

Account investing interest in stock bearing prices way below the market value can be sold to
pin point consumers or no? True. Can be shelled out to raise the capital in the following state:

Pennsylvania; without falling under Regulation D Rule 506 Securities Act of 1933. Maybe I'll
use a Nevada Corporation like the Merlino Family Did with Trump in Nineteen - ninety seven.
Summer of love at Galloway National Golf Club. Love ya. Caddy around there and you'll pick up lines
from me like:

You know what snowflake? I'm NO-flake.

Let's write a book about something I researched.

Snowflake issued by thousands every year. Right Sugar?

Reach out to the community with a soon to be web based compendium of knowledge.

Well who fucking cares social media its ass and make it do the twirly whirly while you get

standing ovations.

16
 It's that simple. Not gonna do it with a pen and paper. Gonna do it with a book. An e book.

Then blogged on JoelBrooks.US also revealed on.. (blah blah blah)

17
Wow. Business Plan.

Synopsis : Contort every business deal I never watched go down and imagine that they did and then:

I. C apital

II. R isk

III. E quity

IV. S trategy

V. T erms

VI. G rowth

VII. R esiduals

VIII. O wnership

IX. U nknown

X. P rojection

XI. ( C

ondom) XII.

( H erpes)

Crest

Group

18
 My teeth are yellow, I've got nicotene stains on my fingers. No hairbrush, no toothpaste and no
comb. But yet I talk a mean (Takamine) game. Oh soy and fruit polish, take me back to the days where
I ate vegan at Rose's having a Fourth Avenue Jones for a shower at the beach consortium for lust and
rust in L.A. Woman blues. I wandered from Jay Mohr's Looking for the Funniest Man in America in

Venice to the tune of ..it's one more day up in the canyon...

Only I wouldn't be the woman and get down with the hues of the black and yellow, and fucking
hello my name is the OZENOZ SHOW. And it's one more night in Hollywood, for the cameraman
fag who tried to fuck me.

Think. Think.

Intro then:

Then first thing most people ask when you mention you are starting a business is capital.

Don't let it get you tongue tied. When they sling out what kind of capital you starting with?

Tell em D.C.

That will stump em.

If you ever have had the thought of being in business for yourself, you're in the right place.

But you have to make sure you are making sense or you'll sell yourself short. And no matter what

business you are in believe me, it's sales.

The top of the food chain all have one thing in common, they all sell themselves well.

Think of every new contact you make as a rung in the ladder of success. The more rungs you

successfully attach, the higher you go.

A friend of mine who moved to Hollywood to get into the music industry there once told

me: make as many contacts as you can every day and call them as often as possible. He does the

sound engineering on major motion pictures now.

But hobnobbing with the stars isn't what I'm talking about. Sure it helps, but when I say

contacts I mean:

19
 You are standing at the corner cafe ordering a morning latte. You strike up a conversation with

the counter person. She's a 22 year old singer/ actress who is performing this Wednesday.

Talk about it! GET HER CONTACT INFO!

Let her know you are in business for yourself, and that you will be seeing her around.

Especially if she is cute. And when she has a good voice, the neighbors will agree you made the right

choice.

No, but seriously.

How about a book?

Step One: A group of college kids go up against a local mob capo as they try and make their mark.

Step Three: It's a story about a group of college age kids who share their summers on the golf course.
One is an upper middle class orphan who is make your own snuff tuff. Gets introduced to the sex
drugs and rock and roll of the lifers and... He continues to be a seasonal caddy until he drops to the
streets when former band members from a music group are making it out west. Travels.

One is an Om Buds Man dropout who creates his own company when the economy goes south.

He develops the marketing to create an empire capable of using its going public money to make a bank.

Another is a caddy/ members son from the club. He makes it a profession and helps arrange the
loops which could make or break his friends.

And finally there is the female of the group. She becomes a restauranteur who eventually is
poised to buy the club spot, also in the hands of the members son/caddy.

Of course there is the caddy master, the other player who arranges the dark deals which are
spinning behind them all. And in the forefront of the action the mob who would oppose.

Who is the hero?

Caddy For Life.

Who is the love story?

Caddy/ member/ restaurant female

Who is the villain?

20
Need to develop.

Villain?

A local up and coming mafia capo out of control with his upper level contacts. He's budgeting
his way into every market in the end gets cut out.

Leaves room for a sequel: plot development.

With:

The Bank vs. The Casino the label vs. the hit

man the restaurant tied into the caddies

marriage him on the road and...

Now the bodyguard and the restaurant girl with him taking the time and her (almost) but

he ends with avoiding the hit. The bank opens it's own casino in the town. The girl stays with the
caddy.

Ozenoz survives, and she is pregnant and has: E.T. The two fingered corpse baby.

Now for a golf plot. Loopers. Delves into the caddies life on tour and how its time for him to
bust out and maybe take on the real loves of his life... business and his family coupled with the politics
of a.. I dunno but TOUR. Maybe a professional tour of his own? Relying on his wife's restaurant
complicated by a baby and all of the factors (sounds drab...)

Maybe the second should be two bodies? The Bank. And Ozenoz Followed by Loopers .

Develop: college kids.

Hi this Joel, I'm with CREST GROUP, I was wondering who's the GM over there?

That will be Jim Mcdonald. said the nasal secretary.

On the way out, I thought. Hope he's good for it.

Can I speak to him?

The obligatory click alerted me to the fact that I had gotten through the gatekeep. A brief pause

ensued, followed by the review of my pitch in thought.

This is Jim.

21
 Hi Jim, this Joel from CREST GROUP How are you?

Busy.

Typical car lot GM.

Where you from? he threw me a bone.

Crest Group, we are a marketing corporation set to turn the tide on how its done. Who

is doing your marketing these days? hmphh...

Time for the pitch. This was gonna be quick.

Jim, are you interested in getting some entry level stock in our company at a cheap price? We

are offering at $2, and you can sell at ten but you are gonna need a banana boat to move it all.

Do you have any literature you can send?

Close dammit. No, PITCH. Like the nigger you be.

Are you near your computer?

Yes.

YES! An in for this one time only out of the other fifty calls I have made this morning. Better

than the three fifty at the telecredit gig though.

Ok, I want you to type in double you- double you- double you dot Crest Group dot com. Like

the toothpaste.

OK.

I turned on the charm.

Give you a guided tour here...

If my father were to die of a heart attack today because of all of my bullshit, I would be soon to
follow. Soon followed by an aneurism and the realization that there is life after homelessness, though I
don't know yet what it is. I just don't know how soon I can get that to happen so I can get S.S.D.I...

List of things that I don't know:

The speed of the fist flying at my head at age ten.

22
 The speed it takes to develop a mental illness diagnosis from untreated abuse.

The speed it takes for a mother to decide to ignore the abuse for the greater good.

The speed it takes for her to deny any and all abuse for the greater good.

The speed it takes for the other forces in my life to deny that they in fact need counseling.

The speed at which they will when I make it BIG.

The speed junkies last thought as he turns blue from a fix.

The speed at which my thoughts get out of control as measured by religion or psychiatry.

The speed at which other people will judge me as trash from being chronically homeless.

The speed at which this book will prove that I worked hard for the status I don't have.

The speed of light in it's purest sense.

The speed of light.

The speed.

Speed.

Spee

Spe

Chapter2:

Catheter

Power to the music in the streets! Motley Crue reminds me.

It's that time of night, and I am on the prowl for it baby. I am getting taxes.

Yeah that's right T-A-X MONEY, biznatch.

And that's when I call it quits. With this joint. I am moving into a row home on the south side
ASAP. Find one available? Not yet. In San Diego it was a room at seven-fifty a month. I figure eight
hundred for a house with three floors would be cozy and kind. I will find my shit. Been there before.

23
Backyard. Living Room. Space. Outer and inner peace with my chanting and bare boned of a buy in the
works. I will make the credit happen. I will make it happen because I did my homework.

See cause I'm a functional addict. One with the freedom to be mother fucking great. Weight set.

Computer. Hmm... Budget? Lets see...

29K a year.

Figure I can keep it to 12K for the bills.

Leaves 17K.

Food 4K.

4K Shane

Leaves 9K.

K.

4K Savings.

Leaves 5K.

5K Upkeep and Home Improvement.

Then with my hobby wiring in an extra Grand a month that's another 12K.

12K. Oh what to do.

Do you realize? That you have the most beautiful face. What a line.

Do You Realize? sings The Flaming Lips.

That toothpaste is bad shit. It's hard to make the good things last. It's just an illusion. Cause and
effect. Pride and prejudice. Token hobbit furry toed fevers and sweats in manic reactions. But instead of
saying all of my goodbyes realize that happiness makes me cry. And cry. And cry. Yet they tell me it's
depression. Then when I'm happy about it, it's fucking mania. Except for the fucking. I have to look out
for STD's. And for other peoples toothpaste.

I am quitting smoking. It's 4/20 and I have to stick on a patch in the morning. ON 4/22 I will go

without. On 4/23 my son turns six. That's when I clean up for good. Every time I want a cigarette I will

just call myself a catty fag and turn the other butt chic. What a way. What a way. I thought that I would

24
just step aside and that the time would prove her wrong for sure. Damned fool I am. Stand up and be a

man.

Surrender, I just wept in regret at this moment.. It's all a mystery. A novel idea yet to be a
Sherlock Holmes, which reminds me I need one of those kinds of glass pipes for my pot... luck. Yeah
luck. I don't know where the sunbeams end and starlight begins... my son. The test is over.

Dada. I wish I could be the dad of my dreams. Who's your daddy? I am. Nat. The Boston
Gaston or was that gassed on in the midst of truck driving school I flunked out due to not maintaining
my mental intelligence... no illness. Illness. Prime example. Bi-Polar, Schizo affective with Psychotic
Features. I have to say that my regimen is OK. Except I still see ghosts. But Ghost Adventures calms
my soul.

The Bastan gassed on...

Could have been the way she combed her hair in the morning for about thirty five hours or for

the light in my eyes when I see the Shel Silverstein back cover and know that is what I am going to
look for life... look like for life. In. Like Flynn. Not Lynn.

It rips my heart out, to see you living. You gave me money in exchange for pain...

I hope that I'm not feeling so much pain. Or I'll turn back to Jack. Tennessee sour hash, and
some cow poop. No, just the stuff growing on it. You been in da shit boy?!

I hope the introduction to the book I have in front of me is OK, cause this shit sure aint.

Ha ha ha ha ha... the joker declares.

Til death. Til death. Do us part. It's back ass-words on my ass back words.

Get your ass back here!

No.

A typically typical six year old. Then again that was the one act Luscious Flynn should band
together with their name and make it for the Hoffelmyer White Castle burger King slut piece.
Dissertation? Jewish Princes often have shmutz on their faces when they are leaving for work. And I
stand by them.

It's me myself and I, til death... Motley Crue jizms in my face.

Shazaaam!

25
Two Dollars!

Three!

I want my stock options before the cloud lifts. Pink cloud often reminds me of the stock I have
sell on the investors lingo.

Three quarters final.

Damn that CREST. Ayers. Over on the Mayflower. Bought a business in Connecticut a few
decades later his with son. I saw the book at the Lehigh library here. It fell apart in my hands. Dust to
sustenance. Til death. Shoot me into outer space. When I am dead. They will. My ashes.

Standing on the moon.

On the dusty flag I kneel on will be the man on the fumes. Gassed on Gaston. Motley. Definite.

Hilarious!

Winston, King of Prussia I lay this shit on you. Winston, toke of pissers, I make it all doomed
for you. I don't wanna be any part of your stupid motherfucking disease. I just don't believe I guess.

Did you ever feel like there never was life after Twitter, let alone a whole year of Eminem
raping pregnant women on the 12th floor of the Hilton San Francisco before the Time Travelers Ball?
Me too. Me toothpaste.

Welcome to the... soundtrack of my life. Coming soon to an Ozenoz near you. Ozenoz is
dead.

Situations critical...

I am fucking sick. I am fucking sad. I am mother fucking sad. I am a mother fucker. I am a bad
ass piece of it. Toothpaste on my Winston. And Hooch in my pipe. Too wet. Danks.

Wet? Rocket fuel for schizo affective faceoff dilemmatization of the nation in facing the
abrasion of the raising indications of the reason for my...

Patience, the would be step- off Dad would say in my mind but I'm afraid I'd be writing down
my in ability to be human. Smoke my hoochie. Say that I'm the devil. Or was it the Depakote?

I can't fucking take this shit. Or that shit. But I can take the doctors advice. That, is just
common- sense. Something I have been lacking for some time. A lot of common penny for your
thought self will run riotous observious tie you to your your chair and rape the shit out of your truck
fucking, ass smelling finger to the sky. Buddhist proverbial nonsensical rappingest, gamingest
bullshit. Power. Cords. Chaim. Joel. No. L'Chaim.

26
Bitch, you ain't a Catholic

Lickedy dick in the lickedy split for the trickedy dick for the...

When it's time I will smoke the sky. One hit. In the morning. One hit at night. That's what the
Doctor prescribed, but of course I didn't let him know I had addiction problems, and then didn't follow
the script I conned out of him. Stupid Volcano I never owned. Hawaii here we come.

Wierd Fishes playing now.

Women. So here's the real budget for now:

$102.50 from Welfare

$70 rent

$2.50 transaction fees

$30 left

$14 bus pass

$16 left

$14 coffee and fellowship

$2 left

$2 left.

Of course T-A-X money coming from being unable by the Judge to pay my back or forward
support for Sean. John. Shane.

Take my little nigger to see the lama I will. If he doesn't spit on me. I stink enough as it is. An
atypically a typical day.

I've got big calves. Big like a division three all American defensive midi. One who used to have
the most bad ass face off in the books. Just no stick skills. On the wall. In the wall. Or around the wall.
On the fly. In the fly. Fly ball, grounder. Get grounded Joel. Get grounded and get on the wall on the
house we pay rent on and will lose the deposit. Lax. No L-A-X. Fly Gaston, fly. And cry some more.

I miss it. The flight of the condor. The flight of the bird I saw in the tree on the campus in the

27
middle of the deepest freeze in history. The winter I flew home and stayed outside. All winter, but for
the churches that sometimes allowed my schizo ass to stay in. Survival. Listen to my doctor from
now on. I almost died. And tell them all I'm an addicted chump. Tell it to the judge, the counselor, the
meeting, the stock bearing holders of the... On again, off again, on again...

And cry. And cry.

Stuffed. Stuffed. Stuffed.

Take a bow. But don't bow out. Just back. And not in black. For no real reason. Depression hurts
my head. With headaches. My nose burns. That's from the blue crystal given to me by the McDonald's
GM. I think to myself as I publish a living lie to my screen. A living lie on the way if I don't admit it's
fucking real. Real bad.

But it gets better? 3:40 and no time for an interview, or a meet and greet. A meet and greet to do
quality control for ATnT. American Telegraph and Telephone. Stop. I miss you Shane. Shaney. Shady.

Crazy. But I can't stop. Stop.

We are all psychic.

No he says.

I have to say

Perhaps chapter two is shorter than chapter one.

Perhaps I am shorter than 29K.

Perhaps. Stop.

Ouchie.

Ouchie.

Let it be.

Let me see.

They tried to shut me down on MP3, but it feels so empty without me.

I don't wanna be your friend... Radiohead declares.

But when. Stop.

28
 Chapter 3:

Smack

Down in Barrio. That's where I am going to go. Back to the hoe and the hole in the wall next to
the duck who is gonna fall by the hand of the friendly TJ natives next door. That is if the fugitives from
the warehouse don't run our direction next time the feds are overhead.

Down to the chicken shack where I lay my rack, and fuck the Jack, I'm going for smack. On my
future grandson.

Kai, stop it! she says with a moldy lust for her ex, or was it two?

The nineteen year old is cute, almost as cute as she once was in the bath time photos she appalls
me with every day. She can't even walk to her sister's house on Banker's Hill with me without having
such bad back trouble that I wander off in my thoughts of another time. A time then converted to
dollars and sense. That's not cents, that's sales.

Women are like credit cards, they will give you something, but you gotta pay it back with high
interest. And just because you are carrying doesn't mean you can swipe it.

Under the bored walk, that's where we'll go. To watch another movie in the living room, while
she makes deals with herself about how at least her sister can accept her because of me, and because of
my failure to appear with the six figures yet, and because of my future ability to do so she will get her
ex. That's E with a capital ex to cheat with on his time off from his wife. While I consort with my
coworkers on the best way to treat our former coke-addicted pedal to the red face Benny slapping
goodfella of a boiler room boss.

If I can just hold out on the articles of incorporation, and build further within my fucking
contract, I can supply the capital. My big twenty sales ain't buying a truck man, it's buying a one
percenter. One hundred- ten ninety niners and fuck the world, it's pay hard to play hard ball.

Outside the marketing capital of the world. A republican national convention of wisdom and
beach bums sailing off to my capital one. I can fill the rooms with justice, with an easy swipe of the
keys. One four hundred dollar five hour session and we've got work for the crew. The crew?

A Lehigh Valley coke dealing smut king who is fucking everybody but his Nanny. Nanny for a

Padre for a wedding down the beach row where we sip drinks and face the sun as it sets on the empire.
The empire he doesn't even have the motivation to jam his foot in the door to take a piece of. Let alone
actually build a simple website for a non-using client.

29
 Or how about the Graphic Designer. She'll give me art, but she'll shark the board so fast that my
COO by association will never get out out of that pussy. He's just too fucking fat. And when his wallet
is, he'll run to me again and again, and again.

He already does. Sharpening his skill set has been my main mission at every ten ninety-nine job

I landed in the eleven months of working in two thousand - ten. Before, during and after sex with him,
I'd cry and balls hurting, ask him for the money to buy a hash brownie at California's Finest. Because I
left behind my gold mine to get him another dinner with the smut king of the homeless shelter. Or is
she a queen. Better not ask, she's from steel town. And she wants me to drive him to do this on his own.
Of course now that he's driven by me, he steers his own course, but only after I put away my six figures
and my Upper Class T to drive home a spike. Or five at the sushi bar next door where I partied with
crew that wouldn't take me on anymore after I bombed at Del Mar. I think the answer was apparent,
and not a parent when I stepped outside the Real Estate lawyers office and met with Dustin Hoffman.
He ignored me, and I ignored him. And then I ignored my job and sat in the veranda and smoked my
fucking brains out about the non-crew who had a wife waiting in the wings. Trying to convince her I
left behind putting him to sleep at parties while he sat on a D.U.I and her five months pregnant.

Isn't life grand? No, but the next five sales could have been. Much more than. My co-workers
were all in new cars, and driving me like I was chauffeur material with sin tax error at the end of it all.

The end all be all was the meth. I gave up, gave in, and gave out. I couldn't take the bland blend of
mild madness, I needed full blown insanity. Perhaps that would kill the game. No, just kill me. Just me.

I wander off about how I'm never gonna have the time to edit this piece or that piece, but then
again, where's my peace? Not in the piece I carry, like the would be step-off Dad adopted tricky dick
father figure to create non-oedipal complexes of coke addiction and drugs and rock and roll. Coca
Cola, them Casey Jones has got big balls. And falls in the Niagara blown wind tunnels of Gulf War
veterans coming home to the press call. Let's pump up the killing fields with a shot of Jack and double
the coke bag tonight, bitch. That's PATSY for patty cake, patty cake, bake my hand, I'm off to the races
again. If you want the Buddhist in me, it's called Mount Bromley is on the tee and I'm not Cracker Joel
who is going to be your caddy for the day. I am the motherfucker who took on the loop of death, and
told himself he would make more than three-fourty for seventy - two holes and a runner up because of
the choked four footer in the member guest. But that is just a Verizon Wireless deal in the making, so
forgive and Fugged aboud it. Bitch.

Led me down a long and shameful road, one I didn't have a car to traverse because the Brooks
Dad thought it would be a good idea to sell the two cars he promised to me one after another so I
couldn't have a ride to the golf club by anyone other than the members who know how damn good I
am. Member who? No, I will tell them now. Look out, cause I am motherfucking Ozenoz.

How about when I came home from Phish Tour and ran into the KYW TV news studio in front
of the cameras before Bush got elected and yelled out to the cameras in the icy studio (I snuck in

30
behind Ukee, my D-U-D's member guest champion partner) they just bought a seven - fourty-seven
and put arms in it! They are fucking coming!

Here in my thoughts at I run a Mink Golf Club they will tell me what, that somebody is gonna
whack my ass for publishing how the nigger hating bitches they married wanted to be members at the
worlds club. The club that now by force of will and sustenance has the gall to put a token pawn in

place, the first black member faggit who allowed them to get major events. Fucking racist pigs.

Racist pigs I allowed to rape me of my dignity for so long while I hid in the shadows.

Just like the morning of election day after the body got dumped off at Fox Chase, and another
body was being dumped off through the woods near the caddy shack. But then again, it was four -
twenty as my KYW News time D-U-D announced on the radio as they went back up to their Lincoln
Town car. I left that next morning for tour in Atlanta a week early. But I didn't have money. I just had
the mob to do deal with, and a fag-git father behind my back who taught me that I was a lot like him.

Bend over bitch.

If I only had a brain, I would write it all down and sell a hell of novel through my experience
strength and hope, but that will cum until the cows come in. Or maybe just my therapeutic fat hippy
wife I end up with will. Fat chance, big chips, and bag of dip. Body bag. Oh dip.

How about brooder and his M-A-D paints? I hope his Ryder Cup doesn't match with Williams
penchant for bumblebees, cause that fat pig had the smelliest cunt in town for an entire season, and
never played in the mixed.

Poison apples biatch.

When you asked me to caddy with an eyebrow and a wink to the fat fucking pig caddy bitch
master, I left for the anti- Jew establishment. There I took on penny packer and john, honey well, let's
get real. He played with acres of love on acres of land. All fifteen thousand spent well, cause oh my
aching shoulders he needed to pick up, and I needed a pipe in my mouth to fend off his dark Amish
strychnine daydreams of outer and inner sanctum. Fucking Germans.

So I won't smack the poor little possible grandson, she'd never let me near to that as I supervise
the demo and construction crew redoing the chicken shack. I won't ever go near smack. Until it goes
near me, and then I'll be as dead as the guy who just drove a nail in my coffin by knowing something
about construction that I don't. I have to supervise my sales team, and I can't keep her from being sold
on the drugs coming from all sides, even though grandma is one of Bill's buddies. All the bud in the
world won't change anything but the name of the group, my blissful budding fallout. You have an omen
aura, it's not Shane. There are subtle differences, but it's a budding fallout.

31
 Chapter 4:

Abortion

Dear Baby Momma,

Keep it real. Reel in the big fish and you can get fucked up the ass for life by the hooker slut
who fucked the rockers at your row home on the south side. While you had a golden brown tan and a
hit or two in your system to let you know the next hooker would be your son''s mother. Tube's not tied?
You're fair game. Let's put some misery in another little one's life. Oops, you tied em', not that the
doctors you see can tie their fucking shoes, so keep off bitch. You ain't my hooker no more. That's just
the fat pig you pay rent to in blow jobs to keep the little men and women together including your crack
whore mother with no teeth in that Northampton country club of a house. All 2500 square feet of
dysfunction and end my next two marriages playback.

Track two of Ozenoz CD: Blow Me. If Haywood, J.A. Bloughmie was in the phone book his
name would be Charlie. The target of your affections in between your nigger lovers and white trash and
fat checkbook pimps to woe your soul into forgiving your addicted ass. I will publish this, and may it
keep my third marriage together.

And barking up the wrong tree? As for that, Hi my name is Brooks and I am a sex addict.

E.T. herself wouldn't touch you unless you french kissed her like every other slut in this county
remembers from your drunk pieces of life you feebly throttle our son's world with. And the world may
never know why he lives a double life. Believe me, they may never know. One at your world, and one
at mine. LOL. Get a grip, or the club cracker is gonna fall through the cracks of the spades table again
and trump Trump's middle man who needs to take his money back.

Yeah, when I don't get cut in, I cut. Not like you, Jessica, I cut out the golfer. When he asks for a
caddy to read his putt out over $435K, a beach house, a Toyota and a cigar, I don't help unless there is a
grin in his death do us part. So til death do us part, and may it come soon for you. So my Nanny gets
paid more than her fucking crack addict my son calls Nanny now.

Oh yeah, and Mom-Mom, she is a Nanny. Because her doctor husband isn't too keen on the fact
that she has her hands so deep in his pockets. She's fat, hurt, and poor. But he's deaf, blind and mute so
I guess they make a good match. Til death do us part.

32
Hey you, you want a bad joke?

Nah, man.

Two chickens crossed the road. One got run over. How many made it to the other side?

Fugged aboud it.

Both.

Hmph.

There were two hungry Tijuana natives standing nearby.

All about the green. Hey, wash my ball will ya?

Don't stand on the green when he putts, the lawyer told me as Natale from the old country
stood over his putt at Galloway. Know what I did? Read the putt. And then stood back and watched him

sink it.

So Asher, my old lost and found reader half brother, your lawyer talk doesn't bother me. Get
tough, kid. When the world holds you down, don't drink. When it makes you cry, say live and let die.
Live and let die. Or maybe you are just too young as of yet. Nah. Just inexperienced, I fear. Or maybe
you are just half like me.

33
 But the other half ain't no other half, so let's get to the rock. If I had a pebble of wisdom for this
chapter it would be: Carly. You are too young to know much of anything. Period. You were, and always
will be a part of my life. Not. You are E.T. The long fingered chimp who rendered me unconscious
when I got beat down by the police and wailed on the pavement with my brains in the back of a
shopping cart. Fucking addicts.

Fucking Mentally Ill Anonymous.

Just fucking.

Stupid motherfucking disease.

But don't take it from us.

Take it from the fuck.

What the fuck.

It's only a buck.

Buck.

Take it as luck?

Cut the umbilical cord.

Throw away the afterbirth.

Don't smoke it.

She looks like she is gonna die.

His name is Malachi.

He looks just like his Dad.

No, like his Mom.

34
 Chapter 5:

Period

If it's not one thing, it's another. Two packs of electronic cigarettes a day. I would double space
the puffs to save the money, but It's just not us. US. A word I have come to loathe.

Let me take you back, the lingering voice performs it's acrobatics in my wandering mind a
voice from the death that awaits.

A voice from the death that awaited me. I met her in a bar in some Queens dump neighborhood.
Don't ask me which, she tells me it was that way, and I believe her. Believe me, she's buried right in my
backyard.

The Rolling Stones' Honky Tonk Blues screaming from the radio, I spent half the night
wishing she was mine.

She blew my nose and then she blew my mind!

It's just the way it is, that night. Later she fucked my brains out and screamed at the top of her
falsetto screaming crying out for help. Help only Satan himself would have tried to apply. Twelve
steps.

Twelve traditions.

Tradition! Tradition! Tradition!, the old musical Fiddler on the Roof reminds me of the other
faithful departed. The one I couldn't leave alone either. Pray for the souls of the faithful departed. The
faithful fuck me in the ass until I won't let it go departed. Killer. That's me.

Us in the U.S. We call it removed from the misery of the criterion of the governmental
programs that attempt to save me from the sickness in my mind. A brood of catching M.I.A's at will
and...

Norton, I know that you know that I know that you want to fuck me! Eddie Murphy screams
out the window stand up on my tele. Vision, something I cannot brave to the scariest parts of my
journey. A journey that took the very life force out of me. And saved my only son the will and the life
to force the hand of his soon to be mother. Of a stillborn fetus in the hands of a bloody doctor.

But not yet, says the us in me It's not the time for Gods' will.

Not the time for Gods will. Time for my morning jacket. Time for a little action, a sweet piece
of death. A sweet piece of the pie. A sweet little golden nugget taken from the nuggets of wisdom that
line the strip. The strip clubs, the forced avenues, the fair walkways of post- Venice Beach blues and

35
Led Zeppelin dreams of the California Girl(s) who just don't get it. They don't know that I am the man.
The man who will do them tonight. I step onto the front porch, and get assaulted by the non- swamp-
cooler air.

Ahhh, Vegas.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear the bells ring. Jackpot.

Off to the morning wisdom and teaching the doors of the rooms to flow with the glow of
another dew. he spews in my mind. No marshal in sight. No mothers today. That would be the
influence of my time left alone in a Tennessee jail to rot in solitary confinement for an illness. An
illness created by them.

us...us...us...and them...em...em... the man downtown says in my mind.

I am not em... in... em...

I can be the rapper Ozenoz sometimes too. I can be the words of wisdom.

Token truths of gratitudinal dismay. Oh what day, is it mother-fucking gray? Oh she won't be,

but just for today...

Just for today I will keep my thought on my new and soon to be dead associations, people who
aren't smoking two packs a day and who have learned not to kill for their meals.

Yes, I am an eater. I like pseudo flesh pies and hamburger Ala Margaret, but not Ala Jane Doe.

It's gotta be a good butch with intellect and brawn for my sinewy cashew nut Chinese food.

Cashew chicken...takes a lick-in and keeps on tick-in... we whisper together, drooling openly
on the 10am March 100 degree sidewalk walking down Trout Lane somewhere near Nellis. More near
the end of the strip than the strip steak I'll have tonight.

36
 Chapter 6:

Shorts

If you haven't started already, please fill in the blanks.

Bag step One:

A group of caddies encounter the field of dreams as the local mob takes over the golf club.

Bag step two:

As the summer progresses, it becomes apparent to the golf club that the mob isn't moving
outside of the city limits, they are here to stay. A movie deal is in the works with the local club amateur
gone pro after his country club championship win. A new golf course is being built, and the table is set
for the wireless communications battle on the table. But it's bullets that are flying at the local
politicians, and golf balls that are flying at the scriptwriter as he sells his family, and possibly his very
soul to make the deal. The war between factions of the mob moves in for the kill at the black denial of
all minority race connections involved; the club has lost it's grip. As the war winds howl in the Oval
Office built from the convention held on site, the club follows through.

Or maybe that is a novel idea to find out some well researched bullshit as my half sibling
related former father would call it, and really make a career of this writing. Fucking assholes. Let's see
what else can I do? Writers Market this shit, and get my home office running from that damned tax
money, and maybe I have a running shot at the long jump. Bad joke. Get it? Long way down if you

37
38
want to rock and roll.

We are the dealers, we'll give anything you need.

How about a Financial Director who is worth his stuff? Or a GM who isn't trying to bank on the
salesman who is trying to break the loan. The state of the credit union address says that seven fifty
credit score, tenured, dual house owning/married professors shouldn't be denied a Toyota Corolla.

Maybe that's just a solid dose of the politics it takes to navigate the hallowed halls of the dealership.

If you want my advice, you'll read no further. If you want a car, you can do one of two things:

join the Armed Forces, go postal, or both. Take it from a former lending Account Executive. But that's
our job, to talk like that.

But seriously, navigating the car dealership shouldn't be such a harrowing experience. Treat the
salesperson as your friend with the details, your Financial Director as your accountant, and your GM as
your ticket to the world. The first approach you should make is the front desk. Be your own advocate,
call ahead and line up the shopping for your new set of wheels. This will enable them to know you are
a serious potential, and line up the best possible match for your experience: the knowledgeable
salesperson. The person who can tell you all of the gadgets, the quirks, the gizmos and first date or
Autobahn dreams you have in mind. So make an appointment, even if it ticks off the spouse. They will
thank you later.

When you arrive at the dealership, be patient with the appointment schedule if it's off.

Interpretation: schedule at least two hours for your visit. If you are set on the make, make it a one stop
shop. If not, don't plan a day of different dealerships as this will preempt what we in the industry called

spontaneous buyer power.

After you have test driven the vehicles and made your pick, discuss openly with the Sales

Person your financial situation. This is not where they try and make their money, this is where your
experienced salesperson gets paid to do the better job of getting you a deal.

At this point, you should relax and take a load off. The GM will bring the deal home with both
the salesperson/liason and the Financial Director. That's where the money from the markup on the car

39
goes, straight from your pocket into your specialized assistant in the GM, and your personalized
accountant, the Financial Director.

Hey, what the hell it's only a bell.

That's what the stock says to me as I drip with sweat over moving this stuff. From packaging to
shell out, it's not the way it was intended. Or is that just dutch door action? Swedish meatballs, in need
of a hangover like a junkie with too much stock in Disney, I hope that this isn't the 3-D movie of the
future.

Then it hits me, that's right. Just like when Compaq went from $4 to $110 or some coercion
thereof in 1990-91, I have the chance at this. Is there a reason why 3-D is all that and a bag of chips?

Yes. Because of the following.

In tech stocks, we all need a solid dose of reality which is that IBM bought the technology
initially created by a talented team of geniuses at The University of California at Berkeley who are
now ready to cash in again on their hard work. Holographic disk data storage. With the capability of
lifting unobtainium off the exchange, and moving terra bytes in terra form; put me to sleep again my
sweet mistress.

And that's it, it's there for the taking folks. Institutional Business Technology. So break out the
geek squad, here we go again.

If only I had never left the grounds, and become a player. I have to say, I have seen very few
pure drives in my days as a caddie. From non-amateurs, the likes of whom I will name at will. Joel
Otto, in 1997 at Galloway National Golf Club in New Jersey hit one 420 off the tee on the Pine Valley
signature hole. He took my advice on the trick putt, not. Hat trick? No, he scored with par for the
course, if memory serves. Then prodded by the pressure Dornhoffer put on me to set up and hit the
miniature golf course trick putt, I hit it and it fell long and left. Uphill back and two balls left. My
own?

The next pure one I can think of was the hit man. I will leave it at that, because he really was. It

rhymes with far, and call it a bogey. I told the mafia man that he had jail on the left, it's safe on the
right to which the Don barked Give it a good whack!.

40
 He did, and turned and replied to me Right down the middle!. Should have took it as a
compliment, but hey I'm not gonna drop the soap anytime soon, so what the hay it's only a day. On the
golf course.

Which leads me to the assumption that it takes a pure thought to really hit a pure shot. Pressure
players hit pressure shots,and I am a pressure player. Unless death is on the line, I'm gonna fix your
spike mark and press before the ping on Tiger Woods. Williams needs to get some balls and stop
screwing around. That's just my take, pressure players need pressure. And I need a good bag, not a
good body, Fluff would retort. Or perhaps snort to the mimicking cries of a saluting Life and Death of
The Party KISS anthropological piece similar to this one. If someone doesn't drop trough and catch
some tees, rest in peace. Piece by peace, that's P-E-A-C-E.

Hello, my name is Cracker and I'm a sex addict.

Hi, cracker

Right next door to me, well, go get em' Tiger. Now.

If there ever was a was

It was in the fuzz, the buzz

And what a fuzz the buzz was

If there is an is

It was in the fizz

And what a fizz the biz wiz is*

If ever there was a will

It was will in the wall

And what a will it walls

Fill the fuzz with fizz and wiz*

The wall will fuzz the biz

Fill the wall with wiz and was

41
 And kill the pill with a chill

Off the sill with my fill

Of duals and tools and fools

And get my fill of gold and sold and fold

My socks and put them away

For the time is now

And now is the way

She was my roommate, but not for long. I'd had it with the act. Dark hair gone gray almost
entirely from pharmaceutical school. Tight pierced nipples always just hiding with a waggle of her
sweet ass that she wanted me.

Fine, turn away so I can't see your piercing hole get loose I quipped awaiting her arrival from
the laboratory where she worked for the University of Michigan.

The door clicked and in she came. Tight sweater, cheeks red from riding her 105 pound 5'6
frame home on the Schwinn. Not a drop of sweat.

Hi Troy, she quipped how was the day at the fine dining waiting job?

Better than an acute regimen of autopsies I suppose.

She blushed at the cute part of acute I thought. I couldn't help but think of the moment I had
with her in the back of the store at the coffee shop where I had met her. She had been the manager, but
always patting me on the ass, and ultimately asking me to move in. I had wanted to kiss her so bad, it
was like a magnet between us. Rounding the couch, she shot me a look from the end of the couch
where I was sitting, growing harder by the minute.

Time to ask.

You wanna fuck?

She blushed and retorted Yeah I wanna fuck the guys at the lab all day long.

42
 No clue what that meant. She sat down next to me in a huff. She looked so damned cute when
her cheeks were all red, hair wind blown.

You look like you just did.

Did you paint your room yet?

No.

Then there it was, the magnet. She looked far away, and then straight into my eyes. This was it.
We leaned in at the same time and our lips touched. She slid her wet tongue in my mouth and rubbed
like a pulsating demon. I was so hard it hurt, and she was instantly there to appease. She reached over
with her hand and started to rub. Then right away, began fumbling for my zipper, all the while trying to
continue with her hand.

Her tongue slipped from my mouth and our eyes met. The electricity between our eyes could
have powered Manhattan for a week. I cupped her tit in my hand and groped the way I had dreamed of
for months staring her in the eyes. We kissed again, and it was off with the sweater. She slid her hand
in my now open pants and grabbed my hard cock and squeezed lightly to let me know she wanted this
again. I reached for her khakis, and felt between her legs. She gasped and undid her own stuff, sliding
both the pants and the silk panties to the floor over her fit athletic legs.

Her pussy was hot and wet as my hand slid over her and my fingers up into her.

Two! Two! she ordered.

43
44
 I have to say that I have not grown a beard, got weird and moved into the mountains. And
neither had Marshall Mathers on New Years two thousand and three. Yes, before the war and
what can I say if I didn't come out of my closet, well. Hello my name is Frank, and the guy
scares me.

On the night before the Time Traveler's Ball being held in San Francisco by The String Cheese

Incident I found myself faced with a Hilton scene. There to scope out a room for the night at The
San Francisco Hilton, I saw an impeccable drama unfold before me. Impeccable, and
unpeckable by the frantic pregnant woman who unfolded herself and her life in front of me. I
was enthralled, blue balled, amazingly not called.

She was cute. I'm PREGNANT! she cried, tears dripping on the Hilton lobby floor Eminem

RAPED ME!.

The concierge tried to console her, but it was to no avail. She wouldn't stop. Marshall this, and

Marshall that until the mothers of America couldn't help but feel she needed help.

As we stood outside and watched the ambulance pull away with somber faces, I couldn't
help but not ask him.
Tax Money

$160.00 Ray

$100.00 Mom

$100.00 LG go Phone with $20 talk time

$100.00 Printer/copy/scan(fax) (?)

$100.00 writing books/subscriptions

$400.00 hotspot and time (?)

$20.00 backup flash drive

$20.00 Printer paper and ink

$50.00 headphones/extension

$50.00 netfix

$200.00 Office

$360.00 cigarettes

___________________________________________________

$1660.00 + tax
Step two:

When the sniper in the rafters took out Ozenoz, he felt a psychic connection to the
rapper. The phenomenon is proving itself all too real now. Fans of the former global rap star are
starting a cult of sorts with the trading of live shows. The live shows that were fed by the sub
audible messages the rapper was prosecuted for during his studio success from the chart topping
debut album. Then the dreams begin, the sleepwalkers, and ultimately; the killer turns serial.

SQL:

With the Ozenoz fan murder spree ended, a small town reporter takes on the cold case
files. When the files turn out to be corrupted with subliminal and sub audible messages, the tips
begin pouring in. Then the murders begin, always preempted by a phone call to the newsroom.
Hours of frantic research bring the reporter to the crime scenes before the police, but never in
time for the killer. As the time ticks down on another riddle of rap and raw footage, the killer and
the reporter slip deeper into a psychotic mess that may claim the lives of an entire city.

Psychic (new project) Step Three:

A league of underground policemen set out to demarcate the law of their own invention. Now
that pot is legal by the standards set by California State for use by adults, they are intent on
proving it is the devil's weed. The law was changed on the premise that it would cut out the
middle man, and shut down the cartels violence. It is not proving itself to do so, and violence due
to competition for the truckloads of crops that can be moved has become the issue.

Using Mexican connections, the rebel police contaminate some of the supply being
legally transported for mass consumption by Californians with pesticides. The weigh in stations
set up for tariff reasons by the State of California at the border are bought, but not the
checkpoints for drivers. The supply contamination is caught, via a truck moving illegals by a San
Diego former dealer whose business has forced him to change his dirty dealing. One of
California's finest, he has been moving some of the crop to one of the few center city stores in
San Diego which will move large quantities so that it can be consumed by the underage
population. An addict himself, he swerves on the double take playing in his mind at a weigh in
station, and both the contaminated crop and the illegals are found.

This alerts local Mafia that their crop is being messed with by the same force that aimed
at their people before. A shakedown ensues in Tijuana, vying to find the source of the illegal
border cross. It leads to the farm where the crop was being grown, and the mass mutiny which
insued due to the alert that the owners had turned the wrong way with pressure from their backer.
The backer is pressured to eliminate the problem, in light of the criminal charges possible, and he
does so. A member of the rebel police group is caught by the bought Federates while doing
border cross patrol in San Ysidro, and beheaded.

The league of police are even more steeled by this act. They form a corporation, and
begin the marketing of their own mass product to be distributed in the U.S. This time they pick
American growers crops and package their marijuana cigarettes as US Indica and Sativa
blends. Slowly buying up the market, they begin to contaminate the product with something
more sophisticated this time. PCP, a drug which causes psychosis.

People begin jumping off of buildings, attacking complete strangers and wreaking havoc.
On Wall Street, a trader goes postal and stamps his trades for the day with an all out assault that
hits home the point with the president of the corporation. But the trade isn't stopped, and a shell
corporation steps in to hide the loot. Before long the trail is offshore and the trail, cold. At this
point our hero steps outside to enjoy a cigarette, and is hit with an idea. The top is in on this to
enforce the Federal law.

He makes a few phone calls to encourage the proper pressure points over some pints, and
syndicates his research in the local pot growers manuals. His response rate cuts the flow of the
corporate funds from the policemen, and now the hunt begins. Armed with little but whits and
street savvy, he makes his way through the turnstiles of the arena he knows the best. As a
marketing executive he took on the challenge of sore losers who couldn't manage their own
business and turned them into sore losers who couldn't manage their winnings. Time to do it
again.

Michael reeks havoc on the stock market with a merger of his own marketing company
and the Mexican backers, offering peace as no reward for the heads that will soon roll. Dreaming
of the hits, the Mafioso head flies in to meet with the local board member who has it in the best
to make bank. The merger is set for the following morning, and call centers in place from the
marketing firm, Michael issues the scripts that will make or break his company.

I'm a short genius. Time for a cigarette.

I just reached for my phone and hell a hell of thought. What if I get a sponsor like Jim?
 Just for today my thoughts will be on my new associations. People who haven't smoked
the whole cartridge of their electronic cigarette in half a day, and who have found a new way of
life. So long as I swallow that way, I have nothing to smear. Oh what the hay. Just for the pay.
Relapse. Recovery. Then bitches and snitches and hitches and ditches. Guess I'm in for the same
old fruits of my labor. Fucking a- right I am. Fucking a lab rat right I am. Gross, net and
quantitative consumption of

Fritopf Capra's the Tao of my anal retensiveness. When I get up, the whole couch goes with me.

Because I farted. Fart sniffers.

Will I die of this disease? Will I feel that no matter what people will say I will die of a
disease? Does that cause me dis-ease? Why am I so diseased? Who else is diseased and are they
easy? Can they be easy and not sleazy? Am I just looking for a fix? Or am I catching some ray of
tax money dream hopeful wishing seam of tired cum shot ream? Will this get published? Will it
get read? Will I make it through another day of drama and Dramamine dreams and fart fixations
as I type out my adult world and pray that it becomes a reality?

As I sang in that Tennessee jail cell long ago, Only God knows why...
 Chapter 7:

Cricket

Living in a world so warm, I wrote a beautiful song with no tune for the vocals/lyrics, and
moving open chords for the melody.

It went as follows:

(BROKEN TAKE ONE...TWO, THREE, FOUR...)

Cries out in the night that it's passing him by

He just can't seem to find a real good reason why

Guess it's only in dreams he can take off and fly

Seems so real, he can taste it, he just has to try

And he says:

I have been BROKEN

WORDS HAVE BEEN SPOKEN

I am in HELL

PLEASE BREAK THIS SPELL

It's the way that she left him he really can't get

He feels like the loser an untimely bet

Past together meant nothing, it's really that set

Yet the truth bears a child he still hasn't met

And he says:

I HAVE BEEN BROKEN

WORDS HAVE BEEN SPOKEN

I AM IN HELL

PLEASE BREAK THIS SPELL

 One more turn at the wheel that is still spinning round

He just knows he can fly, yet his feet touch the

ground Where the music is boundless

insanities found Binds the deal, seals the fate

around which it's wound

And he says:

I HAVE BEEN BROKEN

WORDS HAVE BEEN SPOKEN

I AM IN HELL

PLEASE BREAK THIS SPELL

I HAVE BEEN BROKEN

WORDS HAVE BEEN SPOKEN

I AM IN HELL

PLEASE BREAK THIS SPELL

At the beginning of its first fully amped live performance, the audio blew back a rift of
feedback that ended the first chorus, and ultimately the song.

Please excuse me, I don't mean to be rude...

But fuck my old keyboardists, my old guitarists, my old soundboards, my old computers.
They all belong where they ended up. In the pile of memo's and e- mail's I just don't have the
time to respond to. Not that those are existent at this pint. Or that pint, half pint... double shot of
Jack on the Ripper over easy with ham and sausage on the side. Moon's over Miami and West
Beach is partying with The Culture Club fag-gits. The easy way out? Never. Always hard. And
you been had, I don't sing like a canary, I sing like a tenor with baritone so far in range Vedder
sounds like the rocks in his mouth are pushing my opal wisdom...(ellipsis)

Freezin... I rested my head on a pillow made of concrete every night in Los Angeles
when my rotted out feet couldn't make it to the beach where they should have been soaked. But I
counted on friendship meaning something, but psyche rock and scar tissue that I wish you Saw
III is all it amounted to. Cracker Joel is back on the mic, and if it's time to put it all behind me
then I should write this like it's the first autobiographical sketch I have ever attempted.

But the fact of the matter is that baby tonight... I am falling in love again.

Dance like no one is watching, which at this point would be a good thing. Cause if I spam
the different inflections of my fuck this and that's criss crossed with my rolling tobacco blues all
day to baby momma and parental half pints and cc units it gonna kill me.

In fista cuffs if dat be true den what up as I step in da room.

Cause baby tonight...

Write. Well from where? How about three days after landing?

It's December 27th and I am in California clothing. Barely able to walk and stay cold in
the fifteen degree weather as Uncle Samantha decides whether they can travel my luggage to me
from Charlotte. U.S. Airways got a delay in crew and footage, but shit happens and I'm neither
here nor there.

All my life I've been good and now...

It's fifteen degrees and I have no help. Can't find the nearest shelter. Can't cash the four
hundred twenty-four dollar check in my hands, and am broke otherwise. I have been since six am
on December 23rd without any drugs and I am about to fall as I pass by the middle mark of the
bridge on my way towards City Hall and the North side of the Christmas City.

Two nights prior after coming into town to my white Christmas, I encountered prank
drivers screaming at me to suck some dick for some crack! etc, etc, etc.

Live pop culture. It doesn't matter if you love him or capital M...M...M...

Malachi Michael, I thought. I love you.

Enough at that point to almost lie down and fall asleep on the bridge. To which, there

would be no wake up call. Just an eternal sleep. I walked to the nearest Quality Inn and told the

woman at the front desk.

Look mam, I just flew in from San Diego on Christmas, I have a check I can't cash and
no where to go. I am broke. I have no where to go and have been up for over a hundred hours.
My mother said she will pay for a room if you will accept her credit card by phone. If you don't
I'm gonna walk out that door, lie down somewhere and go to sleep and never wake up due to
hypothermia.
 Needless to say twenty minutes later I was in a cold bath, teeth chattering my way to get
out of shock. Emotional and physical. I'm guessing that the anxiety that caused me to call my son
and his mother and tell them I didn't fucking care that I was going back to California was pretty
motherfucking called for. But the world is a fucking cruel place, so it is because you need
medication.

No what I needed was a bed and a meal. I hadn't eaten since the airport on Christmas.
Except for the Twenty bucks I spent at the 24 hour Dunkin Donuts from the account that made
money from my blog while I was allowed to sit and try and figure out how to survive winter
homeless in this alien world. Alien world that my relatives lived so very close by to. So close that
I could have froze to death to make us all feel better. To make it all go away in historical
chronological events in the life of an addicted slut who holds me hostage. Her name:

who's yo mamma, who's ya mamma, who's ya mamma

That's the person who saved my life. The one who gave me birth. The one from whom the
umbilical cord could take the choke hold and not survive if I am not careful. But I won't let up,
cause Momma won't let me fly, but she won't want me to sing either. Hopefully she does let me
write and right and rightly write.

Well, page count here is at forty-eight and I have no idea what is in my head anymore but teeth

chattering. Seeing as it's spring, I take this as a sign from God that I need to be thankful and

write more in the morrow. In the morrow, things will be different. May the tomorrows of

evermore be brighter and brighter for the equality of the life I want for my son. Not. I want him

to have so much better, but I am so fucking helpless. I love you Shane Malachi Michael Ruch.

Even when you think I am not thinking of you, I am doing something I hope will lead to us

getting time. Time being the thing that God most meant for us to leave alone in his name.

Correction: his many, and vast meaningful names. Amen.

I blink and it's the morrow. But not the Morrow I want. I want one I can slide off a
mountain on and land in feet of powdery bliss that fell from the sky. But that is just the
snowboard/ski tech speaking in me. Joyride for the twister that landed on me in Tennessee in my
mind. No that one was real. It's one of the reasons why Ozenoz landed himself in Oz.

I was driving through Tennessee on November 13, 2002 when suddenly I was attacked.
Four twisters had merged and were ready to strike. As the huge mass of blackness descended on
my car, I prayed to God God, I am gonna die and no one will know just how cool this looked.
No one does, as he told me on my twelve step support phone call last night.

The tornado that landed on my Honda Civic known only as the sweet little Habib
pushed her from five miles per hour to fifty-five miles per hour in neutral. No hands on the
wheel, that was God steering as Old Nashville Highway running straight out of the Bible in my
belt let me drive on. I call this: how to go from zero to sixty in neutral. But let's just put it in third
gear here for Habib and hit the rest stop.

I was there for one reason, to accost the girl who led me down a long and shameful road.
The one who caused me to do time with Tennessee murderer Percy Palmer. With him in mind, I
set out to send off letters to my boys the night before. I sent Percy the key to my West Chester
University Hockey House key. They key to the place where I lived. Cause you see, the whole of
my twenties was spent being told I was a fucking caddie when I was a student. Without the
tuition, minus the parties and minus the bullshit from the STD's I would have had to avoid. But
that's hairpiece material, and I'll leave the herpes where she lies. In her husbands arms, the
fucking cunt who told me Troy, don't meditate on August 19, 2001. On September 10, 2001 I
pled not guilty to public intoxication for being aware that something terrible was coming that had
caused me to be silent while I held my meditation that night on MTSU campus. On September
11, 2001 Buddha died in the first tower and so did my dreams of release anytime soon. I was
truly fucking out of my mind. I decided to let them know in the infirmary that even though I pled
not guilty to a misdemeanor or four, I was ready for psyche help and that entailed solitary
confinement in the nicest of environs you can imagine for the next four months.

Tai Chi... they called me. But I was holding the forms. You can get the most benefit
from your inability to stretch in a solitary cell when you take your anger out on the guards who
are scared of the death sentence next door. Don't worry about me, though Mom and Dad, as you
told me on the phone while I was in there, Joel, they care. You have a problem and they want to
help! You did something

WRONG!

When I got home to run a mink golf club, I was told I was Penn University Law School
material. Of course that was from the same chump who sold me a peyote like mushroom that
caused me to end up in the bad graces of my parental units in the first place. When I was
eighteen, so fugged aboud it. It ain't me, it's the world and the way they view me. Ain't that right
Percy?

Mr. Palmer is concerned with a thousand dollar question. Just like ROGER he's a crazy
little (eighteen year old) kid. I've got the time if you've got the inclination, so cheer up Palmer,
you'll soon be dead. The noose is hanging, at least you won't die wondering, so cheer up Palmer,
you'll soon be dead. I used to sing the old Phish Acey Deucey Bag tune to him on the row.
Nashville gave him triple life for the three lives and the thousand dollar question is, Bon jovial...
eighteen and life?

I called him killer. It was killer this and killer that for the next while, but as his inside
track on being prepared for trial I hope to God. He saved his own life by not flinching from a
white jury after all that bullshit. After all, I was locked up for a misdemeanor I didn't commit.

Hey Brooks! What'd you do? cell four asked me one day.

Broke a car window by accident... was my response.

Until they shoved their helpful needle in my ass bone so hard that still hurts from it to this
day. As I told the nurse in there before she stabbed me as hard as possible with an anti-psychotic
I'll fucking kill you bitch!

Perhaps. Time will tell. Til death do us part? Oh killer, let me count the ways. Soap on a
rope. Soap with some dope. Soap in my mouth. Hung jury soap in my mouth. Needle in my ass
soap box blues and five oh to count the ways to them cell block two's. And three and four and...

Get on the door, we've got a drug trade and it's cumming in my finger food. Til death do
us part, Mommy and Daddy cause jails institutions and death are all a part of your fucking
treatment plan for me. How bout a good dose of fuck your house doctor? Doctor, doctor give me
the blues, my son's got a bad case of ideas that could be normal but I abused him too much blues.
So fuck you bitches.

Fuck you. Ladybug.

My only friends as the late Kurt Cobain said were in my head. And they brought with
them the chi to fill my cell with ladybugs. Red all over the walls with wings and black dots and
screw this shit, I'm a fucking Tea Kwon Tao. Expert my ass, this shit is Kung motherfucking FU
and jit kwon tao and I am fresh out of a University of Michigan sublet where I fit like a glove
with my graduate student roommates so HA!.

Beat my head against the cement wall some more while mom - mommy calls it therapy.
Percy, you have no bail bond, killer. Mine is four hundred dollars. Less than a cup of coffee a day
for life in the slammer. Of course there could have been the option I got delivered to my jail cell
in the mail. Well option one was: pay back my roommate for the ex tangled up in blue fiancee's
phone bill to her husband in Virginia Beach. The roommate went C.I.A. ,so I took it as a
compliment. Second option was be my own lawyer. If I had known it, I would have declared
Habeus Corpus, but they were too busy giving me therapy to let that happen. But the third and
final of the two options was the one my fag-git D-U-D said was all delusion.

A letter arrived from Texas Justice, the television program. It said that the three thousand
dollar fine I owe now and the years probation would be waived, it was a funny and silly enough
matter for Percy and I to sit at the table and fight it out on the tele. That's right, for the price of a
cup of Starbucks that cunt mam-mam shoved past her dick sucking lips (as she hoped I was
training) I could have been bailed out. And then flown to Houston. And defended myself on
television with my tangled up in glue ex lover, no matter what the verdict: paid and OVER.

Joel, you're delusional, this conversation is over. Fag-git news anchors. What do they know?

Better know their son's better than to dump em off at the county lockup for being troubled by a
girl.

But of course, had I never gone through all of this shit, I'd never be as old and
experienced as I am. I barely made it today, and I will continue to take everybody else's personal
inventory until they do mine for me. That's my creed, motto, life, wisdom and cricket. Speaking
of cricket, I miss my old phone number. I could have received countless (and cunt less) untold
phone calls from everyone but people who like to be referred to as family when they are
assholes. Nah, just kidding. They know better. Or they had better know better. Or else they are
going to get a solid dose of my delusional reality coming straight at their motherfucking twenty -
two packing asses. Get some real caliber. I got guns down below you have never dreamed of.

I swam with the phishes that taught me how to trip my way to the infirmary and out the
door. So don't think this means I am sane, this book. This is a lot like the Irish in me saying you
pull a gun on me and I'll twist your neck in my vice so fast I'll be reading Omerta in the State
Hospital for a quarter of the time the self defense in this book proves I need

'Course that's just Texas Justice, and if you pull a forty, we are both dead. Cause I'll drink
you under the table, shove the bottle up your ass and shove it in and out at a medium pace. Like
the wooden putter whose grip I ruined before popping the cherry of that young and future heiress
to a billion plus on my California King size non waveless. Living the dream baby doll, living
the dream.

Crucified again. Speaking of necks and vices, I need to go bum a Newpimp one hundred.
Cause them days got worse than when I was fifteen and told fuck off you little shit you are
homeless. Nah,
I'm still just classified (and not by my full blooded C.I.A. Ex roommate) as homeless. The
Gandy

Dancer wouldn't accept my application now, nor The Hotel Schmethlehem, but that is mayhem
neither here nor in the complimentary near four diamond self will run riotous published copy.
Copy? Cat, I think you are just plain nuts, and dog if you ain't, you best be getting the fuck out of
my way, cause I love staties and they love me. We're a happy family. I'll wind up where people
get strapped in not so they don't eat their own hands. I'll do just fine for about a year til they let
me out and I have to come back to a step by step process of novel writing. Novella? Short.
Newpimp.

It's me myself and I... the Crue tells me for for the final time in this mornings adventures.

Perhaps the I should move back to the warmer climate, head to the Barrio with my
Cricket, work at the ampitheatre and see free concerts, sell newspapers on Sundays, get a sales
job and fugged aboud it. Or maybe I should go on a rampant free spree of lies and bland truths
that get whipped around like the S&M mistress I need so badly.

You know, I've lived a few mistakes and I stand by them...

Til death do us part. Do us part, please vengeance on the grace of the divine mercy of the
Lord I hold on to. Getting held by the system, that enables me to collect the welfare basket. The
ask it all and tell nun who you want in the rooms of a respite bed fugged aboud it with
Greyhound traveler's dreams.

It was New Years eve when I should have let Kali go, but Troy still hung the patches from
Phish Tours Summer and Fall in his closet, and she was fucking hot. So I went home, me and my
alias soon to become my new identity. I should have moved in with my Starbucks manager, but
she was too busy lopping off my head and smacking my ass while avoiding getting fucked at the
lab while I was told Don't marry Kali, she's Robin. And of course the red face Schwinn riding
miserable Pharmaceutical

Corpse cutting beauty was love at first bite, so being struck by lightning was my natural
relationship.

(from due course of punishment at the hands of my sexual and mental abuse as a child)

Memories I am not supposed to have Mam-mam, but I fucking do. Now sell that to my
editor, Troy. Try and try again to ask myself, did I deserve the abuse, or was it love? Maybe I
should have the church instilled values put in place by not running from one woman to the other
when it is true love. Dumb ass. I will have to put some white out on the screen here, and relate
that one to my therapist cause damnit, I never rode my mam-mam's boyfriend while he fucked
her from behind. She never took off her sweater in front of me to reveal the teets that confused
my pee-pee, that's all in my humble genre stricken imagination.

Fuck yo' genre nigga'. And sue me doctor. Sue me, and the pharmaceutical tech, the
counselor, the therapist and the ring you don't hold over my head step- off D-U-D number five
hundred eighty two

point four since I was three. Ahhh Crickets. And drums. And space. Nah. Just
crickets...

Chirp.

Chirp. Chirp!

Chirp, chirp?

Chirp. Chirp, chirp, chirp!

Chirp, chirp, chirp chirp!

Chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp chirp.

Chirp?

Chirp, chirp.

Chirp, chirp, chirp!

Chirp?

Chirp!
 Chapter 8:

What if God was one of us?

He is, I tell you, God is one of us. He's wandering around Penn Station putting coins in
the pockets of the weary traveler who can't make it to his home on the beach cause he stretched
himself too far trying to caddie at his Philly home course. He is on the Staten Island Ferry at four
am when the Bankers are at home, and my interviews at New York Life don't count, but only
because of my poor hospital stricken credit record. But that's neither here nor at Jamaica
Hospital. That's where I should have left to go into an art loft in NYC & why, see?

Because I met an intelligent Jamaican who had a non- jerk chicken for a husband who she
told (before CNN ireport voted me young people who rock) I was a young people who rock
who needed a loft at seven fiddy fo' da mont'.

I have to say, I should have, but the staff didn't think I was an award winning actor trying
to make in the big C, they thought I needed the big See? Move in with your mam-mam so she
can force feed you OUR drugs and act like the abuse never happened at her hands.

I took their overpriced advice, much to the dismay of my San Diego compadre who
interviewed me, and well the rest is credit history. Health care sucks. Just remember two things:
don't use drugs and listen to your doctor. Tell your doctor you don't need feel good medication
and listen to your shrink. And when your pee -pee shrinks, it's because jerk chicken isn't bad,
it's da shi' nigga' wha?!.

Not and Naughter. Back in Black, I hit that and that at the top floor of a not so flat. Top floor of

the Empire State, capital building but it ain't fate. It's a state motto and I'll say I learned about
lions and tigers and bears all day. Nah, just Indian psychiatrists who have a shampoo bottle up
their ass about being beaten intellectually by someone who thought they had talent. I got stopped
at JFK

International airport for kissing the ground goodbye before getting on this plane. That's not just
bi-

polar. That's schizo- affective with psychotic features. So just chill, until the next episode.
Biznatch.

But I'm talking crazy here, and the poetry is probably losing some of you so let me give
you some back ground information. I have wandered off into New York City to leave the
recovery home that is telling me I owe rent. Mam-mam is working together with my boss to keep
me from working hopefully permanently and put me in the hospital for mental illness. And
mental illness is working together with the illest chillest, baddest gas attack that ever was a fact
in the black. Black and red. Bug yet? Me either.
This was after beating number one at eleven, beating number two at twelve and uh oh...

ass fucking at ten o'clock!

Roger capo, we have a bogie

Co-ordinates Charlie. Delta. Delta. Delta.

Oh fuck!

That's what she said.

Dogfight at Nellis Air Force base where I spent the time after riding a bicycle from the

Tabernacle outside of L.A. All work and no play. Makes Jack and dull toys.

Bogie, take that boogie out!

Eat it! says the cock pit to mission control.

Houston, this is gonna be Texas Justice biznitch.

Hey Charlie, do you eat boogies?

Breakfast, lunch and dinner my six year old freckled monster of death.

Eat shit and die...

That's a kill shot. Nothing but net. Unless you ask my former C.I.A. Trainee roommate
who is also on my credit history. Before the ass fucking, great to eat shit while on sex line phone
calls. That ended my relationship with Niles. As roommates, you psycho twisted Air Force
One pilots. I don't know what you'll be doing in your Air Force One, but I'll be snorting Ritalin
and trying desperately to have good sex with the used to be underage when I was twenty- one
year old who frequented Niles

Frazier, pipe down, he'd quip when I was throttling my mojo for the garage crew team
sports: bong icing, Yeungling (Americas Oldest Brewery) and smoking Valuum through cheap
former rocket fuel metal pipes.

But that's just me. And Wilson, King of Crush ya, I lay this shit on you. If you are a fish
head you know what I am talking about. Don't blame me, I'm just sexy and needed more
company than a catholic school girl who didn't understand that all of my friends knew I had just
come back from Mount Trexlor Manor and The Dark Side of the Moon. Of course the
alternative to my wood floored two bedroom on Church St. would have been High Street. It
nearly was at the recovery home D-U(A)-D dropped me off at after blowing $400K in insurance
coverage on my mental plans for winter 1998-99. But in the year two thousand with a couple of
thousand hours of guitar under my belt I could have had it all. Keller Williams, The String
Cheese Incident, my former life, and my respect. No choice, all of the above.

The recovery house Dad dropped me off at was under the elevated Market Frankford
line in Germantown. Gunshots at night. A relapse from the owner with a new gay lover picked
from his plethora of fresh meat members ended the house shortly after I moved out. I had no
choice but to stop the bleeding. But to go back to the insanity? Insanity.

The best part of me is always from them,the parentals, and when I claim otherwise just
ignore the bullshit and realize I'm digging my own grave. I have been digging it for so long, I
could strike up conversation with the U.S. Embassy to Jules Verne at the center of the earth
sometime soon. But that's neither here nor there. It takes more than three licks to get to the center
of a guitarist like I used to be, so maybe that fifth of Southern Comfort coupled with a pint of
Vodka, five beers and some pot wasn't a good idea that season of caddying.

No blame for the game, it's not tame it's just shame I can't claim cause it would drain the
game from my name. And I'm no rook, I'm no pawn, I'm no queen, but I sure as hell want to
marry one.
 IN GOD

WE

TRUST (@@@) 392-3000

(@@@) 666-2213
Chapter 9:

OM

This is a story about a young man who was thirty three years old and almost died after getting

clean. It's gonna take a lotta re OM ing to get this all out, cause it still scares the shiznat outta
me.

And nigga' that is the truth.

I was at an Encinitas Drug Study in California. The study paid for my lab tests to come
later, not. The drug gave me a stable head to leave with, not. The drug study gave me the money
to buy everybody christmas presents and the means to get them to everyone. True. It also gave
me enough for my rent money at the fag riddled, crazy porn star schizo freckled old man
establishment on El Cajon Boulevard. False. I was ready to jump off the meth train and get back
in my sons life and move home to Bethlehem, praying that his gorgeous mother would take me
back. Both true and false. Praying that she had changed. True. Ok, put your pencils down, time
up.

Seven AM Christmas morning. I say goodbye to the people in the study and go out front
to my chauffered ride on the Cloud Nine shuttle to the airport. Serving the greater metropolitan
area with vans and limo's, I had booked and paid down a ride to the San Diego Airport for my
10AM two legged flight to arrive on the East Coast, not, at 8PM December 25th.
 My good friend, schizophrenic George of the urban jungle and I said goodbye. Everyone
else was looking at me like I was nuts. Leaving southern California in the dead of winter to a
place where I had no home and no idea what was left for me. But they accepted all of the
presents I had told Jessica were for the kids, and saw me off gratefully. I grabbed my bags of
presents from the wonderful team of associates there at the study, my army bag packed in the
long insomnia the night before and headed wearily into the shuttle.

I was not the first person in the van, and after putting my army duffle into the back,
climbed into the back seat. I had recently mourned the loss of yet another influence in my life.
The life of a writer whom graced the world with wisdom, and my world with an English
classroom in High School.

As we drove in silence through the canyons down the freeway, a little red light on the highway
awaited. Plane trails in the sky formed a beautiful path in the sky that looked to me like a
symbolic highway home. It was tranquil, in the found peace I had created there in San Diego
with my new life. Comfort, and yet knowing that I was leaving to be sure to find that my
California dreaming had time come to become what it was meant to equate to.

I remember this surreal moment as we passed by a mountain there. It was like a zen
painting, the shrubs, the trees, the clouds. All in Christmas morning stillness as I headed for the
Christmas City, and my family on the other end. The tedious nervousness of coming from an
unfullfilled psychiatric study that let me check out finishing the treatment and having to pass
through airport security. Without appearing to be nervous enough to end up in a psyche ward or
being detained and searched. But this was Christmas, this was my son, this was my life.

On the way upward the colors came back. The seat I was given was next to a couple who
were obviously not ready to go and visit her parents. An upper class couple who were together in
this day for the convenience of having a face at the family table. They had the feel of a Seinfeld
episode as they argued over how they should never fly coach ever again. She eventually came to
believe that a power greater than herself could move her away from fidgety me, and
bemuddled him by moving.

It took all of my funds available in cash to escape with food in my stomach, water for the
flight, and sunglasses to stare at the country that I needed to cross to pass safely back to where
real life awaited. The son I had worked for so many years in San Diego to bring a life of comfort
to. Not a life riddled with porn star ex- fiancee's and hooker john landlords, but a real one.
Perhaps the hookers john would allow me to bag him for the night, and we would all move on.
Not again. Here we go.

But if it is all worth the while, then the while is worth the wait folks. I am befuddled and
bemuddled myself to say that I was not ready on the way in and out the door. Is that double
tongue or a genre of entendre that is coupled with abrasiveness from style and comfort I had
almost obtained.
 Yeah, if only I could start a corporation, I would call it Crack Heads R' Us. Baby food for
them who mix doses and get into fights, and weight trainers for the serious dealers. Food friends
and fellowship, not being the motto of American Airlines prior to the coming delays, I moved on
to the newspaper stand in the Charlotte flight. God was watching, and he wanted me to know that
I looked like death.

I was seated next to a ninety year old ex psyche nurse from St. Luke's Hospital in Bethlehem.

She was the youngest ninety year old I have ever met, and I was hypnotized. When the hop from
Charlotte to ABE was over, I invited her to the foot high club, and when denied entered the
bathroom by myself. The ladies room, then the mens room and finally... what seemed to be 30
second later, I found myself understanding what 30 seconds to Mars means. Finally. She was, not
there. Neither was anyone else on the plane formerly there. I don't know about you, but I think it
takes longer than 30 seconds for a 747 to clear. But I guess it was American Airlines, icy, cold,
and Christmas. Strike that, reverse it. I was A.A., shaky, frozen and festive.

Especially festive was the mood at the empty luggage claim. There was no luggage for
me there. My winter clothing was in the bag, and it was oh, about oh out there. Jessica said she
had put Shane down, and that she wasn't interested in seeing me. She said to call my Mom. My
Mom said I don't know where you can go, but I will pay for the cab ride, just wait outside. And
there you have it folks. Have yourself a Merry Little PREDICAMENT. And thus it fucking
began.

Took the greyhound plane down heart attack and vine with fistful of Mom and crimes.
Sex, whacks, overdose, bitches and bat out of hell from 70 and sunny to 70 below and am I dead
yet? I said to myself, earning the gleam from passengers also in line for their baggage loss and
found deputy of fucked up the American Airlass department. Lassy, I needed a glassy of some
bubbly and I was dead set on the dead set in front of me. Twat tam aussi, and I am going down
under. That's where the answers all lay. In the here and now. In the there and towing my ass to
the limo to take me on the ride to Dunkin Flownuts.

May my nuts flow in every direction but one, cause she got herpes from me and the rest of the

Lehigh Valley has it now too so beware... I thought as I sat down to my cabbies dismay.

He was stoned, drunk and on 14 Vicadin, he cheerfully let me know. I laughed, but he
was serious. He really needed to know about California Medical Marijuana cause he was
thinking about going there for his back trouble. What a wierdo. Watch the language, the wheel,
the road, and we've got that single vision: coffee. I tipped him well from Mommy's purse and ran
around town until I nearly dropped dead. Then I decided that I could stay up all night and not
freak out. Hell, I was a freak. Just be one. I had been through worse, though I couldn't think of
what. Little did I know how much more was to come.
 Four months and three days later, I relate to you that I should have listened the first time
to the powers that be in control. Nigga when the bitch says bend over, just admit you have
enjoyed the thought and bend over. And consider it towards the balance. Cause biznatch, it be
cold out dere. I got my 90 days on the street, how 'bout you?

How about the drug counselor I encountered today who told the co-occuring co-facilitator that
pot is ok, cause it is politically correct, then had a good laugh at us? And then laughed at the
Intervention Episode he picked and said He should have been committed...
Nein.

How about that Rocky? How about that Adrian? How about that mother fucker.

Welcome to my world where the laughter is deep and apparently the sick thoughts I have

nothing to do

with anything good I have going on. As Jonathan Franzen puts it in The Corrections.. (if I

had the money I could use it)...

(quotation marks)

I'm saying the structure of the entire culture is flawed... he further adds, I'm

saying the bureaucracy has arrogated the right to define certain states of mind as

'diseased'. A lack of desire to spend money becomes a symptom of disease that requires

expensive medication. Which medication then destroys the libido, in other words destroys

the appetite for the one pleasure in life that's free, which means the person has to spend

money on compensatory pleasures. The very definition of mental 'health' is the ability to

participate in the consumer economy. When you buy into therapy, you're buying into

buying. And I'm saying that I personally am losing the battle with a commercialized,

medicalized, totalitarian modernity right this instant.

 Do you buy that? Do I buy that? Can I buy that? Should I buy that? And that too.

And that toothpaste, motherfucker. And that toothpaste has Herpes written all over it. Of

course that's cause I ate Kali on the windowsill of the Holiday Inn, living in sin. But Punkin

Patches, that dick biting bitch got me back in the morning weeks before the infection

became genital. For her, not me. Mine became a non-symptom causing genital just over a

few weeks later. But that 's just too much information. Be mine, St. Valentine's Day. It's just

a fucking massacre waiting to happen, cause cuz, you ain't kicking, and I ain't lickin, so

keep on drippin. Fuck yo' baggage.

Chapter 10:

The Halfway House

Times New Roman 12 point:

DOUBLE SPACED

Let's start from the very beginning. From the attic of the Oxford House here in the

Christmas City that held me hostage in front of a screen in 2005 where I wrote up the

following:

To die will be an awfully big adventure.

Sir James M. Barrie, Peter Pan, act III, final sentence.

Bullfight critics row on row

Crowd the vast arena full

But only one mans there who knows

And hes the man who fights the bull.

- Unknown

For as long as I can remember, I have been addicted. Addicted to money, to sex, addicted
to anything I could get my hands on. That is one of the teachings of the Buddha, letting go of
ones desires. We are all guilty of it. Even saints and martyrs have to avoid the pitfalls of falling
into their own selflessness too far.

The primary focus of my addiction since my father died at age three has been with a concept.

That is the concept that we are never really taken out of the loop, that we dont die, our spirits

live on. I am forever chasing down exactly what consciousness my father found in death. I

suppose it as simple as just wanting to be able to ask advice like other kids fathers, but dont tell

my ego that.

For years I really wanted to escape. Once I sat down and tried to
explain the need for altered states. It read as follows.

I want to get high as high can get. I want to take the dose, eat the dope, sniff the coke,
and drink the drink into the wild death thrill of it all. I want to watch the show become neither
nor the tainting of the jest. I want to leave it all alone. I want to eat the drink of the flesh of life,
and taste the seams as they burst uptight.

OK computer? I want to get high as high can get, seize the

misery seething and seeming at its seams down to the might it
wields. I want to cry out the fame of the dance the flame will
extinguish, want to extinguish it now in a fiery mountaintop. A
mountaintop of swooshing lies in nitrous dreams that cloud the fog
of morning still in the show I sing to and choke. I want to choke on
the blood of the lamb that boils in the sizzling bloody end of cells
and centers of nerves that lay dead in their frail brittle Swiss lobes of
my cheesed once brilliant knowing mind. A mind that is reduced to
papers I dont have. People I never owned who owned me became
their slave in retreat. In resentments spiteful glare I will smile the last
gleam of the glittering past into the birth of my own death and the
tearing sadness that will engulf. The sadness that is tears out the hole
by creating the new ones which will only sadly enough never know
itself.
 It was after writing this I asked God to accept, believe, and take from me this, and to
replace it with serenity. Now I offer myself to thee as I did on the altar of that St. Francis

Friary floor stuck between sitting and standing as we kind of are here on Earth with relation to

God. I offer myself to thee to purposefully examine where I strayed from the path, and where the

path is leading.

I was born in the small Central Pennsylvania town of Altoona, in Mercy Hospital at about
one in the afternoon. My name was Joel Edward Ayers then, after my now deceased biological
father, John

Richard Ayers. I still see and talk to my sister. Ill leave her name out of it. I owe her that much.

She is a beautiful woman with a beautiful family who live just outside of Los Angeles,
California.

My mom was almost two years married when I was born. She was eighteen, Richard
forty - nine. My father died of lung cancer that was tragically unprovoked by smoking behaviors
when I was age three.

He had met my mom through my now half sister, who is a year older than my Mom, and
fell in love with the dark haired country raised Christian that she was. She was from a very poor
family that believed and behaved to almost Mennonite conservatism. My mother, she tells to this
day the stories of having an outhouse, of milking the Amish cows, not having television and
having to wear dresses and hair long until marriage age. My father and she were happy, she
consoles me. They used to go bike riding to NYC, vacationed in Hawaii and Disneyworld, and
had an all around wonderful home life.

She once told of how her life was so unaccustomed to the modern day amenities; she
used to cry over all kinds of stuff on television. Bonanza comes to mind. I have vague memories
of those days.

I have haunting ones of his funeral, one I was not at.

I do however remember Altoona, the town of my birth well. Shortly after his death, my
mother was forced into bankruptcy, losing the small country grocery store and house that she and
my father had owned. Life alone with Mom revolved around my schooling, which I took up at an
early age. My mother taught piano when I was young, and my curiosity for music was among the
first of my attempts to read anything. I taught myself to read at age five, and was very proficient,
surprisingly so. By the first grade, I was numbered and tagged the elite class of gifted students.
It was a small classroom consisting of just eleven of us who attended the first six grades of
school together alone.

Altoona is a small blue collar town in central Pennsylvania. Often people look at me with
astonishment when on rare occasion I say I am from Altoona, remarking nobody is FROM
Altoona. I suppose it is the kind of small town that teaches kids to dream of somewhere bigger,
lest they be suffocated by small town - itis. To this day I get a sense of warm simple ness of life
when

I think of Altoona.

The closest fast paced place is State College, the home of Joe Pats Nittany Lions and
Penn State main campus. The whole area is smashingly beautiful, really. Especially in the fall
when the leaves change color. The surrounding Allegheny Mountains create a kind of natural
wall around the area comparable to the way in which Colorado opens up in places. The
mountains are considerably smaller, however. The only natural disasters around are floods and
the occasional sinkholes. Both of these can engulf an entire home with quite deadly results.
There are quite a few photo disaster collections on the nearby Johnstown flood.

I remember distinctly the year of the locusts coming, when the whole town to my little
ears sounded a little like a band of tambourine playing gypsies. Everywhere rattling and
humming their tune put me to boyhood wandering.

At four I lived with Mom after my Dads death in an apartment complex near to her sister.
She had lived with her during high school days and my grandmothers illness. That was Roaring
Springs,

PA where the paper mill constantly emits the stench of its works like a fart hung mid breeze all
day. The apartment was the life for me, and of it all I can remember is Star Wars, Fraggle Rock,
and beginning my boyhood curiosities..

At age five we had moved to a new apartment, now in Altoona. Hench Bros apartments, a
community of twenty or so one - level apartment buildings that housed many families. It was a
community of children with whom I had happy playtime for the first time ever.

I became very close to my mother in those days. They say finding a mate is very much so
replacing ones mother role in their life. Perhaps this is why I am so picky about it. I have a great
attraction to my mother in many ways. A woman of simple beauty and simple traditional values,
I have to admit she is what I am looking for. Psychiatrists love to push my Freudian buttons.

Sexuality is a process of examining ourselves during which we are relying on someone

completely separate from ourselves. It is an ecstatic dance to develop experience wisdom
through. I called my girlfriend, Kali, Mom during sex for the length we were engaged. As if it
wasnt bad enough her being a psyche major, she needed to deal with that thought too. People
say some pretty fucked up things during sex.

I heard it stated by a brilliant man who was my roommate once about our instinctual
conclusions in not marrying into our own family. He stated we see the effect when genetic
offspring have too closely related genes, and avoid it. The existence of our species should rightly
so conclude that for our own survival we take on partners who are not the sisters who we may
find attractive in every way.

While Im on the topic of sick things, lets smoke. Growing up my adopted news anchor
father smoked Salem cigarettes. Me, Im a Newport guy. I travel; he goes on media witch hunts.
Those cigarettes created a twenty year witch hunt of their own in regards to hiding my underage
smoking. I smoked my first butt out of my soon to be fathers ash tray left full on the coffee
table at age ten.

One of several thousand snipes I would smoke over my career. A snipe for those of you
who arent Vietnam Veteran savvy, is a butt you find, bend over, and pick up. I learned this from
the many homeless vets I hung around with years later. I suppose this referred to bending over to
pick up a cigarette butt and getting missed by a sniper bullet. The irony put a nail in the coffin.
Maybe it was about finding the sniper by his telltale butts at the base of the tree or roof perch
where he hid for hours at a time.

Later that year, my mother remarried and I was adopted to have the new family name.
That was the same year my younger brother was born. My adopted father was fired from his job
as a local television news anchor for skipping work to use work editing machines in completion
of a side job promotional video. After a few months as a car salesman, he found a new job on
news radio in Philadelphia and we were forced to move. My life in Coatesville was the end of
the honeymoon so to speak for my parents.

The new school I had to attend was corroded in both structure as well as students. We
could barely afford it, and my new Dad worked hours of overtime to get us more than the simple
basics in life. He was never around, and I took to my new little brother with love to fill the time
apart from him.

He was the cutest, shyest innocent little red head you could ever meet. We must have watched
the same Sharon Lois and Brams Elephant show we had on VHS tape over a thousand times,
singing along. He was truly the little brother I had always wanted. To this day, I miss those days
when we had nothing but time and laughter for each other. Still I was, however, hundreds of
miles from my youth, and its years of friendships. My Dad, he had this funny way of being, and
he treated catching me at something I was not allowed to do with amusement. He used to call it
getting cold busted.
 Whenever I got cold busted at something, he would laugh and tell me I was in trouble.
Then he would grab the hair on the back of my neck and yank up, telling me to walk like a
chicken, while he mocked me. He was full of subtleties that made him a character, and I loved
him for it. He used to make up wild new stories for me to laugh at and then narrate them in his
best news anchor voice at the table. You know, just the kind of stuff that eleven year olds eat up,
crack up over. He was not entirely used to the idea of giving up TV news however, and this move
turned out not to be the last of our moves. I spent grades seven through nine living outside of
Albany, New York.

It was here I joined my first band. We were a Led Zeppelin cover group, and I was the
keyboardist. Never really got too far. Snowboarding was a monthly event at one of the big
mountains in Vermont or upstate. My friends rode dirt bikes in the miles of wooded trails we had
at the end of our neighborhood. I used to walk my Husky/Shepard mix in every day down those
trails. Those woods are now a school and a development. In the eighth grade I received my first
B in a subject, and I was grounded for an entire semester with the exception of walking my
dog. It was there that I began to experience physical abuse from my father. It wasnt like I didnt
have the things I wanted, or was ignored. There was no sibling rivalry to speak of. He simply felt
the need at times to attack me when he felt I was unappreciative. These beatings left scars that
festered for years after I left home. To this day I sit and worry sometimes over the loss of depth
in our friendship. On the brighter side of things, it is a relationship which has endured even
through his divorce of my biological mother.

We moved from Albany to Newtown Square my sophomore year of High School. I was
into football, so Mom and Dad had me moved there early to get on the squad. I went to the
Square for football camp early on, while my family moved our stuff into the new house on Lewis
Road. Camp Paradise" was a grueling camp in the country that the team went to in order to up
our physical endurance for the season. The football team met for two weeks of the summer at the
High School before going away. Four hour sessions at the school. I attended those , and then
went on to camp where I quickly made friends with a guy who was to prove to be a good buddy
of mine.

I loved the smell of the grass, the dirt that flies from your cleats as you pursue another
man with hunters instinct. I loved the contact, loved hitting them as much as being the victim of
a good tackle. I remember being hit so hard I flipped a few times. There is nothing like it to take
the fight out of a news anchor brat. My friend and I bunked in the same cabin with the seniors.,
They were on the other side, and for some reason admired me. Atleast they did not find any
particular reason to pick me out as a troublemaker. I was fast as lightning. Every morning in the
damp dew at 5:30 AM we were called out by whistle to stretch and run a two mile run with the
quarterback coach, a QB himself at Villanova. We called him "the rabbit" and anyone who could
beat the rabbit was told they could sit out of the next days two mile run. It was an uneven run
that ended in a 200 yard mountain like ascent sprint to the finish, yet I managed to beat the rabbit
twice that week, clocking a time of twelve minutes and twenty seconds or so.
 I guess I was suppose to assume a role of team leadership of some sort at that point,
however, I didnt. I used the freedom to sleep in until six AM, unlike the team captain, who ran
for breaking records from his starting wide out spot that season, and ran on his earned day off
wins.

There was a kid in my cabin who had some kind of inhuman flexibility in his back. He
turned out to be the tortured carnie of our amusement at camp that summer. The man could suck
his own penis. At least we assume so, as he never took down his shorts. I still envy him.

I was a horrible wide receiver. It was disappointing after having been a great Pop Warner
defensive nose guard. I had been breaking heads being the biggest guy on the team at 140
pounds. Pee wee days were over, and I think I was a little too small to handle our offensive
guards who weighed in around three hundred. I couldnt handle open field tackling, I was a grunt
guy, who loved the hurt yourself mentality, the all out rush of swim moving the big guys and
taking out the QB or running back in the backfield. To this day, I wonder with my speed and
agility had I insisted on being a defensive end in high school years would I have had more
success and gone on to play college ball.

High School began, and I was the new guy sort object of curiosity naturally to every girl
in the school. Decent looking kid with enough poise and grace for dignified existence within any
of the school clicks, I got all the attention I needed. I was in Honors English, and soon thereafter
in the spring of the year had acquired a taste for a girl.

In the winter of my sophomore year, the band director caught wind that I had played
trumpet most of my life, and came to recruit me. He said that he could make it so that I would
not be interfered with in my athletics. I went to his office that week to try out, and when I popped
a perfect double

high "G" for him, his eyes bulged, and he wet his pants and begged me for oral. No, actually
just to come on board for concert band. Although by the juvenile chiding he took from band
members, it may have been the oral. The following week I was debuting as the second in line
first chair trumpet player, behind a senior.

I played lacrosse, another of my favorite sports that I had picked up in its home territory up in

NY. The coach was a cool guy who had played professionally for the Philadelphia Wings, and
owned Harley Davidson Motorcycle shops. He used to take the team on away trips paid for by
him to play other states all star teams. We were a good team. My stick handling skills were
about the same spot as my wide receiver hands though, and I was usually wiping my ass after
dropping the ball on a good pass. This kept me dancing on and off the second string of the
varsity team. I had to get used to the notion of offense. Most things in my life in which I had
scored had fallen into me. Even the girlfriend I got that year practically was forced to hang her
bra in my locker to keep my attention.
 Before our spring trip that year, I had gotten it in for one kid at school. A wiry red headed
animated and obnoxious character, he had a knack for getting to me. He hung around with the
members of a group of kids who called themselves "the ramas" who were famed for having the
earliest known parties in the school.

One morning before home room, I decided to hit him by surprise, dry gulch him. That
would take care of him with one shot, like my old rival from eighth grade. He had called me a
fruit cake in eighth grade French and I had bloodied his nose with one good shot. This time it
didnt work. In the movie I had watched the night before, the kids Dad had taught him how to
dry gulch his old man by whacking him in the neck. My target, however slid off of the punch
and grabbed me by the collar, pulling my head under for a few shots in the hallway. I had missed
the Adams apple. It was decided that we would have to fight after school. The rest of that day,
people followed us around everywhere, rallying it like it was Four O Clock High or
something. I knew I was locked in. The whole school knew. We sat across from each other at the
lunchroom table, both affording not a glance, uneasy about either relinquishing his spot at out
usual table. People dropped by and began to place bets. My football friend followed me around
between classes, grabbing my wrist to raise it up in the hall from time to time and proclaim
loudly "2:50 PM LOWERFIELDS CHAMP!!!! CHAMP!!!"

This guy I was to fight was a tennis player. I was expected to beat him. Everyone else on
the football team did too. All but the rama lama ding dongs. Tenth period came, and I was out of
there. My friend, one of the first of my friends to have a car, got us out of class and into his Jeep
early to park beside the lower sports fields where the fight was to be held. We had our fast
getaway. It was early

March, and the fields were a mess of melting ice puddles, a spring nip in the afternoon air.

There I stood, about a hundred yards from the back entrance and parking lot of the school
as the bell rang to announce the end of another day. The back doors opened, and people began to
come out. Not one of them turned to go to the bus, or to their cars. Suddenly I saw an army of
students a few hundred strong coming one by one toward me.

My pulse quickened, I grew sweaty and clammy seeing the crowd the size of a night
football game approaching. I desperately looked for the guy, my opposition, hoping not to be
taken by surprise. The thought that he would show up with help dawned on me, and I began to
take solace in my own reputation and the fact that so many were coming, Then I saw them, the
ramas, with my opponent striding forward in the center of their circle of about a dozen,
quickly approaching. My friend turned to me, and in his fear, said... "shit, the principle is going
to notice all of these people, I gotta go move the jeep...." and ran off in my final moments of
quiet discord.

At the time, I thought he was a coward, and resented him for it. I was finding solace not
fifteen minutes later in his warm Jeep, and was definitely not sore. At least not emotionally like
from one of my so called friends, who stayed there talking open aired comments like Don King.
He was seeing everyone and knowing his promotion now had to be aired equally, regardless that
my win would payoff for him.

The opposition reached the field and passed the gate. His eyes set sight on me, and he
began to calmly unbutton his shirt sleeves to roll them up. I saw the expression on his face, he
was nervous. It should have made things better, but instead I realized that neither one of us
wanted this, yet we both would lose if it wasn't done. My vision grew bright with this outrage. I
decide to swing first rather than face the taunting I knew would come from his friends in getting
us started about backing out. Better to avoid the juvenile taunting, and save precious time in
which we could get caught.

He got to where I had unknowingly in my silent distraught state had stood myself right
next to a melting puddle of ice. He said "ok lets get it over with. I hope we dont get caught."

I pretended he had said nothing.

He heated up immediately "so you wanna f...."

I hit him with what should have been a well thrown right hook. The hit never landed
as at the point of contact, my toe reached the puddle of slush to my right, and it turned out to
be ice. I landed chest first with all of my weight thrown into the mud. Humiliating. I looked
up, straight into an oncoming jab, his face twisted with a grin of satisfaction reading "that was
too easy..."

Then he grabbed the back of my shirt and hit me in the back of the head a few times. I
remember the pounding numb crack as it hit me in the skull, not really hurting, but remembering
from being beaten by my father as a kid that it would later swell into bruised lumps. My face got
hot red. I was embarrassed. That was unexpected. There were good looking girls out there.

I swung back with an unsure left thinking I could catch him off guard with my off hand. It
was so slow, he ducked and it missed, laughingly throwing a jab left of his own that landed.
Obviously the tennis pro had had some fights before this he had more experience. I had no
choice. I hit him with a flying tackle, right in the ribs. As it hit I heard a solid crunch, one of his
ribs went under the strain as my solid experienced shoulder pressed him into the ground. With no
pads on, I hadnt expected the hardness of my own bones to do this.

"Fuck," he yelled and then to cover his own pain "its muddy"

I hit him a few times in the face while he was down, and then it began, a circle was
forming around us to watch. We could no longer see or hear above the shouting as the crowd
swarmed back and forth leaving a safe distance so they could not get involved, yet visibly
intently gaze on our two intertwining lefts and rights.
 I felt good about this move, and got up by pushing into his collar bone, he threw his first
tennis player instinct, wildly striking my right wrist with an open palmed forehand. Then it
happened. I began to back into the crowd, using them as the ring ropes. As began to get my
confidence to approach, I took my balance step backward. I should have seen the eyes light up,
the ramas pushing forward in the crowd, making eye contact with a nod, but I was on now,
nothing could stop me. Nothing but an extended foot of my own offensive lineman teammate in
midstride to trip me as my opponent was sprinting forward with a hard downward thrown right. I
remember hearing the crowd yell with awe, the punks driving for more, some of the girls in
disgust. It had had broken my nose, a bridge which still bears the little chip of his knuckle to this
day.

He hit me in the front of the face in a few random spot, luckily missing my eyes

completely. One of my team captains helped me up, and I went at him again, hearing a girl in

the crowd say "stop, hes hurt..."

I went at him again, and this was a fair fight now. We were both hurt, he was feeling his
rib, and I was too numbed with adrenaline now to stop. We wearily exchanged shots in what
seemed slow motion until it seemed we would beat each other until one passed out. This went on
for about two minutes, when someone yelled that the principle was coming.

I had never seen a crowd disappear so fast. It was pandemonium, and I realized with that many

in number, someone would rat. I think it was Jeep boy himself who grabbed me and pulled me
away, emerging from the crowd, looking at me with a wince. We made it away ahead of the
crowd, me with natural speed, Jeep boy worried about getting grounded.

In the warmth of his car, Jeep boy announced, "damn, Joel , you got your ASS beat..." he
turned the rear view mirror as he hit the clutch to start the Jeep, so that I could see. My whole
face was swollen, its usual jagged jawline indiscernible, and blood streamed from my face all the
way to my jeans.

Here", he tossed a towel at me..."are you ok, dont TELL ME you

have to go to the HOSPITAL or my Mom will KILL me..."

"why? I asked.

"Look at your FACE, BROOKS... you GOT WRECKED, I MEAN

WRECKED!!"

No, just get out of here..."

"Ok, hold on..." and off he spun the Jeep down the empty street.

I remember my first addiction use like it was yesterday. My father, seeing my need for
direction had acquired me a job at the local private golf club by talking to the head pro. It was a
course steeped in wealth and notoriety, and I would get paid much better than my previous days
single bagging in upstate New York. I had a profound sense of respect for the game, having
attended a few pro- ams with my adoptive Dad in Altoona. To this day, I have a picture of me on
the cart with Rocco Mediate at age ten.

It was the summer between my sophomore year and my junior year. It was a whole new
game at this club. The caddy shack was the original clubhouse from the late eighteen hundreds. It
housed all of the caddies waiting to go out on their loops or rounds of golf. They all played
cards, drank and smoked a variety of different things while waiting to earn their hundred bucks.

The Caddymaster was a short, fat, red faced jabbering little man who commanded
respect from his wallet. His son was a caddy at the club, notorious for things you would not
think of in a caddymasters son. I remember it clearly, I arrived on the job my third or fourth day,
and for the first time, the caddymaster told me to go below to the caddyshack hidden in the
woods off the corner of the first tee. I walked down the stone path slowly, not knowing what to
expect. Three hours later, I was still sitting here on the bench when it happened. A man walked
up to me and said here, offering me a small metal pipe. I was too hot and nervous about fitting
into this environment to say no. I too the pipe and lighter, lit it and inhaled. Needless to say, five
minutes later I was so thoroughly stoned; even the stone wall leading to the members parking
lot would not stay still. I lay down on the bench, and told the guys when the caddy master
announced my name, to tell him via the intercom, that I had escaped out the back door and gone
home.

I lay down and slept on the bench of the shack and decided that this was too fascinating
to pass up, but my tolerance needed to be much higher. This was also the summer of my first
Phish show. Late one afternoon, a friend whose parents were members of the club let me in on
something. I remember it crystal clearly. The man later was to be one of my most steadfast
friends even through my hardest years. He was later my bassist, guitar player, vocalist and
keyboardist in various bands. This day William turned to me and addressed me for the first time.

Hey Joel, you going to the Phish show? You should! Yeah, Man, hehe, tonight at the
Mann, hehe You going? Alright! Ill see you there! He made me feel special in that moment,
his eyes gleaming as if I had just been let into some special circle without being given choice. It
felt right, it felt nothing but good, and I determined right there to find my way to the Mann
Music Center that night.

It was magical, an instant love in my life. My girlfriend and I stood in the crowd that night,
through Suzie Greenberg sarcasm, vacuum cleaner solo madness, through Gamehenge tales,
Sparkle and riffs that seemed to light from inside of the crowd themselves. We owned no
seats, dancing straight to the front row and knowing no hostility from any crowd member.
For me, it was something bigger, something that would lead the events in my life through an
expanding sense of the creative aspects of living. This was the show, just my type of circus
come to town.

The summer ended and the school year came back in. I remembered to be a football
player, and a band member, a student and now added a writer and pivotal member of the drama
club. I was deftly rounding off all of the avenues and shining in all of them. Yet I was still
unsatisfied. It was the last night of the winter play at the school. I left early, telling my parents I
would be sleeping out, and that I had to be going to the school to help out. Several of my fiends
and I hopped in to anothers pickup and drove to a spot I did not know. There we bought what
was to be my first acid drop. I had about four plain blotters in foil shoved in pack of gum to hide
it. I was astonished, this was what we had read about in health class so often? This tiny piece of
ordinary art paper to be swallowed?

Late that night as the curtains fell and rose again for the cast call, I dropped the whole
strip into my mouth. There was nothing at first. Then there was the crowd of people outside of
the auditorium, visiting with cast members. There was to be set deconstruction party until the
wee hours this night. I had planned to sleep at a friends house, and my girlfriend was going too.
That was not too good, as she was anti alcohol and drugs. Then it happened. The air before me
shimmered like a wave from my very soul passing outward in its glow before my eyes. Then air
rippled like waters in which my pebble of existence had been tossed, its energy meeting the other
waves and passing through them endlessly. I left behind the crowd and reentered the stage area.
It was enormous; it suddenly seemed to have the dimensions of a football stadium. A friend
passed by and said hello, his arm visibly attached by some liquid form to the wall as if being
viewed from some kind of twisted mirror as the wall rippled like another wave.

The tile of the floor became swirling patterns and ever changing fractal patterns ever
evolving as the notion of time itself slipped from my grasp. What must have been hours of
visions later, I reentered the auditorium from the rear. I was astonished to look up and see a giant
lion cub leaping toward me, hyenas howling in pursuit. Awe struck me and the world was truly a
wonder. Of course, it was the showing of The Lion King we had been promised on the big
screen digital audio of our school auditorium.

For me it seemed the circle of life had really found me I felt at last. In retrospect I realize
that I should have lost my virginity that night. I was too busy staring with completed dilated
pupils into the dark night. The sidewalk on the way to my friends house seemed to be a
conveyor belt and the world around a two walls of pictures in my peripheral vision. My
girlfriend went to bed with me that night. We messed around for awhile but that was all. I stared
at my private Northern Lights beyond my friends borrowed bedroom window, and she soon fell
asleep on me. It seemed to me that I watched the sun rise in time lapse photography.
 It was also the first evidence of permanent damage on my brain. As I stood in the
downstairs bathroom of my friends house, the wallpaper opened to reveal a giant eye, peering at
me from the wall.

I am the eye of the world, it announced and quickly vanished. It is a well known fact that
schizophrenics cling to the simple imagery of the human eye. Perhaps it is because in that state,
all you can cling to is the validity of the organ itself showing you worth from inside. Maybe it is
because we all in some way truly love our self bought illusions.

A year passed, and a new play had come to dress rehearsal time with me holding down
the lead. It was one of several that led me to national recognition in acting that year. I had
achieved a remarkable status in my senior class, for someone who cut school more often than
not. My Hollywood drug painted delusions told me it was time to trip again. There I was
bleeding openly from the ears. They were at the table down below the floor I was on. The floor
shifted its microdot gaze at me from the crystal sun of a lamp that hung over the distortion that
once was a face. I was shaving off the hair of my juvenile beard growth. Where was the face in
the wall that held the mirror from my eyes? They saw only themselves

in the Dad vibe resonating from the dining room below.

This person who saw me in the mirror was the same being, getting ready to go to drive his

Mercedes to the school for the final night of play dress rehearsal.

I thought of the keys, and sweated out the pores that no longer held the eyes now crystal
clear. I feared them to be bloodshot seeing they now dripped in to arouse the nose of the Dad just
rooms away from me. It seemed an eternity had passed as I felt the internal Mom check on me in
my head. The mirror filled the light that seemed to peel flesh from my quivering hand stroking
its cheek. I now remembered the utensil was an infinitely sharp razor that made the cheek smile
into its bite as I shook off the feces that would not exit. The slime seemed to emanate from all of
my pores.

I feared it now spreading over my numb body as I tried to hold it still from the psycho
tropical mythological labyrinth of fascinating love it emanated to my brain. That filled me from
the girl who had brought the trouble to a head, my co lead in the play. I was staring at the
tornado lamp that held my life in the bedroom above the stolen street sign sharp curve ahead I
had found. The sign itself was from the hippy who had once owned our old house. I remembered
how he spoke of the guitars he had sold to Led Zeppelins old player. Like Keith Richards he was,
the face now older than fifty from its eighteen years staring back at me in the mirror. It bled, and
I panicked thinking the razor had ripped my face to pieces as I could not see it. Suddenly all I
was staring at was a blank mirror, I panicked again. Finally the face of a pale white ghost
appeared. I realized it was my own uninjured not bleeding face with bulging panic struck eyes.
 It seemed silly and yet guilty beyond all guilt of something the neighbors would know.
When I went back out to the cold spring fresh rain air outside they could see. When I got into
the car I thought they would know. I could not see the driveway from the window that stared
out at the fresh snow now mostly melted off of the lawn next to the mirror. Looking into the
backyard could hide me smoking pot at night, but it couldnt hide that I was a hollow bamboo.

Damn it all, I was a hollow bamboo, and how dare these visions terrorize me in my high
state. I nearly passed out onto the cold cement of the back porch while the memory of my dog
absentmindedly licked the hand that could barely feel her grizzly tongue that somehow had
survived my seared off flesh.

Where the hell did that come from?

I was dragging her around by the choke chain, her tongues swollen redness showing its

full foot and a half in her eternal gag. It lasted to my amusement for a full ten seconds after I let

her put her feet on the ground.

Releasing the choke hold of the cold steel chain that bound her by my pet ownership tag,
she would gag and teary eyed ask me why, why would I do this. I smiled knowing how I had
done the same in my childhood to myself. I had done it with the belts at age six over my
deceased father who would never whip me with them.

Sometimes for hours at a time I would stare at the belt and the wrap it onto my neck.

Connecting the leather and cold steel and pulling until I got that high where the world seemed so
very far away as it had that day they told me I had the walking pneumonia. When I was a child, I
had a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of my eye. The fever had run high and the medications
created in me that pale face of worry less numbness. My mother reflected my face so well in the
mirror what it was probably now reflecting across from that fat republican guy next to her at the
dinner table.

I heard him in my head asking with his red face that she pass the salt, the smell of his
stale cigar smoke and the grass stain from the golf course where he spent all of my social
security money. He was holding his flesh eating grin as he salted the bloody mass he would
gorge like a vampire. I saw my own fangs drooping in the mirror. He did so knowing he bought
me back into the house to trip now. Now it seemed all right, all so right the frying feeling in my
head made an audible popping noise that seemed to come from my brain. It hit my ears as the
lights around me changed into a whirling mass.

The LSD had so this afternoon turned the pale grey carpet of my co lead and the drama
club administrative assistant of sorts into a Persian carpet with grinning spirals and interwoven
seams of tantric and Mandelbrot mandalas. His Mom kept coming and offering me pizza, and I
couldnt stand to get up to her holding the paper plate. The visions persisted and it seemed
would forever weave his familys faces into it.

We were working on the playbill for about two and a half hours. His computer screen
had seemed to jut out of the side of my head as it interpreted his cutting and pasting of the
donations to our school play. It was the biggest school play program ever ... he told me as I
watched with a grin the world of which I could now not seem to understand any of. He was a
mad genius, like me, but that too was madness. He was going to turn me into the police with an
e mail while making the program; I knew he knew who I was. He sucked it in all of his
piggish glory playing that same game over and over. His face turned to me and he asked if I
ate pork.

WHAT!! my brain practically exploded from my skull.

Was he suggesting that I was a pig? Damned reverse psychology. Did he have CIA
connects? Was he going to tell them I was really just a loon? I imagined chewing on a
patrolmans arm as he came to take me away, ha, ha. Its pepperoni pizza, man. I thought you
were Jewish? he responded coldly.

He shrugged his shoulders and closed the chat box window, coining a phrase he was to
use for me the rest of the year through I dont know about you, Brooks.

Then he laughed, and I knew that he was seeing it all too. The wall dripped onto his head
from the corner by the ceiling, and I reached up to brush it off. He shook my hand and said I
love you too. Damn this game he played with his all knowing illusory political shyness. He had
thought I was giving him a skullcap maybe. His sly political humor I supposed helped him to
survive the irony of me every time he took charge of my cut and paste decision. He would only
claim partial credit for it I knew as he completed the whole program.

Maybe it would end here and now and he would die from the acid that was obviously in
the pizza. In fact my soda seemed to be the only thing around that wasnt getting me higher.

Aha! I remembered that his father was a doctor, and realized I was in a safe house if I decided

to give in and croak after all here.

I remembered all of this while trying to swathe the next stripe of hair from the barely
pepper spotted youthful chin that did now hold a hairline fracture on it for me to gaze at for
the next twenty minutes. It seemed twenty had passed in my daydream and would now surely
alert my mother of the frailty of my condition. I wondered if I was all right and felt the
memory of the dealer in my mind.
 That sunny California stranger had called it the best Sunshine Daydream you could get
while standing next to me on the schools back stairs. I had tucked the two huge tabs about two
centimeters in width and a full four in length straight into my mouth and danced chewing it back
to my friends there on the back of the school steps the dealer half jogged away. The people were
flooding from the now erupting clang of the High School back doors.

I chewed and stared at the girl, the girl there with my friends who so adamantly was
trying to say no to the alcoholism that killed her father. I felt it had made her so feeble. I felt it
was only her mothers laziness and inability to deal with her own reality. It was all over and only
money caused her to hang on. I had blushed as she ran over quoting that seventies show The
Monkees and dancing toward me as they do in the opening theme, doing a kick line step
shoulder to shoulder. She was with people who would later be no one but the voices in my head.
I was clenching my jaw from the acid bitterness.

I resolved to finish shaving and a voice from down the hall came. My mother yelled out
Joel, you had better hurry up or you are going to be late!!

I yelled back Im alright.

She said very quietly from just outside the door Joel Im right here.

Then the voice went away and I was left there wondering if any of it had actually
happened at all or if I was just the victim of my own hallucinating mind. I dried my face with the
fluffy bath towel I now eyed suspect to pubic hair. I searched the towel for blood and gagged,
finding none. The gloomy corners of my mind imagined my adopted father had probably used
this to wipe his hands off after pissing or something and had not washed them. I was thinking in
snide comments filled with waves of numbness in my temporal lobe. From his adjacent presence
in my conscious he would probably call me an ungrateful retch or a rat.

Even worse a shitheel as he had before kicking me out one day. I had left with my
friends for the beach on a vacation I had planned. Having not mowed the lawn for him and only
paying him one hundred of the two hundred I owed him, he smashed my stereo to pieces against
the wall of my room lest it blare fuck you, I wont do what you tell me ever again. I
ascertained the keys from my father.

Grinning a sincere grin, he turned from his bloody plate and said good luck!

I was going to need it more than he knew. Turning the key, the old Mercedes shook to life
its dim diesel shake and I switched the radio on. The vehicle lunged forward, and it seemed to
my astonishment the yellow line on the road flowed with me as I drove rather than holding its
place.

Time stood still as I waited on the one red light that stood between me and the open road to the
school. I stared at it so hard the car in front of me disappeared, and its red laser shot straight into
the seat next to me. I hoped I would not fry into nothing and forget to hit the gas when it turned
green, if I could tell it was green. I reminded myself that green was on the bottom. I could feel a
patrol car staring at me from the corner gas station. I was extremely paranoid and relieved by
the time the car rolled to a stop in front of the school two minutes later. I jested that it was due
to my favorite eighties rock number Cult of Personality had played as I had escaped the red
light.

Somehow I not only survived the night, but landed the real life role of the boyfriend of
my co lead Deanie in Splendor In The Grass. We were a splendor of grass alright. I got
through tripping up my off night cast dress rehearsal and climbed back into the car. It started,
and sure enough the radio came to light playing Cult of Personality again. Due to my extra
curricular activity merit and collegiate level knowledge, my teachers let my sixty or so
latenesss slide, and passed me. I remember with fondness of how I launched my cap into the air
just as the starting quarterback seated in front of me turned and tackled me. Five rows went
down behind me.

After my graduation, my parents threw me out. They said not being enrolled in college or
doing anything other than caddying, I could live on my own and learn a few life lessons. My
father dropped me off at band rehearsal along with all of my worldly possessions I could carry.
The band was fairly sure I had intended to move into the drummers garage that night.

Cosmik Debris was a Grateful Dead cover band with a few originals we later recorded
with an old Jerry Band drummer. We had a fair amount of success, playing south street bars and
clubs, and even a zoo benefit. I ll never forget the Zoo benefit. We were standing there doing a
Shakedown, Scarlet/ Fire/ I Know You Rider set when we noticed people in suits and ties all
yupped out and dancing. This middle aged guy in a sport jacket and white golf shirt whipped a
Dead patch from his wallet and started waiving it about and yelling.

Ill never forget driving the equipment past the lions cages, drinking a free German beer
and blaring the truck radio. The groups members have since moved on to bigger and better things
in the industry. The lead guitarist is one of todays Hollywood best.

I needed a place to live. My girlfriend at the time had a friend who knew a guy who had a
room for rent. He was a local goodfella, translating into a bookie with a limo service buying his
house by renting rooms out until he had it paid for. He took me on board immediately.

The summer came and went. My first fall after High School was here, and I was not going to

follow my friends off to college. It was more depressing than I had ever thought. I became bound
and determined to party as hard as I could. If I couldnt escape the harsh realities of life, at least I
could drown them in a bottle and some smoke.
 An acquaintance of mine who I smoked pot with off and on throughout high school
started getting together and partying everyday. He was a guitar player, and so was I, so we had
something else in common besides that we both wanted to be fucked up twenty four seven.

The group got larger, and I realized I was hanging out with people had yet another year to
graduate. I was that mediocre guy I had never thought I would be. This led to even more intense
drinking and smoking of pot.

My landlord had strange guys around the house. It didnt take me long to figure out what
they were for. One of them ran the bookie line. The other was a local heavyweight boxing
champion. I slowly fell into debt with them from drinking and gambling away my money. My
life was way too unmanageable. One day the Italians from downtown showed up and there were
guns and cell phones flying while they worked out payment on territory.

Still I bore the load and went on living at a furious pace I rented the limo out on credit,
took my friend and two girls downtown to get sauced. Eighteen and sane, I cheated on my
girlfriend who was now attending college two hours away. Naturally, I could not fathom such a
thing as a relationship.

I remember how guilty I felt sleeping with her when she came home for a friends
wedding. I remember how lame I felt for having missed my favorite cousins wedding to sleep
with her. How symbolic, this was the only woman who had truly loved me for me besides my
mother, to this day I regret missing our wedding. I remember thinking how scared I was of the
Mob. I remember playing that off and thinking if I could consume some magic mushrooms, and
reach Castanedas internal higher plane, it would guide me through to the answer.

Drugs were my religion; in my belief Jesus had turned the water to wine for a reason.

My guitar slinging buddy and I got together enough money to buy a small quarter of
magic mushrooms. We hit the phones to every drug dealer we knew, and a few hours later we
would meet the shroom dealer at a local golf course where I was caddying.

This friend of mine had been in the band, and he was overly generous with us. Perhaps he
didnt realize he was dealing with two addicts. He handed us a half an ounce in one gigantic
mushroom. It was the size of a hammer and we were on. I didnt even have the money to pay for
it, but he sold it to us anyway.

Less than an hour later we had ground the mushroom in a coffee grinder and between the
two of us, we still consumed it all half and half. It was fluorescent green after being ground into
dust and finer than that in its visuals.

The trip was ecstatic, unpredictable, heady and visual. I remember at one point being with
my friend at the gas station where the clerk was alone for the night shift and blaring some jam
band music. I danced on the floor tiles as they swam together and apart, mixing with fractals and
color pattern moving to the music. A half hour before we had both sat under a huge maple tree
and agreed that this was enlightenment.

I want you to remember after I die, that we saw this, that this was the
meaning of life.

I threw up from being so disoriented. My friend was feeling the same, he decided he was
ending our night together to go to bed and let it pass. A friend of mine drove me home. But
before he did, I remember telling him what was going on in our mutual buddies mind. Later,
exactly what I had told him had really happened. It was more solid proof to me at the time, that I
was experiencing God through these drugs. My friend actually was having the near death
experience I had babbled on about in the car. Only now, it occurs to me that God was simply
pointing out the danger as he allowed us to live.

That night, once home I became completely psychotic and paranoid and ran from the house

amidst my inner tension. I had been on the phone at one am. The girl I was dating behind my
girlfriends back was on the phone. Suddenly our conversation turned to mumbles and warbles it
seemed to me, yet she was understanding. Perhaps she only thought I was masturbating, I dont
know. However the next thing I knew the sun rose as the other line rang. It was my girlfriend, I
told her to hang on, and went back to the other line still staring in drop jawed wonder of the
midnight sun. The girl on the other line began citing scriptures in John, and that was it, I was
going to lose it completely. Earlier while showering, I had ripped the shower curtain free from its
hinges and attacked a faceless shadow I thought was death coming for me. The other line was
my girlfriends best friend, calling to find out why she had called her crying hysterically that
something was wrong with me. The room exploded with white light, and I panicked. I saw death
run down the stairs. Even death wanted to escape, I thought.

I punched a hole in the bookies bedroom door screaming they are

coming

This was no small feat, the door was six inches thick of solid walnut. I ran out into the
street of the small middle class neighborhood. I went running half naked down the street in forty
degree weather. It wasnt long before a local cop from the station a few blocks away came down
to check things out. I remember seeing him pull up. I remember a brilliant white light, and I
blacked out. Later the jailer told me, I had hit the cop.

I remember the jail cell profoundly. I had peed myself, I was in agony, and the cell bars
were twisting like snakes, the floor a vortex. I dropped to my knees and it was as though I saw
my entire life in front of me in what could have been hours, but was only seconds. The face of
Jerry Garcia came to me, and as I acknowledged the thought I could be born to be one such a
man. Then from the depths of my mind a guru sitting on a mountain appeared. He bowed, and
suddenly I relived what seemed to me to be the same sort of memory I had just saw of my own
life. It was revealed that this was the past life of a nun, my own past life. I was being taught
something divine. Suddenly the face of death appeared again, and I shrieked in agony. Suddenly
it dawned on me to pray for release. Instantly the cell went from a whirling mass of electrons and
colors to a still, sober, simple jail cell in my local police department.

My Dad met me at the courthouse the next morning, as I appeared in the police beat
column as Says He Took Magic Mushrooms. I will never forget the scowl of disbelief as I as I
was led past him in handcuffs. You really did it this time! he said in disbelief. The Judge let
me off the hook, telling me I could have the felony erased if I went through drug and alcohol
rehabilitation.

The rehabilitation center I was sent to was beautiful. My addictions counselor was the
best, and I truly felt the serenity their of being able to start a new way of living. I was all too
willing to go through the motions of abolishing my old ways of living, and too ready to have
immediate gratification though, and did later relapse for a number of years. I learned a new faith
in spirituality however, rather than the precepts of science on which my old ways had been
established, and I believe that is why I am still living today.

After my plush twenty eight day stay I of course chose to go to a resort spot to serve my
six months mandatory probation in an Oxford House.

The Oxford House was nestled in the gardens section on the island of Ocean City New
Jersey. It was a fair block and a half from the mistress Atlantic. The boardwalk shops were two
blocks down from there, and I remember going to see Jerry Garcia Band (minus the late Jerry
Garcia) play at The Music Pier six blocks from my house in the summer of 1997 during my stay.

Meditation consumed me as an alternative way of finding a high. I was constantly on the

beach chanting "Ooooommmm mani padme huuuummmm..." or exploring the jetty, mantra
alight, with seed sanskrit syllables engulfing me. I shaved my head completely bald, and I
remember the day when Ram Das books "Be Here Now" I had specially ordered came to the
bookstore on the 13th of February, its price: $13.13. Richard Alpert had been Timothy Learys
Ivy League Psychiatrist buddy until he went to India and met Meher Baba. I read the book well
over a hundred times, utilizing the ornately arranged artwork of spiritual meditations of which it
was composed. I read dozens of other books on meditation, Zen do, Transcendental Meditation,
and spirituality.

The Ocean City Exxon Gas station hired me as their main attendant for the winter, and
there I spent my days devoid of customers, living on my $150 a week paycheck, eating
vegetarian and listening to John Lennons "Imagine" as many times as I could in a row. I was
learning to experience a new plane of thinking.

The Oxford House was a two level beach house with six bedrooms on each floor. We the
occupants, for some odd reason had decided only to occupy the bottom half of the house, with
three shared rooms and three singles. The upstairs was known as the official "summer beach
house" which we rented out to families of residents, and other people in recovery from drugs and
alcohol.

One storm in the spring of 97, the island was flooded badly. I remember stepping onto the porch
to find waist deep water, and a canoe floating by its passengers cleverly trekking home down
Park Place with paddles. There was a mysterious stranger who felt the need to stalk me.

His name was Richard, and he found me walking home from the bus after my holiday
visit to family in Philadelphia. Richard claimed to be an English teacher at a local university. I
was walking down the beach in early January, when he approached from out of the dunes. He
spoke often of deceased people, and of belongings of his that were once theirs. I became scared
of him when he began stalking me on my walks home from the gas station, waiting in a nearby
lot, and then pretending to have only passed by me on coincidence.

He seemed homosexual, and he exhibited all of the symptoms they say about serial
killers. He was exceptionally bright. One night he came into the gas station to converse when I
was on alone. We often had deep discussions about karma and rebirth, and he came in with a
story to share. He claimed that a homeless man had been found dead under the Atlantic City
boardwalk with fifty thousand in ones stuffed into his clothing. The irony, I thought, and once
more the death. I told him to leave and never make contact with me again. Luckily he honored
my wishes.

I spent the majority of my summer skipping self help groups, though and invested a fair
thousand plus hours into learning my acoustic guitars fret board. I learned to appreciate Dylan,
Phish, and voraciously devoured the work of Robert Hunter amongst others.

In the summer of that year, I found that an old assistant caddy master at my club in
Philadelphia was the caddy master of a new club in New Jersey. Over my caddy career I carried
for many honorable mentions. At this golf club there were senators, like Robert Torricelli of the
ninth district in New Jersey along with his friend, Dr. Chang from Japan, who let me wear Bobs
Rolex for five hours. Later the two were brandished for trading surplus Sony televisions by an
infuriated group of U.S.

Representatives. This was the beginning of my education into the world of life in the public eye.

Funny, they never complained that the good doctor had an extra glove to lend his opponent in
their 83-

82 skins match. Must been a bad case of the gimmies.

I will never forget that summer. The green of the fairways, the sting of the green headed
flies. The peace of the ocean waiting at home. Watching the Philadelphia Flyers wingman wing
his drive out three fifty plus on every tee. I have a talent for the game of golf and I exhibited it
well reading the greens. It seemed to me at times these world class greens were read by my
minds eye in its Zen quietness. Often I would survey the green, and then the actual line of the
ball would trace itself out in a visible white trail in the greens surface. I never went wrong.
Players flew in on private helicopters to play rounds, and bennies were the common currency.
Escorts gave massages on tee boxes, and cute beer girls drove around to the various tees. The
Masters winner even complimented us with his presence at a tournament a month prior to his
title.

The mushrooms however would not let me go. One day that summer I had decided to head to

Philly to caddy at my old home golf club. I called the new caddy master, and he approved me for
the tournament. While I was in town, I would also go downtown to see a concert. I packed my
gear for the weekend, and headed off by bus to the train in Atlantic City down the road. I went
from the bus terminal to the train which would take me to 30th Street Station in Philadelphia
from the new Atlantic City Convention Center.

My previous ride on the train, going home for the holidays had merited a lot. I had been
short the bus fare to get back to O.C. island, and I had slept on the way home. In my dream, an
angel had appeared and safely pulled a coin from a homeless mans pocket that I had given to on
the way in, and place it in my pocket. When I awoke, the coin was there.

So I sat, waiting on the train on a bench in the new terminal, when I noticed an angry
swarm of gnats seemed to be surrounding the mulch and plants in the center of the bench area. I
turned to swat them, and what to my surprise did I find, but mushrooms of the psilocybin
variety growing from the newly watered mulch of the Convention Center. That was it; I was up
and running again. I went to the snack machine, and ordered chips. I emptied the bag into the
trash and went over to the bench to fill it shrooms. I got more than a full ounce of mushrooms
right there before boarding the train. I was nervous the whole train ride.

While in town at the concert, I saw my old girlfriend. She happened to be there as well in
what seemed to be one of those non coincidences. I smoked pot with a guy named Joel, and got
on a little with my shrooms. I had relapsed.

I dreamed of writing a research book on theological evidence. Its Thesis: Transcendental

healing in modern society is polytheistic awareness that manifests instinctually in the
individual. Its proof: Successful people of historical doctrine in multi - cultural communities
practice these principles geo - politically. Most profoundly affected though, was the music of
my soul. I wrote on it often in notebooks long since lost in my vagabond years. I wrote of its
exploration, something I have loved since first playing piano, learning to read trumpet music at
age nine.

You jam like cant jam the solo that you do solo and jam it with the band to the rhythm
chords it started from. The band sways in their timing like a ship out on the ocean. The first
wave tosses the ship skyward, the second in the storm of chords rushes in thick to spray the full
bow coming down into the wave. Riding it down, the ship enters the wave slipping smoothly
and suddenly theres a beat missing liquid vacuum a pocket of air shared by all.

But here did that beat go? The one that you should have played there but instead we all
skipped like a cd and hit together a solid here.

It went where thoughts go to die, from whom they came and where it will guide
another band far away that was missing a beat too. Just in the nick of time they got it. From
them. Us, I mean.

Its like the climaxes before orgasm, we do it again, and the ship shudders in the wave
flowing under its hull, its sliding out every which way cut by the rhythm. Theres the pounding
and the resounding bass of the wave itself.

It was soon obvious to the residents of my sober home that I was smoking pot again, and
I was asked to move on. I moved temporarily in with an old caddy who had been around since
the sixties. A sort of local legend, he was, Harry. A long time caddy at the number one track in
the world standing Pine Valley, he had earned his role as the caddy starter for our Monday tee
times. Naturally, some various non caddies found solace and understanding in padding Harrys
pockets for a good round of gold at the worlds best on its closed days.

Soon thereafter I met and was introduced to a cock roach infested rooming house of
sorts in town where I stayed until the cold drove me out of a job and heading homeward bound.
The short days of fall caddying were spent catching a ride with a washed out tour pro turned
drunk by day. By night, I hung out with the super of the building smoking pot with her Jamaican
boyfriend Ron the preacher mon. I will never be able to forget his long drawn out speeches
about the hypocrisy of our government as he deftly rolled a two inch spliff with one hand. It soon
came to an end.

Earlier in the summer, I had made part time money programming a web site for the local
pro shop. That too was gone. It was time to run home for Philadelphia, praying for help from my
parents.

This time there would be no help. Though invited for Christmas morning and padded
with cash and new clothes from my favorite stores, I was not allowed to stay with them. I was
uninvited for Christmas Eve, a time during which I remember contemplating suicide. Soon after
Christmas they disallowed me from coming to their house to shower and change and told me to
store my belongings elsewhere than their basement. An old friend and I reunited. He and friends
were having a time of it every night at his place. I was told I could stay with him until
otherwise.
 His parents garage was set up as though it were a two car apartment. Four couches,
stereo, video games, television, lights and ornaments adorned our famous garage along with the
amps and drum kit makings of a band. Through all of this, I retained the energy of a possessed
person in the belief that tripping was a window to the gods, to a spiritual connection we cannot
otherwise learn to reach without these. Sure enough, my persistence in teaching about the visions
held when ingesting psilocybin mushrooms, the flesh of the gods, brought the entire garage
crew to a peak. I couldn't decide why it was I didn't fit, but if ever there was a reason. It was
addiction.

Though I was surrounded by friends of the best kind, I remained constantly paranoid.
My drug use went into the role of daily reprieve for me, and I was taking anything I could get
my hands on. By March of 1998, I was in the most desperate state a being can experience. I had
reached a state of drug induced psychosis. I will never forget having to call my mother on that
dreadful morning when I felt it was all at end, that I would surely die if I lived this way one
more moment. It was utterly defeating. It was devastating.

I was hospitalized in the best of places up in the mountains. My fathers insurance paid
near half a million dollars for my recovery and rehabilitation. I found a sort of almost humor in
that place where I came to rest on my own mental development once more. The staff told me I
didnt belong, that I was young and normal. Little did many of them know the terrors of the
voices in my head, the hallucinations, the constant nagging doubts in my self esteem. It was time
to start all over again.

The place was home for billionaires and millionaires who had lost it, and could afford
care there for retirement. The place had to be at least a hundred thousand square feet with two
floors, acres of land, and dozens of therapists. To my satisfaction it was also the 25th anniversary
of Pink

Floyds Dark Side of the Moon, and it was constantly aired on the radio.The lunatics were indeed
in my hall, head with the daily news plastered to their paranoia with delusions of grandeur in
walking the path

of life.

My roommate was about seven foot, two fifty, and acted like a nine year old. He had a
fascination with some girl who had been a playboy bunny years before, and a girlfriend who he
wheeled around in a wheelchair, as she could move only from the waist down. I was reminded of
the loony tunes kid; you know the giant one who always beat Sylvester the cat?

The guy in the next room over was a billionaire with a home surround sound theater in
his room. It was said that once a month he wanted an all new entertainment set up, and he gave
them away to the nurses who took him shopping.
 Through all of this craziness I was able to regain a bit of composure in my self, and was
graduated with a ninety nine percent recovery. This according to the C.A.T. scans, tests, and
counselors. I will never forget what happened next. After a month, my father picked me up and
told me that he had found a place for me to stay. I was dropped off in the worst section of North
Philadelphia on Germantown Avenue at a place a con artist crack dealer had turned into a
recovery house, for profit.

Crack was on the corner, the gunshots filled the air at night. All of this to my disbelief
having left the Shangri la of rehabs. I traveled dangerous ghetto grounds on my way to outpatient
therapy every day under the el train that ran next to my shared bedroom window. I quickly got
my job

back at the golf course, and began saving money to move out. The place fell through when the
owner finally took the cash he had, bought some crack, and rented a motel to get it on with one
of the boys at the house.

Luckily, it was the same week I found a place near my parents home, or I would have been

taking it up the butt too.

This place soon became the sight of only further parties to my roommates dismay. The
garage crew, my old people places and things, filled the apartment every night to party.

Over the summer I had visited the crack house section of town to procure some late night
emergency weed while drunk, and had gotten mugged and beaten badly. This did not go over
well with my boss at the golf club.

Of course, one night that fall I was faced with the opportunity to take acid. Three of my
friends and I had obtained some of the most potent visual LSD you could find. The evidence of a
oneness of consciousness of a higher form was astounding. One of them began to describe seeing
giant spiders coming down at him, like the end of the story of Buddha. All of the experiences we
were having referred to states recorded by mystics over the centuries.

We sat quietly inside of my friends country home four hours later at the peak of our high.
We had put on Pink Floyds Dark Side of The Moon, and were sitting together. I was staring up at
the ceiling, and out of the walls came giant roman pillars, next to them forming statues of
figurines from ruins in Libya which I had never visited. We were talking. But it was not a
conversation.

One person would begin to speak when another would suddenly come to life as if
finishing the others sentence, and as that finished another would begin where the other left off.
What we were discussing were the absolute values of oneness we were sharing. However we had
tapped into a source much higher. Then an event happened that gave all of us a start. Though we
were making no noise disturbance, and though we had been inside for hours miles off from the
nearest neighborhood, a cop came. He pulled onto the narrow country road from the cornfields in
the distance. Pulling into my friends driveway, he stopped. He then turned on his spotlight,
backed off the property into the woods across from the house, and aimed his spotlight directly
into the window out of which we were looking. He remained there for what seemed like hours.
About two minutes later, he pulled away, leaving the way he came in. Whatever transpired to
create this happening, it was indeed a fateful warning.

October came and I lost the place having run up a phone sex bill sky high while drunk
late at night. My roommate threw me out. I found a place with some students over winter break
for a short time while stocking shelves at night at the local grocery store, but that soon came to
an end as well. They went to spring break while I was at my other job training as a manager of a
fast food place. When they left I was at work. I returned to find my stuff in the basement, the
door locked, and the landlord called. They had felt me to be a little too shady by the girls
upstairs.

I was now at a severe loss. It had been the ideal place. Wood floors, cheap rent, nice
girls next door, the opportunity of school perhaps in a semester. I had even dated the girl next
door from high school for me during that short while, and was feeling up about my chances of
finding other romantic involvements.

The local Salvation Army took me in for the first time, and I saved money enough living
and worshipping with them to move into a nice basement apartment at the beginning of my
caddy season. It was this apartment in which I remained dry for several months, and then began
to go on blackout binges with booze to the local bar.

Still without a car, missing my ride to work with other caddies due to these nights
threatened my job. I skipped work for days on end, devoting myself day and night to an
extensive theory study of guitar. I played over two thousand hours that summer. My mental
state was ragged; I had discontinued my psyche meds and often would hallucinate while on
highs from my guitar breakthroughs.

One night after having played an eighty hour week of scales, chords, ear training, and
tablature reading, I broke through. I began playing along with Led Zeppelins BBC sessions, and
it turned out to be a nonstop two hour blues jam after I which I passed out. The entire mesh of
scale work had become as visual as my lines on the golf greens at work.

I spent the next day studying works more classical in nature. That night was Halloween. I
began to see colors, have flaring flashbacks associated with my new breakthrough in playing
ability. I passed out after midnight on my queen size waterbed. Then it happened, I dreamed of
playing The Wind Cries Mary and when I awoke, there I was; guitar already in hand, actually
playing the song. This also turned into a Stevie Ray Vaughn influenced jam for which I would
pay a months wages to have a recording of.
 Caddy season too, had been eventful. A lawyer at the club had taken on the casework
involved in the Philadelphia Mob wars. There, at my home club, I spent two afternoons carrying
for Philadelphias Notorious heads of family themselves. It is an experience which affected me
very deeply. It was obvious by the first family, that I was being given the opportunity to sell my
music. Seeing the blood on the table, however, I chose not to offer myself up. The next week I
carried for the other half. How very close I walked with death, I will never know. My phone line
acted in the strangest manner for the rest of that fall. It was, of course yet another excuse to
drink.

Yet another caddy season gone, friends gone off to bigger and better schools, I began
to turn internally towards my spirituality. I began to date another musician as my winter job
slowly failed. I began to have visions. My psyche had begun to melt away again in the
atmosphere of decline which I was surrounding myself in. One day in January, a few weeks
short of being evicted I awoke with the mantra in my head.

The night before while meditating to go to sleep, I had a vision. I was shown cave walls

somewhere seep in the middle east. I was shown writings. The room became alive with what I
felt were Dakinis and the words of the scriptures actually began scrolling in my head like that of
a teleprompter. Intermittent with a constant mantra to Padma Sambhava, the guru on the
mountain from years ago in my drunk tank jail cell came to me in my mind. This time, there was
a message. It was as though I was a bird flying in to see him, and as I grew close to his face, lit
from the legs he held in lotus and his hridyam, he held a finger to his bearded face.

Sshhhhhh. I instantly had passed out. Now awake again, the teleprompted Sanskrit
syllables filled my mind.

I woke, showered, put together a few belongings continually chanting with my internal
guru, and left for The Salvation Army.
 Dont strew me with roses after Im Dead. When death claims the light of

my brow, No flowers will cheer me: instead You may give me my roses

now!

Thomas F. Healey, Give Me My Roses Now

On the mountains of memory, by the worlds wellsprings, In all mens

eyes,

Where the light of the life of him is on all past things,

Death only dies

Algernon C. Swinburne, Super Flumina Babylonis

There I was, spring of 1999, living in the room I had seen in the paper for so many years.
"room for rent, Art Museum and Green Street $70 a week, 2 weeks rent to move in" It was
owned and run by a depressed gay psychiatrist, who tended to take in troubled cases for renters, I
think so that he could meddle in their business and try to "fix us".

I had moved there once again, from The Salvation Army in West Chester. This time they
had gone so far as to put me in transitional housing during the time of two weeks at the house, I
had bought a new Ovation acoustic, and decided to settle for no less than my share of being able
to drink and be free of preaching and gospel.

I was dating a fat rich girl from Merion named Jobi, whom had lost her virginity to me
on my waterbed back in my basement apartment. She played piano like a classical virtuoso,
had a high wining voice, and more cellulose on her ass than could make it possible to discern
where legs stopped and butt began. But I got laid and had another neurotic mess to contend
with.

Things got really bad. I was caddying, or trying to. The commute killed me; I hated it and more

often than not did not go to work. My rent began to fall badly behind.
 Having hung a copy of the Buddha Scroll on my rooms walls, I pretended I was a student
like my other friends having always wanted to go to school, and studied for my pleasure the
comparisons of the Egyptian and Tibetan Books of the Dead.

I began to hallucinate wild things under the stressed thought pattern I was placing myself.

My housemates were of a different variety. Chris was a struggling alcoholic living off of
unemployment. He had no intention of finding a job, and made that adamantly clear. He lived on
Ramen noodles and Old English malt liquor. The guy in the door next to Chris on the third floor
was a paroled crack addict, living off the tenant agreement there should be a fire escape outside
of his room, threatening the landlord while skipping rent payment until his section eight row
home came through. He used to bring home prostitutes for all night fuck and suck sessions on
their assortment of paraphernalia. One time this hooker came waltzing into my room downstairs
by the kitchen I had freshly painted by myself irregardless of the rat and cockroach problem. She
wore a mini skirt and a tiger print top, which looked as if it was sideways for as purpose. He
probably ran out of money and crack, and she wanted to see if I would get it up for her. She said
she just needed a match for her cigarette, one of his borrowed menthols, but I saw her eyes. First
she eyed me like a hawk swooping in on prey. Then I think she realized by my stare, just how
bad she looked. Poor girl, he must not have even let her rest.

There was one other boarding house resident, he was an ex cop from Kansas, now selling
medical equipment. He smoked pot on occasion, even though he was a white collar entrepreneur
middle aged with two kids by his ex wife. Some nights he would come home and smoke pot with
Chris and I during our nightly chess battles at the kitchen table outside of my door. Chris had
spent most of his childhood in Juvenile Detention, and chess was like breathing for him, damn he
was good. Got to the point a few months later the med sales guy would come in and throw a ten
at Chris for him to run down to the bad neighborhood to buy pot if we didnt have any.

Then he would get high, and sit and over dramatize his days as a dirty cop, and how they
used to smoke the evidence and shit. I think he was kind of scared of Chris, so it used to get
ridiculous how he would bring it up every night.

"Hey, I told you I was a cop right?"

Night after night after night. Until finally Chris shut him up. He comes in at like ten or so,
proclaiming that somebody had ripped the side view mirror off of his BMW, and he wanted to
report it.

Chris says "hey, I'll get you a new one"

"How? he asked with a slight grin.

"Ten bucks, I'll be right back"

 Five minutes later we heard a car alarm go off two blocks away, and the sound of fleeting
footsteps returning up our stairs.

Chris had pulled the fucking thing right off of another neighbors BMW. God knows if he
had been the original problem in the first place. Slapped it on the table.

"There, MAKE IT TWENTY, I had to run..."

"Aww.... you cracked it...."

Sure enough, ten minutes later, another alarm, another mirror... this one in pristine shape.
We never heard another cop story again.

It was in those days in the small room that it began my truly intense visions in meditation.
They began flowing as powerful as my most powerful one had been back in the winter 1997. I
remember it clearly, my parents were driving us to The Walnut Street Theatre to see their
production of Camelot, the first musical I had really been introduced to as a child.

Arthurian mythology had always intensified my machismo, and I loved renaissance type affairs.

Sitting in the backseat on the way home, I closed my eyes briefly to absorb a few observed

moments of thought. The transcending of letting the thoughts in their origins go. The thought I

had recently read of breathing and imagining that as you breathe out, the universe was breathing

in to observe my infinitesimally small role as well as the size universe portrays came to me.

Then I saw it, the deep blackness of space as never before. It engulfed me like I could not
have of my own mortal mind supposed and took form with stars moments later. From within its
resounding deepness spiraled forward at a speed that was ten times faster than that of the light
traveling at billions of miles per second a simple lotus. It came in brilliant light, and softened to a
mere outshining neon glow as its petals came forth in basic bright primary colors. Then it ended,
and for months after I waited patiently day after day for these types of things to emerge from the
very consciousness which had brought it.

The room was small, about ten by ten with a closet and a window peering out of the
second floor onto the terrace of the cafe almost directly below that often hosted jazz musicians.
The soft summer wind flowed in and out of the room with the nauseatingly thick aroma of Nag
Champa from both my roommate and other nearby inner city inhabitants.

Initially the room consisted of a dirty thin grey carpet and drab smoke stained walls.
From the kitchen, cockroaches would crawl under the crack in my door, scurrying into my closet
to my horror never to be found again. I decided that renovation was a survival must. Immediately
I secured the paint left by the landlord, and got his permission to begin redoing the walls.

In the end I not only repainted the five by five rotting bathroom, but the whole kitchen
with some occasional drunken help from Chris all the while stammering "Bernie SHOULD BE
PAYING US FOR THIS... THE FAG." As far as my eye could see now gleamed with fresh white
glossy paint, the only kind we had.

I took the remaining bucket of paint into my room, and decided. Ripping up the carpet, I
threw it onto the street below for trash pickup. What was beneath was a dull tan floorboard
surface. My girlfriend at the time called, wanting to escape her parents grueling criticisms for
some sex I assumed, and we wound up painting the whole bedroom, floor and all a fresh coat of
white.

Afterward, we drank from the gallon of zinfandel I had bought with my last ten dollars
while deciding to play hooky from work again that morning. In paint stained sheets and a still
gleaming white room hot with fumes, she stubbornly decided to strip naked and climb into bed.
She was going to get fucked she had decided. Her virgin years having been ended by me, she
wasnt much of a drinker either and was excessively drunk. In my carelessness I climbed on top
of her and we screwed until I climaxed releasing my sperm into her while fantasizing about her
becoming pregnant and what her filthy rich catholic fathers reaction would be. I couldnt help
but think that way, she talked about it all of the time about how rich they were and how
protective. I was in it initially for the pretty face, for the intriguing conversation. Jobi was a
terrific artist, and had secured me a thousand dollar debt in my last apartment while painting a
beautiful mural on my living room wall. It really was superb except that in her thoughtfulness
and in my own inability to discern what was smart we had used black light paint.

Paint which cannot be removed or easily concealed in repairing.

She was a classical pianist, and played with many of the top musicians around. I had met
her through a friend of a friend, Evan while jamming on acoustics at his 12th and walnut Temple
student apartment. Evans father was a priest or something for a prep school and he was studying
theology and religious studies at the top university in the country for it.

Jobi and I had fun around Philly during that short time. We visited with her Buddhist
friend who had left the monastery to start his restaurant. She had all kinds of friends. One night,
while passing by the theatre we even got free tickets to go see Stomp. It was phenomenal.

In any case, there it was. Gleaming white and bare with just a single bed and one
nightstand. At Christmastime, Jobi had bought a book depiction of the Buddha scroll for me, and
I went nuts. That was it. I placed it up on the room walls at the top, like a wallpaper border. It
went exactly 270 degrees around the room taking up three walls, all but the one against which
the head of my bed was at. I sat for endless night staring at it in meditation, studying its history,
and the history if the Egyptian scrolls in comparison.

When with Jobi, often her fascination into Wicca had brought about talk and shared
visions of fairy lands, Dakini Realms as I had learned in Buddhism. She however got me lost in a
world of other more minor effects of the drug of host deities.

I began to realize the scenes depicted as representing a life cycle, the deities as states of
mind and soul. Each time I reflected on them, my deepening brought about a simpler yet more
complex awareness of the states depicted in the book of the dead, and the extraordinary
preparations for death. Llhama Govindas Meditation and Multi Dimensional Consciousness had
brought it into view by innate description of the channels accessed throughout life. The seed
syllables and the vibrational energy they released while chanted gave the observer a high.

The points where one can meditate on them constantly in your mind are powerful. They
silently bring forth a new life process awakening. The Buddha Scroll I now intently stared at
night after night.

The Pandoras box of awakenings streamed together. Hours on hours it had taken me to
observe my breath. Weeks later I had observed one by one the syllables. O in its universal ness,
M in its mortal energy, A in its raising aspiring height to saint like consciousness, H or the breath
of the universe, U or the mortal in the immortal, just to name a few to begin with. Then later
chanting of Upanishads had brought forth futile beginnings of what I was now seeing. Ordinary
resonation of the seed syllable O had brought for the mandala vision like an unfolding fractal, a
Pandoras box riddled maze of intricate detail. Put together these omanipadme hums after much
thought could open other doors. One night while sleeping, I was awoken by the picture in my
dream of a dark rider, his face emerged as that of Anubis. When I sat up in mid sleep, the vision
remained, blocking the beginning portion of the scroll.

The vision persisted, and my doubts as to knowing the nature of my own perception
began. The scrolls tempting allure was that in reading into its visuals they would arouse in me a
silent mantra from text readings that presupposed the states seen behind, beyond and through the
depictions in the course of histories various proclaimed martyrs. The visuals intensity would
persist until I reached the Zen of those experiences, or a sense of Ram Tirtha in the mirror
wisdom way.

In a Taoist way that said my own sense of being alive was in and of itself simply
because I perceived myself to be so. This made it possible in Tantric practice to theoretically
move mountains as Jesus had. I believed Jesus to be the last enlightened one to have lived in
our historical awareness. The intensity of this notion was soon to become in and of itself a
test.
 I received news this spring of a death. It was a rainy spring day, and there would be no
work. I rose at the late hour of ten, and called the caddy master to confirm that I need not go in
for work. The smoggy Philadelphia skyline itself seemed to droop as I stood at the corner phone
booth. My boss told me to stay home. I decided to call an old friend of mine, one of the original
garage crew. We had not hung out for quite some time, and I realized how much I missed all of
them. When he answered the phone, he was crying. It was bad news. Our close friend had been
found at the bottom of a ten story fall out of his hotel window while on vacation in Cancun a few
days prior.

It was the beginning of my Medicine Buddha awareness, and the teachings brought forth
in me the awareness that I had the sole responsibility as one close to the deceased to be the realm
guide in any way as he progressed in his own perception of death. What was to follow I had little
notion of. It would rock my world while trying to maintain faith.

Mit and I had been as close as anyone in our tight knit group. I was heartbroken, and so
the mourning became that much harder to look at along spiritual lines. I would have a hard time
finding reason in his death.

The first surprise came the night I was told of his death. I began to do the prayers, and in
thinking of him, I was made suddenly aware of his thoughts in my own. I had long been aware of
the presence of others in my own perception and awareness, but never when they were speaking
for behind the veil of death.

He himself appeared to me, sharing a closeness of being as we had when in the same
room together. Suddenly Mit, began to ask me why his friends were not noticing him there with
them. IN the depth of my mind I heard him proclaim "I AM NOT DEAD, IM RIGHT HERE!!!"
trying desperately to gain the attention of his desperately weeping girlfriend. The meditation then
got closer. I asserted my faithfulness into opening the channel to help him in his plight of
observing the between. His own perception was faultless of being there was here his earthly
experience brought him, yet he would go unnoticed. I prayed for his strength in soul and the
integrity to let go of the fogginess of earthly experience, that he could absorb the shock of his
own death by releasing it and accepting higher wisdom, and its light.

It was then that he spoke to me "Joel?"

"So I am dead, then?"

"I am going to miss you" he said with a tear in his eye from the silhouetted
appearance that drifted in and out with his thought process.

"me too, buddy..."

Then he told me..." But how can I be dead, and still here?"
He said I remember slipping.

Then it came to, apparently us both, as well as to the shuttering images I had
of my friends somewhere out there mourning his falling from the window, his
death.

There he lay at the bottom of the fall, a crumpled mass on the hotel sidewalk
next to the driveway.

The image repeated itself while firing a mantra in my mind. The message was clear.

"dhoti stick, bag"

Over and over the message the same, the same repeating image of him falling and "dhoti
stick bag"

I asked aloud to this consciousness "What is dhoti stick bag...."

"Packed un dhoti..."

I got the image of a lunch bag being packed, and then him falling to death.

He packed a lunch?"

"dhoti"

Then it suddenly became crystal clear. For the experiences had here on Earth, they were
but as "a bag lunch" to nourish the spirit in the afterlife journey to where it was to lead a soul
next. It had been his time and there was something to be learned I feared now of the dhoti stick
wanderers in the middle east. Was I going to go on a Mecca of sorts? In order to benefit from the
life had, it was to be had as well as enjoyed. Mit was experiencing his life, but had yet to enjoy it
as he had before, allowing nourishing rather than saddening him. To do this, we both had to let it
go, and allow the nourishing experiences to flow as if they were not such a grand thing. Not 22
years packed into the "dhoti stick, bag" of this yoga master, but rather a simple bag lunch.

Packed into the dhoti bag of an ascetic wanderer was a simple bowl made out of a human
skull for receiving offerings, and eating. It was ashes to ashes, dust to dust, the way of the holy
ones of all religions.

Omamnipadmehumomahhum... om vajrsattya guru om... naga upanda in the mountain...

on the mountaintop...

"On the mountain. In the mountain..."

 Wow, that means he was one with all, my thoughts began again to disturb the
stillness of my meditation. And is not only on top of the mountain, but the

mountain itself.

I turned toward the final portions of the scroll....

Usurpanda guru om mani padme hum...Usurpanda guru om vajrasattya

guru om ah hum....

The words themselves were incomplete. They were riddled with

openings to be found in the syllables vibrational connection, and I was caught in
them now with an intensity I never dreamed.

SurinameOmmm

This was mind blowing, fantastic. If Mit was observing things as if he

was still there, my perception itself could be altered to that point. Maybe it
meant on another plane yet altogether, he was still yet alive?

The scary thought then came to me. What if I was dead, and didnt know it? What if, just
as Mit, I dropped dead, and came to the awareness of my own being, by finding that the others
around me were not actually reacting to me, and what I viewed as my own physical body, but
other things.

Walking into the kitchen, I saw my roommates there playing cards. I tried to talk to them,
but they seemed to be seeing straight through me. I thought I was dead. I panicked and ran back
into my room; I stayed there until late that night meditating. I got so high I didnt know where I
was. I was receiving a message of some sorts of the loneliness of the mystic path and the courage
it takes to traverse the higher planes of awareness.

Around ten that night I lost the notion of my self so completely I went into a full scale life
after death panic. I screamed upstairs to my roommate from the kitchen, but he would not
answer. I went upstairs and knocked on his door until finally to my relief it drew a response. He
opened the door and walked straight past me, down the stairs toward the kitchen as if I was not
even there. I panicked again. Something in my psyche told me that I was not being a very brave
astral cosmonaut. I was reacting like the strung out Radiohead lead singer in his travels through
these consciousness. The right path told me I was surrendering an honor of achievement to have
reached this state, and I thought better of chasing down my roommate. Then I died of fear, and
came back to life in my roommates eyes.

What do you want, Joel? he suddenly asked.

Nothing
My friend is coming over to hang out.

Now?

Yeah.

His friend turned out to be a twenty year old kid from outside London. His accent was
thick, and so was his demeanor. They began their tear guzzling forties and laughing at me. About
an hour into this, I decided to relax myself by joining in. I sent them off to get pot from one of
the corner dealers in the badlands. They returned an hour later, obviously sky high.

I was informed they had gotten ripped off, that the guy had taken my sixty bucks. There
was no eighth of kine bud, and they had a full bag of coke. I was being played for a fool. Twenty
minutes later, I had gotten twenty bucks off of them to go out in the night to score on my own.

It was the first time I had crossed the bridge to this side of town, and I was doing it at an
unsafe hour. Every corner was a huddle of black drug dealers hanging out.

I was like a deer in headlights every corner waiting to be jumped. Abandoned whores,
cars and kids everywhere under the midnight street lamps. I walked around for about a half an
hour, scared out of my mind. Finally I snapped, and decided to tell them I had been ripped off as
well. There was no way I was going to ask one of these dealers, I might lose myself at the same
time. I walked back in a fury toward home. With every step I became more and more psychotic.
By the time I had reached the door, I had decided that I was going to fight them both. They were
contaminating my life. I walked into the kitchen just off the row homes third floor entrance and
they were being as belligerent as ever. Chris screamed

Did you get the weed? Hey, Joel?!

I immediately got in his face and yelled back no I got jumped, you wanna?!

I was reminded of the scene from Pulp Fiction in the beginning where Travolta and
Samuel L. Jackson shoot the drug dealers. I grabbed for one of their McDonalds burgers on the
table. His friend snatched it up and I emphatically shrugged and screamed Come ON FUCK
with me! as I walked toward the bathroom. When reached it, I left the door hanging wide
open and began to take a leak while feet away from them.

Anybody want a BIG MOTHERFUCKING KAHUNA burger?! I yelled while pissing.

Naturally, they left me alone for the remainder of the night. It was obvious I had lost my mind.

The next morning came, and I left for work. Exiting the row home apartment, I walked
through the downtown streets of Philly toward City Hall and my subway terminal. As I grew
near the outskirts of the Art Museum neighborhood I noticed a thirty something man stiffly
dressed walking ten feet in front of me. He looked a lot like an older version of Mit. He turned
the corner onto spring street just ahead of me. When I turned the corner less than two seconds
later, he had vanished without a trace. No doors, no subway entrances, just an empty sidewalk. A
flock of sparrows announced themselves and flew by. It was astonishing, and more proof that
there was truly an in between here and now. Sparrows are long renowned as the guardian of these
gates.

Caddying was waste of a day, and I wound up with less money than had left with after a
few games of cards and no golfers. I returned home to find Spring Street lined with the sparrows.
As I walked, it seemed that one large one was following me. I glared menacingly at it, and it
grew fangs like that of a vampire. Never before had I been so frozen with guilt ridden despair.
There was no turning back, it was time to return to Medicine Buddha for my friend in the
between.

This night, the telemprompter in my head began to tout verses from the old testament. This had
happened earlier in the week, and I had visited a pastor I knew to find out if this was normal. He
carried no prolonged response, and treated it as a matter better left unspoken.

The day of Mits funeral came. I had no money to get to the funeral, I had only enough in
my pocket to get to work and back. On the way to work, the consciousness broke open again. I
was walking the mile section of road that led to the club, when I suddenly had the whole funeral
in my head. The whole garage crew was there. So was Mit, and his resting casket.

Oh my God, I'm dead, Oh my God Im dead! Mits voice lit in my head.

Mits girlfriend put a floral arrangement on the casket. His father began to cry along with
his distraught brother. The flowers seemed to melt into a pastel of colors that swam and ran
together into an eternally huge inner space that was there.

WHY CANT YOU HEAR ME? They cant see me! I love you! Im not dead,
Im here

This time the colors swam and ran into a deepening color with highlights around the
edges surrounding a small hazy cloud of lights from which Mits voice emanated, though the
vision of him amongst the funeral goers was a solid physical form.

As the funeral went forward in my head, the eulogy became a mess of tears amongst the
onlookers. The words seemed to affect Mit, and the cloud began to glow more fiercely. My head
swam with a contact high from his presence, and he seemed lifted into that space that now
consumed the grounds where his casket lay. His screaming dissipated and I heard his inner voice
again speaking. This time the funeral party seemed to be hearing.

I get it now, I have to go. I will miss you all.

 As the ceremony concluded, the higher presence there that now looked like the heavens
themselves opened up and merged in a conclusive way with Mit. It was done.

I will never forget that day at the golf course. I was sitting in my bosss office facing the tee box

with the television on. A special report was broadcast. It was on this day that another Kennedy
was taken from the world in a plane crash. In synchronistic truth, the mood I was environed in
was definitely one of mourning. Soon thereafter that spring I was visiting my grandmother on
her death bed. I will never forget her last words to me as she spoke through the hardest days of
her physical health she would endure. I cried a lot through her passing, but she let me know I
would dream on to achieve that which she knew me to be capable of.

Through this ordeal there was an inner quietness about me. I passed on at her funeral
what little I could say, and set to loving my family by being there with them. I remember clearly
having time with my little sister there. I remember making a book of memories of Nan with her.
Most of all I treasured having time to be with her, as her childhood is something I was missing
that I will never be able to replace. I love my siblings dearly.

A few weeks later my mantra broke open again in my mind. This time brought about by
my studies of the Chinese language, and my ability to learn by speaking in tongues. The guru
prompter was telling me what to say, and now there were more visions. I saw the resolute
urgency of now in

American history and of my closeness to it. My home golf club was hosting the Republicans War
chest Fundraiser. The people I had watched cutthroat each other were now taking it to the level
their wars had attained and it made me sick. The presidency was being bought and sold and the
insider trading was scandalous.

I felt a direct resentment towards the Republican Party, and George W. himself. It was
war we were being shoved into, that much was obvious. I began to play Phish nonstop, studying
the lyrics. The lyrics are based on a fictional mythological place that embodies all of the different
religions of the world.

Recently I had read a review in the Philadelphia Inquirer which stated the words to be
nonsensical. They are only as nonsensical as the wisdom you dont have at any given time to
relate it to your spirituality. The ravens were moving in time. I had visions of all sorts of freaky
things like area 51 and others. At one point in time a Gamesh like creature seemed to be directing
my thought. It was almost as if these beings from our own future evolution were relaying to me
the importance of my conscientious objection. I had decided.

Walking into my bathroom, I shaved my head and face clean of hair. All the while I
maintained a constant mantra. At work that day I stayed only long enough to ask aloud to the
patio of rich golfers if anyone would fund sending me to India. No one answered, and I left. The
meditation continued nonstop through the night.

When the sun rose, I dressed and left. My internal guru kept referring to Tiki bird un
Mecca and it lead me to move in an absolute ascetic way. I walked through all of Philadelphia
that day in my bare feet to the train station at 30th street. The train took me to Atlantic City, and
the bus to Ocean City. I walked the island to the Gardens section, where I sat on one of the
private beaches watching an incredible electric storm on the water.

Thick, dark clouds rolled in off of the ocean. Lightning lit the night like daytime. Finally
it began to rain. I crawled under one of the lifeguards boats and built a sand wall around the
bottom edges of it to sleep in. The thunder shook me to sleep a short time later.

In the morning I walked the boardwalk where my meditations had begun. I could not stay
in this place either. I was leaving home. The mantra continued in my head, pointing me south. I
had decided to walk to Florida down the coast. I could do this. One of the shops on the
boardwalk provided me with dried fruit and nuts and a water bottle. The eighty degree sun began
beating down on me as I walked the beach.

Sun stroke risk present, I kept hydrated, and covered my newly shaven head as I walked
about fifty miles that day down the coastline. My bare feet encountered rocks and immovable
things that I had to cross. The thought of animal wisdom, of walking like a mountain goat
stumbling over the rocks filled my serene thought process. I imagines ascetic wanderers of the
past wandering the hills of Tibet doing this very thing. It was freedom I was learning. Learning
to untie the bonds of physical existence by traveling and though expanding my presence, truly
realizing how small I was in the world.

Nighttime came, and I noticed a goo creeping from my scalp. The heat had burned and
caused possible infection from its vulnerable baldness. I felt sick from the days walk. I called for
help from home, telling my mother I had found myself on the Jersey shore with no money, food,
and no way home. She covered the phone for a brief minute and I was told that my father would
be on his way to pick me up. A few hours later the Mercedes pulled up to the boardwalk street I
was on, and I was going home.

On the way home, I disobeyed my internal gurus sound advice to keep quiet my spiritual
experiences. By the end of the two hour drive, my father thought me a loon. We checked into
Hanuman Hospital on the way to check out my head. While waiting for the doctor to enter,
suddenly to guards appeared with restraints and tied me down. I was furious, scared, and
violated. I was not crazy; I was openly exploring my spirituality. I demanded a lawyer, demanded
my patient rights. It was to no avail.
 My father waived as I was 302d involuntarily committed and put into an ambulance to
be taken away. I cursed him as he watched, telling myself he would be sorry. Not to mention half
a dozen others around who heard me yelling profanity.

Youll see! Hoo ha!

During the next ten days I was pushed and prodded by a team of doctors to tell them of
my status. They wished to disprove my sanity, to find a way to pad their pockets with what I
viewed as ignorance to my state. My studies supported me with evidence telling me I was sane, it
was the world in wanting to explain away Gods signs with science that was insane. Ten days
later, the Judge released me.

Arriving at home via hospital paid taxi. I found my room gutted and my belongings gone. Most

importantly thousands of pages in notebooks from the past four years had been lost. That was it;

I was truly leaving this time. I was going to see the world. Phish was in town for tonight, the

third of July and tomorrow. Knowing I had to get there early to meet a crowd to travel with, I

put on some swimming shorts, khakis and a shirt. I packed a light knapsack with a new GAP

sweater, some shoes and a few other essentials. Then I said goodbye, and left.
Things won are done, joys soul lies in the doing.

William Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida

The Helping Phriendly Book it seems possessed the ancient secrets to

eternal joy and never ending splendor. The trick was to surrender to the

flow.

- Trey Anastasio, Lizards, from his musical myth Gamehenge

There I was lone and deserted of my pals. The familiar stomping ground in life that I had
known, all of it had boiled down to a parking lot.

I had to relieve myself so I held it. I had a lot to learn about concert parking lots. I had
friends who relieved themselves outside of the bathroom stall door if there was someone
occupying it, but I was still a little uptight.

I had written a journal of my life in that hospital before they released me laughing. I had
no reason to believe my education lacking, after all we are all here together, just watching the
rose unfold.

The awe of the sense of it all having left with a nurses advice was hilarious. "You know
Phish is in town, " my sweet mistress of distress had proclaimed "you look like the type..."

Walk about in south Philadelphia to see what I could had been fun. I walked the on ramp
to the bridge where I hitched a ride. Thumb out as I had done so many days getting a ride from
passing caddies and members on the corner in my hometown, I watched as passing cars noticed.
The figure that picked me up was in a Z3 beemer.

Gay and rich he figured it was worth all of his time to try chasing down my dick I suppose.

These things I later learned in L.A streets, with its torrential downpours of "Ill suck your dick
man for fifty bucks.. No thanks.

There being a bum on the road I truly felt like one of the beats of Blue Sky Mind.
A proud writer going to experience it all. I had nothing but a twenty spot I found later after the
show from selling my sweater. Just yelling it out in front of the whole crowd spilling forth from
the arena. An old High School acquaintance of mine has passed by on her way. I saw another in
the lot where I had planned to hitch. The night was far from a failure. The small village of tour
people were so open to anything. The earthy smell of the lot with its incense, the vendors tents
and tables, the vegan burritos. I was writing my own lease on life.

Bob Dylan says it best with Like a Rolling Stone that sad state just euphoric enough to
go with starry glowering eyes. I learned that God makes us naturally high for these days for the
reason of not seeing the death next door. Often times literally in my hand. Like a rolling stone.
Or in this case in a lot full of Rolling Rock, and ICEY COLD FAT TIRE! ICE COLD SAMMY
SMITHS!

The fireworks display lit the night against the night skyline of Philadelphia on the river.

Cute dreadlocked girls, nappy guys appearing like those wanderers I had so often dreamed of

joining. I was theirs to have.

Under one such vendors tent while questioning to be someones gas rider to Rainbow
Gathering in Montana I began my first meetings with the underground. A man pulled me aside
and gave me some advice. He claimed to be an architect on the run from CIA involvement. A
kerosene lamp lit his face in flickering shadow as he spoke of white supremacists and the spies
sent already to camp near the grounds where Rainbow would be the following week. The new
administration was following in the footsteps of our failed attempts to uncover the truth of our
own government by suppressing the freedom fighters. He advised that I find a ride, if I must and
stay on the road. Besides, he mused, how the hell did I expect to find a ride to Montana in just
one week? Most of the elders had evidently made their way there already.

I committed myself immediately to trusting this advice. I saw who he knew on the lot,
and they were the elders of the lot. He seemed to know everyone, and it seemed that many were
now just giving me the cold shoulder to see how I would produce profit for the night before
deciding whether to take me on board.

The time had come to be on the road. Just me and Jack Kerouac. Other kids spent time
spent selling e or making the balloon fit the horn of the whistling nitrous oxide spilling forth
to someones eager paw. A self policing lot, we did not just let it all go.

One am rolled around and it was time to get off of the Camden lot, there would be no
camping here. As the cars, trucks and buses lined up to exit the gate, I knew it was time to find
my ride. I walked up and down the long lines formed. They led a mile straight down the road I
had walked in on to the spot where they all would turn off to their own directions. It seemed
most of them were headed for the toll booth to reenter Pennsylvania. Fifteen minutes wound out,
and still no ride. Half an hour, forty five minutes, finally I decided to go and camp out with an
outstretched thumb to the gas station near the tollbooths on the advice of a passersbye in a
Winnebago. I walked the long mile of cars now fully aware that no one else was walking, they
were all vehicles bound for home.

An hour and a half had passed before I began to see that the lot was nearly empty. I gave
up hope, and started on foot towards the tolls. The lights of the cars streamed past me at five, ten
miles per hour. It felt like they were all staring now, aware of my obvious situation. I had nearly
reached the tollbooth, where I was nervous what the reaction of allowing me through on foot
would be. Suddenly a passing dark blue VW van pulled to the side of the road. The sliding door
slid open with a metal woosh, and someone from the dark interior barked Need a ride kid? Get
IN!

As we passed through the ticket booth, the strange driver passed me an empty case of
beer full of cans to push to the back of the van. Then he invited me to sit in the front passenger
seat. He introduced himself.

Mark, he said my names Mark, and he nodded in my direction.

My first impression was that with his thick short hair and equal length beard, he looked
like some kind of monk, or maybe even monkey. Mark had the time in I could tell by his nappy
appearance, his time spent on the road talk, his west coast kid lingo. He claimed to be from
Humboldt, California. He told me that he had lost his kidz in Camden and was worried about
them. Suddenly I realized that his kids" were the family I had now. They were not really his
birth children, but rather a part of the road Phamily, the Harry Hoods.

He asked how far I intended to go. I told him I was a gas rider. He murmured
something and then went quiet. We drove in relative silence for about an hour until he decided to
turn off into a rest stop area.

I would need a vote to decide if we take you on board. I really hope my kids are ok.
Tomorrow well find them and we will decide then. You would make five of us.

But for tonight, you can stay with me. Ill get you back to lot tomorrow. But weve gotta turn

OVER! What do you sell?

I was struck numb for a minute, but in my sense of freedom in it all I just waited for my
head to supply an answer.

Whats your trade? he asked.

Trade?
 Yeah, my one kid, Star, he makes chain mail, you know? Do you know how
to make links?

No, I replied, coming to the first reasonable notion I had about my limited funds but I
know a dollar store in Philly where we can get cases of water for cheap.

Water?

I knew it was time to sell my usefulness or I was going to be in the same spot the
following night.

Yeah, they sell cases of water. Twenty five for five bucks. We could buy
like fifty with ice and a cheap cooler. Buck or two bucks apiece, should be easy.

How much money you got?

Twenty. Thats two cases of twenty five, a cooler and ice.

He seemed satisfied enough.

Yeah, you gotta get me there tomorrow.

The dollar store was in the route that I had recently walked to go to Ocean
City for my short Mecca.

Mark pulled out some fajita wraps, some cheese and a blowtorch. Stepping

outside of the rest stop parked van, he flicked a lighter, and lit the torch.

Cheese fajita? he asked.

It dawned on me that I had not eaten since that morning at the hospital.

Sure

As we stood talking and munching on blowtorch heated fajitas I asked him

long he had been on tour. We talked for an hour or so about Phish and Further lots.

We discussed which was better, and the similarities between them and the Dead. Mark
had been to hundreds of shows. It was a way of life. That night after he picked me up, I became a
member of the easiest family to join on earth. Policing the lot was a bad enough idea he said for
the Rainbow Family of old, that the old timers were all right, but enough said. The culture itself
felt different. I said we are going to go where we can shine. Shine on. It felt kind of right, but
best of all it was freedom. Long last freedom. He agreed as we turned down in the van. He in his
stretched out passenger seat, me curled up on the floor. Seconds before drifting off to sleep, he
murmured the most meaningful thing said to me. Hey, kid?
Yeah?

Good to know you.

In the morning we arose at the same time. Mark went into the restaurant to use the
restrooms. I noticed a Saab parked near the entrance with Phish stickers posted on its back
windshield. The license plates were Ohio. It was a blonde and a brunette of about twenty years
of age, and both cute. The one in the driver side saw me and waved the driver side to get me to
come over to the car.

Hey stranger, she winked at him.

Whats up, ladies?

My friend wants to know if you need a ride? You

going to the show? he asked.

No, we are headed to the Troy show. Wisconsin.

Oh, no I have a ride, thanks. I kicked himself immediately for having said it.

The girl in the passenger seat waved at him hiii

So your going to Camden? The girl in the drivers side asked. I glanced down
at her breasts, my God I was an idiot.

Yeah, theres my ride. He was disappointed as he saw Mark approaching and

knew he wasnt going to get a second chance to go with them gracefully. I would have
to talk around Mark. I cut it short and headed back toward the VW bus.

See ya! Have a good show!

You too! they said in unison.

Mark waved at them as he passed by the car exiting the restaurants front doors.

We climbed into the bus, ready to go.

Two sisters headed for Wisconsin.

They were sisters? Huh the blonde was good looking, you should have gone with
THEM!

I gave myself another good hard kick in the ass.

 Mark made a u turn with the VW bus back towards the city. At last I thought I would
know a peaceful disconnected moment in Philadelphia. I knew I was leaving my whole notion of
home behind. We listened to the Allman Brothers Band live from Marks tape deck and took care
of business. The cases of water were bought, as well as a cooler to put them in. It was a beautiful
summer day in the low seventies and we both got anxious to get on lot. We got there at three
when the gates opened.

Mark turned to me and said Your names Troy, right?

He said it not in the tone one asks a persons name, but rather of an agent
giving his willing employee a name.

"Ok," I said in agreement.

"Ok Troy, see you back at the Van. Keep an eye out for me if we get totally split

up, listen for me, I will call you."

Alright.

Later kid.

Later.

Troy, one letter separate from Trey Anastasios own name. The letter was
truly my battle. Did I want E, ecstasy, or O, universal ness Zen? Troy, the famed
ancient city built and rebuilt over and over again on its own ruins.

We parted ways into the parking lot empty and bright with summer sun.

Much have I seen and known, - cities of men

And manners, climates, councils, governments,

Myself not least, but honord of them

all- And drunk delight of battle with my

peers,

Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.

-Lord Tennyson Alfred, Ulysses

Got to the show around four;

Just when the lot began to soar,

With Philly behind us and a case in the car;

We knew it wouldnt be too far,

We were there to unwind;

To meet people and to be kind

The Show , Cosmik Debris

Troy looked around at his surroundings. This was it, though Philly lay just over the bridge
here was home. The parking lot was desolate, but somehow clean of all of the bottles and other
assorted trash which had littered just twelve hours ago.

Across the Delaware River, Philadelphia skyline was hazy in clouds of the midday
humidity. Troy remembered the night before sitting in half lotus position, which was as far as he
could stretch meditating to the incredible fireworks. There would be bang and boom with lights
over the river again tonight. He wondered if tickets were to be found amongst his second show.
No matter, the main concern now was to find the necessary ice to fill his cooler with the ten
bucks he had left over. There were several parking lots in Camden, which would soon be filled
with concertgoers and Fourth of July tailgating. With Phish lot, though it was a whole different
story. The band toured almost nonstop, and had a following that would be compared to the
Grateful Deads own if not for the fact that they were the same people. The night before Troy had
found that people were more willing to be touring with both Phish and Further tours to bridge the
gaps in the map. That is, there were miles to be traveled and rest to be taken, food to be eaten and
this required money. The band in fact had a whole village of gypsy type travelers who toured
nonstop with them performing various tasks from stage hands to selling t shirts.

In just a few hours the parking lot would be full of the tour heads setting up for the
nights business. Of course the business had its benefits, as shows are fun. The main lot it seemed
for most of the touring people was set up in the far lot along the river.

A few of the canvas tents to cover the corner stores on lot were already being set up.
There were a few restaurant tents, a few vendors, and then what could only be known as
Shakedown. The term came from the Grateful Deads song Shakedown Street and it was like
going downtown to the central heart of the lot. Picture an alley the length of a city block where
every two feet another small congregation of people gathered selling different things. A
marketplace of sights smells and sounds. Bands would come and set up to play in the lot where it
was not filled with DJ style music setup. There was water, pita wraps, grills with every type of
campground food, tie dyes, and of course other goods not so legal. Drugs could be found on lot,
and it was not a disorganized system by which they were sold. One of the kids within a group
would carry around a box blaring music to announce where the central spot of dealing would be.
This was based on the dozens of heads wandering with digital devices to talk back and forth in
code phrases. A key phrase in lot terminology was someone yelling six up! meaning that
security or a cop was coming, time to six up for five oh and hide the goods.

It was heard so often on lot, there were t shirts made that had a seven up can with six up
written on it. Beer was generally found in the backs of trucks but also most times right on the
storefronts of

Shakedown.

Nitrous oxide was common occurrence as well, though in recent years the lots have been
more heavily policed of this damaging substance. Tanks of laughing gas were here and there
though, usually driven to be on a lot away from the shakedown heads who would not tolerate it.
The hippy crack was sold off in five dollar balloons that could be heard whooshing to full and
sometimes popping all over the lot. When inhaled the gas makes the user completely numb, and
often lose consciousness.

Cars, trucks, and buses, planes trains and automobiles, and in this case the Camden Ferry
were bringing the one day or only partial tour concertgoers to the lot by the thousands.

Troy set off toward the parking lots further inland to try and ascertain where he could find
ice. A small congregation of cars was gathered together in the mid lot near where Mark had
parked, and one of the girls sitting next to a Honda leapt to her feet.

Hey there! Wanna try some oils?! Great stuff! she said flirtatiously.

Yeah, sure, he responded a little on the shy side.

Where ya headed? the girl leaned over an orange red Mandelbrot set looking tapestry
spread out on the ground filled with small clear liquid vials of different scents. Some of the
bottles were clear liquids, others brownish to black. He wondered if any contained liquid LSD.

Troys head was spinning as though he had lost his equilibrium. It had seemed to him that
since the night before he had learned to simply act and react on his best judgment with no
hesitation so as to follow the course of his time wisely. Life here was one big free contact high.
Here he saw an obvious opportunity to chill and make headway with what he gauged were
weekender show goers. Good to know, but it was time to make some money lest he lose tour on
the second date.

Yeah, sorry no oil thanks, flat broke. Do you know where I can get some ice
around here?

She jutted out her hand then and proceeded to introduce herself Jill.

Troy, yeah, I need to sell some, uh...water.

Jill swayed from the touch of his hand as if swooning. The flirtatious look in her eye told him
that she was truly also trying to make a sale. He must look a wreck from sleeping his clothes,
and not having eaten since the night before.

Yeah, try over past that lot your headed for, there is a grocery store a few
blocks from there. Be careful, lots of security over there.

Thanks. Right on!

Come back for some oils afterward, there really good! she sang back
persuasively as he moved toward the far lot she had directed him towards.

The next lot was indeed full of blue jacketed security guards in golf carts. They seemed to
be apprehending a mans bubbler glass pipe Troy saw a few feet further on down the row from
which he walked. Bubblers are a more expensive variety of glass pipes that hold water and are
used to smoke marijuana. As with most pipes, they change color as they become more resonated.
The better the weed, the better the color came in from the glassblowing art. This pipe looked
dark green and orange.

Shame, Troy thought the guard will probably be smoking it in an hour!

The three oclock sun felt more like a midday blaze now, and he was glad he had only
worn his long green Quicksilver trunks. One of the security guards was ahead passing through a
horizontal row of cars Troy was passing through. He eyed Troy with suspicion, his eyes not at
all shamed at staring him down. Boy, Camden was a rough spot. Suddenly a girl with shoulder
length dreadlocks tied back flanked him on his right. She acted as if she had known him,
actually like he was a close personal friend though he had never seen her before in his life.

Hey, whats up kid?

Uh nothing! How bout you sister?

Sister, huh. She said with a disgusted look knocking down what she took to
be some kind of rejection.
Did you find your kids yet?

Suddenly he was aware of just how tight knit the community in which he was living would be.

She did know who he was; obviously word had already spread via Mark.

No, I havent even met them yet. He replied trying to keep the excitement and heartfelt
wonder of it all from making him sound lame again.

Sure you have, youve got me! she said trying not to be mocking as well as taking the
opportunity to hug his shoulders with her left arm.

She was not at all unattractive, and Troy was suddenly brought to life from the dull
existence he was accustomed to. Why hadnt he done this much earlier in life?

Why didnt I do this much earlier?! he said aloud.

Oh, come on the store is only a few blocks from here, Ill go with you I need to buy
some baggies anyway.

How in hell did she know so much about him? Troy was also learning how well the
Phamily functioned.

Huh?!

Dont you need ice?

She figured by now that she had probably spooked him enough and decided to give him a
friendly wink, finally confessing Mark told me Id see you around HOPEFULLY with Carey
and Jim.

Said he might need you to pay for gas and you needed ice.

Oh, yeah. He said dully, not even thinking of one thing to say.

Oh yeah. She mocked him teasingly.

The sunlit up her tan figure as she squinted and marched forward faster toward the far
west corner of the lot. The wind blew, and Troy caught a whiff of her scent, evidently shower had
not been in her itinerary since the night prior.

Camdens a tough place he began, quoting Mark from the night prior I
hope they are ok. I heard they got mugged.

She agreed, shaking her head to the affirmative. Sweat began to bead down Troys
forehead and he wiped it off with the back of his hand, which did not do any good as it was
equally as sweaty. He wondered he if he himself smelled and resolve to use a restaurant
bathroom if he found one.

Once again his thought turned to the question of getting a ticket.

Yeah, Camden sucks. No motels, no campgrounds, lots of fucking pigs. She darted in
front of him grabbing his hand and urging him faster.

Speaking of which theres the fucking one who fucking flirted with me last night, lets go!

He wanted ask if she had tickets, but he did not feel it was time. First there was money to
be made. He was jogging now, and the heat was really getting to him and he slowed breaking her
hand to hand grip.

The Camden street they entered reminded him of the desolation row he had walked
through the night prior on the way into town. The sidewalk was broken up, and lined with trash
that heaped overflowing from corner wastebaskets. A whole Sunday newspaper could probably
be collected from the block they were on alone. The grocery store was a small corner store across
from a bank. The girl led him across the street and told him to wait, that she had to tap MAC.
Troy felt primitive and broke not having any more than ten bucks let alone a bank card to draw it
from. These tour people were far from behind the times.

Wait here.

Troy waited, leaning on the one way mirror of glass that made up the banks exterior.
Several minutes later the girl, whose name he still did not know emerged with a scowl on her
face.

Fucking banks, She said as she walked with him towards the store thanks for
waiting.

No problem. Hey, whats your name?

Troy extended a hand toward her as if to handshake. She pushed it down,

and said in a mocking glare sister.

Must prefer hugs, he blushed to himself. Damn this was going to be a good life.

She continued to scowl, and he wondered if he had seriously offended her. They got the
items they needed from the small store, and walked back to the lot where they had met. There
was little more small talk, and he began to have the feeling that he owed her an apology, or that
she was questioning if he really was one of them. You had to be one to be one seemed to be the
Phamily way, and he imagined doubting himself was the first way en route to a disappointing
conclusion. What a wonderful
Zen existence. Also proof that he needed to lose the intellectual and gain some Be Here Now
ness.

Halfway through the lot while passing a group of guys and one girl with hoodies and
patchwork pants, dreadlocks and a passing bowl, one of the guys snagged her. They hugged as
a long lost couple who had been reunited. He then began to deep throat her for long enough
that Troy decided he was now being ignored as if nonexistent. What a Zen existence. He
shrugged and walked on. Ten seconds and twenty five feet later, he turned as he heard her yell
LATER TROY!! A shiver went down his spine as he heard his new name for the first time. It
was hope. He had found somewhere where they didnt care who he was, or where he came
from, only that he was and that was enough for some Phun and love.

The ice was heavy and cold as he shifted it to various ways of carrying. He hoped it
would be enough, as it had been expensive and he was now out of cash. Returning to the lot on
which Marks van was parked, he saw that it had been moved closer to where shakedown was
going to be. There was a group of people around the back, and the doors on all sides were open.
He had found the others.

Their words came into range as he approached from the left rear. There was smoke rising
from the side, and Troy realized someone was cooking. Yeah, we had to convince the guy to let
us park free. The kid was like yeah, were broke and all. It was kind of dumb.

Marks voice wavered as he saw Troy.

There he is, HEY! You got the ice. Mark dropped the burger he was attending back on
the grill and came over with his arms spread out to give him a hug. Troy gratefully accepted his
first hug.

That would take care of missing out on the other lot orgy he had just left.

Troy, right? Mark began introductions.

A skinny boy of about eighteen wearing chain mail and spikes with a leather jacket and
jeans on immediately gave him a warm hug cutting in on Mark Star he said with a sparkle in
his eye.

Troy felt one spun again, that dizzy highness he had been experiencing from the night before.

This kid didnt look the type, so who was he not to fit in with this punk on board?

Wow, am I high. Troy simply stated referring to his contact high.

Star looked at him with that same sparkling figure me out face he had made a moment ago and
said with withheld glee.
Good. We just got smoked too.

Troy was instantly glad he had not gotten smoke as it seemed for the last few years pot
had made him paranoid. Now he wondered if he would be able to turn down turning on. Perhaps
he just needed to lighten up, wind out a little. Was it possible he had been making himself
paranoid by those with which he surrounded himself? Absolutely.

From the front of the van with a completely cold glaring look a beautiful dirty blonde dread

locked girl shot him a hello Im Carey.

She said, then turning to Mark back at work on his burger. Five kids is way too fucking many.

She threw her knapsack back into the van while clutching a yellow hooded sweatshirt with a red

dot on its front.

This fucking van smells.

At first impression she was abrasive. A tough girl. At least shes honest, Troy thought
with a glimmer of hope as Mark smiled at him, shrugging. The other kid Troy notice at the front
of the van seemed to drift off in thought, and simply turned away without an attempted
introduction. Trotting behind him on a leash was a beautiful black collie mix.

Thats Onyx. Mark said with half a mouth full so it came out Ats Omix then
adding after a swallow The dog not the kid.

He laughed. They were both his dogs.

So did Troy, recognizing his eye on at Carey. They must be some kind of couple and were
having a spat over the previous night. Troy guessed they needed the money he could give.

Mark pointed his finger past the porta grill further into the vans interior at the cooler and water.

Betta pwut at ice in da coower he said with the last of the char black burger shoved
in his mouth. Troy realized his own hunger and Mark seemed to read his mind.

Have you eaten?

No. Troy shot back quickly, assuming Mark was going to offer him food. But he

didnt.

I have to sell this stuff, go buy something on shakedown. Better sell that water.

Oh, yeah and we will take you to Pittsburgh at least, right Star?
 Right the fuck on man Star returned grinning at Troy. Troy guessed there
were more hostilities among the crowded van group and that they welcomed a new guy

to break it up.

Troy turned for the first time to Carey.

Are you ok? I heard you guys got mugged?

She glanced at him as if to accuse him of hitting on her, and he recognized the hint of
truth in her gaze through him. It was that look that a taken woman tempted would give in
correcting her status with a new guy. Fine.

She replied and walked away toward the now half filled and busy shakedown with grills and

Phish lot delicacies.

I hope I have enough ice, man. Im not sure. Troy said downtrodden as he pulled the

Styrofoam cooler from its lodged state in the van with the cases of water.

Just go down shakedown asking for ice from different people. Theyll give a hand, or at
least a handful. Dont worry man, people help Mark replied as he tore out sheets of aluminum
foil to wrap his food individually for sale.

His words echoed in Troys mind people help not people will help. As everything
else here seemed it was a different breed of humans here, Phamily were not strangers any one.
The light in Troys spirit began to glow again with hope spreading from this faith based family of
people he had found. How was it a parking lot could feel so much more like home than any other
he had ever had?

Great! he responded finally with a bit more enthusiasm in his voice.

This was not a journey to be taken without faith. This was a journey of enlarging his
spiritual growth, of identifying with others who took for granted believing the things he had for
years loved to bathe himself in. Part of him wanted to see it as west coast culture, but they were
all here right now in the east.

Troy carefully packed the ice around the water bottles in the cooler. He would have to
refill the cooler a few times. While he was packing the cooler, a kid dressed in khakis and a
white Phish original logo t shirt stopped by.

Hey man, you selling that water, Im parched!

Mark shot him a smile and answered for Troy Yeah!

The kid immediately brought forth a knot of bills and asked How much? Two?

He peeled off two bills and thrust them forward toward Troy. He had
been intending to sell them for a buck apiece, but why refuse? Beside which
Mark piped right in with another answer Yeah, two. And weve got burgers
too if you want! The voice of experience.

Wow, those look good. He took the water from Troy, who gave an apology
I just popped em in the cooler, so they are a little warm...

Cracking it open and taking a swig the kid replied. Thats fine. Ill pass on
the food, though it looks great! Have a good show!

Have a good show!! Mark and Troy piped in together as their first customer
walked away from the van.

Troy smiled to himself and grimacing picked up the full cooler to walk it onto a spot he
had reserved on shakedown. It was about fifty pounds, and he looked forward to being off work
already. It was time to take charge of his self run business. His first profits had been to the tune
of a thousand percent profit.

Turning on to shakedown he quickly scouted a spot about half way down the length of the
marketplace where no one had parked their goods. He heaved the packed cooler across the
walkway beginning to become spotted with potential customers and finally put the cooler to rest.
The man he was setting up across from was a smiling Jamaican who immediately smiled at his
plight and spoke across the walkway Hey, you made it! Ha ha!

The girl standing next to him bowed her head a little, continuing to fold a rag or

imported prayer rug to display on their six foot long table. The table was an array of price signs
taped to the front. She also turned for a brief smile and nod saying hello.

We were neighbors, and respectably would not be in any competition. His shop had no
food or drink to speak of, and Troy realized another key to his involvement in the community.
Respecting other businesses and working together to increase everyones profitability was a
must.

The man next to him seemed to just be enjoying the sun on a lawn chair. He tall and thin
with a muscular frame. Both he and his girlfriend seated next to him had long blonde hair. He
reached a hand out to introduce himself.

Jim, man, and this is Linda.

Hi Jim, hi Linda. Want some water? Free water for my neighbors!

 No thanks, he replied quickly revealing the beer he held on the side of his
lawn chair just out of sight weve got beer. But whoa fee, man.

Yeah right.

Ill take a water, what kind are they? Linda spoke up.

American Pride I think.

He handed over semi chilled water to Jim, who passed it on to her. She cracked
it open and took a swig.

Swarm. Id wait a little before selling it. I hope you havent been selling warm
water!

What a bitch, Troy thought to himself.

Nah, just one and that one I gave you. He didnt care

I hope not, you know you affect everyones business when you sell bad goods!

This was insanity. If he had set up shop I downtown Manhattan he wouldnt have
received this much community consciousness. Of course he would need a license if he set up
downtown anywhere.

He decided to ignore her quip and yelled his pitch for the first time.

Water, get your water here! Thirsty?

Over the course of the next few hours the lot went from a laid back scene of straggling
wanderers to an elbow room only buzz of activity. Troy sold the bottles of water for a dollar
apiece. Several times people offered him more, and he realized if he was inconsistent on his price
someone would figure it out and he would hurt business. Overcharge one to make profit, and lose
them all. He tried different pitches as the show grew nearer.

Ice cold water!

Water here, what the fuck its only a buck!

By around six thirty he had sold forty five of the waters. The rest had been drank by he,
Mark, Carey, and his neighbor in da hood Linda. He had run out of ice around five thirty, but
had used it as an opportunity to meet other people and had gone around collecting a handful
here, a handful there from others as Mark had suggested. They were all so friendly, smiles and
nods, no one told him no.. and some even offered him smoke or a beer. It was half an hour to
show time and he had doubled his money from the night before. He desperately wanted to get
into the show, but was as yet lacking the funds to do so. There would be more shows. He didnt
know how he was going to do it, but he would find a way. He had heard of getting miracle
tickets from a buddy he had met in Ocean City New Jersey.

Pat had been an old dead head who had toured for several years. He said miracle tickets
were free tickets that you got on lot to see the show. Troy walked around with a finger over his
head as he saw others doing, indicating that he needed one ticket. His heart was not in it. He
was ashamed to take a handout in the form of a concert ticket. Deeper in him the knowledge as to
why the ticket was a necessity to his betterment shifted toward understanding.

Troy had yet to understand his status, to see himself with a ticket stub in his hand. He was

depressed from the loony bin, but hadnt Phish told him his dark side Floyd was Dead, nothing
but a Ripple?

This was the story of realizing ghostly green paper was not the aim. He was trying to live
a life, and that was completely free. One spirit in still water like his soul he had seen vibing
outward affected by the wavelengths of others. There need be no proof he was not crazy. If these
thousand gathered under the same premise to surrender to the flow, if this band was the largest
grossing tour band in the world, didnt that outweigh the skeptics who had locked him down? He
had been surrounding himself with the wrong crowd, but now he was here. Why weigh on a
sunny day?

Fourth of July fireworks lit up the night and he stood watching them in awe. The end of
the night came, and he began to watch making sure Mark had not left without him. At eleven
forty five when the crowd streamed forth from the arena, he saw a familiar face. It was a guy he
had hung out with throughout his entire senior year. He and his girlfriend and her best friend had
gone to this guys house every night to smoke pot. In fact after graduation when his parents had
kicked him out, he had stayed with Bill on his couch temporarily. That was until he came home
to find Bills house burned down one night.

Hey! Bill!

Yo, Joel! What are you doing here?

For a minute it seemed as though he was between worlds. It already felt as though Troy
had taken on a from of his own, and he felt as though he stood in limbo within the tribe. Then a
warm glow filled him and he began to realize that this was to be a healing including his former
life, which it would merge with the new where the friendly good book would see it fit to do so.

Im on tour, man. Have you seen Angel at all?

Angel was Bills old girlfriend from High School days. She had gone on to Penn State. Nah.
How was your show?

Good. They were, well not as good as the Dead, but...

Some kids coming from the arena on the path by the Delaware lit up with hoots and yells.
Troy, annoyed by Bills comment lit up with them Wooohooo! he shouted.

Bill began to say something, but he was too busy cheering to hear Yee! Yiyiyiyiyiyi
YEEE! the Independence Day war cry escaped his throat.

The words of the Dead came to his mind. Leaving Texas, Fourth day of July. Sun so hot,
the clouds so low, the eagles filled the sky

Kind of symbolic in every way.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Mark strolling across the vacating shakedown toward
the van. People were leaving faster this night than the last.

Hey, Bill man good to see you, I gotta run! He gave Bill a quick hug and hurried off
toward the van. Arriving at the van, he found Mark looking rather stoned and weary eyed, though
with a warm glow of peace about him.

So glad we are leaving Camden he said to the arriving Troy.

Have you seen the others?

From nowhere Carey, Jim, and Star lagging behind looking rather drunk came bounding
onto the scene. Onyx was lagging behind Jim, dragging his leash behind him. Carey opened her
waist pouch to reveal something to Mark in private and he grinned. She turned to Troy with a
grin and pulled a light green nugget of kine bud part way out of the bag and smiled.

Got a bowl? Star asked.

Carey shot him a dirty look that said he was too drunk to require response.

Mark answered instead Well have to hot potato.

Then nodding toward the security guard passing them on his way towards a group of kids

holding giant nitrous balloons said Get in, lets go now.

Fucking preps, Carey said climbing into the passenger seat of the VW van.

The van was indeed crowded. Mark drove, Carey was in the passenger seat, while
Star and Troy in the back tried to make space away from Jim and Onyx who were in and on the
one back seat that remained in the bus. Everyone but Mark were soon fast asleep, and Troy
decided it would not be a bad idea.

When he awoke, he saw it was light. Carey was awake and talking to someone on her
digicom cell phone device. She seemed to be getting directions to somewhere. Star was awake
and working clipping pieces of wire from a coil he had wrapped around a pen. Onyx was fast
asleep and partway on Troys legs which in turn were pins and needles numb. He saw Carey
pass something to

Mark, who in turn offered it to Troy without a word.

It was a smoking potato. The top had been poked by a pencil to its middle where it was
attached by a joining hole on the side for an air release and a hole lengthwise to make the pipe
tube. It was filled with half lit kine bud marijuana; light green and smelling to be a good batch
of outdoor homegrown. Not bad, but only about sixty an eighth of an ounce if you bought it in
that quantity on lot. He took a long inhale and relaxed. It had been a long time since he
smoked pot, and a few minutes later he was too stoned to be of much company. Carey turned
to him and decided to try asking him about his origins.

Troy decided it best just to hand him the ten page paper he had written to give his
mental health lawyer and the judge at the hospital a few days prior. She read it in silence,
now and again stopping to remark wow.

Star chimed in from his spot in the back. Hey , wanna learn mail?

Troy didnt understand and gave him a puzzled look. Star laughed Your fried arent you? Here,
Ill teach you how to make chain mail to sell.

He held up a bracelet of metal links to eye level between them. It was made up small
enjoined metal circles linked together in ones and twos horizontally. Star showed him how to
wrap the metal around something round. Then he began clipping the coiled wire in pieces
that were open ended circles of the wire. He then used pliers to link them together as many
as five wide in patterns to create chain mail. Troy was impressed by the amount of time he
had invested in various pieces sitting around the van floor.

You can sell this for twenty bucks on lot. Took me two hours!

Right on, Star.

Moments later they pulled into a Dennys parking lot. The lot was filled with kids Troy
recognized from the show both entering the restaurant and pulling up in cars from behind them.
They were a group of about fifteen meeting for lunch planned via cell phone en route to their
next show. Troy had overheard Carey saying they were going to a Further Show somewhere near
Pittsburgh.

Though he was impressed by the crowd, Troy was disappointed in himself for having
gotten so stoned. He had not smoked pot in months and was too baked to socialize. This was an
awkward spot for a kid with no money to eat among fifteen new acquaintances who he depended
on. He was way too paranoid and uptight about fitting in still. It sure was taking him time to
mellow slow to this lifestyle.

The waitress seemed to know them, and gave them special service. Ignoring his nervous
shyness, the group though saying little to him during the meal taken at two eight foot adjoined
tables did feed him. Kids passed a plate down the row, several of them each giving him a little of
their food.

He ordered a coffee and stilled himself in the hope he would sober up enough to be any kind of
whit.

But right now the pot had him dumb.

About the time he felt himself sobering, they were exiting the building. The meal all in all
had lasted about an hour. Two kids had smoked a bowl under the table after the meal, passing it
between them under the table. It was easily concealed by the cigarette smoke in the group. They
were all discussing sleeping plans, and Troy realized he was going to be asked for cash soon.
They got back on the bus and Troy asked where they were going. Mark answered a mono
syllabic Camp.

They were in Pennsylvania, and a few quiet hours later began to wind out on smaller
country roads. Finally they turned off into a deep woods area in farm country. They stopped by a
small barn house apparently to gain permission to camp. Mark got out, and went inside the
building. He returned and climbed back into the driver seat saying simply ten bucks.

Carey handed a ten dollar bill to him.

They stopped the bus on the left hand side of the dirt path a few hundred feet further. It
was already growing dusk, and he saw that there were other buses there and a handful of tents
from various campers set up on the way down to a small lake at the bottom of the grassy hill
they were on. Troy was tired, and it was obvious that Carey wanted nothing to do with him
having some business to take care of with Jim and Onyx. They set up a tent on the hill to share.
Mark announced that he and Troy and Star could share the van to sleep.

Troy joined a few other college freshman aged campers that night for a few hours
listening to Star flirt expertly with the girls. He wished he could be so outgoing,but he was
dreadfully bad at small talk. Star strummed an acoustic guitar as one of the guys in the group
joined him on bongos. Troy missed his guitar. The night was clear, and all of the stars were
visible in the fresh country air, and he soon relaxed into a peaceful campground mode. That night
he and Star and Mark talked and laughed sharing stories until the early morning hours.

In the morning, Troy removed a bar of soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste from his bag and
walked toward the lake. The lake was really a very slow moving river it seemed. It was place at
the bottom of a grassy knoll a few hundred feet wide.

The lake was maybe a hundred feet wide and stretched lengthwise off into the distance
more than a hundred yards off. As Troy grew close it, he saw a creek source near the far
southeastern end with a dirt path leading into the woods beyond sight. He walked that direction.
He thanked himself for having the wisdom to wear swim trunks to bathe in.

The path turned out to be a steep grade made up of large boulders to grip on the way
down. At the bottom of the path Troy heard a loud whooshing. He turned the final corner of the
path and emerged into an area with a crystal clear twenty foot waterfall which emptied into a
clean water pool of about thirty feet wide. He stepped into the water and had a moment.

Here he was in the middle of nowhere, with friends at every turn, excitement untold and
now natural peaceful beauty to bathe in as if in the richest of spa resorts. This was living!! He
stepped into the clear cold water and lathered himself. When he was satisfied, he stepped into the
falling water. It rushed over his body sending chills and serenely cleansing him of all dirt and
soap. Half an hour later, he reluctantly walked back toward the grassy hill to rejoin the group at
the van. He tried to tell them of the waterfall, but they were all so busy packing the van. It
seemed they had met someone here who had a motel to share and Mark was anxious to be off to
it having a sore back from the night before.

They boarded the bus, and with Carey giving directions from the shotgun seat half an
hour later entered a small Red Roof Inn. The digicom bleeped on and off as frustrated, she
relayed the directions to the obviously fatigued Mark.

I cant wait. Im too fucking tired He piped up.

They pulled in to the parking lot, and immediately Mark turned to Troy. Hey I need as
much gas as you can give, plus ten for the motel.

How about twenty gas? That enough?

Mark smiled at the offer which was in Troys unrealistic fog way too much and said thatll be

fine.

He handed over the cash and helped mark to follow the five others into a small room with
two queen size beds and a table. There was a new member to the group who was in their room.
He had been met at the motel by one of the kids, and had agreed to share reservations with them.
He would share the one bed. The other would be shared by Carey and Jim, Onyx, Star, and Troy
taking the floor.

An hour later they lay in silence. The TV was on low, and Troy was watching a for the
first time ever a cartoon called South Park. Around four in the afternoon he fell asleep to the
droning television and the heavy breath of his bus crew. He would not awake until the following
morning.

The clock on the nightstand between the rooms two bed read nine oclock. Mark was
missing, but the others were still asleep in the beds. Troy went outside to smoke his morning
cigarette. Walking on to the second floor veranda, he saw Mark bending over the driver side
interior seat of the van, throwing trash into a trash bag.

Hey, Troy, give me a hand?!

Troy was impressed by Mark, realizing how much of a father role he played in taking the
driver role of the group. The tape deck announced Tell you about that driver that lives inside my
head. He starts me up and stops me, and puts me into bed

Sure did. Troy assisted Mark for the next half hour in detailing the van which had just
come across the country going east and was now headed back. It was filthy. Mark opened up to
him Im sorry but I dont think we are going to be able to take you any further. Carey is
complaining, and you can see we have limited space.

The look on his face was that of sincere worry and regret at having to make this choice.
Troy felt sorry for him. He had made his bed, and he would have to lie in it.

Thats FINE, he reassured Mark wiping the dust from the console cup holder in the
passenger seat Thank you for getting me to THIS show!!

Mark smiled at him a genuine smile of relief You are going to do fine, kid. You have

respect. These guys are lazy, look at me! Im cleaning this damn bitch all by myself. Someone

will give you a ride.

Thanks.

It was a bright summer morning and the parking lot was half empty an hour before the
groups checkout time of eleven oclock. According to Mark the show was about an hour and a
half from here yet. He had said that they needed only to stop at the grocery store and get the
makings for veggie bean burritos to sell.
 Troy would put the rest of his money in with the others and they would make a group
effort to turn over the money for the next show. Carey had tickets she had traded for with one of
the kids at

Dennys and would be going in to the show. The new guy they had met at the motel had tickets
as well. Troy watched in dismay as Star traded an eighth of pot he had gotten somewhere the
night prior for a ticket. It looked as though Troy and Mark were going to be holding up their own
end of things outside in the lot again.

The group from his room and another group from one of the other rooms formed outside
near the parked cars. Dan had brought a few different drums and congas to sell at the show. He
made them with woven hemp wraps for straps and stretching tight leather skins over their earthy
wooden exteriors. A small drum circle session worked for about a half an hour while they got
situated in their respective vehicles for the trip to the show.

The grocery store was a short stop about five blocks down the road, and they were off to
the show. The arena turned out to have a dirt parking lot set away from it on an embankment that
faced its side entrances. The gates and general admission crowd was visible standing at the edge
of the lot on shakedown. It seemed to be a lot more relaxed than Camden had been, and there
were a lot more drug dealers.

Mark parked on the southwest end of shakedown only one row from the center of activity
and immediately began to make the burritos from plastic containers he set up in an assembly line
from just inside the sliding bus door. Carey and Jim, Star and Onyx almost immediately took off.
Mark made a deal with Troy to put together the veggie wraps if he would sell them. They would
have about a hundred of them total. Troy agreed.

Go ahead and take a walk, check it out! Theyll be ready in about half an hour, he said
licking his fingers of refried bean substance that had spilled.

One quick survey of the lot showed that it was a younger crowd with a lot less elders than
had been at Camden. He wondered where they had all gone when the lights went out the night
previous. Shakedown was three times longer than at Camden, however stretching about a
thousand feet. There were a lot more food vendors, and Troy worried about being able to
compete with them. He decided to seek employment with one of the competitors. The old saying
if you cant beat em, join em came to mind.

On the corner where the path lead to the front gates of the arena was a stand that was
made up of a square of about eight tables around behind which was parked a box truck. The
owner and several other dread locked kids were unloading everything from cases of soda and
veggies to whole pizza ovens. Troy watched from a distance for about five minutes, and then
made his move. He walked up to the middle eastern man who seemed to be barking orders to the
workers. He extended a hand to the man, saying simply Troy.
 The man immediately looked at him said simply pick up that case and move it over here,
will you with a scowl on his face.

Troy immediately did so. The man then turned and shook his hand. Russo. He replied.

Russo, good to meet you

Yeah, yeah, yeah, am busy! What you want?! the man barked rudely.

I am broke and need work, was wondering if you might have the need for help.

Without hesitation Russo replied, Yeah. Pay you five dollars an hour. Pick up

that case and bring it here.

Troy was startled at just how sharp, commanding and rude the man had been, but once
again he followed directions. This barking of orders and shuffling of goods continued for about
half an hour when one of the group of dready kids standing on the corner walked up to him.

Dont fucking listen to Russo, hell fucking screw you over. Hes a Prick. A real

grade A asshole.

Really? Troy responded, a quizzical half believing blank stare crossing his face.

Yeah.

That decided Troy on the rude man. He acted with the exact same sharpness with which
he had been treated. He walked over to Russo and told him he was leaving that he had business
to attend to. Russo grinned and replied Yeah, yeah, I owe you five dollars. Come see me later.
Move! and he brushed past with a box of pizza ingredients.

Troy spat on the ground and walked back into the relieving atmosphere of the bustling
shakedown. He walked past the van once to see what was on the southwest end of the lot. It
seemed that a lot of stores had set up head shops on that end with everything from counterfeit
Oakleys to Guatemalan handbags. The air everywhere was thick with the rich smell of
patchouli, sandalwood and spots of sage. Finally done window shopping, Troy returned to the
van.

Sell these, and when youre done, you can keep twenty bucks for yourself. Two bucks a wrap.

Feed the hungry kids. He instructed handing over forty wraps in a baggy.

No problem. Troy replied condition grounded, but determined to try. He saw Carey out
of the corner of his eye exchanging hugs with their neighbors. He was jealous, and this was
going to be a long night without tickets again. Though he began selling them up and down
working incredibly hard at his pitch, by eight o clock nightfall was approaching and he still had
twenty wraps in the bag.

Troy was hungry, and stopped and spent ten of the forty he had made on soda and two
slices of pizza. Finishing these, he turned back toward the direction of the van. The drug boys
boom box man was blaring from his shoulder rap in this direction and on the corner was a rare
sight of the seediest of the dealers all gathered on one corner. Troy guessed they were worth a
hundred thousand easy this night alone. As he passed them he heard one yell out SIX UP!!

Even so, a kid from a few feet across waved to Troy to get his attention. He
held in his hand an eye drops bottle, the common way to carry liquid LSD.

Give ya a double puddle for four wraps! he said to Troy Its great stuff. Okay!
Troy said without hesitation.

The top of the eye drops bottle came off in less than a second and the kids grabbed Troys
hand, holding it palm up and open toward him. Into it he squeezed a small quarter sized amount
of purple liquid.

Eat up!! the kid demanded.

Troy held his wet palm up to his mouth and licked off the liquid acid. It tasted sharp and
bitter, and he immediately had butterflies in his stomach. Awkwardly now, he dipped his hand
into the bag to retrieve the veggie bean burritos. He counted them into the kids outstretched
palm.

On, two, three, FOUR!

They shook hands and as Troy walked away the kid yelled Have a good show!!!

Troy yelled back with verve Have a good show!! WooooooHoooo!.

A moment later, the question of his profit arose in Troys mind. He had thirty of the sixty
bucks that Mark expected, fifteen wraps and he was now getting on and extremely hungry
again. Fuck it! he thought, gotta eat and stopped at a vendor to order two more slices of
pizza and a soda.

Twenty bucks now.

The acid began to take effect, and Troy simply walked back and forth with across the lot
with the bag hanging from his wrist. People everywhere were gathered and talking and he joined
them in groups here and there enjoying tales of other shows and such. He amused himself by
watching a group of pink robed Hare Krishnas handing out pamphlets for a little while. He was
starting to relax, he could feel the drug beginning to take its full effect by the time the show let
out a few hours later. It had taken its time, but was quickly gaining in intensity.

Somewhere around eleven thirty he stood in a daze near Russos stand, who had blown
him off completely as he had been warned. A group of dreadlocked tour kids hung around the
front of the stand which he now noticed was only a row toward the arena from the Hare
Krishnas Winnebago. They were getting rowdy, and for some reason Troy had the feeling this
night of partying was going to be far different from the others.

Suddenly out of the dark, approached Mark. He had not seen him all night. He
immediately gave him a hug.

Hey , kid. Been looking all over for you! Thought you got into the show! Did
you?

Naah.. Im tripping man.

Mark looked concerned and said You shouldnt do that shit.

Troy was surprised at the response.

Did you get the wraps sold?

He tugged at the bag with the remaining wraps Troy had hanging from his wrist.

Taking the bag, he opened it and peeked inside, then began to count them. Troy felt like a little
kid being caught stealing from the cookie jar.

Yeah, man I had a hard time selling them. He proceeded to hand over the thirty bucks
he had to the furry figures outstretched paw.

Aww man, we needed to make FIFTY!

Surprisingly he did not look angry, just disappointed. Troy was embarrassed and turned bright

red. Mark then surprised him and gave him a compassionate hug.

Thats ok. He said as almost an aside. He had the equivalent to fifty in his hand.

We cant take you any further, kid Im sorry. Im sure youll find a ride. He then gave
Troy one last long hug of goodbye and left off toward the van saying Ill see you at the next
show! Get a ride!

Getting a ride turned out to be as hard as it had been in Camden, and he was a bit more
panicked due to the acid taking hold of his thought. Car systems blared as they lined up in rows
moving five miles an hour to exit the dirt parking lot. Their headlights confused and blinded him
as he walked around thumb outstretched toward the gate. He even asked one of the Hare
Krishnas for a ride. No, sorry he had said and simply closed the door of the camper.

After this, he decided to go back to his Camden plan, get off lot first, and then thumb it.
He had no more turned to walk this direction when the passenger door of a Saab flew open and
nearly hit him. An incredibly cute brown haired girl leaned over the passenger seat from the
drivers and asked Hey, you need a ride to camp?

This girl was smoking hot. He hopped in the car and shut the door, remembering how
long it had been since he had gotten laid. Wow, what a break.

Im Liz, she introduced herself, shaking his hand with a delicate pause. I saw you a
ways back and figured you were headed for camp. Im glad you decided to come with me.

Me too.

They crossed the ten foot high gated entrance boundary and he saw directly across the
road something he had missed on the way in. It was a sign for a campground. What a break. The
headlights and taillights of the cars in front of them seemed to swell and sway, open and close in
their stop and go traffic. It was a light show to his acid puddle eyes. The stars began to connect
in webs, what few he could see through the windshield and he noticed he had a hard on. The girl
drove them across the road directly into a hundred car line for the gates of the campground.
They rounded the right handed curve in the road, and Troy saw what appeared to be a pay booth
with a guard issuing passes to enter.

As they approached the booth, Troys hopes were dashed of getting any action with this
girl. She spoke up. I dont know if you are here with somebody else or what, but if you are in
the car, they are going to make me pay for both. So if you are here with others, I guess you
should get out and walk.

Two things entered his mind. He had no money with which to hunt this fresh game, and
he did have to get in. He immediately made up his mind.

Ok, thanks! he said and practically leaped from the passenger side and walked to the
right of the line cars. The sound of hundreds of drums beating in mixing rhythm filled the air
from what seemed to be a short expanse of woods ahead. His heart began to beat rapidly as the
air filled with swirling masses of color brought on by the increasing loudness of the drums.

He began to run for the woods, running free toward sound the size of the concert that
night itself. He saw dozens of blazing bonfires like the eyes of giant spirits staring back him
through the dense shrubbery. He ran faster and faster, and began yelling at the top of his lungs,
ignoring the bushes and tree limbs scratching at him. He just kept echoing the awesome sound
of the dancers cries all over the hill of bonfires toward which he sped. The cries were varied;
many and it all seemed so ecstatic, so wild.
 Troy had been transported in time to some sort of surreal tribe of gypsies all gathered
together in fire and drum, smoke and spirit, dance and shouts, singing and celebrating the glory
of the twisting spiral stars and the full moon hanging blood red and immense low on the horizon
of the

hill.

He passed through the forest and there they were, campfires stretching off into the
distance up a series of hills that seemed to amount to a mountain as far as his eye could see.

A man seated by the fire nearest to the thicket from which he emerged must have heard
him coming and appreciated his spirit. He stood now, and beating his chest began to scream at
the top of his lungs.

WOOOOOOOOOOYEEE!!!WoooHoooo!

Troy broke to a slow trot and was filled with adrenaline. His trip had begun its peak. The
throbbing of the drumbeat was an endless series off bass beats and loops, opposing rhythms and
answers from various sites. Suddenly the chemicals coursing his veins seemed no more than the
natural state. The skyline was a horizon of conical flaming bonfires dotting his upward climb like
the stars that seemed to circle and dance around the bloody lunar splotch in a pastel sky.

Ahead and above, there seemed to be a central point to all of this wonderful madness. It
glowed with wisdom, with ancient knowledge that these ways had survived through our modern
time to now, that they held power and meaning beyond what centuries of scholars could ever
describe. We were the beat, the rhythm of the universe ever so small and receiving the wisdom of
the gods in our subconscious ancestral genes. These nights brought forth that raw power. Troy
walked on up the hill in a daze. Finally he saw the center of the organized chaos. It was a band
equipment truck from which had come these dozens of instruments. Fifty strong stood in a circle
behind the truck, talking in their rhythmic pounding.

Troy stood for what seemed hours, his heart pounding with them when it intensified,
lulling into still Zen quietness as they echoed talking round the circle. It seemed often the
children in the group were the ones to send forth a new rhythm. In their innocence they would
play something original, something somehow missing from the dozens of beats already going on,
and a wave would pass through all of us as the new rhythm spread and was interpreted.

Over the next few hours, Troy wandered from sleepy campfire to sleepy campfire when
the sky cracked open and began to turn pink. He started toward the east, the top of this hill built
on hill campground. For ten minutes he climbed past endless sights, until finally he reached the
plateau that was the highest point. There was literally no pun in this as he realized all around him
was a constant whoosh. In the corner of the hill was a tent with lights and strobes, dancer
gathered around obviously all on e. The nitrous tanks were everywhere, and all that could be
heard over the music was a loud

whooshing as if some hundred foot tire was going flat all over the campground. Dozens of
balloons were in sight in the hands of partiers. Coolers of beer were strewn everywhere, and
there were dozens of loaded guys and girls. This was definitely the high point of the camp.

Troy walked to the peak of the hill, and watched the sky. To his hallucinating eyes it was
a shower of comets among interconnected spider webs amongst the vanishing stars. The dancers
and he were being eaten by the god that was the sun, revealing the redness it had given the moon
in its nighttime law laying gravitational light source. The redness seemed like a sea of spilled ink
creeping down through crazy fingers, splintered sunlight renewing and creating all of them on
that high plane in its life giving light.

It seemed to Troy he could hear in his head the somber tune of a flute calling him to
descend the mountainous height. He did so, finding that the embankment on the other side was
hundreds more campers all sleeping in their tents now along its gradual grade.

He reached the bottom of the hill and began to feel somewhat panicked. The high did not
seem to be relenting, and his eyes were pasted open to swimming colors and abnormal thoughts
of which he could not make sense, and yet was no longer numb enough to escape the pain of his
hemorrhaging brain.

He remembered his Buddhist studies, and now concerned for the state he was in decided
for the betterment of his panic to sit and still himself at the pond by the road which led out of this
camp. An inner eye relaxed to seeing the drama realizing, yet remaining separate from it all. His
inner voice began the experience.

From out of the looming dream of the night before I remembered the spiral darkness of
stars coming through my thought. You are, all of you, inside what could not be but was now part
of everything but my own thought. The thought of this blanketed open the sky of a pond whose
reflected interior had turned from ripples and fish to the skyline of New York City now in ruins
over the ages as a European city that had reacted favorably only to decay.

This was a wavelength, a band of rotted evolution. The people were there still and the
same wavelength from which we had always emanated. I died in my mind and hoped the next
second be reborn knowing it was me. Me who had not just created the moment, created it from
the minds of the passersby behind me. They were honking the horn at my fresh adolescent
scream knowing that I would need a ride off of the lot. As yet I had no way to go there. I seemed
to think from other peoples minds. Minds that probably had not been transported with me into
this strange world. I was on a small dirt path in the middle of a herd of animals who called
myself human.
 The car stopped, not the one I had been driving the day next door to the minutes in the
city in the pond , but another. The minute they stopped I had stopped turning my head to look at
them for fear of seeming sinister. I was good and alone in this world and I had no immediate
control over my desires. I realized that a few hours had passed during which they could no longer
be the same people, strange people who seemed to know me like the family we were as they
laughed.

They had suddenly disappeared several times into the distance in my sight via

the car that never was there but just the dirt road.

"I need a ride," Troy thought.

It was the ride from one temple I remembered, this ride. The Hare Krishnas in my mind
felt naked in their chemical absence yet had some strange need. They were here too. This was
thirst and hunger, no maybe the need to defecate then pee all over the warm substance that
jellylike slid over my body. It was like a warm egg yolk erupted, its goo all over me lulling me
into a lapse of sight that bolted me upright with a flash of pure white light.

I was only internalizing to spring up from the lotus I had been born into the
moment I had sat down in the night before.

The pond released Troy, and he sensed a car passing him on the road. His tired mind
wondered nonsensically if it were the same people he had seen leave his sight a few
observations ago. He realized he was almost down now from the drug, and that he would need
sleep.

Across from him on the dirt road leading alongside the pond a kid of High School age
came practically skipping toward him. He stopped to pick a flower, and then approached Troy.

Do you need a ride? he asked.

Yeah, I do. Troy said in a very tired drone.

Im ChrisFollow me! the kid smiled the brightest of Cheshire grins and began
literally this time skipping off in front of him. They began to make their way up the hill Troy
now saw was clearing almost entirely of campers. He must have blacked out at the pond. The
thought of death crossed his mind, and he felt weak again.

The girl Chris was talking to nearby and nearly shoving the flower at turned to a guy
in the group who pointed directly at him. They both nodded their heads, and Troy realized
Chris was asking for him to get a ride. He approached him and said

What did you ask them?

For a ride for you. I told them I have one and they said no. Selfish pricks.

The audacity of his comment even being directed toward the betterment of his
situation struck Troy numb. There was something about Chris though that was a glowing
reminder to him of how naively reliant on a higher force to intervene he had been in Camden,
how in blind faith it somehow worked.

Sure enough, the next couple they came on said they were headed to Deer Creek

in Indiana, where they would camp out for the entire week of shows. They took Troy on board
into their pickup truck. Never was he so relieved in his life. What a night!

He waved to Chris as he skipped off into the distance, leaving this new girl friend of
Troys with the flower. Seated between the homely looking brown haired girl and her volunteer
fireman husband, he soon succumbed to his exhaustion.

He was vaguely aware that the girl found him attractive and wished to talk to him on the
trip; however he passed out for almost the entire trip anyhow.

The following week of shows were being held at Deer Creek Music Center in
Noblesville, Indiana. Deer creek was a large property which included acres of land to camp on.
The property was in the middle of farm country, and surrounded on all sides by cornfields.

As they arrived, Troy woke to two strange faces and a pangs of hunger the likes of which
he could not remember. The girl on his right was shaking him to waking very lightly, and
announced to him that they had arrived.

Your welcome to hang out and have lunch with us, there is plenty of food.

It was just the news he had needed. The campground they were pulling into was huge,
even larger he thought than the one from which they had just come. The guard at the gates told
him they had better dig into get a spot, as they were expecting about four thousand plus to be
camping here this week.

Josh, the guy driving the truck looked annoyed at Troys presence. Josh said to him in an
almost mockingly backwoods drawl dont yall mind ma wife now, yhear. She be jibing about
dis and that awl the goddamn fool time.

They were country folk, for sure. Country folk Troy decided to hang onto for all they
were worth on getting him a new spot in this campground.

They set up tents with what seemed to be a group of friends they had planned to meet. Troy
could never be sure, though. Amongst the new campers he was meeting while having a ham and
turkey sandwiches with fresh lettuce and chips was a kind of plain girl with long brown hair who
seemed to be all about having Troy in her tent.

Please, share my tent with me, I will be here every night, I have got room for ten in that
thang.

She seemed to be trying to flirt with him at the same time, and he couldnt help but laugh.
Room for ten, huh? Obviously Indiana folk also, and damned kindly they were. Here in a place
where they left daylight savings alone for the cows.

Troy learned that there would be two days of Phish Lesh and Bob Dylan before

Phish arrived on the scene to play three more shows. It was going to be almost a full week there.

In the distance a campers stereo blasted music Lately it occurs to me, what a long
strange trip its been... their neighbors began shouting and a set of bottle rockets went screaming
into the sky, banging to a halt in the midday sun.

Troy had gone for a walk into the nearby woods to explore after lunch. He intended to
gather some firewood for the night to prove his usefulness to his fellow campers. It was a
peaceful walk about the forest, and he found on the other side lay a pond where a fishing hippy
told him you could fish if you had bought a pass to. He started on his way back with an armful of
kindling roughly an hour

later.

He was met on the way out on a trail that ran beside the woods. A security officer asked
him if he knew he was trespassing. He asked what number camp he was on. Troy was forced to
leave the kindling and climb on board the golf cart beside the man. He drove them to the
campsite where Troys friends had been. There he asked a blank faced crowd if he indeed was
camping there.

No one amongst them was willing to give him the information, Troy guessed fearing he
done something really illegal. The security guard informed Troy he would have to escort him off
of the grounds. He drove him to the front gates. There he told him that he would have to leave
him, and not to be caught in the woods again.

Another guard at the gates walked to Troy and told him there was nothing stopping him
from walking back onto the grounds. What a senseless ride! He had been thrown out of the
grounds to be told that he could now walk back into them. When he reached the truck where Josh
and his wife were, he found them packing to move the truck down to shakedown for the show.
They had tickets, however were going to tailgate and try to sell some sodas beforehand.
 Moments later Troy was seated on the back of the truck Indian style, watching the
concertgoers pass by. He stayed there in silent meditation until the gates were about to open. His
fellow campers asked him if he could watch their truck while they were in the show. He said he
could, and they were off, leaving him seated on the tailgate.

A girl dressed in full fairy costume came skipping down the mile long trail that was
shakedown toward him. She stopped by Troy, and stopped to give him a kiss, share some of the
glitter that covered her whole body. She was cute, and Troy did not resist. She leaned over to him
and kissed his cheek, as she did so pulling the wand from the bubble jar hat was hanging from
her neck. But rather than blowing bubbles, she put the wet stick on his forehead, leaving several
dribbles of liquid there before winking at him and floating away.

An hour later it was clear that he had been acid dripped on him by the fairy. The shouts
of his neighbors selling their beer began to echo in the hollow of his mind. Icy cold Sammy
Smiths! Icy cold New Castle!! It was as if suddenly there were five of him. The inner space of
his head began to swim as he lost his equilibrium.

He wandered around the campground and found that shakedown here wound through several

dirt paths.

It was more like a town carnival, with hundreds of actual stores represented. He was profoundly

happy and at peace with the next few hours just exploring the little community of shops. He
stopped here and there to meet the owners, talk to other campers. He saw Chris doing the same
all over the camp. Each time he passed by, Chris seemed to have something new on... a bag,
stickers, a necklace. As he wandered past with an airy expression on his face, he flashed a peace
sign with one hand. The next time he passed he was holding a five inch long nugget of marijuana
asking for a ticket trade. Troy had seen several other people working trades with nuggets, pot
was as good as gold in this little village.

Troy walked north west down shakedown towards the concert venue. As he grew closer
to the venue, food vendors became more and more frequent. The path grew wider and individuals
selling beer and things were on this end doing their trade closer to the music. You could hear the
show as if you were inside at the end of the path. There at the end of the path was a lawn section
sized expanse of grass leading up to the ticket takers for the outdoor arena. People were camped
out all over this outside of the arena lawn, listening to the music just as loud as it would have
been from a general admission seat. The difference was not being able to see the stage.

Hours seemed to pass like minutes as he explored all of the avenues the circus had
brought to town. At the end of the show, the crowd could be heard roaring over the village.
Thousands of people who wanted an encore, thousands of people who even after the encore
would flood into the camp to party more. Moments later the crowd let out. As the stream of
people coursed onto the arena gate lawn, a walking drum circle broke out. The drummers were
leading the way into the first night of camp to the crowd breaking lose from Phil and Dylan.

It was incredible, and soon Troy was entirely relaxed. The world was spinning and
sucking him in with hopes and dreams beyond compare. He followed the crowd of hundreds into
the camp, and stood on the outskirts where the circle would beat on well into the early morning.
Fireworks were going off everywhere, this continuing as well into the early morning hours. It
was a tribal reunion, and Troy wished never to leave these people, this lifestyle. This was home
for all he had ever expected it to be.

Late in the night, he grew dim and so walked back to the tent offered to him the day
before by the girl. He climbed inside and found it empty. When he woke in the morning it was
still just him.

On the corner of the campgrounds where the cornfields began there was a breakfast he
saw, emerging from his tent. The campers had a huge awning stretched out with a table of fresh
coffee, tea, fruits, breads and pastries set out. He heard a girl chime out to passing campers
come on over, make yourself at home, have some breakfast!

Troy did just that. After breakfast, he went to the shower area and washed up, brushed his teeth.

Returning to the tent, the girl was there.

Hi! How was your show?

Great! Yours?

Great! Did you get in?

No, I didnt have a ticket.

The girl looked puzzled for a moment and then said Well, come on, you gotta get
yourself inside tonight, you hear? as if it were as easy as done.

See you later.

Throughout the rest of the day, Troy visited as many camps as he could. Eating, drinking,
talking and hanging around in the beautiful sunny summer day until the dusk came and the show
was on. This night he resolved to try for a ticket. For several hours he walked all over with one
finger pointing toward the sky, but to no avail he did not get in.

Before the show was over, he was already very tired from being very drunk in the
afternoon and once again retired to the girls tent. Once again, he spent the night with a ten man
tent to himself.
 When the morning came, he returned to where they had been having a buffet breakfast
the day prior, and found that the spread was an open bar. He began to drink. Shortly before noon
he blacked out. Later on that evening he crawled into the tent again, this time to find another guy
passed out in there on the right half of the tent. He took the left, and passed out.

When he came to it was evening already. The girl whose tent it was stood outside
putting on fresh clothing.

We thought you was dead!

I am. He replied.

She laughed and told him that she was glad he was feeling better.

Troy walked on, still in a haze. He no more than reached the next row
of tents when someone walked up to him and shoved a five strip of blotter acid
into his hand.

The man was swaying from drunkenness and said here.

Troy smiled to himself about complaining of not being awake, and popped the acid
directly into his mouth thinking of Keyes quote For Gods Sake, Wake...

Troy walked down shakedown, faces looming at him from the crowd here and there. The
world looked like a house of mirrors; everyone was stretched or distorted in one way or another.
The lights from the camp seemed as bright as the sun and the incense smoke like a house fire. A
crowd of thousands roared, and he was led to think of Hunters disposition towards the tale of
David. He followed a vibe of Dead intuition towards the arena gate lawn. He hear the jam and
danced.

The set was incredible. My Minds Got a Mind of Its Own into Split Open and Melt
during which he did.

Sparkle relieved his pain and he danced off down shakedown during Funky

Bitch.

Some kids there fed his munchies with ganga goo, tortillas and lemonade.

When he returned the second set was just getting underway. Troy danced the entire set through,

the first he gotten to hear of the tour, and it was the perfect set in a perfect world. When he
danced he saw himself looking like Shiva, many arms flailing all over. Gotta Jiboo, left him at
ease with his day long party then eased him into Sand, Twist, and Fee which felt like his very
story being played. Whats the Use led to Limb By Limb by this time he WAS Shiva wildly
peaking with the trip. The encore finish of Run Like an Antelope left him hooting the whole way
down the path to another drum filled night. One last time he went to the tent, and this time found
not only the tent empty, but the sisters belongings gone. He wondered drearily if she had found a
guy to bunk with elsewhere. He soon worried no longer, and fell into a long dream filled sleep.

The following morning brought about more beer drinking at an all night rave which he
found still going on under one of the nearby tents in the morning. He soon drank himself to a
blackout again. The afternoon passed, he regained consciousness. It was dark and he was on the
lawn listening to Phish again. He must not have gotten a ticket again, he was outside. But once
again, he realized he had somehow acquired acid and was getting on. This time he was almost
disappointed. Unsure if he could get on, as he would have had to ingested at least ten hits of high
grade to be on, he doubted this would be a good night. On his way to its peak he fell in and out
of awareness sitting on the grass. Then his inner eye awoke, and he found that spot from which
his inner voice was but only an observer.

In the night the lizards had come out as us and them. The tall man who blew glass for
the estranged bearded one who was all alone. He was with them as they told him and me every
few minutes or so, chuckling with a look of recognition that made them seem cold and mocking.
They adjusted themselves into an absence of righteousness that breathed the air. Air that a
policeman would breathe as the security guard did now on the back of my neck in his striped
pants swishing. He was turning back around and going toward the campground I maybe had slept
in not so long before. I had noticed he was going to put me in handcuffs. He thought I knew, but
didnt turn away in my mind for the next few minutes. I was now again interrupted by the
wizardly old man blowing glass straight toward me with a grin. It appeared he was shushing me
with flame leaping from the hot liquid substance near his lips. The bearded boy was falling over
in his tallness as he had stood up, and the old mans sparks blew at him from the dragon like
beard. The beard consumed his childs play shushing, transforming it into an elder wizardly sight
of wisdom. His lips still and thin held the same silly grin in the still airy night that fondled the
cornfield to my right. My rights, my rights, my rights.

The didgeridoo man had sung once and the crowd in front of me had fallen back into the
tired slumber as if his playing had been for hours. It seemed there had been hours this minute and
there they lay asleep in the night. The clouds came as if in time lapse photography and they
rained on us. It was all in good fun for the dancing man with the didgeridoo who played around
the sleepy campfire, seemingly unfazed by the cold rain falling from the open sky. He was next
to their tents and the smoldering campfire and they were all dead it seemed. Maybe that was just
me. They could be the next ones whom I would never know to have been. The thought panicked
me as if I had fallen into a place where only the man with the didgeridoo could exist. His deep
emanating hum played in the silence of the old man with fire from his lips who now sat silently
laughing and pointing at his own slumber. This was of itself an illusion, a deep truthful illusion. I
had the thought as he had been standing the moment before behind the circle of people. These
campfire strangers were parked next door to his glass Winnebago. They were all now suddenly
gone before my eyes. The man too was gone and there I was alone in front of a campfire which
had long before been out, smoldering in the twig light of the sun which was now waking me.

A man behind me who asked me if I was alright as he stumbled

toward a tent and crashed for the remainder of the day into an eternal morning
of headache that engulfed my vision.

I saw a woman carrying food and chips with saltiness that swaggered her staring
back at my enveloped eyes. Eyes which said she mistrusted the me that was sitting there for a
period that I knew could only be right now. The same different now as minutes before in the
moving clock face. I had to find a way to desist in this sight, bow out right now. I had the
visions of ram das in my mind and how he said it was in the chopping wood and carrying
water. The highness was found in the peaceful simple ness. For them and for me I separated
us for the first time in days. Yes, indeed it was in the simple ness of being that we would find
the place like in Einsteins dreams of relativity. In differentiating mirror wisdom that would
feel like the time removal. That place in the dreams closer to the truth of loving you. It got
slower, the illusion of time it got, until finally the time stopped and became a drag to the
senses in which the eventual collapse of your time existence would collapse in

itself.

I got up and found that the morning was now in fact a bustling of people surrounding a
nearby outdoor wooden open air camp shower. There people were taking there morning waking
showers. They looked so sober and happy, many of them.

I remembered I was not. I needed to find a place to eat. I passed through this temporary
village of tents many times. They were strewn as they had been put up with just enough space to
allow for the strident walkers of the morning to do their trade. The money which now my
stomach pined for the eating of its insides knowing ghostly papyrus could not suffice. In the
thought I died and felt the slimy shmegma of the reality check in me realize that some here had
actually. How in fact did I know that I was actually alive in this world in front of me? This
headache would not stop. I could not stop.

From the corner of my adolescent memory I had remembered my father, of the ripped
pain torn in my mother out there thinking of me. I stepped lightly forward now to find relief and
her hope of my survival, her job a thousand miles away.

A group of men stood toward the left side of the path leading to the
concert arena where the band had played for their ego drowning knights of the
audience.

The concert arena left an air of mass awareness, lent itself to hope of success for me. It hosted
the others... the entities known simply as Bob and Phil. Their names seemed to fill me with rights
to this land and my right to trespass anywhere. Wherever you go you had better be beware
because you can trespass anywhere. The muse formed on the tip of my tongue. Mouth curling
into a self marring Cheshire cat grin it came out leaving me grinning and making the stupid grin
so wide I thought I saw the gleam from my teeth light up. It reminded me of the wooden Te
Statue I had seen, the grinning china man with whale like teeth that seemed to strain golgi
apparatus from the air as he sucked

it in.

The man in front of the stand by the truck where they had been loading equipment it
seemed. In front of it one man was cooking. He looked up and nodded recognition and said hey
you need some breakfast?"

Troy quickly nodded and awkwardly said "Yes".

He had left the front of the pan and Troy now knew that it was just the high that had taken
Troy there just the high, not the low. He handed Troy a large five gallon plastic container and
asked him to go get it filled with water.

I took it without questioning and did the deed of dragging my weary carcass back the
direction of the showers about a city block away through the little tribal village. It had to weigh
practically nothing I thought as my mind filled it gushing cold water. As I approached the shower
a young man of about my age sneered toward my patchwork pants which I had not worn yet. The
ones I wasnt wearing for him were nice and my legs were cold and that the cold water would be
bitter, but such was my physical payment.

The night before I did the deed of lighting the match next door to the man who would
now smoke my cigarette for me. I shook off the disillusioned thinking and I sneered past the
cigarette I so desperately now consumed from his lips in my inner eye. I approached the shower
further and he stepped directly into my path, making me aware of how large and short he was in
a muscular frame. He sighed and said, hey man... You a camper here?

I said "yeahh...uhh no, some guys asked me if I wanted breakfast and I..."

"and you need water right, yeah, man you gotta pay for it but I wont tell no one if
your are where you are. You may as well just go on down over there to the water faucet
with the Mexicans and give her a fill.

The thought of the working Mexican water hole made me smile. His simplistic
approach I guess was the smile now transforming his sneering character into that of someone
else. Probably the someone he was talking to now over the water. Me. Damn I needed food. He
pointed to a faucet flowing from a well tap fifty feet behind where the water for the shower was
splashing. A sexy blondes shapely rear-end I hoped would come into full view as she adjusted
her naked breast back into the bikini top as I walked past. The t- shirt nestled what I imagined
were pretty firm breasts as she looked at a young dark Italian I assumed was her beaux. He gave
me a look that said he wouldnt care if I did what the dick in my shorts was turning to do. Fill
the water and wash my ass.

I blushed in the purity of my poverty and found myself in line to fill the water pail. It
was cold and heavy as I carried it back I noticed something else. It was heavy as shit, I mean as
hell. If I could get it back. I could ask for help the smiles of people around me said but I would
not ask. False pride and hidden behaviors overwhelmed me. It would figure its way into the way
into the way. I felt the jeering disapproval as I dragged it back into the site of the man who had
originally asked for me to fill the pail. He freshly stick out his hand and seemed more rigid than a
steel pipe. A pipe dream that was now going to remove the pail from me.

"You should have asked for help"

I felt stupid, and then realized that I did not know "from who?"

"Look around, brother, people, people..."

He extended the cold hand and I shook backward as the hand came so deftly

through time toward me in its caring and gentle arc it could not have been unkind. The hand
instead gave an instant tug upward on the bucket and on it went in behind the four tables now
lined up as a store front in front of the groups van. It was now open and revealing several large
open coolers that were filled with ice and vegetables.

The man who had been cooking looked up at me and said that I looked hungry from the
plate of eggs now fired up on his hibachi. I thought for a second he was going to shove it toward
me and I swayed in relief as he disappointingly to my selfish ego did not give me his own food.
He instead gave me some of the displayed food that seemed to be some kind of egg roll. "Here,
have a Jerry Roll. Good show?"

"Hes Dream," the man said.

From the backward sway of his voice I returned from inside my dreary lit plight of
midmorning sun. The shadowy figure turned toward me and said

"Hi, Dream" leaning forward from the lawn chair to introduce himself with an extended
hand. The sunlight that held his stick figure frame showed a grin that now stretched across his
face. It seemed to hold the secret of truth from my past night without pardon. I could not imagine
the wisdom of this elder.
 Troy spent the day with Larry and Dream and their crew. Larry told stories of how they
had toured for more than a quarter century with The Grateful Dead. They taught Troy how to
make Jerry Rolls and he was doing so all afternoon. Jerry Rolls were like egg rolls but five
times bigger.

Nighttime came, and he was having fun. Dream told him that nighttime business was a
blast. That night Troy stood at the front of the village eats shop, taking orders from dozens of
concertgoers, which he handed on to Larry to collect payment. They were quite the team, and
with every new customer, Larry made new conversation, or a new joke. He had a wonderful light
sense of humor and soon Troy found himself truly laughing away the night. By the time Larry
had the dollars and cents in his hand, the patron had a smile and Dream would hand then the
food. It was the healthiest time of

Troys whole tour thus far.

They worked late into the wee morning hours. Around four am they began to pack the
gear into the truck, and Troy realized he was going to need to find a ride once again. Larry said
they could not take him on board, however he paid him sixty dollars for his work the day
before. Troy was more than satisfied. Food, fun, and about six bucks an hour in all with the
breaks he had taken.

Troubled by the notion of finding a ride with someone to the next show, he wondered if
he could do so sober. It was decided, he might as well make an adventure of things. He strode
down the deconstructing shakedown until he found one of the hood dose dealers. He offered the
kid ten bucks for a puddle of liquid from an eye dropper. The kid filled Troys entire hand with
liquid LSD, probably between fifteen and twenty hits. Troy lifted his hand to his mouth and
consumed them.

The morning sunshine began to splinter and look likes hundreds of separate searchlights
shining through the sky to light the world in tiny patches here and there. He wondered if he
would step out of one of these rays and find himself in utter blackness of night.

Chaos consumed shakedown at the corner where he had bought the acid. People were
screaming and an ambulance whined to the spot, staying only a few seconds before returning its
siren to a scream and fleeing the scene. Cops were all over the area for the next half an hour, and
Troys mind raced as he walked through the camp.

Troy walked this way and that, trying to remember where he was going when he
realized he didnt know. Troy needed to go somewhere that did not yet exist. Destination
unknown, he laughed at the notion that he was lost. How could he be lost if he didnt know
where he was supposed to be? How was he going to find out who was going to give me a ride if
he didnt know them? If he didnt know them or where he was going then he must surely be in
the right place in order to meet them or he would never get anywhere. Of course he wasnt
getting anywhere now, as he was trying to leave where he was, and so couldnt really be there,
rather leaving.

It was all highly confusing, and Troy made his way down the far end of shakedown
towards the camp gates. There by the side of the trail a mint condition orange VW Westphalia
Camper Bus Was boarding its passengers. If this bus was boarding to leave, he might as well ask.
He walked up to the door.

Hey, need a ride! Can you take me for gas money?

The long blonde haired guy in the drivers seat smiled. Sure, Hop on in and
shut the door.

That was it, he was on board officially. Boy was he tripping hard too.

It turned out Troy was on a bus headed to Athens, Ohio. The driver of the bus
was in a jam band named Llhama something and they were playing a gig tonight.

A particularly good looking blonde was seated in the back seat with another guy who
had his arm around her. She introduced herself, followed by the rest of the bus. At one point
he was feeling like he was telepathically communicating with another VW Bus that passed,
remarked Boy am I tripping!

Troy immediately worried what they would all think, but everyone in the group just
started laugh really hard. It was a good natured kind of laugh, and suddenly felt good.

They pulled into their driveway a few hours later. It was some kind of a ski lodge, this
place! Evidently they shared this place, and also ran a head shop in town nearby. These were
kind people. On the inside, the house had a fifty foot ceiling with a spiral staircase leading to
the second floor and the bedrooms. Downstairs were a kitchen, and two sitting rooms. It was
nicely furnished and skylights lit the cheery cottage with a summer blue sky.

Troy asked to take a shower and they immediately obliged, showing off a downstairs
bathroom in which to change and shower. He climbed into the hot stream trunks and all, and took
what felt like the best shower of his life. An hour later, the driver kid who had playing a gig to go
to, invited Troy. He turned down the offer disappointed somewhat for passing up an opportunity.
He was even offering up one of his guitars with which to get up and jam onstage with the band if
he wanted. The acid habit was taking its toll on life.

The blonde said she was leaving later if Troy changed his mind. She pointed to a sun
room couch which he could use to crash, and he immediately did so. He slept the entire night,
through the next day and awoke two mornings after. They were happy to see him conscious,
remarking they had shaken him awake during the prior afternoon to see if he was dead. One
hand, Troy was embarrassed.
On the other it felt more justified at having missed their gig two nights prior.

Later in the afternoon he left with one of the kids from the house for Polaris
Amphitheatre in Columbus, Ohio. It was their second show there, he had slept through the first
the night. When they arrived on lot, the kid did the most unexpected kind thing. He turned to
Troy and handed him a two foot by three foot conga with a leather strap which he had made to
sell and told me I could have it. Maybe it would get me a better start. Then he handed over a
plastic case with a thick foam padded interior filled with crystals of different varieties. He said
Troy could sell as many of these as he could, if he would just meet him at some point and return
the case to. This was a feat which Troy never achieved, finding him, though he tried for hours at
the end of the night. They hugged their goodbyes and headed in separate directions.

This night Troy was reunited with Mark and Carey. Chris was there, and asked if he
wanted to hop the fence to see the show. Chris he later learned successfully snuck in. He found
two kids and traded the drum for two tickets. He traded a few more times until he had eaten and
had sixty bucks.

Then he bought a pair of triple thick bell bottom patchwork pants for forty dollars. This left him
with twenty dollars and a boxful of crystals.

Troy decided to hang around with some of the dready kids who he still had not talked to,

realizing they were beginning to recognize each other. It was amazing to see how thousands of

dollars worth of drugs were being changed hands all of the time for fractions of the cost at street

market value.

Troy had tapped the source.

Some time spent with a crystal dealer taught Troy some of the facts about his box of
rocks. All in all it was a fun filled night for the last summer tour date for Phish until September
in Albany. He lot echoed at one point with an amazing second set cover of The Beatles While
My Guitar Gently

Weeps.

The end of the night came and he once again needed a ride. The question was to
where? as there was no next show. There was fall tour in two months.

A few hours later, he was being haggled by a security officer who wanted to know who he
had come with. He said if Troy wasnt with someone he could leave with, Troy was trespassing
and he would be arrested. A tall dready kid stepped forward and quickly said Hes with me
shoving Troy into the back of his bus. He took over talking to the cop as he closed the doors.
Boy that was a fucking mess, he gave up as he sat down in the drivers seat.

You cant ride with us. He said sharply, but I think I know where we
can find you a ride. I recognized you from Deer Creek. Fucking Lot Security.
Tour is over kid, where ya headed? If I were you Id head west!

He dropped Troy off to his surprise with Chris and a group of four others who were
gathered around a van ready to board. They reluctantly agreed to take him on board and
introduced themselves. Carlos, Jim, Chris, curios George and Troy climbed in to the brown
luxury van to hit the road. There were two empty nitrous tanks in the back, and the van was
nonetheless crowded.

They next day they were stopped at a rest stop for a stretch when the next coincidence hit Troy.

The whole crew got at to stretch. Chris took a hat, and went off begging for spare change for gas.
He came back with over twenty bucks. George and Troy were talking, about ready to head out
again when somebody from outside the van said Joel, buddy how are you?

It was Andy, a member of the Ocean City Oxford House he had lived with years ago.
What a small world! Andy had always been a fun guy he thought, filled with stories of being one
of the original security crew at Studio Fifty Four back in the seventies. They talked for a short
while. Troy thought then perhaps he should have stopped tour, but soon the van door closed and
they were off again.

The next day the whole crew hopped the fence of an amusement park. They spent the day riding

roller coasters and other thrill rides. No one got caught in this thirty dollar per person all day rip-
off fiasco. The day following the kids drove George to his grandmothers house. There they had
lunch and said final goodbyes.

They slept a night in a motel. One member of the group got the key and checked in. Then
the other four would sneak in for the night. The next morning in line at McDonalds Jim and
Carlos announced their plans to head out for California and gave Chris and Troy a farewell
present of a tent. They were in Cleveland. Chris took the news unfazed. While saying goodbye,
he turned out the back door of the van to a man coming from the bank next to the restaurant and
asked Hey, mister? Help my friend and I get to California? Like magic, a twenty came wafting
in through the back door of the van.

Hey thanks!

Chris and Troy walked a while down the road. They talked to some old vets riding cross
country on bikes. They visited the hotel where the Military was holding Enlistment Procedures.
There was a free buffet at the bar, and a pool full of eighteen year old hotties. They got caught
with two of the hotties in their room, and the cops were called by management to throw them
out. Meanwhile they were served bag lunches on the way out the door.

An hour later they were off to Ann Arbor, Michigan via a station wagon we had hitched a ride

with. Chris said his sister went to the University of Michigan there. Once in Ann Arbor, Chris
and Troy floated all over town staying with various frats and party houses for the next month.
Life was fun, and they were partying for free every night. Summer Art Fair came, and Chris and
Troy made a small stand by the sidewalk to sell beaded charms. The town was full of heads. One
day Chris had lunch with a businessman who was setting up a porn website at a local caf.

After turning the man down, he decided it was time to get a job. The crystals were
gone, mostly as gifts to females. Passing by a telephone pole in downtown they saw an ad
Help Wanted: Canvassers. The Public Interest Research Group In Michigan was in need
of summer canvassers.

That night they tripped their minds out while floating at the various parties that
overflowed in to the campus streets. Along the line that night, Chris had lost his shit and called
his mom crying and confessing where he was. It was one am and Troy knew he was definitely
not going to recover entirely from this breakdown.

He left him there tripping in the rain on the payphone when he began shouting and losing
it. The following day was their first at P.I.R.G.I.M.

Troy went into the office dressed as he was. We were assigned groups that would cover
different neighborhoods in an attempt to get petitioners on the fight against urban sproul. Troy
spent the day away from Chris with a cute blonde, with whom he hit it off immediately. Her
name was Kali, and she was recently divorced. Helped her out of a jam, he guessed, but he used
a little too much force.

In the end they drove her car as far as they could, shouldve abandoned it out west.

Troy spent the night at the apartment she shared in town with her sister. Kali was his
manager at P.I.R.G.I.M. She had taken him home the night before, knowing all about where he
came from. She lived in the apartment building of a girl Chris and he had partied at with two
other girls. One had wanted to sleep with troy, but he refused. Now here he was with this cute
blonde. She set him up on the couch, but late that night, he had gotten up and sneaked into her
bedroom. She had made out with him for a time, but then turned over to sleep. They had work.

Troy, if you are gonna sleep with me, you had better sleep!

He took her advice. The following week passed and they grew closer. They began to have
sex, and Troy confessed about Mits death for the first time to someone. He got her a television
and radio interview about the office with a local station, the offices first. For him it seemed as
simple as it had been being a kid calling his Dad in the newsroom whenever they noticed
something newsworthy.

He dreamed of her at night. She came to him in all white, and he was surrounded by
white light. They entered a church in the dream and were married. They fell in love, and soon
Kali quit her job, announcing she was to go on tour with Troy this Fall. She would waitress to
save cash until the time came to leave.

They moved her out of her apartment a few weeks before tour was to start. They did a variety of
different things to pass the time, from downtown Detroit for a baseball game in the new stadium
to hanging around together with one of her friends. They double dated to clubs, spent every
moment they could together without fight and became a very intense couple.

For a few weeks Troy and Kali lived on a farm in upstate Michigan. Kali would drive to The

Brown Jug every night to waitress. Troy worked for the farmer doing various jobs to pay for
their rent. They camped at a nearby lake. They slept in their tent, in the farmers Teepee on
Indian Grounds in the swamps. This was notably the best sex either of them had ever
experienced, hours passed with no loss of intensity.

They slept in the trailers on the property, fed the bears and fish, waiting the day when
they would leave for tour. Finally September came, and they decided it was time to pack her car
and head for Albany where the first show was to be held.

They brought Kalis little black Cocker Spaniel, Ashley, who had been living with them all

along and who Troy had fallen in love with as well.

There are only two roads that lead to something like human happiness.

They are marked by the words: love and achievement.In order to be

happy oneself it is necessary to make atleast one other person happy.The

secret of human happiness is not in self seeking but in self forgetting.

-Theodore Reik, A Psychologist Looks At Love

The road toward Phall Tour lay ahead. It was September second, leaving Troy and Kali a
week to get to Albany for the first show. They had saved only about two hundred bucks to get off
their first leg of the journey. It didnt deter them, they were in love and could conquer all of this
together.

The little red two door car of Kalis was packed to the gills with clothes, books, food and
various toiletries and things she couldnt leave behind. The whole apartment from which she had
come was in the trailer on farmer Johns property.

He had given her permission to leave behind whatever they did not take to pick up after tour.

Phish Fall Tour was a twenty one show series of dates starting on the ninth, ending a
month later out west in San Francisco on October seventh. Troy and Kali had no tickets, and both
desperately hoped they could make the journey worthwhile.

Troy had drove the first leg of the journey to Philadelphia, where he had hoped they
would stop and visit his family. They indeed reached their destination after one brief rest stop in
central Pennsylvania near by where Troy had been born. Troy had been afforded the opportunity
to meet Kalis parents in Michigan, having a rather uneventful dinner at their home. Kalis family
had horses, and he been able to ride the older female while there, his first experience on a horse.
In the end, for obvious reasons Kalis parents had decided they were against the relationship.
Their only grounds for being together were sex, drugs and rock and roll.

In the little town of Media Troy got them a room in a cheap motel. It was notorious for
housing migrating caddies for his home golf club. Kali was ill and the week before had gone to
the hospital with a severe urinary tract infection. She and Ashley stayed behind in the forty dollar
motel to rest while Troy went out in his hometown for the first time in months to see what he
could do.A visit to a member of the garage crews parents proved to be worthwhile.
This was one of the best friends from Troys days there. His father was a doctor of there. Troy

obtained a full series of antibiotic medications for free from his friends father to cure the ailing
Kali.

Disappointed by his friends absence at the house, he moved on to his parents.

As Troy pulled into the driveway of his parents house, he was struck with a homesick
melancholy, and he became very anxious to see his family. Forgetting where he had left the
relationship, he knocked on the door and entered. What happened next was tragically
foreseeable. He no more than had said hello to his mother when his adopted father came yelling
into the room. Get the fuck out of my house, NOW!! he yelled shaking a fist threateningly.

He shoved Troy towards the door before he could get a word in edgewise. Fear
of his father shook through him. Through the door his mother screamed Im calling
the cops!!

Nothing had changed. Troy climbed back into Kalis car and sped off down the road,
crying silently to himself. When he reached the motel, Kali was asleep. When she woke, Troy
was still softly crying to himself over the incident. The following day they left for Albany. It was
here that Troy had made his boyhood home for a number of years, and he told stories of his life
there the whole way. It was the night before the first show when they arrived.

Troy guided them to his old boyhood neighborhood. There they visited with his boyhood
best friend and his parents for a few hours before moving on. They spent the night camped out in
the woods where he had walked his dog years ago. The following day they bought the water and
ice to pack the cooler with to make ends meet. Parking was a nightmare, however they finally
ended up parked in the Empire State plaza parking structure. Scouting the street, there was not
much of a shakedown to work with. Tapers lined the front of the former Knickerbocker Arena,
now renamed The Pepsi Arena waiting to go inside and set up their recording equipment.

This was a regular thing, Phish being amongst the league of tour based bands who allow
fans to tape their shows with recording equipment and to freely trade shows. Tapers bought
tickets in the

tapers section in the front row of the audience.

The Empire State Plaza in Albany was a sparkling hub for the city. There was art all over,
and city hall on the corner. Everywhere still statues of pedestrians seemingly caught in time and
frozen in their tracks stood on various corners, entrances, and walkways. Citizens preserved in
mid stride with open facial expressions that would never change through the years. The capital
consisted of two towers which visitors could climb in a high speed elevator to an observatory. An
egg shaped stadium that hosted theater and various conferences including Troys middle school
acting days in Shakespeare Fest stood there in the center of town. Thousands of square feet,
the oblong stadium was football shaped rising out of a platform that held it like a giant football
trophy at a tilt in the Albany skyline. Thus its name The Egg. These buildings were all
connected and leading to the Pepsi Arena by a series of glass enclosed breezeways like that of a
major airport with its wide staircases and escalators.

Kali and Troy wandered its various paths and walkways, took the tour to the top of the
building to view the city by. They were obvious participants to the show in town, and stuck out
like sore thumbs. The buildings were filled with business men in suits, themselves dressed in
hippy garb. Kali wore a flower print one piece dress she had gotten at her first show at Polaris,
Troy in his patchwork pants and a t shirt. The Public Interest Research Group had spearheaded
a drive there in the parking lot. Troy was dressed in the patches he bought the same place. They
were not working for The Waterwheel Foundation on this venture, though they hoped to further
its cause.

In each city of tour the groups not for profit Waterwheel Foundation set up tables for
donation to a select conservation or wildlife preservation cause raising millions over the course
of the national tour.

As the evening stretched on crowds of show goers filled the narrow city street
surrounding the arena. Kali and Troy spent from sex in the top floors of the capital building done
for the sake of the thrill, tiredly resolved to deal their goods. The water was gone within an hour,
and they held no further responsibility to the night. They split up for the time being, for Troy to
return the dog and the water cooler to the car.

Ashley trotted beside him through the indoor breezeways of the capital, happily visiting
with people here and there throughout the journey back to the car. The night had soon passed
quickly, and without seats in the concert.

They drove the miles to the next show at the Tweeter Center in Mansfield, Massachusetts.
Together they made an incredible team, selling their goods out within the first few hours of lot.
This parking lot was more like the ones Troy had experienced over the summer. Old faces began
to stick out in the crowd. He saw Jim and Carlos, Mark and Carey, amongst others.

As the second set came roaring to a beginning, Kali came screaming to Troy I got tickets!! I

got tickets!! Lets go!!!

It was magic. The first miracle of tour, their first show together. They spent the rest of the
night dancing, closing with an encore Squirming Coil, the song Troy had performed for her on
her parents piano back in Michigan.

The next show was Darien Center at the Darien Lake Six Flags near Buffalo, New York.
They had stopped with fumes to spare at the rest stop a few miles short of the show. There they
sat together in the sun and made crafts to sell at the show. A ride was found to the lot, and they
rode in beside a school bus conversion made by kids from Alaska. The bus was incredible,
complete with a wood burning stove inside, labeled Home on the front of it.

There Troy introduce Kali to Dream, and Larry who was wandering with his parrot on his
shoulder. The lot was a tiny one as the show started, and they were approached by Carey and
Jim.

Carey and Jim had resolved to skip this show, and recognizing them gave them two
miracle tickets to the show. The payment was done in hugs. After the show they got a ride back
to the rest stop, where they gassed the car up. The kid who gave the ride to them had come
expecting to trade the full

Deer Creek shows on CD's for his ticket, but had gotten in for free, and so he gave them to Troy.

They went on to the show in Hershey, PA. At Hershey Troy spent some more tie with
Dream, talking of his years on the road with the Dead. He learned there was a further show in
Camden, and it was decided they would go to Camden. Short of Philadelphia Kali and Troy
stopped at his families house to visit. The place was a multi million dollar mansion in the
country, and Troy hoped to see his family while taking rest for the show the following night.
There was no answer to the knock at the door, and Troy resolved to leave a note for them
explaining their visit. He and Kali set up a tent in the expanse of grass behind the office
converted nineteenth century barn and there spent the night.

Troy was an aspiring writer, and told stories to Kali late into the night. It was a daydream
about a child gone wandering through the countryside. She met many talking animals along the
way and soon found herself in a field of sunflowers that brought to life the dreams she now
envisioned amongst the talking flowers of the field. Troy called Kali sunflower for the rest of
their time together. The morning came ,and they went to the site of the beginning of this venture
for Troy.

Camden was filled with the kids and elders who had been in the circus folk of Hershey.
Camden became Bryce Jordan Further outside of State College, PA and Troy found himself
growing nearer in heart to these people. He dreamed of making it on the crew and never ending
this lifestyle. He talked to some of the crew outside of the arena that night. He felt part of this
family like never before as they lay outside listening to The Other Ones China Cat Sunflower
into a revved up I Know You Rider beside Ashley playing on the lawn. The mind once filled
with tension and drug filled anxiety was replaced with love and affection for the life he had.
They drove on that night in silence, Troy listening to his inner thoughts.

Of all nights I chose the stormiest to venture forward. It was midday gone and the sun
strode through the strides of my eager foot on the gas pedal, its reaching acceleration. The
acceleration was reaching overboard to the dreary side view mirror streaking the roadway past
my ever changing head. I had taken four tabs sometime back in the years that now were midday
sun flashing back the stream of consciousness in the forefront of my frontal lobe now inside of
the passenger seat. Her wetness lingered on my fingers, and the phrase on the foreground of the
music streamed my finger inward in thought.

It moaned the road did, thinking the right path on the way to the right mind
of the still perched policeman clocking us on the way across the border.

Time had stopped for the night, but Vegas to come would stay with me for the eternity
beyond and into the lifetime next. In his righteousness the preacher Buddhas temple aware of
itself somewhere in my wrong mind created the journey. The hand thought on its way inward
physically. I had the fresh sensation of an area cloudburst coming through the air from the side
intent of the passenger window as it seemed to light in the cracked windshield. I screamed.

The windshield cracked and I realized my stifle had begun her moaning "oh put it in Troy, put it
in" I did, erotically, maybe timidly... was I uptight?

I was feeling the wetness of the seat behind her my hand sliding off the neutral

gear as it went forward. It was good this life in fifth gear.

It thought itself forward for the blackness that loomed from the pristine car interior now
filling me as I filled it with my omnipresence. Its semi lit car interior felt good for the sporty
lowness of my sexual intent. The thought seemed to make sense.

Thats your hand inside of a girl, a woman, back off the gas and pull over."

I did it in my mind but instead played a missing chord from the phrase Van Halen screamed
from the Twister Soundtrack into my fingers as they ear tuned two thousand years of Humans
Being into effect .

oh Troy... mmm.... harder" a sigh escaped her as she stared at the road out the passenger
side flying past at fifty. I Forgot the road itself and it had forgotten about that foot pedal and we
drove on to toward the show. The show. The show.

The right mind of the leftist wing in the creation of the political minded dweebs behind
me at the golf club out there were feeling my wanderlust for death. Some fat old woman who
owned an empire thought she was sexy a thousand miles away and I was sweet and not going to
carry her clubs for the day. She blushingly put the club in my mind for her caddy whose ass she
stared at seeing my own.

It was the road in itself that fought to maintain. The road itself I thought as the gingerly
gingering ginger of her gingering the seat cushion gills open and inviting swimming with light
fresh lusty scent. Her scent filled free the air from the converted air conditioner, now my toy to
put to use as I got hard.

I laughed at putting it out openly though the thought was not actually audible. The
freeness of the occasion put into a gear that was frustratingly not pulling me over to finish. This
was it.

As if the night had won its right over their eyes, he thought they were yet missing
something. It would have been to no cause for the night to search for it. The missing link seemed
built on an endless eternity. The nonsense was built on the foundation of the acid he had
consumed. It was Riverbend

Music Center, Cincinatti, Ohio.

The parking lot had wielded miracle after miracle ticket handed out as if it were candy.

The secret society of hippies or wannabes, whichever, of met their generations

destruction in the midst of this circus. The American political climate now was growing but
faltering on its own legs of those fathers and mothers who could by their responsible age made
these kids responsible for conscientious objection all too often in overbearing objectivity.

Members of the society that had followed in the streets of the sixties rather than in the
offices of the government, these were those kids reborn. With long hair that they had hid their
fortunes to come in dreadlocks and beads that now hung from hundreds of dollars of hair wraps.
They were as their parents had been. Too good to follow in light of the conscience of their
American spirit whatever hip hop culture had now taken form.

They flocked around Kali and Troy, handing over drugs and tickets with the careless
cheer of youth. Troy had sucked down several hits of LSD on a Sweet Tart.

Habit forming, the ticket frenzy came and went . They were on to the arena in all of its
glory sucking them in with hopes and dreams beyond compare. The night filled with sound
inside of the arena. The sound seemed to fill a space much larger than just the arena. The notes
themselves were filled mantra, with knowing. A Velvet Sea descended on Kali and Troy in the
warm rain. Troy found himself filling with awe and wonder as the lights of the stage weaved
themselves in to a pattern over her love lit eyes.

Climbing into the car after the show, he got in the line to make their exit. The radio lit to
life with a flick of her wrist, and suddenly the air filled with sound wave pattern of streaming
colors from the car stereo speakers. He looked at her and filled with a knowledge he would take
this love of her to his grave. Her hair blew in the breeze, and before his eyes the face wilted and
withered and became that of an old woman. It then began to decay and rot before his eyes until
moments later she was just a skeleton with glowing eyes, blonde hair streaming back it seemed
from Sinatras glowing voice on the radio.
 Troy! Go! she reminded him, and he fell out of this Buddhaverse seeing the
line of cars had advanced a hundred feet.

Several shows later in Chicago they had been car pooling with another girl and the two
brothers with her. On the way to replace a tire on Kalis own car that had blown flat coming out
of Darien Lake.

She got into an accident.

The incident left her heading home for Atlanta, abandoning the rest of her tour.

The two kids on board with her wished to go onward, however.

One of the two kids was the same age as Troy, and had seemed to hit it off with Kali. She
announced to Troy that they were going to travel with them to his displeasure. That night after a
coursing parking lot they made camp at a motel with the two and an older head with whom they
had made camp for the two shows prior. The tents were drenched from rain, and they needed a
night indoors.

It was after the Target Center that several of the kids Troy had fund for them to share a
motel room with had shown off a stick of heroin. Troy had been aware of what a bad scene this
was, and had taken Kali and left. The show following, sure enough one of the group had turned
up dead of an overdose, another in jail. Troy had a bad feeling about these two as well.

He soon learned the two were traveling with hundreds of hits of acid with which to
support themselves. This was a breach of the law which if caught in possession would carry
years of imprisonment for attempted manslaughter. Late that night after pulling into the motel
Troy took one of the hits, bracing himself to stay awake for the night. He would wake her later,
he had to convince Kali to leave in the night without the two.

As he lay in one of the twin beds with her late in the night the high peaked. The faces of
the children on a childrens charity commercial turned into the various face of the Buddha scroll.
Little blue

Buddhas in the Lotus Position came visually in focus all over the wallpaper of the room. Soon

the room was a mesh of vibes in colorful pulses coursing through the Buddhas. It was time to go.

He became nervous breaking a cold sweat and pulsed with fear that any minute the cops would

come busting through the door, ending life as he knew it. He entered the small bathroom adjacent

the room to still himself for their flight. The wallpaper here bloomed with flowers coming to life,
growing, and then wilting and dying a few seconds later. It was definitely potent product. He

dried his sweating face on one of the white fluffy motel towels.

He walked back into the room and lifted Kali up off the bed.

What are you doing? she protested. He put a finger to his lips and urged her onto her
feet and towards the bathroom. There he explained the penalty they would face if caught with
these two. He was afraid of the one kid, and she could tell by the familiar look in his eye that
his intuition was not going to let this one slide.

I am not going to do eleven years in prison so these two can freeload with us.
We are leaving, NOW!

He gathered their belongings and they silently exited the room, Troy breathing a sigh of
relief. As they drove away, Kali argued with him over the decision. She asked that he stop at a
McDonalds as they drove, so she could use the facilities. He stopped the car, and suddenly it hit
him.

Will you marry me? he asked out of the blue.

It was something he had never said to anyone, ever. But he was sure.

She looked at him for a brief moment and then said simply Yes.

They kissed for a moment across the front seats. Ashley resettled herself in the back seat.

On one condition, she added We go back and get my glasses I FORGOT THEM!

Troy agreed and minutes later they drove through the corporate park outskirts of Chicago
to the motel. The sun had come up during his proposal at McDonalds, and the occupants of the
room woke when Troy reentered to get the glasses.

We are leaving. Alone he told them.

In the end, Troy watched in silent hostility as the two removed a few belongings they had
forgotten in her car to the motel parking lot. He felt bad, but not bad enough to go to prison.
They said a brief emotional goodbye to the older head, who had been awakened as well and was
now packing his truck to return home. He handed them a card with his number, and a container
of bubbles, saying only

Yeah, I think you are making the good choice. I dont know about those two.
 They were off to the Midwest section of the tour. After a slow night Sunday show in
Minneapolis during which Kali slept in the car they headed for Kansas. The flat lands of Kansas
were a symbolic show for Kali. They spent the show discussing Phish and the hidden meaning
behind the lyrics, her growing notion of the reason for their tour. She had come to a conclusion
of her own, and it was the same Troy had left with months before. There was a reawakening
movement. One for peace and for peaceful compassion towards other traditions and lifestyles in
the world. It was a moment of truth for them both, and she talked openly of her trip to New York
City showing a picture of Imagine spelled out in Central Park, New York.

The trip to Kansas had itself had yielded various stops. One of them was at Castle Rock
on The Great Plains. Troy had pulled the car over to see the great rock, rising thousands of feet
into the air. It jutted high above the plains, the only such obstacle of its kind. It was a beautiful
formation, into the back of which a path had been carved to make a park. Visitors could climb
the great rock of they wished. Kali and Troy had done so, Troy barely making the climb.

They had overcome their fears with no restraints, soon stood atop the rock looking miles
over the expense beyond. Trucks were the size of ants below, as they embraced looking far out
over the country. Loving Cup came to mind and Troy began to sing it on their descent. It was
to become their song, of sorts.

Im the man on the mountain, wont you come on up?!

The next drive was to Colorado, the Fiddlers Green show. It took them through all of
Utah, and the Bryce Canyon National Park. They were a few miles short of this sight when Troy
pointed something out to Kali.

Above, just inside of the canyon were five twisters spinning round each other inside of
the confines of the giant stone monuments. They were hundreds of feet high, and red dust and
rain could be seen shooting all over the area. Troy did not stop, but continued forward toward the
danger.

They passed, jaws agape at the natural beauty of the canyons. The road wound around
giant formations which had taken millions of years to form in the shifting of continental plates.
No sign of the storm could be seen. They turned through a massive pass, hundreds of feet high
and wide through the delicately carved smooth sandy stones.

Suddenly the rain came at them from every angle. Dark and menacing clouds moving
faster than them floated past. Still Troy drove on to the top of the pass. There a sight seeing lot
revealed a mile deep drop into the canyons beyond. It was breathtaking. Red rain pelted the car
from all directions, the wind threatening to blow them off the cliff. It was a lifetime memorable
sight.

The Colorado Lot was a sight, more laid back than many of the other lots. Troy sold their
goods, while Kali wandered amongst the nomad village searching for tickets. When she returned,
she had two tickets and talked of how Dream and Larry had recognized her, given her the best
food she had all tour.

They called it a Jerry Roll?!

Troy smiled to himself. Phish ended the night with an encore of Loving Cup.

They now turned toward the next shows at The Thomas and Mack Center in Las Vegas , Nevada.
Along the way, about a half an hour outside of Mesquite, Troy had opened the car door to adjust
the roof rack. When they reached Mesquite, he turned to give Ashley some attention, when he
noticed little black Cocker was missing. Hours of backtracking later they found the dog out of
breath and overheated in the middle of the desert. They resolved to stay the night at a casino in
Mesquite, and returned to tour the next day. It was Trey Anastasios birthday gig.

They arrived on lot early in the afternoon, and spent the remainder selling the water they
had bought to turn over their money and socializing with their neighbors. Kali turned up two free
tickets somehow from the tour heads who recognized her and they were in again, with floor seats
to the show, which was going at a hundred a ticket by the scalpers.

The show was the most intense of tour, broadcast live from Yahoo around the world. The
arena was packed.

As the band returned to the stage for their second set, the crowd sang Happy Birthday
to Trey for his thirty sixth birthday. Trey took the time to thank the people who supported them,
including the crew and to talk about the hiatus they would take and how they would use it to
write songs and recharge so they could tour another seventeen years.

He started to talk of a strange dream he had the night before. He was sitting in the middle
of a beautiful field on a beautiful day when suddenly he saw from the periphery of his vision
people walking towards him. It was an army of people surrounding him before sitting down. One
of them took an apple and handed it to him and explained they wanted to eat the apple as a gift,
but he realized he had no teeth. Then a giant tooth grew out of his upper gum. But he couldnt eat
the apple with just one tooth. He began to get nervous that the people would wonder why he
wasnt eating the apple and he had a moment of panic.

Luckily, at that moment, the sun flew closer to the Earth than it had ever been before in
history, and as a result the his first thought was that the Earth would burn up. Instead , the Earth
acted in the way that a grape acts, it shriveled up and turned into a raisin version of the Earth.

The ground wrinkled and became mountains and the people got crushed together into a
big pile. Only moments before hed been panicking, but being crushed together, he realized that
all of his senses became much more vivid in the way that a raisin is more intense tasting than a
grape.
 Sounds, emotions, loveand just as the Earth was becoming a more rich and vivid place,
he found himself in a pile of people.

This pile of people became a groping pile of love and goo and he realized that
Gamehenge is a state of mind and you dont have to get there physically.

He decided then that everyone needed to know how simple it was to turn
yourself into a seething pile of goo, so he called on the famous Mockingbird to spread
word about this.

The band played a Rolling Stones cover that ended with Trey setting a delay loop before
he and Mike moved to the from of the stage and began a bizarre synchronized duel involving
them swinging their guitar and bass at each other and around themselves while wandering across
the front of the stage. Troy hoisted Kali onto his shoulders so she could see Rock and Roll
history in the making. They began putting strange hats on Page an Jon; at one point Trey and
Mike put both the guitar and bass down on the stage and kicked the stage beside them to produce
more feedback. In the end Trey finally

defeated Mike before the band walked off stage.

Troy and Kali somehow made it to the show in Pheonix the next night, and once again
got free seats in the back of the first section. All were tired, including noticeably the band who
had spent the night before partying with Les Claypool they learned. They got in and slept
through most of the show in their seats.

Their final show turned out to be Chula Vista, California. Tired from the road, and
somewhat scared of the end of tour, they made arrangements to stay with Troys sister outside of
L.A. Kali was sick again, and they did not go into their final show. They would miss the final
show at Shoreline, where they later learned Phish was joined by the remaining members of The
Grateful Dead on stage. There was only one catch, and that was Catch 22

-Joseph Heller, Catch 22

The weeks of time spent at my half sisters in LA were strange ones indeed. They were
all too fitting of my life. There has always been a great love between my sister and me, one that
seems all too natural, we are comfortable with each other. Kali was not so comfortable, though
for the first week she agreed we would settle and live here. There in LA I could chase my acting
days gone by. It was strange to be called Joel again, especially hearing Kali say it. It was a part
of me that I had not yet connected through the past four months events.
 We sat for hours by night looking through photo albums of me I had never known. These
were my baby and toddler years, the only ones this part of my family and I had known together
really. It was invigorating proof to me of the use for this vast searching I was undergoing to find
my origins.

Two weeks later, however, Kali became homesick and determined that she would return
home to Michigan. I would not let her go alone, and decided I would drive her home. Besides, to
see the beautiful country we had passed through again was far too much to pass up. Besides
which, I still had love for her I could not describe. We had shared things few people ever do with
each other in these long months.

The drive home was beautiful, but a battle. It was not a week after we had arrived home
to Ann Arbor when she sent me to Philadelphia to tie up loose ends with my family. She said that
I had scared her one night when I had set our motel room up while she was waitressing at The
Brown Jug for a Halloween celebration with Ashley. I returned unsure of what it was that nagged
at me to

Philadelphia.

It was then that I realized in a few short weeks Bush would be elected if all happened the way I

saw it. Everything in me screamed of the wrongness of it, and I began to lose my mind. I took
the subway to the mental hospital where I had been released from the past July before tour.
There I obtained the birth certificate, social security card and license I had left behind. I had
driven the entire country without a license in my pocket.

It was then that I snapped. I visited the news station where my Dad worked as a
television news anchor. I tried to gain access to talk to someone of the lies and deceit I had
smelled in my paranoia from caddying at my former golf club. They would not hear of it, of
course, I was spouting trivial liberal hearsay to the number two news market in the world.
They threw me off of the grounds, and I turned toward home.

My mind was racing of how to approach being accepted by my family; of

sewing the tie I needed from them to tie the knot with Kali.

I called my mother from a downtown pay phone, and told her I was back in town. I told
her I was coming home to visit, and cutting her off hung up the phone. Reaching my old
neighborhood after a short bus ride to the suburbs, I turned on foot to my parents house. On the
way I stopped at the neighbors house that lies directly behind my parents backyard. I told the
kind people I had returned home from California, and that I didnt want to stop by
unannounced, so could I use their phone?
 They were overjoyed to see me, the retired couple having always had an amicable
relationship with me through my High School years. I phoned my mother, who said my father
was at the golf club. Then I phoned my father, and left a message with the head pro for him.

Satisfied, I left the elderly couple and started off walking the short hundred feet to my
parents house door. Before I reached the door, a cop car came screaming past the house behind
me. I walked on to the side door, and tried. It was locked; something my mother would not
have done normally. The cop car came pulling onto their street, and it hit me. They were going
to have me arrested!

I began to run through my parents backyard toward the neighbors house where
I could seek safety, but it was no use, a running officer ordered me to stop! Freeze

NOW!! flanking me from the right in a full sprint.

I panicked. My muscles flung me forward to toward the street and a

nearby park across the way through which I might lose them. The whole country
toured to end here? I would not have it.

Suddenly cops were coming from all sides, pulling night clubs and other things I
feared. They began screaming at me Get down, now! Get down now!

One of them finally caught up to me as I passed the elderly couples house from which I
had just telephoned. I felt a short rap on the top of my head; a hard stun blow with a nightclub
sent me crashing to the ground. The cops then pounced on me beating me to the ground as they
ripped my arms near from their sockets and put me in cuffs.

Fucking little faggit! one of them started in on me.

I spit in his face, and he picked me up and threw me down the hill towards the
patrol car parked in front of the yard.

Your gonna fucking get it, you little faggit! he taunted. I was screaming at
the top of my lungs at them, now.

Fucking pigs, Ill fucking kill you, you fucking pigs!!

The taller one calmly opened the car door, and shoved me into the back seat.
Plexi glass separated me from the front of the car, and I began to bash my head
against it in frustration.

The shorter cop ducked his head into the car and began to taunt me with a chipmunk high voice.

Oh , Im gonna get you! Oh , please, fuck my mommy! My mommy! Hey kid, I fucked your
mother!
What do you think about that? Yeah, she was ugly. Shes doing it with another cop at your house
right now, thats what were waiting for. What do you think about that?

I began screaming at him again, banging my head in rage against the plexi glass.

He smiled and gave a chuckle, shutting his door. He had gotten what he wanted.

When they both climbed in, I was told I was being 302d. They were to
commit me at St Josephs Hospital.

What are you tripping? the short pig asked from the passenger seat.

Yeah. I answered in short, though the kind of tripping I was referring to

was the kind that I would have his ass shot if I ever got him alone. I spit on the
window in front of me.

Yeah, I thought so, LSD huh? Aww, cant handle your acid, huh, little boy? he
taunted.

By the end of it all I was involuntarily committed to a hospital to await yet

another mental health Judges decision. Wasnt this some kind of double jeopardy?

I was to be stuck in the hospital , forced to succumb to doctors and medications for the
next month. I watched my Dad on television every day of the weeks it took for them to verify
Bushs election. Kali came from Michigan for my court date and I was forced even so to submit
myself to the commitment. They promised to get me into a respite bed, to get me disability
income, and that I would be living for free under good care. They simply thought I was nuts. It
proved to be the sane choice for me to take the path of least resistance.

I will never forget the day of the elections. I had been hanging around with the people on
the ward. There was the guy who walked around singing almost paranoid, were knocking on
heavens door... to the old eighties tune Almost Paradise.

He was permanently disabled and given shock treatments. There was a Penn Professor whose

divorce had led his sister to try and take his kids from him, perfectly sane and hilariously
funny rich guy. There was a female artist who was a bit flighty who let me use her guitar. I
talked to Kali nightly by phone. I picked up the phone at the nurses station and got an outside
line.

I then dialed into the front desk of the hospital and requested the director of the hospital,
stating only my name and that it had to do with the hospitals role in the elections. The operator
downstairs put me through, and I was talking to the director of the hospital whose nut ward I was
in. A brief conversation ensued in which, I actually got a request in to have a bus transport
myself and others from the hospital to the local booth to vote.
 It wasnt until the end of the conversation that he realized I was not an employee of the

fifth floor, but a patient. It had been worth a try. New Years came and went, and I was living in

an apartment community near the sixty ninth street bus and subway terminal in Philadelphia in a

respite bed. Things were working out with my family, as long as I conceded that I was a

complete schizophrenic to them and others. I had begun to accept this mundane existence when a

credit card came in the mail. I left that day in the beginning of January for the library

downtown to use my e mail and wound up on a bus to Ann Arbor.

There I was reunited with Kali. I learned that Ashley had been run over by her Dad in a
freak accident at her parents ranch home. They bought her a new Cocker Spaniel shortly after
for her birthday, and we named her Punkin Patches. I proposed to Kali near every day, saying
simply every minute of every second of every day, I do.

I was doing fine without medications, and by the end of the summer had a group of
friends and an apartment with some students of U of M. I worked full time at two restaurants,
one fine dining and helped to open a nearby Starbucks. Ann Arbor was the best home I had ever
known on my own, and I was in love with the town. My jazz drummer roommate and I spent
time together watching back episodes of The Sopranos.

My neighbors held parties, and Kali and I went. I was thinking about attending college.
My mother and I were talking regularly, as well as she and Kali talking a lot. We were getting
along fine, though things at home were on the rocks. Shortly into that summer of 2001, my
parents surprised all by getting a divorce.

Kali spent time with her ex husband for a few weeks during that summer, cheating on
me. For some reason I still took her back. I believed in my commitment to her, and I was still so
blinded that when she propose we move to Tennessee for her schooling and to be closer to her
brother, I agreed. It was in my hope that perhaps if her brother liked me, we could gain
acceptance with her parents that route. Kali and I had even done a joint session with her
Christian counselor. She herself had completed a semester at a nearby school with a major in
psychology.

Shot:

Nashville Tennessee Overhead Cam of city. Pans to show a highway.

Car following a U -haul closely on the highway.

Country music is playing in the car, the driver, male swerves to stay with

the truck as it skips onto an on ramp through several lanes. Near accident,

he makes

it.

Credits end.

Truck turns down a side street off of the Nashville Highway, making

towards the sign that reads Middle State Tennessee University. The car

follows the turn maneuver.

The driver of the truck, female is shown shoving a pet off of her lap,
annoyed at

the small black poodle type dog. She flicks the radio off and squints ahead

at the road. Grinning, switches the left turn signal on.

Narrator: We had been together for about a year, Kali and I.

Young and in love, the sky was the limit. Now we had decided to move to
Tennessee to get close to her brother. Plus she said she wanted to go to
school here.

Shot of the dog, panting.

Narrator: We had a new six month old puppy named "Punkin Patches". I had
proposed marriage for the first time from my heart a few months into the
relationship, and she said yes. I was 23, Kali 24 and we were in love, or so I
thought.

Truck and car in line turn onto "Spring Street" (sign). It is a small lower

middle class neighborhood. The shot from the cab of the truck shows her
slowly pulling next to a curb behind an old Ford Mustang, at an older row

home.

The house is small, but in the driveway are two older vehicles, a Ford van

and an older make rusted out Chevy. There is a front porch.

The car pulls up beside Kali, now exiting the cab and the driver rolls down

the passenger side window to ask...

Troy: Where should I park?

Kali: How should I know? Park somewhere.

Troy: Wha....

Kali turns away, the dog leaping out of the truck cab after her, the door left ajar.

A man, enormous in size emerges from the front door of the house onto the front porch.
Kali walks onto the porch with a swagger in her step.

Shot of Troy in the car, still staring out the rolled down window.

Kali turns to her brother Norm: Hi.

Norm: You made it. Dad was afraid you would have to call for directions for Troy.

Troy: (half yelling out the window) Hey, hi. I'm Troy.

Norm (interrupting): I KNOW.

Kali: hahaha

Troy: Yeah, where should I PARK?

The dog runs off of the porch and onto the sidewalk, now looking at Troy.

Norm: I dont know, park ANYWHERE.

Kali: Thats what I told him.

Troy (to himself)She sticks her tongue out at Troy... he smiles back, puts the car in

reverse and begins to pull back. He looks up a second time while reversing, and is met

by a wink from Kali. : Here we go...

Kali: Yeah, Norm you should have SEEN the traffic in Nashville, oh my

God.... Troy approaches from the car, now parked across the street. Norman

and Kali walk inside of the house, taking no notice of him at all. Troy

pauses on the front porch steps.

Kali (yelling from the door): Troy are you going to COME IN?

Troy: Yeah, Im on my way.

Kali: Oh, well I didnt know what you wanted to do. You know, you cant STAY
HERE. And get the dog too, will you? (turning back inside) Before she gets run

over....

Narrator: I had always had a bad case of nerves on special occasions, and to me

this was one. Kalis father hated me, and made it well known. He once told
her when we went over there, that if I showed up on the front porch he
would come out with his shotgun. Little did he know, I was in the car,
waiting for the go ahead. I waited for an hour, while she told little lies
about why she hadnt pulled the car in to her parents house. She apologized
when she got back and told me she was just going to go back inside for a
few minutes to have dinner with them, but only if that was ok with me?
What was I going to say? I said yes.

Troy: Come here Punkin...

Gets the dog, picks her up, petting her.

Troy: Come on girl, lets go see whats up inside. (petting) You ok...

Narrator: I was nervous about this. She had said her brother was her best
friend growing up though, that it would "get me in" maybe with her Dad.
On the way she had forced her nervous anorexia on the dog, refusing to
feed her or let her drink. I found her near passed out in the cab in Kentucky
from heat and thirst. Kali just got mad and said Punkin would shit and piss
in the truck. I fed her anyway.

Kali: Troy!

Troy: Im comin, I'm comin.

She kisses him on the mouth.

Kali: My brother said you can sleep in his van tonight if you want, or
there is a motel if you have the money... Norman: Hi (shaking Troys
hand)

Troy: Good to meet you.

Norm: Trip ok?

Troy: Ok, except for her race car driving. Never let this woman drive a truck.

Norm: (smiling at Kali) Pretty good huh?

Troy: (butting in) Good isnt the word for it... NASCAR training more like.

Norman: Hey, I'm sorry you cant stay here tonight.

Kali: Did Dad call yet?

Norman: Yeah, just called, he said for you to call when you got the truck
here. Yeah I figure we'll have dinner and then we have room in our basement
if you want me to unload the truck for you.

Kali: Perfect, yeah check this out.

Walks them out to the truck, opens the truck door. It is a sixteen foot truck,
filled about halfway with various boxes and furniture.

Norm: Wow. Looks like you needed a smaller truck. How much did this cost?

Troy: About five hundred

Norman :
Whistles Kali: We
did.

Norm: Troy did?

Kali: Yeah, he paid half.

Troy: Yeah, she insisted on the big truck.

Kali: Thought I had alot more stuff.

Troy: I only had about ten or fifteen boxes....

Kali: Troy where did you pack the chain to lock up the truck?

Troy: Why, do we need it?

Kali: Norman says they have been having problems with their neighbors and
I dont want any of my stuff to get stolen.

Troy: Yeah, I guess I put it in the car.

Kali: My car?

Troy: Yeah, before we left, remember we were going to take it back to Matt
and you said we would just keep it that we didnt have time.

Norman: Matt?

Kali: DIFFERENT Matt. He runs the Brown Jug and Troy went over last
night and borrowed it from him to lock it up in front of his apartment last
night to protect from the frat guys. Not MY Matt.

Narrator: Kali had eloped with some 35 year old named Matt years
before. He was a loser, so she left him. Two weeks after the wedding in
fact. They still werent divorced for lack of money to get it done, or so
she had said. She hops down from the truck. Norman reaches up, closes
the truck door with a slam.

Narrator: She said all this is after she went back to fuck him two months
before we moved. Over and over again.

Fade to black...

Narrator: Should have left her then in retrospect.

The living room is shown, where Norman absentmindedly shovels food into

his mouth in front of the TV with two boys, five and nine sit next to him on

the couch. Punkin is running back and forth from kitchen to living room
(adjoined). The kitchen is a small one with an old fashioned sink, and a

small desk crammed into the side near the rotting basement door.

Kali is shown coming in from the kitchen, eating as she walks. Troy is

sitting on a chair just inside of the kitchen opening.

Kali: Troy, theres food in there if you want to eat.

Normans wife: (yelling from the kitchen) Troy, come and get it, we HAVE

PLENTY!

Norman: Whats HIS PROBLEM?

Kali: Yeah, I dont know ever since we left Kentucky hes been like MOODY or
something.

Norman: No, HIM. (pointing at the Television screen)

Kali: Oh. (aside) Troy, just eat, stop acting like a baby. I dont know HOW
your not hungry.(going back to eating ) I'm starving.

Shot of Troy, sitting in chair.

Troy: You look like it.

Narrator: They say people change when you marry them. Maybe the
rule just applies to meeting their family. Later that night we moved our
stuff in. Shot of Norman handing Troy a box. He walks through a door
into the basement to find the boxes piling up in a tight fit basement. The
skinny five year old, appears from around the corner.

Tommy: You arent gonna hit me are you?

Troy: What would make you say a thing like that?

Tommy: My Dad.

Troy: No way, big guy... you look like someone I wouldnt want to tackle.

Tommy: Yeah. My Dad is a BIG guy.

There is a heavyweight punching bag hung in the basement ceiling in the

middle of the room.
There was a certain look in his eye when he said it. Like he was afraid of
something.

Norm: You down there?

Tommy: Yep, Troy was showing how hard he punch YOUR bag.

Troy: Yeah, nice punching bag (hitting the bag as Norm appears coming down the

stairs.

Norm: Now you be nice and stay out of my the way, dont go messing around with
Uncle Troy.

Kali: Troy will you be a dear, and pick up this nice five thousand dollar
oriental coffee table with Norman to show him where to put it. I said they
could put it in their living room for now so that he could have it to show off
their...

Troy: Ok hon, be right up, hon.

Norm: Hon? (groping up the stairs) Where did you find THIS guy?

Troy: Toooommy, does Norm ever...

Kali: Troy!!!

Troy: Coming!!!

Narrator: I need the strength to tell you where I ended up the night we moved.
I think it is better off being told from the beginning.

Norman is shown piling a pillow, two blankets and a key on Troys

outstretched arms.

Norm: I am really sorry, like I said, you know how my father is.. and with the
kids and all...

Troy: Don't worry. I said it was ok, it was. It will be I mean.

Kali: I like it this way. Its kind of like when he left home for me the first
time. I will make him WORK for my love.

Troy: Knew it. You arent coming with me.

Kali: With you, you mean I have to sleep in my brothers van WITH you
just because you cant get over the fact that I have a nice warm bed I
called ahead for and planned on? I have to work tomorrow, and you have
to get a job. Troy: I sent out forty plus resumes in the mail, I should have
one tomorrow.

Kali: Talk all you want, you still arent gettin any tonight.

Troy: Thats ok, you let me have it before we came. Besides which, I have two
places for us to look at for our new apartment this time tomorrow guaranteed.

Kali: Troy Im not so sure its a good idea we get a place together here now.

Troy: What do you mean?

Kali: Troy, I dont have to explain it to you, you know how I am when I get
tired and cranky. I get tonight off to sleep, so I am.

Kisses him on the cheek.

Kali: Now get out of here before I have Norm put you out for good.

Troy laughs.

There is a glint from the corner of her eye. The light across the room

explodes in light, and it takes over the whole room for a second.

Troy: Are you alright?

The light returns to normal.

Kali: Yes, I just dont want to live with you anymore. I talked to my Dad,
and he takes it right on that as Christians we should be living separate until
marriage. Like Pat, my sister did. We'll just fake it and sleep over at each
others every time I get horny.

Troy: Goodnight.

Kali: Troy, dont do this.

Troy: What?

Kali: Dont be an asshole. We just got here. I told you you were going to
have to be the STRONG one.
Troy: I dont know. But I know this. You need sleep.

Kisses her on the lips for the goodnight.

Kali: Goodnight.

Norm calls out from the kitchen

Norm: Hey, can you take this outside, Its getting all teary eyed and mushy in
here and Holly is trying to sleep.

Kali: No, he was just leaving.

Norman is shown in the daylight hours giving the grand tour of his van parked inn the

driveway. He folds the seat down, streches out for an uncomfortable She pushes him out the

door. second, bounces up, fakes a smile....

Troy is shown outside of the front door at night, the door closed. The

outside light beside the door goes off. Kali peeks through the curtain for a

second. She locks the door.

Troy walks around the rosebush on the side of the front porch, tripping

half over it. He looks around warily at the van in front of him, goes around to the

side door and unlocks it. He climbs inside and places the blankets and pillows on

the back seat of the van.

Inside of his mind, thoughts are racing. Several flashes of the day go by in fast

forward. The drive, the dog, Kali at her brothers with his family, the kids, then it

turns to see the driveway in a long shot of the cars parked in back of the

van. Voices begin in a flurry in his mind. He is lying straightaway now in

the van beside an open window, tossing and turning unable to sleep. The

voices prod his insomnia.

 There is a shot of female face in his mind, blurry to symbolize his brain

pattern. Heather(the female in the picture): Go to the way it was before Troy,

she wont marry you. You dont see it?

Troy (out loud): NO. I dont believe it.

There are a crowd of people around her now, and she points at one of
them.

Voice: Ask her sister, even.

The crowd laughs, and light waves pulse in his vision we see in the camera

angle of the van roof, the window. He is hallucinating mildly.

Heather: Get out of the van, go meditate.

Troy bolts straight up in bed.

Troy: I'll meditate on it.

He is shown getting out of the van, quietly closing the door. The backyard

of the house is fairly sizeable, and next door is a small southern Baptist

church. The backyard is foggy and dim.

Troy: New Moon. Something is big here.

The voices laugh in his mind in a demented delay with chorus like effect.

Troy shakes his head.

Troy: I know something I cant see is here.

He sits placing himself on the back bumper of the van. A flash of light

explodes like the light from inside the house. He stands up and whirls

around to see the plate gleaming. It is a Michigan plate.

Troy: Michigan? The bastard is scamming with his Dad? I'll be damned
bankruptcy, now this.
Narrator: Kali had told me of her fathers bankruptcy earlier this summer.
He had worked for Reagan himself, they had pictures of the ex prez
hanging out at their house, and had their fill of success. He had a million
dollar ranch, and the kids were out of the house. He had sunk the business
and out everything in his wifes name to conceal the funds. I knew it was
thievery, but he felt it was due him. I had studied some tax law myself, but
had no idea if what he had done was ethical. Troy is shown sitting down
now behind the van looking up at the stars in the dark Tennessee sky. They
number in the thousands though there is no moon; the sky is lit behind by
the town of Murfreesboro.

Troy: Arent as many as I thought.

He looks up at the sky. Then at the window where Kali is to be sleeping. We

hear the phone ringing inside. The waves of light shimmer across the

backyard and it contorts. We hear the voices from inside. Troy is shown

gazing at the house windows, and the camera angle is waving in, panning

and zooming slowly in on his eye until it is nothing but a shimmer and

pupil shown. There is an abrupt bump, and he falls, the camera splayed out

beside, cockeyed from the ground showing his face dimly lit by the widows

of the house shown and the house itself at an angle across the screen.

We hear him begin to murmer Ommmm......

Ommmm....

The voices:

Kali: I heard Dad say

Norm: You CANT MOVE in with him

Kali: I told him I wasnt going to get an apartment

Shannon: Wheres Uncle Troy?

Mr. Keller: Kali, I will not have him around hes TRASH
Heather: She isnt going to do it. Dont do it Troy, dont get married. Stay
here They grow and interplay over each other repeating the same things
until they mesh in an incessant babble. Troy suddenly bolts upright from
the ground and sits Indian style.

Troy: Ommm ahhh huuumOmmmmm

The camera shows Troy from above. It tilts and lowers to a position from

behind him showing the stars above. They web together and merge in a

spider web like pattern. The camera shows him from the side and pans to

above as his chanting raises and the web creeps down on him.

Troy: Ommm

The sky is shown. It clears of the web and a lightning bolt flashes in the

Tennessee night striking Troy directly on the crown of his head. His face is

shown, eyes clenched shut as if in some desperate fear.

The image flashes to a bright light shot of the bolt. It his the ground in

front of him. We are repeatedly shown him being struck and what appears

to be an old spoked tire in his mind. The image of the lightning striking

him and the tire become one and suddenly we are shown Troy, his eyes

open wide suddenly, his mouth agape. He is shivering in fear, out of his

mind.

Troy: Have I lost my mind? What does it mean?

He looks around the dark yard. His grows dim, and he begins to cry.

Troy: Im scared.

The camera pans and widens out showing him against the van, now

hugging his knees and rocking. It time lapses to the same shot in the early

dawn, the first rays of light coming into the sky. He is shown, now in the
early light getting up, going around to the side of the van climbing in and

lying down.

There is a close up of the side of his face lying on the seat.

Troy: (whispering) I'll find out. Be here now.

He murmurs to himself as the picture fades to black.

Troy: Sleep, sleep.

The picture fades to black. There is a loud "clack" and we are zoomed out

from the black stripe on the van to show the door, now swinging open, Troy

looking tired and unshaven stumbling out.

The open is the street where he started off parking the car, Troy alone

watching Kali take off to work. He is fate ridden tired eyes and getting off

in his hand like a sugar crazed poodle toy dog is Punkin.

Troy: Punkin, Daddy has to get a job. Get up and find a job, off his butt for
the first time in Tennessee. Know?

Punkin eyes him curiously, then begins to wiggle and hop up and down all over
again.

Punkin: YIP!

Troy: Oh get over it, I made sure you got fed by Holly this morning.

He takes the leash off, and the darting dog runs off into the backyard.

Troy: Shit!

There is a sequence during which Troy is shown in several dozen

backyards around the neighborhood trying to catch the irate dog, who

averts him out from under tackles, flying leaps, other peoples kids in their

yards petting her and other scenarios. Finally, he is shown "dog - eared"

and tired too dragging her by the collar onto the front porch of the brothers
house. He picks up the leash on the way into the house and grins to

himself.

Troy: Shit.

He closes the door behind the dog, now in tie and white collar shirt with a

resume in hand, he descends the porch stairs and walks off into the town.

He is shown at various restaurants talking and filling out applications. We

are given glimpses of the town from here and there. He is shown getting

frustrated, getting happy at food served to him on a tray. One restaurant

shows a manager hanging on him, her breasts nearly falling out of her

blouse. He peers down the shirt, wide eyed. Her husband appears in ten

gallon hat and spurrs to the front, and she introduces a wary man, now

backing out the door.

Troy: God damn this southern hospitality.

A phone booth is shown down the road. He picks up the receiver as he

enters it.

Picking a quarter from his pocket, inserts it into the phone.

Narrator: I was always resourceful with finding a job.

Troy is shown seated at a table with an owner sitting in his restaurant

talking behind the banner uncut across the front of the restaurant which

reads grand opening. He is handed a time sheet with his name on it. The

owner shuffles cards in front of him at the bar with employees drinking

from the water like flowing supply of booze coming from the bottles to their

glasses by the manager behind the bar.

We hear the telephone ringing. A voice answers.

Voice: Franklin Imports, this is Mandy, can I help you?

Troy: Yeah, can I get Kali please?

Voice: Yeah, hold on.

Kali: Hello?

Troy: Hello. I got it.

Kali: Got what?

Troy: Well, hows your day going?

Kali: Its ok I guess... got what?

She is shown standing behind the counter of one of those yuppie type

import furniture stores with candles and things around her. A bimboed out

blonde register girl flirts with a customer behind her.

Troy: A new job. Its a Steak and Seafood House that opens tomorrow. I got on the
ground floor as a waiter, he said we will talk about moving up later... for now I ...

She glances at her watch. It shows four thirty PM.

Kali: What are you, a manager?

Troy: No, I'm wait staff.

Kali: Oh.

The girl behind her tugs on her shirt, pointing at the two college guys

coming in the door. The girl brushes her nails on her shirt, and blows them

off to say "hot stuff". Kali smiles at her, and then the guys.

Kali: Well thats good, I can drop you off before I come into work. Listen I
gotta go. Where are you going to sleep tonight?

Troy: I dont know yet, I have been job hunting all day, but I applied at a bar
near the college here. The owner has a one bedroom up for rent, and he may
need a bartender part time to help pay the rent. He made a time to meet us
tomorrow morning to see the place.
Kali: Is it nice?

One of the guys stops in front of the counter and smiles at her. She turns aside.

Troy: I dont know, well find out. Told you I was going to be alright.

Kali: I told you I dont want to live with you anymore. I guess we will check it out.

Tonight I have to go over our budget with you.

Troy: OUR? You mean you did it already...

Kali: Yeah, I made a savings plan for us as well so we can stop living this
way. I have to go, Troy, I will talk to you later. Just go to Norms, I will see
you there after I get done.

Troy: Sure. Hey, Kali?

Kali: I have to go NOW, Troy. I will talk to you later. I love you.

We hear the phone hang up from the other end.

Troy: I love you too.

Narrator: I had gotten a job from a retired blackjack dealer back from
Kentucky. He had gotten a backer somehow and opened the restaurant. He
seemed nice enough, and he had agreed I could make money under the table.
Now it seemed I had to get a new place to stay tonight.

Troy: Hello?

He hangs up the phone and walks away, past a sign that reads "This way to
the best Sun Belt Basketball anywhere.."

Troy is shown in the basement of the house, removing items from a box. He

places one of the shirts on, pulls a bra out of the box. A flowing Celtic

tapestry comes from it. He clenches it with one hand. We are shown a scene

of Kali and he making love to each other in an apartment. They are on a

queen sized mattress spread out on the floor with a dozen pillows.

Troy: Damn I need some.

Shannon appears from out of nowhere, seeing him in the basement.

Shannon: Whatcha doin?

Troy: Im finding some clothes to wear to work tonight for tomorrow. Hey, need
something for your wall?

He hands her the tapestry. She smiles a grin immediately and receives the

gift from him, running up the stairs already...

Shannon (from upstairs) Mom!! Can I have this? Troy...

Troys memory is shown now of him taking the tapestry off of the wall in

the apartment and placing it on the now sleeping Kali for a blanket. He

turns and walks up the stairs.

Turning off of the living room there is a door, he peers in. There are two
beds.

Holly points at the one across from her.

Shannon: That is where Kali sleeps. This is my room. You like? Mom, can I
hang it up here?

She holds the tapestry over her bed. Troy walks over and smells the

tapestry, getting embarrassed.

Troy: You may want to wash it first, I mean...

Kali walks in the room.

Shannon: Why?

Norm says from the living room.

Norman: Whats this about a present? Holly, dont be bugging them now.

He is shown placing a drink on the ornate coffee table now in the living
room.

Kali: Troy are you sure?

Kali: Uhh yeah, I guess just wash it first...

Kali looks into the living room and sees Norman placing the drink on the
table.

Kali: Norm, PUT SOMETHING UNDER THAT!! Its a five thousand dollar table!!

Norm: It has GLASS top, its fine.

Kali: (whispering to Troy) come here.

She pulls him aside into the other room.

Kali: I think we HAVE TO GET that out of here soon. Where is that place

you got for us to look at?

She kisses him on the lips.

Troy: Its on the other side of town by the college...

Kali: What bar?

Troy: The Cave...

Kali: I have heard of that. Yeah, I told my Dad about letting them use the
coffee table, but I have to get it out of here. When he and Christine;
moved out of my parents place, they had to do fifty thousand dollars in
repairs to stuff Troy: Really?

He acts surprised. A kid runs by them at full speed into the kitchen.

Christine (from the of camera bedroom): Justin SLOW DOWN!!

Kali: LOOK AT THIS PLACE.

The floor leading in from the living room is shown buried ankle deep in

dirty laundry and trash. The kitchen has something on every counter, a

dish, a mop stand useless in the corner. It is shown to be dripping into

Punkins food dish on the corner. Troy goes over and picks up the dish.

Troy: It will be ok....

Norm(walking into the kitchen) : What will be?

Both Kali n Troy: Nothing.

Kali: Her food is in the car.

Troy: Where?

Norman: I put it out there because the landlord came by earlier. He said
that the dog cant stay. Our neighbor called and had the balls to complain
about her running off this morning or something. I have to keep her well
hid. I told him she is just here when you are. I have to tell him if Kali is
staying more than two weeks because it is on the lease...

Troy: Sounds like a alot of shit.

Norm: Yeah, well we have new neighbors next door. The girl is a bitch. You
saw her on the way in? She has this kind of attitude like she owns the place
now or something because the landlord is her brother in law.

Troy: Your neighbors got arrested the other night?

Norm: Yeah their a bad lot.

Kali: Yeah, generally speaking

Troy: Good to meet you Mr.
Lee

Kali: Huh?

"Spasm waiter dropping to his knees sees

Slander on wrapped paper ties

Sleeping in his bed at night hell dream until he dies

Phish, The Mango Song

It was a late summers day in Middle Tennessee. Kali and I had just moved there a few
days prior and I felt that she was still the love of my life. There was something terrible in the
breeze, though, and my mind began a solemn form of meditation psychotic in its delusional
intensity. I had to work at Ricks Steak and Seafood as a waiter for my second night this night.
Kali was at work so Norman her brother and his friend Roger and I agreed they should drive me.
That night something miraculous began to transcend before my eyes. Two afternoons prior to
this, we had gone shopping with her brothers whole family. Something radiated in Kalis eye.
Literally. I began to see flashes of light as if from some internal supernatural force that I began to
believe was connected fate. How true this turned out to be. At one point just as the song we fell
in love to in "In Your Eyes" says, I saw the light that could only be described as that of a
thousand churches glaring from what seemed to be her very soul. Later that night, expected to
sleep outside in her brothers van, I sat outside in the cold backyard and meditated under the
starry TN sky. The stars mingled, and the thoughts it seemed on wavelengths fluttering through
my mind intensified until I had a vision. Lightning struck it seemed the very crown of my head,
and the whole meditation ended leaving me surprisingly uneasy... as if I was to find out what this
enlightening strike was to be soon and that just as in life... it would not be easy.

At work at Randys, the meditation awoke in my mind, and began seemingly with a will
of its own. I started to notice something, as if in my peripheral vision at first. It seemed that in
my peripheral, everything had stopped, yet if I disbelieved it had, and looked... it began again.

One of my co- workers turned to me and said something mid night to me about

"everything is possible, if you believe it in your mind..." And from his eyes traveling to the
corner of his face the light erupted like the fire of the sun, illuminating him as the figures in the
Buddha scroll from my Art Museum days so long before. Suddenly I believed. Time slowed to a
crawl before my very eyes... everything was moving as if in a frame by frame picture for what
seemed a full ten seconds of frames. And then began.

I consciously made an instant decision on why this siddhi was leaving my grasp...

because I had yet to alter my belief in the nature of physics itself.

Physical was the first thought and like an echo it flooded the large dark space which somehow
houses our thoughts from which they come. "Physical... physical...physical..."

Having experienced phenomena completely physical in nature before, however not

inclusive of the now new inclusion of the CONCEPT OF TIME... I immediately did what first
felt natural.

They began as quarter twists, turns of my body as if by turning to the right fast would shake the

disbelief that I could create a supernatural event by doing it in all of its silliness... and just
believe.

I left the back of the kitchen, and went back out to the floor of the restaurant. It was filled
with patrons, and yet as I turned from my table, I was moved to do a full ballerina style spin. I
did, and to my surprise, no one batted an eye... not the slightest notice. Passing through the
corridor, I saw a waiter give me the strangest look. He turned to leave the kitchen through the
exit on his right, and I turned to go to the terminal 180 degrees from him to the left. In mid stride,
I broke the train of thought as the thought of him elated me, and I spun one and a half turns
coming to a halt facing him. The entire kitchen stopped, cooks frozen with plates in midair,
waitresses one foot on the floor, words hung in mid phrase, the waiter I had turned to face
however vanished from site momentarily, and then with a supernatural twist, his head turned to
face me with a demonic grin. My mind raced. Then it registered the thought of a minor vision
brought forth of a fierce deity. I realized I was more afraid of time stopping than him, however
new now that to face him would take me further. Afraid of what further meant, the kitchen
reanimated, and I found myself in awe. I was then overtaken by the expanse of time that had just
seemed to pass, and yet none at all. I had to work within the realm of this meditation, and yet
when back on physical terms now, continue my job.

I turned toward the computer terminal again immediately and began to fill out the order
screen for my table to be sent to the cook staff via the system. As I punched the table button, the
onscreen clock caught my eye, and I had the strangest thought that If I deliberated it, the world
was like this screen, the table windows like my own window to the world. The notion of this
being so grandiose was but a speck of sand in the grand scheme of the thing. As mundane as
watching the seconds tick by on the...

I glanced at the clock....this time I froze too.... The seconds stopped. The people around
me stopped. It read 10:19 for what seemed about four to five minutes. Then like that the world
began. The vision was not to repeat itself until much later that night.

Once off work, I was given a ride by one of my coworkers. I got home at about midnight.
Kali was there. We went outside of her brothers house for her to smoke a cigarette and for us to
talk. There, I tried it again, the spinning ballerinas move. It didnt prove anything but to get her
to pose the question... "Did you ever take dance lessons?"

There it was. There I was. This night, it was decided that her brother was uncomfortable
with me sleeping in their van outside. Kali parents really did not like me, it was not that they
wanted me to sleep inside, rather I was to find another place until the apartment came through. I
had given Kali enough money to get gas to go to work the following day, and her paycheck was
coming, so it was decided that I could drive her car, the Red Neon we had used for Phish Tour to
a safe spot for the night, and crash out in the car as we done for so many nights.

This first night I drove to The Wal-Mart parking lot to camp out as we had done in unfortunate

circumstances during the end of tour in Los Angeles. That night as I lay in the blankets and

pillows in the back of the car, I could feel Kali out there sleeping, and for some reason I knew

she was disturbed by something. It later came out that she was having a dream about my mob

involvement, that a hit man came to her brothers, and surrounded her to kill her. The intense

feeling emitting from her heart in that bedroom at her brothers house I believe became so
intense, that I felt it in my own. I climbed out of the car, and lit a candle as I proceeded to sit in

the full lotus position in parking lot.

I didnt care if I was asked to leave, and felt proud even to the thought of the parked
limo behind me, its driver having left the engine running. I could feel him watching me. The
meditation involved the things I had seen, releasing the anger I had felt at witnessing the
corrupt politics in Philadelphia prior to Bush running. I began to remember things I had
thought about my own clean views and how proud I was of our love together in devoting this
to peace and justice in the American way.

For some reason I saw myself in a courtroom, raising my hand and taking the oath for
something. I felt the vision to be prophetic, but knew not why. I felt that my beliefs were to be
tested was the message. My knowledge of Yoga bid me to silence to the bragging am yoga girl
herself. Kali grew proud inside of me. I saw her Buddhism and my own, and now knew in my
heart of hearts it was us, that we would slowly learn more about how natural our beliefs fit. She
had little knowledge of my Buddhism. I began to do the yoga, and for some reason this time it
seemed to have different quality.

That night was the beginning of my own awareness of how yogic awareness can evolve.
The forms become sets, and when practiced moving became Tai Chi. The meditation ended, and
I grew sleepy in the backseat. I told Kali aloud that I missed her as I set my battery powered
alarm for seven

AM. It was about three.

For some reason, when Kali looked into my eyes the next night she asked me:

"please, dont meditate. My immediate thought was that of the Buddha and his love for Kali,

and how giving her up and maintaining his meditation was the force that enabled him to realize
obstacles in furthering his enlightenment. I kissed her goodbye, our last kiss ever.

"Bye... "She said with sad eyes, beating puppy dog eyelashes at me...

And then with her natural poise and demeanor as she turned away a very cold

"See you in the morning, IM GOING TO BED..."

This was nothing like I had pictured things for us in Tennessee.

Two nights prior after watching the movie "The Devils Advocate", I had gone onto
her brothers porch in the darkness to smoke a cigarette. The light had returned as a fog in my
mind, and suddenly I had an intense warning vision that seemed to emanate from one of my
road Phamily from tour.... Dream... his name was rather prophetic.
The vision was a recurrence from the same that had came to me a few days prior.

It had warned of war coming, that the days I had spent on the road were soon to come to good
meaning, and that I had to rejoin my family. In retrospect I believe that my spiritual family was
feeling the things surrounding me, that I was being warned in this fashion in hopes that I could
avoid coming fate.

This night came around quite a bit more dramatically. Just as in my moth days in the
Philadelphia flat, "in and out the window like a moth before the flame" came to mind again.

Then it happened. Out of the darkness, a HUGE moth appeared and as if it were emerging
into some mysterious light source flew directly in to my head. I screamed in horror, desperately
shoving the yet unlit cigarette into my ear to get it out. It was futile, it had flown all the way to
the drum, and I could feel it, hear it like thunder against my the flap of skin perceiving the sound
of its delicate wings as they batted as if trying to get in further.

Kali had come running out, and it seemed as though I was in pain, torturously so.

I was so panicked by all of the events coming to me, she assumed it to be so, and the whole
house immediately took notice of us trying in every way to get the moth removed. I was in the
sink, washing it out, with tweezers, with a cue tip. It was hopeless. The thing was lodged into my
head, some preeminent warning of how close fate would run with me for the next period in time.

The following day we had gone to try and get it removed, but without insurance it was
going to have to stay until we raised the sixty bucks or so to have it flushed out, or take me to the
emergency room. In the meantime Kali had to go to work. It was that night, with the moth in my
head at Randy's these things had come to me. As if the moth whispered to me through my ear of
the other side. I climbed into her car reluctantly, wondering if I should go to the hospital to have
it removed. I was shaken by all of the events surrounding me, missing my old friends and job,
and these wonderfully strange new visions. I drove to the hospital in strange temperament,
feeling as though there was something at hand I still was not seeing. When I got there, something
stopped me. It was as if I saw this shadowed figure there outside of the car. For some reason I
started to crack, get desperate about the whole thing and rather than going into the emergency
room at the hospital, climbed back into the car to go the campus where Kali was now a student at
Middle State Tennessee University to park for now. College campuses had always proved to be
good refuges for me in time of need for just

that.

I parked the little red car and got out. I locked the door, and placed the key into my
pocket. I decided to take a walk to get these things off of my mind. I figure I would find a spot to
sit and meditate the night through until about five am, only five hours away to kill the time and
assuage my anxiety ridden state.
 After about an hour of walking around campus, I came to realize that it being summer,
there was no one about. It was a huge deserted place. I knew from past experience to follow my
instincts, and began a random pattern of walking to find a good spot to rest, tired and frustrated
that I could not get comfortable anywhere. I remembered my meditation the night before and
how it had brought about that look of fear from Kali tonight.

I felt her out there sleeping. I felt the eyes of someone on the road watching me. I
became afraid. I knew it was the law, instinctively. I knew that ugly feeling of raw power
perched for use in its whim. The next thought process was that of my problems. I thought about
my old roommate Sam, and his entrance into CIA training. His personality invaded me, and I
felt it somehow connect with my political affiliations in Philadelphia. I felt the two of loose
ends out there recognize each other and panic further. There was a loose and on a bigger trail in
the CIA, that I unknowingly was close to something big, and secret that I could not put my
finger on. I felt that it was all coming to a head all at once. I felt that someone out there knew
that I knew something they were unsure in my whit I could connect. I knew from the nature of
my affiliations, many unwanted, that it would be big. As big as the presidency. As big as war.

These thoughts in the back of my mind then merged with my ongoing awareness that I
was being watched by the police there on campus. With no notion of what to think now of any
scenario in my life but with resolve to simply move forward in the morning, I begun to find that
spot to sit down. I decided on a spot in the middle of the sidewalk.

Suddenly everything came to a head, and my observation of the world became what
seemed just a feeling in the back of my mind. I thought of Ram Das in his talk of "super CIA
paranoia" I knew I wanted to avoid it.

My next thought was that he perhaps was just flaking, and had avoided mortal heat of
politics that way. Then it happened. The small tree in front of me turned into a miniature
Gamesh. I knew something with raw power was in my hands now, something I had connected to
unknowingly on an international level.

Buddha and his sit under the tree of life for wisdom came to me. I began to get scared. I knew if

I sat something bad was going to happen.

My mind raced, I turned toward the sidewalk to meditate in a well lit public area. I thought of

Kali, and now too feared something approaching for us both. My thought erupted suddenly as if
the linear mathematical mass of time began within my thoughts themselves. I thought to release
even this thought. I saw a linear line erupt in white light from the crown of my skull upwards,
and I laughed at the sheer silliness of the thought "beam me up Scotty" I then took off my shoes
and socks to go and sit. On the way, I flung the keys on the sidewalk with the thought of
releasing attachment to Kali Ma. I sat a few feet from these both, and assumed partial lotus.
 The experience was slow at first. I began to observe my thoughts as others voices
almost it seemed, my imagination filled with the opinions of others in their compacted
and sent personality "vibe" of sorts. Then it happened.

I had a vision of an airfield, and an airplane. Of a coming war, put I couldn't put faces or
names on it. I wanted to walk to the nearest buddhist temple and get some peace, but it was too
far. I took my shoes off and sat on the concrete of the Middle State Tennesee University Campus.

I began to hear the voices of partygoers around me too, I felt opinions from other people I
desired for them to have tugging at my consciousness. I released them as well. The babble of
tugging consciousness increased in force until I had the vision of a Yogi. It was the same as
whose shadowed face I had seen so many years prior in the confines of that Media apartment. He
put a finger to his lips and urged me shhhh...

I had a vision of a cop coming to me sitting. He threw me up against a wall, and I saw
my heart in the vision begin to glow and then explode. I gave up the thought of fighting the
cop when he would inevitably come, and went deeper in. The Yogi again said shhh... I began
seing very fast fighting forms in my mind and moving my arms in time to them. Here I reached
a funeral in my mind. It was me in the coffin, my family surrounded me there. The voices
talked all around my dead corpse, and I thought of how silly it all was.

Then it happened. A cop car pulled up and two uniformed patrollers got out. I sat very still and

quiet, meditatiing. One male, one female they came at me from my place on the sidewalk. They
pulled me to my feet from my lotus position and told me that I was obviously on some kind of
drug, and they were taking me to the hospital. I remained silent through the entire ordeal.

When we reached the hospital there were more than half a dozen police there. I refused to
speak, and they put me on the gurney. They removed my clothing all the while the guru in my
mind saying shhh...

They shoved a catheter up in me to remove a urine sample. I was doing things with my
muscles that made the nurse look at me in astonishment and exclaim How did you? You cant...

Of course they soon found that I had no drugs or alcohol in me. It was then that the police
put me in cuffs and told me that I was going to the jail. They had spent hours of their time on me,
and now to let me go would be an embarrassment to the department, I guess they figured.

There at the jail, I was read my rights and told I was under arrest for public intoxication even

with the tests on record at the hospital. On arrival at the jail, I began talking.
 I told them they were violating my rights, and I was told we can arrest you for anything
we want.

I sat in a holding cell for the entire day and another night before Kali finally found me,
and then her keys. My bail bond was twenty dollars, and she paid it.

Kalis story was much different than the truth. The cop at the front desk told her that I had
been found drunk and on the town with some college girl, and had been apprehended. They told
her I had been with this female all night and that I had been sighted all over town with her over
the course of the night before being apprehended for severe public intoxication. They had lied to
her, and she had believed them. I noticed a guard at the desk flirting with her as they released me.

I read his name tag, and in the car, Kali told me it was he who had spoken with her. This guy

had the hots for my girl and the keys to my demise hiding behind his badge.

That afternoon I went all over town. I got payment from the restaurant I had been
working at in cash. I then bought a few new white shirts and a tie for interviews. I secured my
job as a caddy at a local golf club for the weekends. I found the replacement rear taillight for
Kalis car, and bought it.

After lunch I went to one of the dozens of restaurants to which I had forwarded my
resume and cover letter to from Ann Arbor. It was the nicest one to which I had applied, and I got
the job as a waiter and management trainee at a Steak and Spaghetti house to start the following
morning for cash tips. The motel room I had gotten was directly across the street. I had solved all
of the problems in one day. All but the misunderstanding caused by the violation of my rights by
those southern cops.

I walked the mile and a half down the road to Kalis brothers, where all of my belongings were.

I needed to retrieve my wallet from her car to start my job, and to get some clothing from the
basement.

I reached the front porch and walked up to the front door. I knocked. Norman answered,
and shaking a fist at me said you had better get out of here!

He proceeded to try and slam the door in my face, but I stopped it with my hand.

He yelled again, and successfully slammed the door. I was in agony. I had to
get my wallet from the car.

I found the car locked, and frustrated decided to open it the way we had figured for when
the keys were locked inside. Pulling the window out a little to flex it and reach inside to pop the
lock, I was almost to the lock lever when the window shattered.
 Now I was nervous about what the reaction would be. I left the rear tail light fixture on
her front driver side seat. I hoped she would get the message, as I tucked a note under it saying I
would call her.

The light was wrapped in a box to look like a ring box, as I felt we had news for celebration.

When I reached the motel, I called her and apologized for the window. I told her all about
how the police had lied, and asked that she and Punkin come to the motel where I would clean up
the glass and we could talk. She agreed, taking down the address and said I will be there in five
minutes.

Five minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it. Two uniformed police
officers busted through the door, throwing me to the ground. As they placed me in cuffs behind
my back, I calmly told them that they had no warrant.

We are revoking a bail bond issued.

I was placed in the car which then drove to Normans house, where the cops were given a
fake account of what had happened. In front of my eyes they watched all of my belongings taken
from the house, while planning to charge me with trespassing. Simple assault for an assault that
never happened, and destruction of property for the window.

By the end of the night, my bail bond for a false charge was revoked and I was charged..
This while I was in cuffs in the car. Norman said I had assaulted him. I didnt know getting a
door slammed in your face was assault on the other man.

They charged me with the simple assault anyway, and then for the broken window on a
car which I had been paying the car payments on as destruction of property. That's three false
charges and one that could be debated. I landed hard on the cold cement floor. It was enough to
hobble my senses, as I realized there was no way to cheer me of this bump. This was the ultimate
drop. Here I was cold and alone rights to freedom gone, the love of my life gone, my dreams
interrupted.

I had never been in Prison before, and it now became apparent that they intended on
taking me to the regular population momentarily.

The worst was getting on the floor of the regular prison. The inmates crowded around me
asking what offense I had committed to what I treason, I told them I was not guilty of a
misdemeanor, though I had broken my fiances car window.

They looked on, some of them having been there for a year or more as if I was stupid. I was
mingling with hard core criminals for what? FOR WHAT? They told me your guilty, plead out
when they take you to court in a week and you'll be free.
I wish a had taken their advice.

I wasnt guilty, I told myself, I wasnt guilty of anything more than loving the girl of my
dreams. I had been caught succeeding, it was unfair.

The days of life with my lover were gone. I had yet to understand that she cared not for
me in the way I had imagined. It was a manic panic blown out of proportion into a nightmare.

I had been given a prison uniform to wear downstairs, they asked me to strip, two male guards.

They did the anal cavity search and the bend over and cough to make sure I hadnt put any drugs
or a Swiss army knife up my butt for the fun of it, and handed over my state issued goods. It was
a six ounce plastic coffee cup, an eight ounce hard translucent plastic drinking glass, plastic issue
silverware, and an indigent pack not including much but shower goods. I remember my bright
uniform glowing at me from the safety mirrors of that room I grew later on to dread and loathe to
see. Day after day in this ironic one way out realm it seemed all was decided for me. My disease
had struck a finalizing blow undermining my half measures of success.

Seems I just couldnt go out the door. Southerners.

They did not understand my fancy writers talk, my flowery hippy jargon. They could

not understand that I had my dreams in hand and a very good idea so I thought of the

American judicial system.

Kali had told them I was schizophrenic, her family was afraid for my well being and that
had affected them. It never crossed my mind that they saw my disease to their own dis ease. I
felt Kalis families prior endeavors with me were inclusive of prejudice against my own beliefs
in the system of faith I subscribed to. They had it in for me now.

The cell I was given was a single cell for fear I could harm one of my cellmates. The irony of

this, a peaceful dropout writer anti violent to the very seams of my consciousness, here I was
being feared by the staff. I caused a problem. I immediately sensed the danger I was put in if I
was not to live down the reputation I was being given. I was nuts, so they said. Others on the
block had to go three to a cell, and I had a cell of my own in the most overcrowded time the
prison had ever known. Guards leaked stories that I had flipped out on them on the way on the
first booking, and the inmates, particularly the BIG ones felt it was their duty to have a fun time
of it. What was better than actually acting nuts to protect me?

Soon it became a daily issue on the block. One guy took notice of me, and offered to
share the cell with me if I would just put in a request. I could not pull punches, what if I asked
the wrong guy into my cell, not knowing who they were? What trouble they would run into
themselves in the inside political game. The prisoners within these walls were not all minor
offenses, some of these guys had twenty years to life coming to them and were in wait to move
on to another facility. It became a game. A deadly one I soon realized when I heard the sawing
noises late at night of other inmates sharpening things on their air vent grill to be used as
weapons.

I decided to play it as evenly as I could, I began to work out with the big guys. My
paranoid mind could not wake to consciousness of its own paranoia. I was creating my own
prison.

I talked evenly with the black crowd. I asked nothing of anyone, and tried to get hold of
reading and writing materials to begin my attempt for help. The phone was near impossible to
use, the line fierce, and the phone being only collect. I decided this would come to an end on my
court date two weeks hence and called no one to prove my own now desperate point.

I felt I was completely innocent. My bail bond was only four hundred dollars. My
hesitation proved to be a mistake as Kali contacted and tainted the story to everyone I knew
before I could reach them.

The day came I was told I could get a haircut. I decided to go along with it, the guy who was

doing them was one of the unprejudiced and more outgoing and friendly members of the colored
population.

We were standing by the phone when it happened. I took the razor clippers, and gave
them to the barber to say, yes it was indeed ok if he used them without a clip, if he knew what he
was doing. There was tension in the air. I told him that I wanted him to do the whole head bald,
to save both him and me the trouble. He took the razor, and with a nod began the simple deed.
He was doing it in strange stripes, that of an auspicious artist of his work making a begrudging
statement of his trade skill going to waste when something happened. Something that would
increase my fear.

There was a roar from across the room of a dozen men screaming out, and the immediate
sounds of jaw to hand bone slapping repeatedly as loud as a bull whip sounds from the
supersonic leather "snap, crack..."

Then a boom as one participant in the fight fell into the metal table.

The razor stopped from the top of my head. In his cautious poise, the barber stopped as
well. I felt the razor move, a pause unsure of what to do with itself, the hand said. Then quietly,
he slipped it down the side of my face, gently firming the grip on my half bald skullcap. He let
the rotating blades fall to the side of my chin as I closed my eyes briefly knowing this may be it.
His firm grip on my skull increased to a commanding one, and the razor rested now barely
touching me at the jugular with each breathe he inhaled.
 Sharply, I knew that I could not move, only wait with patience and hope the fight would
not move toward me. If the opponents, as I noticed now indeed one black, one white, made any
motion toward me their motive would be to win a weapon. It may be instantly used as the black
population side defense against their own mans death. I could indeed be cut from ear to grinning
ear to stop the black man from meeting the same possible fate.

I felt the thought itself, chilling me to the core pass through my "barber".... I felt

his reluctance to keep it at my throat, then he released it. All of five seconds it had taken for this
to happen.

I heard the buzzer of the watch tower announcing the guards arrival go off. My barber
dropped the razor completely to the floor abruptly. It became like one of those scenes from a
nature show, we were animals. The flock of prisoners split the room dancing unsure of what to
do , what was coming with the guards. Would this be an all out riot?

The two fighters encircled each other, the metal table separating the two of them,
vibrating as the middle aged bald white guy who was about two hundred fifty pounds in strength
knocked on it with an open hand to make a loud booming. He screamed at the other man, also
middle aged, though much more youthful in appearance and attacked again.

The door flung open and armed guards ran yelling into the room. The scene became a

pandemonium "LOCK DOWN NOW!!"

My door on the lower floor of the block was directly behind the fight ensuing. I saw my
middle aged friend, the ex seal, and we caught each others thought. He was caught between them
in trying to get to the stairs, I was caught on the other side of the crowd now frantic and at a full
roar of delighted and confused yelling.

As if in slow time, he nodded. I returned the nod with a firm step forward and yelled like
a banshee at the top of lungs, shoving the prisoner in front of me out of the way. I had escaped
death.

Would I escape being crushed by the crowd?

We were two lone wolves in the pack, and he raised his jaws up to where the sky would
be with its crescent moon and howled, a grin creeping a cross his face. We dashed directly
toward each other in that instant through the guards. One was now being hit by the onslaught of
blows still flying from the fighting two. The guard caught a subtle right as it glimpsed off one
fighter and he now pinned him to the wall toward my cell blocking the view of my door. My
friend sprinted toward me, toward the stairs as I continued myself toward the scene. Meeting in
the middle of the room, we exchanged the look one last time.
One of knowing. One that said No matter what happens I am going to fight at

your back until this is up...

It was then blood curdling yells resounded from both of our throats as we made the final
dashes into our opening cell doors.

I heard my own slam as I brushed past the guards. I heard his slam also, and knew it was over.

For now. For now.

It was a few weeks later. Court had come and gone. The endless nights dreading the look
on Kalis face, her brother, the judge. They had pressed the charges further, now to my dismay
opening up a Protection Order, which I had been forced to sign. I had decided to remain silent.
Not even taking the oath, I stood in the courtroom after the two hour stay in the holding cell all
of two minutes for what seemed to be the end of all I had perceived important in my life. The
judge asked for my plea, and I had pleaded not guilty. He turned to me, and asked if this was
truly my plea, to which I returned thinking this was the first thing worthy of me responding
verbally to. "Yes your honor."

I had knew my plea would enter, and I had been told I would be given a new date to fight
it out in court. I was not aware of exactly how much time it would take to get back to court. The
judge looked at me and sneered as if to say, I knew you for a criminal, guess you can go back
home.

These people did not know me. They did not know the injustice being served.

They did not know the irony that I had been in fact probably the clean one in the situation
with her brothers drugs, fraudulent disability and probable abuse of his children.

I was given a date to be summoned back to court for a hearing. It was on this day,
September 10th, 2001... the court settled for October 14th... a whole month and more away. I was
dismissed stunned. A whole month in that zoo to come.

Kali sneered in satisfaction, unaware of exactly what she was doing.

Bitch," I thought, and remembered how close I had come to marrying that shallow petty
girl now playing the victim. She was deserving of an academy award.

I bowed on the way out of the courtroom, the deepest bow I could, in my own mind
betraying the deepest vow I had connected her to . I had always likened my marriage to come
being that of like my own grandmother and grandfathers love, a vow. I wanted to be able to
undermine her little sneer, delve as far into dismantling her trust in the world as I could. I
wanted to defeat her lies, make her pay in the public eye. She had been instilled to see this as a
pact of honor and love?

This bow was deep in my own mind. In my shackles and cuffs I bowed out for my own
starving lone honor. A curtsy to say to those conscious of me out there that she had been
simultaneously judged unfit for my family.

I then held my head high on the way down the hall to the holding cell. It slammed

shut.

That was near the last I would see of her, that day. Only twice since have I had the
displeasure of seeing her scarred face to my eyes themselves.

I was taken back to the prison. I told them at the prison what had
happened. The inmates themselves told me how stupid I was. It was the classic
case of I fought the law and the law won.

How little I knew, and now for some apparent reason, they were asking me if I wanted
to be here. I told them I was not guilty. They said it didnt matter. I told them it was my moral
belief, that it did.

They said, I could have been out of there in no time. The softer hearted ones looked at
me, the ones learning their lesson in their stay, and they told me they were happy to have me
there... that we maybe could hang out. I recognized them.

But I did not hear. My altruistic sense of well being told me to never give up. Giving up
had not been what had taken me across the country with no food or money or transportation, it
was not what had brought about these revelations in myself.

I had a lot to learn about the size of these battles, and how to win the war in the long haul
you often must admit defeat. Sometimes it takes a retreat to win the battle coming, and the war
altogether.

Such was not my thinking then.

That night in my cell I had an experience to shatter my concept of this all indeed. I had
seen the taking of my own life. I had fought for peace with this woman, for the taking of the
American way back to the people. I had toured the country, obeyed my grass roots, we had taken
vows.

I had the feeling something more was coming to an end with all of this. That night as I
stared at the floor, and felt the family out there accepting all of this in their ways. I felt my own
family out there finding out about it. I felt the conscience of those I had been around in the days
back at home. I remembered the night of my meditation at the MTSU campus and it became
clear that the meaning had been arranged and that I had not yet seen the full scale of what was
coming. As I stared at solid block of cement that was my cell floor, it began to shift slightly in
my vision.

The swirling brush marks that gave it that slight grain turned pastel, and then deepened in to a

grinning carpet of oriental flair. I felt the sadness of Kali, and tied to it the deepest loves I had
felt ever returning. I felt them mold together, wrench through a series of endless cyclic emotions
ever deeper in despair. The hues of the carpet of fractal before me deepened . I began to point at
the fragments appearing with disbelief, I had rare ever seen this intense of vision in the deepest
of my LSD trips.

The fractal shimmered and became alive with all with energy points resembling the
brightness of the people in my mind for whom I cared. The connected points of light were like
stars in a shimmering paisley background connected instantaneously into a web which intricacies
emerged intermingling in its complexity. It was a three dimensional quality like that of the night
sky.

"Oni" I thought aloud, or the Native American name for well of souls.

Behind the webbed well, the warm tan oriental rug stain stopped its drifting warm glow
and began to stain black. It was as if some invisible hand had opened the holographic chamber
before me and begun to pour iodine symbolic of a deeper harsher wisdom into the pattern.

The darkness absorbed into the pattern as ink spreading into a cloth, the veins of the web
shining crystalline white, glowing with more intense flaring and moving while adding the glow
of other souls forces or energies. It was thoughts, fates connected. Fates I would know be able to
grasp the full meaning of, their complex individuality just barely being represented here.

I was a sharing this vision with an important people. They were dead or openly living
their dying moments before me in their unknowing. My own energy was shown in the mix, as I
thought of my need for growth and compassion, to see it in relation to this reflective mirror
wisdom pool. Its faint shimmer shifted in my emotional reaction. It gave the affect of deepening
roots.

The darkness grew colder and it seemed as though a wormhole into outer space was now
simply opening in the middle of the room. I became afraid of this thought, and the whole mass
began to swirl looking sort of like the depiction I had seen as a child of a pole star taken with
time lapse photography. Deeper the colors, the energies, the voices, the beings themselves
swirled being sucked in to the floor that led into unknown blackness.

The mass bubbled and frothed with torn emotion that of a thousand souls anguish. My
head swam, and I wondered if I was indeed of my right mind. I thought of my studies, and of
Buddha and of that final thought, where it would end. "Buddha..." echoed in my mind... and I
heard a laughing of sorts as it all became a cloud, and disappeared echoing in my mind "Buddha,
dha, dha, ha,a..."

"Om..." I chanted for a brief moment.

My face turned bright red, and wondered if anyone else had felt it. I felt like a tiny voice
chanting this Ommm.... and realized how true this was, that I was only one small, ever so tiny
role in the universe. The next morning was 9-11-2001.

By the end of the month of September I was so scared of the guys in the regular
population, I did not know what to do. I made matters worse by attracting attention to myself. I
wanted out of there, maybe out in the sick unit, anywhere. I wrote several crazy messages to the
doctors, and requested psychiatric help.

None came.

The prison guards decided I was definitely loony however after I proceeded to shave not
only all of my hair off with my beard, but my eyebrows too. I was charged with several small
offenses, rules and codes of the prison I had broken and taken to solitary confinement and placed
on a suicide watch.

I once read in a psyche textbook about an experiment conducted by a researcher on the

human mind and its ability to adjust the very neurons it is composed of in order to survive the
things it is going through. The researcher had made a device that I imagine looked somewhat
very similar to a cross between a periscope and ski goggles.

The device when worn would take the visual image of the world in front of you and turn
it upside down. You appeared to be standing on the ceiling. Kind of reminds me of the times
when I was a small child standing on my head while waving my legs about imagining what it
would be like to be spider man and to walk around on the ceiling.

I was kind of fascinated by the whole thing when I read that the researcher learned that
the actual neurons in the brain rearrange themselves after a period of over seventy hours. They
rearranged themselves so that the picture with the goggles on would now appear right side up so
that the test subject could function once again. The very neurons arranged themselves to gain the
right picture.

Then on removing the goggles the observer now would see the world upside down for
and from his own brain and eyes. They had to wait for a good period of time before they would
return to normal sight.

Over the four months Tennessee detained me in that cell in violation of nearly every right
I can think of, I learned how powerful these attributes of the mind truly were, and how to use
them. I held yogic positions for hours on end, and practiced Tai Chi nonstop until the forms
themselves were visually appearing in my head as I did them.

I had nothing else to do, and so I spent time in all manner of ways. The guards did not
like me, and so I never received indigent packs. Some of the prisoners bought more commissary
in a week than I needed to bail out. The deepest thing I did while in there was to get to know
what the others prisoners had done. The cell floor was dirty like cement that had gotten skin
flints on it for a month.

Maybe longer, I had never cleaned it nor was given the opportunity to get the stuff directed by
schedule to do so. They never came, never offered, it never happened.

It was a cell like all of the others. The one difference was a pad locked "mail slot" looking
window about knee height in the only door in or out. The metal door was two inches too thick to
break. Painted metallic blue, grey underneath where prior residents had scratched the paint.
There was a window at shoulder height on the right hand side. It was a hands width wide, and
barely over a foot tall looking into the functioning "prisoner" area where four massive tables
stood bolted, their blue iron sides bolted to the floor in a fantasy picnic arrangement that would
never occur.

On the solitary ward, you only came out of your cell twice a week if that. The tower
buzzed open your electric door lock for different reasons. Lucky prisoners come out twelve
times a week. The ones who couldnt handle being in, such unfortunates wasted their time to
only getting out once or twice in two weeks sometimes. A trap door placed in the cell door was
used at mealtime for food trays.

The thoughts that had crossed my mind to pass the time had begun to ring in my ears as
the time itself unsure spread out before me. I had not before gone to jail, and I had not committed
a crime to speak of with the guys around me. Percy Palmer, visible through my cell door clearest
of all of them is now standing trial for what is being termed as the most heinous crime in
Tennessee history. They want the death penalty for his alleged triple homicide. Me, I broke a car
window. Go figure.

The light came on and I opened the paper which had been brought to me. The front page
was my treasure for the first time in a week or so... it looked so good to me, not having any
commissary to write with or any books having been brought to me for a significant amount of
time.

I began looking at the picture on the front. The Captain Ds Murder it read. The trustee
came to my cell door and asked for the paper. Foggy in my dreams of the outside world out there
beyond my window overlooking the somber town brought me down. I was imprisoned by the
very one I had love best. This had brought me to choking tears of such force one day at times I
could barely breathe.
 A pale face floated momentarily outside of my cell door. He looked tired and as if he
maybe was worried about my state of being. But he simply nodded, shook his head while picking
up the carefully folded page I had slid under the door and walked on, his sandals making that
hollow echoing flap, flap, flap on the concrete floor of the yard.

He walked to the left of my cell door and dropped out of site. I heard the paper being slid
under another door. The tower above emitted its small beep warning of the yard time on the other
side coming to end. The light overhead shifted down in luminescence and the cell fell to evening
shadow.

I felt the tears there still, but the well had weeks before run dry.

I lay down on my bunk, and fell to sleep.

Morning came and the lights went on. I heard the door that held the space between us and
the adjacent cell block slam shut behind the guards. I leaped to my feet, hopeful wondering

The sight that fell before me left me speechless. I was in shock, devastated in my own
lack of humility. There he was, the very man I just tucked myself in with thoughts of to comfort
me. My stay I had thought must be sheltered from that man, from his alleged deeds. For Gods
sake, I had only broken a window!

There he was, bright red jumper a size too big for him, long black braided hair falling
over his neck that now turned about this way and that like that of someone looking for friends or
familiar people.

Percy Palmer, charged with triple homicide was lead to the door directly across from my
cell, the one I had best view ofcell twelve.

They opened the door, I heard the chinking of the chains being removed, the
guards reemerged and they shut the door.

I shuddered in the presence of my own locked steel door. Time to get to the better end of
dealing with this new arrival. I leaned hard on the door, moving it the small space it had between
its metal frame and the door itself, it shuddered with a light low hollow booming sound like
that of a bass drum on a stage. It echoed..

I repeated the tap at as softly as I could.

A guard in the control tower released the latch of the trustees door by pressing the small
button on his control screen. It made the infernal buzzing sound of freeing another man from his
space in the cell. Immediately the trustee sprang forth from into jailhouse yard and there he was
walking directly for the cell block doorI tapped harder at my door three times.
 boom, b..boom..booom it echoed in the vast yard beyond. The trustee turned with out
hesitation with a kind of cocksureness that was unlike any kind of intelligence I had ever known
twinkling in his eye.

It was then I knew what was to come was the ride of my life, he was grinning and
heading directly for me like he had known for a long time that we might have to match wits on
this one.

I have time and time again fought the urge to remember him as a non criminal and that
he would have been had it not been for charges like my own. I felt sure it was the failure of the
system which simply taught him how to relive the drama by learning better ways and means to
survive. This man, the trustee was innocent too. Perhaps I was too guilty of being abused.

Who is that? I asked though the thin crack on the side of the door.

He seemed puzzled at first, making that screwed up grin suddenly the trustee had when he
readied himself for what could come next from his own mouth. I saw in him that he astounded
himself with his skills in an environment that he had never expected to become adept at. That
deaf dumb and blind kid sure plays a mean pinball.

That is Lowdown. He responded in after clearing his throat, turning toward the crack
in the door slightly with a nod of his head back toward the cell. His eyes glowed.

Who?

Quickly he acknowledged the unnecessary question with a nod immediately saying lowdown.

He tugged at the cell door once as the guards did nightly to check their securement and
the fled toward the now buzzing block door to get our lunch trays.

I felt the eyes of the tower on me, knowing now I was in question as well for these
alleged murders. I was involved in the case of this Lowdown guy if I cared to make up a
snitch. A creeping chill crawled over me as I sensed, imagined the man lying in his cell feeling us
out there watching all eyes on the block doors. I shivered and fell in four short backpedals to sit
on my buck, the rumpled wool army blanket lying in a heap on its rough green plastic surface.
That night the irony dawned on me, and I began to sing the Phish tune ACDC bag loudly.

Mr. Palmer is concerned with a thousand dollar question, just like Roger
hes a crazy little kid. Ive got the time, if youve got the inclination, so, cheer up
Palmer , youll soon be dead! The noose is hanging, at least you wont die
wondering, sit up and take notice! Tell it like it is! If I were near you, I wouldnt
be far from you.

Ive got a feeling, you KNOW WHAT YOU DID!!

I got the feeling Lowdown had no comment on it.

Several times during my elongated stay at the prison I was tortured by the guards. One
night when the outdoor chill brought the temperature to only sixty degrees in the cell, they took
from me all of the cells contents. I was left with no blanket, and no uniforms for the entire night.
I jogged naked around the cell for hours trying to keep warm to no avail.

They beat me a few times, and once or twice came with a nurse to stab me with a needle.
She did so on one occasion missing my butt entirely, and I wear a scar still today from where her
needle stuck in my hip bone.

In January, almost five months after my initial arrest, I was released before the jealous
eyes of the lifers. I had pleaded guilty to the misdemeanors, and even with five months served
was given a years probation and three thousand in fines. The system had raped me thoroughly.

When I left, my legs and feet swelled to three times their normal size. I visited the
hospital several times over the following months to try and relieve them of the horrible
pain I was suffering. I was utterly defeated and left with no faith in the system.

Several guards came and escorted me to the room which I had been brought in and
searched over four months prior. I was given my street clothes, and allowed to change back into
them. After this, I was handed my wallet which Kali had given them, and my belt from a plastic
bag in which they had been stored. I signed for all of the belongings, and the uniformed guard at
the desk told me I was free to go. I had dreamed of this day.

Immediately I removed the pictures of Kali from my wallet and threw them away.

I then left the grounds. Never before had the sky seemed so blue, and so big. As I walked off into
the distance towards town, I realized I had no idea where I was going to go. I remembered
having passed several shelters in my few days I in town back in September. I had no money, and
no food either.

Luckily it was not too cold, or I would have been frozen too.

Hours later my feet and legs began to swell. The pain became so intense I could nearly not walk

at all.

They were three times their normal size by seven o clock and nightfall. Tears flowing
from my eyes, I hobbled limping foot after foot through a driving cold rain toward the hospital a
mile walk towards town. The doctors said it appeared I had sustained tendon and ligament
damage in my beatings at the prison, and now reactivated they were showing the damage. I was
given crutches to use, some Ibuprofen, a handshake and was sent back out into the cold rainy
night. I spent the night trying get some rest under the cover of some bushes on campus at MTSU.
There would be no sleep, and I was lucky I did not catch pneumonia.

That afternoon I hobbled into a shelter owned by a former judge in the area. I was found
at home eating and smoking my first cigarettes for months hours later in the kitchen of the small
shelter. I stayed a few days on with them there, when one of the staff women decided that she
had it in for me. I was thrown out still on crutches and now with truly nowhere to go for help.
The Salvation Army was the only other shelter in town, and they had refused me on the grounds
of my criminal background.

When the going gets tough, the tough get going. I did just that. Gritting my teeth through
the pain, I hobbled myself to the highway that led to Nashville in the night. Five miles down the
road at three am, a van pulled over and gave me a ride.

The van was filled with drunk homosexual male cross dressers who come from a bar in
Murfreesboro, but it was a ride. Once we arrived at their ghetto apartment in the projects of
Nashville, they naturally propositioned me. I turned them down, and once again ignoring my
searing leg pain limped back onto the road.

I walked miles through the night along the road. When the morning came I was sporting a
flag that had blown off of someones car antenna with which to flag down a ride. Passing by a
giant campus, there was very little morning traffic being a Saturday, and I resolved to sleep after
I made it past the campus. The campus turned out to be The First Church of Christ, and it was the
hugest property I had ever seen for a church. I stopped by the side of the road near a
condominium development. There were thick hedges landscaped in front of the stone wall that
ran the perimeter of the property. I sank myself exhausted into the soft mulch behind the bushes
and soon was fast asleep.

Waking to the noonday traffic, I stepped from out of the bush back onto the road. A few
short miles later there was a gas station and a Starbucks by the side of the road. I needed to eat
badly and so decided to go into Starbucks and ask for a piece of paper and marker. I would
make a sign for spare change and a ride toward Michigan where I would be getting my w 2s
for a hefty tax return. I no more than had asked for the items when a gentleman stepped in and
interrupted my conversation with the clerk. He introduced himself. He was a Carl William, the
pastor of the church I had just passed.

He was here meeting a friend for a few more minutes and then said he would help me.
He bought me a coffee and a pastry and took me outside to his car. It was a brand new Lexus,
from which he pulled a brand new G3 Powerbook to work on when he went back inside the
restaurant. He was obviously no poor pastor, that was for sure. Pastor William gave me a ride
to Kentucky that day, where I could find a ride with a trucker to Michigan. He paid for our
lunch, bought me a book on
Christianity and a pack of smokes. Then he threw me twenty bucks and was on his way.

Praying in his car that day that I might be saved, I had visions. The things he described, I
was seeing them. The Cross Plus Nothing he told me. He inspired in me a faith in the religion
of my childhood which I had never had before. He told me he was flying to New York that day to
work on a theory of evolution with another Pastor, Ken Hamm, and with Bill Gates, taken
directly from the new and old testaments. He also gave me his e mail, which we have
continued using to correspond to this day.

Sure enough, a trucker at the rest stop volunteered to get me to Ann Arbor, and before I knew it

I was at the rest stop just outside of my small college town home. It was snowing heavily when I
got another ride towards town ten short miles away. The friendly driver took me to my exit, and
pulled over for me to hop out.

That night I went to the winter warming center for the homeless in town. There I shared
coffee and pastries and small talk with Ann Arbors always quirky homeless crowd. I slept a little,
and then had breakfast at the church in town which served every day at seven am.

The next order of business was to get into the shelter for my brief visit until I got my tax
return. I got lucky, there was a bed available. They gave me a pass for discounted bus rides and
some fresh clothing.

The week passed, and I filed a fast file return with a local tax agency. Six hundred dollars
was all I had after paying the agency. I decided to head out of state, to head west. Ken Kesey, one
of my favorite authors growing up had just died. In fact he had died on my birthday, and I took as
some kind of sign that I should visit Eugene, Oregon home of U of O.

The bus trip was a fateful day indeed. On the way to Eugene, I happened to meet trouble
at one of the stopovers. A federal agent told me I resembled the man who he was hunting for
several murders in Colorado. It was then that a man named Jack Taylor stepped in to my
conversation with the agent. Jack was a dark figure with long hair, a cowboy hat with an eagle
feather sticking out of it and toting a guitar case.

After telling the agent I was with him, he shook my hand and told me that I could be on
my way freely now. His demeanor was that of an elder statesman of some kind, and he radiated a
glow something the likes of I could not place. Jack told me he was off to his sisters to stay for
awhile. His once successful construction business had fallen through, but he would be alright.
Over the years, he had seen many things and he knew it was just a bump in the road.

As it turned out, Jack was on my bus and he chose to sit with me throughout the ride. He told

me all manners of stories from being at Woodstock jamming with Joplin to being a stand up
comedian. He then told me a tale which was so incredible, I could barely believe what I was
hearing. The whole while I knew somehow this was not a tale told to just anyone, he made me
feel special. Throughout my travels since, anyone who has known the road has known Jack. My
stay in Eugene was an attempt to run away from the horror I had just survived into my addiction.
Between my mental illness and my addiction, the two diseases had me walking the thin fine line
of death.

I lived for a few weeks at the Eugene Mission. The place was filled with hundreds of
vets, some of who had lived there for decades. There were mountain men, artists, even some of
the early security crew from The Grateful Dead. Lunch was served every day as well as dinner
which usually consisted of pea soup. In order to take dinner you first had to listen to an hour long
sermon in the chapel. To sleep there at night you had to either pay two dollars, or obtain a
voucher by working two hours in the afternoon for the missions newspaper recycling business.

At night before going to bed, you had to strip along with dozens of other men, and
shower in a group shower. The beds were in a long hall that housed well over a hundred in single
sized bunk beds.

Sickness was rampant, and often at night those who were ill would keep you awake coughing for
hours.

I finally decided to take to the streets with a friend I had met. He went by the name
Chaos, and he knew the town well. By day we would help make drug deals in the town square, at
night in the clubs. We shared our cash and food stamps, sleeping at night in our sleeping bags on
the front porch of an abandoned house. One day in my depression I very nearly overdosed on
pseudo ephedrine and Tylenol PM.

The town itself was fascinating, though the unemployment rate was sky high, and I could
not find a job. Matt Groening, creator of The Simpsons had come from here, and little things
from all over town which were in the show kept coming up. Keseys old friend, Ken Babbs and I
corresponded through e mails. I used the University Library to keep in touch with my family.

I soon grew tired of the streets, however and secured my job for the coming spring at my
old golf club back home in Philadelphia. Now I had only to get there, and I would be back in a
position more suitable to my wants. I left on a rainy day in the beginning of march. I had to get
out of Eugene. The drug lords from Afghanistan had come. There were Al - Quaeda sightings in
the streets, and my friends were reporting them.

Chaos begged me not to go. I told the kids all I would be back. I was gonna miss that
motley crew of beats and vagabonds.

Chaos made me take a toke of the now readily available opium he had scored. It was
raining, what else was new? He told me to wait at least until it stopped, but I knew it was a ploy
to get trapped there for a long haul I could not handle. I had dropped Psylocibin one night not too
long before and it had done me in with its spider tarantulas and hourglass shattering windows,
the high pitched wine of the webs creature haunting me from sleep. I could no longer endure the
terrorist threats, the drug deals, the rain.

I set out on the muni bus to the local truck stop. I packed dried food stuffs, figs and other
food I had around from food box and our trail cards, various other places. I stood out there in the
rain with a sign in the rain. The stop was your a - typical truck stop. A diner on one side, the
other a gas stop for trucks with showers and all of the other stuff. I had just about got myself
kicked off of the premise after two hours. The owner came out and asked me to stand off of the
property so as not to heckle his best customers for a ride.

That was it, I thought. Then he appeared in a Stetson. An older middle aged man in
appearance, he came striding over and asked where I needed to go. He was wary, and I was
afraid he was the guy who had complained. I told him I needed to get to PA. He said that was
where his friend was going, and that few trucks were headed far outside of the California routes
until the next Monday.

It was Friday. He said his partner knew he couldnt take hitchhikers, but that he would signal

me once he was inside of his truck, I could sneak on board.

I waited the better part of an hour looking up at the passing Oregon cloud base flying past
storms and rainbows, fog and mist, no rain thankfully. He emerged finally and said Go to the
back of the cab and wait for me to signal you. I practically ran to the back of his trailer, my
heart pounding in apprehension. This was dangerous.

Little did I know then. I know when I think back now. The truck finally started. I saw in
the right side mirror the hand in the cab waving the guy on his right "the partner" to go ahead
first.

I was right on time with my slow approach, the cab door on the right swung open slightly.
I climbed up the steep stairs into the warm cab.

It was a big truck, with one single folded bed in the back, and one above folded as a
bunk. It had all of the amenities, fridge etc... and I guessed he was alright. I looked him the eye
for the first time.

"Welcome aboard" he said with a thick chuckle. I reminded myself to be the leather

skin here again as I had in the past, keep an open mind and be both dangerous and peaceful at

the same time in my commentary.

 He asked where I was from. I told him I was going home, that I had gotten stranded
without money, and I thanked him carefully. He agreed and said that he may have to wait until
Sunday to start his journey, but that if things "went well" he would have me as far as Chicago
before the end of the week.

Long way for one ride. Almost three thousand miles. I told him I had all of the food I
needed. He asked me the routine, if I was carrying any drugs, and then asked me to open
everything I had on me, and empty my pockets to prove to his wary eye where he was at with
this stranger in his cab. I showed him my stuff, and he laughed, a kind of pitiless but kind laugh.

"I have food in the fridge, and sodas if you want anything."

"Where are we headed today?"

"Well, I told my partner I would follow him out to a Washington stop

that is larger and we could hang out, but I dont think I need to now, hold on
Im gonna radio and tell him"

He got on the digital radio and told his partner he had decided to "Get on down the road"
a little further. He told me we were headed for Washington right now when he was all clear of
talking to anyone who couldnt know I was in the cab. It is illegal for trucks to carry passengers
for insurance reasons, they can lose their license that way. I appreciated the risk. Little did I
know what was to befall me in this journey.

The man drove us on down the highway, and began to tell me a little about who he was.
He was a ranch owner from Montana, and no small ranch owner at that. He began to tell me of
his upbringing, and how he had risen from an orphanage to become one of the largest
independent land owners in the country. He was driving truck to pass the time, being now in his
late sixties, his wife dead.

By the time the story was done, I was enthused in fact that I had met this remarkable
man. He pulled the truck into rest stop in the middle of nowhere and said we would be there for
the night. He then pointed out the patrol car that stayed at this stop to arrest any hitchhikers who
might be there. No, he said there was no way I was finding a different ride there. Then he told me
if I wanted to stay on board, I was going to have to get him off. I had a choice, and looking down
at my legs I was reminded of how jail had turned out for me last time. I feared what he would do
if I refused.

I spent the next week going cross the country as his sexual captive. At one point I had a
choice to leave him, but I was too afraid, my self esteem already too shattered to take the risk.

He told me a story of how a farm hand on his ranch had been found in a barn having hung
himself. It was obvious he had done to the boy what he was now doing to me. He went on to talk
of how the boys in town had thought him gay,
and they had all including him beat the kid near to death on several occasions. This subtle story

was proof that the man was dangerous and in his own denial and pushing too far his fear of

being homosexual could even be deadly. Somehow I survived, and wounded to my soul, made

it to Chicago, and then Ann Arbor.

In Ann Arbor, I found that I had fear of hitchhiking any more. A kindly sister at one of the
churches in town bought me a ticket to Philadelphia. It took a week to get there, during which I
took some time to get to know one of the unlucky homeless that was there with me. It was T.
Casey Brennan author of The Vampirella Series, and from the original JFK files.

I spent the summer with more of an excuse to drink than ever. I wrote up a twenty page
dissertation about the law suit I intended to press on Tennessee. I never did.

I caddied and lived with seniors who went to West Chester University. A friend helped me
along the way, and by the end of caddy season I had been living with the Hockey Team just off
campus, was on the lease, and had a car.

I began to think about the career I had dreamed of as a kid. My mental state deteriorated
as my drinking continued. I could not seem to find an end to my frustration in the questions my
rape had brought about.

In October I made a trip to Atlanta to caddy in a professional tournament. I arrived in

Madison to find the tournament was not until the next week. For the fun of it, I decided to try and
go to a Buy dot com tournament that was going on in Louisiana. I made the drive through
Tennessee, and though I never got to the tournament did make it as far as Monroe, Louisiana
before turning around.

I love to drive, and I was having a fun time seeing new parts of the country . On the way
back I heard reports of the sniper shooting in Maryland, and kept an eye out for him on the road.
I am not sure that I ever did see him, but I saw a number of Feds on the way home in their large
white vans.

My birthday came in November. I went to the caddy shack at four am on my last

day to toast old times back when I was in high school and my Dad dropped me off before
heading to

Philadelphia to read the morning copy. There was a black Towncar all by itself sitting in the
drive when I got there. I sat at the shack alone, and listened to footsteps come up through the
wood from the course, and the car left. I didnt want to know.
 Before leaving, I had to give my sister her birthday card. I stopped by my mothers house
and dropped off a card to her, driving off teary eyed that I would be missing another party of
hers, another year of her life I couldnt share.

I had been tracking the weather and saw that Tennessee was in for tornadoes possibly in
the next few days. I drew the map on my door at the Hockey House, watched Twister one time
through, packed my gear and left at six am on my birthday.

The drive to Tennessee was incredibly beautiful. As I passed through the Smoky
Mountains, the lights in the clouds were already beginning. The night I arrived, I stopped at
Kalis brothers to pay a visit. She was there, dressed in a Rutherford County Policemans jacket.
I had suspected she had been dating a cop during my stay at the prison.

One of the officers had come to me on the date I was to go to court in October. It was the
same guy who had falsified the story while flirting with her on the night of my falsely accused
public intoxication charge. He had come into the cell and talked to me about Kali as if he knew
her. How would he remember with all of the thousands of cases, MY case that had happened
over a month prior. It was his signature that kept me imprisoned for destruction of county
property, not allowing me to go court because of bad behavior for a few more months. Kalis car
was there, and they were all on the porch drinking when I pulled up.

Youve got five minutes! she said.

Then her brother dropped his crutches and ran in a full sprint toward me and the car. I
crawled back into the Honda, and raced away having accomplished nothing. At the police station
later they would not allow me to file charges against them , though I tried.

The following night as I drove, the worst night of tornadoes in the nations history
happened. For hours I drove straight on through the night, desperately trying to escape the
weather. Each turn brought a new tornado into my path, and new things to avoid hitting. Trees
were breaking, branches flying, houses and power lines being demolished. I remember being in a
shower of sparks as the biggest event that night happened to me.

To my right several twisters were coming straight at me. They flew into each others path
and somehow combined. Now a fifty foot wall of swirling blackness was headed straight for me.
The rain flew in golf ball size drops onto the car windshield. I thought I was going to die out
there. I released the clutch and let the car drift in neutral. I took my foot off of the gas and my
hands off of the wheel and began to pray.

The speedometer dropped to five, and I had nearly stopped when it landed on me.
Everything seemed to howl, and the car was being pushed by the wind. As I watched, the
speedometer climbed from five to fifty. Then the tornado released me, and flew off into the
woods on my left destroying everything in its path. Why or how I was spared I will never know.
 Two weeks later, I had driven the whole country over. I had started in the panhandle of
Florida and taken ten west. After a brief drive through Mexico I turned north. Four corners
became Reno soon became San Francisco. I then headed south to my sisters place, showing up
unexpectedly. I was filthy, tired hungry and out of my mind. I had her a few days later take me to
the hospital, where I checked into a psyche ward.

Two weeks later, prescription in hand I left to spend December in Berkeley. Berkeley is a
place with big trees, some well into their second century of living.

The San Francisco Bay area is alive with astonishing wealth , creativity and the ever
present chatter of the artistic Bay Area West Coast style of earning money.

The west is still winning. Money was not the idea for this journey myself. I had to seek out

Haight Street, the beginnings of the Dead and other musical "numbers" I admired.

Determined to place myself in bad standing with everyone I met was the misfortune I was
homeless. I slept in my tan Honda Civic hatchback with the seats down. My head was at the
hatchback, and there was enough space for two to sleep with a little comfort, though mostly there
was only one.

The thing astonishing about myself and that time, was I found new breathing of

life in that life myself. It was even though I was at bottom, I did not despair, I saw it as a fresh
start, adventuresome, and even hopeful in its constant bringing of other starry eyed dreamers in
like status into my life. I wanted to live with no rules. I did.

The time was winter. The smell, patchouli. The air was thick with it and the right batch
could get you off on the spirit of the Grateful Dead, and the living as well. I have to find another
word for it.

It was rendezvous with a dream I was living and breathing. I wanted to find my way off the road
like a Jack Kerouac. Ginsberg and the beats were all well and good, but there was certain
"Kennedy" quality to Jack with which I had associated Horus and the spirit of my own horeb. I
have to find another word for it. Love.

The founding spirit finds itself in the realms of another Berkeley daydream, and I am lost
for words. The anti - psychotic medication I was taking had the most severe of side effects One
night I took more than the prescribed dose and found myself having a full seizure. Somehow I
survived, though the effects still linger to this day.

Berkeley seems to be the stargazers galaxy for the bay area, and the bums with whom I
kept contact were quite the array of intelligence and in some cases masters of doctorate degrees.
Yet some were unable to see the quality of life improve for all of their ideas. They could not face
a pattern of living that demanded rigorous honesty.

I too was digging that grave, as the Phish tunes cover of the Talking Heads told me quite
often on my car stereo.

"As we watch him, digging his own grave, hes informed to know thats where hes

at. ....

That was the reality point most commonly lost by all of these strangers. They had lost the
will to fight for the money they so deserved calling any system "the man" to be blamed if it was
a system at all. Intelligence amassed greatly, but strangely impotent to produce any substantial
work.

New Years came around, and I met a kid who was on String Cheese Incident Tour. I spent
the nights before New Years lodged in the San Francisco Hilton downtown. It was packed with
heads, and I found out The Other Ones were playing Oakland for New Years night.

That night, I climbed into my car parked at the Berkeley Marina. I had been staying there
for a few weeks. Weekends you got the leftover beer from boaters coolers, it was quiet, safe and
there were no parking tickets to be had. A kid on the Marina threw me a twenty to get me to LA
after the show.

The show was a reunion of all of the kids I had known on Phish Tour years back. I
worked the lot with my shaggy beard tagging people who needed tickets with post it notes that
read One Miracle or Make my show. The ruse landed me half a dozen tickets, and soon with
a kiss from a fairy I was in. It was an incredible night.

I drove the next day LA, arriving at night. My disease was doing the strangest things to
me. I parked my car along the freeway, got naked, wrapped myself in a blanket and walked
through the Hidden Hills until a car picked me up at sunrise. The guy drove me back to my car,
which he said they were about to tow. He never asked about my lack of clothing, and I never
offered any explanation, not that I had any.

I got dressed and climbed back into the car. A few blocks later my car died. So I walked. I
walked for hours, slowly losing what was left of my mind. I went into the Kentucky Fried
Chicken on the corner to turn to Old Topanga Canyon Road. I was near broke, but I knew how to
handle myself. I had my dhoti stick and bag leaning up against the wall outside with all of my
possessions.

I had only the five dollars that the man outside the store had given me to get food with. I
went inside and using my old tactics, did the most respectable thing for a man in my situation. I
asked what they had left over that would not normally be sold, that I could buy only five dollars
worth of food to feed myself for the whole days food.

I explained that I had just walked all day, and needed good nourishment. The guy in line
next to me looked me over, shook his head and insisted that I buy whatever I wanted, that he
would pay the difference in cost. Saved by good karma and direct honesty once more. I turned to
leave the restaurant with a bag FULL of food, TWO MEALS worth of chicken and fries, cole
slaw, corn and a drink to top off my thirst for nourishment.

The thought consumed me that I was yet not reliving the days of old that had to be
answered in my own experience in order to celebrate the appreciation of the Islamic way of life. I
had to wear the sari again. This time, I knew it would have to be done the hard way. I was cold.
I had not cloth to make anew one out of.

I walked toward the Old Topanga Canyon Road, and on the way found that a house by the
road had decided to throw a couch out to the trash. It was fresh, hadnt been rained on, and to my
wary thoughts observantly I would have put it as a center piece in my own living room, if I had
one. I lay down on the couch, and realized I could indeed sleep here. The thought came to me
that I could use the cloth as material in my robe. Plus in doing this I would blend in in with the
rest of the couch, and appear to be trash on top of it waiting for disposal. If they came in the
morning to remove it I would awake and stop myself from being thrown in to the jaws of the
truck.

I had to get practically naked in front of the public in order to do this, and figured I would
look pretty silly. I knew that it should not stop me. I immediately began to rip the couches
elaborate cloth off of the frame. It was brightly colored in stripes that reminded me of the izod
ties I had when I was younger, with their Mandelbrot Set patterned swirl. Had the cloth from the
blanket I had taken near Universal Studios and had used as my covering thus far, I removed the
giant cotton comforter filling I had placed on top of my head to use as a giant spoof of the
headresses used by Arabs. I had worn it bobbing down the way, about three four feet of giant
height to make sure I was visible, noticeable.

The days were numbered with our peace in the Middle East, and I was trying to make
sure people thought about it. My own recognition of these people was growing as well, just as
when I had shaved off my eyebrows. Now I could know what it felt like to be in this garb. To
dress like this would not seem foreign to me, and I would be forced to go about living life in and
out of the normal establishments dressed like this. I would see how people treated me.

I would make them more aware of the presence of this culture in our own, making the
foreign idea more at home. The conscience of one man I firmly believe to be the greatest known
force in the human drama, in society one man struggling forward steadfast in his own belief can
archive things he would not believe in his meager beginnings. Beginnings like my own here in
LA with no food, or money, clothing myself from the street itself and pushing my physical limits
all at the same time.

The wrap itself made sense in the way it should be done. I began by wrapping my groin
area as if with a loincloth as I had done on the way here from Universal and The Hard Rock. I
made the cloth connect to the next piece, so that in its loose appearance like that of a petaled
flower, I would have no worry about the sections falling off of my body, exposing me. The night
was chilly, and I reminded my self that just like my life right now, I had to realize I would be
adding sections, or adjusting them at will, so just to get covered and warm. I added a swath
immediately over my bare chest, sashed at the waist like the pictures I remembered of Ghandi
walking through India.

It felt modestly pride full in its cumberbund tightness around my waist. Piece by piece,
right leg, left leg, waist area in a wide stripe of cloth , I began to resemble more so what the
picture in The Gita resembled. In their layers, I was becoming suprisingly warm in the winter
nights air as well. Ten minutes later I was a swaddled yogi, setting into the sinking cushions of
that couch as the headlights of cars passed me on the way to downtown. I was unnoticeable , just
as I had thought, looking like a bundle of cloth lying on the couch. Perfect. I settled in with my
full stomach and thoughts of reaching Santa Monica the next day, and the long unknown trek
down this "Old Topanga Canyon Road". I lay there imagining what the residents of the house
beside me were doing in their normal lives. Knew that they would notice me at seven am or
whenever the owner of the Jeep Cherokee climbed in with his steaming mug to be off to work. I
felt their homeliness, like that of the Dakinis in the bushes I had dreamed of in subtle memory of
Bagvhan Das story while settling in for sleep in Berkeley.

I thought of the people in the house taking warmth from it being of use to someone one
last time. My final thoughts were of their torn state about maybe keeping the couch after all,
feeling some kind of respect for my comfort, them releasing memories over the years of their
own from this very couch. Making love, watching movies, having company. I was their final
couch guest. I fell asleep.

Over the next few months I was to get to know Los Angeles. I walked every street from
Huntington Beach through Hollywood, Beverly Hills, Santa Monica and UCLA, and Venice. I
mostly hung out in Venice and got to know the locals, the street performers. I had fallen in love
with this place. I drank daily, and remained homeless for lack of a job, or shelter. I had lost my
identification, and couldnt find anyone to help me get a social security card fast and obtain an
I.D. card. I slept on the beaches of Venice, ate from the trash cans and homeless shelters. I
recycled cans and bottles I found in trash cans for money for cigarettes and alcohol. I stayed at
the VA Hospital, in Canyon Country, and in the Armory. It was one more day up in the canyon,
and more night in Hollywood. It had been so long since Id seen the ocean.
 It was the bottom of bottoms I had found myself in. When I saw my friends bosses show
being taped in town and I went. He was a caddy who I had gone to High School with, and he was
now Jay Mohrs personal assistant. For a night I was in the scene, I stayed that night on my
friends couch. The show when it aired the next fall turned out to be dedicated to the homeless
problem in Venice. It was these days I marched the streets with the peace protesters. I
participated in the largest rallies since the sixties. But I myself, was a mess inside and out. That
spring my grandmother died. I had been staying in Canyon Country, The Bible Tabernacles
desert trailer homeless program. I decided to leave them, having dreamed of this day. They took
me to a church on the way into town, and lo and behold it was Ken Hamm on stage preaching the
sermon he and Carl William had put together the very afternoon after he had driven me to
Kentucky.

More time on the streets, and I was back in the little community when I lost it. I left in
some kind of paranoid fear of one of the other members of the congregation who had been a
sniper in the military. I was just plain nuts, at my lifes bottom. I wandered the desert until I
found a railroad track. I had no more decided to hop the train when I found an abandoned rusty
ten speed bike. I rode that Free Spirit bike through antelope country to The California National
Forest. There late at night and alone I cried over where I had been so hard I could barely breathe.
I cried for hours, it was the lowest emotional bottom I had ever seen. Over the next two days,
determined to get home I rode all the way to Las Vegas.

There in Vegas I stayed with an all black church while my feet, nearly gangrene from the
streets healed. Spring came, and I headed home with a bus ticket and some money from the state.

There were some loose ends to tie up, and in the end I found myself in legal troubles that
finally pushed me back into the hospital. Hopefully I have found remission from my disease. It
something I think about, and pray on one day at a time.

The leaves in Bethlehem have gone from the trees into the deepening winter cold. I walk out the
front door of my house into the Bethlehem streets aglow with Christmas lights. They are
everywhere. An encompassing number swarm in blackness descending from the sky like the
twisting finger of debris amassing a tornado. Mythological symbols whispered of by ancient
and modern horrors these immortal winged ones, these witches and wizards of the animal
kingdom. The crows descend in the thousands, protesting in their flock pattern the bitter breath
of winter. Sharp beaks with a hook like quality silhouetted by cold black searching eyes our
crows turn their wings into the cold blast ascending and descending the barren skeletal limbs of
the trees. Constant migration from one tree to the next in flocks, the trees gnarled fingers keep
their perch and fleeting moments. The effect lends to the illusion a cycle of autumn done every
few seconds. The trees knowing black foliage no more than escape the wind than they are
falling to the ground, swept to the air and returning to rest elsewhere. Just as the arms of the
great oaks, the wise maples, the bold birch trees stop their sway, hands of branch tips unfolded
from their determined fist bearing breath father winter spoke; these cunning birds return home.
 Whether the tree is brightly lit from white icicle strings of light or bathed in the
colorful glow of red and orange bulbs the hundred shifting black shapes take them too. They
can be heard over the dull roar of the traffic coming into town through the fifty foot glowing
candle display hung overhead. They are seen passing high over the dozens of steeples
towering over the biblically named town, its hills and valleys lined by streets of small
decorated firs on most every lamppost.

Here I await the beginning of class, a new start towards the life which
almost escaped me for countless years. Here I put these years to rest, my mind,
body and soul with them.

Its the same story the crow told me, its the only one you know. Like the
morning sun you come and like the wind you go.

There is no time to wait. There is only time for church keys, chairs and
friends to fill them. Tonight the smell of the bitter coffee will fill the air, and I will
speak once more of my gratitude for being alive. It is this place I was chosen to
be in, this story I was destined to tell. Spinning in the lifeline in these frayed bits
of twine, God never listens to what I say, he only answers.
 Chapter Eleven:

Afterbirth

Yeah, I was waiting for class alright. A class of my own on a jet set ticket to nowhere. I
dropped off the manuscript at the end of my two week journey down memory lane to the nearby
cafe crew slut, and it was off to the faces. Of death, so be it the way.

Before I knew it, not only did I have a nine month pregnant no more than a baby momma
whose afterbirth I missed the contents of, but I had passed genital baggage in as many forms as
you can be presumed innocent of on to my next one. The crew slut, she can be a new slut without
the tagged and bagged baby momma tilt because she is a well known abortion activist. Only in
between rights to have them for the betterment of my own kind.

Soon beheaded and off to the faces of the nearby mob, I left town and headed for an anti-
jew establishment that would ignore my incessant ramblings and oy veys! enough to let me get
my solid ass to a near aneurism from psychotic anxiety attacks at the hands of the Salvation
Shmarmy Vest

Chester.

May your Lynns be limber, and your dismemberment be circle jerks, cause cock roach
stew is my piece of the flesh torn virus I call airpiece in a very Tijuana way. But only after
crying my eyes out to three hundred pound fish of the sea who want a piece with the condom
on now. These are crazy, crazy, crazy nights...

Sue me, sue me why don't you do me? I love you. Love yourSEEELF.

These are crazy, crazy, crazy nights! KISS enthralls me with my headphones on here at
my little Able Disabled flashback memories of San Diego pipe fitters dreams capable of
rocketing me to the top. But that's neither here nor there.

Soon after I left Ms. Career in the herpes lust for abortion, and the local gangbusters
busting my nuts to get the dirt out of town (namely me) I fled the state.

I have to say I saw my cute little six month old, held him in my arms rather than his
drunk and french up on me (so I can know it's ok cause life is that complicated) mother who
slept next door in the

HUD row home...

I'm living in sin at THE HOLIDAY INN!

 You tell me that you want me to go too far? I tell you what, how about I drink my face off
and build a comfortable life in dugouts gay palace while sipping on my drink and watching my
son's mother pick up the next nut cause I think she came in with another joey bag a donuts.
There goes the HUD. Thud, thud. (on the table)

Not so funny now, am I?

I know you write me sexy letters, but sometimes my love can go too far... at the Holiday Inn.

Soon after sucking off my gay dirty hippy roommate while doing my pops I ran my Jet
Blue balls straight to San Diego. There I became Ozenoz.

Three years of therapy, songwriting and snowflake method of novel writing mixed with
chess and S.S.I. Lawyers later I returned to a dish wash job at The Hotel
Schmethlehem.

I had my head on straight, but no insurance. Jessica and I made a run for the big

time, and beer in hand we ran to the hotel where it all began. The big breakup, and the foul

mouthed psychotic writing fits that took me to New York City doing more voices than

Eddie Murphy while going down on Barack Obama. Allow me to introduce you to: the one,

the only: SCUMBAG FROM HELL:

(hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahah
aha)

OzenOz
(AHH - ZEN AHHS) ONE:ENO
STANDARD BIBLIOGRAPHY

Type information for your first source here. EMINEM.

CHECKLIST

1 JOEL

For a bibliography:

Include an entry for every source you used to write your report.

For a list of references:

Include an entry for every source you used to write your report.
For works cited:

Include an entry for the specific sources you quoted or referenced in your report.

2 EDWARD

An entry for a book follows this basic format:

Author last name, first name. (year of publication). Title. City:

Publishing Company.

An entry for a periodical follows this basic format:

Author last name, first name. (year, date of publication). Name of article. Periodical, pages.

Include the complete title of the reference and begin each important word with a capital letter.

List the entries alphabetically by the last name of the author. If there is no author, use the first

main word of the title. A,

An, and The are not considered main words.

3 AYERS

Place a comma between the authors last and first name.

Titles of books and periodicals are shown in italics.

Use quotation marks at the beginning and end of an article name.

Add a colon followed by a space to separate the city where the source was published and the

name of the publishing company. Use two spaces after the author, the publication date, and the

title.
SAMPLE ENTRIES FOR SOURCES

There are several bibliographic styles, and your instructor may prefer a specific one. Be sure to

find out what style you should use. These examples are written in the Modern Language

Association (MLA) style.

Book

Basic format for books

Brooks, Joel. (2006). Trippin On. Bethlehem: Lulu.com.

A book with one author

Anderson, Mark. (1959). Mark Beaubien: a Biography. New

York: Lakes Publishing.

A book with two or more authors

Rasmussen, Mary and Matthew Clapham. (2000). Photographic

Essays of the End of a Century. Atlanta: Lakes & Sons.

A book with an editor

Bell, Michael (Ed.). (1991). Writing Clearly: Bullets, White

Space and Common Sense. New York: MacNamara Publishing.

A translation of a book

Buchner, Rolf. (1939). Nunummy Nibh. (Sang Han and Scott

Kahler, trans.) Boston: Shawn Henning.

An anonymous book

The Chicago Manual of Style: Fourteenth Edition. (1993).

Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.

A later edition of a book

Warnke, Sue. (1988). Computer Graphics (new revised edition).

Seattle: Litware, Inc.

A work in more than one volume

Nguyen, Thanh. (1961). Myth in Childrens Literature. Boston:

Jackson Publishing.

Periodicals

A signed article in a journal

Arnold, Tom. (1984). The effect of pesticides on air quality.

Consolidated Messenger, 20, 244-60.

A signed article in a daily newspaper

Green, Wendy (1994, December 27). Speculation and development. Island Hopper News

section D, p. 1.

An unsigned article
The role of weather in economics. (1981, December 14). Honory Museum of Science,

Quarterly Journal, Volume IV, 16-

21.

Other sources

A film or videotape

Horner, Alika (Supervising Director), and Ben Rabelos

(Producer). (1937). Moms Kitchen. [Videotape]. Burbank, CA:

School of Fine Art.

Computer software

Microsoft Works 6.0 (1987-2001). [Computer program].

Redmond, WA: Microsoft Corporation.

Television or radio program

The coffee dilemma. Exploration Air. Public Broadcasting.

WXYZ, Chicago. March 21, 1996.

Personal interview

Jackson, Frank. Personal interview. January 4, 1996.

Speeches, addresses, and lectures

Brooks, Joel. Lecture. Spring Lecture Series at Safe Harbor.

 Tit for Tat

Fill the page

Make it stop

My head is time bomb

Mass written hip hop take a medicinal choking the old

chicken bowl take the purity off the rage put it to rest like

mahatma's test sorry erik i broke your elbow in five places i

was blinded by the hit you gave me

broken bleeding ho's on the floor

crying now making love for no more

womb its estranged in fucking tubilar

mandistrophy

eclectic crestive palgue of babies in jest Grace your through

fuck im drunk and getting drunker

NOW im in hustler with a fucking cock too red oh red what an ad what an ad and

whyd you go blonde so sad so sad so sad so sad through the womb its estranged

through

the page its deranged thread the fill thread the puill with a cock on the fill

Im the interstedest mostest bestest freshest testidest freshest

freshsest it
 ahhs ahhs ahhhs ahhhhsss and m m m m m m and after all were only

ordinary men men men men men (men

men men.....)
EMIT
Take the time

Write the page

Fill the story

Fill the stage

Make a play

Make it weight

make it copy - written proof that it's not hate

Love is awareness

LOVE in the NOW

Take it to the guru Im a guru NOW

Forget it I'm lame blasted shit tasted like eminem stew shoved it up my ass then ate it to
brew

Nigga da broken playin his cock and rubbin it against the sins of the

world this mast is aflying with HANUMAN unfurled

Christ, Buddha riopping scriptures right off of the page

In jail I'm no monkey in it's positive stage

fright stage fright

Da Broken has spoken son now it's up to you

 Buddha no bud it's time for bed

It's Ambien instead

Risperdal dreams are up on the this is not strange

Take the time time

has stopped Its

emitted admitted

taken backward

refitted admitted the

shame you
acquitted me sane to release the remitted like an isea this crime give me six

up down the line spinning hated and faded the degraded love you created infiltrated and made

it easy to be what I made it and shit you kill it the time shoulda been you fill her fine but you

turn water

to time so time time time

(The Great Gig in The Sky)

C ock

Greed gonna kill it

This dream this failure for sure

Can't win it with pride

Cause I don't ever wanna

 Deem myself the doctor

The witch doctor the witch thats

who it is

East Coast is close to my heart but the West

Coast is on my brain

Hawaii gives me courage

And Alaska some fight

Brooks Range is a sight

For sore eyes I'm sure

But I've never been there

Cause I'm putting on Ayers and

working on dares to share and

circle the world with the illest shit

cause I got diarrhea

Real bad, honey can we get some

Kaopectate?

Damn food stamps, No Shaney

don't eat that! That's his

coke you understand

 Daddy is superman he sees through

the miles through walls and swing

one last time

In the park

We gonna roll outta here soon and head on

down the road

IS is headin to a magical land

Where Disney made his moves

The legend is born the place

ain't space it's just too far from

you but if I don't try this kid

I'm just gonna probably wash dishes for the rest of

my life

So anyway little man

Tell Kyler goodbye come on get in the car

ok, Alyson you can come too hard for

your boyfriend but don't worry in the end

you get fucked left with a little nigger who

aint gonna excite

You like your little brothers do

Oh, you wanna come? Bring Kyler too!
 This is a family move!

The North wind is blowin, we better

get goin before the rain comes down

Heard a dry spell from the East is comin

round

This heats too much gotta get outta

the kitchen

Sick of naggin bosses bitchin

When I shakin bitches

Up with my sick fuckin moves

I can dance like no motherfucker you ever knew

Lots of niggers can dance

But this ones the black eared

Compact ill ribbed condom eating man

completing shit beating trash eating

coke stealing

Cappucino muredrer!

Was a cheatin Vegan but that shits

just for pussy

Momma this is trauma

but if I cross them tracks or not by

the
 Wildflower Cafe and Gallery

Some nigga gonna pop off and kill me

And I'm afraid I'd rather my head be

bleeding out in L.A.

Cause I'm hemorrhaging here

All the fucking time Doctor get a

needle!

I gotta eat this niggers dime

And then spit it cause I held it in my

throat and spit it up for the po for

the corp for more than just greed for

money money money

Gimme that weed sleeping in No Man's

Land its gonna be fun but psycho y'all

I'm just playing

Cause the city of Angels here we

come!

Stop it Kyler, stop hitting your brother we're almost to Phoenix

Alyson, put him under a cover

But Mom it;s hot! Bitch I don't

care!

You little fucking slut!

I'm getting wasted when we get there!

 oops Ayers, hey can you drive?

No, honey you no I don't have a license?

It says some other name

Yeah I know gotta pay the ticket and get it

back

But check this one out I got

Aint it fucking whack

ME AGAIN YOU LITTLE

SHIT AND I'LL KILL YOU

Alyson- you're such a dike-bitch you're all talk

now leave him alone!

Put on imagination station cause that shit

ain't real

I don't talk this well

In real life

I give respect

Take care of my people's

And little ones in check

We protect their ears

 Those sacred children of God

It is mercy will protect them

And his love it will abound

Is this shit startin to work to my benefit now?

Then look it up - back me up!

Just go ahead frame me!

I'm not Da Broken Record

I'm not fucking talkin

Shootin weed or slingin crack smackin

dope or snorting rocks ants or oops you

want to see the contents of my backpack?

OK officer, go ahead

Hands up high and keep em up

I'm not kiddin kids

Parents chill
Cause if your letting your little ones run

the streets they better know when the

beat or the cop the Po-Po whatever rolls

up on em fo' sure

They get they hands up over their head

 Not in your sweatshirt

DEFINITELY NOT

DOWN YOUR PANTS

NOT IN YOUR POCKETS

OR THAT MACE IS IN

YOUR FACE

CAUSE THOUGH MAYBE

YOUR NOT CARRYING

NOTHIN ILLEGAL

AS I ONCE WAS

They will really kill you if you

have any move that looks

well

Da Broken Record thats me

the OZENOZ SHOW UP NEXT

ON OZENOZ DOT TV

LAFCO, TAO YOU DA

WIZ WAZ UP
I'm the wizard now
Just til I have the money You crack pot!

Ayers head!

Brooks- it burns!

Ayers head!

Just chant that for me

homey

Babbling Brooks bursting

Ayers bubbles and doubles

I'mseeing rainbows now their are

fucking everywhere
 Shut Your Pie Hole

I may be alone

When I sit at my throne

But I have no ill thoughts

I can say that I am

Sane

I do not need a piece of paper and I do not

own a gun

The world tour will be bigger

And Marshall your are going to have fun

Cause we'll take it YEMEN

In ADEN we'll play

with Ziggy Marley and

Lauren Hill and peace out

ya'll cause I'm overplayed

Now thats me and thats for

Merchandise t- shirts

Logos and squirts

My artwork is ingenius certifiably divine

Siddrtha Gluacoma

OMEN

AMEN

AMIN

NAMIN

MAN IN

OMEN

We need some more

Money M&M

Money M&M

Money M&M

OZ- ONE

LOVE

IN HUM WE TRUST

OM MANI PADME

This Zen is excuse me

But Eminem Bush is gone

 Shush! You're increasing the

delusion that the war machine turning

will continue on burning up funds for

the poor

So take up your hands

Mr. Presidential bore

Or maybe he'll really come to your defense

Lets just be catty and stick that on the fence

Your welcome

Shut your pie hole

You fucking ill prick

The Eminem Show's over

I think I'm gonna be sick

Lions and Tigers and Bears oh my!

You scored yet zo

Cause yo dis gonna fry

Yo brain before I eat it

You can share it with me

Cus Dis is US
 US- U- S

We used to be schizophrenic but US is cool

Go to school

Quit your bitchin

Got that honorary degree

You fuckin wishin

They can't say I don't rap about bein po'

Trust me I'm broke

Get that ASS on the flow

Surrender to it Untie your

shoe it the flow of Brooks

Ayers got the looks

the locks and the keys the fridge

is gonna freeze

Governor Schwartzanegger

Geez

You can't spit it can't I

Your OZ_EN_OZ

time
 Just watch your shoes

Gonna get em blasted in

sewage water

Now look up look

down Get that ass

onthe flow the flow

of the Brooks

Ayers got the looks

This is IT Psycho Clown Posse'

You insano fucking freaks

Get your bullshit act outta

Here and get that shit off the

streets

Prism Family Love

Light seems to eminate from light

beams

That Eminate

OZEN

1ZEN

2 DOZEN ROSES
 3ZEN

4ZEN

5ZEN FO SURE

Six pence

7 tents

8 carts of hose

9 faggits in poseand on the tenth day we'll put

Ayers

By the Brooks under foot

DA BROKEN

IS CHOKIN

TOKIN

DOPIN

CUZ

11 ZEN 12

Oh for the bud

Oh for the who

50 CENT BASKIN
 DIS ROBBINS FOR YOU

Hughes Lawson

Matthew Lesko

An airline my suit

oops A_I_C

Thats hey man don't shoot!

Air Force One

Hang One On OZENOZ

The bubbly kine

Course pope smokes

DA BROKEN CAN I OFFER

YOU SOAP
Mr. President?

Wash your mouth out Nigga!

You gonna get ill!

Oh Mommy! Can't be all the episodes

CHILL

SHIT
 AYERS take a breather Your

Babbling Brooks I mean Ayers

get it!

Your acting like sewage underfoot!

OFW

WFO

O FO DA BROKEN

WISH WIZZIN

ON THE FLOW

Brooks flow is decreasin

With every day

Need some propecia? No, mon

my hairs fine Whats up Dr. Dre!

But seriously now motherfuckers

get ill

Thats No Blood For Oil

No blood period

You dil-do shove it up

my ass

Cause I'm anal retensive

 Obama in Atlanta

We shook the defensive

Said you like like a cousin

or a nephew or somthing

No actually I'm lyin

We never really shook

Off my penis

Schwartzanegger

You gonna look like a

name player name

player

Fuckin free

First Middle Last

Money, Money, Money

I need a football team

Steelers

I need private jet

Air Force One

 I need a running toilet that runs like

Brooks

So the AIR don't smell

Ayers free

Brooks pee

Oxygen's not it's

actually hot

2 double formula

Makes O- ZONE

that svelt

From the place where ZO reside

OZENOZ

IN HUM WE TRUST

ZEN

MORTAL

Goodbyes

Ok, this is it guys

I'm really fucking done

It's not legit, I'm just having fun

 I don't want to say this shit onstage

Don't want sell motherfucking out

Don't want to live this

Ripe Raw Dream

My skin is starting to work to my

benefit now?

Oh, shit that's offensive

Nothing new

Nothing new

Here's to hope on the offensive

You Arab fucking Jew

I'm a christian, this boy needs

Jesus

God you played us Get help

and seize thia

Oil for bloods, crypts and cut!

Oh fucking Ayers, your ass is done

Your never allowed inside my motherfucking cafe again! OUT!

NOW! BITCH!
May
St. John the Baptist

Where did he wade

In the waters

That city lays barren today

May spring a well

Because there's a well already made

We can baptise we can save

we can offer ourselves

Our own resting place kill the

press

i didn't he's alone at

work

Father, may you help me

The KKK smirk

I am the wizard the waz

with a pen

Though I am not dead

I may rise again

 For we are the arms the

body the christ

Brothers rejoice

This happens to be our Enticement

Once and twice

Three times before

The world was brought

To the arms of the poor

The rich cast away

What the few do not owe

And the poor do not own

The fight for the dough Our

enticement our enticement

our enticement

Zen

Ahh

Zo

Ahh

Zen
 Ahh

Zo

Ahh

Zen

Ahh

Zo

O-Z-E-N-O-Z

OZONE

This is OZ ONE ONE ZO ENO

ONOZ

NEO ZEO

ZO

ZA ZA ZA ZA

ZI ZI ZI ZI

IZ IZ IZ IZ

AZ AZ A TO Z

ONE A TO Z

ONE GOD
 ONE LOVE

ONE ZONE

ONE ZO OZONE

OZ LOVES ONE

ZO OZ ONE LOVE

LOVE ZO ZOO

ONE ZO ZOO

ONE ZOO

ZOO ONE

ENO ONE

NE NE

OO

ZO OZ ONE

LOVE

M r. I
Hard Rock throne

Sits like a vine

Drinkin tonic and gin

 Whisky and wine

On like a caddy whore

A caddy a little jew He's at

Imagination Station .com where are

you?

Vegas Vegas

And Bethlehem too

This is no game

I'm rappin to fame

Spittin ill

Cause my brain

Is more than slightly at strain

50 cent this life will leave you physically, mentally

and

E- motive your hard

13th step dey aint none

12 fret dey waint some

Cuz when I faint dumb

This rock gonna make

numb
 I smoke that crack

Then suck on a nigga'

In a Rams team oh feen

W-C-U fields of green

I'd rather be there

Now whats on my grave?

That glass dick til I'm

Chill

I'm addicted don't smoke dis don't toke that

don't choke DAT

DA BROKEN

we open for mic nex round is

for

Phatty Phatty Bombalattie

Dre wish Princess you da ho

Ho-Ho-Ho cuz

Ca-Ca yo' dum in da slum

Bummin smokes

For change
 Bummin tokes I'm deranged

Okay I cop a plea these streets

gonna kill me before I get a name

Diz ones for da bitch who left me

in a ditch

Mom- Mom was her name and Pop- Pop

was her game Said "get rid of Shaney

just drop him off at Grandmas"

And you really think you should

Now GET YO' PAWS

off my son

You see

Eventually it all comes out in the wash

Cause I'm not stupid, I'm not crazy, I

got brains balls and a heart

I hope you forget this

I love you faggit

Now I won't

cause when you say it

You'll spray it
 Ozenoz woulda said that

But we learn from our pain

This troubled mixed up life

This rap is for good to show kids

what this life is about

If you those bitches and choke yo' snitches and

milk's in the fridge it's cold in their Shaney

don't melt the frigidaire

cause my hearts frozen solid

And I sit and I cry

So hard I can't think straight like tears will

make me die

No just blur my eyes

And clear em wide open

I'm not a faggit father

I'm not a cock sucking Jew

Not a catholic either

I'm just dumb

 Boy that's you to

the tee

She'll say
to the wee lad is it bad?

You can't play that game!

Cause your pimp at the house he's making

him louse up his feet and sleep on the floor

Now Charlie come and get me that's

Alpha Beta Delta fry me I'm schoolin

or I would or I should

And will send Shaney to college

Cause his life won't be worse than mine now

Cause I'm smart you little nigger You tricky

motherfucker

You talk like OZENOZ wizard waz wishin he

wasn't so zen dats because

I'm so broke I can't eat

I can't smoke

But that's good

Now that was funny

Put Allie in the hood or go take Annabella

for a walk you sharp little bitch

 Go protect her

She's a pit - bull or

whatever that mutt isn't mine

Cause I couldn't find the

dollars the cents to put it

away

I don't have the money and this is

the way

I can't do it I'm alone

No I'm at a meeting
Where the GM and the chef tell me

I'm crazy No they say you ok?

Maybe you should see a doctor!

But they'll pump me with pills equal to coke

booze and smack and whoops once again

I'm an addict

So lets act like this dream

Ain't going to get real

Hey kids listen to your doctor

I'll listen to mine if he would ever call me

back
 But my politics are whack

Not cause of you Allyson

Not cause of Mom

It's because of the dead baby the

pregnancies and all the ABORTION

I can't support her cause my son

would be dead

Now that's a hard truth little soldier

hold your head

And go in front of a judge and say this one

twice

I wrote an executive summary of what killers

lives are like cause I got stuck in a cell

And it ain't my mobile phone

I want this misery to end

And it won't be from some homegrown It'll be from this stuff that I write

while I'm cryin

My eyes out

It's healing

It's appealing and won't

be so trite

I'm a fright
 That this stuff I write ain't so bad

You little ZO

that's clan from

the forests the

deserts we're all

over the land

cause in zen we

believe in

the OM MANI PADME HUMPADME SAMBHAVA

Take me to

Hai

Hanuman Hospital

Where they took my rights away

And I beat that case cause I was

real smart

The Judge said this too good

My ten page part

Cause it's sick

It's fucking sick the life that

I'm living

Don't blame OZENOZ

 For the ZO NOW HOW

And the HOW is WOW

AND THE HALL IS

WHERE

I SAT AND ATE GOOD

FOOD AND SPARE

CHANGED

No that's a lie

She'll probably make me swish some

Palmolive

Soap scum in mouth it

burns

Nah cause I washed it

Can't blame it on the parents who love me so

dear can't blame it on the people who held

me in tears

We love you too

Ayers Brooks and Yo

- El
 You gonna see me again

And hear my voice

And it's for you don't play

cause I'm a musician

Ahh fuck it they own it

I don't have Da Broken Records

but I'll chase it

Now zone

OZONE-OZ-ONE

LOVEOZ-EN-OZ PEACE

We love you too Shaney

Now get outta here.

Kid. Never let this bother if she ever happens to get a hold of oh

anyway.

S ony
Come on edit it baby

This ones for my friend

Chang with his Rolex or was

that TV's
 9th District New Jersey

Step on DAT GREEN

Step on DAT GREEN

Natale from his homeland

And a concierge who I groom

Every tricka trap

Spell it out doom

Cause this was for skins

Da Broken what?

Buddha big statue what?

Cut! Thats a wrap

It's on top a da house

DA WHITE ONE

No that's Changs

HOME

LAND SECURITY

How many Sony TV's did you give to him huh

Is that on the floor

 what you want some more?

Legislative District

No it's a state

Mom for me

that's

M-E-D_I-C-I-N-E

for you

on my wrist

that's a clock

I didn't ditch come now

get pissed

Though I wanted to drop that

Drop that

watch in the pond where a body

lays rottin

No brotha' down

there

I'm swimmin in Catalina

A leana A leana that's a gimme that's a

gimme
 My mother wasn't raped

I ate her pussy while she slept

Don't try this at home

Do it in a john in San Francisco

Mentally Ill from

Sandy Can Ville

Thinkin he Don't Cuz he'll eat

your brain or a stage that

cadavers gonna be grain or

blue or grey I suppose like

Hannibal Lector

DA BROKEN

Chokin

Tokin

Smokin

Some Hemp

Round my neck with a belt trying to choke

the broke bitch who sat down

My ASS!
 Hurts again, fag

No - cigarette Jew

Now what neighborhood you from

I grew up in Da Hood!

Hairy bastard selling dope from his

house

CATMANDU

Lewis Lewis Rhodes that's you

Fender Bender

No don't bend her just end her

life

Imprisonment

Must be so fun

Mania Mania

for Mr. Lennon thats sven and for

Ken that Barbie you ho killer queen

A-G-C

Whats up VW YOU GONNA

wo Prism Family
 Waz is he wizzin

Diz pizzin you off cuz

Oh gun go
Po po I tear your club up fo

shows that blows and grows

this Namaste

Casper you da man

In the tent in da

Bittersweet Motel

Broken wings sings for rocks

It's EX- for me for him for you

Been tourin too long

Better wrap it up for me

Cause I stood over that man

Takin notes with a pen

While they hauled him off to prison Don't beat the

kid kidz that waz real

Reba gonna shake what

That fucker for the feel

 Killa Shah I challenge you how

to fix my double album

For the ho-ho-ho

OZENOZ TO'
What up Stiff?

Diz your riff?

Take me back to Tennessee with

Percy I'll Palmer and play play

play

We don't BALL BIBLE

BELT DIZZY
Aight I'm dizzy from spinnin eight

times clockwise the ten back

round - WORD watching my

shadow and the forms in my brain

Solitary

killer Shah!

What I call you huh cause you ma

boy

Nigga

Not a toy

Nigga
 We gonna BALL

Cuz thats three shots tall

You info' life

That's 3 fo' your wife

This rap game

That's me in Venice

Saw 50 Cent out the corner of my eye

But his fan want so shy he ran up

on his boy and the chopper in the

sky come down on da mon on court

for a plan

Den it followed me after that week

this for you you don't know come on tell your boys

I don't know you

I don't owe you

You owe me for the shots you bust on my chops

Cuz my bikes in the sand

For the food stamps I sold

I owe L.A. for

A three speed trike

 Pop you gonna sleep soon

Hep - C you meet the moon

I love you too

But not the bottle that rut

for my strut

I was undereducated didn't know you

can't catch Hep - C from anything but

blood to blood and kill it that's real

I'm HIV positive so chill out

I don't know

Maybe Jessi does

She coulda gave it to Allie

Shaney or
Psyche Yo! this is lemon -

AIDS Cuz I ain't afraid!

I'm gonna live forever

Like superman who

aint died yet

He's just convulsing

And riding his horse who's had his head

chopped off for that brain I'm gonna

 Eat onstage

Gotta get doctor!

Or a student, a medical one

Batty, catty genetic strain

We makin wierd people up dere in the sky

Or is that wierd people

we can fry

And eat
I'm a vegan A cheatin one they got

gills and pills for deranged the

strange is that territory out of range

No Area - 51

You faggit legit

Open that secret file

Now spill out da shit

Dis dizzy nigga

Gone outta control

I'm half blood

Half water
 Half pewter

Half copper

Half pu and half zen

and den what he's

Ahh Zen Ahh Zen AAhh

zizzizzit this is a rap

Da Broken

Da Broken

Is Broke

My Waz

wiz wiz

this is

this is

DA

Smoke

Be Kine

Da Broken

Is Broke
 My Waz

wiz wiz

this is

this is

One

(music)

Love

Da Broken

Is Broke

My Waz

wiz wiz

this is

this is

DA

Smoke

Be Kine

Da Broken

Is Broke
 My Waz

wiz wiz

this is

this is

One

(music)

Love

Da Broken Chokin

Tokin

Smokin

Da Hemp

Da Broken

Chokin Tokin smoke it to

your head

Like it's brain

Disdain rearraign crane

frame the tame

Da Broken

Chokin
 Tokin

Smokin

Da Hemp

Da Broken

Chokin Tokin smoke it to

your head

Da Broken

Chokin

Tokin

Smokin

Da Hemp

Da Broken

Chokin Tokin smoke it to

your head Like it's brain

Disdain rearraign crane

frame the tame

Da Broken

Chokin

Tokin
 Smokin

Da Hemp

Da Broken

Chokin Tokin smoke it to

your head

Da Broken

Is Broke

My Waz

wiz wiz

this is

this is

DA

Smoke

Be Kine

Da Broken

Is Broke

My Waz

wiz wiz
 this is

this is

One

(music)

Love

Da Broken

Chokin

Tokin

Smokin

Da Hemp

Da Broken

Chokin Tokin smoke it to

your head

Like it's brain

Disdain rearraign crane frame the

tame

Da Broken

Chokin

Tokin
 Smokin

Da Hemp

Da Broken

Chokin Tokin smoke it to

your head

Da Broken

Is Broke

My Waz

wiz wiz

this is

this is

DA

Smoke

Be Kine

Da Broken

Is Broke

My Waz

wiz wiz
 this is

this is

One

(music) Love

Da Broken

Chokin

Tokin

Smokin

Da Hemp

Da Broken

Chokin Tokin smoke it to

your head

Like it's brain

Disdain re -arraign crane frame

the tame

Da Broken

Chokin

Tokin

Smokin
 Da Hemp

Da Broken

Chokin Tokin smoke it to

your head

Da Broken

Is Broke

My Waz

wiz wiz

this is

this is

DA

Smoke

Be Kine

Da Broken

Is Broke

My Waz

wiz wiz

this is

this is
 One

(music)

Love
Liz

Can N-E body fuck me?

How about the neon sign on the

Hotel Bethlehem who'll only hire

'dem niggers for' jobs like

dishwashers and cans and can't

make it little chef?

I could? Won awards in this town

Bethlehem

Steel Garden you gonna get it

Tucker Tucker tuck me in

Signs and signs and pins and needles and

chains for rims

Spit this joke out and chew

it real hard

Cause I'm gonna make it

Rich gonna

Eat the Rich

Eat em alive
 Grey matter I love you that no joke

cuz

It's gonna be me

Lector Spector and Jew

Cause I'm a rich nigga'

I'm a killa' too

Rich bigga'

Figga'

Dis cats for you to put

on the Ayers

Oh OZENOZ thats you!

Brooks what you? I spit

out rhymes like fat little

jew

Achoo Achoo

I'm sick I'm sick

I'm sick I'm sick Fuck you!

Christkindlemart and

stocking stuffers

My dishwash hands
 Pots and Pans for

Gratsi and Matsah

Merlino on my chino

Dog it aint you

Ok take it off

Wanna try it on too

Cause Da Broken's broke And a

motherfucking

Catholic

Father please forgive, for I have

wind

pbbbbffft!

I mean it DA BROKEN

Faa'ted and Faa'ted and Faa'ted

chokin tokin smokin

Da Hemp

Da Broken

is broke

my waz wiz

wiz
 this is

A fucking fake

One Love

Love One

One Two

Da Broken's gotta go catch

a plane

And meet somebody named Harry

who lives in LA

Mr. Brooks you know what I'm sayin?

Just take another pill you rap

about yeah yeah took a bottle

full of uppers and downers and

blacked out in front of the pool

man

I'm a liar

I woulda drowned

if it weren't for

Mom - Mom playing nanny and letting

me call Shaney and Kyler and I lied

about
 who who?

Ayers, your so crazy, mary jane lane skip the pain

skip the train pack your bags buy a ticket and

get on it filled a Cheetos bag with booms from

A.C. convention center

Yourself AAZ

AHH ZEN

AHH DEN
I made tea at G.C.

That's A.G.C. where I took em for

the tourney on my journey bought it

in the parking lot

Out of - body-

Experience

Don't take it

Don't take it

I never meant to eat the whole boom that Conner

that Conner yo cruise, cruise, cruise

California

Cruz sailor
 Bail er out

Can't surf too many sharks

And take the jailer out side for a

smoke and a rope and some kine

Da Broken

like it's brain disdain re-

arraign crane from the

tame

Sufi Swan oh bathhouse Rumi

I take dive
for Ginsberg's orange and now

my fucking too me? who?

This word it ends with zo and starts with

Oh! OZENOZ fuck me!

eight fold two

fold drawn

billfold skin fold ream my wallet made a

hemp you could buy it at ma' sto' on Brooks

and Front it the Walk we'll be at your funeral

Its Ayers who left me this studio and I hope Yo

- el makes me well

And I'm high as fuck

 That's what he'd say - oh shit he's breathing

He's alive

Did the KKK die?

No just him, just him

So die KKK

Die KKK

Die KKK

Die Nigga Nigga

The one in the back wit his white hood and a cigarette

oh Shit!

That's OZENOZ

he's at our fucking rally

I was in '82 but that was with my mommy

playing Row Jimmy and Toodledeedoo

Jimmy this

Jimmy that
Jimmy Jimmy who?

I'm BROKEN!

Nah just broke

tokin weed

smokin greed
 makin grief for

my life

So kid's stay in school

College, that is when

you's a frosh

Don't be so posh just learn that

publisher's oh I did that's why I'm

still broke and have herpes

Nah
I don't have herpes, my dick's just bitchin - oh I

mean, shit, did you get that?

I don't know...

I hope not.

Of course you's da only ones I cans

fucks wits outta

Condom HON!

cause I'm HIV positive with Hep C from

hookers and needles California, you know I'm

free!

Spin that one D.J. after you sucked my dick I spat

blood
 In the toilet in the

Red House in

Michi- GAIN

AGAIN?

AGAIN!Oh aight, buddy you jack me off

on the needle at the fight club we didn't

have a moment cuz that knife was too

slow.

But hold it to my throat again And I'll motherfucking kill you Cause

I'm HIV positive with Lemon - Aids for my D.J.

cause his name is Jay

"Hi J" k elementary O-

P-P

Queers to you

VW - XYZ

DA BROKEN
Nah!

A-B.-C. Def G A.G.C.

Aki Fore

Da Broken
wand that's in the shoes gotta be the

shoes my LA gears dogs is barkin put

 some baby powder in em them and

them and them and us and us and us

and us and oh!

Damn bitch!

You got fucking shoe stank!

L ove
There's a war in the land

Is it real

Is real it is a war elementary

school kids now don't make us

steal

Them cameras is rollin

For digital proof

The internet we own in

Isn't paper

Now spoof

Cause envelopes come quickly

And will get sorted through

Where wireless don't reach

 At the Zoo At the Zoo

Drove that Kosmic Debris truck full of

sound equipment

A cargo van full of beer

In my gut I was underage

And those lions act queer That gig we

got proof that I sung soprano so

I'll quiet down

While the drummer

plays the congo's like a

clown

He's a professor a

wizard a wiz wizzin

wand

I'm the good witch Belinda

On the john clickin heels but he won't

go in a balloon

Cause I'm afraid of heights

So don't hang me from the wire these shoes

These LA gears are all that I got

 Some baby powder shady slim waistline I'll

trot all over town to lose it I am sure

Cause Le-hightons in Valley

Talley dat ho cause he's pure

Clean bitch I'm clean

1000 days soon

Cause I bathe, I shower, I act like the new

moon

Is every day now

Everday comin

When it's time

I'll be a runnin

And runnin hard

Cause this show's off my lard my

fat my burning desire my fat ugly ass had

better retire

But don't hang from a line A telephone

pole

Cause dis is whats he after

Money and Gold

 To evenly distribute

Among the system hands

I can't but I'll pay tribute

In foreign lands

If they draft me

From a bench

A warrant

Its a cinch

And off I'll go

Through sleet and snow

What I don't know

Is who be dat woah cuz E-Z

funny the money aint

Preen

This kissin cousin

We just shoulda seen

Pay it I'll pay it

Back with a smile

 That leftie he's quick to put on

a smile

At work I will act

Like O-Z and O-Z

E-N

NE element for the woah

G slow down Z thats a riot

I should get some drugs

But I'm in a recovery home and Christ I'll

retire

Call me an atheist call me a jew I'm just a

sinner I call it home

Phew!

This E-Z Money E-Z queer

you ain't funny flashing your middle

finger out in the cold!

I'm going home now, I better grow old

I'm a player he'd say

Cause he is cause he is

That strap on my list

 But his A - GAME

Get tested and bested

I better get mine

Cause I'm bought and sold

And I better not rhyme

Too hard when I walk through that door

Actin tough

Actin tough

Cause I'll show off my Fender my bumper

sticker I adore

Butterflies in the field outside

Emerald Shitty

Crystal Towers
Sand grains and Ivory

Pearls and wisdom seems she

knows a thing or too this

Neverending Rep Game

It's just a game, I give it up

Before I'm completely insane

Da Plano
 Da drano

Da motherfucking kine

Da Broken is

Broke

Bro

So time for the last rewind

This broken old man and a world

On kine

Hemp for oil

oil for gold gold

for hmm energy

And a star in the cold

Whats up he'll say wanna get rid of

that case?

NO, not really - you keep it-

This taste in art work and stickers

is great

Green and seen

And fucking pristene

It's good for that kid who'll

take it with squid

 Macro-beanie Tack-

tack sonic missing a

bridge

A hook begs from a tune

New tuners New

stingers

Oh shit I'm coming!

I'm going through hell here in my old

hometown

I'm packing my bags everyday like a clown

This game doesn't stay here

It just moves around

The Bulls, The Bears, The Pistons,

The Wheres?

The money- the funny green stuff?

Playa Playa on the wall

Snow White Dwarves us

IN spring summer fall

Brooks range won't improve

He if he keeps on smokin
 Tokin

Chokin

Hemp

like brain tumors

I had a little ouija

I had a little board

I asked him could I meet ya? He said

SATAN word! Then threw the cursor gone-

Oh I'm cursing, YAWEH!

Peace Now. Not for oil. Not for food.

for mu -te'a

Love

Sashimi
I am underemployed that's a noun

for an adjective

My objectivism Ayn Rand coulda paid

Anthem National Debt

You gonna go down now

Real fast cause we got a new

Man on the block walking around

underground
 On battery acid

We don't play dat

Do you hear yo

We don't play around

My two cents in a jar

Ain't legal get tender

I stole some bread today

Cantelmi who

I stole it from in front of a

hardware store

Pepperidge and keep the fridge

Farm it and raise it

A flag every day it's at half

The mast over the cast and crew

cuz I sell this script

It's for you

No gave it away that battle of whisper - it

all
 Away cause in fucking convulsions

On the Ave and I'm calling the medic

Cause he foaming at the mouth

Did he take it got a feeling

He did cause I said it made me trip

It did

People in the park at the church on the

Ave in Oakland

Drawin them guns for the right to bear arms

The po-po can't get em

Cause the bodyguard just caught em

The stockpile gonna be there

For the people we destroy

That's US ZA EN ZA

AZ IF

You FUCKING HOMO

Nobody likes me

Cause I don't like ya'll anyway

 Unless he say she say

She say he said

Left in the crib

And he ate it

Now he's dead

Poor kid psylocybin

Phat Pharm boots

Sad for his time

And a life full of pain

When I got bounced out to the Blind Pig

Didn't finish that drink in the green room

Where we toked and joked and I saw

Some life to this

Arab Scarab

Beetle gonna get me

Mummy in Detroit at the DOA

oh woah so anyway

A-O-D don't preserve me

 We made direct fucking amends to such

motherfucking people wherever fucking

possible except when to do so would kill a

Nigga'

I ain't a God

But I gonna be wit em

If I twist dat shit

Cousin I love ya'll

But you killed that kid

Your only fucking son

with a motherfucking shroom

And slashed a fucking tire

Like it was fun like a buffoon

Then you took me where

Downtown why was I goin?

Cause I seem to need a nap now

Three jobs she was a ho'in

Cause I'm a dick a deck a Doc a

Dose
 A dose a doc a deck ahh dick!

L-A-N-T-A-L-L-E-D-cation

That's Cool J, my DJ got one N word

My middle is gone

My fiddle on the roof

Ayn Rand comin over

At the studio she spoofed

That dike I would fuck

If I could dig up her grave

Hope they mummified her

Thats US WE and Yoohoo!

O-Z and O-Z

E-Z money too

Strapless Dese he's aint

Dat body bag was yoo hoo!

BART Frisco kid down under

the bay popped up in Marin

It will go there I pray

 Where we live in a trailer a humble

abode

Humble Pie

Appleseed
I won't go there You toad!

Lick a nigger play that riff

Lick a nigger play that riff

Lick a Jew play that riff

Lick a Jew play that riff

Oy Fucking vey

Hum da Lallah

500 Seneca soldiers strong

Street love and sweet song

Walid Hussein Barack Insano

The prince the pauper

The cable boy drinkin drano

I'm a lumberjack and I'm ok choppin in

the Sierra's for the Mexicans today

No, lets see in 02,03, Oh say can you

see
 By the dawn of man

What the light has to offer When the time

sifts the sand

Arachnids they are not

Same family tree origin,

species, can't read it

Latin prefix Tee-hee

Tea for Two

Or pee for poo

Poopee! Chaos! Mike!

We were gonna rob a bank

Sleepin on a porch

Back from the corps knew that

security tour you'd been the one

making the change

Off to Belize

Where English is strange

Come on Bitch, put the money down now!

Get that car and it's over blough!

But slim to none and I left

town
 Running from Al - Quaida and the shit all

around

Poppy Poppy

Pound Pound Pound

San Francisco treat

Dem Chinese got small feat

The opium den couldn't be on the longest

street in the world in one country we live in and

own it

Cept Democracy

Two Cents

One Cent actually

negative Studio 54

Andris Lagzdins

You be ma' homie

Cuz you aint drinkin

You thinkin aloud

Them stories was bitchin

You da bouncer da kingpin

 Cut outta the script

So you save when

Oh don't know so I don't go back to O.C

N.J. silent Bob

No arms no legs and head you're a snob

I'd fucking write it all over for you

but this time it's called

"Telemarketers" hmm... that's a crime

cause I will, don't you know But you

won't know it's me

Cause this is my name

Or pen - name in the

Penititentiary

J-O-E-L

Does that one fucking ring a bell?

And the last, first, middle intitial whats up

My trademark on my logo

Has my initialization

Nationalization

Incarceration
 Propertization

Tititillation

Increments of thousands in that

getaway far

Berg in the snakepit at that

L.A. bar

Dropping bombs
And when I'm gone just carry on You know little

baby?

Diz zen masters fed up

O - OZ yeah you fuckin owe me

L-A-P-D

N-Y-P-D

Toku

Sock it to em

Rock it to em

Just don't leave a bruise

Cause I wrote that script about a fight

in 2000 for the soprano not somber and this

last episode ain't so nuts or was that 98,99 or

uh oh

Can't mark you with a dime

 Cuz we get da ball rollin yo!

Yo fucker come and get me!

Come call da po-po

Cuz you said she said I said we said diz

block ain't so clean this restaurants obscene

sellin dope for trademark sellin hope for a

pound selling socks for a hade mark selling

slacks by the mound

it's ice it's all over

But I shovel that walk

Every time it shows

People stop to gawk cause I ain't

got no eyebrows but I love em dat way

BUT I'm just movin powder struck by

lightning wiz waz wazn't that a good show

In Kansas watching the house light on

fire Jack - yo!

Taylor made Taylor made play that guitar

Golf balls buddy or maybe a sitar

Sittin on the throne the o-r-

g-y the poopie in the panties

 Cause I'm just a fun loving guy

Now Steve don't sit down

on the toilet too long

Cause you'll splart sploof and splatter and she'll sing

it don't smell dat it don't smell dat we use to smell

don't fuck around

Ho-land - Ho - you hooker you bum-you

walker, you talker you street hood

Get my thumb shoved up my

ass oh I hope so

"But my hemmorroid!"

It's fucking painful

Time for the Gig

That one in the sky

Prism Family Seems

Would Tour with me too

Can it Conceal it don't own it you - too

Cause I ain't on tour

No World - Tour that is cause this gigs

the last one

OZENOZ YOU DA SHIZ

Quit snooping and dippin and blasting

my AIDS DEFENSE

My times almost up and I'm

in fucking suspense Who wrote

this one the wall?

Was it you Ayers, was it you? I didn't, I

swear it

But I'm just dead and it's over oh fetus that's

two.

For spiral relapse or stem

cell research genetic disposition

same as test tube dispersed but in

medical school What kid?

This one or that - the other one too Hey

hemmorroid you ackin

Splintered Sunlight

Misconstrues

Whats the point of my tour

My Conscience working early to preserve me I

suppose

Hey kissing the sky

Just a Jimi Thing

 Give it a little short, sharp, sharper You got that,

no don't give me no...

Lips and tits and get ready

Butt smack come on

smack DAT what up geez

what up seize

Search and my seizure well reach

in my pocket, let's see hea'

You had oh, a bag of weed lets change the

I.D.

A bag of coke some slim and

quick fast crazy idea to get trim in the

motherfucking

John I'd open up Elvis

But I think Harry's got his costume on Tech nobody knows the trouble I been

Nobody knows who I clown

That Green truck

What the fuck

I guess I ask Tom my one and only friend

But he's your's so you ask him

Will he answer?

Guess that will depend.

 On the tricks of the trade

On the tickety tock trade

ON the dickety dock dade memorial

bridge

Camden oh homey just jump off

This fridge

There's a fridge on the bridge

A midge and a sidge

A tidge a da tidge

A lick lyrical syringe

Up my ass in my bone
On my bone up my ass It won't

reach!

It won't reach!

Oh bitch, you fucking scumbag!

Rape me Da Broken

Da Broken Rules

Woah Bitch its over

I ain't playin no fool

 Oh wait, I mean I am
I'll start rapin you now Where you goin?

Fine its over

Sashimi comin up blough!

Fucking door kicked in and on the bed

I go

We revoke your right to remain silent

Now on with my show I have to

write it now through puke and

tears and all kinds of shit

I won't play that guitar

It will just sit

And die a long lonely death like Bobby

who's green and comes to my

defense with the love in the land of

Tennessee jail

O-Z and I owe thee cause I won't

swing a pail

Or a bucket oh fuck it

I smoke

A pack of ICE PICKS NIGGA That faggit

gonnna choke
 The kkk the prowler the law

White supremacy fools your under us

all

One nation we trust

In hum om and paid om

'an

I can't get it this zen dis- dis- own

I tore my shirt and

walked off in a huff like I was

your DAD so scoff scoff cough

Cuz you aint no Jew

You ma homeboy

At home
But at work you an atheist and this

money ain't growin on trees like the

monkeys with wings or what waz wiz

they called

Discussion the wizards the wand the

referee spawned

One, two, three

Four, five, six

 Seven, Eight, Nine

Ten, Eleven, Twelve

Thirteen gate your plane is arriving

Your gait is too slow

The temperature is rising

D eath by Ayers Brooks

What is death?

I don't know

Why don't you tell me...

It could be here and now

Coulda been slept around could be in and

out the window like a moth before the flame

Could be a cracker jack box

With a diamond ring in it

Maybe

wish it was

Tired of wantin to be Eminem or maybe just

have his pad, his hat, his shoes, his gloves, his

hugs

Nah, that faggit would probably

Suck my dick without a condom on while I'm

on some

Nigga named John

OZENOZ you black?
 Cause your dicks fucking huge And that's

a fact What is death?

Probably me milkin a bone in a truck

somewhere in Bo-ze-man
Montana for Oley and Nesting on a

747 full of cows headed to Japan but that fat

fucker the trucker took me all the way bought me

jeans and shirts and made me smile with a rope

around some kids neck who obviously fucked him

too but that little fucker got a Camaro a house, or

atleast a bunk

hit of acid from me in a barn

hanging on a rope smokin dope with

pentagrams and and blood and oops this is

scary

Cause thats my childhood kk?k.

Understand. That was

Satanic Don't do it.

Don't use that uzi, the shoes see they were

full of

Da Kine
Da Broken Record is

gonna be mine Broken.

 Call me the anti- christ call me zen

master cause mis understood creatures we

all will be blue baby blue when we're

dead what is death?

Something to be accepted as a part of

life

In the Book of the Dead

In the Book of the Night In the

Book of the Day in the Book of the

Sky In the Book of the Wheel

Oops there is no book of the wheel?

Damn it, where's my lug wrench?

Lug nuts around like these you'll never

get found

Fucking Elephantitus Elephant who?

Show me!

Show me!

It's sharin, lois and St. Bram

I mean st. louis, sharing Bram with the prison

cam

Little kids you aint watchin

 OZENOZ.TV

Cause Romper Room

is full of naked people playing

twister

Delta-Delta-Delta oops Fake a

Beta KI Yeah Kyler, you'll be no faker

cause your gonna fucking die!

What is death?

What is this book?

What is this script?

What is that hit?

Where is DA BROKEN

He's chokin smokin

DA POPE

IS IN ROME

LOOKING AT ALIENS

ON THE TELESCOPE

Oops its an

observatory can I

hack it?
 Can you?

Don't hack it kid,

Do it

Just ooze and abuse cause I ain't

gonna get you cause I'm not a fit father

for two - just One

LOVE

ONE-TWO

I WANT YOU

Ky-Ky and

Rook to Pawn

Bishop to Queen
You faggit, you spawn of scum of

the Earth you jus' gonna fold? Play

chess a mothafucker I'm diggin for

gold!

Chess king Jason

Red haired geek in

San Diego

You fucking freak

 You play like a winner and talk like

a champ like me but you'll beat me up

the skateboarding ramp What is life?

It's a snowboard I buckled one, two

It's twister comin at me Set hut

22 or 47 dead

or was that 74 cause there was no

early warning that's what this tax

is for

Pay my dues

Play the blues

Cause today my guitar goes goodbye Goodbye

Miss F I mean Mrs. F.

I mean

Oh fuck it

Goodbye

Broken Record
Broken chokin smokin dopin tokin dat

rope and when you stepping say what

up?

You doin the hump- Get up off

your chest
 And get off in your shoes

Get in the ring little nigga'

Cause this ones for you from 246 to 155

then back to 250

if I'm still alive

It's fatty and batty and bottles of brew

Up down goes my weight

I'm calling yoo-hoo Cause I

need smoke and food and a job

This rap game aint workin

I'm no caddy slob

Merlino this chino is

made in Japan Brooks

family you own it in that

foreign land

My ancestral background

reaches far and wide

Cause this ain't no death threat

I'm open fucking wide with a gun in

my mouth What is life?

 A gun in my mouth from some

Philly Don who said cock it and shoot

it

The Teflon Don

Wave that wand

Watch that stick

Don't dump a bucket of water on her

She's just a wicked witch

I said kill her not melt her with love once

again What is love?

And where is it?

It's all over the land.

Went
Take your time

Time is Now

Be here how

With human intellect

Faster tin collect

Cans and bottles

Rusty Nails
 Bars can't tell me

Tin man you've got heart

Lion your roar don't fart

on OZENOZ.TV

Pushin my cart down

Ocean Front Walk

Paid that ticket oh Oh

Not!

For the TV I carried it To the

Bible Tabarnacle so the riots won't

tackle

Degreaser this she swerve

And swing killer

Swing like you mean it Swing like the

cracker coulda made the plant in a bean hat

Rice paddy Rice paddy

one two three

Capitalism Capitalism

Greed Greed Greed

Crud Love and Luv and Mug shots

 firm

Hey baby, I'm HOME!

Smiling like a faggit

Lawson Lawson

Hughes of green

Money - paperback fiend

I am one read it on my head

Mario Puzo

Fools Die

In the project if their humble beginnings

Don't take care of business with 10 extra

innings

Nine plus ten is nineteen oh

Ocean City New Jersey in the Gardens

Baby we love you we love you

Stay all day, honey we can screw

The door shut and ply the windows open with the

fly on my shoe

Do my feet smell?
 No cuz, there's no nose down there

Sniff, sniff, sniff shorty

Weenie it ain't fair

Coke zizzit wiz wazn't waz

I, not w-wise

So I eat humble pie

Apple pie, the American Dream

Suck that cock, that snake, that flag

We gonna bag the hag

This world is dirt so we spit

Palmolive

For lies I ties the laces back - word

Amy chasin that Casseopia Dog round the

house

She ain't my bitch, she not my whelp

Marine corps strong

Tom cat foolery

I can't wait up
 I lie like a motherfucker

Eat like a motherfucker

Eat my mother fucker

Eat her out good

She's done with the womb

So take it all there

Juicy Juicy
Macadamia Nuts on Mango,

brown sugar and Suprise! No suprises

please!

Morning view, you're nothing new

Santa is a stocking stuffer for the

hoodies on Hairy's head Hairy hairy quite

contrary

Troy- the wooden horse is dead

Trey for the food not bombs

Bomb da food

All over the where

Where the wall gonna stay

 Wailing and moaning

These walls have ears Nigga'

Killa' Sha' you man

with the gun havin fun on

All over the lan'

Please tick the tock

On the Emerald Tower clock

Ivory soap 99 four

Fuck it killa baby you pure you pure

She sound real good

Sweet and nice

Like the rice patty hat I got on ice

Couldn't stand to fuck myself you see

Cause I view this race so equally

My half, your half, spitting cuz it's true

This Perry Camerlengo - this is

motherfucking you
 Dead to me on a yacht you didn't

know how to to sail

Dropping bodies in the water

And I'm turning pale

Broken leg don't break his nose

Broken elbow, broken toe sniff sniff

It's a body out on the harbor or it

would a been if da tide had

been in

Da Broken's kind of shy with the ropes

and the yacht that is runnin by motor

Fuck a nigger kill a nigger

Motherfucker that's slaughter

You gonna die you fucking Jew he'd say on

a spree maybe he'll come to my home oh

hee hee with a tie rack pistol and a cell

phone that's nice

And a limo I get fucked in

For me and Obie Trice

Could been the weight

 Coulda been the Haight

Coulda been the park

Coulda been the spark

May the four winds blow you safely home

little Jew

Cause I'm spitting this shit

spittin it at you Rutherford

County in middle America

like Africa the terror of

Erica litlle dishes don't

work yet for sattelite

coverage Dots pinholes

and maps Internet you out

there?

Let's fucking hook it up

BARACK!

Cuz dey ain't no power

No water no trees just me,

the little Jew boy who's willing to

please

The father, the son and the holy

 Eminem with an Ozenoz tour made out of

hemp

from the dicarded stems and plants I

planted all around

I'm little johnny appleseed

M&M let's abound

It's natural, it's pure

It's God's fucking gift

But the cost for the farmer

If you get my drift is lost in a

sale from another

Fucking country

Continental breakfast

Man, my stomach is hungry

And my taste buds too

Chew chew chew

That tobacco leaf from R.J who?

Oh fuck baby, fuck baby

 I think I'll sue for the

farmer in Eugene who could got

obscene

But took his meds real clean and toked it

not so clean

Harder and harder it legal in

Kentucky

For how many acres divided by what?

I wan't drugs in THIS country cause

our

Farmers, doctors, lawyers, banker, businessmen

Don't need blood for oil

This is natures little plant

Power for the people

It's smelly and it's good It's

democracy at it best and it's all over

da hood

Seeds I'm spittin

Seeds on the ground

Cause I'll eat you grimy

niggers said G.W. to a crowd

 G- duble me faggit

VW girl this volts of fucking wisdom

Peace Now

Peace Now

Electro shock therapy

Shakin hard, Edie

Dylan coulda been your bashful beau

But you went and married

Dat guy- who's the star of that show?

The OZENOZ show oh mean

it's dot TV

You get my drift

Cause I'm real nigga

Dats me

Real like the gun that Brooks puts to my head

Spruchts from Lithuania Liturgical

instead But I'll never

be a Brooks, or atleast not on my

tombstone

Cause Ayers is fucking crazy

 This is my throne

or a booth a booth

OZENOZ booth

with lightning and thunder

Oops I think we blew a circuit this kid eats

juice!

Hook up the electrode

Almost Paradise we're knockin on heaven's

door

Shovin a needle up my dick oh what for

oh what for?

Popping a boner

During which I gave pee

For the man on the mountain Joe who?

SCARY!

9 - eleven went down with gamesh In my head

making me

Shesh Shesh Shesh cause hes

the Prince of Peace

Ganesh love you little guy

Nanny's on the canny oh can I

try?
 Crazy insane, or insane crazy when you say

Hussein I say

Baby!

DA BROKEN

DA BROKEN NYPD Blue

call the cops the Feds and

the KKK too tell em I live at 13 East

what?

In Venice, not Italy, in my condo

I bought Invite the

world cause I'm on tour Mrs. PHD

have a party M&M you better not

hurl! cause you make me fucking

sick to my stomach

Every time I think of

Jesi he pukes and it's

bad

Poor Kyler's been had

R- U a good boy or a bad one

has nothin to do with the Labrynth

fucking movie I bought for you - who?

U2 - Peace Now
 UB40 Dis how

A to B C to C

D to D

I woulda done well in school too busy

selling faggits

PCP DUST AND SOME COOL

drugs, kids don't do em just buy em

from me

But, I don't sell

Unless you frame me

Da Broken wee

wee

All here together

Watching Rose Ave unfold cause this one is

busty

lusty trust me you fucked me out of my

piano, my grocery store

too

The the fork in the peas

You grimy little jew

 L'chaim' L'chain

Baraoch Atoi Adonai Elohenu

Hu- hum

will you please stop spitting on my food A.K.A.

Nuffy

God! He's not done!

And I'm not, kid thinks he broke a toy from santy he'll strew

with strings and things

I'll put together with glue

Like my lyrics are hard

No I spit em- No I

write em-

No I don't

I just chew em up eat em, puke

em and oh you really do make me have

Morning Sickness for the Icculus crowd

succubus incubus incubator crowd

She was a small and wierd looking long fingers for rings or pianos and

bananos or a few other things

Couldn't see you cause I'm lonely

 A lonely little slut

I would really have called you

Tuesday, but...but...but
My ass is too big and my bra too

itchy my fingernails need cleaning and my painted

motherfucking eyebrows need cosmetic tattoing

from Tattooine to the

spaceship

Those fuckers from MARS

It's my sign plus the Venus,

Sun, Moon

I'm a star

Libra rising, yes I am guess that's

cause I read but maybe my times off

4:20! NEED WEED!

Four- thirteen

Four-twenty

Four-twenty two

Twenty three twenty four lets play hide

and seek
 You!

Where are you?

Where are you?

I hope it takes long

Cause Daddy's gotta write for awhile

But I'll find you, hold on...

Shaney, you little mother oh I

mean what?

Jessi you, act like her

Kyler's not a brother

Just kiss him you little fucker

Matthew I loved you

Read you more than twice

Mommy just swears too much

I'd put her on ice

So I'll pack my bag and go away

soon To Venice and meet Dre there!

Oops, no that you - know - who!

Not I don't know where I meet Dre or my Dr. or

wifey or slut
 my venus my

capricorn my

Libra my strut

Said the frog to the scorpion, you won't sting

me will you

Yeah, I'm gonna sting you scorpion

This frog is a witch!

I mean the witch licks the toad

And the toad will lick me cause that

scorpion killed the frog

Oh joy Ren and Stimpy

Fuck it Faggit

Hee Hee
The well water tainted?

Said the king to the people...

Why don't we

all drink it down he said smurking... oops that's not how it went...

It Hurts

Dig it Dog

I'm a fucking pig

Dusty Rhodes

Tigga Tigga
Thats my figga figga

Faggit what? keys the piece

keys the peace keys the

wasted basted tasted casted

Blasted Bombastic sarcastic compact Nine

millimeter

In my back gonna click clack

Don't shoot!

Don't shoot!

Cause It's just a pussy down there with herpes

all over it
My new name is Ayers Brooks

But I'll never be Brooks

Om money paid me hum

Ayers putting on the will

Dusty Rhodes gets the compact i - pod shuffle

But not in an mp3 format cause

there aint gonna be nuttin on it

cuz I don't steal

My brain nice to meet you

Hide my name

Cause I forget

Yo- El! Smoke it the rope it's rope a

dope

Put em pope in jail

Cause he's fucking crazy sympathy for

the devil

I shot Kennedy

I shot Nixon stuck a pin

in Jessi's head and walked

away
 Needles up the cooch

And suction for pooch Post Mortem

thoughts they could be ya know

In my new body I'll be kind of a hottie

But I gotta lose 9 pounds

At the lost and found in

People's Park off

Telegraph Ave Haight

Man you gonna climb

again

Take that dress that garb that

Scarf that pound ain't my dog Scared of A's

shadow?

No Shadow's at home with Sunshine

he could be

Indigo out you go

I'm in Eugene

Springfield down the road

Shot my load Principal Skinner

Principles of Recovery

For the book for the look

 for the nooks and

crannies My grannies

grave was at my

funeral

B-4

B-2

Bomber

You too old gonna get a new one

Cause I'm a ticka ticka ticka soldier

motherfucker

You ain't a NIGGER!

Cause Obama's in charge and we wait

and see what that body bag will be

For me

Shoot me kill me put a hole in me

Put a hole a hole in me

Run up on em and shoot cause soldier in

boot

Camp you was da shit

Dropped out of my journalism major

minor
 Thanks Mr. Minor

Om Pa Doom Pa

Doom Deed dee doo

Cuz I'm gonna take care of this shoe

Richard Reads alot

Matches and catches

For snatches and oil

No blood for oil

No fud for Elmer

No pud for dis one

Cause its shrinkin

Dinkin thinkin

Pink in there

Sinkin in jail

filled the toilet that cell got cleaned

Mr. Palmer's too

Cause we got supplies for

the skin flicks in solitary

killed a man
 Amen to the Flocco family for the

prayers and the thoughts

For the fallen ones

twos threes

Fo's and Po Po's

Make sure your pure before you spit

that shit cause God gonna look out for

you legit!!

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha

My one cent is free

Oz-en-Oz wiz waz

wazn't there ditched the clothes

without a care

Cause I ain't no motherfucking nigger

I'm a trigger man

Across the land

KKK you gonna fucking pay

For the Zo in the zoo

For Owens you too

For MJK walk in the park

 For my fucking scary thoughts alone in the

dark

Nigger Nigger on the wall

kiss me kiss me

Pay the fall

Autumn in spring and

Spring in Autumn

Yu Yu and Yu Yo and

Mrs. Yo too

Zen Den watch the hen

Cause Zo's in the Zoo with lions and

tigers and bears that's you

Auntie Em

Cause I wasn't an Oz

And for Sony Picture's you can fucking get

lost

Cause that photographer, the old

CEO in training he wasn't too po'

To make her his wife, that colored lady with kids

Till you knocked him off

Zigs Zigs Zigs

 Zaggita Zaggita

Whooped dee doo

Eminem he's not scared He's in

Kalamazoo

Or up in the mountains with my

man Mountain Joe or the vietnam vets

like Wolf who was so patiently

guarding my sleep at a bus stop

Right down from the mission

I just hope he doesn't

Pop off at a tree

Or his insanity

Uncle Sam had created

Four tours in the land with snipers in

trees

He's the purest at hand

Of course when Kesey he died on my

BDAY

In a cell I got teary eyed and wrote to

his pal
Ken Babbs what a long strange trip it's been
pal

And bear when you hacked me, for being a

cracker faggit what?

You don't scare me

That shits in the smack or

Maybe it was me cause I opened too many

accounts

At the Knight Fucking Library

U of O - Z - E - N - O- Z

Oh no he won't waz wizzes

and wishes he'd had a fucking clue

cause he ain't a wizard it's in his

fucking shoe so let him out let him be

let him contribute to the isolated

incident that's gonna be in the news

The Arabs want peace

And Yemen's got the blues and blacks,

whites, browns and reds, green purple people

eater

"No them's just the FEDS!"

 Cause in Homeland Security that's who
we'll call first

And then its reality its scary

It hurts

Cause it World War Three so lets arm ourselves

first

Free love Freedom Fame

Taking Dope Hope on the rain

March on that concert

March on Parade

The Circus in town

Slim Shady you've changed or maybe

the world

Wasn't ready you see

Cause the wizard is here he's on

OZENOZ agree?

He will be He will be
But that's Dot TV cause I

ain't doin no 8 mile or no movie

agree?

Can't remember my lines

 There's too few and it

hurts

Cause all over the land

We want the figures them fun

Them and Them

Do you own a gun?

OZENOZ never will

Less' he does it for fun!

But I don't eat meat in jail, oh

I did

Too much finger food

Is it bad for the ID- I UM

don't know kid

But I'm blowin this joint

The smoke doesn't reach you through the

ventilation point

Now kill it and own

Strip that soldiers bag

Cause he's the one that saved you

That hurt? Fucking Fag.

 Spit on him

Hurt him

You can't cause he's dead

But that's just the FEDERATES

And I'm way ahead of my

game

Its no game that I'm

playing it's true

For all those niggers in the

19th century this is

BOO DUDE

Cause your ghosts and oz we'll be friends

Running round with kkk making amends

like I do in my 9th

So step off

Bitch it hurts

That shot is for PEACE and I know

that this hurts

But KILL OBAMA

try if you can

 I'll be proud when your dead

That Secret Service Man

Who stepped on the petal

Shot himself in the head

From hill, mountaintop, the world knows he ain't

dead

Bulletproof glass

Ain't laser proof

Got his hand on the m-80

I'm cigarette proof

KKK you gonna die honkies

White supremacist bitch

Come and get me you wanna be fucking

crackers

I'll snitch

And then check your body when I'm

lying alone with a gun to my

head or praying to throne

Cause I'm gonna be gone Hollywood

 So just pray for me now

Ooom Pa Doom Pa

Doompety

Wow

Hall it will be

For Halleluiah Praise ministries on

the Radio

I say go A's!

Or I mean Oakland, No,

Giants, No Steelers, Not Pittsburgh

The men in the bathroom

At the weight room I work on

Like the airport too far

Runway 13

Is that lucky oh fuck me

Military Green

Put me in the Army, the Navy, the Marines

 I'll hold it and own it like the

psycho that's me

Obama we love you

You really the man now

For the farmers, the lawyers, the plowmen

the Cloud that

Dream smiles on

And wishes he was free

Don't kill me I'm

just ill and alone

wee wee wee

This is for you Shaney, Kyler and

Allie woo hoo!

You gonna be the wizard of oz-

en-oz to

so I'll sue I'll sue

So smack it and smack and

I will agree

I ain't done I'm just crazy

Courage, Wisdom, Serenity first

That's my right to free speech

Now give in

It hurts

Bro

Da Broken

Whaa Chokin

On and On and On

Cokin tokin smoke rope and Pope don't elope

Da Broken won't let you

Da Da Dee Da Da Da

Recognize Mum- mum

No that's your uncle

Fucking Asher

Telling you

You's a girl cuz

daddy's just a little

Pearl of wisdom
 And who would smack you

Harder

Mommy or Daddy

At the movies

Don't smack the kid

He knows it's me

And not the dumb slut named

Lauren who took Dem pictures and

dumped you off at a pond

No sister I don't know you never did

couldn't come home cause I'm

dangerous

Want a diamond ring for

Jessi's finger

We support you sister

But we can't but the diamond

And neither could I Asher

Cuz that one was Robin

From Michigan U
 At a Music store with a brick

in my hand waiting to smash the

window in because I care

About my music and not

motherfucking yours See Daddy

says it right?

He'd kill me

Get out of his house before Mom -

Mom calls the cops

I got beat in the head too many times

by a rake

You did

Brother you got a concussion

Don't know? And I'm sorry

Cause you wanted to give me a hug for the Daddy

who is dead cause I'm the walking Dad like

Perry camera on

Mason that brick

I chipped at in Tennessee
For four long months someone will get

through that wall and out before they Go on T.V.

For a prison break show

 Cause Dot TV

You ain't gonna blow

This is reality

OZENOZ DOT TV

When you fucking break out killer, come and

talk to me

Just call collect

You can even call my cell

On the horizon it's a risin dial 4-11

Cause Brooks by the river

Da Broken sits

Ayers he put on

Makes the spider care

Ayers Brooks is my name

Hey mister!

Shave my head into the floor...

Got it? Got it?

And Hondo in Hondo

 I walked into that store and ripped off

the til' for gas and some more

I'll pay when

I walk down those tracks

I waited on to see if

the crazy po-po

Were gonna ass - fuck me

Cause they do Asher

They do it in jail

Henderson your Hairy

And I'll fuck you

Next time

But there won't be one

I'll be dead

Before then

The way I pop off at the mouth

Jessi's man will top that

 Shaney won't hear this when mom-

mom's the nan

Don't cut your hair will the salt

sting your wound ed pride

Drowning in your your own regret A useless

cause Peace now!

Was that fun?

No I ran around dropping

bombs in a bag and

looking for bodies in 2003 after the

other ones in Oakland where I was a

miracle worker with stickers and

smokes

Dressed in costume as Jerry

Rolls for Dream and Larry

Phishy Phishy

2000 Tour

Now the hiatus

And I'm not so poor to know

when
 I called the golf course from the

neighbors phone and Mom- Mom called the

cops

Cause Brooks by the river

He's a Buddhist

Ayers you been had

I'm a Christian so beat me

down shoot me the cops probably would

have but instead they beat me down And

took me to a hospital where they hit on the

nurse And treated me sweet as pie

Could a been a hearse

But I don't own a gun cause that one was

story from before you were born when Brandon beat

the Cisco's owner

For not paying a blackjack debt

But he wouldn't admit

Instead, let me get it

Oh sorry I coulda won

But missing persons why am I so

svelt?

Cause I eat and I eat

 And am not quite complete

So instead I'll hit the street or probably a

sign Instead of that hooker who

bought me a dime

Not I'm just kidding

But he is Dad he is see this

fucking middle finger

Bro - stick it where it is cause I'm a

criminal mind who's doin his time

Blue Balls got calls

That's mob Niagara Falls And go over in

a barrel

Take a whole fucking sheet

Just rip it off and eat it

And my life will be complete

45's

no

40's

no

30's
 Blow baby blow cuz you

ain't gonna show when I taught

you

Santana's tune that I

learned the whole solo

From fret 22 to Kalamazoo or was that third oh I plead the fifth

You never learned that song

And maybe I'll steal the riff

Or buy it and own it

With you first row

My hand on the bible

Not guilty

You blow
Bach Bach Bach Honing the

honer boning the boner toning

the toner owin the croner

cronies and phonies

Tony's and Head

and Shoulders knees and

Toes knees and toes

 There's no Merlino, it's made outta

chino For Abbey to Scabby to

pizzen the mizzem

He's world renowned

The Dean

I coulda found

At a state school for me

But it's just a wee

Sing along to a fat little tune kid you ain't my

brother

You're and addict

Now suck a balloon

At a show At a show

Where I drop off the pound

Dogs where's the six up?

Seven up,

Eightfold and found

Number nine you are deadly Then ten eleven twelve make amends

Like fucking Jet - li

Or the Crowbar
 I found could be

swingin like pistols comin at his head

cause the Broom- wicked witch all cop

I never hit em

But it's cool

Daddy said cop a

plea

and get outta jail

Get your ass to rehab and we'll

make your bail

But I wanted the AZ the WiZ the waz

NO I hate this fucking rap the one I

get because I know you did

shrooms and got wasted on beer

Asher this kids tasted

Alot more than a queer

Be careful you runt you rug rat you scaliwag

Scabs on your face gone?

Too bad for that fag... win an oscar

Just for oscar

 The grouch oh thats me

Jim Henson

Muppetization ooh

fucking scary

David Bowie

UB40
Fee Phish and the wee lads that I

drank to can't get me out bad back to

reality op! There goes gravity

Failure is my only motherfucking option

So get tough kid and face it Grow up real

strong

Cause the fucking star now You playin my

song?

Da Broken aint chokin

He's playin along

Love you Shaney

I'm santa you know all along Bought that

guitar an Alpine hee -hee see you Saturday

we'll play with the tree but I popped off at

the mouth and got kicked outta that home

And down the streets of Venice

I'll probably go
 Cause mommy ain't got a home just a pimp

Charley - Delta- Oxford English Dick!

Sean Hairy!

That's how many men

Jessi's been with let's see?

I mean mommy, little kyler little Malachai

too

You're name is at birth

The same as kyler's that's true

Cuz the wiz I wazn't

I waz wazn't around

I waz wizzing and wasting down a

couple of pounds of oysters and

lobsters

and smoking a joint cuz I

owned a restaurant and lost it

Doink! Doink!

I want to go home to the cemetary

And take lots of pictures of

My little hairy
 ASS kissing bitch

Named Ashley, you slut

Or Punkin Patches or Timmy who fell down

in his rut

See you on the other side

On the other side it's true

On the other side we'll meet on the

other side it's sweet Now wait a minute

hold on don't kill yourself kid

Cause I'll love you and hold you

dump off the squid ink in a bucket

of Fuck IT and brew

If I ever get out of here

I don't know what I'll do

Probably stab it and hold it kill it and own

it

My record
Da Broken Records for you.

Asher.

Da Broken
 Broken

Broke

Bro

Peace.Now.

(c2c for the peace c2c it be true c eye to eye to see two)

Shoot Me
The most authoratative language in

the can

Foreigners smilin on me in

San Diego kissed the sand or

was that in Venice when is this

gonna end

English as a second language

Cali Cali smilin at me

Schwartzenegger got a vote

Lest my funds for the dope Cuz he wrote a

bill

That said the homeless ill

Don't need that funding no mo

Can it can it weed it's

a lan' it
 Rovers in Dover

And Jersey

It's all over

Om mani padme hum

Ahh zen oz zen

screw this it's true

m&m

Medical Marijauna

Mary Jane lane

Last dance with you the

medical doctor said

I don't think your bi - polar schizoaffective

with psychotic features

But we made the paperwork for my

SS I give I

gave up and made

Broken

DATS why

I can't be around

for Da to be me
 Da Broken Record goes

platinum or triple whee whee

Tweeters and centers

Center now oz

e - n- g -l - i - s - h

Teach that language before we

lay to waste our Domo Dojo Major

Dum Dum

In the canyon couldn't take

no more Headed down Sierra

Highway

Alaz cuz I was headed

for
A bike I stole by the railroad track three

speeds left on it so the sniper don't whack

another one at the B-I-B

Leave me alone

Malachai Michael

I rode to call Trinity who

Shoulda been with Hari Krishna's or Grace I

shoulda called
 But I rode it to the National

Forest

And cried over Jessica whose Akers

couldn't be found Throwing that bike fucking

back and forth and all aroun

Cause Aden was wadin

A spawn or a spark

Then to Las Vegas

oh lets see to an all

black church who treat me like

family

Nah the church wasn't black It's just I

was white

Singin Halleluiah praise till I

thought they were gonna right me with

some food and a home But Vegas, I went

bust on Bus to Philadelphia through

Pittsburgh

And Altoona where I was cussed at on the way

out the vag oh mommy's little fag

She didn't smoke then

 I'll choke then cause I'm

Irish, Jewish and oh no he won't go

there sven

Germanic and Welsch but that's just the blood

Cause Ayers Brooks would tell

you

Atheism is crud love

crud love in the media

on tv Dolla Dolla Bill

y'all wave it now

Priam Family

Focalts Pendulum

For Nefertides
He's a chicka chicka

vegan with blue hair

and New fees for greens

and beans and dues for

Jews

Give it a good whck for the Arabs course that's

who I'll choose

A-I-C that's backward

for whom when the bullets don't splatter

I'll write a Haiku

 Obama is trauma

And tried and true

For the first time I voted

Bush and the second

Jr. you lose

Cause I was in the mental ward

2000 on my BDAY
calling the president of the hospital For a ride to the booth the booth

I write these lyrics on John Wilkes

Booth grave with a bic and a stick and a pick

and tick

I'll squash his brains

Tick a tock

Ticka ticka tock tock

Nixon's gonna fix em

For the whole Enron block

cuz cut the power like I

cut my hair with a Bic

rusty razor

I don't fucking care

There's nothing you can do to me stab me,

shoot me

Take a stick and poke my eyes

Cause I'm gonna cried and

eat flies

Titsi Titsi

Eat em with the Zo

Cu I am zo en zo

N-E body care

OZENOZ

we care! we love

you, we love you

But you won't take you meds like the doctor

fucking told you

You roll with the FEDS

When you rode into that canyon, couldn't take

no mo'

Cuz mo's on a stick with my hot

dog

I want one
A weenie beanie obscenie greenie Merlino
gonna grant one

Sell my soul and

sell it quick

Take it to the whack mac

I was on a Golf Course

But of course Caddy Bitch got another

word for you

Whack, give it a good one

God! This kids not a caddy

Paddy Paddy

Wagon come and get em

Cause I'm gonna fuckin hit em

No that's Joe

He's on the Green

Now that's obsene wearing

green with a holster showin

while I'm towin

Slowin Slowin

Slevin Slevin
 Seven Eleven

Bag it tag it

Sell it to the butcher in the store

Cause I'll eat you alive I will eat

you alive Joe who?

Namaste
Must I stay?

Must I pay?

Can't I play?

Can't I say

Natale met the Old Man

AT THE GALLOWS POLE DATS A WAY

made the putz look like

a futz

Mutz and Mutz

Gratsi and Matsah for

Bathing the DOTS you

OZENOZ no my name is

Brooks
Ayers Brooks you faggit, you jew

50- Centyo in Chicago or mabe

in Detroit

Atlanta New Orleans where Jess goes

for sport

You know you like my style

You know he'll show me how

It's his motherfucking B-DAY

In a BDAY suit

1 cent rattlin

round cuz I won't shoot

Patty Cake Patty Cake

Bakers Dozen

Got One comin down

Got one in the oven

Who's gonna get it

Whee whee whee M&M your on

Love ya baby!

Droppin hits
 Poppin tits

Makin whit sarcasm and maybe jizmin

orgasm

C-H-I-C-A-G-O

The wiz is the waz and wand it

did glow

That's wicked with a

bucket of fuck it

One hit I sold

DAT shit

It's cold
During Velvet spree or

Caspian - C Screw the

tape letters and rape

Prince of Peace

Is gonna make

Jesus

Ill till you face it

I' wit and you tas' it

Money Money Money

Ain't got no taste

 You wanna make an album

Then lay this to waste

Obama

Cracker
Tokin ropin dopin

Smokin

Cummin, cummin, cummin

Come IN!

I'm HOME!Let's fucking drink gin!

I hope there's some left

In the old liquor cabinet From

years before from the wedding

I'm slammin it

It could been there

It if it wasn't for me

So on a double dare

I drank one

It's free

And did my homework

 After a bong

Out the window the window the

toilet paper towel stuff with

WRONG!

Dry cleaner sheets, no just stuff it with

paper cause I'm smellin smoke And

the dog

I just raped her

Or was that before when I was

say twelve

This bitch is too tight let's make

her svelt chocolatie Chocolatie

Bring it up quick

He's my adopted baby

Pulling his dick

Out of a wand wanderin

through the land of the waz waz a

wiz and he's who?

Cause he's got a day job-

A night job too

 A blowtorch

Some smoke porch

In Florida for you left this

therious outta that shit

That fag couldn't take it lets get legit

Xmas dinner can't

come home

Cuz home's for da birds Da steelers in

Rome

But when in Rome drink

that gin just cross yourself

twice

And declare it a sin

Cuz of course I'm a jew wouldn't you,

wouldn't you?

Say salut and then fuck it over green-tea

and who?

A merlino, oh a merlinooh

Fucking day job

Just caddy, and give up those talents

cuz you aint no slob

Please, please Pull out your

dick wave it in the air like Shaney don't care

or Matthew - Malachai Michael that's who?

Middle Middle on the wall who drops weight

faster than them all?

Oh I do Oh I do

Cuz I always work out pick up the

phone

and call me- don't doubt

The wiz of a wiz the oz of

an oz the az of an az

the iz of a waz faggit

what?

Fucking spray that shit

Tag - it you faggit

I don't play legit

O-Z-E-N

that's english for

Om Ah Huu can

We depend

on for depends when

your shitting yourself

 Cause I'm just little horny a horny

little elf from the land of the zoo-

zoo- zoobily- who?

A- fuck it - the bucket of course

it's for you!

Now take your time

And look inside out cause inside

was outside

And to destroy what we made to rebuild what

we destroyed Couldn't make a difference or

is that fucking paranoid?

No, I want a beer, some coke and some weed

followed by heroin, crack, pcp, meth and and

speed!

Oops there's my brain

The brain I'm attached to

Hypothalamus gland
Spittin venom straight at you!

Doc what Doc what?

Whats up Doc?

Got an earful of bullhorn

Oh, that's just a shot!

Take it on tour
Cracker Brooks we're

on four three two one cracker,

cracker, cracker you gonna die

honky!

Oops.
K-Y

Didn't know I'd have to own it

A gun

Cause I'm motha' fuckin crazy

I won't own one

Cause I'm the motha' fuckin shady

Limerick Lyrical

cynical,serial killer in boxers in

my kitchen by myself eating

oatmeal like an elf love you kid

wherever you are gonna rip this off

and smoke it down here's some tar for that asthma

I have and you got from her and Nan tokin oh's a

goes there cuz I'm not gonna take a lock of his

hair to the fair when he turns up missing cause

you did that already

Guess I'm sick of confessing my two sons

See boobs and buns jus like me

Cause Momma was just a little girl

 Tupac Shakurs album lets unfurl

A flag cause he's dead and say grace with

some taste and get maced in this race to the top

By some cop
Who I didn't spit on he was a

jail cell door of plexiglass pane

away pooft!

Oops did it hit you

Like they hit me

With an elbow to the quad for the

pen in the john that I wouldn't give

up cause they said I was suicidal

what gonna stab myself with the

pen I shoved up my ass?

Oops is their ink up there? my poops

black and

I'm blue baby blue la dee da

cause I miss you and being your Pa in P.A.

on the loudspeaker you heard the geezer

talking in tongues to him didn't please her

Mom- Mom loves you both and Car-Car

and A- Sure I'll take the vote

For Obama the trauma is not

in our guns it's in thugs and

 sluts like me and you who

take nuts

for criminals

Cause I'm not dumb

I'm just high on weed, coke, crack, and

speed

Oops an addict like you

B.B. sucker! You missed gonna punch her?

Or just take her finger off cuz you need to call

Melissa on the phone or was that the bitch who

stepped on your heart after you left me to sit on a

case in max in a cell

for your facts

They actually did ask

the T.V. show did to trie my

case On the tele vis-vis

cause it was trival

BULLSHIT like the

$400 bail I didn't have and you left

me

Cause it's a nice place, they'll help you

 I hope you burn in Hell for this

motherfucking shit!

Oops you did

She fucked him, and then you

So listen up I'm 'Brandin' a CD for

you it's called "KYW New time"

4:23

I'm home and I'm rapping on your

motherfucking

Let's see?

Could be a radio, but they won't play the

smut you teach from your rut

So I'll jut and I'll strut

and get stabbed, clocked and cut cuz for the

price of a cup of coffee

a day you could have

paid my release

In the six months I stayed

So stay the fuck away from me

This time I fucking mean it

Don't you ever bring Shaney into this or he'll be

grieving it at your funeral

You psycho

You motherfucking slut

You sold me out

So I guess I'll cut

Another album

And tour my name

Ayers Brooks

First middle last stay the

same

Oh what's yours?

The middle...the finger pointed right

the fuck at me

Fuck off you little shit your homeless

I couldn't cut the grass, see?

So when they beat me

down cause this time I've got a gun

You can see what your system has

taught
 And my aint it fun

You'll be over my dead body less' of course

it's yours

So drink some Old Crow

And for me, a bucket full of

coors(e) cause I'm doin this DAD

cause I'm suing this FAD

SO SUE ME I'M HORNY

WANNA FUCK ME

I'm HAD

you got it comin.

"And in the news today...."

See to See

Bowl, bracket boycott

boyfriend

Delegate the data and

Delineate the delinquent

Muse if you must

In a muskeg catching
 Muskelunj

Fucking multiplicand

at zero

Times the multiplex of this

sponge

Is she spongeworthy?

Ho, she can't get you pregnant - Or is that

dildo loaded?

A preponderant dick and balls

with a slamdance for an addict

You scabrous bitch

You slut you witch

So I'm a scalawag

for spanking you

"oh da broken your dicks a whale!"

Moby Dork!

Moby Dork!

Moby Dork!
 Mmm spareribs and pork! Michelle you

can jump off the short bridge career has

left you

Mrs. hmm oh career?

No miss you too

You can't fuck me

I've got herpes

just like you and

Douglas he'd hug

us

And probably lick my ass seems

to like it on valuum with booze

and weed come through some

glass So gimme da pops!

Are they down in the basement?

I fucked you onstage,

In the john on the counter-

"Oh I got rid of that counter" And put it up

on the Wall!

Outside you little slut

 FUCKING BITCH

FUCKING HO

You fuck with

me I'll kill you

with HIV and lemonade or maybe

Disses and kisses

For pizzle manizzle

Dis jizzle not impregnate you

Bill's would

But did he egg on you?

During your period!

No night before...

The one you didn't have how was

that abortionfor hmm... just kidding y'all

you know I love you

Peace!

A to B

Anyway you look at it

 It's a fucking cruel world

This monastic bombastic sarcastic

Cell is da broken rule

I'm alone at christmas throwing what I

have away

Cause the family I once had disowned me

Gave me no pay

For the love I have shown them

A cup of coffee a day to bail me

out

For misdemeanors I am .... well I plead guilty

and got out

But not before a nurse in that Tennessee jail

got kkk on my ass and stabbed me

All the way to the bone it hurts so bad

sometimes I can't stand, sit, or walk upright

They said I was suicidal

I guess I was

Plead insanity or victimization to this

fucking cause the doc said I was

Admitted, emitted acquitted and drawn

To be capable in my defense be sworn I can't be swan

Sufi or otherwise

Ahh zen Ahh zen Ahh zen moments put me

on ice

Eminem, you had it right this shit is insane

I hate fucking rap

I hate this fucking game I wanna see

you dance, though with a chainsaw

coming at me

Cause it feels sick not to admit

That I'm a criminal nightmare

These ideas are nightmares

to my parents

They apparently got it wrong

My Mom and adopted Dad they fucked

me up with the system's bong

Medical Marijauna would've been

just fine

But it's illegal in Pennsylvania

To smoke da kine
 Ok, so I want a hit, one last toke and fucking die

I can't even smoke a cigarette anymore

It makes my ass hurt like the faggit they say

I am

What? You wanna fuck with me?

Call me a faggit to my face

Ozenoz and Eminem

Guns, Drugs, sluts and space

So fuck you, this is us

Me in me Ahh zen Ahh

zzzizzzizzit One fucking

plus One makes two?

Ayers Brooks Peace out.

Or peace now, motherfucker

Jessi

Dear Jessica,

I have not the words to express what I feel. I have alot of jumbled emotions and scrambled

thinking about us.

I am not sure what is going to happen to me if I continue doing this rap act.

All I know is that when we made love in my van at the park, I said to you after we made our son,

that I wanted you to be the mother of my children. Well, I will only ever have one. And he is my

pride and joy.

Everyday I walk to Steel Fitness and work out. I got up the nerve to eat at

the Wildflower Cafe and Gallery yesterday. I am a vegan now. Smoking too much still. I have no

doubt that the way I am going, I will die of an aneurism from this shit.

I have to stop for my health. I have to stop lying about my addiction. I am an addict who

needs to stop smoking. I can't believe I am going to say this, but I wish we could be

together.

I know in my heart that you love me, I do.

I cannot believe this, Jessi - but I am excited about about OZENOZ.COM and

OZENOZ.TV like an addict who can

make retribution for his life by showing kids what this life turns into if you do drugs. I cannot

stop you from being and doing addictive things.

Jessica, I cannot stop you from taking your medication. I cannot stop you from taking drugs from

other people. I cannot stop you from taking drugs from othere people.

I cannot stop talking to myself about how Alyson is going to be pregnant cause she gets the

DEPO shot and thinks it's fullproof. It's not. And STD's are out there, and the example you set for

her - much like my own is bad.

So if I seem to people right now to be crazy love sick nutso, it aint because I'm a schizophrenic.

It's because God has plans for me. Because my church will baptise me, and hold me down under

like the catholic I am.

"Drown him"

Ha Ha Ha

I beg of you to please come to the church so I can see my son.

Our son. The only child I will ever have of my own blood.

I am going to get the operation when I can afford it. Snip! Snip!

Cut them balls off!

(for ummm...)

Nobody. For atleast two years Jessi. Then maybe I will think about dating. Maybe you will be

better then. Huh.

But I think we can be friends either way or - oh shit I can't fucking take this shit anymore -

Shaney
 Today I went shopping

At Westgate Mall

I hope I don't die of

SNOWFLAKE DEATH!

Cause that's what Mom would tell you

You're gonna catch cold

Put that hat on your head

She's so beautiful

I miss you so much

I want this to end

This life of misery

of not seeing my son of not

hearing my son of not hugging

my son of not being DADDY

Just OZENOZ AND

EMINEM

can't do this alone I'm at

home with a Titleist hat on and I'm not

a fucking caddy
 I've had it

I wish you were here

And not these animals I live with I live in a

recovery home

That has no recovery

I'm a long way from

Our place

Where we'll take

Our time

And maybe Mom - Mom can be a Nanny who I

can pay to work for you

And I'll go to my group and I'll tour

and school and wish your mother

was with you

But she's a lonely slut

Who can't keep her pants on Maybe

gave me herpes or Hep C or

whatever she slept on

Pills and Booze and whether they come from

a doctor or not
 She doesn't take them as

prescribed

Cause her liver's gonna go and she

won't see you or your sister or

your big brother who's 5 now

That Chucky Cheese

BDAY Party

for your brother

I want one for you

So I'll write this song down and send

it in a lettter but she lives with her pimp

and you

So I guess I just forget her

And I'm a little bit nuts from doing all

those drugs so I'm gonna check myself

in to a prison cell now and hope the

RAP life don't kill me

Psyche?!

Don't you know I miss you?

 Don't you know that your sister's from

another Dad who is not around and gets

drowned in what he and your mother couldn't

do just like me and

Kyler he was a baby when we made you and I

wanted to be his DAD

Driving truck and buying a house

But all that's in the past

Cuz when your mom spit in my face

and Mom-Mom told me

that I should go to the insane asylum

I couldn't take it anymore and I guess I

caved in

I made this hole and

now I'm gonna lie in it

until the sun comes up and then

I'll think of you and smile and it

hurts me to know that I won't be

with you

Cause Daddy had a few too many trips to plan

And see that football game?

 Yeah, maybe someday we'll go there in

Tennessee and see Nashville and the Titans

and all of those stars

And maybe play the golf course

Where I parked all of those cars

The place where I blew up at my

boss and declared

"I'm Ayers Brooks"

But you can call me OZENOZ

BUT Eminem's scared

Cuz I am scared

that I'll miss you

Scared that one of those fans will haul off

and shoot me

Scared that someone will give Me some food that well

Maybe I'm a little too poor for an

Eminem tour but when I hit the

road, well we'll see.

zig-zag

Check baby
Check baby one-two-THREE!
 kill a bigger trigger figure

Talk to your mig your

Cig your

Figure

Cause

Obama

Spends

For the AIDS DEFENSE Jews gonna kill

me

Ozenoz your fucking ill

see?

"Ayers Brooks you have got nerve I find a father who

will FUCK YOU! and

you go and kick him in the

BALLS!"

I think no I didn't MA!

I just called him step-DAD

So step off BITCH

Cuz he AINT DA SHIT

 Tititillation of the

nation FUCK

"KYW

News time"

Inhale, Exhale!

Oh that's ok - he's an alcoholic

MA

Who fucked you up the ass while I was

listening

And then he was born the

"chosen one" Jesus

Christ! that's him

Got Atheists and Catholics and now a Deaf

Dumb Regular guy with a country club

Pie

Mommy Dearest

I'm at camp
Hello Muddah!

Hello Fat Jew!

I'm at camp now!

 I hope he rapes you!"
Oh I would...

OZENOZ you'd rape your own mother?

Summertime

and the livin's

easy

I'm on the mic

Dikes in spikes

Who left Obey Trice

And ripe fights

For the bitch

"You little dick biting"

BITCH

A little bit a' life

Gratsi and Matsah

For Bocci and Pasta Pots and

Pans

My dishwash Hands Bottles and cans

Can N-E
 BODY

FUCK ME?!

I doubt it, this

Jew

And as we wind on down the

road, our shadows taller than our soul

It's so tight that he'll bite

"Ayers Brooks its up to you!"

Step outside your mind you'll see that it isn't

meant to be

Seperate streets and

seperate ways seperate the love that

stays

And it isn't fair

Slim Shady is a baby use

Black music to make myself wealthy

It's healthy to see it black

It's a fact that

the rack
 I need is an

around the way girl with isms

and jism fantastic orgasms

FUCKING FAGGIT SHIT

Just look at me like

OZENOZ-OZENOZ-OZENOZ

OZENOZ-OZENOZ-OZENOZ

oh Auntie Em! Auntie Em!

You bitch, you totin a pistol cuz Shaney's

Pop-Pop is and he thinks the shits cool

Eminem, Executive

Master

Catty Eminem

Bitch and

HUM WE TRUST

OZENOZ

On his way home from the land of

Tennessee on

Nov hmm well

Some died
lets see?
 A tornado landed on my

motherfucking car I shouldn't

have been there drove the

Honda too far from 5 - 55 in

neutral the wind blew woke up

from that nightmare with a

shitload of brew

Couldn't take the pressure or the pain

of not knowing

That God could make me dead but for some

reason I

AM CHOSEN

TO DRIVE THIS MIC

TO ITS MOTHERFUCKING

GRAVE
till my legs fall off till my

lungs collapse gonna

make it get paid for the

company HALT!

In OZ we Trust

O-ZEN-OZ

Prism Phamily Dreams

 With rainbow light seems

to eminate from above

From the sky with doves

Michigan hitchhiking

Tennessee jail for

meditating on campus

I'm going through Hell

MT ATS YOU

RCADC

1-2-3

Count them days

in solitary

Cuz I was sober

Dry as a rock

The cops came And so

did the man on the

mountaintop

Robin-shooting-killing The Captain

D's
 KILLER!

Across from me
Hey Brooks what you do? Broke a

window! Want an English muffin Sure

thing, killer!

Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!

A sure! A sure!

I fucked the bitch!

And Shaney your proof of where I

have gone.

Shit Insane
Skitz

Color a dough BITCH

Score park it

See for AKI

Fore! Da Broken

Ozenoz

Dats me

God grant us serenity to accept things we cannot change

Courage to change things we can and wisdom to know the

difference

Ayers Brooks

See? Def G

"High J"

Don't DO DRUGS

1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10-11-12 k

elementary school students

You down wit O-P-P

Beat Queers to you V-Duble me

 Faggit

Cause I'm a motherfuckin one - two -

three Ozenoz

"hey little m&m"

Murder! Murder!

Give it a good whack

Attack the big MAC truck and

fuck yuck take it to the switch

"Blade"

Gonna mix it up some

GOD! DA BROKEN!

Ticks paid so rip it off

the AUGUST TRADE

make it sugar cool-aid

DOES THE FAGGIT HAVE HAVE?

lemon- AIDS!

Hello my name is Ayers Brooks, I'm HIV Positive

Took it off the mixer

Made it to the fixer Snip! Snip!

Cut them balls off!!

 Cause I gotta get a DEMO

SHOT!

Make sure its Dusty Rhodes

Park in San Diego Where its

dark Jesus!

Don't know

Don't Fucking care

Brr...wanna FUCK?

I love you Shaney!

Don't steal kids!

Lets kill it...there... wildflowers in

her hair

Arbitrary

Dishwasher

Consumary

Instant HAIRY

Furry creatures from MARS

Taking Coke in the bar zzzzizzzizzit

Testing! Please! Attention ALL CARS!

 PPPPPPPPBBBBLEASE?

I'm not bad

I'm just drawn that

WAY!

Why weigh on a sunny day?

Cut! Psychotic Trip! Mescaline Tip!

Don't take the Pill

Just swallow it

Your ILL skitz

It's gonna make you KILL

sort of

M - in - M

Hello Malachai Michael

I love you!

Ayers Brooks comin at

you with a rap thats kind of

PHAT YA!

Gotta PHISH-EY kind of humour with a

troying fucking "BRAIN TUMOR!"

SHANEY DOING
 Duh Duh Duh Cocaine! Candy Sugar

mountaintops

Duh Duh Duh Cocaine!

EEEEP!

160 BPM

OVER 179 thats just not fair

Shut up bitch!

"Hit the emergency switch"

Steel Fitness gonna win it kissing cousins

playing what so far

How do I axe?

Like a FAT MOTHERFUCKER

with Long Fucking Hair whose been

"gone, I been gone for waay too...long!"

whose been toking

drugs for too long getting the

munchies and slime

Slop Grease Pork SHIT!

"oops I shit myself!"

 So change the sheets wash your

clothes

Dr. Mom

This chicken is bad

Bad chicken mess you up man!

Six up! Six Up! Six Up!

Six Up! Six Up! Six Up!

Can I get a

What what, oh sorry

ASHLEY, You DICK BITING BITCH DAVE- KISS ME, KISS ME, EAT

SHIT!

"Cosmik Debris"

I wanna Rock AND

ROLL BITCH

AND FUCK

YOU

I'm on my way to heaven

Follow the yellow brick road as we go on

another
 I'm going through HELL! just to make

another

Album without going to

jail

I'll never own a gun cause

I'm FUCKING CRAZY oh

"OZENOZ"

I'm going to check in tto the Emergency Room

I think I have

SCHIZOPHRENIA

or maybe just an illness

So just chill

Psycotic EPISODE

During which I wanna

Kill Rolling down the street

Smokin endo - Malachai

Michael - "Oh Eminem" If you

wanna think Eminem

It's OZENOZ and EMINEM

 cuz I'm IN and he zen or Am I zen

and he's in

ME-ME -ZO-ZO
It's OZENOZ YOU FUCKING

BLOW!

I wish it would

leave me alone

This whole Fucking

World is a throne like a

toilet with pistols and drugs and

EXPLOSIVE FUCKING

HUGS

Can't we just be civil

Can't we just make believe we were in love once

and we made a mistake?

NOT SHANEY

SCHZOPHRENIC EPISODE

I'll Fucking Kill you BITCH

Drop you off at the mental

WARD
 With a load full of shit this is

my

RE- WORD
No re - re you bitch named her

a I lie son cuz you wanted an abortion

Malachai Michael I love you!

This is my world and you live in

it

cause OZENOZ motherfucking

Just don't get it But he's

only three

So you'll probably let him hear this!

Ozenoz and Eminem

And after all

We're only ordinary

Men.

ME AND YOU

GOD ONLY KNOWS

ITS NOT WHAT we

WOULD choose to DO
Lights Out

This hurts it hurts so bad

But Daddy thinks he makes you mad

Don't stew and don't fret

Cause I love you too much

So I forget sometimes

That your just a little guy

And I can't be there for every sigh

For every time you get impatient with me

we are just getting to know each other

But I want you to know

Because of the drugs I won't take

They wouldn't let me see you

Because I see things a bit differently when I'm kept from you

Cause, now understand little one your not dumb

And you know when Mommy and Daddy

Make like we fight

We don't make any sense

 And it gets a bit strange

I wish I could do this Alyson's Dad and Kylers

too

Cause see we love you that's all of

us, see?

One day there'll be a picnic at a family

gathering

And we'll sit and we'll try ok little guy

Go to sleep now

And sleep well

Bedtime stories about the dragons and wizards

the elves and thats you

Your the spittin image of me I see you in the

mirror

Nah little man but when your older maybe I'll get to

figure out what went wrong

with all of us and us there's no them you see cause

stranger than Mommy and Daddy

smart little one

You da one thats

Gonna grow up straight and proud and fight like a Rook - hold

your castle down

All three of you, no all four

Pop - Pop and whatever

Oh I guess I loved your Nan

still do I just

When your older you'll understand

That I'm just human

But God's loookin down smilin on you

I pray for you all the time

Every second it's true

When I stare up in the sky How bout you?

What do you see in those clouds?

Oh, little birds.

Huh.

Love you little pal.

It was different for us when we were at Mom -

Mom's together right after Christmastime

 Guess I've me and Mommy well we'll work

it out

But nomatter what I want you to know That I love you

Shaney kiddo I call you Shane they call you Shaney

I call you snowflake cause your like one in

two billion a unique individual with a voice

and an intellect natural instincts and pride

Guess I need to learn some

things about my son

Not that I haven't seen the bright

and shining star

On St. Luke's Hospital where was I, not very

far

Cause Dad's being bad acting

But he wants you to know

Follow your pride

Your instincts

Your OZENOZ SHOW

Cause the first thing I think we're gonna

do when we get together is

write a book about a magical land called

hmmm...

What do you think Mr. Imagination?

LA a note to follow so

Daddy will sing

For DO-RE-MI

SO FA

LA TI DO

DO TI LA SO FA ME RA

You can do most anything

And you can

You will son. Goodnight.

DO SO FA MI RA

DO ME

Sunshine

These are four of Dad's favorite things

When the dog bites Kyler

When the bee stings ouch!
 I mean phew!

That stung!

Alyson, quit laughing!

Josh this is for you

Get it straight

I was DA to your boy

And I was Broken about it your son aint no

toy

And for the man in Wisconsin

And for Hendershot too

God Bless you

She's a failing at finding her oh I don't

know

I wish I had a daughter

I'm no OZENOZ

You knew you woulda taught her

Cause I was a straight A student

 From K through 6 got 110%

in chemistry tsk tsk

Do your homework teenager

And quit smokin

It leads to drugs but your young and your

stronger and will be than all of us

US AND THEM

THEM AND US

I don't wanna be so- and so tied up in this

Tight because it's well it's over between your mother and

If I was really a wizard well anyway

guy

I'd wave my hand and you'd be here

I'd talk to the man

Maybe when you are one

I'll get to you

see

You don't need to know more than that

But you do

You goon little man

 Make your brother and sister proud

We're gonna break the record

We gonna make a crowd

When we get together

All of US at once

You and me together

Get it straight Get it

loud!

Set Hut! kick

that ball!

Good job!

Just like those guys on T.V.

You can be one, huh?!

Like Dad, cause he's involved in sports

Maybe, oh well, we'll see

Take your- oh wow that was good!

Kyler you da man!

Gimme that high five!

Like I taught you!

Yeah!
 Take it easy on your brother, cause you know he'll

hit you back

Alyson, you know I'm not your father

Here's a twenty, hit the sack Oh your

growin up too fast

Teenagers!

Pppbbt!

Well we would fight.

Goodnight!

(lightbulb click)

I can't fucking stand you you

ugly little bitch United we stand

Divided we fall

The Division in Hell we're singing

LA DEE DA DUM

DUM DUM

Make sure it's every word

You do not know

Wolf I love you

 You'll be my Geezer's Bodyguard

At the show in Atlanta

I am paranoid that

My people, my family are going to

One love
get hurt and when it's one love

it's nerf football not playing the

games at the white house lawn

we want a bigger crowd

A bigger loud noise

From that fun

From that

One love that

one shove that takes me off this earth

I am not capable of

Dis owning my only word

 Chapter Twelve:

Chapter Eleven

I came into this programmed state of being from a very direct source. The life I live is
one that I come to a higher power about on the terms that he arranges or she arranges and not
they arrange from behind my back to trill about how I fucked up myself so bad that I have no
hope of recovery. Don't let anyone ever tell you that. Don't let em' beat you down, or worse yet
back to the bag. That's the hole of the parts put together.

When you are broke and near jumping off the bridge, declare your bankruptcy. Be it
spiritual to you, and may it be as you wish. Because it is not somebody telling you what to do.
It's a higher power working in your life, that good feeling is what you should follow. Not the
chemical one. The one from the blossoms blowing in the spring wind, or the ocean flowing up to
your feet.

The world is your oyster, my oyster, and wouldn't you know it? Oysters can be farmed of
their pearls. You know what I mean?

Hey, but don't take it all from me. Take it from the next book I write. Under a pen name. I
don't want to blow my cover or anything.
 When life's got you down, turn a frown upside down. Taking too much direction is signs
of senility long before your time. It means you've got too much wisdom you're trying to put into
action all at once. Surrender to the flow. Let it go. You live once, live as healthy and happy as
you can. Most of all, don't of all things, publish anything about your life in recovery from the
normal shit we all go through. They might call you ill. And I don't think anybody likes that.
Except Ozenoz and Eminem and after all, we're only ordinary men.

Chapter 13:

Mentally Ill Anonymous

1. Admitted that we were poor

2. Came to believe that we weren't in charge

3. We made a decision to give in to those in charge

4. We made ourselves write it down

5. Admitted to Allah, to US and someone pretty much in charge why we did it

6. Were entirely ready for Allah to stop US

7. Humbly released our burden on the universe

8. We wrote that shit DOWN, nigga

9. Tried to do good stuff

10.Owned up to the bad in an easy way every day

11. Pondered the meaning of the good stuff

12.Talked about it every day

13.Thought we were gonna fuck it up, slapped a name on it, figured after work it would be a

little different, and that it would cause clouds of death to rain down.

Chapter 14:

Lucky Strike
 Maybe my D-U-D and sister aren't the only comedians in the family when it comes to

pilots. Let's see, can I make my own gig? How about an S&M SNL advent guard thing:

(singing) doo doo doo doo weee doo wee

The shot opens with a middle aged businessman leaving the office...

Hey, are ya hungry? Want a snack? Got no teeth to chew it with? Try methhead munchies and
crackhead cuisine!

The businessman smiles and shows, he has few teeth.

Gooey Mexican goodness, cream filled! But not for long!

He bites in, and it squirts all over him.

So try Methhead munchies and crackhead cuisine

now! The man says mmm... methhead munchies...
and bites

Now in rock star shapes with flavor crystals.....

I'd like to open the floor for sharing now...

Guy in the third row raises his hand.

Yes the speaker in front of the podium points to him.

Hi, I'm a boogie addict named Bud

Everyone replies Hi Bud

It all started last week. My girlfriend broke up with me. Then I got the craving. And I...
well I started picking. Before I knew it I was crushing and eating...

Everyone in the room murmers their identification.

 Then came the snorting and shooting. Now I'm back on the streets, and there are boogie
nights here and there, but I want to stop. And then I get sad and cry and oh I'm just a snot ball...
No Bud, you just need to get free of the wreckage. Quit picking at yourself...

Yeah I guess.

He reaches to his face and brushes his nose very carefully.

You see it all started when I was a kid. I had a doctor who told me that it was a good anti-biotic

for my internal digestive tract...

Oh, Bud, Bud, addict, Bud!

I know, now I have a doctor who tells me not to even pick cause it may kill me. But that's the

thrill. The thrill of the kill I suppose

The man in front of Bud chimes in Bud, once I started shooting it was just a matter of
time before I was after all the snot in my family for their loot. You know what they say...

Everyone chants

You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your families nose...
But that's just it...

The girl exasperated says Bud! Picks a big one out and holds it in front of him There,
you want it! Its that the answer to your problems! Then go ahead! Just see where you end up

The guy in the front row says Yeah, in bed with her... People
snicker.

Ok, that's all I have, thanks for letting me share I guess...

Thanks for sharing...

Life got you down?

People around need an excuse to put you down?

Try Depakote and Risperdal!

The combo is killer...

Imagine for minute that you are swept free of emotional distress and relaxed...
But without all of the social fun and connections that pot and beer will give you!

Yes, Depakote and Risperdal, take away the pain, with out the fun buzz!

Never have to go and have fun again!

Plus it comes in five amazing stigma packages:

*weight gainers are us

*I have it flowing in my blood close to toxic every day and

*get the twitches for life

*combos in assorted colors and varieties!

But don't take it from me:

Ask the nearest representative who can take away all your freedoms to strap you in for
the solution to all of your healthy living:

Try Our Mental Health solution today for only $2000 a month

does not include doctor fees, counseling, hospital visits for complications, trauma or death

The scene opens in with a psychiatric patient on the chaise longue, too short for good taste.

His feet dangle, rubbing back and forth.

Gollee you're fidgety! How is the new medicine?

That's the thing doc, It makes me go for dogs...

Now, Roger. Are you referring to Ezrith as a dog?

No, my wife is fine. I'm talking about real dogs. Poochies. Shnousers. Mutts. You name it.
Roger THAT is where you have to learn to draw the LINE. You're married.

No, but my wife is in on it too. She brings em home all the time. Strays mostly, but some
of em are kinda cute. Makes me feel all gushy, and before I know it it's like Alpo on rice all over
again.

Roger, let's go back for a minute. Where did it all start? Can you remember the first time you

were attracted to one of these...umm...dogs? Yes, It was when I got my first puppy...

The screen fades into a shot of Roger kissing and cuddling a six week old golden
retriever that is up on it's hind legs licking him in slow motion. The genitalia are blacked out.

Her name was Samantha, and she was my dream dog. All lick and jumping my bones
from the beginning...

The dog takes a bone from Roger in the shot.

The screen cuts back to the office with a record scratch sound.

Roger, we've been through this, you're not a dog.

Then why do I love them so much?

Because they're soft and cuddly...

She begins undoing her blouse and fanning herself... Roger cuts in.

Like Mommy?

Yes, Roger, like Mommy.

 She stands and retracts a leash and collar from the desk. The scene cuts to black and
panting and smacking ensues...

The scene fades back in with the Doctor leading the patient back out to the waiting room.
Roger is still wearing the collar and leash hanging from his neck...

See you next week... He no more than says See you... when she calls out next! to

the awaiting crowd. A ten year old, a transgender, and two Obama look alikes.

Now for our guest: Black Widow with their hit single by the same name:

Black Widow

With a glint in her eye, he is the way out

He's bitten then to die's the only way out

And when he's going through the throws you throw his ass out

To slave for the trade inside the glass house

So he makes it, he takes it he watches the spring

The summer, winter, fall and who it will bring

When the egg hatches, hell it all will break loose

But Black Widows on the prowl, she'll hang up the noose

Just ignore it, lay blame they'll call it a lie

Then you get swarmed by all the netting left on the fly

Eat your offspring's to the next throwin juice

And when he's bad, just kick it and throw in the noose

Bridge
She's got an hourglass painted on her ab's

Double tongue this and make it ready for tabs

Take your son's death and wash down with a swig

Of the purer life you kill with next jag you can rig

nd
2 verse

With a glint in her eye, he's on the way in

He's bitten til death takes his ass from all of the sin

But the sun's not set, you can't let them win

Cause your sun it'll set before you get in

Chorus:

She's a Black Widow

Hourglass tilted to the sky

Black widow

One to the next and one to the high

She's a Black Widow, angel of sorts

And she'll spin the web until it's silk

Contorts

She's a Black Widow

Hourglass tilted to the sky

Black widow

One to the next and one to the high

She's a Black Widow, angel of sorts

And she'll spin the web until it's silk

Contorts

Of course they don't PLAY it in that order.

 Chapter 15:

HUM

If trees grew upside down

And root houses were in fashion

I'd build me a root house, high in the clouds

On the bare peaked mountain, with snow it's base

There I'd spend my nights

Looking down at the stars

That shine under the sky

From the seas of illusion

To the the deserts of green

And swing from the roots of my lone sanity Chapter 16:

Luke, I am your Father

My favorite passages from the Addicts Bible:

And he took the crystal, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his friends, saying, This is

my body which is given for you; do this in remembrance of me...

Likewise he also took the Henny after supper, saying, This cup is the new covenant in My

Blood, which is shed for you...

Who himself bore our drugs in his own body on the trees, that we's, having killed the shit,

might live for righteousness- by whose stripes you gettin' laid...

In whom we have redemption through our bloods, the forgiveness of bad

deals...

Now to the drug eternal, immortal, invisible, and to the Dealer who alone is wise, be honor

and glory forever and FRONT. Amen.

And there is no other drug besides me, a just drug and savored, there are none besides me...

And the Dealer Fronted a man the Dust of the Dead, and he breathed it into his nostrils, and

the man became a fucking genius...

Chapter 17:

White or Wheat

Imagine a world of peace and kind feeling. Then you, feel hope and like it's going to be a
positive way through the mess in front of you. Then you come home to the psyche shelter where
you live.

YOU FEEL SO AT PEACE, SERENE. GOD HAS GRANTED THE SERENITY TO SEE

YOU'RE WAY THROUGH.

Then the fucking person who works at the place wants to talk. So you say that you have
just been on a nice walk. You were going to go shopping for a guitar she knows you can afford
with the tax money coming in. You have let her know previously that you are not headed for San
Diego, though that would seem a simple solution.

Yeah I had a conversation with my Mom for about a half an hour.

 What did you talk about, about buying a guitar?

You don't feel like being pried into and the serenity starts to eek out of your sails.

Just talked... you reply.

But what did you talk ABOUT? Joel, you look so sad, are you ok?

Fucking bitch. Now I'm trapped by the person who holds the housing over my head. The
person who holds over my head that she is at peace with her life, and I am not. And she's out to
prove it, as usual.

No, just mellow.

I'm sure there will be a drug test later.

Fuck this place. Fuck the people in it. Cause my serenity won't come from them or it.

Tax Refund: $1600

- 300 rent

1300

-300 web

1000

- 40 copyright

960

-60 phone

900

-400 guitar and bag

500
 -200 ms office pro

300

-100 Mom

200 Writing/ research books

I'll have it on rye with extra dressing and corned beef

Q: What did I do, to get involved in this mess?

A: I was born.

Q: Why was I ever born?

A: To be a psyche patient sucking at the teet of the system.

Q: Why are niggers my niggers?

A: To be a psyche patient sucking at the teet of the system.

Q: Why is my doctor a doctor?

A: To make money off of people sucking at the teet of the system.

Q: Why not fuck the system?

A: Because Bubba has got you when you drop the soap.

Q: Why not marry Bubba and live happily ever after?

A: He's meaner than Newport News collard greens on your ass.

Q: Why not leave the system?

A: Not possible.
Q: Why not?

A: All of the above.

How about $1666 TAX MONEY BIATCH

1.$666 Laptop and case with these motherfucking files in it

2.$500 Guitar and case

3.$200 Plane ticket and bus pass on the other motherfucking side

4.$300 for the fucking party that waits there

-$80 crystal

-$20 a day for food

-$12 a day for beer

File for my unemployment which is $400 a month. Get food stamps in the meantime

while recovering from making my way.

Work the sign holding job on weekends and maintain my phone.

Look for a job and get clean enough to pass the test to start work. And move the motherfuck on

from all this bullshit left here for me to deal with. These people can suck my dick, nigga. And

you too, nigga. Bubba, you move me like Led Zeppelin on a Summers Eve douche casserole, so

here we come. I am off to the finest of places.

aaahhh...

The sound of the first cold beer I could pop open. As soon as I get my tax money, pick up
a hard drive. Dump everything worth it's snuff on that from this computer as back up. Take that
on the plane. Stick this computer in the duffle I have surrounded by the clothing I won't need
immediately.
Pick up another piece of luggage at the Chinese dollar store in Easton. So:

Start in Easton. It'll be after Friday the 13th of May, so I will be nicotene free for a week
or so. First stop: get a carton of CRUSH at the smoke shop. Pick up my luggage piece and stick it
in there. Go pay my library fine for when I come back to the area again. Get a coffee at Terra
Cafe and give away my frequenter card which is almost full for a free cup. Wait for the bus to
Bethlehem. Get to

Bethlehem, put away the stuff and smoke a good one.

By now it's lunch, so eat lunch at the Brew Works. Can't have a beer yet, still on the
damned med. Catch a bus to the Lehigh Valley Mall.

Buy a laptop,case, hard drive, blank disks, AAA batteries and headphones.

Smoke my hoochie, say that I'm the devil...

Yeah baby, yeah.

Sit at a cafe after opening and situating all of my new toys in the case. Drink the coffee
while appearing not to be too rushed to open up the new laptop at the wifi hotspot. Have a glow
from the seller about the new laptop and my spending. Think about the watch I want, and the
other things I kept from impulse buying. Realize that I only have $900 left and that it was
really my choice to not jump ship, as well as the higher power of my understanding.

Say fuck it and buy the plane ticket anyway for the next day. Then pick out a watch for
the symbolism and get back on the bus to Bethlehem. Pack at home, and have a glow about this
shit.

Get up in the morning, say my fake goodbye's to the people at this goddamned place
goodbye and get on with my cab ride. Wish I had the balls to have turned down my Depakote so
I could drink on arrival in San Diego. Hope my cabbie is sober enough to get us there in one
piece. Have a short hop to Philadelphia and switch planes, during which my baggage with the
computer is retained, but then again that is my gift to a friend anyway, so fugged about it for
now.

11AM next day Pacific Time, jet lagged and with only $600, arrive with new laptop and
missing luggage in San Diego. Go book a room at the Jazzman Inn round the corner from
PETCO, where the drunk me goes. Buy beer for when the psyche meds haven't been taken for
atleast 36 hours, call all my friends. Call one of my best friends and sing our hard rock personal
anthem six 32's and tell him I would be on the way, but I have stuff to take care of.

Go ask if I can get my dis-abled bus pass back with my Pennsylvania I.D.
 Go to the Cricket wireless store and buy the Droid, pay down the month for my San
Diego number. Now have unlimited wheels and phone for the month with $100 left.

Go to the taco shop. Worry about whether or not my sign holding gig is going to pay the
rent every week. Worry less about it, and start a schedule of things to do on my new phone, call
some people to let them know I am doing well.

Go back to the hotel and watch television, jonesing for pot that I don't have a medical
card to get. Think about getting it from a neighbor, but figure street stuff is bad. Skip my
Depakote for the final time I will count it as skipping it, take the Risperdal. Eventually sleep
after much fuss and planning and fiddling.

Drop by the group home I used to live at and say hello to the counselor, and my friend
who lives there. Go out for coffee and talk about how to get in on that sign job I need to keep a
roof over my head and other programs that get ruled out due to non drug and alcohol rules.
Kick it for a little while, promise to get together again soon and jump on the bus.

Call my friend and sing our old hard rock anthem six 32's. Go straight to friends house
with the money I saved to drink my face off. Buy the beer and say hello to old house manager on
the way in, talk to him about moving back in. Offer some beer, as I need to keep up the good
relationship, and it is mid month for the government money peeps. Go hug my friend and joke
about how my computer got held up, but that's ok, show him the laptop. Then ask him if he
wants to use my desktop until I get back into my room? Listen to him tell me he loves me more
than his luggage, and that I shouldn't have stayed at the Jazzman and that I am staying with him
until that rat the house manager lets me back in. Cowl fuck yo house nigga! until we both say
our rounds of I miss you's until the only thing left is to start the inevitable. Crack open the beer.
Feel the tension about the other topic hanging in the air. Get in a verbal consternation about him
borrowing from me to buy crystal, give in. Worry about the psyche meds still being in me, and
don't smoke for sure.

Hang out til he and I get tired of bantering about life and what he missed and my book.
Go home and worry that I have plenty of beer money, but that the rent is due in five days and that
sleeping on my friends floor is pretty much the only option besides... the street. Start praying it is
not a rainy spring for the sake of my laptop, and thinking of places I will end up pawning it to
keep him and I satisfied as I extend my stay at the hotel El Cajon Boulevard with drugs and
alcohol.

Could I come up with a better plan?

Nah. Sounds like relief. And how do you spell relief? R-O-L-A-I-D-S. Just don't take em
when you are on crystal. Oops, not that's that other anti- acid you can't take cause it can have side
effects.
Hmph. Fucking stupid doctors.

Nah, fuck all that. Skip the Depakote the morning I get the tax money and get to drinking
the second I land in a motel room in San Diego. Fuck all the bullshit, I need a drink. Need one
like Jesus must have needed it when he turned the damned water to wine. Damn that water
nigga! Damn it. I need this now. Oh well, all we need is just a little patience here and it will
come.

Oh all the variations will play in my head until it comes true. Until my glass slippers find
the foot of another porn magazine with some dope in me, and my fingers are making me feel like
a permanent orgasm. Oh god, yes. Crystal dick, oh God. I hate that shit. It will kill me. I feel like
I am actually dying when I come down, but the sexual effects are just so Goddamned, oh why do
they have

to be....

Nah, how about....

I get up, the tax money is there. All $1600 of it. I go to the post office and buy two money
orders. $100 for Mom, which I send immediately. $300 for rent at the Dual Diagnosis Psyche
shelter which I take home. $1200 left.

I go to the Lehigh Valley Mall and buy the following:

Tax Money

$100.00 LG ATnT go Phone with $20 talk time (Radio Shack)

$Put 65.00 on phone

$95.00 watch

$400.00 Modem and time (?)

$50.00 headphones/extension (Radio Shack)

$50.00 MP3 Player

$200.00 MS Office

$100 More birthday presents for Shane

$100 Shipping to Charlie's House

$20 and $20 in cards to Alyson and Kyler

$1600.00

Just called Mom and told her about it, asked if I could have Jessica's address to send the
presents. She said no, she wouldn't give me the address.

Look, if I wanted to cause problems I would hop on the bus and go over to the house
right now, I know where she lives, I just don't know the number on Washington...

To which My Mom replies NO, Joel it's just not right. I can't give you the address of
people who you aren't getting along with without their permission!

I suppose that includes access to my son. No, don't suppose. Know. Cause I am knowledgeable.

And that was fucking autobiographical and auto- finished by the computer. Fuck yo' address
nigga'.

Of course in the midst of all this, I grabbed coffee and marveled at how I have been
adhering to my patch and haven't smoked since last night, even in the midst of the last few
chapters and nine hours of drug induced fits of rage that my serenity is replaced by the desire to
run as far from the only sane solution in sight.

Of course, my phone just rang and told me that there was Alarm! Alarm! a twelve step
group I could go to, but they all have such animosity towards me here from the fact that I came
in and shared about how real fucking messed up my situation was all winter, that I just don't
fucking think so.

Let's just get this out of the way.

Fucked times eternity plus escape equals solution.

So far there are a number of titles for this book. The book I don't figure will ever sell
unless I stay clean, which ain't happening. I just want it to get read, but fuck it, oh well. So far
we have: 1.Bad

2.Step by Step

3.Mentally Ill Anonymous

4.Dually Unlucky

5.The Answer

Which I figure the answer from every publisher is going to be no anyway, so big pun you
win.
 Chapter 18:

The Answer

There is no answer. The answer is to be at peace with your life, and make the best of it.
For me that means just for the rest of my life, I won't do drugs. I will have my schmooze booze
and my mellow buds, but that is just the norm. No more psyche meds and doctors and groups and
stigma and drama and homes and programs and bullshit.

Time to just follow the course of life and stop trying to find the answer.

I've been through the wringer because I have fed into the people who caused the drama,
and fed off of it, and made bad choices. Chasing light dreams, you are going to get light results.

The psychic in LA said these things: get a haircut, there is no unlucky number, and stop
smoking butts. In Bethlehem she said: you are connected, they named him Shane, it's similar to
shame, and you'll never agree with your family.

Should have learned these lessons long ago.

I had a happy life in San Diego. My friends aren't perfect, but they are my best friends.
My life may not be perfect, but it's my life. I may not be a role model, but I do what I think is
best.

I will continue to do what I think is best. Which is to leave this dreadful place. Stop
searching for the answer. The answer is right in front of me every day. In the things I do, the
people I encounter. The dreams I dream , the music I learn, and the love I share with the world.
All you need is love, you know.

Love is all I need. Perhaps that will be the title of the next book I write from that
apartment I get when I get back to California. Love Is All I Need by Joel Ayers-Brooks. Or
maybe by Edward

Brooks. Or maybe by Michael Heirs. Which reminds me: maybe a name change is the answer.
Nah.

Just a place and a woman I love to share it with. That's how you spell OUR relief this TIME. L-
O-V-E.
 THE

END

P.S. To all I have exposed I pray you get the money you deserve. But he who smelled it 1st.
Don't Jump

Just Stay

Be Loved

So I finished that ending, and then took a walk. Along the way, I encountered the fact that
the title was all wrong. I was trying for Eat, Pray, Love with Our, Time, Love and got nowhere.
Because I am not at peace. Or I wouldn't be choosing all the wrong things.

Need to let go, and let God.

So I decided amidst all of my psychobabble to walk across the third street bridge and see
the Steel Stacks. Then I had a thought about my son's mother. And all of the sudden I had the
nearly overwhelming physical urge to jump off the bridge. So bad I went weak in the knees and
tried about a dozen mantras in panic while clutching the rail and praying I would make it back
off without giving in to the almost overpowering urge to jump. I felt the whole time like the
presence of my son's mother was in my mind urging me to do so, go ahead, make her life easier.
It was the scariest three minutes I can remember quite possibly ever. It was like I wasn't in
control. I guess because I am not.

I HAVE TO GET HUMBLE AND ADMIT MY POWERLESSNESS OR I AM GOING TO

COMMIT SUICIDE, BE IT SLOW OR FAST.

There is the message loud and clear.

No more joking, relapse planning, angst and rock driven rages. No more hanging with the
wrong crowd here or pretending that I am well right now or anywhere near to being it in the
immediate future. This gets spelled out in front of doctor, counselor and group next week.

This is the answer: I am not the driver. He lives inside my head. Starts me up and stops
me, and puts me into bed. He opens up my mouth when it's time for me to talk. And fires up my
legs when he wants me to walk. Keeps my eyes open. For most of the day. Adds to my
memories, the things that people say. When he makes decisions, I don't have to wait. And yes,
sometimes it just seems that hes got too much on his plate.

But you know what?

I don't, and I don't need to put it there. I need to accept what and where I am at as the way it is.

Realization of the serenity I had for a moment when talking to my mother today is possible with
God.
 Chapter 19:

Bag IT

Well, I made it thirty six hours without smoking so far. I quit at 10PM on April 30, 2011.
Of course that means that on May 1st being the day we bagged Osama Bin Laden, I had my first
day killing the killer. Killer is smoking, and the word assassin comes from the word hasish.
Cause you know what? When I went to the office to claim my new nicotene patch for the day
with my morning Depakote and Risperdal, I was told that I wasn't allowed to have it. That they
would need to check with the fucking nurse. Meantime I am left to smoke if I like. Fucking
asshole system. My plan was to use the twelve patches I had, and quit on Friday the 13th of May.
Scary thought. Ahh fuck it, in two hours I can have a cigarette.

Of course, I went to the I.R.S. Today to pick up my transcripts. They said they need
another month to enter them into the system, so come back in June. I told the lady that they had
toe tagged Obama a couple of times and left. But of course, it was freudian and I was trying to
say Osama, but that's just the two in the bush in me. I hope when I get to the streets next time,
there are two in the bush, but I've got one in the hand now, so. Pharmaceutical tech's, rock and
roll and justice to the wary of the guru in the mind. I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

I'm on a Holiday Inn, Hooligan's Holiday Inn mindset and I will Eat, Pray, Love in here
until I get a piece of ayasss. (That Veronica Vaughan is one...Billy Madison? Nevermind...)

Nirvana and toast for breakfast, followed by horse tranquilizers and trauma with the
mortality rate in the news. Next to Obama, we figure it's all good, and my roommate the quotient
potent Brown Leaguer almost P.H.D. in stats says hes got ten grand on US. The paper holds our
folded faces to the floor, just as the super glue on the one dollar bill stuck to the street at the
corner in Solana Beach. But that memory barely comes back to me now, as I am so far out of,
didn't know that I was in. Have a taste of champagne and O.J. In my mind and wish I wasn't
watching the simpletons wonder when nuclear holocaust will rain down on us from the twelve
steps of Allah.

There is no thirteenth step. That's because I am an unforgiving atheist, just as my lovingly

adopted, success driven KYW father, youngest son and holy ghost to my cell taught me to be.

But Jesus Christ, don't be a JEW, understanding is what the Muslims need... he would
sneer in my mind laughing hilariously if I wasn't too busy coming up with it myself and listening
to him laugh in my mind. But it's me they aren't coming to take away, ha ha to the Funny Farm,
which is on

Interstate Ten in Texas in Bushland. One in the hand, two in the Bush and I think I will have to
take the train in June. The plane may cause me some anxiety. Sleeper car, bar, and tar. I don't
wanna know.
 I made up a rhyme about my cycle. January Babies, February Maybies, March ON, April
showers bring Mayflowers but June bugs, Jew lie August. Septembers glow, Octobers No....

Could be my date V or peace ember to December 24th, my clean and sober anniversary. May it
hold my weary ass down to this hole. Living six feet in the hole. Of course, I made that poem up
YEARS ago in Los Angeles, so I was down on my knees in Hollywood at the time. Time to kiss
some....

Fuck me in the goat ass. Or maybe allow me to get some kids and raise em til I can break
out the leashes and take em to the ball park. That's my advice to my mothers in my life. Give em
a Frank, a john and cracker what? Jacks for the aisles you worry every one else is walking while
I sit and ponder my next fiancee. Maybe I'll propose on the big screen at PETCO or maybe Big
Bubba and Uncle Ben (last name Dover) could plan a surprise ambush and tackle her ass so I
can kidnap her and we can marry in Bogata.

Of course now it is 11:11 and I should kiss my wrist and make a wish. I just smoked a
lucky cigarette and now my patch (with permission) goes on Friday the 13th. They all want to
know downstairs why Friday the thirteenth. The obvious answer is I am suicidal bitch but
that's just my tendencies to bes rude at all times, sever and the System of a Down will get me
in the bunghole for all the television jalapeno popper down there is snoring to. It's just the death
and destruction of the Muslim terrorist leader, after all and with no more Serocloud to rock his
world, why stay asleep all the time? Drug enough for the water retention that will kill him the
sleep is, but that's only because the doctors don't have a fucking clue what to do. That's what
jalapeno popper says anyway. I need an I Love Puerto Rico t-shirt so I can get my happy ass
whacked in this city long before this ever gets published. Now if I were Ozenoz, I'd say that:

It's all whack, jack get back and stack at the stack what the attack fact racked in your

plaque. No, just brush, flush and crush cause smoke will make me blush when I get the gush from

the girl who sees the pearl of wisdom in my bowl's of assassin choked mayhem coulda been a

good date, but then again. When can I get again the desire to use? Every time I get the blues,

cause no matter what I'm gonna lose the cruise is on the way says the telemarketer for the

day, and I'm buying not dying, so Just For Today.

Just for today I won't get in the sack or sacked cause I'm waiting to get fat from the

psyche that they plan. The med that can make me do the can can but not in the can cause that's

not a plan, BUT THIS IS!!! Oh forever young, blood, forever young.
 But I'm not Ozenoz, I'm just a talented low life one step from the street who has no
energy to lie around and wait for the inevitable.

As Alice Cooper said I just lay in my bed. Dreamin of the day, when everyone is dead.
Oh I am a vicious young man. I am a wicked young man.

Don't you think? I think I should run out and join the U.S. Armed Forces cause I want
you, I want you, you're making me sick... Yoko Ono sings join the revolution... join the
revolution...

My lifelong consolation is that I have to make myself into the constitutional amendment that

people arrested for meditating have the freedom to not be violated by revocation of bail bond
for god intoxication. In a caste system, that would be a must and I am not resistant, I am an
opulent tied down crass observing monk to the fact that a body bag is not reward for a body bag.
Right? Or right?

What did I do to observe such a fate? Played the mix on my computer. Did you know
what music can alter your mood? But can it load a gun and cock it too? Should I brush my teeth
before I end up with a gun in my mouth? Will my future wife be that pissed off about all of this?
Is mush mouth a good name for a new mouthwash company for alcoholic veterans of
Afghanistan?

Yes, all natural Mush Mouth. And you can have a mush mouth today!

Alright, maybe I should just wait until June when I get my big return for the return trip
as the I.R.S. Worker, the governmental cougar of my absent minded Osama bin laden with ladels
of in too much of a hurry to notice I had everything right, but have been taken away the right to
fight. Until June, then the accountant said I could equip myself with quips, but I am a quitter not
a quipper and fuck it. Gosh darn it. Golly and gee wiz, I am a was and wasses have to know their
goddamned place when they almost jump off of bridges.

Yeah, I am not walking over anymore bridges anytime in the near future. Of course I
could just absentmindedly walk my fat ass into oncoming traffic but that would be a weird and
messy thing to do. And once again, the KISS of death seems so simple. Just smoke my way to
death. So slow that a cup of joey bag a donuts could choke me sooner than later. I could fake it
until I'm pregnant with Jerry Brown's child, or smoke some hooch lined with opium, or snort
some crystal and jerk off until I take Risperdal for the anti-psychosis antidote. Cause I am Dr.
LOVE and all you need is Glove. Glove is all you need. But it doesn't fit, so herpes for you, me,
and the other half of the town you'll fuck after we break up again, bitch.

Bitch, bitch, bitch. (That's right the women are...)Give em the doggy bone (who was that?).
Cassidy. I Know You Rider. Simple. YEM. Set break. Signs. Cars, Trucks and Buses. Billy
Breathes.

Reba. (Mcintyre) Joy. Round Room. Set Break. No encore. Encore? Yeah ok: This one is for
Madison!

Frankenstein into a very middle weight Killing in the Name Of.

Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me.

Like quit smoking. Oh wait, I mean I won't do what I tell me. I'll do what you tell me.
Cause that makes more fucking sense than anything I could come up with and finance on my
own. Could be, rabbit! Or maybe a rabbit, or a golf, or a passat, or a bug. VW Girl, El Stiffo into
Rage Against The Machine's lead singer crooning Lengthwise while I do cartwheels naked and
hump smiley's leg for the encore. Opening act for The Meatball Rolling Epidemic at the corner
of fifth and Funny Farm,

Bogota, Columbia. But only if I get a green truck full of shit for my cut of the take. And in my
wake as

I leave behind the gig that cost The Meatball Rolling Epidemic their right to cover G-Love and
The Special Sauce performance in Bonnaroo note for note at Musikfest I will think Gollee
Beaver. Let's roll a turbo tax monster job.

Of course with my spotty record, the leopard will lose it's hots for me, and every cougar
bearing weight will sit apoun my baby, which is shrunk to fit my meds and all will be hell. Not
that it doesn't freeze over, but at the Hotel California Donovan Mcnabb has dropped the keys off
to a hair of the dog morning, and I am way past check out. But hanging and swingin' are just my
style, so why not dry out and cut the cord when the fatty rolls past at bed check. I am after all
institutionalized and when she cries rape, the fate could be the fucking same. So what the hell,
won't you step into the freezer my piece of ayass! I promise I won't end up face down on the
floor from the yay yo' with foam coming out my nose, I will end up face down.

And for those of you who don't have the peeps I do, let me tell you they are so
Bethlehem, and so Hollywood, and so and so is doing so and so and so on and so forth. Not
taken from the addicts

Bible.

It's taken from the addicts Koran. The one apparently I'll be reading O' Summa long. Well, it is

May quit smoking after all. The doctor approved, and even gave me welfare supported
prescription to begin, you guessed it: Friday the 13th. Fucking doctors.
 It could be worse. Imagine you are in your cave. You have gathered a harem so good, it's
attracting all the military men. All summa you think you'll be cummin when boom goes the
foxhole and it's in the bag. No, really. Bag it, tag it, sell it to the media butcher shop, cause they
will be summarizing why we ain't at war with the Koran all summa long. But that's just the
middle Ayah.

Morons.

And more on that, and moron this, and moron get off the dope before the soap that should
be in your mouth isn't just in your mouth it's so far in the john next door, the plumbing won't be
fixed til next week. But that's neither slam nor there, so spam, spam, spammin the night away.

Yeah twistin, twistin...

Of course if it's a good show you aren't looking for then let me get it straight, or atleast
metrosexual. I am hairless, I am clean, what am I? I am a good version of the future president's
morale.

Happy Birthday, Mr. President...

Many birthday wishes go out on this very day. To all of my former bunkies and my next
door to me cellies, all but the one who whacked his fudd before the grand jury unwilling to test
him at Whackenhut. May all your Christmas Cities be this bright. At night, in the dark I find my
way to the star, but can't cross that bridge when I come to it.

Is it all comedy, or are you ever going to get to the reproductive simmering crux of the
matter Joel? Or are you going to tell me that this all going on in your mind is the normal
functioning of an all too natural mind at work on the days take of you're scenario? Is that the
mother in me speaking, or am I schizophrenic as the doctor told me years ago before another
doctor disagreed and said I was not mentally ill, and then the one after I got forced to due to the
money scenario said I am just Bi- Polar.

But he thought I was cute, so I guess he had to say bi-something.

I hate the thought of my stupid cunt of a little sister having the all knowing attitude she
has about my mental illness so that she can claim instant superiority rather than simple
admission that is just what falls in the normal category of sibling rivalry. All of you seventeen
year old scorpio siblings of mentally ill patients do your little bitch dances, cause guess what.
You'll always win. And why? Oh cause I love you. But that's not why I am in the mental
predicament I am. (refer to previous 17 chapters) Because I am a violent, self destructive
criminally intent demon of vigilance against the proletariat of instantly gratifying my wishes
government who will ultimately win in the long run so :

HA!
 Why don't I stop sending these chapters as text messages in audio form? Because I am an
attention grubbing addict who has been fed the mysteria of social media and need to formulate
an exit plan that works into it winning over the ties that have bound my predisposition to fail at
all costs their right to bear arms and give it all the fuck up.

Translation: When I get through all of the whit and rhetoric, I am going to have to do
some serious work on this book, because the ultimate goal here is not only have it be a self help
book with which dually diagnosed people can relate to, but to find some serenity. And the path to
that is (still reading the audio message here) getting in the good message which relays that when
it's all said and done, use what you've got not only to get what you want, but to heal the wounds.
And in healing the wounds, I mean those of the people in your life as well. (To that effect, when
my phone money runs out on Thursday God gives me no choice) So, to all those opposed at this
point, you just wait. I'll see you on Oprah.

Joel, you say in the book that you have been with a man.

What's you're point?

Kill the lights, we are going to commercial here...

But that's neither here nor billion there. Maybe the name of this book should just be: HEIRS.

H-E I.R.S.. Human Empathy for the Internal Revenue Service. And that's not lip service, or
Blimpie delivery or anything at the Quik- E mart, or anything else I could go for if I could rid
of the terrible gas I have to torture myself and the bed checks with all day while I type off the
asymptomatic razors of torturous descent to publishing hell this is.

Maybe I will just make it an E- book. Fully researched with links. But that's called a blog.
And that would be a no money in the pocket thing to do because in order to draw attention I
would have to do it the right way and get it syndicated. And I like jam writing, well orchestrated.
I guess I will just have to blog it, and then take the attention and go legitimate. So HEIRS fits
like O.J.'s Glove condoms.

Or at least I hope it fits like his friend Bubba's, and I'm not talking shrimp. Run O.J. Run.

But what if someone did that? Did someone do that? Make it possible for e-books to be
fully linked and capable of linking to the sites referenced on your hand held devices? I would
kill for that.

Of course, my reference point is all fucked up, so run Forrest run.

Back to the research, Forrest Labs at Synergy Research in Escondido, California.

Let's not and say we did.

We did.

This could be page one hundred, but I am guessing that it will be log five thousand, so I
will cut to to the chaser. Then double up on blacks and stack the redhead on my left with a toothy
gleam of cherished abandonment. When the waitress returns, I will tax myself fully to not ask for
another tonic and bitters, give in and take sweet revenge on the whole scenario by leaving for the
john.

The pisser is loaded full of cracks and grins about the shit casino life is made of...
quips the absentminded comedian of a restroom attendant. I tip him with a silver cufflink as I
have lost the other one and stagger out the door, having drained the weasel.

Piss boy's I mutter to myself as I straighten up and return to normal swagger as I am

not actually drunk. Full load of tonic on the way, I'm gonna have to Jew it to a different
bathroom to avoid further embarassment.

Creatures of the Night KISS slot beckons my arrival and I turn and face it with a wary
eyed gleam. I can't tell if it is or not, and I pawned my watch to get the crystal here in sin city
Bethlehem to wager my rent on the room I paid for with the money from my blog, so I guess...

Fuck the readership... I tell myself.

Fuck yourself!

They scream back at me. Perhaps I should just be a creature feature tonight and pull out
the fire crotch routine I rehearsed earlier in my head for that hot young blonde chick who needs
money.
 Chapter 20:

LOVE

I just received a very official text message. It was as follows:

Joel Brooks, resident of Step By Step in Bethlehem, PA.. You are hereby being told

by me, Lillian Prilutski, your mom that you are to no longer send the voice or txt messages

to your sister, Carly Brooks. If u insist on doing so I will, as her legal guardian, file an

harassment against you. If a simple hello is what u want to convey that will still be fine as I

know she loves you inspite of the fact u just sent a voice message mentioning her asyour

little cunt of a sister.

I will dedicate this to the defense team: I called back and let her know how it is. She

made her choice. If Brandon Brooks, Asher Brooks, Carly Brooks, Lillian Prilutski or

Jessica Ruch attempt any contact with either me or any other agency with which I am

involved there will be harassment filed on them.

By the way, I let her know shortly after smashing my phone and all of it's contents You

will remain the emergency contact for all of my dealings.

She was agreeable. That's how things have been done in my family. Unless I am

gonna fucking die, or dead already due to whatever and so on, just fucking fugged' about it.

So guess what?

HEIRS. Unfortunately I am stuck like a chump with one plated on my thumb

every time I hit the space bar now cause I slammed it on the railing as I smashed the phone.

Call me Space Bar.

Hmmm.

Chapter 21:

20/20

I guess it is always gonna hurt like this. Until I cry my eyes out like a baby and can't get
through it without having to kill the pain God's given gifts to us. You see, I wasn't meant to sit
around and take psyche meds, because I'm not mentally ill. And they are bad for me.

I wasn't meant to stay clean and sober forever because pot balances my mood when I am
going through problems from my past, and alcohol numbs me from the days stresses and allows
me to sleep.

When I am living in balance, I have a routine.

My ideal routine is:

6am 2 cups of coffee and 2 cigarettes

6:30 two hits of Medical Marijuana

8AM breakfast and a little more coffee to round off the remaining fuzz and begin to write and
network 12-1 PM lunch

1pm-5pm write and network

5pm crack open a cold one and make a nice dinner for myself/friends

5-8PM have another cold one with a friend/self/or write

8PM take two hits of Medical Marijuana to round out the day

8pm-12am relax as I see fit to. (probably write)

But I never end up that way. This time, I will end up that way. I am going to build this
fucking writing machine up until I am making money and can stop being thrown into the system
because I am broke or pressured into it by family who just wants me to be doing well and think it
is THE ANSWER. I have got my chance here. I am going to use the system like a rag and come
out on top. Fuck ever having to answer again to any of this shit. Until people read this and wanna
know, at which point...
 IT'S

ART

PEACE
I quit smoking tonight. Two days before Cinco De Mayo will be my MAY I QUIT FOR
LIFE date. No more fucking around. No more quit dates and bullshit. I know what is good for
me. I quit.

So May 3, specifically Father, Son and Holy Spirit be with me as a guide through the
straights of the between here and the hereafter as an example of what not to do with your life. I
know for a fucking fact that this book is.

It is not written as a suggestion anywhere I have seen, but generally accepted as one
amongst people I know who have seemingly conquered addiction, that as an addict, it is not a
good idea to write a book in the first year of recovery. Or start a business. Or to do anything that
seems to me to what I am capable of doing if I could get over my fear of flying and cross that
bridge when I come to it. Perhaps it will not be in my first year, but I will be damned if what I
went through is going to be ignored and not related to by someone who needs a model to look
after their own ailing soul.

The aim here is to continue forward, as throttled and bewildered as I am by the cravings
and delusions I have about ever being able to return to what commonly people refer to as a
normal life. To finish writing this book and publish it through the proper channels. To get a job
and to support myself. To enroll in school for a course of study that will enable me to go forward
in life with a sense of purpose for the shit I have been through and work with people who are in
positions much like my own. I want to be hope in this world for that someone out there who is
unable to confirm these thoughts being and experiences being something we don't have to go
through all alone. Touch that lone reader out there who hasn't heard it from the source in front of
them at their regularly scheduled therapeutic session that it will be ok. That there is life on the
other side and that it is grand. And that it all starts here.
 Sitting at my disposal is something I don't have the access to use right now. The status in
life to claim that these things are to be looked on by my family as something forthright and
proven by the monetary success, and so biting words issue forth from me all day long at times
wondering where it will all end.

But the truth of the matter is that when it is not being shoved down my throat, that I have
quite a bit of this recovery in me and that I have a very non- sardonic or sarcastic viewpoint for
my own future.

I want the car, the house, the job, the school, the writing, the hobby. I want the woman,
the friendships, the experiences that life holds for all of us. I will have them by being patient and
accepting at the slow speed at which they are given to me and will just have to re admit myself to
acceptance training every time I think that I am in control of the way things are going to turn out.
I am not. I can either adversely or positively affect my surroundings and the people with whom I
am associated and I have to face up to the fact that this may or may not be including being able
to make amends for all of the past wrongs I have been involved in. It also does not include any of
the past wrongs that are being pushed on me for the convenience of being an easy scapegoat to
the inattentive association. Don't worry about them. They will attend to themselves and leave
well enough alone with out your input.

And they will bear their own burden for their own reasons, which you can neither fix nor
resolve for either you OR them.

In this specific scenario, I refer to my father figure for the past part of my life. I feel the
crushing weight he places on my head as being the fucked up kid because he builds his own
image up as a father. His failure to accept personal responsibility is for the fact that he has other
children to try and be a role model to, and I feel quite often that I am the scapegoat because I am
an easy target.

Am I not?

Having revisited this scenario over and over in my head, it has become apparent to me
that the thing that I need the most is the time and the space to find myself in a better place. That
his family has shut me out, their problem, their loss.

And the way in which it becomes the problem is that I take out the retaliatory actions taken by

siblings in the direction of my mother because for years I was an only child before them, and I
feel that I was abandoned by her when she remarried.

I was beaten as a child by this father figure and he took his toll out emotionally as well.
It was ignored by my mother who either really has a mental illness of her own, or is simply
denying the fact that she was there to see me beaten very badly as a small child.
 I feel the sting of the report on this when I think these thoughts, put them on the page. I
feel the sting it will issue on the head of those people in my life, my parents. But they are human,
and were born to make mistakes as well as to raise some kids that will make mistakes.

Communication is obviously not my forte at the moment with anyone in particular,

because not only do I not have my phone ringing at any time, but I don't even have a phone at
this moment. I smashed that fucker to the ground not long after being told that my words were so
cutting to a sister whom I don't even know that I would have harassment charges filed against me
if I were to take it any further.

Does anybody disagree? I certainly don't. The things that have been coming out of me for
the past few days have been some of the most disgusting and flat busted logic that could ever
disgrace the word. It is not logic. It is the grace by which we do the things we are told by
whomever or whatever we deem to be our higher power in whatever form it comes to us, that is
most important.

Right now my higher power is the staff here at the facility at which I live. They are
compassionate, caring and attentive to the fact that I neither need to be babied or ignored. There
are issues at large which cannot immediately be solved, but life is always going to be full of
them.

I am quite positive that for now the correct action for me to take is to stay put and budget
my time and my money wisely and to take the necessary corrective actions that I can to be in the
first place spot for success driven attitude amongst my peers. And like it or not, right now I call
my peers my brothers and sister s here at a place of recovery. For some it is mental illness. For
some it is both mental as well as substance abuse.

For all it is not the answer to lay blame, but rather to take the necessary steps to ensuring
a future that will inspire more positive growth and actions based on sound principles rather than
sound reactions.

This will be my thought for the day as I end the night. I am sorry to my family, to whom I
do not know if I will ever be able to make amends. I will try and heal the hearts I have broken
over the years, but if you break a heart once can it be mended is an age old question. One that
leaves sadness in my heart. And a ringing in my ears. And an emptiness in the wholesome love I
want to be surrounded by and feel the need for but do not have the means to instantly gratify
myself with.

To not be alone in a time of need is the thing that I am granted. And For that I will be
thankful. And to the reader out there in a time of need right now: you are not alone either. It is for
the betterment that your fan mail is unanswered for the both of us.
 Bad joke. Cheer up. Chin up. Choke up if you have to and cry, but when life's got you

down ask if you were worse than I. Crying in the shower asking God why don't I just hurry up

and die. No family left to turn to. No problem but the workings of my inner selfishness.

Surrounded in heart by untold many who wish for my well being, but with whom I have never

felt so far away. Wondering if ever will come the day.

Hindsight's twenty twenty and the battle is left behind. But the
table is empty and somehow I feel blind. But that's US, not me.

Something I need to remember next time I go calling my innocent seventeen year old
loving sister a fucking cunt on her iphone to satisfy my own jealous longing to have
recognition and approval from my family. But that's not my pain now, it's ours. Hindsight's
twenty-twenty.
 Chapter 22:

Ass Rimming Doctors

(and the sphincters that control them)

Friday the 13th

$102.50 Welfare

$200.00 Food Stamps

Minus $70.00 Rent

Minus $170.00 Food for the House

Leaves $30 cash

Leaves $30 food stamps

$30 Cash

-$12 tobacco and papers

-$12 flash drive

-$ 6 pay backs

___________________________

$0

$30 Food Stamps

-$30 Limo Driver

________________

"He doesn't need the limo man"

 I

LOVE

AMERICA
Wow. That made a perfect pyramid on the prior page. Maybe it's a sign that my Amway
business is going to get sailing, or that my forty nine left over ten ninety-niners are going to get
the wind on my sphincter flowing. If not, a full glass of milk and some grilled cheese with bean
dip will do the trick.

I love the Tigers and I hate the Mets, Cooper tells me as I start another day cooped up
in the chicken shack, awaiting the arrival of my return to Cougarville with marmalade check.
But if the answer lies ten thousand miles away, then I am shit outta luck cause I'm out of music
to my ears to get that far. If I could fly on the voices in my head I wouldn't need to take medical
marijuana in the first place.

I'd like a Q-P of some Train Wreck and some of the wickedest Sativa you have...

Yeah, Dude, righteousness.

No problemo, me compadres, the man is back in town, and don't you fool me around. I
am a city slicker with a love for booze, women and bi polar M&M. I hate bridges and Bridges
to Independence won't be the path I take at St. Vincent de SMALL homeless schmeltzer.
Something smells fishy, but for once it ain't my girlfriend. Course my ex is getting there just
vibing how well written this is, putt, putt.

I do not drive. I believe I will make that another phobia. Bridges, driving and par putts.
Birdie putts are all gimmies and fore score and seven presses ago my t-shirts brought forth some
tighty whities that said in my white T, I'd have some Chai. But just because I don't have the
chem lab anymore that I should have the money to buy for my ailing six year old soon.

I'm the kind of guy, who would like some Chai, like it high and dry, so I think I ought to buy.
Look biznatch, if you fizill my mizz ill with a pizzill I'll chizill you ill with a new grizzill.

Tokin' gifts of gratitude in the beach bums paradisio of Felicio Del Torres ant swerve. Ahh

nonsense. The pain in my brain not taken with gain in the train of thought I will make forward to
the establishment that priors and arrests for public detoxification grants my living ass bone
weary and tired of waiting for the ultimate gainer.

Things I fear:

Not having enough beer

Not having enough pot

Not having enough sales

Not having enough food

Not having enough bridges

Not having enough water

Not having enough time

Not having enough music

Not having enough women

Not having enough sex

Not having enough product

Not having enough tools

Not having enough acronyms

Not having enough

Not having

Not

No

What are you lookin' at? (Get Shorty, and his cute assistant too)
What are you lookin'?

What are you?

What are?

What?

It's all part of my Rock and Roll Dream. My Hard Rock Hotel driving let's go to the ass
bone weary tired schmelt smelling schmutz that hits on me first cause I haven't had a piece for
so goddamn ed long that I am developing a sore spot for the whore slot. I could have shortened
that to a sore spot, but I like my women just a tad on the swank and snide with a side of chill and
fuck me if you like, but

I'm not the dike.

Of course I got raped so, what can I say? It's a Holiday Inn faggit, and I want everyone
but Bobbit to get their chops back. Knowing my luck I will end up in the corner with bottle of
Tequila (I turn to you like a long lost friend) playing Crazy Train over the local radio station
blaring B104. Point taken. Until the best slut in the room decides she wants me to not be left out,
but at that point I'll be too sloppie Joel seconded so fugged' aboud' it. What the fuck it's only a
chuck steak.

Top or round?

I'm listening to Round Room so I'm gonna need to find the corner and roll up a doobie

with my rolling papers. At $1.16 a pack you can't beat em', just yourself. To death if you have

the balls to withstand it.

Apparently there isn't anything worse than being so far out at The Space Bar that the
counselor can't offer you some dope besides the dope you are already on, so I'll just sit in my
room and type out the fact that I am so fucking beautiful in my life that I have pissed in every
corner I ever lived in, and this one is gonna be no different.

Counselor, when are they set to beam aboard?

When Jim Beams my hoochie.

Fugged' aboud' it

Warf, you smell like barf. And you look like it too. Wanna fuck?

Counselor, I find you and Data have been screwing too often with my family so...
 Smoke em' if you got em'. But only the varieties that you have come know and love, hand
picked by you to enjoy basking in the goodness of bending over to the ultimate authority, a
loving government as they wish to reveal themselves.

And while we are on the ultimate authority status quo, let's say a thing or two about
higher powers. They are not all they are cracked up to be. They are just higher glimpses of a
reality all too soon to end your weary, bleary eyed daydreams on the sunny river bank where you
skinny dip, jingling and jangling cause you forgot to take your spurs off. Token gifts of
booblicious things in my life. Hell the only tits I have seen for years have been horrible
specimens, and if I had to live and die to see it again, I'd say what the fuck. And probably do it.
But that's just us.

It's me myself and I, and you and what army is gonna move that with a craned neck to
your bedroom you fucking porch monkey creepazoid turtle brained louse of a roommate. I am
shooting for the stars, or at least The Star BAR at ten am every morning when I have money in
my hand and a viable excuse, but it's my life. Do what I'm gonna do til' death do us part.

Growing a beard. Should be long enough when I get all that money I haven't planned how
to spend except for running as far from THE ANSWER as I possibly fucking can. Because the
answer is no-one but no-one and Mr. No One all have the answers so, if you don't like my
sentence structure you can bend over and give me what I have never had.

Take it from a sphincter muscle of extreme quality and vocal appreciation for the speed at
which my neurological impulses control the outer and inner sphincters of my dreams. I should
have completed that sentence with my own asshole doctor, but she's too busy with Hustler to
break out the trick bag for me. And unless she wants to do a skinny girl/fat guy porn flick AND
can line it up for us when I am on some serious absence of nostalgia, methed out, bleak and
weary and wandering around Hollywood looking for a good solid dildo state of mind; well you
know.

The situation is this: You have been wandering around Hollywood for hours trying to
figure out how to score food for the night. You also need smokes, booze and a place to sleep. Let
me tell you, from experience you will find yourself the walking target of many SUV driving
former prison inmates who have the going rate to give you a blow job if you like.

Just beware of the psychotic ones. Not that I ever said yes to a single one that wasn't
threatening my life and developing in me a severe distaste for the gay community in general, at
the same time as a closet desire to understand why what I want to do was so fucking enjoyable.
(but left me wanting to take a shower with a brillo pad) But that's just a cross country rape
excursion from another testimonial. Can I get an Amen?

Bitches.
 In Eugene, they told me I needed a fag pimp and apparently I was so ready for it I jumped
in the cab and became the tri- sexual I am today. In order of relevance: Ex-fiancees, fags, and
mutts.
All Rise

Bread maker, that's what I need. So I can have a wifey therapy/dual diagnosis brothel
with therapeutic dogs. Now that's the shit that I would dream up if I only had the balls to make it
real. Wow.

Whattya know? An epic of epic proportions... Friday The 13th Part 22: Mirage Mansion

Yes, folks that's it. These faggits are cunt cummin action for the spine tingling pooch
smacking cum licker in you. Slice and dice your breakfast and your wifey after giving her the
ass rimming cum job of her out of control sphincter's life. When the horror get's loose, the man in
the mask will make them all into horse food. You know why we made so many of these movies?
Cause we didn't scare

EVERYBODY YET! So get ready, get your pop corn, your cell, and strap on for the ride of your
life!

A Mr. Ed production in association with Warn Her Brothers Films written by Basket Case Jones.

God, I just want one hit. A chart topper, a party popper and a bottle of kiss my ass for all
those who have ever said I would never get anywhere. You know what I mean? Not that you
should be relating to my sick as hell out of touch with anyone but the whore who would never
fuck me bed checker (I am in psyche rehab) I am farting for right now. Wait a minute. Maybe if I
give her a copy of the book I am writing? Maybe if I, ahh cigarette break. Be back in a Flash
Ahh second. Yes, I know,

I know sweetheart, but I need a good British fag and I am going to smoke one if I damned well
want to.

Well, fresh in silk Saks T under Nike Golf and shorts with my Adidas whites Sirius Hat
and Chinese Dollar store shades I have made my way through the laundry bin. I'm on the way to
a full closet, although I seem to be cleaning it out at an alarming rate without getting any action.
American Beauty, American Pie, American Psycho or The American?

Today of all days I have to deal with the fact that I only have a total of two months I will
spend in this place with a computer to write and complete the novel idea: a complete manuscript.
Without conning my way through this let me tell you I have no idea what I am getting myself
into here.

Hopefully alotta mula and hula hula to you too.

My friend here says that he will take the filler for the home slice and give me a piece of the

action by converting my PDF to a format compatible for my .odt here so I can turn it into an
STD and really get rolling and read through this shit. Just picking up the TOOLS on Friday with
the money coming back to me from the government I gave the money to. Only I am taking it
back because I am an Indian Giver in the most American governmental politically correct sense
of the word, unless you are just cracking open a fresh one in the oval office. That's referred to as
giving casinos the ultimate authority: a loving rain dance as we understood them. God I want a
drink.

But I have to give credit to both Obama and... Osama all summer long. You're the
monkey on my back and it's time for you to go... HAMMERED... the Crue wails on in the
endless loop of the very few selections of enjoyable music to my ears I have on my PC.
I am the most twisted fuck I know, but I can't get twisted or get IT twisted I just have to
twist and shout and let the ladies do their pout for now cause I'm waiting til the cows come home
on 747's to get it in the sack.

What I wouldn't give for two thirty two ouncers of some good 5.9%. Take me home to
the paradise shitty where the grass is blue and the girls are brown and whitty. Oh won't you
please take me home.

Well after a short recess to shit myself, jerk off about a staff member who fits like a
GLOVE and take a bath, I took the time to check out my online status. I went to the drop in
center, where mental patients of shapes and sizes gather to get what they need the way they need
it. For me it was fried coated string cheese, Facebook and realizing that my book is realistically
way too long already but that I am a writing junkie who needs to earn his way into the common
law marriage Bubba will take me for after all my law suits settle. And fuck you too demo of
more to come.

At this point I am very back logged and unsure as to the status of my quotient, so I must
refrain from acting like a jerk any further and tell the abominable tale. The tale of two shitties
and the poop that pursued them to the ends of the ABE area. Of course by the time I am done, I
will have flown the coup and be smoking the dupe, so shoop de shoop doo wop dee doo. With
poop on top.
Smoka da poop!

And there you have it folks, asshole doctors. What do THEY know? Assholes.

Of course it's now 7PM. I have just come from The Mental Health help yourself to fat
pieces of shit Drop in Center. There the fat piece of shit in charge told me that he wanted to
prove himself just that and I told him to have a nice fucking day. To which he told me to watch
my language. To which I replied I will, Have a nice FUCKING DAY! To which HE REPLIED
In fact don't FUCKING come back! To which I replied HAVE A NICE FUCKING DAY!
And you know what? I will.

Assholes who know that guy better triple up on the double dose of reality, cause he ain't
gonna move anywhere in life sitting on his fat ass being the big guy over a bunch of retarded
people.
 Chapter 23:

School

Perhaps I should relate a bit my tale of woe. Wojohowitz which sounds like an old black
woman saying woah Joel it's very breathily, which reminds me of my fat piece of shit for
brains mother saying it very breathily as she stands up for every one else in this world but me,
unless I admit complete defeat, give up on life, collect SSI and succumb to being the most
mentally retarded thing she ever met next to my son, whom she will force feed his illness until he
gags on it now that I have told her she will have a gag order if she comes near me. No, wait, she
was doing that ALREADY! Must come fucking natural to the cunt.

So, back to wo Johoel it's not fair to be so mean...I LOVE YOU!

Don't talk back in my brain bitch, I know you're ex husband bought himself too much
when he knocked you up, and up to that point he had just been buying a piece of ass by treating
me nice. As soon as named after Chaim Potok's The Chosen red haired Asher came out of your
cunt, he started beating me as hard as he could as often as he could afford the time. Thankfully
you forced him (begrudgingly in sweats and slippers) to take me to football where I excelled in
defense, and I was able to defend myself. Ever wonder why I choked the dog so hard when I
trained her? So she wouldn't actually fucking kill him when he was beating me. He would have
come up with a way to get me out of the house faster than he did. At age eleven I would have
been the notorious former straight A gifted student who trained the dog to attack his adopted
News Anchor father. Notice the capitalization? How about this one: ELEVEN YEAR OLD State
Award Winning Actor and GIFTED STUDENT with no behavioral problems to date.

Ok, then fast forward. I have socially adjusted, but you have rape complex from your past life

and won't let me have normal female relationships. So let's get to about fifteen years of age when
I have about fucking had it with being the blunt end of more emotional abuse than you and he
can dish out because I am big enough to scare him now.

So he starts in on me when I have never said a dirty word in front of anyone in our
model upper class household, and he decides once again his career is on the line to be the
family man for KYW and I need a lesson. He starts in on me about never mentioning tits or
anything vaguely or otherwise teenager like ever to anyone in his house. That I am sick, and he
will fucking hurt me if I do.

A short time later, never having been asked to mow the lawn I am told that he gave me
fair notice and that if I am to be allowed to visit my friends beach house (they are waiting in the
driveway) I have to mow the acre of lawn with the push mower NOW.
 Of course, I did what any self respecting teenager would have done and left. He used this
as fair game to charge me rent. And when I worked my ass off and paid it well, it wasn't enough
proof to him that I would succumb to his holy devoutness. So shortly thereafter at age fifteen, I
was told FUCK

OFF YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU ARE HOMELESS.

I managed to maintain well enough, balancing delicately the threatening calls to my

counselors at the High School which saw the truth and supported me. I managed to make it until
bribed, and then of course because I had 15 years left to see the REALITY came back. As soon
as I graduated with my little National Award in Acting (two first place finishes as well), my
writing credentials, in good physical shape, an astounding musician and singer in a band playing
the hottest spots in Philly I was told to get the fuck out.

Of course when it came down to it, I had to medicate the pain and was in trouble before
long because I was hurt BAD. Mom and Dad number one were there to be happy about their
moral victory because it meant they weren't bad parents, I was a bad son. Current correction,
no... just a no class slob with mental illness which I was BORN with. Do your research assholes.
It either came from both of your abuse, Mom's genes, or both. Both. Well researched.

So of course when it came down to it, I needed help after the summer of caddying at one
of the worlds best courses ever, and came home on Christmas, being a lame duck. Guess what, I
am not lame anymore. That drug induced psychosis was not psychosis, it was termed it to
please the family who paid for the therapy so that they could bury me instead admitting what I
was too fucked with a complete nervous breakdown to realize the truth.

You turned me away to be homeless on Christmas Eve. Said Don't come around here no
more.

Why has it taken me until age 33 to realize that you are the blood sucking maggots
lacking any morals that you are?

I love that sentence.

So I wandered on from Christmas Eve, and had a nervous breakdown. This is turning into
an all out JAM session here. Mixing conjugations and such...

So Daddy, you filthy faggit, you paid out of your oh poor you insurance, and when I
was fresh out of the coma you put me in and helpless dumped in the first available ghetto North
Philly dump you could find for me to die in. But I didn't.

And Mommy was oh so sad, cause she was concerned... these people are going to help you
Joel...

What I didn't realize was that where I went was less cutthroat than where I came from, and

they carried weapons. Of course now you do. But if you were to ever pull one on me, I would
slit your throat so fast and deep you wouldn't even blink and you'd be in Hell. Of course I would
end up where you have sent me my whole life, on the run and ultimately in front of a mental
health judge. But that's cause money and power are all that matter in your world, and I don't
matter. Fucking try me. Due to my own inability to realize what immoral pieces of shit you are
and simply stand up and be the man I am becoming now at lightning fast speed, I have learned to
live among those that know how to kill and learned. Don't think I feel any kind of pleasure in the
fact that you might try something so wonderful and desperate when this gets read by the world,
but if you do... out of desperation, then it is because for the first time ever the tables finally got
fucking turned the direction they needed to be turned.
And if you don't like my opinions, as they are just that, opinions, then fucking sue me bitches.

All you ever wanted from me was the ability to be socially fit for your uptight snobby world

anyway so I'm sure all of the TRUTH you sue me over that gets put into print will put plenty of

bang in your social funsies.

But funsies aside, push me pussies cause the people I call my family are people who
haven't been issued a warning not have any contact with me or else be issued legal action on my
behalf. If you haven't gotten that through your thick fucking skulls, then welcome to my world.
Hope it doesn't take you as long as it took me to realize.

I need a drink.I need a joint. Then I need a cigarette. Then I need to have good conversation

with a female. Then I need to get laid.

Then I need a fucking cigarette. Smoke a cigarette and lie some more, these conversations kill. I

don't drive, or cross bridges under my own power, but FUCK IT.

FUCK IT.
FUCK IT.

FUCK IT.

It's the same story the crow told me, it's the only one you know. I miss Shari. If that isn't a
juvenile statement then I don't know what is. It tells me how far from the reality ... no not THE
reality, reality itself I have been for so long.

I haven't the faintest clue what to do with this path, but exactly what I have learned. Take it one

day at a time. I can't break it down any further than that or I take it too far. Having goals is quite
ok, but that's just it. Sometimes I feel so weighed down by the goals.

Right now I am having a mild panic attack brought on by emotions of looking over IT
and smoking too much and too much caffeine. I need to cut out the caffeine and cut way back on
smoking.

As far as IT is concerned, yeah, copyright. Then I figure I don't want it to overshadow

any career I could build in writing, so self publish and sit on it. If I ever have any success, the

message of IT will be quite clear and final. That I steered the course to the good, made

amends, stayed clean and lived on.

I will go to a career fair tomorrow, and hopefully land a career move. The goal on my
resume is: To own and operate a successful Marketing Corporation. It is missing the big picture
as I have it coming down in the new novel I am working on: Going Public. That would be build
it, expand it, take it public and become a lending powerhouse with an Investment Banking Firm I
open to finance my dreams.

Of course the immediate picture is just how it was left in IT. Family hasn't seen any
concrete proof. Still can't see my son. I am getting some hope though. A worker here gave me
bus fare to get to the career fair, and I have a pack of smokes to ease my head through it.

Got my California Unemployment back today. Doubles my income, to a whopping $400

a month now. Of course I should still get food stamps, so that counts for something I guess.
Nothing to be proud of still, and somehow that ironically includes IT.

Watching my roommates get high and fuck off their lives. It is sad. I am going to get a
job. I am to take that tax money and pay off my fines to get my drivers license back. I get the
restoration requirements letter sent today from PENNDOT.
 I figure if I can get a sales job making me anywhere near what I was earning in
California, well, anyway. Figure I can pull off the equivalent of $12 an hour. That's $2k minus
taxes a month. Figure I clear $1500, I can save about a grand a month. If I get the job paying out
starting July, that makes about four months to save and move out. I will have my license after the
suspension in September, so figure in October I could take two grand and buy some wheels. That
leaves two grand to move out on November first. The wheels will open up the choices for my
location for the living situation, as I would like to be in a nice place and not settle for anything
less than the ability to safely have Shane come over and spend some quality time.

I am on Step 6 of the snowflake project for Going Public, my first novel (next to the
manuscript all handwritten I dumped in the trash in 2009). Figure another 200 hours, it will be
done. At 20 hours a week, that is two and half months. That means in August I can be looking for
an agent for the copywritten manuscript.

Figure $1510.

$1510

50 BUS

1450

50 CIGARETTES

1400

410 RENT

1000

2000...

Now I start to feel kind of melancholy about how much money I am going to have when I
land the apartment. Then I worry that I will lose the job and end up on the street. Then I wonder
if ending up on the street will end in me freezing to death like I almost did last winter a few
times. Now I feel like having a cigarette, but I am still having anxiety and it won't help any. Now
I want a few puffs on a joint, and know it will help if it's the right strain. Of course then I will
want to loosen up with a little alcohol.

Read that fucking book, Joel. Read IT. Tell yourself. Play the tape to the end. This isn't
the end, it's the beginning. And not the beginning of the end.

And it's not ok to not be in touch with the family who loves you, and it is not that simple
due to status and amends and stigma and etc etc etc but really.
Like A Stranger In Moscow playing in my headphones I feel so sad. I just want to be filled with

that joy that I know. But the only joy that I have filled myself with for years is liquid joy, so be
patient.

Be patient.

May 20th $45 CASH

$20 cigarettes
$25 work bag

$120 every 2 weeks

$240 total
-50 bus pass
$190
-$50 cigarettes

$140 broken into 2 week segments

$70 for two weeks
$35 a week spending cash

5th first check for $200

welfare coming for
$102.50 figure $80 rent

Leaves
$220.00 and
food stamps!

220
50 bus pass
170
$25 cigarettes
145
35 mp3 player
110
INTERNET CONNECTION REST

I just talked to Mom. She told me she may have had a mini stroke on Saturday, and that she spent
the last few days in the hospital. She was at fucking WORK. And she told me, crying the whole
time that she needs me to not be in contact with her for at least thirty days.
 I am so sad. At first I felt blamed. I'm sure that stress causes these things, so I am sure I
am blamed. I feel like I just need to go away and leave her family alone. I will never be at the
family gatherings, but I will keep in touch with her. Of course not until 6-9-2011.

I have to feel like maybe she is blaming herself for some of the stuff that has happened to
me or she wouldn't be stressed enough to have a stroke.

I had called to tell her all of the good news I have amassed in the past few days. Namely
that I have an interview tomorrow with Lehigh Country Club for the position of locker room
attendant. Of course it would be mostly afternoons and evenings, so I would have the
opportunity maybe to caddie in the mornings.

I feel like I have this 22 year old twerp for a brother who has to play a power trip all the fucking

time. He is a half brother, and it needed and needs not to be forced down my throat. These roles
in the family were defined to be what they are, named what they are for a purpose. My mother
insists that they are my sister and brother when they are not and never have been, not in Ashers
case since he was a toddler.

So in light of all of these arrogant pricks in my life trying to steal my thunder with the
Mother I grew up around long before they ever came into being, I just fucking lose. And if we
are all not careful, we will all lose our mother.

In the meanwhile I have a crazy attention getting book I have written in IT, which is sure
to kill my mother if it were to ever achieve success. That's what I feel like. I feel like she would
have that final stroke and die if I were to have success with IT. How the fuck do you make that
kind of decision? It is important that the book be published as it IS intact so as to hold the proper
message and have the proper effect. So I guess I do what any sensible person would do, and give
it to God.

I filed this and then had the wonderful thought. Why not use the journey as the rest of the
book? Diary entries are about the best I am going to be doing for the next quite some time, and
get me to the place where I need to be to be able to give the proper message for IT. Don't end IT
with FUCK IT, end IT with the story of how life got better.

For Mom. Who I love so much. I pray that she takes HER doctors advice and takes it
easy. I need more time. More time. Of course, if she dies, I'll probably sell about 400 billion
more copies.

Can't stop crying here. Dinner time. Grace. God, grant me some.

That's it. I'm never gonna make billionaire status with writing for damned sure. Time to
go for it for motherfucking real. Time to start my corporation. Brooks Flow, LLC.
I need start up planning and money. And so it begins.

Figure I get this caddying job tomorrow, as the locker room attendant is OUT for now
due to transportation issues. I move out of here with the tax money and into a room. Get back on
my own, thank God. Nothing too permanent, as caddying is temporary. But a DECENT room
will run.. hold on let me check the paper here.

OK, found the answer. Get the caddy job. That is about $2k total income. Rent at
Hamilton Towers is about $700. Figure I can keep food to $300 a month, that's half of it. Make
my own cigarettes with tubes, get a case. Cigarettes $50 a month.

2000

-700 rent

1300

Food stamps pay most of food

MA pays Risperidone

FUCK the Depakote

1300

-150 alcohol

1150

50 bus pass

1100

-100 phone Boost

1000

-200 food

800

$800

-200 spending

$600 to save a month for 5 months to prepare for Florida

$3000 to make the move

Figure caddie and unemployment May-mid June: $2k

2000

-300 rent

1700

-50 bus pass

1650

-50 cigarettes

-100 spending

1550

-300 lunches

1250 Pay one months rent and deposit at Hamilton

Towers get tax money

-pay off license fine

-get phone

-if you can, get wifi

$3000 for move to Florida

-buy a cheap car

-research places in Miami

Now make yourself feel better about it all.

At $1600 a month times 12 months, you make

Almost $20,000
WAY BETTER THAN YOU HAVE BEEN

Figure November through April in Miami

6 months at
$2k same
budget

6 times $500 month savings (car costs) is

$3000

MOVE BACK and bank it... back to Hamilton Towers.

Over this period of time you have: written a business plan.

Made contacts. Written books.

Now the school thing is nagging at me. Maybe do online classes at my own speed with someone
throughout the course of all of this.

So figure do online classes in business. $2000 plus turning over the car for a grand gets a $3K
car.

Save and milk the car and school.

Repeat.

Went outside and smoked a cigarette. I have got IT!

I am going to go to The Art Institute of Pittsburgh for Web Design as initially planned. So
days on the golf course, nights on the computer. Do two years of caddying in the endless
summer, and schooling.

By the time I have the degree I should have over five grand saved up for my move into a
new career. Get a job as a web designer and go finish my bachelor's in Web Design. Do two
years of working in the field and finishing my Bachelor's and move up in the world.

Work in the field and go to school for my Master's in business with an emphasis on
ecommerce. Move up in the world. End up as an e- commerce strategy manager making six
figure income by the time I am 44 years old at the very worst.
 That gives me 21 years to prime retirement age. Do 22 years of working and writing as a
hobby, and retire gracefully with a great portfolio to fill my days with adventures to write about.

Stay away from drugs, and live a normal life. Deal with the Bi-Polar correctly and it
won't cause me to go back to the life I have seen, the bad parts anyway. That means take your
risperidone and see your shrink. Make healthy choices, and be you.

That just seems so freaking good. And so freaking simple. It is just a FACT that I don't
need to have anything in the way of too serious a relationship until after I have my associates
degree. But normal healthy female relationships are possible under those circumstances. Just
don't get caught up, keep your plan.

I just went outside and had a cigarette. I saw the fatal flaw in my plan here. Beer. Leads to
not taking meds. Leads to not listening to doctor. I can maintain medical insurance under a
student plan once I am started. So moving ain't a problem here.

Stay SOBER. How do you stay sober? Attend support meetings. Forget about NA, it's
shoddy and trouble. Take the advice of your first and foremost in your mind counselor, Kim
Oroscz. Stick with the old timers. Go to AA. Start tomorrow. It's that easy. You can build a
network of friends who are in sobriety who are understanding, because there is wisdom in those
rooms. Something you weren't finding in the rooms of NA.

Stay sober, take your meds, work and go to school. Wasn't that easy? And it adds what

would probably be a lot more than $150 a month to your budget. Money to pay for what you

forgot. Toiletries.

Now then, hit the book.

A young protege in marketing gets blackmailed by a woman from his past. Mark

thought he had it all. Risen from the ashes of past riddled with bad memories and bad

associations, he has formed his own marketing firm, HEIRS, LLC from scratch. Leaving

behind careers in industries riddled with dead ends and drugs, namely caddying, and the

restaurant industry, he left to become an artist. Bottoming out into the streets, he built his

sales career one piece at a time until he had the skill set to start off on his own. With a

grand and a grand dream he has built a soon to become empire consisting of a network

of Realtors and Auto Dealerships. Now servicing every aspect of modern day marketing
you can imagine, he is poised to take the company public and cash in on all of his dreams.

At a dinner celebrating the firm's rise to the top, and impending future as an investment

banking powerhouse, he receives a phone call.

Mark, it's Cathy.

Cathy is a former girlfriend of his from his days long buried as a junkie. She tells

Mark that he is quite an artist still, and that it's time he put his writing and acting skills to

good use. It's time to write a check to cover what he has been neglecting, for all of those he

left behind. She says unless he can come up with nice round number, namely half of the

money the board he oversees will get in two weeks, she will blow the horn. He receives a

multi - media file on his phone with picture of him shooting up, arrest records and last but

not least a birth certificate. She tells him he has a son who he has never paid a dime for the

care of, and that it is over. The phone call ends, and he is left in shock. He leaves the dinner

to find his old mentor and get some advice.

When turns to his old mentor for advice, and is met by the tired admission that this

too can be bought. The mentor suggests that Mark is overreacting and that he use his

resources to investigate before acting. Then the stalking begins, street people, mob

associates, you name it come out of the woodwork to let Mark know he will not get off so

easily. At his Customer Service Center an employee hands him a flash drive that contains

more shocking files. Standing in his office, facing the bay, a call comes in to his phone and

the sniper on the rooftop across from him puts his laser sights all over him. When he leaves

to go to the trolley, he bumps into his old dealer who tells him he looks like he needs a fix,

and hands him some crystal meth. His girlfriends all begin sending him text messages

canceling their dates with him, forwarding nude photos of him they received from his

number. He receives a phone call telling him that data in his backup phone directory has
been stolen and that they can make those texts and phone calls from his number to the

investors if he should so like and create the storm to end all storms. Cathy calls and tells

him that he is investing in his son's future.

He realizes that the money for such an all out assault has to be coming from a

greater source and begins an investigation with one of his executives. They find in the

record books a tie from one of the old marketing plan customers from his street days. A

now successful rap and rock act, he has been shown in photos with Cindy. Digging deep,

they find the ties to the drugs, to the mob, and then the trail goes cold. Until Mark realizes

it is an inside job from one of his own executives. The file was left on his desk by accident,

but contained some pertinent information to a rival marketing firm vying for a lot of the

same business.

Mark arranges to have a backstage pass to one of the rap acts shows, and goes with

an escort on his side. When he arrives, he finds himself confronted by the street scene he

left behind years ago, but with all of the money he has now to go with it. Ears ringing from

his front row vantage point, after having been pointed out by the rap star, he makes his way

backstage. There an old guitarist of his is waiting in the wings. They have small talk, and he

gives the guitarist a note to give to the stage director. The stage director reads the note into

the rappers ear in between songs, and the set is ended. He comes storming off the stage

entourage in tow, ready for action.

Mark pulls out a phone and calls an old connection of his from back in the day. It is a mob

associate in the city where they are standing. He puts the sattelite video phone up for the

rapper to see as he approaches, the don whose turf he stands on. The rapper starts to make

a move with his entourage, but Mark is ready. Taking a transmitter from his pocket and

plugging it in, the video conference is played on the concert screen to the audience. This
Don Vincente says the Mafia ringleader to the audience. He narrates the current problem

with the rap star,and then recites his rap sheet. The audience eats it up and starts a riot

that forces the star back onstage. It's done, the press will be all over this... Mark slyly

grins as he walks offstage and out the side entrance. On the way to the street, catching a

cab he calls the opposing firm's CEO.

Fueled by the scandalous back stabbing, Mark releases a book written in the days

before his rise from the streets and feeds the story of the scandal to the press. Going public day

comes, and the stock soars in reaction to the multi faceted approach of the marketing whiz.

The next day, it is in the news that Cindy is suing the rapper for child support, physical abuse

and harassment. The executives at the neighboring firm run for cover as customers bail off

their network and into HEIRS. The backstabbing executive is cut loose to fend for himself.

Characters:

Major:

Mark: CEO Owner of HEIRS, LLC

Cindy: Girlfriend of Rap Artist Tinny

Tinny: Rap Artist

Elizabeth: Board Member HEIRS, Mark's romantic involvement and co-investigator

Darren: Executive inside HEIRS involved in conspiracy

Don Vincente: Mafia leader

Edgar: Mark's mentor

Alfredo: Mark's first

partner

Minor:

Slim: drug dealer slides Mark Meth

Cap: sniper

Fizzy: tech criminal

Richard: Opposing firms CEO

Mark: CEO Owner of HEIRS, LLC

Mark is the driving force behind the story, the hero. He goes from hiding his past in the
beginning of the story, to acknowledging and using it as an inspirational story.

A start up businessman of his own right, Mark has built a business from the ground up,
starting with very little funds. He began from a homeless shelter, and has amassed a network of
Realtors and Auto Dealers who use his marketing firm. The firm has raised capital to expand the
business, and Mark is poised to take the firm public to complete the final stages of his
transformation. His goal is to expand into Investment Banking, and to use his network of
Realtors and Car Dealers to become a lending powerhouse.

Mark was a former drug addict, pursuing the life of an artist. He used to live, to get by
through the highs and lows of a failing writer/actor/musician. Mark is well studied and has a
penchant for high class women with taste, though he is more of a homebody. His aversion to
flying was not an obstacle to his success, and the business was built in spite of it. He has built
around him a team of executives, slowly hand picked through the ranks of the different levels of
the organization as it expanded.

Mark is unmarried with no children, though he has had so many bad relationships through
his past life that he wonders how many abortions are out there. It had never really occurred to
him that someone would hide a child from him until reached an acceptable level of success and
then come after him.

He relocated to avoid the family that stigmatized him in his hometown and when visiting
there avoids them. He has contact with some members, but remains away from them due to the
fact that he cannot live down the weight of his past and what he feels will ultimately shame him,
even in the position which he has achieved.

Darren:

Darren was hired from another firm into the executive sales team raising capital to
expand HEIRS into call centers. He was hand picked from a team of experts who obviously
loved his glowing resume' and the fact that he represented the demographic most missing in the
HEIRS team. Darren is an African American male from a southern background who ran from
trouble in small town Arkansas to become a college success, and the salesman the son of a
southern baptist preacher should be.

Darren goes from the spited in his own self esteem issues overachiever trying to bring
down his boos to win a spot as a partner in the competing firm to exposed and seeking
psychiatric help at the end.

Darren enters the story at the celebratory dinner where he is being offered a spot on the
board of the Investment Banking Firm. He has been offered what he has already put in place by
the opposition's plan to take down Mark. He gets bullied into staying in the deal with threats of
exposure, and continues on the treacherous path he has created for himself.

Darren was salesman of the year, raising over two point two million dollars in capital for
HEIRS almost single handedly while coaching his upper level managers behind the front lines of
the network. An overachiever his whole life, he is impatient and begins an affair with a married
local politician. As soon as the scandalous activity begins, he begins cracking up and taking
prescription downers to an extreme.

He has a past history in the gay community, and when he threatens to back out again,

threatening pictures and hotel camera videos surface along with records from a vacation with

his former roommate, a well known New York City fag. The politician with whom he is having

the affair receives the same information, and breaks off the relationship. To say the least, Darren

reaps what he sows.

Cindy: Girlfriend of Rap Artist Tinny

Cindy is the girlfriend of Rap artist Tinny. She is a drug addict with many talents.
While supporting herself as a porn-movie industry star she ran into the rapper, and it became lust
at first bite. Over the course of the story she transforms from the long abused and cowering
addict and heavy drinker into the trying to recover victim of the abuse she has fallen to.

Cindy was a friend to Mark during his days on the street. At one point they became a
couple, frequenting local shows for Mark to sit in and perform. They scraped up enough to start
their own sort of speak-easy and lived in it for awhile. It became a hotspot until they had a falling
out over the drug use and whether the people who frequented were due to her vast connections.
She is a social butterfly with undying whit and a light sense of humor, but vicious when backed
into a corner.

Cindy has a five year old child which was born during a time in her life just prior to meeting

Mark. During their brief affair, she never told Mark of the child growing inside of her, and she
harbors a sort of bitterness that he was never man enough to stand aside and do the work he
promised. She feels that with his talent, it was his responsibility to build a career out of his
artistic talents, writing, acting and music.

Cindy has had an ongoing relationship with Tinny since they met shortly before Mark
arrived on the scene. Tinny and she had shared a house in the south side of Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania which had led to contacts for him, and he had left for his budding career. She
began doing videos of she and Tinny engaged in sexual acts in that house, and used them as
leverage after her affair with Mark to get into the porn industry after the birth of her son, Shade.

Cindy is a bad mother, pawning her son off to anyone who will take him at any point in

time to relieve her of the hand she feels she was unfairly dealt in light of the career she should be

having. She blames the conception of her son on the circumstances she fell into due to the family

which would not stand behind her.

Elizabeth: Board Member HEIRS, Mark's romantic involvement and co-investigator

Liz, as she likes to be called goes from HEIRS Board Member to heiress of Darren's spot
on the Investment Firm Board. She is a very well educated small town girl from Michigan, with
a Masters from U of M in Ann Arbor. She earns her place by carrying Mark with her
investigations and obvious education about the goings on within the company.
 A romantic relationship springs up between Mark and Elizabeth which does result in
some steamy sex scenes, and banter about sexual harassment. She earns her place however, and
given both the option to bow out or join Mark as equals in the new venture, she chooses to stay.

She is a sexy brunette, likes to drink, but not too much. Just enough to be one of the guys.

Loves baseball and is a die hard Detroit Tigers fan, often quoting the Alice Cooper song, I Love
America. She is probably the most honest and hard working, loveable character in the story with
her love for simple pleasures.

Daughter of two Michigan politicians, she grew up on the farm until she left for
community college in a neighboring city. After a year at a state school, she attended Michigan
State in Ypsilanti, until she and her fiancee graduated. They broke up when he cheated on her,
and she decided to stay on in Ann Arbor and get a Master's at U of M.

She is the author of a nationally syndicated blog, running favorite amongst many
heavyweight politicians and bankers. She holds the keys to the press box whenever it comes time
to make the proverbial shit hit the fan, and she has no fear of unlocking the bank vault and laying
it to waste.

Sharp tongued to those in opposition, but slow on the draw for the purpose of softening
her image, she often gets overlooked for the positions that she is capable of , and this turn of
events in fact, she decides are the workings of the powers that be which her parents always
talked about in the days growing up in Michigan.

Tinny: Rap Artist

Tinny has had a rough career, built from the bottom up. Rising from the streets of
Philadelphia, he earned the nickname Tinny for both the nasal voice he uses when spitting at
high speed and for the fact that it was rumored that he had no heart. He used the nickname as a
backbone for the theme of his first album, The Tin Man and came to be the rap artist Tinny. His
main focus is always on what it took for him to rise off of the streets.

Tinny had been homeless in Los Angeles for some time when he flew home to the Lehigh
Valley to get some rest. He got into drugs, and found a landlord who would put up with it while
he set up a studio in his house. Using what he learned in Venice while digging through trash
cans, Tinny begins to record and promote his own shows online and in nearby New York. He
avoids Philadelphia, which is strangling him, because it is where he came from. Then came along
Cindy.
 With Cindy along as the social butterfly for his local gigs, Tinny was soon hitting the hot
spots and leaving them begging for more. She would bring along all of her friends, pack the club
and before he knew it, Tinny was getting offers from labels. But when his label finally cut a deal
for the rights to the already recorded college radio hit-single with the arrangement to cut his next
album with their promotion, he took the money and ran.

Tinny, though from the streets had done his homework and through the boosting of his
single had sold other numbers for movies and television to finance a clothing line. After
recording his new album and making it to the Billboards, Tinny tried to sell his story, but ran
short with the part of Cindy.

He needed someone to warm up the movie studio executives, and finalize the meeting
arrangements.

The record company didn't like his script, and refused to help.

Bringing Cindy back on board, he desperately tries to get an audience with studio

executives, but is finding himself falling short. He wants the money to boost his clothing line, as

he has overspent his royalties already. Then he gets an offer he can't refuse to take down his old

runner, Mark. Using his money for the criminal work, he makes a deal that if the take down is

successful, a competing

Investment Firm with HEIRS will get his movie bought and financed.

Afterward:

There are no easy answers

Except but to trust

Our Father, who Art in Heaven

Mine who is in Heaven is with me Every Day

And it is by His Guidance

I Will Find my Recovery

 Every second of every minute of every day

So for this I do Pray

For you

Pamela G. Ahearn

The Ahearn Agency, Inc.

2021 Pine St.
New Orleans, LA 70118

Dear Ms. Ahearn,

My based on true events thriller novel proves that while most humans have one life, I have nine.
The book is a catwalk through nine near death experiences I have been through and the person
who came through it all, the ever entertaining main character OZENOZ. It has all of the daring
literary style of a Brett Easton Ellis, with grit and dialogue a la Elmore Leonard.

OZENOZ is at the height of his blogging career when suddenly a Pakistani Terrorist attack
shakes him up, and makes him leave home, a crystal methamphetamine palace, without ever
looking back. He flees to Los Angeles, where he meets head on with some of the toughest times
he has ever faced, and the toughest hoods.

Throughout the course of his travels he is shot at, poisoned, has a hair raising ride through the
Lincoln Tunnel on a stolen bicycle, and all the while he believes he is being set up to be framed
for a terrorist sniper. As he fights for his life, and his freedom to find the truth, all the while he is
chasing Hollywood and his true aspiration to become an entertainer.

Filled with all of the creatures of the night, and scare raisers you can imagine in places that
would otherwise seem like tourist traps, and an intriguing love story at the midway point,
OZENOZ leads us down a path of redemption with each sweep of the odds. The finality of the
book is realized as he finds that even jail eludes him when he steers a true course. (Thus the title:
Black and White)

I hope you can find a place amongst your other titles for this wonderful excursion that I truly
lived, and live for. I am also writing a screenplay version, and producing the first and twelve year
long awaited album: OZENOZ: ONE to supplement my career in entertainment. Check me out at
http://www.ozenoz.com.

I have included a sample: the first three chapters. Thank you for considering OZENOZ: Black
and White.

Sincerely,

ozenoz

Chapter One

It was an evening of dismay which led to my terrorizing a whole hundred and twenty five of
my regular blog viewers. For the first time in my life, I had bought the dealers stuff, and what
came after was the royal flush.

In way over my head at the onset of this whole creature fascination with crystal
methamphetamine, I was unprepared for the paranoids to come after me. How fateful my fathers
words, which just because youre paranoid doesnt mean they are not after you. Somebody
certainly was, the alarming thing was what they were after me for.

As I approached the chair where I sat the long and lonely nights blogging away my exploits to
the joy of my select audience, the Droid let out a lonely beep. It was out of juice, as usual and
hooked onto the local Wi-Fi connection we had in the house.

In Davids room, I heard the clicking of a mouse. He was unaware of what the hell I or my blog
had been up to. To him, it was innocent and simple, a boy and his toy. Not this meth addict.

I was charged for the night knowing I had my own supply to continue on for as long as I wanted.
I was feeling in good spirits, although temperamental that my adopted fathers replies as of late
had been reflective of my status and not my work ethic. It was like pulling teeth to get the old
man to say that you could have a future though, and lately he had done that.
Picking up the Droid, I opened up my blogger application and checked on my hits. There was a
strange occurrence. There was a single hit in Saudi Arabia in the capital, certainly not anywhere
that could be insignificant. This was undoubtedly the influence of my former roommate I thought
to myself slyly, the bum. His family owned more than six hundred million dollars in real estate
there.

I remembered meeting his father, as resilient of a man for his ancient age as I could have
imagined. Showing little signs of jet lag or ill temperament from his long travel itinerary from
the past few days, he had given me without hesitation a beautiful Turkish prayer rug with the
symbol for Mecca on it. He did it so gracefully and tactfully, his mannerism making me feel as if
he felt he was inviting an innocent child to an inner sanctum he cherished. Then he grinned, and
started in on his visit with his son, and I was moved to make my exit.

Jaulid had been a fool, but I had always thought at least he knew he was playing the fool. It was
senseless to think that as such a wealthy heir to a massive fortune he would not have a major life
change coming when the family jewels so to speak became his. You could tell though, that he
was genuine in his concern for the shortcomings he had, and their effects on his family. It was
relieving to see that his father did not share his sentiment on the seriousness of these things, and
he seemed to look at his eyes and see back into a time where Jaulid played the fool as a small
child. He smiled a simple and knowing, happy grin.

These things passed through my mind as I studied the stats page of my blogger account for
ayersbrooks.com. It was December second of two thousand and eleven and the mood tonight for
my blog emanating from my aching frontal lobes was one to tackle a more serious and
impending subject. The state of world affairs as viewed by a public vastly unawares, or plain
ignorant better yet of the level of attention they could receive via the new networks subtle
programming nuances. As well as the level of surveillance and lack of privacy it would induce
on their lives. The irony wasnt a jest, but a boast, one that I would soon see in its true balance.
The balance was not in my favor.

Aki, the resident stray black cat purred and rubbed her hindquarters on my legs. She was a good
cat, one that had all the qualities of having been our kitten, though she had abandoned her
owners just down the street. The woman who owned her was infuriated, aghast that the cat had
chosen to leave her loving home to be with us. On her regular visits, she more often than not just
seemed sad. Something in her eyes though betrayed that she felt that Aki was doing this deed to
do something for us. As though this sleek black cat had come to accompany us on a journey of
sorts that was transpiring on her home turf.

She was free to come and go as she pleased, but as of late she had taken to lounging in my bed.
The house was your typical North Park/ City Heights boarding home but yet it had a very special
air to it. The residents who lived at this house, though their lives were sordid and uncouth all
seemed to echo with the timeless quality of the rarer characters in the world. She fit in with us,
and she knew it.

Hey Aki, I scratched her ears and up under her chin as she made signs that she wanted to sit on
my lap. She was tense, and seemed to be needier than usual tonight. Coming from Aki, this was
most likely not a good sign.

John, our beloved roommate and the purveyor of all things against regular bathing had recently
passed on. Regular bathing, hell the guy hadnt had a bath or a shower since any of the residents
could remember, and some had been there for many years.

I hit the back button on the blogger app to take me to the new posts section to where I could
begin, nervously, my nightly observed exploits.

You see John around, Aki? I asked her playfully.

She seemed to visibly shudder, glancing at what used to be his door adjacent from the living
room where I perched to catch a better Wi-Fi signal.

There was a theory amongst the residents that there was an angel among us that had attracted Aki
to the house. Later, in my morbid and strung out state I conversed with that angel. It was the
angel of death who was staying on with us for a while. And he was not to be tampered with
lightly or handled with a lack of welcome.

Always having been a firm believer in the paranormal and all kinds of things being possible on
parallel planes of existence, I had experienced first hand the ghosts of this house.

One night I had performed an electronic voice phenomena session with my phone to try and
capture the incessant ramblings of the old man who had died in my room. Later, when I listened
to the recording, the old coot had come through loud and clear.

Oh, he needs his laxative! Ha! Ha! as he cracked nonstop puns about on my drug induced
bowel problems.

But when I pushed him to talk about his regrets about the living and dying the way he had done
in that house, he had become hostile.

Out! Out! I want you out of my fucking room!

Later his mood had become somber. Days later after John had joined his ranks (the deceased)
wandering the halls I had witnessed what I think was that very same old coot, passing on and
going home finally.

The blog opened a new post as I observed the mouse in the corner of the room skittering past
Akis unrelenting eyes toward the safety of the kitchen.
Perhaps the cat just liked her meals alive, or close to. There was plenty of that type of fare
around here.

The cursor blinked on a fresh entry into my blog. It had become a popular item with a very select
audience in Spring Valley recently, and I had some very devoted visitors. They were eating it up,
but it had begun to concern me.

Over the past few days, certain pages in the blog had been altered without my doing. I worried
that if the tampering went too far, the far too honest and very sensitive topics, meth to name one,
would be fucked with and misconstrued.

The thought kind of creeped me out. This stuff had me hooked, and I knew it. What had begun as
a summertime fling with getting on and jerking off had become a daily reprieve. These days with
it, I felt pathetic and vulnerable to forces beyond my control, yet without it I felt drab, dreary,
and useless.

I patted the one hundred dollar bag of crystal in my pocket, and plodded an audible oh well, as
I prepared to dive into ayersbrooks.com.

I checked once more to see the current number of viewers I had. It was at twenty at this very
moment. They were direct hits too, so this was prime audience. This was a good thing. Not that I
ever expected to make any money from the pay per click advertising or anyone wanting to
advertise on such a diversely moody template. It was the grand idea of playing to an audience
that led me to believe that perhaps the books and scripts I was working on, and at a furious pace,
would sell.

What I remember of the initial blog entry that night is that it was of a kind of regal air about how
the events surrounding my life pointed to an inevitable thawing of the cold that was my life. It
was poignant, and went so far as to relate my influences and their occasional appearances on my
networks as they gave me a heads up. The entry being done, I took to my usual bad habit of the
proof-read-after-publication method. What I found became on an all-night ordeal. Hell, an all
week ordeal. One that would change my life and the way in which I view it forever.

The blog seemed to have errors that I hadnt made.

I specifically remember spell checking that!

Then suddenly something gripped the pit of my stomach as I saw it. There were whole sentences
altered, manipulated to make me look the loon. This would not do, not at all.

I opened the entry and began to fix the errors that were in it from the draft made on my
application.

Aki was in the kitchen, chasing the tiny sounds of chattering inside of the sink.
As I published the entry for the second time, she mimicked my anxiety with a loud slam into the
cupboard where the instigators lay hidden.

I could tell immediately that the blog was not right when I checked it. This time I had a sense
that someone, and not something was actually behind this. The alterations were precise
trimmings in my language, reminiscent of the way my adopted father used to edit my pieces.
This was a very unsettling happenstance. This would not do, not do at all.

A bead of sweat broke out on my brow, and the unheated December boarding home suddenly
seemed to be ablaze.

A memory flashed in my mind of that day back in October when I had overdosed. I had an
unrelenting panic attack where my heart had raced well past legal limits, and a constant sense as
if it were going to explode.

When that subsided, I went into Davids room and fell asleep. It was a hazy, fitful sleep. In a
foggy vision I saw David and Alex come over me, making jokes about leaving because I was
going to die. At the time, it seemed quite serious to me.

I remember it seeming as if time sped up, and the room was empty, just Davids slump form on
the other twin bed in the room across from me. From down the hallway, and at the same time in
the window over my beleaguered Bunkies laptop I had scavenged the money for on his birthday
a blinding white light flash tore into my vision. It in fact whited out the entire room and its
contents.

It was exactly as if a nuclear bomb had gone off. I was dreaming, but my eyes were open. As I
looked at the wall in the hall just outside the doorway next to my head, it morphed and inky
charring blackness spread over it. It appeared to be sifting faded and almost imperceptible heat
signatures but the intensity of the spread was as black as deep space. In synchronicity that was in
precision timing two events occurred. From the spreading char a silhouetted and netlike form
took shape forming a sort of chrysalis clear globe with latitude and longitude lines across it. As it
grew an evil face emerged from it, its eyes bulging with blank white soulless eyes. It bulged from
the wall, and I thought for sure it would escape and swallow our existence with an uncaring and
fatal broad stroke as its eyes saw no more. At this moment I leapt from the bed as the deafening
roar of the shockwave slammed into us, and the walls as I sprung visibly shook. I tore out of the
door somehow still screaming at the top of my lungs until I reached the living room. There the
room was suddenly bathed in a crimson red and my lungs seemed to stop working. For a full
thirty seconds I stood desperately trying to recapture the ability to take air into my lungs as the
blackness that was now my vision faded the image of the living room back into sight. I must
have stood there for a while not knowing what to do, but before I knew it Alex was there leading
me back into Davids room in the embarrassed hush of an orderly ushering his senile patient to
return things to peace.
It was the deepest experience I would have of what I had walked myself into with my continued
behavior that foreshadowed what unbeknownst to me was occurring right now.

I published the new and frustratingly changed version of the entry. Little did I know this was a
process that would continue for the next three hours.

It started as a farce, as though the changes were meant to make fun of me. Then I noticed that the
spacing was altered where there were obvious phrases that could be inserted. Somehow I was
agreeing every time that the final product was better. Somehow I was agreeing every time that
the final product was better. Yet every time I hit the button, the page was published amended.

Finally in an exalting shift of emotion, I came to the somewhat scary realization that this shit was
real. The blog had begun to insert key phrases from great works in history as if they were part of
a sophisticated library in this virus. But what I was seeing was so fucking sophisticated that it
seemed as if a person themselves were examining my writings in real time and altering them.
There was no discernible pause or delay as I hit the publish button, it was instantaneous. Some
part of me began to identify with this entity whomever or whatever it was as the editor.

I remember writing these sentences.

This is the most widely known secret. I am being groomed for something in the tradition of the
great leaders in history.

The thought of what I was being groomed for crossed my mind, and I realized something larger
than just OZENOZ was at hand. This was more effort than I has seen put into what to my
bewildered mind seemed to be a direct message that reminded me of the strange state that had
overcome me just prior to the tragic attacks of September eleventh. Someone in the Middle East
was up to something more than devious on this night, and for some reason I was being made a
victim of it.

As the next and final hour unfolded, I became aware that I was under an obvious watchful eye in
the local area on my blog speaking about meth while currently pocketing a baggie containing
almost a hundred dollars worth. I was instantly alarmed, all the bells and whistles went off in my
head that this shit was going to bring the roof down on me.

I took the bag directly to the back bathroom and flushed it. Damned near ninety bucks down the
drain. No, a hundred, I corrected myself.

The final hour was the most intense and the most painful in its human aspect. The paragraphs
that I and who I was now referring to as the editor had made had just become what was one of
the greatest pieces I had ever written. I hit the publish button, and the piece appeared with
paragraphs missing, rearranged and altered yet threading somehow a completely alternate and
comprehensible piece.
The article now read that I was a saddened and determined killer, who was making his way to
take out those that opposed me. And I had hit publish to a live readership now taking in those
very sentiments. This was dozens of alterations in from the first drafted copy. It was also the
beginning of the slow deterioration and virtual collapse of any thread of logic in the article. To
the watchful eye in the sky I prayed openly now that these terrorists were not openly and
personally monitoring me as the editor lost interest with nothing more of drastic value to say
on the subject.

Sitting and remembering the rows apoun rows of white crosses lining the beach at The Santa
Monica Pier, I sadly had to agree with what was being said on a grander scale. I was indeed part
of a society that had launched a mass genocide of people who were simply working for a better
way. Sad that the threatening and internationally disagreed on weapons usage decisions caused
by the panicked moves of a very select few in the failing Islamic Government could fail to serve
its people so totally.

That is when the fear hit me. Were they trying to recruit me? Were they setting me up to frame
me? What else were they up to and did the god- forsaken know it alls who must be all over my
blog for drug reasons know what was happening here?

The answer had come to me all at once, and I felt as though I were going to throw up. My
intuition lit up an inner meditation that connected me to a very Middle Eastern sixth sense of
being. It was refreshing at first, but it was not Saudi Arabia.

Random bits of data that I had looked over in the account and their addresses ran through my
mind, and I somehow had a feeling it was Pakistan. One of those things that I had looked over in
the account and its addresses ran through my mind, and I somehow had a feeling it was Pakistan.
One of those things where our brains are sometimes quicker on subtler points than meth riddled
brains, and had put two and two together for me while still allowing me to understand. Pakistan
was a nuclear threat.

As my temple throbbed under the strain, the chanting of a distant village filled my sixth sense.
They were praying for guidance in a desperate time.

There was a man who came to aid my vision. He was not so old in his stature, but ancient with
the weight of responsibility I saw he had. I saw him outside of a small richly decorated cave. He
was sending a rider on a white horse to reconnaissance something he seemed to be implying was
an internal controversy face was weathered with mortal worry, though it seemed more for the
shimmering and ever present spirit of his noble deceased father who was with him in his time of
trouble.
To my surprise, he turned to face me directly. He spoke another language, and a nearby servant
of about forty years of age and ghastly homosexual almost in his meagerness took up the
translation after being briefly consoled by their leader.
"This night we ride to the palace." the translation was slightly delayed.
"I fear we will be too late."
I shook my head in dismay and what was a rising anger welled up. This is when the man's
nobility shone through for the first time in a brightness of calm clarity.
"You are our brother."
He pointed to the corner of the stoned dwelling to a small satellite rigged laptop were a young
and eager looking militia man sat in his slightly green desert fatigues engaged in playing
solitaire. He grinned at the scene in an overly earnest and excited manner as if to say "Now?"
For a minute I took on the disbelief of the deep meditative transmission I was receiving. I was
reminded of the quote I had read in the New York Times from the Indian Intelligence Agency
"Human Intelligence is the most important kind of intelligence."
Just a brief reminder of how elite and true and alone many of the top true believers live their
individual paths.
What was coming to me, in light of what I had just sweated over in my blog was as real as could
possibly be imagined it was a reminder to keep my whit and intellect intact and not go running
through the street in a panic.
Perhaps that's just what this was. Just emotional shock from the intense and frightening meddling
that I had just undergone as my very innermost sentiments were attacked as though public
domain. As though I had just received a formal invitation to become a terrorist threat myself as
my words framed out with precision and scary intellect.
I saw the wise sage look up and frown into the distance. He began to shout, but it was as though
he was calling out for peace. It was then that I realized the graveness of the situation for them.
He pointed with a single bony finger into the distance where a dust cloud was forming, and a
single tear tore from his right eye, spilling onto his cheek. More welled up in his eyes, and he
briefly gathered himself and spoke. Once again in another tongue. The servant nearby took up
the translation again.
"I am what you call a king amongst my people." He laughed a worried and humble comedic
laugh.
"Sometimes I make hard decisions."
With a sudden vicious movement he ran in a way that seemed so violent he ran in a way that
seemed so violent and almost chiding his nature to restrain the militia tech who had been at the
laptop.
The militia man began to speak in excited tones to him, and the servant moved to remind him to
whom he spoke. He was pointing excitedly at camera's that were all over the cave interior. He
was implying that I didn't understand some kind of technology that was enabling our little chat.
But the seriousness of his condition rapidly diminished him until it seemed he would all but
collapse.
They were attacking us. Of this much I was now completely certain. From the looks of things it
had caused an internal controversy amongst the leaders of fairly close communities and they
were now fighting each other as well. In a time when no one wanted violence, they threatened
now even each other over what had been done, I empathized. Little did I understand the severity
of the plans being implemented.
For the first time I saw perhaps what had been the cause of the premature attack not being
averted as this momentarily wise looking sage laughed a wicked laugh which turned every
feature of his face into the dark scintillations of a madman. He immediately faced me.
"That is why you must die, he laughed again as the calmness returned to his face and he finished
his sentence "...in time. Our brother."

This entire scene overtook all my senses as the calamity of the man of knightly stature riding the
white steed returned at a full gallop to the mouth of the cave. The whole focus of my vision was
shifted to a small cluster of people. It was a poor and thrown together militia. Without looking at
me this time, the king spoke.
"You see, we did not wish for any of this. Who wishes for..." he trailed off and a cold shudder
overtook my entire spinal column reaching to the very extremities of my limbs. I was were of the
powerful ancestral paranormal presence in the room of his father.
For the first time since returning to my room, bathed in its red iridescent glow from the heat
bulb lighting my open closet, I spoke.
"Holy shit!"
Suddenly I had the picture in my mind of the imminent danger.
For a few weeks now I had been writing a very light humored and entertaining book on the
extensive knowledge I gathered over the years of independent study on physics theory.
Specifically my intuition that the formula and minor containment problems for Fission had been
worked out (and promptly confiscated and classified) the previous winter. This was shit that
could level an entire sector of the solar system when I say "small time". Very useful in
application when say fifty years now we are to find a way to regulate the release of the unbridled
power contained in the deadly regulate biological secret used to contain it.
On a much more basic level, I had over the past decade come to the conclusion that for purposes
of containing uncontrolled weapons technology, which the diffusion problems with the crystals
that were supposed to be happening with Holographic Data Storage were a cover up. Made
indubitably obvious by slow advances in 3-D special effects programming, the crystals could
read the data so long ago I had read about from The University of California Berkeley research
done.
According to what I had been daydreaming about considering the trajectories of our formerly
chaos theory driven satellites, there would be an inherent clash in the data computations some
very sensitive not so space junk.
In my mind, I saw our sun rising over a satellite extending its wings readying for a movement. Its
front almost but not quite discernible lighted grid indicators began to show some kind of activity
as well. It was then that I pictured what it was holding. A nuclear warhead was attached to the
convex base of the satellite now repositioning. It seemed to be a diffusing signal from a foreign
satellite of another design it was reacting to. The Cyber Attack was harnessing one of our own
nukes to attack us. My vision sharply shifted back to the cave, now the subject of my desolate
and isolated agony over what I couldn't convince myself was real.
"Fuck this."
My instincts lit up, and began to take the only action I could think of. I began to launch into a
lengthy explanation for any overly concerned neighbors who happened in our little ghetto hood
to be overhearing my discourse.
"Ok, here we go. Oh fuck, I think I am gonna puke. First off my blog was just attacked by some
of the most sophisticated programming I have ever witnessed. When I say hackers, I mean those
people are ghetto fabulous techno junkies. Forgive the reference. I mean, whoever is listening to
this shit was reading what I was typing in REAL MOTHERFUCKING TIME, or something. I
don't know. Both."
The urgency of the situation struck me head on as I saw the missile begin its course towards
Southern California moving over the Earth's horizon from near South East Asia in my minds
eye.
"Ok, neighborly people's here I am about to bug out. Let me first tell you what I am doing.
During the Gulf War I read about how our satellites could hear a cricket from outer space in the
Philadelphia Inquirer. Common knowledge.'
I began to sing the soothing lyrics of the Phish tune I had so loyally clung to as I had witnessed
what I felt was the birth of the Fission Physics Theories equations completion while in
Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. I had been studying in the catacombs and various annals and annexes
of the Lehigh University Graduate Libraries.
How fondly I had held respect for our prior major World Wars when viewing the now revealed
rows of sky lit and intricately stained glass windows in the rooftops there that were once covered
to hide them from becoming targets to B-2 bombers.
I had loved those fragile and ancient collections of hard to access sacred government materials.
For weeks on end I had traded notes, leaving a hundred or more pages of notes on different
topics from the journals of our governments most highly valued and carefully guarded activities.
From the nuclear regulation changes begun in the nineteen sixties in their giant coffee table like
volumes covering through George W. Bush's newly released policies to the sensitive fault lines
that had so obviously lain along the continental shelf of the Gulf Coast where the recent pipeline
break and oil disaster had occurred.
The halls of history they were these libraries, and I reveled in the thrill of the attention I could so
openly bask I with the class prepping professors who so quickly took interest in my scattered
research. At first they were respectful, then excited and earnest as I was allowed to attend what
would be my minor studies classes there. And then assort of controlled and deep exchange of
emotional communications was exchanged as we laid out some of the original documents of our
ancestors records and we honored a current passing and very highly guarded moment in history.
One that will be guarded for decades to come.
I had very simply pointed out to the observatory that some very misunderstood physicists and
astronomers had been openly for a decade blogging about the events yet to come on March
eleventh of this coming year of that fateful year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Eleven. There
was a predicted planetary alignment within our solar system which happens only once in a
number comparable to the speed at which light travels. Except in hundreds of thousands of years,
in case you are around that long.
These scientists had concluded a polar shift in the Earth's axis so complete and later in their
calculations almost indiscernibly quick would happen. At last comments, they had been noted as
mumbling to themselves that no one could tell what would happen, probably nothing.
All of these things I laid out in my notes of the fault lines and continental plate maps in their
comforting and quiet dusty immensity. The winter they let me know I was indeed the scholar I
had set out to become.
"I am just a satellite. High above the atmosphere! Bouncing everything you say to, someone who
was MEANT TO HEAR..."
Now people I am about to do something very scary sounding and kind of schizo here. But these
audio's which are picked up by the satellites blanketing the Earth have a key word sensitive
program they are plugged into. I am about to make sure that the right people know what I am
seeing is going on here tonight by getting their attention. Ok here we go people, road flares!"
I immediately raised and deepened the tone of my voice and began to rattle off every word in my
vernacular that I could think of that would symbolize a terroristic threat all at once."
"Bomb! Nuclear warhead! Attack! Jihad! I will kill President Obama of the United States and all
of those Democratic insurgents over my Islamic people!"
As I continued on for the next few minutes I became increasingly embarrassed as I realized the
early morning had indeed prior come and my friendly corn rowed hoodie clad hoodlum chum of
a discerning whit neighbor was narrowly examining my antics across the walk from his window.
Finally I felt sure, almost as if several others who were already I some sort of calm but yet
controlled panic of action had entered the room.
"I'm sure you were aware of this, now that I hope I have your attention, but I am not sure you
were aware of some things I know. I know some sort of Cyber Attack is happening right now. I
know how you can backtrack more easily and find the key to uncovering their I.P. addresses and
mobile satellite linkups or whatever the fuck. Ok point being, check out the logs and history of
the three hundred or so publishings of the last article I wrote on ayersbrooks.com. "
I spelled it out for them.
" I had a direct hit from Saudi Arabia which seems to have been carrying a diverted signal. If you
don't believe me ask Ahmed Senussi my former roommate in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. His
grandfather was the last King of Libya, Idris Al Senussi."
I repeated the same urgent message until I was sure that it would be checked on and then issued a
small but earnest and meager "Thank You. And God Bless America. May we all survive this shit
boys and girls, because I think they are trying to harness one of our nukes. Make it look like
some sort of programming error."
My sixth sense was that whoever the hell was listening at this point was getting as big of a
relieving laugh about how fucking nuts I was sounding as my big ass hoodie clad hood rat
neighbor.
I promptly shut up, and went into a shy and diffused but concerned silence.
A few hours of concerned fiddling with what seemed to be inconsequential works of writing in
my room, I felt something change. In my inner sanctum, a resolution to the conflict welled up in
me. I turned on the Droid, and it opened immediately to a new unpublished entry data form page.
I hadn't even tried to start the application since completely exiting it very properly.
The tears flowed as I felt the knowing growing pains. The journey I had yet to find out, had only
begun. There were villagers praying fervently in the village. Little did I know the sacrifices they
were making to save North America. Later, the news would reflect the Palace Invasion and the
turn of power, but not so far the crisis which never happened.

Chapter 2:

"Change. Yeah I guess we could all use a little change sometimes. I ain't got a problem with what
any of y'all homeboys do to try and get up outta the hood. I ain't mad at ya. I got nothing but love
for ya."
"Fuck you. You fucking prick."
It was January and I was habitat: outdoors. Prior to this I had been living in the Los Angeles
Emergency Winter Shelter program set up by LAHSA at the National Guard Armory off of
Federal and Wilshire. A room full of cots and smelly feet that would let you drop off to sleep
between the hours of midnight and five in the morning on any given night. Chow and showers if
you were privy, and a television to fight over what we all were missing. Money and drama at the
full expense of the hottest blonde deaf and dumb to all but numb over what wouldn't come all
over the pillow that thrilled her manila. Envelopes of dough and hoods to overthrow, they shake
you down and set you up at the door every night if your identification ain't right. Believe you me,
I went through five LAHSA I.D.'s as they were useful of sorts to open up accounts to check
cashing clerks who were sports. You can get a membership there if someone knows enough
about you to make them aware. What happened to my Pennsylvania Driver's License? It went in
the hands of someone a month before unplanned out of the 7th and Colorado trash can man's
plans.
The cost of not taking care of your responsibilities as someone educated to a P.H.D., throw in a
little crystal methamphetamine, and the C.I.A. will take your accounts apart at the seams. I was
excommunicated from the phone, the bank account, the email, the Facebook, the blogger, the
domain name host, the twitter, the c - names wouldn't save, the music wouldn't take, my beats
were dumped when they were made and my rap was getting better all the time. Living life as a
hoodlum in the cash cow, now that's for real. Makes for real fucking scary adventures down a
road you don't survive unless you fight to prove that time never comes back.
The first and only thing on the left side of the equation that's thesis is Fission (prior to the ten
thousand in computation) is one symbol, the mathematical symbol for change.
It takes a little while to get use to the notion that when the payphone rings as you walk by it, you
can answer. It takes even longer to get used to the notion that they may actually know who they
are talking to. I will never get used to the notion that they know what I stole, whose it was, and I
haven't the slightest explanation as to why this is formatted the way it is. It isn't formatted the
way or the byways of my imagination in the slightest prose I could superimpose. The imposition
of the inquisition that was at my door wasn't going to write away my blues for the ruse that I
wasn't no longer amused to hear every day.

Translation: The people being protected were of utmost importance. Not to mention the opinions
of the people who were surrounding me in my habitat so to speak were not of the slightest bit of
variable factors. These are the fucking stars of the universe, the people who run the entertainment
industry who I was mixing and mingling with. I have no shirt, shoes, decent ripped jeans, or
money to replace them with at this point mind you, and the way in which it affected me was
thrilling in the face of Stephen Spielberg's white haired uncle of an ass producer as he faced me
on the beach every day for the week I had no guts to write.

"If you write it Joel, we will sell the hell out of it."

I had the official Venice Beach bum blues at the behest of the best whom I was amazed were
some of the most fortunate unfortunates to have been making history all the while under the
noses of the public that so greatly ignored their financial needs. True genius breeds us to make
the best stuff ever while not having the gall to sell it? I have to say this is the most amazing and
humbling aspect of my motherfucking journey. But all that is much later on down the line.

Down the lines after lines after the times I unwind spending the fine rhymes on people unwilling
to pay for what was amusingly free every day. To cultivate a sense of artistic poetry I had to
experience the perfectly just unjust cost of the growing pains of a fanatical wisdom that underlies
the simplest things. It is your time when it is your time, and if you are going to make it out as a
writer, then for Gods sake you have to write it down. Writing it down on a collection of trash
and paper bits, I tried my hand at many things in strange fits.

Sand castles that once were mermaids became obstacles to the change from the artist who didn't
want it after spending the day singing Bob Marley on the bench at Sunset and Ocean Front
"Have no fear for Fission energy, because none of them can stop a da times..."

I had it simple because I was in a band. But I chose to be very unaware of the band on which I
was trading, because I felt that meets were not going to be needed and my needs were not going
to be met. I have no clue how to tell you, but I hate the Dodgers and I love the Mets, but I do
love America.
The America I was finding at the behest of the Venice Beach local scene were a stranger than
fiction crew of talent who wandered in and out mostly unbelieving of what we were all capable
of. Some were capable of murder and drugs, some would rob you of your very heart and fly it off
in a chill cooler to the transplant donor they sold it off to the tune of forty thousand on an insider
trade. Dont quote me on that, I might get made.

You can do business there. But it's how business gets done that determines whether you live or
die from day to day. You can drown in your sorrows until the end of time. Or you can pick up a
couple of thousand dropping a fine line on a crew who may just buy what you are selling that
day. I once tried to sell the artwork from some driftwood about the book I had just completed
about OZENOZ in spot two oh two for four million dollars. I think the man passing by may have
had a thought about it that was quite serious, due to the video footage of the mixture I was
making in the jar next to my homemade bed with the metal steering wheel placed on a block of
concrete I had stolen from the yard of the patio down the way. Unfinished and put in concrete I
would be soon, I thought to myself as I hid the twelve killer strains in the basket covered in ivy
that to my best of threats was not going to be exterminated from my fucking spot right there on
the wall. It was my absolute right to have nothing at all said about what was not doing any harm.
It was in fact contained in a jar as well. I leaned hard on my knowledge of Native Americans
who had jarred up their buds and put them in the sun for months at a time with the alcohol filling
it to make a sweet kind of mixture that after sitting in the dark for more months than I had would
trip you to your wig. Wig out not when they yell six up, they meant they are coming to make sure
you are in check. But the rules are not something they have to really put in, heck. This is not
Hollywood people, this is not walking a fine line. This where the best come to find themselves
and learn to unwind. Unwind and find the time gone nickeled and dimed was all a stupid waste,
cause once they get a taste of what you truly can do, if you prove it. It's off to the lovely zoo, the
circus isn't in town, and it is the town of Freaks who love to be them and shows who cycle
freedom in its truest of sense.

All under the watchful eye of the most widely viewed cameras you could ever find.
Documenting the things for the lovely and fortunate few who live there at the beach on the days
you aren't far and few. I love those days of pain and torture spent there under the sand. It wasn't
just under the watchful eyes of the man, but under the fitful gaze of a dreamers starlit gaze to
make the reels unwind and find the dime that will take away nickeled and dime.

ITs a book, not a nook and cranny device I would complain to my wonderful neighbor who
came out to her porch every day to feed me bagged breakfasts , so why cant I sell IT? ITs
online!

She just smiled and nodded. People are the greatest, and a friend in need, is a friend indeed.

If you can't stand a camera, better get indoors in your own home, they are everywhere. Not that
the eye in the sky can't see through with infrared too. And if, just if you really piss them off, yes
people we really do have laser cannons which have been made public record of the cool shit of
war, which will vaporize a man, or an Afghan warlord.

What they are asking me to do in order break up the fuzz?

My head sometimes cut loose on some incessant ramblings like that of a man gone completely
insane by his scenario.

I guess maybe there is no such thing as change necessary when the last words out of the free
payphone are, "Don't call us, we'll call you."
And don't even try explaining what is going on with you to anyone. They either:

1.) dont want to know.

2.) Get very scared.
3.) Have been there and laugh at you.
4.) Act as if you don't exist.
5.) Make an immediate report to some amused emergency response operator.
6.) The payphone rings again.

You aren't unlucky, and there is no one telling you to be there now. But unfortunately you begin
to learn that you already are. You'll see what I mean.
Its homeland securities and someone in an office monitoring the bus terminal camera's in a room.
No big mystical thing, but that my friend would give away the end. That is something you the
reader, have yet to earn as well as me. The ends that didnt justify the means but gave the means
to justify in bold print.

The object of the game is to stay alive and make as much money as you can without taking it out
on other people. Kind of like the object being the fatal goal of the game that really in the end
does not matter, only in theory because you never know if you are going to make it to the end. If
you make it to the end, then you are absolutely incapable of then right choices at that point
because what you have obtained isn't the choice of anyone but yourself to the correct audience of
sorts.

The corrections officers of our government police forces choice would most likely look past
what you have done and the rest is fiction. That is the attitude you have to have about it if you
are faced with a line of questioning hoods who have some sort of jealousy over your take, but in
the end the legitimacy of your take is the actionable offense of no one.
If you do it right. The other actionable offense if you do it right is the art of telling the whole
truth in front of the authorities without speaking out the names or description or location of any
offending parties. Everyone is in the game for their own good or bad and if you are just evil
enough to be playing then you are:
7. Not lazy enough to get caught.
8. Not eaten alive by the first gang member who thinks you are cool.
9. Not killed by the last stick-up kid who you are stopped by.
10. In the heat of the moment able to leap tall dunes in a single bound.
11. The saint you started off as, but a little bit richer.
12. Capable of the honest to God truth, but incapable of the right truth at the wrong time.

I only have three bars in mind as I tell the fitful truth of the men whom I encountered who have
the toughest job of all. Putting aside their convictions about the right and wrong for the safety of
others as they consume all that is legal in the god aboding night club of their choice. The
doorman is responsible for all of the things that go down if they happen, and his very testicles
depend on being able to Homo erectus eject us as he sees fit at the drop of his very talented
doorman hat. The second is the woman he is protecting. I observed several of these creatures as I
walked who would have been the most incredible bodyguards to those with investment portfolios
in the game of investment banking abroad. The third is the actual investor.

You have to take on the creative aspect of these things as you engage yourself in the art of lying
to these people about the type of money you have, and where it comes from. The type of money
you have is a funny kind of question. Is it liquid? It has to be a solid bowel movement to get it
out of you and it has to be to the greatest degree of solitude with which you have the greatest
degree of timeless farce like quality in your transgressed requiem of its parting of ways with your
neighbor. These statements would earn you a solid and familial quality which isn't going to have
the requisite addendum if youre that close to the globe trotters of the world who just don't
happen to know that Harlem is the most honest hood in the east, and Venice the west.

The actual truth is that most honest hood is the one that you are in at that very moment. If the
gross and mean value of the product you are carrying are worth their weight in the pocket of
someone else for survival, then don't be afraid to liquidate what you have in the form of a
friendly gesture. Yes, give it the hell away for free. Absolutely nothing is more caring and
creative than the real person who receives it realizing that you must be of the rich sort of
homeless sort. It grazes them through several reactions. It grazes them through the reaction that I
have felt is the right one as well, that it is none of their god damn business. If it wasn't for the
solitude of the freedom you have freely moved yourself into, you would be absolutely in danger
of offending the law, but the law most often if you are smart is where it came from.
I learned very early on that the law is capable of busting someone and keeping for safety and
the persons property rights. Just not more than half of the time if you are in a bad scenario to
begin with. Which, if you are faced with a cop, its a scenario alright. If they we are incapable all
of these supposed someone elses personal property being stored if they were to keep it all, then
what are they to do with it? They have to leave some of the stuff out of the storage for evidence,
because the jails are so overcrowded, quite often the charges won't stick for very long anyway.
So on completion of the bust, the police are leaving behind the stolen property lying in the streets
where the bust took place. The insurance is covered by the insurance company and the shop
keeper is reimbursed.

The goods are delivered often times to be used by the force of circus animals who are
spending their Homo erectus energy being the most extraordinary they can be. If they haven't the
name for themselves to buy it for themselves, it can readily be acquired through a transgression
of parting of ways. Of course there is always the possibility that some of these people that don't
know how to mark their personal property for their acts are leaving their stuff and have it
pilfered. I do believe involuntarily I participated in a bit of both.
One particular night I gathered a Titleist Golf Bag, an antique pillow, and a dust mop for my
head. I looked sort of akin to the way in which Nikki Manaj looked when her Twitter account
grew from 210 followers to over two million in a small amount of time. It takes an unusual
wisdom to handle the circumstances she encountered when a non- bot granted her the life of a
bot in a bodacious and unbelievable sweep of the players club.
But things like this are earned by an underground that is very unforgiving of the things they
choose to be, and very forgiving of the numbers they choose for you to see. If you play the game,
then you have win at all costs the convictions of the public via the undeterred language of love:
persistence even through the straights of hell. The unmoving and uncharacteristic all-pervading
wisdom that shines through the players who succeed is that they do not take their time lightly.
They are very willing to take on a risk, but not take a risk that damages others livelihoods. This is
a rule I very nearly paid for with my life.
One night while walking off the hallowed streets I came on a cigar. It was labeled pom-pom
by the cigar manufacturer. It was not going to be the freshest of smokes if I had my way, saving
it all night thinking that to unwrap it would be my fresh maker after a night of all night
scavenging. In the meantime I have to say that the facts are not inconsequential, they are just not
widely known and controversial. They are what I want them to be in the meantime since I have
to wait for my social networking to escape from its martyrdom.
What you learn on the streets is what they teach in boot camp. What you learn in boot camp is
inconsequential unless you take care of your shoes. And whatever you do, take care of your
shoes. It isn't enough to take care of them, you need to worship them as they are the best
evidence that you will survive it when you have to walk from sixth and Spring Street in
downtown back to your spot on the Venice "bored walk." Which is why they all come. Come as
you are, as you were, as I want you to be my friends. Come one and come all, just don't come
down the chimney before the present is bought because the fact of the matter is that you have to
return the gifts in requiem if momma is just a little girl to your babies left behind. Don't ask me
what the meaning of all that is, ITs my last book.
I went to the bored walk in the style and fashion that I chose to be necessary. With the attitude
that I had as much right as the "kids" who had been living on the streets rather than the
emergency shelter. We who would live in the emergency shelter were looked on as a weaker and
clueless sort of breed. It was a very little known fact that what I was preparing for was an
unconvincing effort at being accommodated to limitless travel. Touring is something that brings
about the wrongs to the rights of you being searched at will by the airport security who may or
may not have a homeland securities bug up their ass about your act. Also here is dealing with the
drug scene, which I had begun to say an adamant "NO." to. I had even preached enthusiastically
and very loudly as I danced my way through the streets a new and poignant saying that was
catchy and simple "Just No. Just Know" shaking my head at the first, and tapping it at the
second. I wanted it clear that I was against illicit drugs, tough from experience. This ironically
was a source of untapped chi for me, as I pissed off every doper and dealer around with my rap
star quality dance with my no tolerance policy on anything not legal to consume.
I was attending self - help groups for the coffee. I was being told about my ability to drop in
on the manual that was its leading source of direction, and yet the people I encountered were
quite puzzled by my attitude that the very source of my disgust was the systematic approach at
stealing each and every one of their freedoms via inside politics. I became very heavily involved
in being an outspoken bigot of sorts, who was often due to his non - drug sprees of three, four
and five days awake while wandering hundreds of miles through the streets served coffee and
refreshments like the purveyor of Eminem's Recovery album himself. OZENOZ knew his shit,
and was hated and gossiped about for it, but I tell you what, it got the attention I wanted. Of
course this shit was affecting our sales, you ignoramus. I had no sales, whatsoever!
I haven't the slightest clue as to what it was that brought about the revelation in me that I was
somehow learning about freedom from the laws that were keeping me from doing things that at
times could protect me from the situations I was placed in, but it was a tough moral adjustment.
One that did not sit well with those who had to sit through my tough guy dialogue's about the
way in which I am perceiving the act that has yet to blossom.
My kid brother, if you can call a man in his early twenties who is art owner of a music studio in
Philadelphia, seems to think that OZENOZ is a part of my alter ego that comes out when I am
jammed up. He is absolutely and completely correct in believing so, as OZENOZ is the part I
turn to when I need to act on things or in a manner which disagrees with my very core beliefs of
being a gentle and soft hippy like leftist. I just hate being told that if a man were to pull a gun on
me that I couldn't kill him without persecution. In my belief, as well as it seems the most highly
respected individuals with badges and stripes understand that that isn't my choice, it is the law.
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. As long as you put away the regrets and
hold no long term silly grudges. The upturned nose of society is on the systematic approach that
if your dirt is on the table, you need not speak of it. The pressure is to bury it and the acts you
have done under the weight of a guilt ridden truth that unfortunately you are required to not
speak of out of the supposed a clue for the feelings of others. Fucking bullshit con artists
who have been robbed and beat down the thugs have paid with their lives in prison to learn the
lesson that if you speak once to an authority untrue about something you had the right to do, you
have little chance of speaking again and having it be in their plans to forgive. As if the
confessions of the killer who would have had on you for dinner would come off the grave and
save your ass, if it werent for the fact Jesus already did. And I mean it, he really did.
He lives in eternity. Every second is billions of them for him as he turns every leaf he feels will
right the world in every place at once. He is all pervading and can produce miracles. Every day
they happen, every day.

Chapter Three:

Fuck me in the goat ass

I would if ya werent so dirty, the comedic kick me in the ass for a buck sign holder
replied back to me.

You better wash your ass with that dollar, I quipped.

The baggy jeaned bare chested long blonde haired youth with the furry chest began
rubbing a bill on his butt.

Peace, peace

Hey, somebody want a piece?! he shouted gracefully. He then proceeded to run over to a
cute blonde passer-bye and hug her, wagging the sign and his ass.

How about you, home slice?! he shouted gracefully.

Further down the blocks of down the blocks of the bored walk, I came apoun the Freaks.

Thats right step right up ladies and gentlemen! the man with the microphone coming
up onto a loudspeaker behind him at the entrance to the establishment used his best M.C. circus
ringleader voice.

See the two headed snake, he continued on as I saw curious passers-by peering into the
white plastic food storage container partly filled with water on the table in front of him, the
monkey boy! his list went on and on.

Night was falling, and the crowd was beginning to thin. Being the dead of winter, night
came early.

I found myself walking further in my five dollar flip flops and jeans and hoodie toward
Santa Monica and the pier. I was very restless, and had no intentions of sleep this night. It had
been over a month since I had touched a drink or a drug, like that Atmosphere song says Im
just your next door neighbor, work-in hard at trying to stay sober!
 The first few days had seemed like weeks, and the first few weeks like months. I was in
more physical pain than I had ever endured during them, and learning the ropes of something
new. There was a certain flair and a knack for separation of your circumstance to establishing
success in the business. The Los Angeles streets scared the hell out of me, and I had only begun
this journey.

I was working and walking about like never before. My weight had gone from two
hundred and thirty five to one hundred and eighty five in just over a month and a half. I was
well on my way to being in the best shape of my life, out of dogged determination. That winter it
is fair to say I walked off more than a quarter of a pound a day just getting to meals.

Hey, Im Ayers Brooks, Ozenoz man! Spit at ya for a buck?!

The khaki and surf t- shirt clad tall thin man thin man with the short blonde hair in the
glasses gave me a concerned look. The backdrop of the setting sun over the Pacific was over his
shoulder, and I could see he didnt know I meant rap.

Get away! he muttered and turned back to his conversation with short pony tailed
brunette beside him.

I didnt spit on you! I yelled back, looking zany.

But I could!

I went down the entire stretch between that section of beach to goers as no mans land
and the pier working like this tirelessly to try and come up with something for some midnight
sustenance.

I would not resort, as some, to picking from trash bins. There was a lot of food to be had
for free around in the course of the day, you just had to work at getting to it. While working at
getting work, and getting clean, and staying clean, and safe.

I was living the life of a homeless urchin, scared to death that the Hollywood serial killer was
going to get to me in my sleep. He was wandering the city was killing off the homeless. In my
passionate and paranoid panic, I had shouted to all in front of Small World Books in front of a lot
of video tapers that I indeed would hunt and kill him. Didnt do my fears any good at night.

I was unsure of where to go, what my scavenge route for the night should be, so I
followed Colorado due east turning on the street leading to my two P.M. soul food cheeseburger
joint. From there I went down to Pico and banged a right. I sighed. It was going to be a long
night.

An unopened bottle of spring water stood on the wall of the bridge and I swished with joy
my first sustenance since Venice Beach, which I was almost back to again. Technically I was in
Santa Monica but was headed back that direction. There was reason to think I would be safe, as I
followed the fading light of a Santa Monica Police cruiser as it passed me, headed south as well.

I had walked as far East as downtown and the Fashion and Financial Districts in one night and
back. These deep, dark downtown streets were filled with closed shops, and dark alleyways.
During the day traffic jostled along interspersed with carriers on bicycles and sparse but involved
pedestrians.

One night I saw a homing pigeon who was trained to fly up into and under the closed and
locked gate of this shop. These inner walkways and were a mystery to me. One that glared at me
with intent of sucking me into a dark underbelly that reeked forth with a furiousness. This was
not a safe place.

A series of three police cruisers came speeding by me and I was alerted to see if the
action was close. The boys were headed to some kind of bust up ahead. I had little idea what was
going to come of the busts this night for me.

The way it works, I figured, is this. A robbery or looting occurs in the streets. Say a
storefront smash and grab goes down and the police catch the thief. The store is going to be
reimbursed by insurance, the loot is over piling in the evidence rooms, and the police dont want
it. The stolen property is either just dropped right then and there or relocated as was in my case
this night to the artisans who would do it well.

Over the course of the next blocks I became aware that there seemed to be a constant
presence of police all the way into the Venice Beach Area. I walked Lincoln to Rose and turned
right towards the beach on Rose. When I got to the bored walk, it was stock piled with not only
the usual performers belongings, but large piles of brand new looted merchandise.

After collecting, hurriedly mind you, what probably amounted to about fifty thousand
dollars or so worth of merchandise, I began my long journey out of the area. I got from my sixth
sense a feeling that this booty was becoming well known and coveted, that I should hide. I began
discarding things I didnt want in the back alleyways, trying to dissuade things. A good hearted
and not over greedy claimant was more likely to retain his goods.

At one point, I had picked up a fresh unopened cigar, a miniature, and I planned on
smoking it when I came to a complete rest. Emerging from the alleyways, and making my way
back to the intersection of Rose and Lincoln, I found myself shortcutting through the gas station
parking lot.

He was riding a red motor powered Mo- ped that sputtered as he sat at rest. A black
hoodie, green paint fatigue splattered fatigue over were peeled back to reveal his leather Native
American waist sack that held his delivering Indica marijuana. He had on dark blue jeans over
leather Prada boots, and he wheeled up to me as I he fingered his pouch.
 I shuffled my palmed Pom- Pom cigar, twiddling it nervously between my fingers.

I see you found my Pom- Pom nigger! he said.

I looked into the eyes of this now what must have only only been an eighteen year old
just becoming a man, his dark lidded brown straight rimmed cap shadowing his bony face and
announced No, I found my Pom- Pom nigga!

He watched the dark eyes of the man grow large, and then he squinted a seedy squint and
pumped the gas on his left. Two UCLA student pedestrians in their sweatshirts who also
happened to be at this early bird hour scrambled to the right to get out of his way as he wheeled
around.

As soon as he was facing east, he reached up under the rear of his coat, and pulled and
unsilenced twenty two.

Holy shit! I screamed and my heart exploded as I raced around the sign that read the
mornings petrol fuel prices.

I ran into the well lit expanse that was the neighboring grocery store parking lot and as I
turned, saw the man hot on my heels. He was raising the gun and drew up just over my right
shoulder as he popped off a shot.

Pop! Pop! two exploded into the air as he pulled wide of my side.

I spied a tinted windowed Mercedes Benz that was made for my best bullet bearing cover.
I hoped it wouldnt be bearing more of his as I sprinted around the car to the southwest facing the
rear of the vehicle diagonal of his position in the front.

He wheeled to the front, all the while testing his aim and trying to figure a way to get at
me. He spun a quick move to my side of the vehicle as I skittered behind the trunk to the
opposite diagonal side of him again. He made a mean face and began to come at me from the
other side, then changed his mind.

I watched helplessly in sight as he motored back into the wells of the gas station, and up
towards the clerks station. I heard the gun recoiling two more times. I didnt know this man. I
didnt know his intent.

Pop! Pop!

If those sounds I heard were the exploding skulls of innocent bystanders, we were all in
trouble. I raced back to the petrol prices sign and past.

He was coming straight at me, fiddling with the nozzle of the gun.
 I ran to the back of the nearest utility light pole located between the fuels sign and the
building. It had a breaker switch on it, and as he lined up his moped and faced me, I palmed it
nervously.

I saw the man change gun hands, and to this day wonder if a silencer was ensued in the
interim on my run and that he took a few. He certainly had skills. I didnt try and kill the lights. I
threw the Pom- Pom at his feet and yelled, You can have it!

As I exhaustedly, heart pacing, started to walk in plain view of that man going north on
Lincoln, I counted the shots in my head. Was that gun full? I felt that he should have three left
counting the one in the chamber. I resigned to the fact that he was appeased. He needed the Pom
Pom to wrap some Indica for pain. Somehow I knew we had achieved peace. No more piece.

As wandered the Ocean Front Walk near no mans land that night, I was confronted with
many issues. What if this man had a small child to take care of? Why should I hold a grudge
when nothing harmful happened to me at all? If anything I felt I was just taught a very timely
lesson in life that would bear its weight on my decisions as I chose a path ahead of me that
reeked of danger. In my mind, I thanked his toddler for forgiving me, and his mother as well.
And I moved on with my bad self.

Its emitted, and admitted. You can quit it I am seriously fucking crazy.

Once apoun a time I built a dream that when I grew up I would be a fierce warrior in several
different realms. I just didn't know which door to open first. What you are about to experience is
my life, not a dream, but a reality in the making.

I have come into just a tiny little bit of money.

On the morning I wake up and have that money I will take my happy ass downtown to the
place that I compare most to the place I was going to live in in Los Angeles. This is one of those
places that start as a springboard for people with little or no money and alot of potential.

It has a private theater. It has a banquet cooking facility for when you want to have alot of
guests, like say, your new employees of the month in the humble company that just netted so
much. It has floor to ceiling wifi and a high ceiling. It has a bathroom and shower not far from
the simple guitar that I will use to play the songs and send the demo I make on the laptop I also
get later that morning with a cheap interface and the keyboard I will use to control the midi for
OZENOZ: ONE.

In the meantime I will be planning on my own small stove and microwave a frontal assault on
my meat and potatoes woman. This is February 14th, 2013.
 I will get a queen size bed which takes up too much of the room for cheap. Don't worry we
still have in the thousands.

I am going to buy an account with ATnT, and a TOKTUMI account which I can assign my
phone system in my best John Casablancas Talent Agency representative voice it's numbers and
representatives. Those representatives will number over 500 employees from the money I spend
on the hiring fair for The Ayers Brooks Group, LLC which I have just formed.

We have check by fax, TRINITY CREDIT CARD PROCESSING from CPay or you can meet
me for lunch with your Video Media Consultant to discuss your new multiple sequence opening
for your website. Let's open with your web listing getting on the up and up first, ok? How? Well,
dial extension 22 and you can speak to our Social Media Consultant who is handling the jump
start of your social media world getting in order. Yes, yes, that includes Facebook.

Damn, we still have money? Yes, and we still will at the end of the week when the Account
Executives we hired via the web portal I just built with the software I purchased for both client
web use and our launchpad just show what popped up in their browser some credit. But don't
worry, that's the backup on the Sales Team Leaders who are in the phone directory at
1800UPTOYOU who are motivating the in person 1099er's from that chunk of the sale they get
from driving our numbers up.

So, how's your Valentine's Day looking? Mine is gonna be a massacre. Bloody Mary's and
new blood on the table while I wonder if my guys are gonna make it if I turn my phone off for a
few hours.

$4,732.10 tax return.

Acer Aspire- $500.

$4,200 left.

Studio 15 Apartment- $1400

$2,800 left.

Legal Zoom Forms LLC- $200

$2,600 left.

Adobe Dreamweaver- $400

$2200 left.
Queen Bed - $250

$1950 left.

Comforter and accessories- $150

$1800 left

Starting a business from my own pad.

Priceless.

The rest is easy.

It is really this easy.

Then I take the laptop, and build a HELL of a website.

Taking for instance my competitors website:

http://www.toprankpros.com

Well, I build a HUGE website displaying all that I can do for clients. WEb design, SEO,
social media, text messaging advertising, 1800 numbers, a HUGE list of all of the things I have
learned over working for 38 different companies.

Using this website, I begin to market the company. How? By doing all of the things we are
offering to people as a service for OURSELVES.

In the midst of doing all of this, I press a couple of suits. It's getting close to mid February
now and I have booked a City College room that seats over a hundred for five sessions in the
next two weeks. For about a hundred bucks a session, they will provide the room, the seats, the
dry erase board, a projector and all afternoon. This means the bittersweet symphony known as
my sales force is about to begin.

We have ayersbrooks.com. We have the LLC formed. We have the bank account with Chase
to recieve funds. I have started a credit card merchant processing account and a fax.com account.
I have a TOKTUMI phone system set up, and I have purchased a good 1800 number for the
company. Facebook is running our ads, we are search engine optimized and well listed
everywhere. Our web designs are CUTTING EDGE because I have ordered bulk a few video
cameras which have been used with the most recent video sequencing programs to create an
almost 3-D opener for your website of your location. Ten cameras take the scene, and the
sequencer switches through them in the round, much like the processing originated in The
Matrix.
 Hello, my name is Joel Brooks and I am the reason you are all here. First, let me get the good
news out of the way, "You are hired".

If you have made it through our screening process in responding to the ad, filling out the
email application and the telephone interview process to schedule you to get here, I forgot to tell
you "You are good."

First things first, how much will you get paid? Let me tell you this company has a motto, a
slogan of sorts and it is the whole shebang. "ITS UP TO YOU!"

You want to make six figures this year? We can get you there! You will go from our top
producers to a Sales Team Leader with a percentage of your own little company to a National
Sales Manager looking to expand our physical locations with your own office under the
umbrella. This is a company geared toward the self starter, so if you can't picture yourself on a
company cruise getting ready to write yourself a fifty thousand dollar bonus check for Christmas
next year to use in starting your own office with the reps you have groomed, then get lost, NOW.

I don't see anyone leaving.

First off, I am way beyond the paperwork piling up here, so let's electronically sign all of the
contracts and go over this on the overhead while we talk: MONEY. Get on your cell phone and
get into your email please. If you can't do this now, I want you to know we have a computer here
at the front of the room where you can do this at the end.

Let's talk turkeys. You say you need money? There is no reason that before the day is over I
can't be filing your direct deposit forms with the bank so you can get paid the day after a sale and
cutting your first check for the big number one. AND WHEN I SAY THE BIG NUMBER ONE,
I MEAN YOU. Do the footwork.

OUTSOURCE.

"IT'S UP TO YOU"

How big does The Ayers Brooks Group get? It's up to me.

This is amazing stuff. How big does all of this get? Here is the amazing part. It gets HUGE!
Why? Because I want it to. Because I planted the seed and it can make an orchard, not just a tree.

I spend lately going through this strange dance with my fiancee where I am telling her, I am
sorry I am so poor, and more than that the lasting thing that is coming, I am sorry I AM GOING
TO BE TOO RICH.

When you are too poor you have all kinds of things which are problems created by being too
poor. The same sort of thing happens when you get alot of money. She tells me, "Worry about it
when it happens." She cracks me up.
 It is going to happen soon, and it is not going to happen too soon. Why? One word.
Outsource.

Let's say this coming February I hire four hundred sales people and they "SUPRISE!" keep up
with the joneses and we make 160 sales. Now I've got the opposite problem. We've started with
next to nothing, and still have next to nothing. Now it's time to dig in and get REALLY DOWN
TO WORK.

I've got $160,000 in sales for the month of March. Half of it is gone, because I have paid my
sales people. That leaves $80,000 to make 160 websites, and FAST! How? We need MORE
PEOPLE! That simple. There are people out there who want to make money, so I just need to
find them.

At this point we will retain about a quarter of those clients for the next month paying their
$399 monthly fee for SEO, Social Networking, Pay Per Click, and online REPUTATION
BUILDING service so that is 40 times $400. 16 and one, two , three zeroes in REPEAT
BUSINESS. $16,000 to pay the salaries of the web design and tech crew I am bringing on for
doing April's work. Figure we need about twenty, so I'd better get started! It's ok I've got about
$60,000 to pay the salaries to make those 160 websites too. I am probably in bad need of some
H.R. here , so let's cut off about $10K for that too. Don't worry, that figure we sold for March
gets BIGGER in April. Why? I hired more sales people.

200 sales people in Pheonix on Monday. 200 sales people in Las Vegas on Tuesday. 200 sales
people in San Francisco on Wednesday. 200 sales people in Los Angeles on Thursday. I am
beginning to learn why the days of the week are capitalized. Cause you can capitalize on every
one. I've got three hundred and twenty thousand dollars in sales planned for my new crew from
the last four days and it is only just getting to be the weekend! I need a weekend from hiring and
firing and organizing and managing and flying all over the west coast with all of this money in
my expense account, so we will be back to hiring in San Diego on Friday. Then I can spend
Saturday and Sunday doing Rosalee's favorite hobby with her: SHOPPING.

So wait. How big can this get. It's up to me. Because as we state in the company motto: how
big can your business get? ITS UP TO YOU!

Now here's the fun part. We are busy flying around hiring people in person, making sales,
delegating responsibility and producing some happy customers. So what do we want to do? Here
is where it gets REAL. See now I have a tech crew who can go to work on my website and build
us a database to work from. Here we make sales training videos, a web portal to hire on these
1099 sales force people online and get them there without having to fly around the country. Well,
not for the same reason. Because now we have to do something else here.

We take some of all of that money from networking and open two physical locations to take
care of the customers we have. We make this thing run from an office. There we have customer
service, client retention, techs and web designers, and guess what? More sales people. Sales
people who call from an inside sales position, and sales people who are on a different pay
structure who are going door to door doing business to business sales.

At this point I am just having fun running the company.

Figure every sale is $999. $100 of that is mine. Every monthly client is $399. $40 of that is
mine.

Can we say 160 sales in March. $16,000. Forty of those are retained. $1600. How's April
looking?

I am proud and bragging about all of this before it even happens because I have been working
on learning how to RUN IT, how to BUILD IT, how to MAKE THE PRODUCT, how to SELL
IT MYSELF for YEARS!!!

One Percenters.

I've got $1800 left to get started. That is if I spend all that money on a bigger bed and
comforter set. So let's say, I am thrifty (I am) and get it all for cheaper. So I've got $2000 to start
my own business.

First off I need to get a phone that matches my girls phone. One that can handle all of the
tasks I am about to assign to it.

So I take $125 for the deposit for Verizon and spend the $50 on the Droid Razr M and open
up my mobile world.

Now we are talking. So I've got access to all the apps in the world I need for my business.
First off, I need a phone system. I get TOKTUMI Pro for $150 for the year and set up my phone
systems. Where we at? Well, with taxes included I am at about $1650.

We are off and running. I have built a huge web site to showcase all that our company can do,
and have formed the LLC. Time to hit the go button. I will renew my domain names at
GoDaddy.com for the year for about $25. $1625.

Now we have a published website, a phone system with a 1-800 number, and a company
formed. We have dropped that initial $2000 in the bank to get our business account with Wells
Fargo. This enables me to handle many things. Payroll, incoming money and all kinds of other
perks.

So now I go over to City College and book the room for that seats a hundred for five sessions
in February to March. This will run me about five hundred dollars and gives me the attention of
five hundred people I have to find for about twenty hours. Life is good. Now I have to find the
people. This takes craigslist. It's about $25 an ad to run a help wanted ad on craigslist. I figure I
want two a week for a month, so this is going to cost me $200.

So after doing all of the work to get the people to sell the product we still have around $1000.

Life is good. Why don't we plug in the numbers at one percent right about here?

With good turnout, I have four hundred sales people I am going to be able to hire. That fifth
day is for managers and web designers, graphic artists and photographers. Four hundred sales
people. If one percent of them makes their goal, which is five sales in a month equal to $2500 in
commissions for them then we have twenty sales for the month of March. This makes the I.T.
department $6000 to make twenty websites. This makes another $2000 to funnel back into the
business to hire another round or ten of sales people. This is another thousand sales people
bringing our one percent figure to 70 sales for the month of April. The first four hundred just
made me $2000. I paid rent, ate well and got ready for the next big figure. At one percent making
five sales, I just made $7000 for my pocket in April.

LIFE IS GOOD...

How big can your business get?

IT'S UP TO YOU!!!

So here we are.

The business hires more people than I can shake a fist at. I have more money than I know
what to do with. I have built the infrastructure of the company to where it is practically running
itself. There are a number of things which are going to come into play.

I want to expand. I have what, several thousand customers who I have created advertising for.
Now we have several physical locations with sales people, customer service and we are always
working to corner the most out of this market. In order to do so, we need to expand our business
AGAIN.

We are doing SEO, Social Networking, Mobile Ads, 1800 numbers and phone systems, Web
Design, Online Reputation building in general. How much further can we go?

It's December again and now I have hiring fairs in twelve cities two days a week bringing in a
couple of thousand in fresh sales people every week. The best are hired into a physical location
where they meet and are groomed to make those sales. Some are getting hourly and making
outbound sales calls. There are twenty seven point five million in small business potential
customers and I want us to get our one percent of that every year.
 Imagine that. The Ayers Brooks Group. Just imagine every year we corner another one
percent of that one percent. That is 27.5 million at one percent is 275 thousand customers at one
percent is 2,750 thousand customers a year. That is $2,750,000 in business a year.

We are looking pretty good in my kids piggy banks right about now.

If you really want to know, after a year having reached that $2.75 million, my cut is ten
percent still. Hmm. Thirty five and making about two hundred and seventy five thousand a year
ain't looking so bad. I will be there. Will you?

Maybe I should take a month or two out of the year to write books. Get into acting. Write and
produce some music for an old rap act I call OZENOZ and send it into production. I am pretty
good at business, you know.

I am thinking about making my own network. Take my customer base and use it to sell the
commercial time. They are already our customers, and we have made the commercials already
for them. Let's just use that for say, this much at that slot on our channel.

Programming? There are a thousand different programs waiting to be bought up and put into
production.

LIFE IS GOOD.

HOW BIG CAN YOUR BUSINESS GET?

IT'S UP TO YOU!

$2,750,000

What do you do when you have 2.75 million dollars to make 2,750 websites?

You make it so you can corner a WHOLE one percent of the market in the following year.

Figure it takes your average programmer three days to make the website. You are paying them
$35K a year with benefits. Their goal for each month is to make 10 websites. I need to be able to
churn out 200 a month, so this means I need twenty web designers. That is about seven hundred
thousand dollars of the money. Half has already paid the sales force, so we have about seven
hundred thousand left. That pays the rent, paid for the equipment, and having a small army of
customer service reps who are also doing upselling. Figure half a dozen customer service reps at
ten bucks an hour forty hours a week increasing revenue to the tune of $120K. We've got about
six hundred thousand. I've got H.R. doing things for the office. This takes a chunk. And I have to
support one or two regional sales offices to keep things moving with some of this. Our National
Sales Reps are getting their piece of 1.375 million directing our Regional Team Leaders who are
both getting their piece by running their regional sales office, who are giving part of their piece
to the Team Leads who are managing the sales force in groups of ten. All get a piece of each sale
by helping their fellows to make sales.

The amount of times I have to do the math for that 2.75 million dollars to happen depends on
how many reps it takes to get 2,750 sales. With a $999 ticket, it should be about five sales per
month per sales person who retains their job. And their will be rock stars who do more, and those
who don't. Spreading 2,750 evenly over twelve months makes for 230 sales per month. 230 sales
per month divided by five per sales person is 46 good sales people doing their job. Figure at
about six percent of 1099ers I hire doing that it means hire several thousand people. EASY. Do it
across a number of cities, with a number of management teams hired by reinvesting the money in
their salaries!

I love the numbers games we can do here.

Of course you know as we started this way, I still have alot of independent contractors who
don't report to an office. Tens of thousands of them. They make their money.

Lets say I ALSO have offices in NY, LA, SF, SD, DC, Portland, Seattle, Boston, Miami, and
Detroit. That is ten offices with fifty suited up 1099ers to hit the field every day to make sales.
Their sales support their office. Their training gets better numbers. So out of those 500 1099ers I
get 250 sales a month. Those that didn't make their numbers, don't get paid and so don't cost us
much. And this is just the door to door business to business people.

I also have am inside sales position to which I have hired people and am running a tight ship.
This racquet is bringing in with it's thirty sales people another 120 sales a month and making
more money than the 1099ers paying HOURLY!!! Of course not if you count all the benefits and
office costs and perks.

How many more of those offices should I open? We are at 370 sales per month, or 4,400 a
year or $4,400,000 in sales not counting repeat monthly business. I am sitting fat now making
almost half a million a year.

I remember when I came up for the slogan for the company. I was getting some business
cards printed up with my new fiancee and I asked her "What should I get on them?" She said "It's
up to you!"

How big can your business get?

IT'S UP TO YOU!!!

Checklist.

Things I need to do to get my business rolling and start making money:

1.) Build the website

a. HOME

1. 1-800 number (TOKTUMI)

2. ayersbrooks.com email addresses

b. SERVICES

1.Search Engine Optimization

2.Web Design

3. Pay Per Click

4. Online Reputation Building (part of 1)

5. Social Media Marketing

6. Mobile Websites

7. Video Marketing

c. COMPANY

d. CONTACT

2.) HIRE THE PEOPLE

a. Starter packets

1.1099 agreement

2.Company Information

b.Management Tier

1. Profit Sharing agreement

2. Team Lead Responsibilities

c. Web Development Team

1. 1099 agreement

2.Employee Status Contingency Contract

d. Human Resources

1. 1099 production agreement

2. Employee Status Contingency Contract

3. HIT THE GROUND RUNNING

Let's get excited people!

Let's do the numbers here. That is to say, let's get excited!

When I was with The Virtual Lending Source my ticket was $1000. I talked all day to GM's of
car dealerships and made five sales a month. Half of that money was mine! That is $2,500. That
is to say I was making $30K a year in commissions!

I will make that with The Ayers Brooks Group. Because you see with each sale you make, I
don't make that much. I want to make what YOU ARE MAKING! So while my sales people are
out selling, what am I going to be doing? Being a sales team leader by leading the way with
sales!

Half of that money will be mine for doing what you are doing. No fair? Well, look at it this
way:

You can be a Team Lead. If you are a Team Leader, you get 5% of the sale each of your team
members makes. If your team members make their quota of five sales per month, and you have
ten good team members that is fifty sales at $1000 per sale. That is $50K at five percent you get
that month. That is another $2500 you get for just motivating your team members to get that
sale! That means you just made $5,000 this month, or the equivalent of $60K in yearly
commissions. That is what a Sales Team Leader should be making!

Now say you excel and build that team to twenty members all doing at least half of that quota.
You are making more than 60 sales as a team, which is in your pocket already. And now you are
eligible to be a Regional Team Leader. This means we are going to front you the money to start
an office somewhere. You just have to pick out the furniture, your own H.R. and take what of
your team you can as Team Leaders themselves to build the new office in say: Atlanta! Don't
worry, as a Regional Team Leader you are now going to move more into the role of a boss-
person. But as a Regional Team Leader you will be training Team Leads to train new people so
you will still be in the field. With an office of a hundred sales people, you will be taking a full
two percent of the entire office. A hundred sales people making 3 sales each average at two
percent is $6000 a month. Plus you will be making your own sales at $2500 a month, plus taking
care of your team at $2500 a month. This comes to $11,000 a month, or the equivalent of $132K
a year in commissions. Picture this about a year out from joining the company.

Last, but not least you can be the National Sales Manager. This position comes when you
have helped to build an office which opens two more offices. You will get your pick of where to
go, and you will now just be the boss. You will retain your 5% of your team, but it will now slide
into just your team being defined as your office. That is to say with a hundred employees,
making an average of 3 sales a month you will get $15K a month just for being the boss. You
have the option here of investing in the company in a number of ways. There will be company
bonuses for both Regional and National levels. Both will earn well into the six figure mark for
different jobs.

The National Sales Manager will be responsible for the Regional Team Leaders and the
organization of H.R., hiring and firing and of organizing the expansion into a new office. The
Regional Team leader will be trained to be a National Sales Manager and will be responsible for
converting his Team into Regional Leaders as well as training Team Leads. It is quite possibly
the hardest position in the company, as it grooms you to become a part owner in the company.
Team Leads will take care of their ten to thirty people and those people will take care of their
numbers!

It all begins with a simple hiring fair for my people.

To begin with I will be bringing on board:

1.)400 sales people

2.)10 Team Leaders

3.)3 Web Designers

4.)2 H.R. People

All of these people will only make money when the company does, so there is no question of
the outflow of cash being more than the inflow.

Figure we have got 55% of the sale to the Account Executive and the Team Lead. At this point
there are smaller figures in sales so no Regional or National. That leaves $450 of the sale to build
the site and run the company. $300 goes to the web designer for the site. $50 goes to H.R. and to
paying for a new hiring fair. $100 goes to dough re- ME!

The big question here is how many sales can my initial Team Leads generate out of their
people?!

Ahhh... I love numbers...

Joel Brooks
1425 C Street
San Diego, CA 92101
joelayersbrooks@live.com
(619)241-6247

I have written a full length comedy screenplay entitled Telemarketers. The full
manuscript is available on request. You can also view the manuscript for the screenplay, and my
other works at my web site, listed above.
The screenplay is a ridiculous look into the final day of a Compton, CA telemarketing
office. It follows the marketers as they work their way through a list of varied and wary clients
who range from the awkwardly named Yu Yo to the pitiably named Stu Pidasso and Mike Hunt
to the unreal calling of a man whose name is God by a poor soul who is on hallucinogenic
mushrooms. The office is a mix of renegade twenty somethings hired via a medical marijuana
dispensary. The owners of the dispensary have been using the office as a front to launder money
from the weed collective. As we sort our way through the hilarious day of the underpaid and
sarcastic to save their selves suffering workers, we find that the jig is up for the owners, and the
Feds are on their way. There is a cool million plus up for grabs, and some leftover pot of course,
and as the day winds on the stash grows hot on the list of the few who know it to exist. This
script is a comedy that will bust your guts all over the sales room floor with its nonstop whit and
melodrama and its cold, calculating attempt to shock you at every opportunity.
I have spent many a day on sales room floors of call centers. This comedy is a collection
of experiences, odd names of clients I have really called, and some of the riff raff that comes
with working at a minimum wage base salary job pay rate. Ten years in the planning, the comedy
in this script is so nonstop that it guarantees to please every palate at some turn of the vernacular.
Very fine intellectual discourses I have had while taking a leak at the washroom urinal put aside,
it is mindless fun for those who would have their pun on the rare side and still mooing. You will
laugh until the cows come home to be made into your quarter pounder, Please, allow me to
assure you there is something for everyone to find fun in Telemarketers.
I look forward to hearing from you as to your thoughts and vision for my pride and joy as
she stands to this date. If only all of my dates stood so well. Thank you for your consideration in
this matter.
 Most Sincerely Yours,

Joel Brooks

P.S. I have also included my highly offensive fully stage blocked thirty minute stand up
routine, if you find you have the time for a lonely rated R stand up comedian. No worries.

Condom Nation Telemarketers Script:

- Hello this is Mike Hunt calling from Condom Nation and the question is are you
the owner?
- Thats what she said
- Seriously, I am calling because something tells me you need condoms. Take it from the
best in the business, it is time for you and your crew to get busy. Mike Hunt has a
condom with your name on it. Thats me, Michael Hunt. Condom Nation.
- Want to know who is covering their customers weenies? People like: Peter Schwartz,
Dick Footlong, Ritchie Richards. I will even tell you, Stuart Pidasso. Yeah, thats right,
Stu Pidasso is one of my clients
- The condoms will say (business name) right on the rubber!
- Come on, tell me you want to lay out an easy customer, tell them to get FUCKED and
give it to them at some point every day! I have some, they say Mike Hunt right on the
rubber! You want one of those!
- Im not hitting on you, I swear. Not that I wouldnt, but you need a lot of Condom Nation
protection before we talk turkey.
- OK, do you want: Ribbed, Unribbed, One Rib of Adam, Two for the Jib, Sweet and Sexy
Sailor, Youre Too Twisted, Take My Jit Seed and Shove It, Flavored, Unflavored, Savory
Wedding Night Tips, Thrust Alone From the Hips, If You Do That I Will Lose My Shit,
You Have a Nice Ass and At Least One Tit, Hoover Dam Resevoir Tipped, Versions For
the Smaller Dick, Different Colors, Spermicide Blocking The Mothers, Easy Riders,
Butt Fuckers, Strut Walkers, Sure to Get Sucked Suckers, Cum Again, All Pleasure, and
IF YOURE NOT SURE, we got a CHART for Dicks to MEASURE! Which kinds
would you like us to send? We have great packages! Weve got youre package ready!
- I know I cover the whole DICK THING adequately. So give me your shipping address
and we are OFF LIKE A PROM DRESS! Like Mary Poppins on Dick Van Dyke! Get
prepared, protect your penises!
- How old are your customers, anyway? Can they still get them wet you think? Do you
nthink they need some LUBE TOO? We have Jiggolo Jelly too!
 - I hope Im not coming at you greasy. Just trying to get you in bed with us! What is your
call?
- Is this an ok time for you? Do we need to make this proposition later? I will cum your
direction, and give you a demo. So what time do you want that DEMO at?
- Alright, listen, you have been GREAT! Fucking the right way! I need to get it up with
you! Next time we will. I will send you a nice little free package with all the Nut Butter,
and Sexy Solutions. Condom Nation! Get FUCKED! Condom Nation! Get FUCKED!
Condom Nation! Get Fucked!

TELEMARKETERS

By Joel Brooks
Character List

Ted Grimes- Supervisor

Tick- telemarketer

Slim- telemarketer

Little Timmy- telemarketer

Steve Kidman- telemarketer

Whitman- telemarketer

John- telemarketer

Al Dean- telemarketer

Mark- telemarketer

Tao- telemarketer

Carlos- telemarketer

Larry- telemarketer

Yu Yo- customer

God- customer
Dick- telemarketer

Joe- telemarketer

Mary- telemarketer

Joy- telemarketer

Allie- telemarketer

Trip- female telemarketer

Cat- female telemarketer

Jim Staples- I.R.S. Auditor

Chip Long- Marijuana dispensary owner

Sonny Cheeba- Marijuana dispensary owner

GTA #1- Grand Theft Auto #1

GTA #2- Grand Theft Auto #2

COMPTON, CA - Telemarketing Office SALES ROOM FLOOR- Friday 11:45 AM

Tick- Its a process

Ted- With you everythings a process. Processed cheese, processed laxatives, and the process

server who made you shit yourself this morning.

Tick- Oh thats a real quip, Ted, bring my marriage into this.

Ted- Not to mention your incontinence. And Tick, thats divorce, not marriage, and I imagine

how you got your nickname. How many is it now, five?

Tick- Fucking lawn jockey.

Ted- Prick.

Tick- Love you too.

Ted- Alright, back to the phones!

Tick- Hole!
Slim- Jerk off!

Little Timmy- Not yet, but Im creating a hole in my pants right now for that purpose!

Ted- That bad on the sales?

Little Timmy- Bad AYASS!

Ted- Had too much bad ass already, Ill pass. But if you sell out, and sell short, youll skip the

celly you had last week for parole violation.

Slim- Yeah. Smelly celly.

Steve- How many times do you think my dog can get laid before getting knocked up?

Slim- Hold on, I got a call!

Whitman- Nine to the square root.

Steve- Root, really?

Whitman- True to life. Those are the calculated odds. Oh here comes my call. Hello, is Michael

Hunt there? Yes, is this Mike Hunt? Sorry about that sir, no I didnt mean well then, enjoy

your day too! Another happy hanguper, what a fucking life huh?
Ted- Hey John, I just thought Id tell you it IS NOT kosher to have your dildos shipped to the

office.

John- Yo, mofo! These johns is expensive! Nothing but the finest!

Ted- But the sun doesnt shine on my office door when Ive got stuff in front of it that goes

where the sun dont shine John! Next time you get the day off!

John- Go home and play with my new toys then.

Ted (to himself)- Fucking sickos

OUTSIDE IN THE HALLWAY WHERE A LINE HAS FORMED

Mark- Is this the check line?

Tao- Last I checked.

Mark Thanks. Hey, did you see the boss around?

Tao- Yeah, hes that guy with the Bermuda shorts and the bad tupee.

Mark- Are you sure this is the check line?

Tao- Last I checked.

Mark- Well, whens the last time you saw somebody leave with a check?

Tao- No, man. Theyre not giving out checks HERE, just vouchers.

Mark- (angrily) Vouchers? Aww, thats bullshit. Alright man, Im gonna ask you one last time, IS

THIS THE CHECK LINE?

SALES FLOOR ON THE PHONES

Carlos- Yo man, I am telling you! Just dont cuss em out before you hang up! Do that straight

from the BEGINNING BRO!

Larry- Listen Maam, I have to make A THOUSAND FUCKING phone calls a day! I dont need

your shit! (hanging up the phone)

Ted- Take the day off!

Larry- What with my BAD CHECK?!

Ted With your BAD SELF!

Larry- Come ON, you dont think that was a REAL phone call?!
Ted- I dont care if it was fake. I dont care if you rifled through your mothers panty drawer this

morning to get your lunch money, TAKE THE DAY OFF!

ACROSS THE ROOM

Slim- Hi, is this Tri Cao? Oh it is? Hey, wheres the beef?!

(COWORKERS LAUGHING)

Little Timmy- Get it wheres the beef? Yo, I called that lady!

Slim- Tri Cao? Oh sorry. T-R-I C-A-O is that how you pronounce it maam?

Caller- What?

Carlos-Hey there, babe! I have got a condom with your name on it! I am not letting you go

without breaking out the condoms with me, so forget about hanging it up. Youre too sweet, and

with your name all over them, how can we ever get fucked on getting in business? Believe you

me, these condoms are just what the doctor ordered. They say your business on them and they

have your number, and its just what you want your clients to be seeing as they get ready to have

safe sex. You can tell them when their leaving to get fucked, and mean it, and not offend. Isnt

that what we all we to tell the biggest dick of the day? Hey buddy, get fucked And then hand

them a condom.
ACROSS THE ROOM

Ted- You remember Dick, dont get down on the customers. (snickers and someone echoing he

said you remember DICK!) And you remember, Dick, you interrupted their busy day (more

laughing) And Dick, their not customers if they hang up.

AT ANOTHER DESK

Carlos- Hi, is this Yu Yo? I mean is this Yu? Mr. Yo, have I got a deal for you , yo! You are Yu

right?

Yu Yo- Yes, this Yu.

Carlos- Thanks Yu. Just wanted to make sure. Didnt want to be talking to someone whos not

YU YO, if YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN?!

Yu Yo- Yu know

Carlos- Hold on, not yet, MrYo.

Yu Yo- IS THIS THE FUCKING CONDOM COMPANY?!

Carlos- Aww, Yu. We have got condom with your name on it. You can tell all your customers

when they are leaving the cleaners, they need not go to the cleaners so much and hand them a

condom with your number. You remember me? We talked this morning. You remember me.

Yu Yo- FUCKING TELL YOU NO CALL!

Carlos- You wanted to call me?

Yu Yo- You are me?

Carlos- Still me. Cant talk for you MrYo although Ill try. This is Carlos from Telecom

International. I just wanted to tell you just how great things are looking for you. But apparently

my close is off like a prom dress.

Yu Yo- You are naked? You have a condom? Are you crazy? For Yu YO?

Carlos- No for you!

Yu Yo- But if you give Yu a deal now, Yu cannot get special offer, right?

Carlos- Mr Yo I can NEVER GET THE SPECIAL DEAL! (singing) Dont you let that deal

go down, oh no. (stops) I hate to tell you Yu Yo, but there is no SPECIAL OFFER. Atleast not

from me. Hey, Yu, is your wife around?

Yu Yo- No SPECIAL OFFER?! You say this morning this be good for YO FAMILY!

Carlos- For my family?

Yu Yo- No, FOR YO FAMILY!

Carlos- For MY family?

Yu Yo- YO FAMILY!

Carlos- How could I have a special offer for anyones family when there is no special offer! IM

SORRY Mr. Yo, we are just not communicating well. Im just trying to tell you to tell all of your

customers to get fucked and hand them a condom. Thats all.

Yu Yo- You get fucked! Get fucked, my ass, homo! You sell those condoms to my wife last

month. They break and customer say to me he get woman knocked up. You go to hell!

Carlos- I already live there.

(CLICK AS YU YO HANGS UP)

Carlos (to himself)- Right. Thank you YU YO! (laughing)

AT ANOTHER GROUP OF DESKS NEARBY

Dick- Yo, Gary! Check this out, this chick is HAVING SEX and has me on hold!

Joe- No way man, put it on speakerphone!

Dick- She IS NOT having sex.

Joe- You aint got laid in awhile huh?

Dick- Last night, if you must know.

Joe- T.M.I. brother! Mary- Jean again?!

Dick- You know it.

Joe- God, shes such a whore! Why my fucking stepmother cant close her legs is beyond me.

Especially I mean, with YOU?! No offense.

Dick- None taken.

Joe- Out of curiosity Dick, does she douche? I mean I dont want to be smelling your offspring

over my morning cereal.

Dick- Not right away.

Joe- Does make the fishy taste easier to take. You should tell her.

Dick- Oh yeah, right! What am I supposed to say, Joe? Hey Mary Jean! How bout you douche

once in awhile? Thatll go over real well.

Joe- Thank god shes not flesh and blood.

Dick- I wouldnt be so sure about the blood.

Joe- Youre sick.

Dick- No, but I wish I was. I think Ive got a vacation day left.
LOUDSPEAKER IN THE OFFICE: Attention people. For those of you who were issued a green

check, please report to the lunchroom. Red checks and brown checks report to the smoking

room. In twenty minutes people. Twenty. Thank you.

Slim- Whats with the fucking colored checks?

Little Timmy- What did he say about green checks?

Carlos- Fucked if I know.

Slim- The fucking smoking room?

Little Timmy- They open that shit again?

Carlos- Yeah, Im surprised, ever since they caught Tao smoking a joint in there last week. And

during TRAINING of all times. In the next room, WITH THE DOOR OPEN! What a dumbfuck.

Little Timmy- Ahh, he smokes pinners anyway.

Slim- Whats a pinner?

Carlos- Magnitude of a pin.

Slim- Okay.

Little Timmy- Hey, are you holding out on me?

Slim- If you want pot, I may be your man!

Little Timmy- How much?

Slim- Dime, quarter, nickels are free to first timers.

Little Timmy- Ill take a free nickel!

Slim- Smoking room, ten.

Carlos- You think we are ever going to get our money?

Slim- Relative ma boy, relative.

Carlos- Bull shit, relative.

Whitman- I figure it this way. If they got the offshore accounts filled with our salaries before our

report made it to the F.B.I. to put a freeze on it, no.

Slim- We called the F.B.I. on this shit?

Whitman- Yeah, I reported it on the citizens F.B.I. contact page and got a call.

Little Timmy- Meanwhile the REAL female body inspectors are holding our dough in Bermuda

somewhere.

Carlos- Son of a bitch.

Slim- Yeah, bitches. Lots of em. Doggy style, one leg up, two legs up, bitches! From behind,

from the side, in my ride, bitches!

Ted (walking by)- Take it from the virgin. Will you stop with the two bit stand up, and try and

sell some leader board logo legend brand condoms for crying out loud?
Slim- Hey, will you stop! Roll wit it homey! Take the kid gloves off!

Whitman- Hey, you think, I can get my minimum wage from the snack machine if I tip it hard

enough.

John- Nigger, shit. Im still living with my granny! I gots to get PAID!

Whitman- How is granny?

John- Shes aight. Old.

Whitman- Still thinking about knocking her off?

John- Nah, she cancelled the insurance.

Whitman- Still eating ten year old nasal decongestants for kicks? That shit really get you off?

John- Yo nigga, shut UP! Im not in the mood. Phatty be good.

Whitman- Are you commenting on my figure?

John Yo nigga, just get on getting me a joint and shut up!

Whitman- Dont tell me to shut up, that hurts my feelings.

John- Shut UP! PLEASE!

Whitman- You shouldnt use the N word so much either.

John- What, you want me to call you CRACKER?

Carlos- Man, you supply one joint last week and now all of the sudden youre all high and

mighty?!
John- Not high yet, but gonna be mighty in a few.

Carlos- In a few?

John Shit man. What the hell do you think I was eatin? Dunkin Hynes with no grime put in

time? I mean ooey gooey til my fingers was chewie ooey!

Carlos- Yo, you are grime. You save me some?

John- What?

Carlos- DID YOU SAVE ME SOME?

John- What?

Carlos- Nevermind.

John- You a fucking brownie poacher or something man?

Carlos- I wish.

John- The sooner the better, cause you uptight. Makin my boxer shorts ride up! Yo, your so anal

even your DOG wont go to the john when youre done with the flush for like fucking days!

Whitman- Thats disgusting.

ACROSS THE ROOM

(back to Dick and Joe)

Joe- Come on Dick, hang up man! I am telling you she IS NOT HAVING SEX!

Dick- Yo, I want my paycheck cashed out like, now!

Joe- I cant find mine. Think Im colorblind.

Dick Oh man. Back on speakerphone! Listen now! Its getting good!

Joe- So you really think were going to get paid?

Dick- I dream of genie! Here she cums! Here she cums!

(sounds of a woman screaming out in orgasm come from the speakerphone)

Joe- I think she just had a triple fucking orgasm.

Dick- Should we dial 9-11 again and phone in a bomb threat?

Joe- Will you shut UP! Theyre still at it!

Dick- Pervert.

Joe- You started it.

Dick- That shit was INTENSE! Think shes on drugs?

Joe- I want some of what she got!

Dick Sick fuck.

Joe- Fag.

Dick- Hey, dont say that. It hurts.

Joe- Hurts your boyfriends ass in the morning.

Dick Blow me.

Joe- I dont think so. Youd like that. Howd you get your name anyway, Dick?

Dick- Aww come ON man. That was low. You know I called a guy named Richard Dick last

week though and it made me think.

Joe- That triple orgasm made ME THINK!

BOUNDING ACROSS THE ROOM COMES CARLOS

Carlos- The wonderful thing about niggers! A niggers a wonderful thing! Their tops are made of

the rubber! Their bottoms are made of the springs! Their bouncy, flouncy, trouncy, flouncy, fun-

fun- fun- fun - fun! I tell you the truly wonderful thing about niggers is Im the only one! Im

THE ONLY ONE!

John- What are you saying, you got ups?!

Slim- Shut up Carlos,. Yo, I WISH you were the only nigger.

Carlos- (coughing and laughing and singing) Guess whos black? Guess whos black? Guess

whos black? Guess whos black? My lungs!

A FLURRY OF CRUMPLED UP PAPERS FLIES AT SLIM

Whitman- You have bad sense of humor, man. That was truly fun. Youtubeable. Classic.

Slim- Get OVER it.

Carlos- (singing again) Dick dick- dick- da- dick- dick dick- DICKALODEON! Hey, you got

the over under on the Jets game, Ted?

Ted- No, some bum stole my sports page on the train.

Carlos- Bums. What you gonna do?

Ted- Enact a new law calling for the eradication of all homeless people.

Carlos- He was homeless? How do you know?

Ted He blew his nose on it.

Carlos- Maybe he just wanted to ensure keeping it, man.

Ted Hope he gets bird flu.

Carlos- I dont. He was awful close to you this morning. You need to get a car, man. Ive had

three colds this winter all from you.

Ted- How about you give me a ride?

Carlos- How about I give your girlfriend a ride?

Ted- Shes not that way. Not even with me.

Carlos- Thats cause you dont have a car, idiot.

Ted- Shut up. (pauses) Really, you think the reason I cant get laid is cause I dont have a car? I

mean honestly if you think about it, are we really gonna get it on in the car all that much?

Carlos- I would. Shes hot. Needs to get laid. Fuck her. That simple.

Ted- Huh. Deep thoughts with the man with no sales on the board last week.

Carlos- Hey, I was out sick man. Fucking cold.

Ted- Thats what you get for not giving me a ride.

Carlos- When you move out of that ghetto you are in, I will give you a ride. Until I can be sure

my spinners and I are going to get out intact, no ride.

Ted- Fuck man, thats cold. Were a good hood.

Carlos- A good HOOD?!

Ted- Get a life.

Carlos- Get a car.

Ted- Fuck you.

Carlos- Fuck your girlfriend.

Slim- Hell keep trying, but until hes buying he is going to remain UNLAID!

Carlos- Terribly tragic. Horrific. Disastrous. Such a hottie.

Ted Hey, will you guys shut up about MY GIRLFRIEND?!

Slim- Not anytime soon man. Just like your getting laid plans.

Ted- OK, why has EVERYONE IN THIS ROW BEEN ON HOLD FOR THE CALL QUEUE

FOR FIVE MINUTES?! Dont make me baby sit you! We need to take off our closes and sell

some condoms. Condom nation!

Carlos- (mockingly) Can I get a RIDE?!

SLIM IMMEDIATELY EJECTS FROM HIS SEAT AND RUNS FOR THE DOOR

COMPTON-CA- TELECOM INTERNATIONAL - SMOKING ROOM Friday

Little Timmy- What took you so long, that check thing is gonna happen soon!

Slim- Anyway. Check that shit. This shit is dope. Gives you hope. No more mope. Or soap on a

rope.

Little Timmy- Shut up and give me the bag!

Slim- Relax, ma mayan! Youve got to remember you are FLYIN FOR FREE THIS TIME! Smell

that shit! Taste that shit! Savor the smoke. It aint no joke. Make you feel not broke.

Little Timmy- Just give me the bag.

Slim- OK, but remember, come back for more and you pay. And man, youll be back.

Little Timmy- I gotta get back to work, Teds been up my ass all morning.

Slim- Teds constipated I think. Heard him doing what sounded like giving birth to a large baby

in the bathroom this morning.

Little Timmy- That was entirely too much information.

Slim- Thats what I said. Groanin like he was a humpback whale or something.

Little Timmy- Maybe we should tell him to take lamaz classes for his bowel movements.

Slim- I hear he does yoga already.

Little Timmy- Yo, why do you always end up saying stupid shit LIKE THAT? Are you high like

motherfucking ROUND THE CLOCK?! Beware of the red eyed stare my man!

Slim- Get a clue. I just gave you dope.

Little Timmy- You are STUPID!

Slim- Stupider by the minute when Im talking to you. Yo, give me the weed back!

(grabs the bag and starts pulling on it, causing a tug of war)

Slim- GIVE !ME! THE! WEED! BACK!

Just as Ted enters the room the bag busts all over the room floor.

Slim- It wasnt me.

(walks out)

Little Timmy- Me either.

(walks out)

Ted- I need to go to the Grand Caymans. My turn.

HE EXAMINES THE WEED UNDER HIS FEET. PICKS UP SOME AND SNIFFS IT.

MAKES A FACE. LOOKS AROUND.

Ted- When are you gonna stop dealing DIRT, SLIM?!

TED SCOOPS UP THE WEED AND THROWS IT IN THE TRASH. HE RETURNS TO HIS

OFFICE TO MAKE AN ANNOUNCEMENT.

LOUDSPEAKER SHOWN - Okay people! Put them on hold. Its time.

THE SALES ROOM FLOOR IS SHOWN AS ALL OF THE WORKERS BEGIN TO

ABANDON THEIR DESKS AND SHUFFLE OUT OF THE ROOM TO THEIR RESPECTIVE

COLORED CHECKS MEETINGS.

LAGGING BEHIND ARE A FEW

COMPTON, CA - TELECOM INTERNATIONAL SALES ROOM FLOOR

Carlos- FAQ! Put it in the queue! Cue it up! Put it behind the cue ball! Q- tip? Q and A! Ps and

Qs!

Mark- Shut up!

Carlos- Well, EXCUSE!

Mark- Dude, your poor.

Carlos- Yeah, whats your point?

Mark- No man, I mean like, youre REALLY POOR!

Carlos- Yeah, and so what?

Mark- No man, I mean youre totally broke and shit.

Carlos- Youre really starting to get to me.

Mark- Good, it should. I mean, theres no hope for you. No way out. Lost cause.

Caller #!-(to Mark) Hello?

Mark I suggest suicide.

Caller #1- You suggest what?

Mark- Uhh, suicide.

Caller #2 (to Carlos)- Hello?

Carlos- Really, you want me to off myself?

Caller #2- Dont off yourself, just quit calling me!

Carlos- Fuck you!

Mark- You off yourself first, and I will follow.

Carlos- Man, I ALWAYS GO FIRST!

Caller#2- Who the hell IS THIS?!

Mark The easy stupid human response would be to get it over with. But you always gotta go

die hard. Like that time you had John give you a blow job so you would know if you were

bisexual. I still say hes your best bet for marriage, by the way.

Caller#1- Die mother fuckers. I hope you all die.

Carlos- I must admit that was pretty gay.

Mark- But yet you say your not.

Carlos- If Im so poor, how about you give me a loan?

Mark What? Do you have a hot date with John?

Carlos- Ooh, low BLOW!

Mark- Bad choice of words.

Ted- Hey! Hey! Hey! Lets get to the meeting folks!

Carlos- Thats not fair.

Ted- Nobody ever said life was gonna be fair.

Mark- He did.

Ted- Well, fuck him.

Mark- Hes not cute enough. But John thinks so.

Ted- John thinks everyone is cute. And hes got fancy tri colored dildos in wholesale numbers

being delivered to my office door. Any advice?

Mark Other than run for your life?

Carlos- Yeah, but he does give a mean blow job.

Mark- Aww, T.M.I. man!

Carlos- Nah, actually I couldnt get it up.

Mark- Hear you never can. But you know what they say man. If at first you dont succeed, try,

try again!
Ted- Guys, guys, guys! Meeting! NOW!

COMPTON CA - TELECOM INTERNATIONAL LUNCHROOM/SMOKING ROOM-

THE LUNCHROOM IS SHOWN, THERE IS A FOOD FIGHT GOING ON.

THE SMOKING ROOM IS SHOWN, IT IS IN A DENSE, THICK FOG OF SMOKE. ALL OF

THE EMPLOYEES ARE HUDDLED IN THEIR CHEAP PLASTIC ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

SIZED SEATS IN THEIR RESPECTIVE MEETING ROOMS.

SMOKING ROOM

Ted Alright people, listen up I have a lot to say and Im sure you all wanna know why we

havent gotten paid. Thank you for smoking, I cant afford a pack of my own right now.

Little Timmy- Ted, you never HAVE bought pack of your own. My kids are eating off of welfare

because you smoke all of my packs all day, everyday.

Ted- I am a bum for short. Thank you, Tim. And please remember to blow in this direction.
Little Timmy- You got that right. It blows in that direction.

Ted- As I am sure you all know, our company has changed hands due to an unexpected payroll

accounts transaction which the F.B.I. is investigating. Chuck and Lawrence, our beloved owners

have declined comment and have fled the country. Luckily, they have been stupid enough to flee

to Bermuda with our wages and will face extradition after their wasting away in Margaritaville.

Whitman- Correction. When our weed dealing NEW OWNERSHIP files the charges THEN

THEY WILL FACE EXPEDITED EXTRADITION. But I am afraid until then we are all eating

hood rats with cheese.

Ted- Ill have mine rare. Thanks Whitman for the update. Enough of the smelly finger pointing,

no offense John, but I know we all with at least one exception hate to take it up the ass. We

should all finish pulling up our boot straps and stand tall. We are outfitting more and more

people with rubbers without reward. Risk, rate, rubber, rolodex, r and r already, reward! I for one

am proud of you all.

Little Timmy- How come you can say ass and I cant?

Ted- Because I make the rules. Because I rule. Because at least for now Tim, you dont. Clear

enough?

Little Timmy- Yo, just TRY and ask me for another cigarette!

Ted- Not until after the meeting, Timothy. Now people if you are in this room, you have received

either a red check or a brown check. In an effort to be more timely about making good on your

pay with the funds as of yet still unavailable from our new ownership, these checks have been

made of value as rewards vouchers usable in two ways. Simply put, you can cash them, and be
moved to part time next week, or you can choose from an online catalogue of product or

products for which they can be redeemed. The color of the check indicates the color of the

catalogue from which you will be choosing, as the inventory is limited.

A HAND RAISES IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM AND BEGINS WAVING BACK AND

FORTH

Ted- Yes, Mr. life himself.

Tao- Thats Tao thanks. No pun. Sorry, but I smell shit. Either Mark let off another world record

silent killer that went wet, or you just told me I could trade my check for weed!

Ted- At no point in time did I say weed, Tao.

Tao- You said PRODUCT. And our new owners are medical club owners. Im not

complaining, Im just SAYIN! I have a red check. Does that mean Panama Red?

Whitman- Ted, it WOULD only make sense that the available inventory from our new ownership

is the leftovers after their dispensary was shut down last week.

Ted- Once again with the timely poignant news, thank you Whitman. For those of you dont

know what that meant, I have a dictionary. No, our new owners are not going to leave you high.

But they wont leave you dry either. I cant honestly say I have had the time to peruse the entire

contents of the catalogues personally yet. Because unlike you people, I have a life. Just trust and

believe they wont leave you high and dry.

Tao- Marks ASS isnt dry.

(laughter and people holding their noses)

Ted- Enough of the fart humor stuff, this is new temporary company policy and you should be

taking this on the serious side of things. With that said, I will let you go to lunch. Please report

back to the phones after a half hour break. Any more questions not involving Marks ass can be

brought to my office.

Little Timmy- You said ass AGAIN! You got some kind of ASS comment for EVERYTHING

NOW and I cant even say it once or I get the day off?!

Ted- Shut up and give me a cigarette.

Little Timmy- Eat my shorts.

Ted- Ok, shorts will do.

Little Timmy- You got some nerve, Ted.

Ted- Ok, last drag. Lets go.

Little Timmy- What colored check YOU get Ted? Is your cashable without a demotion? Cause I

might need a loan if you bum another cigarette.

(he flings a cigarette from out of his pack at Ted)

Ted- Thats none of your business Little Timmy, and I still say you are smoking my cigarette

now. Please? I hate public speaking. Need the extra nicotine.

Little Timmy flicks his cigarette at the wall.

Little Timmy- Asshole.

LITTLE TIMMY LEAVES THE ROOM, BEING THE LAST ONE TO DO SO.TED WALKS

TO THE DOOR AND PEERS THROUGH THE GLASS DOWN THE HALL BOTH WAYS.

HE PULLS A FLASK FROM OUT OF HIS LEFT REAR POCKET AND TAKES A HUGE

SWIG OFF OF IT. HE THEN HEADS FOR THE LUNCHROOM DOOR, AND HIS NEXT

MEETING.

TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- LUNCHROOM -

TED WALKS INTO THE LUNCHROOM AND FINDS HIMSELF IN A DENSE FOG OF

SMOKE IN HERE AS WELL. HE TRIPS OVER SOME TRASH LEFT OVER FROM THE

FOOD FIGHT AND TAKES IN THE SCENE FOR A MOMENT.

Ted- Please put your cigarettes out before the smoke alarms trip a fire alarm and we are all left

waiting outside for the remainder of what could be our lunch break for fear of losing our hearing!

Not that any of you CAN hear from what I can tell up to this point anyway.

Tao- Why the negative commentary and disinterested slander? Not interested in inspiring your

employee force when you have to take public transit yourself from the poverty level wages? You

gonna get us paid before we all end up homeless like that bum who stole your newspaper this

morning?

Ted- Wow. Word gets around. No, IN REALITY TAO, its because I have to deal with negative

and disinterested slanderous zealots out to steal every roll of toilet paper from the employee

restroom in an effort to make my hemorrhoids permanent. And make scarce valuable pages of

discarded US magazines left for our entertainment.

Tao- Oh , in that case no problem. If I were wiping my ass on the stars I would be depressed too.

Painful loss of hope for your jerk off collection.

Carlos- Yeah, sorry about the sticky ones Ted. Guess you didnt get the memo.

Ted- Carlos and Tao, you are both fired and I am calling the police to report your indecency. I am

sure you will find much more agreeable company at the county jail. Moving on people I am

here

Tao- To tell us our cash is monopolized and our checks the monopoly money and our real pay

never to be seen or heard from again! Right?

Ted- Tao, why are you here? Werent you in the last meeting?
Tao- I got two checks and four vouchers because I took vacation time last month while working

and never collected. And besides, I need another smoke.

Ted- Put it out, Tao. And get out. Ask Mary, Susan, Allie, Trip or Cat what happened here and

leave me alone until at least next quarter break. In fact, just take a half hour lunch on the clock

and GO HOME at last quarter break. Honestly, I feel bad for you.

Tao- You still suck. But I accept your invitation. But why I gotta ask did you just name every

lady in the company and no guys? Why I gotta ask one of the corner cut afternoon shift only ho

bitches about my pay?

Ted- Because you might get lucky. Their good too. Thats life, Tao, simple. Now get out!

Tao- With pleasure.

Cat- That was sexist.

Ted- No, it was SEXY, but only after lunch.

Cat- Im filing for sexual harassment.

Ted- Good luck. You might not want to ask the guys on the beach in Bermuda for your winnings.

And also when did you learn to write enough English to file a complaint, Cat?

Allie- I hope this about getting paid and less about getting laid. Or laid off. Any kind of laid.

Cat- Yo, Im gonna lay an egg if he talks to me like that again. And crack it over his geeky little

bald supervisor head!

Ted- In that case, I hope we all get some kind of letting go of getting any kind of laid a lot easier

too . Alright, I will keep this simple. If you are here you were issued a green check. This means

you can indeed cash your check for do- re- mi. The highly disputed new company policy we are

about to ask you not to lynch mob me for announcing is about the vouchers you were issued with

your checks. Our new owners, lacking the immediately available funds to pay you top producers

your commissions have devised another plan. Might I add for all of you who think we are any

kind of divided on the ladies, they ARE ALL top producers. Just a sexy little tidbit for all of you.

Cat- Yo, I hope you end up in jail with Tao and Carlos and get freaking raped like your doing us!

Mary- Sexist!

Ted- Call me what you want, Im not a rapist, raper, or rapee any time soon. Your vouchers have

web addresses on them which will take you to available product or products you can redeem

them for from an online catalogue. Now without further ado, go to lunch! Half an hour, back on

the phones! Thanks people. And if you have any questions, Ill be sucking my flask dry until

12:45 behind my desk.

Cat- Alcoholic!

Ted- Yes, but quitting is for quitters!

COMPTON, CA - TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- MENSROOM

WHITMAN AND CARLOS ARE STANDING AND URINATING IN STALLS NEXT TO

EACH OTHER. THEY ARE STARING AT THE WALL |BLANKLY, BOTH.

Carlos- Are we on the clock? Cause I didnt clock out.

Whitman- Absolutely irrelevant at this scale. You do know, time is mans invention. Sixty

arcseconds, sixty seconds, and sixty minutes comprising a reality we have boxed ourselves into.

So we can punch clocks and accumulate possessions.

Carlos- Are you telling me that the number of the beast is time?

Whitman- You are observant. Six, six, six. But, no. However its long ranging effects could be

for you. It is limiting to the spectrum of perception one can have on the wonderful and intricately

synchronistic quantum mechanics if you must be basic in the order of the known universe.

Carlos- Wow, man. You just deep spaced my ass.

Whitman- There is the expanding universe. Beyond that constantly exponentially expanding

universe making us ever more and more insignificant in single effect in an effort to retain unity is

the unmanifested. One can peer, or even step into the unmanifested, or the planes of nonexistence

in deep transcendant states and observe life altering course corrections. Like extending your life

span for instance by detaching attachment to your status as a reality observer.

Carlos- Im observing my piss right now. Kinda yellow.

Whitman- Drink plenty of water.

Carlos- Thats what my Mom says. Thought it was just cause I never flush the toilet.
Whitman- When its time to flush, youll flush.

WHITMAN FLUSHES THE URINAL AND BEGINS TO WASH HIS HANDS IN THE SINK.

Whitman- Just have faith. Everything you need is in natural harmonious existence in the here and

now. Take for instance that water you need. It is in abundant supply right here. Just dont get

down on yourself. People fuck up. We are meant to. But the persistence of the illusion of time

will scar the imagination if you allow it to.

Carlos- (washing his hands without flushing) I must say this has been the most informative piss I

have ever taken. But I have to admit, I dont completely understand.

Whitman- Nobody does. Never will.

Carlos- No, I think I was just concentrating on my penis.

Whitman- That was the whole point! See, YOU GOT IT!

Carlos- Really?

Whitman- Yeppers!

Carlos- Thanks Whit.

Whitman- Anytime.
Carlos- Youre not kidding, anytime. Until later, brother. My dick has run dry and my mouth too.

Got a cigarette I can bum?

Whitman- You amaze me Carlos. Very zen realization. Notice how you managed to think like a

dick so naturally?

Carlos- Fine, then. I will roll up some I got. Hedge it, flip it, lick it, stick it, light it, smoke it.

Whitman-VERY zen. Continuous observation of what your penis should do. Say it again?

Carlos- No.

Whitman- For a cigarette?

Carlos- Hedge it, flip it, lick it, stick it, light it, smoke it!

Whitman- Sounds like my sex life in under five seconds!

Carlos- Yo, from what Mary told me, your WHOLE SEX LIFE IS under five seconds!

Whitman- Im leaving now. Better to be pissed off than pissed on.

Carlos- Thats NOT WHAT MARY SAID!

THEY BOTH WALK OUT.

COMPTON, CA - TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- OUTSIDE PARKING LOT-

WHITMAN WALKS OUTSIDE AND JOINS A SMALL CROWD WAITING.

Whitman- Screenplays, and the people who butcher them. And self help books that I dont need

to read. Another lunchbreak being afraid my poor writers ass lunch money is going to be robbed

in Compton.

Dick- By who, Trip or Cat? They are the only ones going down for dough at lunch. Other than

making that deal you are SAFE brother. Trust me, they both have way too many teeth. I was

chafed for week.

Slim- Chances are slim to none, and Im leaving town.

Dick- Yeah, Slim dont be a dick.

Whitman- You either, Dick.

Dick- As usual, I am unsure of how to take you Whitman. But I will give you a pass.

Whitman- Spare me the pass, you wouldnt want my ass, Ive got gas!

Slim- Yo, that was gross. You gonna go rap dont be gay. Youll catch aids faster than E-Z-E.

Dick- If Im there you aint fucked Whit. Im clean. Wanna go around back?

Whitman- You are sick, Dick.

Dick- And slick for a trick. Thats what my Momma always said.

Whitman- Before or after you impressed her johns?

Dick- Refer to my prior statement, Whit. And quit it.

Steve- With a name like Dick, you really get DICKED, huh?

Dick- Thats a big ten four. Eat me.

Joy- Hey whered the fish taco stand go? Health code inspectors again?

Dick- Susan, please dont refer to me as the dick who told you, but yes. Health Code DICKS.

Joy- We got dicked, Dick.

Whitman- Actually, you are all gonna die at this, but they found maggots in his fish broth. THIS

MORNING. Unfortunately after my own purchase and consumption.

Slim- Maggot breath.

Whitman- Yes, but it was just all good protein

Slim- Mmm. Protein. I wanna get fifty cent jacked.

Allie- Then leave your wallet in your cubicle again, Slim. Lowest desk rake and take I ever

found. But Fiddy is Fiddy. And quit talking about sucking dick. Your making me lose my

appetite. And wonder how our flavored condoms are.

Carlos- Yeah. Weve got lubed, unlubed, ribbed, unribbed, one rib of adam and two for the jib,

your too twisted, take my jit seed and shove it, flavored, unflavored, savory wedding night tips,

thrust alone from the hips, if you do that Ill lose my shit, you have a nice ass and atleast one tit,

Hoover Dam Reservoir tipped, versions for the smaller dick, different colors, different virus

killing kinds for paranoid mothers, pleasure building, and we promise you just thatbuildings
of pleasure. And if theyre not sure what kind, weve got a chart, for their dick to measure. So

whattya say? Buying condoms today?

Joy- Anybody want to come over to my grammies and play Mario Kart? She is down the block

and just made some very special medicinal bake brownies!

TAO AND LITTLE TIMMY WALK AROUND THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING WAVING

AT A VERY CONFUSED LOOKING CAT WHO IS IN BETWEEN THEM.

Tao- Waving at a Cat! But I dont see a cat! Blind as a bat! Take that, cat! I spat!

Little Timmy- Yo those shrooms kicked inQUICK!

Cat- Tao and Little Timmy, sitting in a tree. T-R-I-P-P-I-N-G! Not very O.G. YOU RE-REs.

TAO AND LITTLE TIMMY CRACK UP AND THEN OPENLY STOP, STARING AT A

CLOUD IN THE SKY.

Cat- LOSERS! (singing) Trip on! Trip off! Trip on, trip off! The trippers!

SHE CLAPS TWICE.

TAO AND LITTLE TIMMY MAKE FOR THE ICE CREAM TRUCK PULLING INTO THE

PARKING LOT.
(approaching the group)

Cat- All they need is some day- glow paint and some fucking Grateful Dead and well have the

summer of love around here.

Tick- Yeah, fucking hippies. Fuck Tao. Shrooms again?

Cat- I suppose he cant help it. Bad upbringing.

Tick- Thats life. I still say fuck him. That shit is just stupid. Only time I ever tried it, only thing

I could do was stare at my ex like she was the Mona Lisa or something. AND THEN when she

tried to fuck me, I could not FOR THE LIFE OF ME get it up!

Allie- Impotency can be signs of deeper emotional scars, you know, Tick.

Tick- Yeah, our divorce made no sense to me. Until after that.

Allie- That bad huh?

Tick- The fucking bitch told her entire philosophy class. ON THE LOUDSPEAKER!

Allie- Fuck her.

Tick- If I couldnt then, what makes you think I would or could now?

Allie- Damn dude, its just an expression!

Slim- Probably couldnt. (cracking up)

Tick- So was impotent loser when she said it over the intercom but I didnt take offense. I was

tripping man. TRIPPING!

Trip- At least you didnt have such a bug out you got nicknamed for life for your trip. Thats my

story for another lunch time though.

Slim- Thanks for sharing trip. Keeping coming back. It works if your worth it.

Al Dean- I hope you saved all of your vouchers for me, because I am buying them at full product

pricing value. Cash, peeps. Take it from the catalogue lists on Amazon.

Allie- Get lost Al. Nobody wants your damned boogie picking, better than everyone, snot rot

assailing rants on our tragic loser woes.

Tao- Yeah, take it easy on Timmy and me. We aint tripping on you, we just want Al Dean to

leave us without bugging us out when were on. So bug out! Al Dean!

Little Timmy- Bugs suck.

Whitman- Youre telling me. Fucking fly larvae in my fish broth.

Al Dean Yes Tim, bugs suck. Thats why I had the taco shop shut down this morning.

Whitman- Couldnt you have done it before first quarter break? Do you ever do anything right?

Tao- Yo, Al YOU ARE A MAGGOT! What do you have against family?

Al- Well I may be a maggot, but now Im not a cannibal.

Little Timmy- Ya fucking short lived, slimy, spawning larvae.

Tao- Fucking terrorist! Who names their kid Al Dean anyway? Career aspirations born into your

name to terrorize everyone in your path not living by your rules?

Al Dean- Troubled by indecision? Yes and no.

Whitman- What?!

Slim- Im not troubled by anything but your face man. Is it hurting you? Cause its killing me!

Al Dean Tell it to the judge.

Slim- Oh right and who is that gonna be Al? Do you believe in Satan Al Dean? Cause Im

beginning to believe you are him.

Al Dean Not Satan. Although I do dig his work in your life.

Slim- Fuck off loser.

Al Dean- Slim, the chances of me fucking off right now are guaranteed. Its lunch break.

Tao- Well do it someplace else. I am tripping and you are killing it you walking oxymoron.

Slim- No, really, LEAVE. You fucking pussy. You are a terrorist. Buy out our checks MY ASS!

Tao- I dont know but right now his head looks like a giant piata that Im about to hack open.

Slim- Look out, hes actually tripping! Fuck man, I sold him the shrooms. Last kid I saw take

that many ended up climbing into bed naked with his parents when he peaked. Im telling you

Al, dont fuck around with Tao right now!

Al- Who gives a damn if hes tripping? Maybe itll make his girlfriend actually look attractive

for once. One blessed visual bonus hallucination for Tao.

Tao- Al I dont have a girlfriend. Dont you know that I am gay? Ive been hard up for this

serious an ass fucking as you just offered for a month now!

Al Glad to be of service.

Tao- (making a jerking off motion and laughing) Just make sure to hit me with the reach around!

Al- The only reach around you are going to get is when I reach around and slap you upside your

silly, tripping, sweaty, ugly, fat, sun scarred, fat, ugly head!

Tao- Dont try it. Ill be raking up all of your candy brains before you get anywhere near, Mr.

piata!

Al You are starting to scare me. Your pupils even took over the whites of your eyes. Jesus

Christ. Your gonna work like that?

Little Timmy- Your pupils are HUGE!

Tao- And so is yo momma!

Little Timmy- Yo, get this one. Als so ugly when he was born the doctor slapped his momma!

Al- There was no doctor. I was born in a taxi.

Tao- Whatd they do with the afterbirth?

Al- Served it as the special in my mothers fucking hippy ass caf the following weekend. Thats

why I dont like you Tao. You turned out like one of them. Chewing the fat, and my afterbirth.

Slim- Yeah, bitches. Lots of em. Doggy style, one leg up, two legs up, bitches! From behind,

from the side, in my ride, bitches!

LITTLE TIMMY BUSTS INTO A FREESTYLE RAP AS TAO BUSTS OUT A BEAT ON THE

NEARBY WALL AND WINDOW PANE.

Little Timmy- Got my nines, got my fines, got my wines and my dimes and my times served up

with the lines that I dust on the crimes. My last done rhymes are laying to waste in trying, untied,

prying, tongue fried tripping brains yours laid to waste. When yo mommas baby gets a taste!

Lunchtime ruse, bitches on the loose, getting obtuse, gonna call it in the truce fore the nine gets

jacked, busted and swaggered, pulled and cock sure busted and jaggered. Oh baby Im coming

hard and coming fast when you wet my whistle and laid my ass out for sport I had nothing short

of deeds to do in doing you!

TAO AND LITTLE TIMMY HIGH FIVE ONE ANOTHER AND SWITCH UP, TIM ON THE

BEATS NOW.

Tao- You got done in before rin tin- tin canned the seven deadly sins coming down on your cop

with your head in a vice? Yo nigga , your head in a trap? Sorry that stuck, chuck long trucked

skater fuck lost your buck on the wasted ruckus oh suckas! Amused that you hid it at twiddle dee

dee when you get it done in and through you get done in at my twenty two pieces of the

trigger figure, Ill let the bigger nigger figure it out. One in the sky, my American pie, so dont

spout. Forties and nines and Timmys got the times we aint lost, we just fine!
TAO AND LITTLE TIMMY HIGH FIVE AGAIN.

Slim- Yeah, bitches. Lots of em. Doggy style, one leg up, two legs up, bitches! From behind,

from the side, in my ride, bitches!

Tao- Yo thats sick and all but we heard you the first time. Bitches is us. Your jamming up my

flojo bro.

Slim- Sorry bitches. Hard bitches you is. Trip on tripper. Thats your biz.

Allie- (singing) Trip on! Trip off! Trip on, trip off, the tripper! (CLAPS TWICE)

Tao- Stop clapping, youre bugging me out!

Little Timmy- If its a bug you are seeking, you may want to seek out the preliminary analysis on

whether or not we meet our match from the Dean of mean and green! Its obscene what hes

offering to us for our checks! Its like win, take or lose hes gonna go with it in the ruse! I say

we fucking jump him!

Allie- Trip on! Trip off! Trip on! Trip off! The tripper! (she claps twice)

Tao- Yeah, Al Dean. You got it coming. And going. We aint going nowhere til we find out how

you figured out how to cash in on those checks long before we ever got em!
Al- Its simple. You all have one place to go. Home. I have many places to go. Where ever I may

roam I see the checks getting paid out at the pace of all twenty I may get in and bought. Its all as

simple as who has got the patience to wait for the coming rewards from the web site which has

been constructed for our very own rewards take if we will allow for the shipping and handling! If

you look, my boys, there is a lot more to be had than there was for your simple funds in green

backs. These boys want to cover their losses, and they aint put to shame as the new bosses!

Whitman- If they wanted so badly to make up for their losses, they would have backed us all out

the door at the same time. They have this untimely whit, may I say, that they may make off with

another day all that they could have before their dispensary was put to weigh by the authorities

of another day. They are shipping out the goods themselves from a back room product room

which hasnt met with the Feds and we have yet to be met with the fallout of the reds and greens

and browns of the check cashing clowns that ship us off all that product or products we have yet

to be promised by way of our pay- pal lacking accounts that have us hunting like hounds!

Mary- I want to come out on top, for one, so Al Dean, if you are willing to take the risk, here is

my two week paycheck up for grabs by the whisk. If you can give me seventy- five percent, I am

in on it, and all over bent. I need cash my man, and if you can front it for the bump we can order

in less than mount in it for the next few weeks of kissing my sweet cheeks devoid of cash, Im in

for a deal with your ass!

Al- You got sixty six point six my fine discerning animal of dismay. Number of the beast, as

money is the root of all evil. Nothing you are going to get from there is going to sell out cash for

it in that way. I will give you sixty six point six, for a full two thirds you get cash for what you

would never see if you let it go past this week on your ass.
Mary- You got a deal, Al. I got a check for nine thirty seven and some change. Whats that get

me, and when can you hand me cash for the small strange?

Al- I got six hundred now, and the rest tomorrow when we meet back here. Regardless of

Telecom International being present here, I will meet you here at 12:20PM tomorrow to hand off

the rest. I have checked the backers on this shit, and I have the stacks lined up to give both you

and me legit closure on this agreement. Youre check is good as gold. (he pulls out six hundreds

and hands them to Mary, in exchange for her check) Anybody else wanna make out for the

bought they dont want to go it alone on for the product they can have good as gold with little old

me right now?

Timmy- Its emitted, admitted, taken backward, refitted, admitted the shame you acquitted me

sane, to release the remitted. Like an idea, this crime, Give me six up, Tao, the line. Spinning

faded and hated, delegated, degraded, the tainted love you created, infiltrated and made it easy to

be what I made it, and shit I paid it the time. Should have been you killer, fine, but you turn

water to wine. So with this mic, will I find. That its time, time, time, for the left behind. For ugly

tore up bitches on my useless dime. She packed up my belongings that ho, and left em on the

corner for the po, to pick me up, see what Im saying? Guess I got fucked! One last time!

TAO AND LITTLE TIMMY HIGH FIVE.

Al- The only way to put it gracefully would be to put it in time with your useless rhyme

scheming two time done leaning on the off from the front gleaming my ways to the front lines of

the new store. In fact what I have in store

Steve- If you have it now, Al, Ill take it. Two thirds of nothing is the way I figure it. Could be

the only way up for my lonely ass date tonight. I got this cafe barista who pulls off my morning
pint with a double shot to the Guiness head every morning to promise me to a date tonight. She

finds it funny. I want espresso taken to beer from the drunks table across the way every morning

before making my way. Shes a hottie but I dont know if shell pay. Baristas make minimum

wage and that place isnt flush on tips if you must be adjust to the thrust of the gusto away, must

blow to be on play every morning that way.

Mary- You get espresso in a Guinness? Waste of a fucking life. Waste of a beer. Whats that taste

like?

Steve- Like two to the head with the key in the ignition. She starts you up, and puts you to rest

all at the same time. Its good for the soul. And the hops and barley are good for the immune

system from what I hear. Keeps me coming back for more, thats all I can say. And it looks like a

coffee in my mug if I get pulled over on the way!

Mary- You get pulled over, and they are going to smell that shit. Besides which, what coffee has

a head on it? Youve got that clear tall mug, Ive seen it. Made for iced coffee through a straw it

was.

Slim- He has nothing to worry about. He is ten blocks from here when he makes the turn off to

not run further down and head for serious business. Cops around here arent interested in the

morning commute. They are looking to get off at eight and pack their night shifted asses in gear

at the local pub before freaking their wives sending off the kids to school. Bunch of sorry assed

losers at that hour who couldnt make a bust for their badges if they had it in fits and patches!

Coffee and donuts and a curbside hookers treat for their local beat, sidling up to make ends meet

with a blown stop sign with a D.U.I. aint in the cards for you and I! Shit in Compton they know

that before the sun comes up, you best be playing pop top jokers wild on the LAPDS table at the
corner store before you score your coke and smack and score to the open sin tax allowance they

put on the curb, its nothing to waste, they got bigger things in taste they are looking for around

this hood, none of them swore to put their lives on the line for a finer crime than they could get

tried and tasted in less than ten and its just a wasted hood rat making his cheese, they dont even

sneeze at ya round these parts if ya please! You can do what ya like, how ya like, when ya like,

with whom you like, for what ya like, in how much ya like in spades before they get out and pay

you in spades. LAPD aint wasting their days in Compton nickels and dimes and espresso

Guinness crimes, Mary, Mary, light and airy. Give me what I want its scary. I want hairy, fairly

and barely warily gone scarily and hairy of the dog for my espresso shots on the hog. Its nice to

know you all aint just seeming uptight in there on the phones. You really is.

Whitman- So, Trip. Where exactly did your name come from? I want the inside scoop.

Trip- If you really must know, it was before I graduated High School. Some friends and I went

camping to Big Bear and we stayed in a really rustic old log cabin. We had decided to trip our

faces off to celebrate our senior week having finally come. I was trying it for the first time.

Slim- Didnt you end up in jail for like streaking the resort?

Trip- Dont ruin it. So as the locals were enjoying some man made spring skiing, we were all

faced, with the dilemma as to what our prank should be. We decided that we would strip naked in

the resort bathrooms and streak the place out to our car, where we would getaway.

Whitman- Oh, no. Trip. Did you?

Trip- Fell and busted my leg. There I am butt ass naked and howling in the middle of the lodge,

and tripping my brains off, with my femur jutting out at a sick angle from my butt ass naked
hips. It needed pins it was so bad. I was caught. I tripped. And had to let the paramedics know I

was tripping. Some kids from my class happened to be there, and the pictures got around. Ive

been known as Trip ever since.

Slim- See ya next fall! I saw the pics, they were a ball! You have a cute coochie, Trip.

Trip- Shit,thats nothing. There was the time my ex took hundreds of naked photos of me and

posted them to an online amateur porn forum. My fucking Dad was a member, and found them is

how I found out.

Whitman- Did you get them taken down?

Trip- I had to hire a hood hacker to bust into the account, as my ex had moved to Denver and I

couldnt track him down, or get a legitimate response from the company either. Yeah, we got

them down and I got my revenge. I opened a domain name under his name at dot com and posted

all the videos I had of him taking it up the ass with a dildo on it. Sick fucking fetish he had that

annoyed the hell out of me. Never got taken down. Stayed up there for the entire year I payed for

the domain name for. Got good search engine coverage under his name too. Hes a Ski- Tech,

and I cannot imagine what a ruffle that put in his machismo to have him taking up the rear for all

to see. Best of all, I edited myself out of all of the tapes. Cant tell if hes with a guy nor not. Rat

bastard.

Whitman- Well, Trip. I must say that was not the story I was expecting. I was expecting lost in

Vegas or something of the lot. But that takes the cake. Did you get arrested?

Trip- No, but I had to wait for the ambulance in cuffs because they were scared of me trying

something else crazy. Said I was a danger to myself and others. It was all I had to keep myself
out of the fucking mental ward after the surgery. Luckily one of my friends took the rap for the

LSD and said I had been pranked and I got off light.

Whitman- Did your friends get away on their streak?

Trip- They all got away but me. Showed up about forty- five minutes later dressed to the nines

getting ready to go to a rave to see me off into the ambulance. I miss my girls. After that day, we

never really got the time again, and they all went off to college after long working summers. Its

so lonely without my girls. But Ive still got the nickname, that has followed me ever since.

Whitman- There is a certain quality to your story of revenge on your ex as well. Its a timeless

lesson that pervades. That over time, people may shit on us. But time wounds all heels.

Slim- And Trips wounds heal well.

Whitman- But time does wound all heels. Especially shit heels, unfortunately for the Dean over

there. Very funny stuff. I like my comedy salty with a taste of ridiculous. Thanks, Trip.

Allie- Trip on! Trip off! Trip on! Trip off! The tripper! (she claps twice)
COMPTON, CA TELECOM INTERNATIONAL PARKING LOT-

A silver and black SUV pulls into the rear parking lot. There is a sign that reads No Parking In

Rear. The windows go down and thick, billowing clouds of smoke roll out of them.

Sonny- See? No parking in rear. They wont be doing the bust here. We aint taking it up the rear

here.

Chip- Thats what she said.

Sonny- Bullshit. That slut takes it any which way but loose.

Chip- Unfortunately, yes and no.

Sonny- If Jim Staples, I.R.S. Auditor shows up here we can kiss our virginity goodbye.

Chip- Thats what Im worried about.

Sonny- What, that itll be love at first sight?

Chip- Fuck you. I just cant believe they havent connected the dots yet.

Sonny- If there any dots left to connect, lets burn em while were here.

Chip- We cant smoke ALL that bud!

Sonny- Yes we can, and dont call me bud.

Chip- Fuck Im stoned. Which sativa was that?

Sonny- Train Wreck. Casey Jones youd better watch your speed.

Chip- Why, did I leave some here last time?

Sonny- Always new you were on something more than our customers could believe was product.

Fucking tweaker.

Chip- Better than sex, and makes that pretty interesting too.

Sonny- Not what I heard.

Chip- What did you hear?

Sonny- Never mind this is making me fucking sick, lets get inside!

COMPTON, CA- TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- TEDS OFFICE

Ted- What are you guys doing here? I thought we werent due to clean house until Saturday,

TOMORROW when the crew isnt around.

Sonny- You know, you get your multi - million dollar gold mine of business flushed down the

fucking toilet by the Feds all at once, but they dont find the goodie bag at the other side and you

start to get paranoid.

Ted- Thats the pot. Cheeb.

Sonny- Exactly, Ted. Exactly. And this is your Cheeb warning.

Chip- Jesus my feet stink.

Ted- So wash them for once, Mr. Long. Short for long time no shower. Your feets not all.

Sonny- Its his woman. She leaves the scent on him, and he thinks its nice.

Ted- On his feet?

Chip- You know it. She calls it a PEDI- cure for my ailing corns.

Ted- Thats fucking sick.

Sonny- The pediblow is what I call it.

Ted- So thats her breath?

Chip- The pediblow?

Ted- Your corns? Did you say your corns?

Sonny- No.

Chip- Good for you.

Ted- Wait she does this to BOTH of you?

Sonny- No.

Chip- Good for you. Pedi-blows sometimes blow.

Sonny- Christ give him the blow by blow why dont you?

Chip- First she washes them just so you know. Thats every other night if you must know, and

Ted- Yeah right. Maybe every third Thursday.

Sonny- Every second. Every second.

Ted- Every second what?

Chip- Seconds away from blowing my wedding night I said it to her. I was high and then very

dry.

Ted- I dont get it.

Chip- Neither do I anymore.

Sonny- He means he couldnt get it up. Left her high and dry on their wedding night.

Ted- Why is it when you guys are around suddenly my life seems so much better than I used to

view it.

Chip- Thats a nice thing to say.

Sonny- Your mental.

Ted- Im mental. Im mental. Im meant to tool for you and you call me mental.

Sonny- Your cheesier than Chips feet.

Ted- If you hang around much longer, the crews gonna be here. Lunch wont cover what we

have to do.
Chip- The fuck you know about what we have to do? You work for us. Dont forget it.

Ted- Its all in my mind. Its all in my mind. Its all in my mind.

Chip- Alright, its in your mind already.

Sonny- Ted, got the keys to the janitors closet. Its not all in my mind. Give me the keys.

Ted- Ive been meaning to talk to you about that. Follow me.

Sonny- With pleasure. I need a smoke soon. Real soon. You too. Right now. Lets go.

COMPTON-CA-TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- JANITORS CLOSET-

Sonny- Jesus, we keep the bucket in here? I thought we had Steve Kidman on still. Doesnt he

need a bucket to puke in when his morning drink wears off?

Ted- I carry a flask now.

Sonny- Good thinking.

Ted- I ask my Doctor, he says I may not need the shot. Do I need the shot? Or do I not need the

shot? That has two meanings I am gonna leave it right there.

Chip- What, the weed?

Ted- No, the bucket asshole. Yes, the weed.

Chip- Did you say asshole?

Sonny- He said asshole.

Chip- You want to fucking die? You know how much that bail costs?

Ted- (taking a drink off the flask)What, your bond when you kill me?

Sonny- No, the weed asshole.

Ted- Dont call it weed, thats an insult.

Chip- Is too! Is too!

Sonny- Is not.

Chip- Is too.

Sonny- Is not.

Chip- Is too times a thousand.

Sonny- Fucking infinity, douche bag!

Ted- Its all in my mind. Its all my mind. Its all in my mind.

Sonny- Its all about to be in your mind. Did I ever tell you about C.I.A. mind control? I have

been reading a lot about it, and you know what? It fucking works. Im more stoned than ever.

Ted- Thats the first funny thing I have ever heard you say.
Sonny- Is not.

Chip- Is too.

Sonny- Is not.

Chip- Is too, you tutu wearing grub!

Sonny- Not, not, not, you two timing fucking scrub !

Chip- Do I fucking stutter?

Sonny- Well, when your takin a leak at the urinal

Ted- Maybe its not all in my mind.

Chip- Its not. We are here. For the weed. And the cash. And I need that smoke soon, so can we

hurry up?

Sonny- Im gonna get a dog. Im gonna name him Shadow, but Im only going to call him Dad.

Its five Oclock somewhere. I need a drink. And so does the dog.

Chip- (grabbing the flask out of Teds hands) Whos your Daddy, whos your Daddy, whos your

Daddy?

Sonny- (being passed the flask) Love the flask, Ted.

Ted- Ted. Ted. Ted. Did you just call me Ted? You wanna fucking die? Youll refer to me as Mr.

Grimes when you are drinking on me, thank you.

Sonny- Ok Ted Grimes.

Ted- Brain fart.

Sonny- What the fuck you call me?

Ted- Grey matter I think heard a splatter. Brain fart. I said brain fart.

COMPTON, CA TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- BACK PARKING LOT-

Ted is shown nursing a black eye with an ice pack. Sonny and Chip are gazing at their bales of

weed in the back of the SUV. Ted pulls out a giant fly agaric mushroom, pulls a hunk off the cap

and starts to wander around the parking lot. Sonny and chip roll up a HUGE joint out of tissue

paper, and light it up. Then Ted comes running past.

CUT MUSIC.

Three LAPD Patrol cars come pulling into the parking lot. They surround Sonny and Chip, who

are cold busted. A crowd of the telemarketers coming back from lunch gathers at the corner to
watch their owners getting arrested. The cops take the weed bales, and the joint and put Sonny

and Chip into cuffs and place them in two separate patrol cars.

The cop cars pull of, and the crowd of twenty plus telemarketers watching from the front lot,

bust into the back parking lot.

Slim- They left it right here! Its all Government property, everything left! Including us, all you

G- cleft! We are all done in!

Mary- I got the spinners. My Honda would look bad in those if they fit. (she grabs a tire iron

from Susan and heads for the SUV tires, and begins pulling at them)

Joy- I got a hanger, lets see if we cant get into the inside! Theyve got to have a system in there

worth mooching! I get her open, I got dibs on the woofers, I gots my aunties car to gets paid!

SUSAN UNFOLDS A WIRE HANGER, AND BEGINS FISHING FOR THE LOCKS IN THE

SUV.

Tao- Did you see that shit? They didnt even bother to read them their rights! They were so

busted it wasnt even in their sights to be getting out any time any way any time soon for any pay

any day in any way for any stay they be in sway for the time they do today is backed in us in

pay! We got it made in spades, ladies and gents! This Mercedes SUV is all ours today! Where we

want to cruise to, to play?

JOY BUSTS OPEN THE DRIVER SIDE DOOR WITH THE HANGER, AND BEGINS TO

WORK ON THE STEREO IN THE DASHBOARD. SHE UNLOCKS THE DOORS AND THE

DOORS ARE OPENED BY SLIM, LITTLE TIMMY AND TAO WHO BEGIN TO WORK ON

GETTING OUT THE REST OF THE SYSTEM.

Trip- This is a trip beyond trips, Trip.

Tao- Quit talking to yourself, girlfriend.

JOY PULLS FREE THE STEREO WITH A SCREWDRIVER AND WALKS BY WITH THE

CONSOLE, PLACING IT IN HER BAG.

LITTLE TIMMY POPS OPEN THE DOORS ON EITHER SIDE OF THE BACK SEATS AND

PULLS FREE THE SPEAKERS IMBEDDED IN THEM, HE STUFF THEM INTO HIS

BACKBACK.

STEVE AND MARK PULL THE WOOFER AND TWEETERS FROM OUT OF THE TRUNK,

AND BEGIN RUNNING THEM TO THEIR CARS.

SLIM PULLS OUT HIS PHONE.

Slim- Strip shop, this is copper top. I got an unclaimed soon to be impounded dead lame

Mercedes SUV waiting for the LAPD. You can get on it, but its gonna cost you. I want ten

percent of the rollback gate. Shes neat and trim and busted and this is Slim. You want in?

Strip Shop- Wheres it at Slim?

Slim-Telecom International.

Strip Shop- Be there in five.

Slim- Thats good. Cash only please, boys.

Strip Shop- You know it Slim ease. Ease down off it, well be there in a few. Just dont spook

easy or we gonna take it to you. Got that copper top?

Slim- I dont spook, cook, or tell the truth lest it be the ways in which I gets paid for the laid to

waste paid to taste girl in baste and traced to laced with tongue in cheek with my selling chic.

You got me done? I got it for the run. Ill be waiting, and soon be ill fating for the none to last

system I gots to blast. Dashboards toast boys, none to roast. Shes just for coast to coast parts for

the toast of that one I brought in last week. Atleast I dont have to drive this one. Thats less fun

for the big pun on the run with the sun crum and strum bun cruiser loser in the two sir panda

made it to the sand man plays it. Im full of whit and spit, and not making any sense. Get here

quick, with dollars and sense. Aight?!

GTA #1- You got it Slim. Be there in three. In the neighborhood, you see?

Slim- Its around back. I will be here waiting.

GTA #1- With bells on ma man. You da man!

Slim- You know it.

Whitman- Did you see the very fine species of fungus that Ted was hording around back just

before the beat patrol came and went? A very fine statement of purpose I thought. The fly agaric

mushroom, vision quest of the agaric warrior seeking a higher truth before the time he is to move

on. I never knew Ted had it in him. But I have a feeling, we are going to know he has it in him

real soon. Very potent. Very poisonous. Eat a wet one and face your biggest fears.

Slim- Yo, did you just say eat a wet one and face your biggest fears? Ive been meaning to tell

him that all day.

Carlos- Yeah, hey Ted! Eat a wet one and face your biggest fears!

Trip- Fuck man. You guys are too much.

Whitman- Ancient agaric warriors were said to possess the strength of ten men on their journeys

through these astral realms which were intermingling with our reality and altering it in mind

bending and Earth shattering often deceiving and symbolic powerful ways. The course of a

warrior as sought by his own path is his own to choose as he sees fit, and if he sees fit at the time

in which the path presents itself on the quest or trip which he alone can journey on that day. If

the path leads to certain death, what better way than to meet it than with the vision of the Gods?

The discernment of the line between the reality observed and the actual events which transpire

can lead to permanent choices which will forever alter the course of the spiritual warrior on his

way home to the outer regions where he must find and make his own. I wish him luck on his

fierce move today. Never knew he had it in him.

Mary- Yeah I always kinda saw him as a geeky bald headed man with dentures and no life. I

dont what to think about this warrior shit.

Slim- Eat a wet one and face your biggest fears Ted! Way to go you fucking forty year old virgin!

THE GTAS PULL UP IN A HONDA CIVIC, TRICKED OUT TO THE RIMS.

Slim- Hey GTAs! Make my day in a Grand Theft Auto way! You made it under a minute!

GTA#1- GTA number one and GTA number two! Number one is that the ride?

GTA#2- Dude, I came with you. Why you asking me?

GTA #1- What is this Star Trek? Counselor, the aliens in this neighborhood are likely to revolt if

we just move in on their home planet.

GTA#2- Nah, they dont know what fucking planet they are from around here anyway. They are

all on Deep Space Nine long before this time!

GTA#1-So, back to business. As I asked before numb nuts here went all Captain James T. on our

asses. Number one, is that the ride?

Slim- Unless Im your number two!

GTA #2- Alright!

Slim- Bout how much you think youll get?

GTA #1- 700

Slim- Eh hem. For the call boys?

GTA#1- Break him off 70. Can you get her fired up number two? Im gonna number two in my

pants if you do.

GTA#2- In that case, depends is the way to go. Depends all the way. Depends all day. Depends

on your ass. Depends on what you ask.

GTA#1- Alright I get the fucking diaper joke already. Just get her started.

GTA#2- All we need is just a little a patience and some remote emergency roadside assistance.

GTA#1- This shit is too easy.

GTA#2- Got it made in the shade, or wed never get paid.

GTA#1- You sure you want to make the call? Dont you just want to hottie her up?
GTA#2- If I were keeping her, shed be hottied all right. All night long. This baby is a sweet ride.

Slim whos was this?

Slim- Sonny Cheeba and Chip Long. Think it was officially Chips ride, but he made Sonny

drive it all the time.

GTA#1- No shit. Them dopers took in that much on that bit?

Slim- You know it.

(The car fires up as GTA #2 steps back away from the drivers side)

GTA#2- You taking her to play chopsticks number one or me?

GTA#1- Play chopsticks he says. Yeah, you can drive her home. Boss says hes happier with me

in a car registered to me since I caught that ticket last week down the block from the gates. Last

thing we want is the gate to roll back and my ticket show up on the beat chump who catches a

glimpse of that Jeep Grand in front of us being made to spares for the bosss wares. Sometimes I

think their too fast on the disassembly.

GTA #2-Hell ya, Doctor! They dont play. It is down to back orders already separated into the

parts within fifteen flat, or the bossll have your arse!

GTA#1- Slim, thanks again. We are gonna split now. Keep in touch.

Slim- Later boys. Anytime. Sorry no extras on the system. Couldnt keep the fucking hounds off

her while we waited.

GTA#1-No biggie. If I get another system, Im gonna have to open my own shop or some shit

anyway. And I dont have time for that.

Slim- Nother day, nother dollar.

GTA#2- You know it!

GTA#1- Later!

GTA#2- Peace out homeboy! Good show!

Slim- You know it!

COMPTON- CA TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- SALES FLOOR-

Slim pulls up to a cubicle and dumps what looks to be about an ounce of some cheap weed on

the desk. He pulls out a pack of papers and a rolling machine, and begins to de-seed and de-stem

the weed.

Slim- Dollar joints! Not bad bones, and they get you stoned! What the fuck, its only a buck!

Carlos- Ill take two and a half.

Slim- I cant give you a HALF a bone brother.

Carlos- How many times do I have to tell you that woody I had this morning was from Mary!

Half a bone, and just not from you, you fucking faggit!

Slim- No, bone and joint doctor idiot.

Carlos- You aint no doctor. And I dont need medical. What do I need medical for? You gonna

give it up anyway?

Slim- Just shut up and give me the money.

Carlos- You are rude! Rude! Rude!

Slim- Ive been misconstrued! Its fucking lewd! Its crude! I need food!

Carlos- Well, heres two bucks for the snack machine.

Slim- Did you see that? Our new ownership getting dragged off in the paddy wagon back there?

Carlos- Did you see all that mary jane? Im in love with mary jane. Shes ma main thang!

Slim (joining in) she makes me have a fun! She makes my heart sing!

Steve- (joining in) And when Im feeling low! She comes as no surprise! Turns me on with her

lovin! Takes me to paradiiiii..

Slim- You buyin? Dollar joints?

Steve- Fuck yeah!Cant afford the dispensary since we took the pay cut. I could use some good

Mexican brown.

Slim- No smack, Steve, sorry.

Carlos- Hurry up! I gotta go smoke this in the mens room before Ted takes his after lunch dump.

Slim- Like clockwork, that mans bowels.

Steve- Its all that damned whisky he guts down from his flask all day, I swear.
Slim- Here you go, Carlos, two bones for two bones.

Carlos- I think Im gay in the turn of the century way.

Slim- Which century?

Steve- Yeah, man easy does it. That could be misconstrued as sexual harassment.

Slim- Which century?

Carlos- No comment. But Im gonna go party like its nineteen ninety nine.

Slim- Symbols and their legacies. Hits and hotties. Hooters and holidays. Horn dogs and the

Hamburgler.

Carlos- Leave the damn Hamburgler out of it! He was fucking set up by the fry guys all day

long!

Steve- Id like to fry, guy. Ill take four and a half, Slim.

Slim- Whats with everyone and wanting halves? You want the other half saved for tomorrow?

Steve- Not my other half. The only thing worth saving with her is the pre-nuptual termination.

Slim- You had a fucking prenuptial? What is she rich?

Steve- No, I am. But my trust fund doesnt mature and pay out til Im forty. Til over the hill do

us part was my mistake if I didnt get her John Hancock off my spoils. Its ok, I dont think she

thinks were gonna last that long anyway.

Slim- How old are you now?

Steve- Getting older by the second. I cant wait for my midlife crisis! Ive been working up to it

forever.

Slim- Damn, dude. What a stroke of luck. All my parents ever gave me was a knapsack to pack

my shit when I turned eighteen and a pat on the back when I was choking.

Steve- Yeah, no this isnt my parents. This is from my grandparents. They got in on the ground

floor of Apple back in the day. Im a third generation Mac Daddy.

Slim- Apples bomb. Too bad about Jobs.

Steve- Too bad about our job, huh dude? How much longer you think they are gonna keep this

joint open?

Slim- Dollar joints! Dollar joints! What the fuck, its only a buck! Fuck man, I dunno.

THEY BOTH STARE OFF INTO SPACE

Joy, Allie, Cat, Trip and Mary are gathered around a back cubicle, where they have hooked in an

Xbox and are playing Grand Theft Auto.

Allie- Shit bitch, I got five says we dont even make it the day here!

Cat- Ill take that bet. Worst I can do is win yet another five off your sorry ass!

Joy- Slime noodled again!

Cat- What the fuck is a slime noodle besides my boyfriends dick after he cums?

Susan- Its from a card game. Means you got to it first.

Cat- What card game is that? Poker Fagioli?!

Allie- Black Bean and Noodle Jack?

Allie- Solitaire and String Bean?

Trip- Yo, I dont know but you all are making me hungry. Lets go to the casino for dinner!

Joy- We should go on a spree just like this fucking game. Just fucking us girls. Go nuts and take

down the underground.

Mary- Yo, that would be so bad! I wouldnt have to kiss your ass for a ride in the afternoons

anymore! What kind of ride should I slide into?

Allie- Get a Benz. Nothing but the best for Mary, Mary, quite contrary.

Mary- At least you stopped calling me hairy Mary.

Allie- Well, you finally waxed your goatee.

Joy- The Mary, Mary quite contrary billy goats gruff wasnt so tough.

Trip- Yo, did you see the fucking weed come out of that truck when the five- oh was here!?

Cat- I did. Holy shit, what a fucking waste! You know at least one of those cops grabbed a

handful before it went to evidence.

Trip- I dont doubt it.

Joy- Probably smoked some in the patrol car on the way in to county. Just to piss off Cheeb and

Chip.

Trip- You believe a guy named Sonny CHEEBA actually owned a dispensary. What kind of

fucking prime time bullshit is that?!

Allie- Yo, are we logged in on the call queue? Cause I dont want to miss out on getting my

hours.

Mary- Yeah, I logged us all in and just let it cycle. Most of those pricks been called five or six

times today already anyway. Just a bunch of happy hangupers.

Joy- I just checked my headset and call times. Yep, I have had forty- three calls all ranging from

thirty seconds to a minute. Just long enough for them to answer and hang up. To tell you the

truth, with the thousand a day we make, the stats are pretty easy to fudge from here.

Trip- Whens the last time you got a sale? I got one first thing this afternoon. Four thousand

Hoover Dam Reservoir Tipped to a book store in the hood. Mad commission on that, biatch!

Cat- Should we really be doing this? I mean what if this isnt the end of the road for Telecom

International? I dont want to lose my job over some video game bullshit.

Mary- Ted aint gonna do SHIT! We havent been paid in like forever anyway, is that legal?

Trip- I think Im gonna go out back and see if them damn coppers dropped any of the evidence.

Cat- You think?

Allie- All I know is them two were lit up! Did you see that fucking joint they were smoking?

Like Cheech and Chong or some shit!

Larry, Mark, and Tick are against the wall on the side of the room, rolling dice and flipping bills.

The cash keeps dancing and the dice keep rolling.

Larry- Snake eyes. Pretty lady.

Mark- (singing) Fuck me a lady, tonight! Fuck me a lady, tonight! Fuck, if youve ever been a

lady to begin with. Fuck me a lady, tonight!

Tick- Roll em, roll em, roll em snake eyes, roll em, roll em, roll em!

Larry- Thats right, snake eyes. Bitch, I am on the LOOSE!

Mark- Early one morning, late one night, two dead bitches got up to fight. Tit to tit, they backed

each other, out the door and killed each other. A deaf fucking pig heard the riot and came and

made those dead bitches quiet.

Larry- Your up. You wanna switch up the dice?

Mark- Yeah, right. Wish I had some loaded dice. Im so in debt my heads in a vice.

Tick- And if you dont throw soon, Im gonna take your money for delay of game.

Mark- Right, right. Throw, throw. Ugh! Fuck! Nothing!

Tick- That puts me in the lead with the most in tow. How many more times boys do I get to

throw?

Larry- Wait a minute, whered the five on my stack go?

Tick- Made change, living large. Paying debts off from the bar. Come on babies! Come to poppa!

Larry- Did I say you could change me out?! Dont be touching my stack, jack. Now gimme it

back fore I get whack!

Tick- Read em and weep! They are falling my way all day!

Mark- What a jerk off. Beginners luck. Double up Tick?

WHITMAN SITS DOWN AT HIS CUBICLE, AND PULLS OUT A BOTTLE OF SCOTCH

FROM HIS BAG AND A ROCKS GLASS. HE POURS HIMSELF A DRINK.

Whitman- Neat. Very neat. This day would not be complete without my discreet triple malt,

twenty years aged. I have to say, I have to make a course correction after this. What a better way

to clear the cobwebs, and strengthen and warm the heart for what is next around the curve? Sharp

curve ahead, my friends. Thats what the sign reads today. Sharp curve ahead.

Joe- Can I have some?

Whitman- No.

Joe- Please?

Whitman- No.

Joe- Ill be your best friend.

Whitman- At that cost, you may as well skip to the enemies list, Joe.

Joe- So, you gonna go talk to Ted about all this shit? Somebodies gotta go in there and represent

us. You have the most sales, consistently. Besides Allie, Trip or Cat.

Whitman- Or Mary.

Joe- Yeah, cant forget your favorite.

Whitman- Something about Mary.

Joe- Great flick. Specially when he catches his dick

Whitman- You would pick that moment over all others.

Joe- Franks and beans!

Whitman- Frankly just being is good enough for right now. Just being, Joe. Hey Joe, heard you

shot your woman down.

Joe- You heard wrong.

Whitman- Never mind. Its all a matter of reference to the proper point and then, my friend I will

skip this joint.

Joe- What are you gonna do Whit?

Whitman- Say two plus makes four and tell Ted in about five that if he wants out alive, I get paid

before he lays us out on the slate.

Joe- Think hell go for it.

Whitman- Joe, armed with what Ive seen, I dont think he has a choice.

COMPTON, CA TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- SALES ROOM FLOOR/TEDS OFFICE-

WHITMAN WALKS ACROSS THE OFFICE AND ENTERS TEDS OFFICE DOOR.

Ted- Is that scotch?

Whitman- You know it.

Ted- Before you let me have it, let me have it with the scotch.

Whitman- You are gonna need it.

HE POURS TED A DRINK WITH A SECOND GLASS HE HELD BEHIND HIS BACK.

Ted- Exactly how much do you think the office needs to be paid off entirely?

Whitman- Didnt do the math on it either, Ted. But all you are gonna have to worry about is me.

Nobody else knows.

Ted- Knows what?

Whitman- Come on, Ted. This place was the front for the dispensary. Our hiring lists came from

customers there entirely. One email of a resume, and presto! No interview, show up at nine am

three months ago and we have a full office ready to roll up some fake big numbers and squeeze

the fat cash out of Sonny and Chips. Its too bad that the deal with our backing credit card

company fell through on the get go with the office already rolling due to their impatience and

paranoia, or the feds might never have put two and two together.

Ted- I am puzzled. Impressed, but puzzled.

Whitman- Puzzled about what, Ted? The dispensary was shut down in a raid by Federal Agents

well over a week ago. It was all over the papers. Part of the county wide crackdown on how

many dispensaries there are in a certain locale, it was called. But there was word about the future

stories to come about what was really going on in the boiler rooms that got them in way over
their head. They were double dutch action fucking everybody they did business with Ted. Couple

of fucking grade a smugglers who didnt know how to go legit.

Ted- Hold on, Ill be back. Wait right here. In want hear about this. And save me some more

scotch.

COMPTON-CA- TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- SALES ROOM FLOOR -

AMIDST A SEA OF CHAOS, TWO TELEMARKETERS REMAIN SITTING AND TAKING

PHONE CALLS. JOHN, AND LITTLE TIMMY ARE SIDE BY SIDE.

John- Yo, you Stu Pidasso?

Caller- Who the hell wants to know?

John- With a name like Stu Pidasso, everybody wants to know!

Caller- You arent making any sense. What are you selling?

John- I guess it aint just a name. Im not selling anything. This is the county clerks office. I just

wanted to know where you want this mornings filing to be delivered to?
Caller- I didnt file shit. Are you serious?

John- Please watch your language, Stu Pidasso.

Caller- Uh, Stuart, please.

John- I prefer to call you Stu Pidasso, thank you very much.

Caller- Yeah, ha ha! Very funny! Heard about it all the way through school, and arent you

special?

John- Hey, dont feel bad. My parents named me after their nickname for the toilet.

Caller- Your name is Crapper?

John- John. My name is John.

Caller- Sorry, John.

John- Thats ok. Whenever my Dad goes to take a poop, he still calls it dropping the kids off at

the pool. We dont have to understand them. Just pity their old age and shortcomings.

Caller- So, whats this filing?

John- Stu Pidasso. I will be getting to that in a moment.

Caller- Milk it already.

John- Did you just say milk it already? How am I supposed to take a comment like that? Do you

want this filing to be timely or not? Theres a bug in my mouse.

Caller- You have a pet mouse? Pet mice are weird. He has bugs?
John- Out of left field Stu Pidasso. Kinda scary, though huh? Almost as creepy as the creepers on

your grandmothers coochie when shes licking my boot cheese.

Caller- Fuck man, I just checked my caller I.D. You really had me going too. Telecom

International? Where are you guys located at? Can I speak to your manager?

John- Stoooooooooooooooooooopid Asssssssssshooooooole!

HE HANGS UP ON THE CALLER.

LITTLE TIMMYS SCREEN LIGHTS UP WITH THE NEXT CALLER ON THE LINE. THE

NAME OF THE CUSTOMER IS GOD, GOD, GOD.

Little Timmy- Woah. Hello? Hello?

God- Yes, hello?

Little Timmy- Oh wow. Is this God?

God- Yes, this is God.

Little Timmy- Nobody has ever said that to me before. God, I have a lot to talk to you about.

God- Can you make it quick? My lunch is in the microwave.

Ted (from across the room)- Tim! Stick to the script!

Little Timmy- Is this really God?

God- Well, let me put it to you this simple. I was born God. I was made God at birth. The big

bang. The whole shebang comes down to it, thats what my drivers license says. So, if we could

get past the whole name thing, maybe you could let me know what youre calling for?
Little Timmy- I have an offer to extend God credit.

God- Youre not one of those Jesus freaks are you?

Little Timmy- Oh, God no! What you think I am?

God- Dont get me wrong, I do believe the son of God leaves no stone unturned. But son, with

my whole name stigma, what else was I gonna name my son?

Little Timmy- I thought Joseph and Mary named Jesus.

God- Yeah, the one from Alaska. Not my kid.

Little Timmy- From Alaska?

God- He comes to me one day for advice. Name, Jesus, mothers name, Mary, Father is Joseph

Christianson, a pastor from Anchorage. Says in Jesus name amen been getting to him. I told him

not to use the name in vain, but keep it real. He starts screaming Jesus at me and thinks its

funny. The screaming Jesus. Sounds like a kids toy from a grade B horror flick.

Little Timmy- I have to tell you God, I havent been good.

God- You dont have to tell me.

Little Timmy- What, you know?

God- Lets just say you call me Mr. God from here on out, ok son?

Little Timmy- Wow. But God, Mr. God. I havent told you yet.

God- Your tripping son. Just tripping.

Little Timmy- Holy shit! Its you! Im going to hell!

God- No, son. You are in hell. I couldnt do what you do. And I am Mr. God.

Little Timmy- Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!

LITTLE TIMMY OVERTURNS THE TERMINAL IN FRONT OF HIM, SMASHING IT ON

THE FLOOR. HE RIPS HIS HEADSET OFF AND BASHES IT ON JOHNS HEAD. JOHN

SLAP BOXES HIM FOR A MOMENT, THEN GIVES UP AS TIM RUNS DOWN THE AISLE

SCREAMING AND SMASHING COMPUTER TERMINALS.

THE SCREEN CUTS TO BLACK AND FLASHES THE TEXT 20 MIN LATER

LITTLE TIMMY IS SHOWN IN A STRAIGHT JACKET, BEING CARTED OUT ON A

STRETCHER BY PARAMEDICS

COMPTON, CA TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- TEDS OFFICE-

TED REENTERS THE OFFICE WITH A CONCERNED LOOK ON HIS FACE. WHITMAN

IS SITTING IN THE SAME SPOT \AS BEFORE, PICKING HIS TEETH WITH A

TOOTHPICK.
Ted- Im afraid Im going to have to cut this short, Mr. Whits.

Whitman- Im afraid you are going to have a cut me a check before you do. Before this

mushrooms, if you know what I mean?

Ted- Cut you a check? Mushrooms? What mushrooms?

Whitman- The entire trip your on, Ted. Yes, a check. Thats correct sir.

Ted- Or else what?

Whitman- Or else I immediately get on the phone with my Fed friends and let them know that

there is both more money and more weed right here under their noses. Have a nice trip, Ted. See

ya next Fall. And not for a conjugal visit either there buddy. So stop looking at me like Im about

to get fucked.

Ted- I was afraid you were going to say that.

Whitman- Im not sure you need to be debating anything in the trip your taking this afternoon

Ted. Its a one way ticket with an unknown destination. Could even wind up dead or just dead

even over it. If word were to get out.

Ted- Did you say word?

Whitman- Yes, I said word. In the beginning, there was the word. And the word was with Timmy.

And so was God a couple of seconds ago. I suggest you find God for me, Ted. Cause I have that

sale in the bag. What do you have in the bag, Ted? Do you really want to hear about the

mushrooming? Or should I call a higher power? Its up to you.

Ted- I dont like your tone, Mr. Whitman. Ive always known there was something to the way

you stand out that was going to play a part I wouldnt like. Please fucking clarify, Whitman.

Whitman- Ok, I will be nice. Yes, Ted. Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you. If your

young and start out with as much as youve got sitting around here somewhere. I cant imagine

what a rush you must be in to get all of this shit out the door and on down the road. It isnt pretty,

making me look like a fool like you have so far. I am owed exactly two thousand , one hundred

and seventy four dollars. Now, am I going to make this easier for you, or a long run for the same

fate as Chip and Sonny Cheeba? Its that simple, Ted.

Ted- (turning very red) I dont owe you a red cent. This company fell short on that damned

promise for me too. If anything, I should be telling you how unfortunate it is that you are fired

from this moment on, and good luck with your fantastic daydreams about whatever.

Whitman- Ted, let me do a free word association thing with you. Money. You say?

Ted- No Whit.

Whitman- Very good. Now lets try easy money.

Ted- I dont think you are getting me.

Whitman- Ahh, ahh, ahh?! Lets not get hasty. Suppose I say, well. Mexico?

Ted- (angrily) I say I dont like your tone!

Whitman- I could get a little more persuasive, if you like Ted. Let me read this little disclaimer I

wrote on my phone to send out immediately to the F.B.I. if you so wish it.

Ted- Ugh! I cant believe this shit!

Whitman- To who this most definitely concerns. As an employee of

Ted- You are fired! Get out! Now!

Whitman- Thats where you get it wrong, Ted. I already sent this e-mail. Its on a time release

send program locked away in one of my many accounts. I can turn it around and send it to no

one after all, or in twenty minutes, long before you have gotten clear it will go to the F.B.I., the

LAPD, the I.R.S, and the C.I.A. as well as several notables I picked out on their political journey

to cleaning up the much needed legalization of marijuana. So Ted, I would think very seriously

about this.

Ted- How much?

Whitman- Two thousand, one hundred and seventy four dollars.

Ted- Is my name on that shit?

Whitman- At the moment, Ted. Yes, it is. God as my word. And Im not referring to the fuck in

Atlanta Tim called a few minutes back. Word is bond, Ted. I want what I deserve.

Ted- Fine. But if I hear that one word of any of this spread to any one at all, I am canceling this

check immediately. And I am not admitting to having any of what you say, but how would that

make me look if I am the boss around here? So, Mr. Whitman I will cut you a check from my

personal account.

TED PULLS OPEN A DRAWER OF HIS DESK AND PULLS HIS CHECKBOOK FROM IT.

Whitman- Thats a big time favor to all of us, Mr. Grimes.

Ted- Consider yourself lucky, and silent. I am writing the check post-dated for tomorrow to give

me time in case you double cross. Tomorrow, you keep your word, you have your pay.

Whitman- (reaching across to receive the check Ted is holding out) Not lucky, my friend. Just

damned good.

Ted- You actually were top producer the whole way through. Good luck with the rest of your

career.

Whitman- My career has been cut short. I finally got an agent reading my writing. I am taking

this money and celebrating. Its been lovely Ted, but I have some very important people to meet

over a late lunch.

Ted- Can you leave the scotch?

Whitman- Sure, thing, Ted. Sure thing. It gets easier big guy. With what I figured youve got

somewhere hidden very near, I am sure, A LOT easier.

Ted- Enough?

Whitman- (Glancing at his check, and giving it a small kiss) Enough.

Ted- Dont bother coming back around.

Whitman (standing to leave) Dont have to tell me twice.

Ted- Or even once Im guessing.

THEY SHAKE HANDS, AND WHITMAN MAKES HIS EXIT.

COMPTON, CA TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- TEDS OFFICE-

THE PHONE RINGS IN TEDS OFFICE AS HE CLOSES THE DOOR ON WHITMAN. HE

ANSWERS THE PHONE.

Ted- Telecom International, this is Ted Grimes! How can I be of service?

Jim Staples- Yes, Ted. This is Jim Staples calling you from The Internal Revenue Service. I was

told that you were the one left over there to contact.

Ted(nervously)- Yes, Mr. Staples.

Jim- Yes, Ted, Im afraid I have to tell you that after an extended visit with the owners of your

company, we have indeed decided to immediately take possession of all company assets and

equipment. I am coming over there personally in a little while this afternoon to post the notices

and lock up.

Ted- Oh God! You cant be serious!

Jim- I have been accused of that. Your owners, even more serious.
Ted- Am I out of a job?

Jim- Are you serious? Have you been listening to me, Mr. Grimes? We are taking possession

immediately of ALL company assets and equipment, and closing the office this afternoon. I

expect you to be ready with the office cleared of all employees and their personal effects,

including you. Expect me very shortly.

Ted- Well, how long do I have?

Jim- To be honest Ted, just until after I complete my lunch out here in Venice Beach. Had to take

in some of the tourist attractions while Im around, you know? Took the Venice Beach Walking

Tour.

Ted- I guess I will get them all out of here now, then. How bad is it, Mr. Staples?

Jim- The office will not be reopening, Ted. This phone call to be honest, was just a courtesy to

both you and myself to make things run a lot smoother. Please follow my instructions and leave

all of the companies records and such as they are. Both Sonny Cheeba and Chip Long have

exonerated you from any fault, but if I see any evidence of tampering I assure you I will launch a

more in- depth investigation as to the role you have been playing there, Mr. Grimes.

Ted- So everything is to be locked up tonight for good?

Jim- Within the week we will be removing the equipment for sale at auction for recovering our

losses and at that time we will also remove all of the remaining records and such. Now, if you

excuse me, I have some very lovely locals to attend to while I complete my lunch.

Ted- Thanks I guess. So let me get this straight, I am NOT under investigation right now?
Jim- Seeing as you were not named by anyone within the extensive organization we have been

investigating for the past few weeks, no Mr. Grimes at this point I only wish you luck in your

future endeavors. Should we deem otherwise after further examination, we will most certainly let

you know.

Ted- Oh, thank God!

Jim- No, thank the U.S. Government.

Ted- Ok, let me go get all of my employees out of here. I will be ready for you.

Jim- Absolutely, Mr. Grimes. See you soon.

Ted- Yes, thank you. Goodbye.

Jim- Goodbye.

COMPTON, CA TELECOM INTERNATIONAL- SALES ROOM FLOOR-

TED COMES ON OVER THE LOUDSPEAKER-

Loudspeaker- Attention all employees. This office was just notified by the I.R.S. that they are

coming immediately to take possession of all assets and equipment. This is not a temporary

thing. I am afraid, we are all out of a job, peoples. Please immediately begin clearing all of your
personal effects and leave the building. For anyone who has any questions, feel free to come to

my office and ask. Thank you, and for Gods sake! Stop smoking weed on the Sales Room Floor!

Slim- (taking a puff off a joint) Yeah right. Make me, Ted head.

John- Dead ahead, my niggers! We goin down the long road to freedom now! Shit I cant wait

for one!

Carlos- Stoned to the bone, out of a throne, jonesing for home, and swiggin alone! (he takes a

swig off a bottle of booze they have been passing around)

DICK PROMPLY THROWS UP ALL OVER THE DESK NEXT TO SLIM.

Slim- Nasty motherfucker.

Joe- Shit, Dick! Shit!

John- He aint the only one. Yeah, shit, Dick. Shit. I been dizzy since hearing my checks gone

bad.

Tick- Fuck it. Let them government fucks clean it up! Like they are gonna clean up with all of

our pay we will never see!

Mark- Pass the shit, already, before Dick gets at it again. I dont need secondhand chunks.

Slim- Yeah, you are a Dick, Dick. Thats fo sure.

Dick- (slurring his words) Fucking- A- right! Fucking A -right! When I was a kid my mom

only shopped at Dicks Sporting Goods! And now Dick needs to be sporting his goods and going

back to Mommas!
Mark- You still live with your Mom?

Dick- Yeah, fuck her. She lives with me.

Tick- Sounds like a pretty rocky relationship if you go home from work like THIS!

Dick- Nah. She will fucking a- write me a big fat fucking check for the missing wages. She

already promised. Says I deserve- hic! It hic! Up. (he promptly begins to throw up on Ticks

hand, placed on his shoulder)

Tick- I dont know whether to hit him or ask him if I can move in.

Mark- Yeah, you could probably move in on Dicks mom. Shes about a deuce, deuce and a half.

And I hear youre single now, huh Tick? Got served the papers this morning?

Tick- Yeah. Fuck her. Shes been fucking around on me since we STARTED and I just could

never catch the bitch. Too god- damned smart. Way too smart.

Slim- Take a hit, Tick. Soothes the soul, this shit.

Tick- Ahh fuck it, Slim. Pass the shit.

Carlos- I am gonna head straight out of here and go to a twelve step meeting. Get this, SEX

ADDICTS ANONYMOUS! Holy shit am I getting laid tonight or what? Easy pickings! Any you

guys want to come?

Tick- Count me in, Carlos. Count me in.

Mark- Hi, my name is Mark and Im a sex addict. In fact I have a hard on right now. I cant stop

thinking about getting it on with a few of you and hope you will ask for my digits after. Thanks

for letting me share. And oh yeah, Im good!

Slim- Fuck, that came off real slick Mark. You done this before?

Joe- I should send Dick and my fucking stepmother to do that shit! They are getting it on when

the old mans at home now. Hes like passed out in the easy chair in the living room and they are

going at it in the back bedroom.

Carlos- The more the merrier! Is she hot?!

Joe- How should I know? Im not a fucking sex addict of any kind. I dont look at anybody with

the status name of mom in it like that to even evaluate.

Slim- Oh, thats bullshit. You can still tell, man. I mean you see her every day. Give us a one to

ten on the body. Whats she rate?

Joe- If you count the thunder thighs, the bloated botox lips, the flabby tits down to her waist, and

the nonexistent butt, you may have a perfect seven.

Dick- See? Youd fuck her!

Joe- Already have. Thats my story at the meeting anyway. Proves Im not just looking for an

easy lay. What time does this shit start anyway, Carlos?

Carlos- Its a mens meeting fellows. Guys only. Until you have like six months, they wont let

you in any of the mixed meetings. This however fellas, is my third month, and I have been

promised they may take time off for good behavior.

Dick- Fucking fag!

Carlos- Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all of our affairs, ever reminding us we should

look to our leaders as a shining light on the pathways of righteousness and sex. Peace, I mean,

PEACE!

Dick- Whatd I say? Guys sex meetings.

Carlos- Last week a guy relapsed and I got to see all of his private video collection. Guy had

taped like two hundred different women doing the nasty! All kinds! Skinny, athletic, stocky,

short, tall, petite, big boned. But the real kicker is when he showed me the tranny videos.

Brought em home and surprise inside, its a cocksucker of an evening lest your bisexual. That

didnt come out right. But it was some sick shit! He had like five cameras on these bitches.

Dick- Fucking fag. I need a smoke. Gimme a rolley, Carlos.

Slim- Dick, hit this, it will help your stomach.

MARK KNOCKS THE JOINT OUT OF SLIMS HAND.

Mark- The fuck it will. Hes riding home with me. And not without a trash bag already. Give him

that and it will be spin city and my car all shitty and down to the nitty gritty with a sponge

cleaning regurgitated taco meat out of my fucking seats!

Dick- I love you guys.

Carlos- Fucking fag. Fucking Dick got sick, and needs his prick to get a lick before he gets the

stick.

Dick- I love you, Carlos.

Carlos- Keep coming back, Dick. It works if your worth it.

AL DEAN IS SHOWN SITTING AT A DESK WITH HEADSET ON. THE AUDIO FROM

THE HEADSET, COMES INTO FOCUS AND IT IS THE GIRL HAVING SEX, STILL, WITH

HER BOYFRIEND.

MARY, JOY, ALLIE, TRIP AND CAT ARE STILL PLAYING X-BOX IN THE BACK OF THE

ROOM. TAO, STEVE AND LARRY WALK UP ON THEM IN A GROUP.

Steve- How many of you girls want to get laid tonight?

Mary- Cash only business.

Joel- More than one? That costs more.

Cat- You chicks is fucking nasty.

Tao- Were just trippin, Trip. We just want a thank God were free at last SOME kind of orgy!

Larry- Besides, Allie, you owe me for the date we went on a few months back. I still feel like

got played for Lakers tickets.

Allie- Got played my ass! You spilled every beer you had all over my jersey!

Larry- I was saving some for later! All those hot twos I thought for sure I was getting something

at the end. Like hot twos. I would have licked it off, if youd have let me.
Allie- It wasnt even my jersey, you moron. I had to get it cleaned before I gave it back to my

cuz!

Steve- Is your cuz hot?

Cat- If youre gay, maybe. Hes about six three, two hundred with the cutest freckles!

Tao- So you, plus ten inches, minus the tits, plus the freckles. You been holding out on John?

Mary- Like I said, cash only business. I have time at eight and ten. But you gotta supply the

room.

Steve- Eight and ten? Just out of curiosity, how much is it for a crack at Marys hairy unsitely

crack these days, miss Im in biz?

Mary- Depends on what you want, Mr. Kidman. You bookin, or just lookin?

Trip- Bitch, you best be playin!

Tao- Give me missionary straight, condoms and lace, and a little bit of bondage at eight.

Mary- That will be three fifty.

Tao- Shit I only have three. (he pulls out three singles) One, two, three, There you go, see you at

eight! Ill bring the other fifty!

Joy- I think she meant three HUNDRED and fifty, Tao.

Tao- Hundred? From what I surmise there aint that kind of thunder between those thighs, and in

this guise Id realize I been surprised with another kind of ties for one oversized, underprized

enterprise that just these eyes are never gonna need at that ticket price!
Trip- You think youre slick dont you? You think that the world is just gonna bend over cause

youre Doctor Seuss or some shit!

Tao- Youre mean.

Cat- And out of green. So cough it up, loverboy. Thats the rate. Dont be late. Thats another

eight.

Steve- You charge a late fee? What about if you get knocked up? Is that an extra late fee?

Mary- Oh yeah, and you gotta bring the condoms and spermicidal lubricant.

Tao- Just stocked up on them when I made my trip back east. Stopped at a place on South Street

in Philadelphia. Condom Nation!

Trip- You sound like Yosemite Sam. Condemnation!

Tao- Where else could you get a thousand condoms for a hundred and fifty bucks?

Joy- How about at that strip mall that just opened across town. Only three stores, Dicks, BJs and

Siemens.

Steve- Yeah. So be a sport, buy in bulk and get a new bed all at once! Mary Jane Lane!

Tao- I got this lube with a picture of a pussy on the front. They want to make SURE you know

where to use it at. Its spermicidal lubricant for the illiterate.

Joy- Whats this? A pussy on the front?

Tao- Yeah, how about it Mary, I got a pussy on the front?

Mary- In your dreams.

Tao- In my wet dreams.

Mary- So cash out with me and well spend the rest of our dismal looking work day doing more

than foreplay!

Joy- Marys not serious, guys. Shes just seeing if she can get a rise out yall.

Larry- I got a rise in my pants.

Tao- All rise! The honorable dick presiding!

Mary- Honorable dick. Ill be the judge of that. (she kisses Tao and grabs his crotch)

Trip- I think Im gonna be sick.

Steve- Oh thats nice. I guess thats a freebie.

Mary- See what three bucks can buy, loverboy? Imagine what three fifty would do?

Tao- You taste like gefilte fish.

Trip- What the fuck is gefilte fish?

Cat- That shit that Jews eat out of jars around the menorah.

Mary kisses Tao again.

Tao- Not that I mind or anything.

TED COMES OUT OF HIS OFFICE AT THE FRONT OF THE ROOM.

Ted- People! I said get your stuff and get out! What are you waiting for? Any other day you are

racing to get out of here! Today I cant get you to leave! You arent getting paid for this! Its

done! Its over! They are on their way to shut the doors for good and I need you out of here!

(he grabs a joint out of Slims hand and takes a hit, and holding his breath continues) Now, get!

OUT!

Slim- Ted, you want more, I got dollar joints!

Ted- Why would I pay to get high, when Im getting mine right now?

Carlos- Hey, dont bogart that joint, there Teddy! Pass to the left to the left, right?! Left!

Ted- (passing the joint) Dont make me get prehistoric on all your asses! Pack em up peeps!

Carlos- Their coming to take us away, hee hee, hoo hoo, ha ha to the funny farm!

Ted- Hey, you two! Mary, Tao! Quit making out and take it elsewhere!

SLIM PASSES THE LIQUOR BOTTLE TO TED, WHO TAKES A SWIG OFF OF IT.

Ted- What is this chunky shit in here?

Dick- Sorry about that.

Carlos- Yeah Dick blew chunks earlier.

Ted- Since when do we have an employee named Chunks? Unless you were talking about

yourself, Carlos. In which case you have some foul chunky cum, son!

Carlos- Chunks and John sitting in a tree. Taking it up the hiney see? First comes Chunks, then

comes John, then comes the long clean up for the jiz mopper, son!
Ted- Thats nasty Carlos. Youre fired. For being indecent.

TED CROSSES THE ROOM AND PULLS OUT A BULLHORN.

Ted- Out! Everybody get your stuff and get out! I want this place clear of all of you in two

minutes! Tao, Mary. Youre making me sick. Steve, Larry, get on it now! Ladies, pack up the X-

Box! Everybody! OUT! NOW! Ill be in my office. In two minutes I want each of you to check

out as you leave! Now!

TED RETURNS TO HIS OFFICE, AND SITS DOWN, KICKS HIS FEET UP ON THE DESK.

HE PULLS OUT THE REST OF THE FLY AGARIC MUSHROOM AND DEVOURS IT

WITH A SWIG OFF OF HIS FLASK.

CUT TO BLACK: TEXT ON SCREEN: TEN MINUTES LATER

THE EMPLOYEES ARE SHOWN FILING OUT SINGLE FILE, PAST TEDS DOORWAY.

Tick- Good game

Ted- Good game, Tick.

Slim- Good game.

Ted- Good game.

Steve Kidman- Good game

Ted- Good game.

John- Good game. Fuck you.

Ted- In your dreams. Good game.

Mark- Yeah fuck you.

Ted- Good game. Fuck you.

Carlos- Smell ya later.

Ted- Always the hater. Good game.

Larry- Good game.

Ted- Good game.

Dick- Fuck you.

Ted- Right back at ya Dick! Get dicked, Dick! Good game!

Joe- Good game.

Ted- Good game.

Mary- Good game. You got my number, Ted.

Ted- Good game, Mary. I wont use it. But yeah, you got game. Good game.

Joy- Good game.\

Ted- Good game.

Allie- Good game. Ill never fuck you.

Ted Thank God. Good and lame. Good game, I mean.

Trip- Good game.

Ted- Good game.

Cat- Good game.

Ted- Good game, Trip. Trip on tripper!

Al Dean- Did I ever tell you

Ted- Leave Al! Now! Good game everybody! Now stay out! Til way past curfew! Teds orders!

Tao- Theyre all gone. I checked the building. Is it time yet?

Ted- Heres what I want you to do.

TED PULLS FOUR CANVASS DUFFLE BAGS OUT OF THE CABINET IN THE BACK

THE OFFICE. HE UNZIPS ONE.

Ted- One point six million in Bennys my dear life. Four twenty K apiece. Tao, we are in the

mula good buddy. Got that hotel in Belize lined up?

Tao- We are go. Berg says it is the hottest spot to lay low there ever was.

Ted- So heres the scoop. I.R.S. will be here any minute. You go lay low with the cash and the

dope in the janitors closet. When he leaves, Ill come bail us out and we sail away into the

sunset.

Tao- The fucking janitors closet?

Ted- You wanna play, you gotta pay.

Tao- (grabbing the cash) Im on it. Or in it. Shit this is heavy.

Ted- (singing) Were in the money! Were in the money!

THEY WALK TO THE JANITORS CLOSET AND CLOSE AND LOCK TAO IN.

FROM BEHIND THE CLOSED DOOR

Tao- Shit, it smells like puke and dank in here!

Ted- And dank puke too. And green backs. Ill be back Mr. Life!

THE OFFICE FRONT DOOR BELL ANNOUNCES THE ARRIVAL OF A VISITOR.

TED WALKS BACK INTO THE OFFICE TO GREET JIM STAPLES, I.R.S. AUDITOR.

Jim- We all clear in here?

Ted- Just got the last of the lot out the door a few minutes ago.

Jim- Jim Staples, I.R.S

Ted- I assumed.

Jim- I have the padlocks out front and some chains to secure the premise. Ill be needing your

keys as well. I assume you are Ted?

Ted- I am.

Jim- Just let me do a quick walkthrough and make sure everything is clear, and we will make our

exit together.
Ted- Theres not much to see. A lunchroom, a smoking room, two restrooms, the sales floor and

my office.

Jim- Just the same, I want in person confirmation.

Ted- I will be waiting.

Jim- Thanks for your cooperation, I will be right back.

JIM IS SHOWN CLEARING ALL OF THE ROOMS AS EMPTY. HE PAUSES IN FRONT OF

THE JANITORS CLOSET AND JIGGLES THE DOORKNOB, AND MOVES ON. HE

RETURNS TO TED IN THE SALES ROOM.

Jim- All clear.

Ted- Just let me grab my briefcase, and we can go.

Jim- Certainly. I will take your keys now as well, if its all the same.

Ted- (handing over a set of keys)- Im gonna miss this place.

Jim- May I remind you, it could be a lot worse.

THEY MOVE TO THE FRONT DOOR, WHERE JIM SECURES THE DOORS WITH

CHAINS AND A PADLOCK. HE POSTS THE OFFICIAL NOTICE OF CLOSURE AND

SEIZURE OF PROPERTY BY THE U.S. GOVERNMENT ON THE DOOR. THEY SHAKE

HANDS.

Jim- Thank you Ted. I will keep you posted on the goings on of our investigation. But at this

point, you are just the victim so far as we are concerned.

Ted- Thank you, Mr. Staples.

Jim- Much obliged.

THEY BOTH CLIMB INTO THEIR CARS, JIM HIS, AND TED, TAOS AND PULL OFF.

CUT TO BLACK: TEXT ON SCREEN: Five minutes later

TED IS SHOWN PULLING BACK INTO THE OFFICE. HE PARKS AROUND BACK, AND

GOES TO THE FIRE DOOR EXIT, PULLS A SPARE KEY OUT AND UNLOCKS IT.

Ted- (to himself) Damn, I must be tripping! Fucking mushroom. I need water.

HE STUMBLES AROUND THE HALLWAY TO THE RESTROOM, GAGGING.

Ted on reentering the office after the I.R.S. auditor shuts things down, returns to the restroom

where he finds that the water has already been shut off. He is having problems from the fly

agaric mushroom that he ate. He desperately needs water. He opens the toilet, and finds that

someone, in fact several people have not flushed. He then goes and kneels in front of the urinal.

It is very yellow, he notices just before dipping his hands in.

Ted- God damned Carlos!

He slides over to the next urinal and begins to splash his face and his tongue very liberally. He

gags quite a bit, and then sticks his whole face in the urinal and begins to noisily slop water

directly into his mouth. His dentures fall out and he desperately grabs for them and the side of

the urinal, and he accidentally flushes them down, and they become partially lodged between the

mint and the hole. He tries at first with his hands, then kicking it with his feet, until he stubs his

toe. He then gets back down on all fours and pulls it out with his mouth. Satisfied, he applies

new glue to the denture top and reinserts it before leaving the restroom.
TED OPENS THE JANITORS CLOSET TO FIND IT EMPTY.

Ted- Fucking Tao! I will find you.

Tao (from down the hall) You wont have to look far!

TED ENTERS THE LUNCHROOM WHERE HE FINDS TAO SMOKING A JOINT FROM

THE STASH AND SURROUNDED BY A SMASHED SNACK MACHINE, EMPTIED OF

SNACKS SURROUNDING HIM NOW.

Tao- What? I got hungry!

Ted- Lets get the fuck out of here, bro!

Tao- You tripping?

Ted- Are you?

BOTH BUST UP LAUGHING.

Tao- Yeah, brough.

Ted- And how. Thought I told you to leave at first break

Tao- Well Im leaving now arent I?

Ted- Never to return

Tao- Are you really tripping man?

Ted- What do you think?

Tao- Are you ready?

Ted- Never been more!

Tao-Where to today?

Ted- Somewhere real far south my man

Tao- Youve gone south

Ted- Not like this

(showing the cash and bails)

THEY MAKE THEIR EXIT, AND PACK TAOS CAR TRUNK WITH THE WEED AND

CASH

Tao- (pulling out) Lets pick up some brews bro. I need an easy down to this up.

Ted- Woohoo!

Tao- What time you think we can be in Rosarito?

Ted- After I buy a car, in cash, and pick up my girl, I figure I should be losing my virginity and

drowning in sex on the beach by dinner!

Tao- Yo, I got twenty says she still wont give it up

Ted- Not to you.

Tao- Think theyll come after us for the dough when they get out?

Ted- Yeah in like 25 years or so.

Tao- By that time you may have gotten laid.

Ted- Laid, paid and in the shade my man. Laid paid and in the shade.

They pull off and seconds later, Whitman shows up and retrieves a stashed small bag of cash

from the bushes.

The computer terminal inside is shown, still on with a caller on the line. Its the chick having sex

with her boyfriend. The audio screams with the sounds of another orgasm.

Cut to black with TEXT: TELEMARKETERS

The End

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Telemarketers "Episode One"

Condom Nation- Sales Room Floor- Beverly Hills, CA - 9:15 AM

Steve- Ever since we moved from Compton to Whitman's office, Allie, you have looked so

depressed. Are you ok?

Allie- No. Take me to the pound.

John- Take her to the pound. She mutters.

Steve- Allie, why are you crying?

Allie- It's my dog.

Steve- What happened? Oh no, don't tell me...

Allie- Yeah, he's gone.

Carlos- (singing) He's gone, and nothing's gonnna bring him back! He's gone!

Allie- Shove it spic and span.

Steve- Easy there, girl. Tell me about it.

Allie- Well, you know my three year old sister, Bell?

Steve- Yeah, what happened?

Allie- She gave my eight week old Rottweiller a bath. She did it without asking, Mom was in

the kitchen making brownies...

Carlos- Special bake!

Allie- So anyway, she decided she can dry the dog off faster. She sticks him the microwave on

high for twenty minutes.

Steve- She NUKED HIM?!

Carlos- (SINGING) Nuke a pup! Nuke a pup! Hear him pop! Poppy POWER!

Allie- (sobbing) I miss him. Maybe if she had just let him on defrost...
Steve- Sorry Allie.

Condom Nation- Whitman's office- Beverly Hills, CA

Whitman- (aloud to his computer, typing) To Morrow. I snowboard. Good. I am goofy, but

equally as regular. Not talking about the Metamucil I took this morning. Wait, maybe I am.

Board shitty. Oops I crapped my snowboard pants, board, and bindings. Shit sticks to me like

you wouldn't believe. You know. Need my funny bunnies. This shit stinks. To Morrow I believe,

a new board would relieve. Please send, and I will endorse. Sincerely, EMINEM.

Condom Nation- Lunchroom- Beverly Hills, CA

Carlos- What ya making?

Dick- Lunch.

Carlos- What is it you are nuking?

Dick- Just a dog.

Carlos- Nuke a pup! Nuke a pup! Hear it pop!

Dick- Dick's good, though, no. Ow! That puppy's hot! Pass the pot holders?!

Carlos- Yeah, got a dime. Why? Wanna get stoned?

Dick- Yes indeed. Everybody must get stoned.

Condom Nation- Sales Room Floor- Beverly Hills, CA

Larry- You couldn't sell a condom if you weren't getting fucked.

Mark- Aww. That's wrong. Besides, who sells a condom when your getting laid? You just give it

to em!
Larry- Fag.

Mark- Aww! Come on man!

Larry- Yeah, it's like, hey look babe! I know you're hot and bothered, but these things are a lot of

dough. You want me to mount? I want two fifty!

Mark- Two fifty?

Larry- Yeah, that's what she gives me.

Mark- Per condom?

Larry- Yeah, she's pretty much taken to blow jobs lately. Got laid off.

Mark - That's a beast.

Larry- Yes indeed. Yes indeed.

Mark- You should switch.

Larry- What, I go down on her?

Mark- No, you moron. Try the unlibed, unribbed, no flavor blast o packs! Cost her a quarter!

Larry- How big are they?

Mark- Big package. Small condom. Better feeling. Than what you're getting.

Larry- Really?

Mark- I'm not giving you a demo.

Larry- Nah. I'm kind of partial to the fact that she gets on her knees to impress me everyday. I

feel like a God. Besides, my dick is huge!

Mark- So is her mouth then I guess, huh?

Larry- You aren't kidding. Makes Steven Tyler look like...well uh...who has a tight ass mouth?

Tick- Yo, did you just say she's giving you tight ass to mouth?! And you're drinking out of my

Gatorade? You kiss her goodbye this morning?

Mary- Oh my God, now we know why his breath always smells like shit! It is!

Cat- Hey, I know a dentist who can take care of crappy gums if you're interested?!

Larry- Twenty five cents huh?!

Mark- Beats the shit out of, well, SHIT, you know?

(crossing into the scene from off left)

Mary- (to Carlos) Fuck you!

Carlos- You would!

Mary- Damn straight I would!

Carlos- Unless I develop leprocy! At which point... (singing) Doo, doo doo doo, doo doo, doo

doo...You can't touch this!

Mary- Freak!

Carlos- You know it!

CONDOM NATION- MEETING ROOM- END OF DAY

Whitman- Alright, tomorrow's team day!

Allie- Are we playing fag football again?!

Dick- Hey, It's powder puff!

LOCAL HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL FIELD- CONDOM NATION TEAM DAY EVENTS-

AROUND NOON

Whitman- Alright, huddle up! Third and seven. Clocks winding down. We gotta go downtown.

Lets get it right. Don't let the sound of the crowd...

Dick- Alright, give it to us already!

Whitman- Alright, here it is. Rape the golden cheerleader on three. Rape the golden cheerleader

on three. Ready? Break?!

WHITMAN AND THE REST OF THE TEAM LINES UP AGAINST THE DEFENSE.

Whitman- Big slut! Cummy whore! Loose lips lezzy!

FROM THE SIDELINES...

Steve- Fuck, sacked again! You see that shit?!

Trip- Audibles are obvious coach! If you can get your mind off of Mary while making the

playbook, we'd be alright!

Steve- Those aren't audibles.

Little Timmy- Yeah, he did that on his own.

Trip- No, he did HER on his own! That was the cadence.

Trip- More like de- cadance. Get it? Decadance?

BACK ON THE FIELD

Whitman- Alright, huddle up!

Dick- Man, we ARE huddled up!

Whitman- Get in CLOSER!

Carlos- Wear deodorant!

Whitman- Alright, we are going for it!

Dick- No, you serious?!

Whitman- Slimy nut cheese on three. No on four. No, on second thought...

John- Slimy nut cheese? I musta missed that one?!

Whitman- What else is new?! What do you know?!

John- Watermelon and fried chicken!

Whitman- Alright, wtaremelon and firend chicken on two! Watermelon and fried chicken on two!

Ready?! Break?!
John- Watermelon and freid chicken by the way, is the most racist slur that you could have

possibly named that play!

Whitman- Had to get you to remember it right?!

SIDELINES...THE OTHER SIDE ( THE DEFENSE)

Mary- Alright, this looks like watermelon and fried chicken.

Al- Mmm... Hmm... (eating)

Tick- Do you spit or swallow?!

Al- Seeds can germinate in there man...

Mary- Yeah, watermelon and chicken, he's lining up on the puddle.

Al - (with a full mouth) What is it?!

Mary- He fumbles on the puddle, falls on his head, and then bombs it like Chuck E Cheese or

some shit to John...

Tick- Yes, I'm on it!

Al- Hey, where are you going?!

Tick- Getting my keys man. Chuck E Cheese ain't going down alone. Last time I got fifteen

thousand tickets from this three year old! Mom made him carry the bag!

Mary- What'd you get?!

Tick- Two super balls, and a wooden paddle.

Mark- Suit yourself.

Tick- Will do. See you Monday!

CARLOS FROM THE FIELD:

Carlos: (singing) Chuck E Cheeses, where a kid just can't get shit!

Whitman- Ok. That's the end of game folks. I don't want to get sued on company time.

John- I missed the whole watermelon and chicken thing. On the wrong side of the fence. The

fence. De- fence next time. Spittin and grittin!

Whitman- Ya snooze ya lose! Probably some rinds in the trash though. I'm bringin em home to

my dog. I'll give you a good one if there are any.

John- Listen, just cause I lived on your couch for two months, doesn't mean you can make

homeless jokes antime you like! It's like every other line, man!

Whitman- Hey, be what you are. Pure and simple. We got BUM equipment for ya! Now go get

the truck and empty the trash! This fields a mess!

John- Think there's any recyclables?!

Carlos- Trip cleared a thirty pack! It's at the bottom of can one! MIght wanna use gloves for that

though.

John- Puke again?!

Whitman- Only three or four times this time. And we didn't feed her, so you should be ok!

******************************************************************************

******************************************************************************

******************************************************************************

MONDAY MORNING- DOWNTOWN JAILHOUSE- 1AM

Seargant Whitey- Alright, your out.

Carlos- I knew I hadn't lost it. Just because I had to lose it, doesn't mean that I lost it all. You

have to be lost to be found.

Whitey- Get lost kid.

Carlos- Is this the lost and found?

Whitey- Do you wanna get dressed?! You're making my wee wee shrivel up!

Carlos- Yes, sir. There's the box. My lost stuff is found.

Whitey- I wouldn't be so sure kid. But, believe me I don't want your junk!

Carlos- Is there more junk in the trunk, though?!

Whitey- If I'm not officer Whitey. I'm Whitey. Whitey say there be the day when the junk in the

trunk has it's way with all of the prisoners. Just ask Officer Bubba. Now bend over and get the

shit out you ass!

Carlos- Whitey, you scaring me with all of this shit in the trunk and stuffing me with it like an

ass! Little help here Whitey?! Where do I score it some more?

Whitey- Kid, you'll refer to me as Officer, and if you do that again I'm rebooking you.

Carlos- Crooked Whitey!

FIVE MINUTES LATER (TEXT ON SCREEN)

Whitey- Alright, when you get the buzz you can go.

Carlos- That's not what you said Saturday.

Whitey- The door, asshole.

(DOOR BUZZES)

Whitey- Alright, GO!

Carlos- Thank God! I didn't lose it!

PULLS OUT A BAG OF EXTREMELY GREEN WEED AND BEGINS ROLLING A JOINT

ON THE WAY OUT THE DOOR...

OFFICER 1- What do you think will happen to him Sarge?!

Whitey- I hear the Mormons are out in force this morning...

Officer 1: Really?!

Whitey- Uh huh.

I was sitting in our backyard and I noticed

There is POOP in the pool
Yes, we got a FLOATER here!
I swear, I plead the fifth
IN THAT ORDER.
FYI : about this I plead the fifth about the SHIT
Now, if I had to testify about this:
Mr. Ayers Brooks, can you tell me who was in the pool that afternoon?
NO.
Please?
No.
Tell me!
NO.
Tell me, tell me!
No, times a thousand!
The judge is like We will hold you in contempt if you continue this, Mr. Brooks!
Well, there was one boy, one girl, and one FAT MOTHERFUCKER!
Mr. Brooks, were you THAT FAT MOTHERFUCKER?!
No.
Take your time, and tell me hereare you sure?
You calling me fat?
And here comes MY lawyer
Objection, this line of questioning is insulting
ok, Mr. Brooks, Did you make that SHIT?!
No.
Did you INDULGE in that SHIT?
No!
Did you get HIGH, from THAT SHIT?!
yes.
So it was your shit, in the pool.
Maybe.
That will be all
Alright, counselor, you are free to cross examine the witness
Ok. Now, Joel, why do you suppose would ANYONE poop in the pool? Were you confused
Uh, I gotta go. Can I use the bathroom?!
I understand, Joel. Can you answer the question?
Well, there was one, girl, one boy, and NO CHICKS!
Mr. Brooks, what exactly do you mean by NO CHICKS?!
You know the kind that get bigger when they are older, they got a lot of eggs, and they LOVE
LAYIN umTHATS why I had ta poop in the pool!
Nothing further.
Yeah, right. Like I am gonna do THAT!
IS SWEAR, I PLEAD THE FIFTH
Later on they called a witness who was there with local authorities
Here is how it went down.
Ok Maam, can you tell me about the scene that afternoon?!
So I came out and there he was there, and I noticed the same shit.
The lawyers like:
Was it HIS SHIT?!
It HAD to be his shit! HE knew where it came from.
Im in a nearby chair yelling IT WAS GOOD SHIT! AND YOU KNOW IT!
The judge is all one more outburst like that and we will hold you in contempt, Mr. Brooks.
Please continue
At this point I remember my brother saying, GET HIM AND HIS POOP OUT OF THE POOL!
So we got him out, and we turned him over. As dirty as he was, he had to be taken away!
Nothing further.
But anyway.
I swear, I plead the fifth
Good shit.
Rule of thumb
Fuck, I need a drink
(drink)
Somebody give me goddamn drink!
What all recovering Alcoholics say
Its a joke, really
Its what recovering Alcoholics say
One is too many, and give me a TAB
I lost my alcohol virginity when I was very young
I lost my virginity due to alcohol the year after
I was six years old
No really, I was eighteen
I had a decade to think about it
I was lonely
You know, Im still living at home with my parents and I called one of those sex hotlines
You know 1-900 HOT SHIT
1-900 BAD GIRL
1-900 BIG DONG
There are INFINITE combinations, possibilities
You know what I mean?
Maybe you DONT. Ok we PLEAD THE FIFTH
So, Im there, a teenager on my parents phone bill
Trying to come up with combinations on the dial pad
Or whatever you call that
But anyway
1-900 HOT FUCK FIRST ONE
Im like, NAH! I hung up
1-900 BAD GIRL
Second one, Im like NAH! I hung up!
1-900 BLO HARD
That is 1-900 B-L-O H-A-R-D
Thats right
1-900 BLOW HARD
So it connects and Im listening
There is ELEVATOR music, and some hot girl who says she is in her panties on the recording,
you know, the greeting
And she says
For a FUN TIME, stay on the LINE!
You know, Im like OK!
So THEN they say 50 billion dollars for the first minute and 500 dollars every minute after!

So I hang up and three weeks later the phone bill comes and my Dad comes in my room
He IS PISSED
They charged us.
OH SHIT!
Im like I dont know DAD, I was jerking off?
Hes like NOREALLY?! in that Dad condescending tone
You know the one that says You dont know what kind of SHIT you are in!
Im all DAD, I HUNG UP! THEY SHOULDNT HAVE CHARGED US!
Didnt go well.
But anyway.
Hey dudes and dudettes!
Finally got the nut up here!
Eh! Eh! Eh!
Sometimes you feel like a nut, sometimes they hurt
Totally nuts, nuts gone wild, nutsnutsnuts.
Nut ONE to NUT TWO
What kind of NUT, do you think I am?!
Not a loaded one!
I got a vasectomy, so if I get FUCKED there will be no loaded squirts.
(Swedish Chef voice):
Herr de boostin dehr nuts! Da nuts, Da nuts, DADA DERR NUTS!
Herr da eatin da nuts!
Err da nuts is good! Herr da nuts, da nuts, da nuts
(Rabid Rabbit):

I love my nuts
Nut liquor, nut butter, nut crackers, nuts and buries..what I did to my last girlfriend, bar nuts,
honey nuts, whipped nuts, big nuts, little nuts, medium sized nuts,
JUST NUTS
NUT FUNNY. NUT FUNNY.
I love my nuts
I love my nuts
Any football nuts in here?!
Before any PLAY what happens?
The quarterback STICKS HIS HANDS in the centers NUTS! His NUTS!
What!?
(cadence)
Nut ONE!
Nut ONE!
Nut TWO!
NUT TWQ!
Nut, nut, NUT, NUT, NUT!!

Wearing my Got Meth? T-shirt

(amongst my other t-shirt collection including such greats as ):

Coffee...because crystal meth is illegal

The 6 UP 7 UP T-shirt

Big Trees Get Me High

I Am The Man From Nantucket

 Silly Faggit, Dicks Are For Chicks

I Used To Have Schizophrenia, But We Are OK Now

Sarcasm...Because Beating The Living Shit Out Of People Is Illegal

Ladies and Gentleman without further ado: I give you: OZENOZ!

Hi there. Hi. Hey! Hi there. Yes, hello again. How? Hola? Ce paso compandres? Je ne sais pas.
Howdy doody! Well howdy, pilgrim!

I am a VERY mentally ill man.

(big spiraling swirls narrowing to tight spiral with forefinger against head)

I mean like my brain is BAD.

(Michael Jackson finger point and spin)

Like loving all you crazy little kids, white sequined glove grabbing my crotch, BAD.

(Grab crotch and thrust twice)

And if you want know the really insider trading, yes Ive got a strange Doctor with lots of meds
too.

(tap on inside of arm on the vein to inject)

And yes, Im gonna die if he gives me just one more shot.

(say it staggering and throaty voice and then slowly droop head into a nod)

Im Ozenoz as in as an is and is and was cuz oz is isnt an as in as as in hes just your cuz cause
he aint a was cuz, its a wiz wizzin wicked way way over the top to the land of ozenoz its not

Ozenoz and Eminem and after all, were only ordinary men.

(stand at attention and grab on your crotch a lot, thrusting your finger up and down)

You only get one shot, he gets ten billion.

(deliver strand up with dramatic pause in the ellipsis)

The alcohol of shame finalizes my deal once again.

(Do the inflection of Eminem in Rap God, emphasize finalizes and deal cards out for the end of
the line)

Sorry, just scratchin my nuts.

(scratch your nuts for a good five seconds, cock your right arm at a forty five degree angle and
then switch to your left hand, staring at the ceiling and make a grunt in to the microphone, and
then stop and stare wide eyed with your hand on your nuts and deliver)

Hes the only one I can fuck without a condom on.

(Deliver rapping strut and then do a thrice hip thrust with grunts, then laugh)

Yes, I finally went and did it, I got the shrink wrap.

(tap head several times at first fast and then dramatically further from it and slower, emphasize
SHRINK WRAP)

My shrink doesnt like my rap.

(deadpan)

Neither do I.

(deadpan)

So one year after hiring him, to celebrate I did something you are all going to think is fucking
crazy.

(emphasize fucking crazy and elevate pitch of voice and then rapidly nod head)

I quit meth.

(Pause between each word, slowly annunciate, and drop to a deeper voice on the final word)

Fucking crazy.

(sing Guns and Roses song)

Just to let you know, today is that anniversary.

(tap imaginary watch and nod head, try to convince them sincerely)

Ladies and Gentleman, this is your pilot speaking.

(tap the microphone hard and then breath a couple of times into it, and then in a deep official
tone, sounding very casual (overly) deliver)
We are making our final approach and will be coming in for a landing soon.

(Very Captain like)

Im sorry, very sorry, but if you could please return to your seats and put on your seatbelts.

(Continuing in the Captain voice)

Ill be careful, but this may get a bit rough, just to let you know.

(pause after careful, and breath hard into the microphone, laugh at rough and deepen voice as
you get slower on KNOW)

But like I said, dont worry about yourselves, your safe, I got all my shots this month.

(Raspy voice)

Psychemeds are awesome.

(Be like a ditzy blonde, very overly enthusiastic and excited. pause on psyche blunt and long,
and then dramatic surfer who is impressed rest of the phrase)

Especially on crystal meth.

(breathily and deep and close into the mic)

Do you trust me?

(scream it and throw your hands up, then pause frozen with your hands out to them)

Good, cause you shouldnt.

(tap fingers together and deliver in a shady, greedy voice like Mr. Burns)

Shit happens.

(scream it)

I wont, but shit happens.

(say it slower, reassuring and very calm)

I havent gotten the whole pilot thing down yet, you know like Seinfeld, but Ill keep working on
it with all of my years of effort.

(imitate Seinfeld)

Damned shame.
(Get heavy on the mic and put your hand up next to your ear like your getting a secret and tell
them the secret)

Its called Telemarketers, and you too could be at a telephone zoo with the monkeys.

(Deliver drunk)

Playing with or without you. (sing) With or without you.

Tail off into the next line with an extended groan

Bananas.

(say in loud Hispanic voice annunciating each syllable)

Just bananas and Bono and some red assed babbling baboons.

(gay voice, throw hands up on hips)

I know, know not EVERYTHINGs funnybut thats cause I am coming down.

(deadpan, and then lowering voice heavy into the mic with COMING DOWN)

A very interesting fact. Statistically speaking, the most dangerous part of flying they say is the
takeoff and the landing.

(Very official tone, make a plane taking off with your hand, then a plane coming in for landing)

But I am not gonna die, so dont think your gonna get off that easy with a refund for your entry
and shit.

(very matter of factly tugging at tshirt hard like its hot or something)

Like my t-shirt?

(Pause, stretch it out, so they can read it)

Good cause Im not asking anymore.

(deadpan)

If yall motherfuckers cant read, then get out of here!

(scream it)

Im gonna cuff yall

(hold hands out to be cuffed and then imaginary smack somebody up side the head)
I swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me out motherfuckers!

(one hand on the Bible, and then freak out in a high winy voice)

I say, son, you got some talents son I say son, you got some talents and some sheckles. Biblical
the dough your gonna make. Talents and sheckles. You got the sheckles around your ankles. Quit
dropping the dineros son!

I am the original narc freak. Yeah, I know what youre telling me. Im telling you. I am telling!

(Speak way too fast and excited shaking head and hair jerkily walking around in quick steps)

But enough of that.

(Disgusted and loud)

Definitely. (pause for a very long time, very long time)

What are you looking at?

(Scream at them)

Alright Im done folks.

(Act like you are ending the bit)

Thanks for your ears, your eyes, your fucking noses, and your free drugs.

Its been fun!

Woah, Im not done yet?

(point to the back of the room, tap your watch and look like you are getting a message from
somebody, emphasize NOT and get flustered on done yet, pause for a real long time, a real long
time)

Yes, I am on Medicare, so you are paying out the ass for all this shit I get injected with all the
fucking time.

(matter of factly)

I love my Doctor.

(matter of factly)

Cute nurse too.

(shape out an hourglass body with your hands)

Psychiatrists are some of the funniest ass sons of bitches you could ever meet.

(say it and get a laugh out of something)

They all want to know if you feel like killing somebody before they even pissed you off.

(point at head, threaten yourself with a two fingered gun point to the temple, extend it to the
audience and shoot it off)

I mean they wont give it up.

(emphatically and annunciated very well) ?

I made the mistake of telling mine yes to that particular question.

(mumble, do you feel like killing anyone? Then mumble um well yes. Close into the mic)

I got out of the psyche ward two weeks later with a fucking headache and a bill that yall are
paying.

(disgusted)

Ha ha!

(like the Simpsons bully)

Like I said, thanks for the free drugs, people.

(Really thank them, and pound chest hard)

All I had to do is tell him that I was going to kill The Duck Dynasty, and presto Im a happy
bearded fucked up beyond belief hunter of the shortest skirts in the R.N. family for a solid two
weeks on the inside.

Inbred talent.

(emphasize the first word)

R.N.s in minis and coping with my own fuck dynasty, I mean fuck fantasies, I mean Duck
Dynasty Final Fantasy Freedom for Fuck Faces against Faggits at the Fillmore East the following
Thursday didnt help my case.

(do the hip thrust on the first two, then shoot it off fast and hard and do the blow job tongue in
cheek motion FAST after fuck faces against faggits and yell out the end of the line)

Couldnt let me go.

(calmly)
And all they had to play for video games was an old Nintendo, and you guessed it, Duck Hunt.

(Tell it to them in a high, whiny, nasally voice, drop your voice on Duck Hunt)

Two to the head, bitches.

(gun point with fingers to temple again)

Two to the motherfucking head.

(shake your gun pointing finger at them and annunciate and get excited)

Cute ones. Ill take two hotties to the head, if you please. And I want fries with that.

(matter of factly)

Sex in a institutional hospital facility bathroom is a lot less fun when they want to play
dominatrix.

They have all the fucking torture essentials.

(Emphasize ALL and slow down the last three words)

And sex in a straight jacket I do believe is exactly what got Houdini and his beautiful assistants
into them.

And out.

Old magicians have bigger child support bills. ?

Yes, the older they get, the less money they get to keep.

Fucking straight jackets.

(scream it)

Lifes a bitch, and then you die.

So pay your taxes on the sly and always super size the fries.

(fast but clear)

(sing) I believe I can fry.

I believe I can touch the sky.

Call my dealer every night and day.

Take my shit and fly away.

Thats ok, you dont have to laugh at that. Suck my dick bitches! I am the man from Nantucket. I
aint asking. I got it covered.

(Get excited on the first line and approach the audience, even get into it, then scream the next
line. Tell them emphatically about the man next line ends on a question, last line is loud, deep
and slow)

And I am a liar. A big fat liar. Not just a liar, a pathological liar.

I lie to everyone, everywhere, every day, in every way, whatever the pay, because I cant say that
truth will get me play and stay touch and by the bay gay radar flying under the limbo bar fly
by night kind of lifestyle I live.

So dont believe anything I say, and youll always be half right.

My life is like a fifty/ fifty, fifty percent dog day dazed and confused, and fifty percent cats in the
cradle with no silver spoon. But different strokes for different folks, I get no money when my
Daddy croaks.

Translation: half the time I lie like a dog. I bury my bone wherever I roam and dig in more trash
than I can hone. The other half of the time Im sparing for change and Im talking the strange
cause I always get framed for the kid who has the trust left to bust on any just gust of the thrust
and presto! Brush my teeth with Cresto! I come from the big litter of colorful cats, whod rather
neuter themselves than turn to rats. Spay some change? Spay some change? Spay some change?

Catholic Jewish background, I get more guilt trips than Timothy Leary took acid trips. Bad trips
are us. Can you tell?

I have one goal in life, to die a fat happy man with every Happy Meal toy since 1984.

(hold up a number one and shake it around broadly the whole way through)

But they wont let me super size the fries.

Fuckers.

Depriving the little spuds of their mouthfuls of grub.

(shaking a naughty finger now at the audience, returning to the stage)

Dont they know that a kid with toys and no fries spreads the ketchup like my slutty nurses
thighs?

(bounce your hand like your playing with a toy, then do the flapper dance criss crossing your
knees, rubbing your thighs together) ?
Wet and red everywhere like they got their period, or like me.

(pause after period for awhile)

I mean like my daughter in the car seat runs out of fries and suddenly Michaelangelo of the
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is in a very realistic looking blood sport fight to the death with the
white upholstery. Uh huh! You know what I mean right?!

(Act like your driving the car, have the steering wheel, turning around and making faces, double
taking on your daughter while telling it- after upholstery pick out someone in the audience, point
to them, approach and ask the question nodding your head in the affirmative dramatically)

And sure enough, unexpectedly with the bright idea of wearing a G- string today, my wife
unexpectedly starts HER period in the passenger side.

(Adjust your underwear all the way around while saying G-string)

The passenger side, the passenger side, the passenger side problems because I had no baby
wipes left and I couldnt convince her that a napkin wrapped around a straw would make a good
emergency tampon.

(wrap an imaginary napkin around a straw and pretend to stuff it up her coochie next to you)

We got a bleeder here!

(Scream it!)

This may be hard to believe, but this is your pilot speaking.

(Make a white noise sound into the mic, then tap it, then drop to deep, official Captain voice)

If you could all please stop ignoring me and take your seats again please, I may be able to take us
in for a landing.

(make the plane coming down gesture with your hand again, and then have it crash and make a
crash noise, crack up)

Seriously folks, you need to take me seriously.

(clap and then deliver)

Laugh all you want.

(say it in that high whiny Seinfeld voice)

I know you think Im good, but not that good.

When the shit is good, the shit is good, know what Im saying? (sing)
(scratch your nuts and start to sing)

Sometimes you feel like a nut!

Sometimes they hurt!

Sorry, just scratching my nuts.

How do you spell pain?

H-E-R-P-E-S.

(with accent) Herpes. (hum the tune)

Come on people, that was a joke.

You know I once worked as a telemarketer selling monogrammed condoms to businesses?

Thats one I am writing into my scripts for Telemarketers of the future.

How to sell a condom to someone.

If youre close is off like a prom dress,you are more likely to have luck.

My own particular script was this:

(imitate speed dialing and ringing of phone in mic)

Hello? (in a feminine voice)

Hey there, babe! I have got a condom with your name on it! I am not letting you go without
breaking out the condoms with me, so forget about hanging it up. Youre too sweet, and with
your name all over them, how can we ever get fucked on getting in business?

At which point, they are either laughing, frustrated by your schtick, wondering if you are their
last bad date gone wild, or wanting more of your schtick to help ease their day into a better lay
of the cards. And if you hold out as if you are the cards, all of them, you just might close off
another clothes off advertisement for them and their clients.

Believe you me, these condoms are just what the doctor ordered. They say your business on them
and they have your number, and its just what you want your clients to be seeing as they get
ready to have safe sex. You can tell them when their leaving to get fucked, and mean it, and not
offend. Isnt that what we all we to tell the biggest dick of the day? Hey buddy, get fucked
And then hand them a condom. Weve got lubed, unlubed, ribbed, unribbed, one rib of adam and
two for the jib, your too twisted, take my jit seed and shove it, flavored, unflavored, savory
wedding night tips, thrust alone from the hips, if you do that Ill lose my shit, you have a nice ass
and atleast one tit, Hoover Dam Reservoir tipped, versions for the smaller dick, different colors,
different virus killing kinds for paranoid mothers, pleasure building, and we promise you just
thatbuildings of pleasure. And if theyre not sure what kind, weve got a chart, for their dick to
measure. So whattya say?

But anyway. Buy today and youll get free keychain lube packets, good for a quickie and to fire
up a hickie! So buy em long, hard, and quick before you lose another dick to a bitch all day
whos not needing to get knocked up!

The most surprising sale I got was to my mothers Catholic Parrish. But then again, she does get
around. Nun of this, nun of that, nun of the above, nun below, nun besides, and nun to go, nun
for you and nun for me, and nun for a father to make him happy. Mommy makes me wear a
glove before I go bankrupt from all of my kids. Thats an illegitimate accusation, really.

You know some guy asked me the other day what Jesus true age is?

So I say like two thousand and thirty six, thirty seven. I dont know, Im bad with numbers, but
that son of a(uh)God is real motherfucking old!

He is definitely eligible for Social Security.

(sing) Jesus left Chicago, and he headed down to New Orleans. Jesus left Chicago, and he
headed down to New Orleans

In New Orleans, he ran outta money, had to wait a month til payday.

Tried to make money as a bootlegger, all that water to wine shit got ugly back in the day.

Did you know I was a nationally award winning collegiate actor in High School for my comedy?

No matter what, Im taking the spot.

I havent changed my spots.

When Im on the spot, I break out in spots.

Im all lit up, and spotty is in the passenger side asking for my fries on the side.

(Make the steering wheel sitting and driving the car motion)

Spotty, this is your Captain speaking. Beam me up, spotty.

(tap your chest and make the high pitched warbling beeping noise of the communicator from Star
Trek, deliver)

Eat your bloody fries.

Apparently they DO make good tampons.

And the grease makes for good lubricant too!

(make the fucking from behind, one hand on the ass, one hand smacking motion while delivering
the line, continue on in silence for a couple of seconds afterward)

My wife and I recently, having to sleep in the same room as our daughter, experienced the age
old question.

When should we stop having sex with her in the room?

(make the fucking motion again for a few seconds, get wide eyed and scream the babys waah!
Wah! While your doing it)

Weve tried everything from blindfolds and earmuffs to putting her in the old moving boxes with
a laptop running Sponge Bob reruns full blast, but my sexual frustration still has me sneaking
Penthouse moments in private office bathrooms while seeking my pilot landing everywhere.

(just tell them)

This is your Captain speaking.

(make the mic crackle, and deliver in deep pilot voice again)

Fucking sit down!

(Scream it!)

Jerk offs!

(Make the jerk off motion with your hand and get REALLY FRUSTRATED, screaming)

I need sex.

(brief pause, then very calmly and matter of factly with head in hands nodding no)

Lots of sex.

More sex than most, because not only do I have an affinity for a good nut, I am a good nut. ?

Zen and the art of cleaning the cum off the playpen before your daughter gets her mouth on it.

Get your mouth off of that, missy! Nasty old cum wad!

(box out the shape of the playpen and rub her imaginary head, shake a finger at her, then
dramatically and hard and quickly rub off the imaginary goo, then make a crazed look at your
hand, sniff it into the microphone, then scratch your head and lick it, make an awful face and spit
it out hard, go back and smile and giggle and say yes and rub her imaginary head)
There really is no proper etiquette to that whole affair.

Oh, especially if its from an affair.

Never know what them bitches got.

(scratch your nuts)

Sorry, just scratching my nuts.

(groan long and loud into the mic after the line)

I know how to spell pain, but what I wanna know is how do you spell relief?

(scratch your nuts and groan again)

Sorry, still scratching my nuts.

Comics are an itchy nut group, forgive me.

If you wanna know what we all do backstage, its stand around and scratch our nuts and
exchange std clinic information while copying and pasting the best easy lays in our little black
books to the green room guest list.

Did. Did too. Did too. Did too.

(go back and forth from the imaginary book in your hand and writing in the guest list and making
big broad check marks in the air)

Mean what you say, and say what you mean.

I didnt get any visits today back there. ?

Itchy nuts or not, two to the head bitches!

(scream it)

Two to the motherfucking head.

(slow, pissed and deliberate)

Immediately. I mean want head now.

From two of yall.

At one time. (slurping noises)

I know what yall are saying. Alright man from Nantucket, quit talking to you yourself.
Speaking of sex and etiquette, let me tell you about my most recent screenplay I am
experimenting with.

Thats what I call writing, experimenting.

Two to the head bitches.

(half yell)

Laugh or not, Im fucking through with yall.

(Wave at the audience dramatically, give them the middle finger, get ready to leave the stage)

You are the rudest sons of bitches around, all sitting down there watching me scratch my pussy
scabs without offering me a hand.

This is your Captain speaking.

All hands on dick!

(Yell it)

Weve got a Moby.

(head in hands shaking head no)

Whale of a bad joke. Dicks. Dicks. Dicks. Dicks. Dicks. Dicks. Dicks. Dicks.

(Say it like the teacher from Ferris Bueller)

Passed by a shopping center in New Jersey once that was going up, years ago. It had three stores
in it.

Dicks, BJs and Seimens.

Be a sport, buy wholesale and get into a bunch of new beds. Dicks, BJs and Seimens.

Hard blow and cum. Dicks, BJs, and Seimens. Dicks, dicks, dicks, dicks, dicks, dicks.

(deliver like the teacher from Ferris Bueller)

(Sing) Dick, dick, dick, da dick, dick, dick! Dickalodeon!

Ok enough about dicks, lets talk about pussies.

Standing in line at the std clinic earlier I spotted a good pussy next to me when the skirt flew off
the handle trying to answer an incoming text.

(dramatic pause before next line)

Apparently his boss was firing him.

(matter of factly)

California is wild. How many times a day do I have to ask myself, he , she or it?

Wait a minute as usual my fucking mind has taken over my rational one.

I was about to tell you about my new screenplay.

I may be a pussy as a writer, but you gotta admit, everybody loves a good pussy.

It gets out of line and lets you go straight to the front just because its trying to be a good pussy.

I used to think that shit was effortless, then I met my wife.

You can sum our current sex life up in about thirty seconds, and I can wrap it about about that
fast too.

Gotta do it quietly though.

Caught my daughter saying have sex instead of me casa while watching Dora the explorer the
other day.

(skip and flop head around stage do a high pitched say, me casa!, duck down like the kid
watching t.v., yell in a high pitched voice have sex!)

Dora wasnt impressed, and went on to teach her how to say things like rubber and chicken and
meat stick in like fucking Spanish and shit.

Pollo gaston coucho!

(Do high pitched Dora voice)

Now I hear her talking about me from across the room during my thirty seconds of sex when she
wakes up.

Observing the chicken meat stick rubber in spanish from the depths of a Uhaul box in the
corner.

Pollo gaston coucho! Pollo gaston coucho! Pollo gaston coucho!

(Yell it in your daughters voice.)

Oh yeah the script.

Get this, Looper Well.

My answer to Caddy Shack.

I was a professional golf caddy for over a decade, you know?

Golf is a very funny and particular language.

It takes some getting used to when youre caddying and a golfer comes over to ask you to clean
his balls and give him a wood.

(nod your head a lot in the first part, then place the one scenario over here broadly with your
hand, and the other broadly over here with your hand)

Thats why they dont allow gangbangers to Caddy.

Theyd be getting it on with him at the halfway house.

Two to the head bitches.

(sarcasticly)

Two to the motherfucking head.

(calmly and drifting off)

Speaking of two to the head, met this guy awhile back who really did give himself two to the
head.

This motherfucker, at a party, drunk, shows me a scar he has under his chin and at the top of his
fucking skull. Stuck a shotgun to his head and missed his brain. At least the important part,
according to old fashioned shrinks.

Partial frontal lobotomy. They didnt even have to fucking institutionalize him when he went to
the hospital. He did it for himself.

And how, by the way, how the HELL? DO YOU? TRY AND SHOOT YOURSELF? IN THE
HEAD? AND MISS?

Yo, buddy, I hate to tell you this, but thats the worst aim I have ever heard of. You need to hit the
practice range, bro.

(Stop dead in your tracks after, and make loud sniffing noises into the microphone like you have
post nasal drip or something for like six or seven seconds)

What the hell is that?!

(yell it!)
Either I just had a severe brain fart or one of you motherfuckers in the front just cut loose a wet
one!

(tap your head with a finger several times, then do the crazy circular motion, then wave hand
around in front of face dramatically trying to stave off the smell)

Can we get a fan in here?

(look offstage)

Cheap fart humor, I know, I know.

(admit it and apologize)

Leaves a bad taste in my mouth when their as cute the one I think who did it too. ?(Make
clacking sounds with tongue and teeth opening and closing mouth as if you taste something,
hang tongue out wide eyed)

Speaking of ass to mouth, no.

(loud)

Just no.

(louder)

Not maybe, not later, not backstage, in the backseat, in the back row, or by the back hoe, not
here, not there, not anywhere, not EVER after that one.

(Loudest and imitating Ralph Cramden from The Honeymooners)

Ok, maybe a rain check.

(crack up, and then ask)

I will excuse you if you need to go wipe now.

(point out a female member of the front audience)

Yeah, you.

(hold nose and continue to point her out)

Its ok, we all smell it and know it up here, you can leave.

Dont be embarrassed, shit happens.

(reassuring, approaching her, walking slowly closer and closer)

Even in the front row.

(reach her, and put your hand on her shoulder)

Trust me I have seen a lot of front row shit in my day, lady.

Go ahead and leave now. Go on! I know you want to.

(return to the stage) ?

Unless your one of them fart sniffer bitches.

The kind that shove your head under the sheets during sex when you cut loose. Ok, rip off.

(deliver fast, and then admit it)

Spare more than a square for this bitch please if you can hear me in the womens room?

(Yell it out)

No really, Im kidding.

(Start to approach the audience member again)

Im just fucking with you. You actually smell all Chanel and shit.

Two to the head and shit.

(Say it like its final)

Damn. I thought I had balls.

(Nodding head and grabbing at nuts for a second)

All front row and shit.

I thought I had balls. Now Im feeling bad about it.

Could just be pre-op depression about my wife making me get a vasectomy.

Where did my balls go?

(Exasperated)

(singing and making scissors snipping motion with hands) Oh where oh where did my little balls
go? Oh where oh where can they be?
Where the lost balls all go, way out of bounds.

(cut yourself off with the line and throw hand out to symbolize)

Speaking of gross anatomy, I have had it with my gay friends putting me into bad and
embarassing situations. For instance, awhile back a friend invited me to a seminar at the local
Gay Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender Center. Thats a fender bender waiting to happen. People
got their shit packed and came. He said it was going to be a gourmet buffet that would be so
killer and got my weakness by the balls, free food!

I said, yes and went. Why the hell not?

So I get there, and all is well, no flaming mos hitting on me so far, Iv e got a seat right up front,
and a full plate and a half of some really good grub. Chicken wings, green bean casserole, loaded
mashed, even the salad had the bomb balsamic dressing to go with it.

Just as I pick up my fork and get ready to stuff a my face, the lights go down and the overhead
projector at the front of the room fires up, and I hear from our speaker Welcome to the anal
health seminar

What an asshole!(yell it)

Picture these assholes with pictures of asshole after asshole filling you in on everything from
hemorrhoids to anal douching. Yes, anal douching.

What an informative asshole buffet.

(Point out the lady who needed to go to the bathroom earlier)

You taking notes? Yes, thats right anal douching, babe!

From your ass to my mouth. My mouth to your ass. Promise?

(singing) Sometimes you feel like a nut!

Sometimes they itch.

Sorry, hitting the scratching post, cats.

I feel I been tied to the whipping post by the skankiest Herpes infected slut I had all the luck to
stumble on like a week back.

This Herpes shit is no joke.

You know that like seventy five percent of Americans have it?
Majority rules. Majority rules.

Spread the word, it wont make a difference.

Talk shit all you like, I will still get laid.

I promise. Seventy five percent good with everybody here.

You wont hurt me or the pussies Im tight with.

I mean tight. Tighter than tight.

Like lock box open to cocks, and Im not talking about the cable company.

Speaking of which, who the hell names a company Cox?

(emphasize COMPANY and spell it out with your hands on a giant imaginary billboard, then
point to your crotch, start doing the fucking hip thrust motion again)

There is just something fundamentally wrong with that.

Watching commercials with these Partridge Family type wholesome groups in the clip, saying
we love our Cox.

Yeah I bet you do.

Call and get Cox today! Cox on demand! Get your COX in a bundle! San Diegans. We love our
COX.

But enough about Cox. Cox, Cox, Cox, Cox, Cox, Cox, Cox.

Im starting to get kind of homophobic.

No offense to those cockedy cock cock Cox has the Fox round the clocks for all that sucks in
your socks out of the docs, sipping wine in a box with the locks and the rocks and just say no
talks when she knocks out your jocks watching like hawks cause its all on your Fox for
watching your CAX motherfuckers.

Actually, for all I care they can all get two to the head, for reals.

Working for Cox.

Isnt that the truth.

Arent we all accustomed to having that experience in life at some point though?

Working for cocks!

Hey you there, a couple rows back, quit looking at me like that.

I swear I am not gay.

(Say it in a very fag voice, putting hands on hips)

Am not. Am not.

(flighty, and schwerving head)

Ive been as straight for as long and hard as you can imagine.

(Say it choppy and enthusiastically like a ditzy blonde)

That came out wrong.

(overdo WRONG!)

I mean it man, quit staring.

(warn him seriously and getting pissed off)

You keep hearing me say two to the head, Ill show what it means in a minute.

(approach the audience and yell!)

Dont make me get my gun.

(Reach into your back)

I know Im all funny in the head and shit, but I aint laughing.

(shake your head no after, and pause for effect)

Not that you are either.

(deadpan)

That goes for all of you silent motherfuckers.

(Stretch arm over whole audience, emphasize ALL)

Fresh comedy kills are the best.

Killer. Killer. Killer. (sing quick theres a killer on the road) Comedy.

No, Im just fucking with you man.

(Make sure and point out the guy in the audience overenthusiastically and let him know)
I wont shoot first and ask questions later.

Cause you wont be able to answer.

Youll be dead.

I mean it motherfucker, I see them eyes.

Three to the head for you.

(hold up three fingers and half yell)

You got one of them melon heads, take more bullets.

(make out the shape of his head with your hands, then hold it up to your own)

It may even take four.

(Hold the fake head back away from you where you can see it, then get wide eyed and deliver,
hold up FOUR fingers to emphasize)

Shit after shooting you, I may end up working for the department of redundancy department.

The Department of Redundancy Department. Get it? Again? Again? Again?

Over kill. Thats over kill.

Just like my cheating ass having to run around fucking around on my woman when shes one of
them sex addict fiends to begin with. (scratch nuts)

The irony of it is, I am the only one shes fucking and she still doesnt get laid enough.

Yeah, Im a good lay. Damn good lay.

And my number is six one oh three nine two three thousand, in case your interested.

(blast off the numbers incredibly quick, go IMMEDIATELY NO HESITATION INTO NEXT
LINE)

You need a pen?

Ok, just checking.

Thought you might.

Just thought you might. Are you sure?

Cause I have one you can keep.

Actually its kind of like one of those business card pens. ?

It says Joel Brooks, Jew and general anarchist.

I take cheap shots all day long when I can get them.

Get it? Jew and general anarchist? Cheap shots? You get it? Never mind.

Top shelves are way too overpriced unless you go to one of those joints where they refill the
bottles in the back you know what I mean?

But still the chick your buying drinks for thinks shes getting top shelf.

Gotta love cheating the already suffering alcoholics out of having good taste in any sort of way.

They think they have good taste, and if they do, they are stupid.

Or maybe just drunk. Ive been too drunk to drive, too drunk to walk, too drunk to stand, too
drunk to sit, too drunk to talk, believe it or not, but too drunk to fuck?

Never.

I will fuck under any circumstances, whether I can get it up or not.

(make a finger erection with a rising whoop! SOUND EFFECT and then a slumping motion
with a downward whoop! sound effect.)

We can still stuff that shit in there, believe me.

And if you are telling me you dont enjoy that kind of thing ladies, your lying.

Fuck, that sucked. Really happened to me.

She stuffed and stuffed and I just couldnt convince her to give me five minutes.

(Do the finger raise and lower with the whoops! again)

Five fucking minutes bitch.

Picked her up in the sex addicts anonymous meeting car pool I work for my wife.

Easy pickings.

Freak of nature.

I need to lay off the top shelf.

(make the motions as if you are hitting a joint, with the air noises that go with it)
Pot is great shit! Isnt it?

(Holding breath from hit, unable to fully talk)

Hunger, vision, compliments the senses, opens up my mind. Smoke the sky.

But stay away from that meth shit.

It will fuck your whole night up.

Fuck you then. Fuck you.

(High, wicked witch of the west voice)

And your little dog too.

(turn and make an evil face and slyly grin and cackle it!)

You know I read some shit the other day about that movie, you know, The Wizard of Oz, in The
Writers Market.

It summed it up like this: A teenage girl runs away from home, kills the first person she meets,
and then teams up with several others to kill again. The Wizard of Oz.

(pause afterwards)

Wow. Badass!

(Be severely impressed)

Dorothy is my kind of chick.

(annunciate and slow down each word for emphasis)

Think she hung out in biker bars afterwards?

(Excited about it!)

Dorothy and Toto and some hog riding Hells Angels at a back woods Kansas biker bar playing
dirty pool, listening to hard rock and doing fat rails and rounds of shots with guns in tow in case
its not that cool by yall doing it long and hard and fast and wild, short and quick in the mens
room loads all night til the cows come home.

(fast, then pause)

Yeah bitches.

(slow and drawn out try and give a high five to someone in the crowd)
Ever been to Kansas?

The thing about Kansas is, you cant hide the fact that your coming or going anywhere.

I mean Jesus Christ, you can see for like ten thousand light years down the road.

Your parents knew you were going to be ten minutes late for curfew in High School in Kansas,
and they could see your ass coming already in the family car, trying to hide your joints and make
sure the beer cans are cleaned out.

Ive been everywhere in this fucking country.

Well, almost. But I squatted in Topeka for about a month a few years back.

Beautiful town.

Only fifty percent of Topekans have Herpes, so leave your gloves behind and your boxers too.

Playing twister is real serious out there. No joke.

Went twister hunting once, and found out at a real unfortunate time that I probably really
shouldnt have done that.

I finally found the mother load.

Five of them combined and made a big black burly beast of absence of the need to behead,
bereave, bequeath me with a load of shit in my shorts as it came straight the fuck at me.

I even saw the wicked witch of the west riding around in that fucker. ?

And thats when I became Ozenoz.

Its emitted, admitted, taken back ward, refitted, admitted the shame you acquitted me sane to
release the remitted, like an idea, this crime, give me six up! Tao, the line, spinning faded and
hated, delegated, degraded, the tainted love you created, infiltrated, and made it easy to be what I
made it, and shit I paid it the time, shoulda been you killer fine, but you turn water to wine, so
with this mic may I find!

Yeah bitches. Ozenoz I is and is a wiz for show and in the biz an as for an as and and eye for a
booth, so show me where the fucking studios at for truce! Truth. And the American way. Ozenoz
is barely living today.

Fuck Eminem! Dont tell him I said that, hell probably take it WAY TOO FUCKING
SERIOUSLY! That guy?

No, really folks, true story. No, not that one. Not the one where I saw Eminem at the Hilton San
Fran during String Cheese Incidents 2002 Time Travelers Ball with a pregnant bitch claiming he
raped her. That would just piss him off further. Especially since he buried them in that fucking
video.

Recovery? Yeah good recovery.

Poor rape artist. Poor rape artist. Rape artists git a bad name.

(southern twang on it so it almost sounds like rap)

Back to other kinds of twister.

Pushed the car from five to fifty five in neutral, and then took care of about a third of the local
Klu Klux Klan there in Tennessee when it ripped up seventy five of their houses.

And the nigger lovers win again. Ding ding ding! ?

Sorry about that.

Ozenoz and Eminem, and after all were only ordinary men.

I got shot at once for saying the N word.

But I tell you the wonderful thing about niggers, a niggers a wonderful thing. Their tops are
made of the rubbers, their bottoms are made of the springs. Their bouncy, flouncy, trouncy,
flouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun! I tell you the truly wonderful thing about niggers is Im the only one!
Im the only one!

No, really America, I know Im white. Eminem reminds me every day, and I spend lunch with
the cant jump crowd when I could be balling, but three points dont count when your street shot
calling. Watch the bird! I think Im gonna come in painted black face to the game one these
noons. (singing) Guess whos black, guess whos black, guess whos black, guess whos black?

Atleast that Ill ever accuse of it ever again.

The only nigger I know worth talking to is me.

I talk to myself all the time.

What the hell, Im black and proud and coming in loud.

Watch the bird!

Apparently I am talking to myself.

But the answer is just two to the head bitches. What did I just call me?

Am I fucking crazy?
Do I want to get shot?

I will shoot me again. ??God damn it!

Back when I was caddying, for one full season for some reason the guys at the caddy shack
found it to their satisfaction to permanently nickname me cracker.

It got to the point the golfers were calling me cracker.

You can imagine how uncomfortable it was to introduce myself to the only black member.

Hi Im cracker Ill be your caddy for the day.

Never thought an ebony man could turn so red.

But I cleaned his balls and gave him a wood, and he was cool about it.

Yeah, you again. I see you looking.

(Point out the guy in the audience, start bouncing to come after him)

Same shit different punch line. Melon head.

Bank robbers who use their fingers and pretend they are guns. How the hell does that WORK?!
Anyway!

Quick conversation between two wannabe bank robbers:

One finger or two?

Asshole, Im not your bitch! You cant stand there and ask me one finger or two before you take
the money and run!

Come on, ma man! One FINGER OR TWO?!

Youre just like every other fucking pig in this hood! All about poking around inside the shirt
and asking me about finger jobs for money! Rob your own goddamn bank!

Five minutes later, after finding a replacement:

One finger or two when I go up there, to the asshole?

Shit, bro, get as many as you can cram up there. This asshole is loose! Just hurry up and do it,
before I back door like your last partner!
Fact. Americans consume 75% of the world's pharmaceuticals. We consume 100% of the world's
Vicodin. Americans, we love our drugs. But of course 50% of the world's Vicodin was consumed
by Eminem. Before "Recovery". Now he consumes 100%. "Marshall Mathers2". Exes and
owes. And owes, and owes and owes and owes. Billionaires, huh?!

Alright, anyway.

I owe I owe, so off to work I go!

He is maybe just a hiatus crime away.

What a show.

Really good show.

All Hail. He is holding hostage the most eligible bachelorette never to go out in public. Atleast if
HE has anything to do with it.

I should know.

Don't ask.

Come on, give me some love.

Ooh. I just thought of a new name for a fart. A fag bomb. Ok, that came from the butt. It was in
there.

How much wood could a wood chuck suck if a wood chuck could suck wood?

Keep on gnawing on them faggots, woodchuck. Keep on gnawing on them faggots.

I hope, I mean I hear you're a good tongue twister too.

Ok, fag bomb.

(fart noise)

Talk to Frasier. Not that he knows what to do with that tossed salad and scrambled eggs. It's
coming again.

(e cigarette and long pause)

Sorry, sexually frustrated.

Inside jacket.

Outside jacket.
Inside jacket.

Outside jacket.

My Morning Jacket.

I take this everywhere.

Weddings, funerals, Rap Concerts. Sometimes all in one.

My Morning Jacket.

What is in this thing?

Wouldn't you like to know?

This your Captain Speaking. On second thought, we are staying up high. You are now free to
move about.

These things are fucking great.

You can smoke all kinds of shit in this.

If it makes steam when you heat it up, know what I am saying?

Never smoke anyone elses Ecigarette.

I am looking into my Crystal Ball, my pretty.

I am going to get you and your little dog too.

My Morning Jacket.

Fucking bomb.

Don't worry, I'll speed it up.

I am beginning to feel like I'm a Rap God.

Speed it up, will ya? Please?

Ok, I'm gonna go heat it up offstage for a little while.

I 'll be back in a heart attack.

J.E. Ayers Brooks

3692 Gracia Paseo
Spring Valley, CA 91977
www.ozenoz.com
(858)226-1893

To Whom This May Concern;

The marketing approach I plan to use for the promotion and sale of my novel is a multi
faceted approach which taps the core available resources in the modern media. First of all, a
blanketing submission of the book making the manuscript available for free in pdf form to all
major, minor, and academic press outlets who handle book reviews in their publications will be
sent out immediately just prior to the official release date, making it an affable current story
applicable for current events in reviews. Obviously I plan to market via Adwords and Twitter via
intotweet.com as well as the obligatory usual social media haunts as well (Facebook Ads),
allotting a ten percent share of my initial profit as a budget for the placement of these ads. I will
be submitting the book to all of the available contests found in the writers market for the current
year, for the possibility of recognition and awards that would further the works appeal. I will be
approaching all of my local bookstores in person, utilizing my background in sales experience to
get as many local vendors to carry the book as I can. Also I will be contacting the major chains,
and working everyday with a call back list of executives to eventually converse with about
carrying the novel. After the book has netted me a profit of ten thousand dollars, I will be
reinvesting in placing three hundred dollar advertisements in the Sunday editions of twenty five
of the U.S. major cities newspapers, reinvesting approximately seven thousand five hundred
dollars for a nationwide periodical exposure explosion. The biggest performers in sales for each
of these regions will see me reinvest on a monthly basis for different works I have written which
will guide them to my website as well as yours for the perusal and purchase of the novels, as well
as the wide array of free content I have been writing for well over a year on my website in
preparation. Last but not least, when a combined sales profit of at least thirty five thousand
dollars is reached, I will be expanding the ads investment to include consumer magazines on
which I have conducted a thorough analysis based on the periodical response, in short, those
most likely to generate sales. I have to say I am optimistic, but skeptical if in my first published
work I reach a goal of seventy five thousand dollars in profits for myself, enabling me to
expand into television and internet network advertisements. However, I do plan on this for the
future.
I truly believe from a long study of the literature world, that the building of ones profit is
a gradual process of investing ones time, efforts, and a good deal of money into building a
repeat fan base which will return to buy as I continue to publish at least a half a dozen works
each successive year. The most important thing that an author can do for himself is to take a
personal interest in creating the proper arena for his work to be viewed, and obviously continuing
to write. I have been working on my ad designs and wording for near a decade now in
preparation for this time when it is time for my writing career to be planted in the public eye.
This is all of the current thoughts I have had to date about the marketing plan for my
material which I have to share with you. I would appreciate your feedback and seasoned advice
as to any weak points you may have observed, or holes in the plans. I am always open to
suggestion, and very excited about building for longevity in my writing career. I appreciate your
time and consideration in this matter, and look forward to further enlightening correspondence
with you.

Truly Yours,

J.E. Ayers Brooks

Joel Brooks

3692 Gracia Paseo

Spring Valley, CA 91977

http://www.OZENOZ.com

joelbrooks@ymail.com

(619)241-6247

To Whom This May Concern;

I have written a suspense/thriller novel about the hijacking of a Holographic Disk Data

Storage Top Secret Satellite phone by a group of black market criminals in the Los Angeles area.
It is entitled The Holo. The full manuscript is available on request. This manuscript, as well as

my other works can be found on my website at the address noted above.

In The Holo, a very colorful cast of characters lives become entangled when a group of

underground high tech black market criminals set loose a reign of terror with their highly capable

tailor made viruses on a social media corporate giant. The goal of these black market

entrepreneurs was to get high bids on their wares as they come into the score that could put them

in retirement. Unbeknownst to them, one of the criminals is the twin of his long estranged

brother, who is CEO of the social media corporation. When the C.I.A becomes involved to try

and sort out the massive amount of information that needs to be sifted through to find the

culprits, it becomes all too clear what a small world we live in. The head of the internet weapons

dealers is an ex- Navy Seal and holds a current Naval Intelligence contract with the Department

of Defense, and he spins the web so tightly around the players involved, it seems that being

hidden in plain sight is going to grant their final deal its success. The Holo is a two hundred

terabyte satellite phone which contains all of the data available and current online about all

satellites and U.S. Defense technology which is currently orbiting the planet Earth. International

diplomats with the Chinese Government pass the notion that The Holo, if obtained by their

business counterparts, could play a significant role in the future of world affairs. As the bids

grow higher, and the International players hotter, the heads of the social media corporation form

a bond with their specially assigned agent to try and take matters into their own hands, as the

C.I.A. is unwilling to dedicate more manpower to their cause. There is a subtle subplot,

throughout which the various entities involved meet at the hands of a priest in various ways.

Some are there to confess, others to launder money through the church. While the children

perform at the Cathedral their youth version of Shakespeares Hamlet, the final showdown
amongst the royalty that hold their ticket to a piece of The Holo goes down in a very violent

and final showing of the billion dollar product at hand.

This novel is the culmination of a decade of research I have done into various sorts of

technology. I studied the beginnings of the yet incomplete technology (on the verge of

completion) that was begun at U Cal Berkeley on Holographic Disk Data Storage starting back

around the first publications of their findings in 2001. The technology was later sold to I.B.M.,

and has also been acquired by a number of other players, including a most recent one hundred

million dollar speculation funding of the project which recently ended. It is a revolutionary

system of data containment which looks to change the world we live in very soon.

I look forward to hearing your thoughts and feedback on my lengthy project, The Holo.

I am also very enthusiastic about the development of a screenplay based on the original design

documents and the manuscript itself. Thank you for your consideration in this matter.

Highest Regards,

Joel Brooks
The Holo

Step 5: Character Development:

1. Father Dante- unknown

Mostly honest in his dealings, Father Dante was recently pressured into embellishing on
church donations by the local Mexican mob. The move placed Harry in line to make his move on
several clients, and he pressured Father Dante into including him in the laundering. The hole in
the donations is covered by anonymous corporate donors who are squeezed by their tops, or dirty
CEO's into dropping undelineated funds marked as sales losses on the church.

Grew up in a first generation emigrant Mexican home. Pressured into overseas med
school, with a fear of the sight of blood, he chose the wine route instead and went for the
priesthood.

A taste for Shakespeare and fine wines, Father Dante spends his free time writing
rewrites of Shakespearean favorites to be used in the church's children's theater. He gets amused
by the dark and ironic and murderous plot dealings being performed by innocent youth. Though
his tears during performances are often mistaken for caring warmth he is actually expressing
bitterness at the loss of innocence, including his own.

Father Dante starts in the beginning a pivotal player in the laundering of funds and his
pittance is to serve to serve the church by suffering it alone. He is plagued by remorse, and has a
letter to the I.R.S. already prepared to turn himself and certain key players in. He has served the
church almost unceasingly without bad dealings for thirty years and he is very well known. As
things progress and the pressures become worse, he begins to drink heavier and heavier from his
private extensive wine collection. He even becomes careless about drinking bottles he had
reserved for gifts and special occasions.

When he dials the number of an I.R.S. fraud hotline from one of the Cathedral Offices, he
is unprepared for it's outcome. Without his knowledge, his parrish had already been red flagged
for the staggering increase in charitable donations they had recieved. Though he hangs up, and
does not turn himself in, they call back and the church secretary greets them announcing where
the call came from.

When an I.R.S. official visits the cathedral to speak to Father Dante, he runs out the back
door and bumps into a few of the launderings key people who were coming for a meeting with
him. In his phone, he tells them the I.R.S. is in the cathedral and they shove him into their
vehicle and take him out of site. They threaten him that if he confesses he and certain other
members of the church who know, will have to be killed.

"See Father, we cannot take the risk. It would sink a number of us into racketeering
charges and criminal investigation of our private businesses."

Father Dante is killed by one of these men in the confessional booth at the end of the
story.

2. Sister Cynthia - Jodie Foster

Outside of the cathedral she protects Derrick by advising him of the arrival of Harry, who
is against the church, but one of it's heaviest donors. It hides laundered money easily with the
help Father Dante.

She goes from a simple loyal servant of the church to a private investigator of the
conspiracy at hand. A simple person of quiet demeanor in church dealings though not accepting
of the role she has been handed, she is ultimately observed late at night in Father Dante's study.
She broke in to take the laundering records, members of the mafia behind the records are coming
to do the same.

-From rural Iowa.

-entered the church at age 19 after traveling abroad in Europe and being raped there.

-studied a lot of the travel of Jesus during periods of his life not thoroughly explained in the
Bible.

-Is a firm believer that the church's goals should be her first priority.

-Reads a lot of detective novels.

-Likes Elmore Leonard, James Patterson, Stuart Woods, etc.

-Went into the mountains for two years to pray and meditate. There she had a profound spiritual
experience which led her to almost leave the church.

-Visited the Vatican in 1996 almost immediately on entering the church.

-Is 36 years old.

- Was taught by the sisterhood to have vast potential early on, but as time went on has inability to
move politically within the ranks which have kept her from advancement.

-Hopes to earn the right to transfer to a different parrish in Denver she has always been
fascinated with.

-Nags Father Dante about his drinking problem and finds no favor from him due to it.

-First becomes suspicious of the laundering when a Harley Davidson Motorcycle is donated to
the church and disappears with no record the next day. She had hoped to get permission to keep
the motorcycle as church property and use it as her own transportation for her visits to children's
hospitals. She has been riding public transportation, where she was recently groped by a drunk
old man whiule standing on the train.

-Studies history and philosophy in her spare time.

-Took an online college course in accounting when she was thinking of leaving the church, she
easily able to see through Father Dante's recordkeeping.

-Was incharge of some of the more minor accounting for the church at one point, but was
removed from the past by Father Dante when he began laundering.

3. Cynthia Strong- Sandra Bullock

Adam Traill's personal assistant, Cynthia goes from being tied to her boss's coattails, to
spearheading the investigation into the terrorist attack. Once fetching coffee and donuts while
doing extra paperwork for him, she is tailing known fugitives and taking risks. She has a deep
underlying respect for her boss, but is not afraid to question his moves. This is something Adam
has always liked about her, and has increased her salary disastrously over the last two years to try
and retain her. She is making more money as a personal assistant than anyone she knows. Her
boss is on the verge of being made C.O.O. as the current one is getting ready to retire early.

She has become used to working a hundred and twenty hour work weeks in hopes that
she can get one last pay raise when he makes his move. She has no life other than her job, which
caused her fiancee to break up with her very recently.
 Her ex- fiancee is a criminal defense lawyer in Los Angeles. He makes a lot of money,
and though they are both in their mid- thirties wanted her to retire, settle down and have children.
Cynthia had a child in her early twenties, who drowned in a freak boating accident. She is
unwilling to have any more children, as she is not over the pain. She loves children though, and
put their names when they were living together on a list to be considered to adopt. They were
very close at one time, and her resolve to work nearly round the clock lately her friends say is an
unhealthy way if running from the pain.

-uses an electric toothbrush

-recently had tooth whitening laser treatment done

-Quit smoking when Adam complained about her smelling of it, and she made it a part of the
raise deal

-drives a Ford Escort

-is being nearly stalked by the front desk guy at the company

-loves peaches and vanilla ice cream

-always has an espresso loaded cappucino in her mug, which clips on her shoulder bag

-Member at L.A. fitness

-Now that she has been working so many years, has been given permission when he is out of the
office to use the exercise equipment in his office

-Was a low level computer hacker as a hobby for a number of years. She used to sign in to rich
people's bank accounts and watch the numbers and just drool over the money. It gave her a thrill.
She never stole anything, and she never got caught.

-She carries a Prada shoulder bag, she bought , she when she got her raise.

4. Mark Sheryl- unknown

Has a knack for saying just the wrong thing at the right time. He is one of the gang's
muscle, used too often to physically threaten when product is delayed to arrive. Seeing as he is
dealing mostly with programmers, he is untroubled by the element of danger threatening him. (so
he thinks) He should be more aware though, as is proven when a man whose house he is visiting
takes a pot shot at him\with a gun. He shoots him in both hands, and leaves.

He prefers scotch when drinking, neat. He is a regular at The Viper Lounge and is
considered V.I.P. there. Mark is twenty eight years old. He was recently recruited by the gang.
Harry was using a bookie to place bets on NFL games, and he was sent to collect on a debt.
When Harry toyed with him and said he wasn't going to pay, Harry tested him by cold cocking
him. A river of blood flowing out of his nose, Mark began to laugh at him and Harry had no
choice but to hire him. After paying him of course. He simply handed him the gambling debt
with two thousand dollars over and gave him his first assignment.

"This is for you. I want you to do something for me. Go hit someone like I just hit you.
Try not to make him laugh, though. Not that I'm offended. Name's Ray. Here's his address. Just
tell him you want the disk. He'll know. If you come out alive, I'll have more where that came
from. Oh, and take a gun. He's got a pit bull who may need an early put down. Are we good?

"We are good. Just one question. Why the fuck isn't my nose broken?"

"Didn't try."

"Thanks."

-carries an old service revolver he bought from a retired cop turned gambling addict

-drives a black Porsche

-Was shot once in the right thigh, and has a slight limp at times before it rains

-Dark olive skin and blue eyes, he is quite the ladies man and brings home a lot of different
women. He has a problem with commitment, and uses his job as an excuse to stay single.

-Buys all of his clothing at Macy's

-Buys all of his suits at a Beverly Hills designer

-Only wears silk boxer shorts

"I don't like it. I don't want to be in the line of fire and, you have a wedgie."

-Went to school when he was young hoping to become a detective

-Developed a coke habit in the nightclub scene when he ended his school career

-Double's up on one clients bets who is always making money

-Used to be driver for a limo company after being kicked out of school. That's where he ran into
his bookkeeping boss.
-Was a golden glove boxing champion as a youth

-Thought about changing his name when his father got busted for child molestation

-Likes working for Harry.

"Thanks for bringing me on board. Pays double what I was making."

"In that case, I'm cutting your pay. You don't get any of my good scotch either. I need you
fresh."

5. Steve Krauss- unknown

A retired arena football linebacker, Steve is one of the biggest guys you could ever meet.
He didn't make it into the NFL after college when he got a tendon injury in his right leg during
homecoming his senior year. He was devestated, and lifted weights as a body builder for three
years before trying to return to tryouts. He was recruited to the Philadelphia Eagles, but a bad
case of "roid rage" led him to pummel an assistant coach and got fired. He tried for awhile to get
on another squad, but eventually gave up. He worked as a fireman for a few years while playing
arena football. The fire company gave him time off during seasons as they saw him as such an
asset in lifting hoses and equipment. He keeps a running count on how many lives he saved
before added to his tab as Harry's muscle. He feels if he is asked to show up, he is avoiding a
violent confrontation by his mere presence. Took the job with Harry as he needed cash to pay for
his wife's cancer treatment. When she died last year, Steve became cold and detached.

- Marilyn Krauss, his wife's name and 1970- 2012 is tattooed over his heart

- Over the course of the story, Steve becomes less and less patient and begins causing
confrontations.

-Steve drives a black Hummer he bought with the insurance money he got when his wife died.

-Is 6'6" and 285 lbs of solid steel.

6. Tom Slips- unknown

Tom's full name is Thomas Francis Slips and he goes by Francis. He thinks it makes him
sound smart. The other guys on the crew call him "Slips", but Harry calls him Francis. On jobs,
he uses the name Tom, reserving Francis for his closest personal associations. He is married and
has two kids, who are beginning to get curious about what their father does for a living. They
live in a three bedroom apartment in Venice Beach on the North side. His wife wants him to quit
and go back to police work, but he doesn't want to due to the cut in pay he will take. He ws
recruited by Harry when he beat him up on a bust when some neighbors saw Harry beating down
one of his clients in a gated community. Harry said it made him respect him when he realized
Francis would rather beat him senseless than give him a charge. Said he liked that. Francis
simply said he liked kicking ass, and they were instant friends when he got the charges dropped.
But not before Harry had to get his lawyer involved. Harry recruited him by asking him, on his
beat, as payback, to do surveillance on the house of the man he was beating. Said he'd love to tell
him about the man's cocaine dealings and laundering because, well, he wanted to see him get the
shit kicked out of him again. "Is that against the law? Not with you, Francis, not with you."

After it turned out that Francis did that very thing, and had made sure his entry to the
home was unlawful as to have the charges dropped, Harry knew it was his opportunity to steal a
bad boy beat detective back from the jaws of lawful society. In college, Francis played
football and is always trying to fool around with Steve, but Steve never takes it well. "Get off
me!"

-Wife is Dorothy Slips. He calls her Dot or Dottie when she is angry.

-Children are Melissa- 8, and Andrew- 5

Andrew likes surfing and can't wait to get a full sized board. Melissa, on the other hand is
afraid of sharks, not to mention the water itself and won't go in past her ankles at the beach.

Dot and Francis met when he came in to a restaurant she was waiting tables at. He left his
phone number on the napkin, and she called him later that night. When Francis went to work for
Harry, she threatened him with a divorce and he had to suffer through nine weeks of intensive
couples counseling. The counselor accepted Francis of offer of a grand, in cash, to tell Dottie
they didn't need him anymore at the end of nine weeks, just in time for football season. This is
one thing all of the men on Harry's crew agree on, football is God's goft to the common man.

-Francis drives a classic VW Beetle, black, with racing fins, and a bra on the front

-His favorite pasttime is pissing off people they are collecting from by lighting up a joint in front
of them.

-He makes the least of the crew, as Harry in the past took care of a major gambling debt he was
about to lose his life over on NFL and College Football. He was about to be knocked off, and
Harry now just garnishes his pay to settle the debt.
7. Adam Traill- Will Smith

Adam is the Vice President of OZENOZ.COM, a social media platform which is taking
the world of multi media networking by storm. He is a light heartede, quick whitted, bright
person, although he has faced pressure as an African American in an indusrty dominated by
caucasians. He has always used this as a stepping stone rather than a stumbling block, notching
each promotion, each success in his bat as proof of equality in the workplace, despite societal
evidence.

He came from being a simple programmer whose penchaunt for business proved valuable
selling smart phone applications he wrote in his spare time for a lot of money. Having earned a
good retirement fund, he felt he wanted to play a bigger role in online media and began to hunt
for a corporate job. When he started at OZENOZ.COM, he was a sales executive moving
embedded advertising in the designs of pages to comanies. Once again in his spare time, he
wrote some code to add into the platform that wouold allow chatting users on the site to video
conference with each other with the push of a button. He proposed it to the CEO, Eric Chrislip,
and he loved it! In fact, he hiredx Adam to make the changes in the system programming with a
huge bonus in his salary because he said "I want it done. And done right. And sooner than later.
In fact, I want it done now. Do it!"

When he completed the job, and it increased membership by oevr twenty million in one
quarter, Eric promoted Adam to the newly opening position of Vice President of the corporation.
In the interim, Adam had submitted a full three quarters business plan for his seat on the board to
Eric that was done in his spare time, and was near a thousand pages. And then of course, Eric had
found out how independently wealthy Adam was already. "What are you doing working,
anyway? Shouldn't you be on the golf course somewhere?"

"Nah, don't trip. I wind up in sand traps, lagoons, water hazards with like piranahs in
them or something and I can't get out!" My game is right here. Go where ya game at! Oh! Don't
tell me you're gonna make me golf too? This programming stuff is short in comparison. That
stuff is like four plus hours with my blodd all over the table. You're just trying to win some of
that money back from me aren't you?"

OZENOZ.COM is done in the tradition of technological geek - java junkies etiquette

under Adam's rule. T- shirts are acceptable work attire Monday through Sunday, suits are
acceptable, naps are acceptable (off the clock) and playing ping pong in the back break room is
mandatory. The programmers have their own floor that is intersperced with bean bag chairs and
concert posters from their most recent cavorts. There is only one way to get hired, and that is
through being REALLY good. One of the best, from the best, waiting to sit for awhile with the
best to get an insider test of their chops. And you have to prove it, there is a two month trial
period where OZENOZ and you have the option to walk away with a small severance attached.
Encourages slackers to take their money early and run.

Adan is engaged to a Columbian woman who he met while vacationing on the island of
Atlantis. He went there, and after meeting her, decided to take anothetr vacation to her home
town to date her. They dated nightly for months, and friendship turned to love. When she lost her
job unexpectedly, he proposed, saying "I'll take care of you." and they moved back to Los
Angeles together. He lives in Malibu, where he bought the couple a home after scouring the
market for months in a cramoed loft. He is very much so in love with his fiancee, and is planning
a beach wedding for early spring the following year. The reception is set at a four star restaurant
on the water just outside of Santa Monica.

8. Cliff Dover- Joel Brooks

Personal Assistant to Harry, Cliff rarely if ever speaks. He drives Harry's Town Car,
washes it and waxes it. Harry doesn't like to drive. He lives in Harry's guest house so that he can
be close on hand to take care of anything that he needs to. He mixes Harry's drinks, cooks for
him, does the dishes, gets his dry cleaning, all of the minute things Harry doesn't have time for.
When Harry goes out of the country, he stays behind because he is afraid of flying. During these
days he tends to his antique collection cluttering the guest house.

Harry likes that he is a man of so few words and says "Atleast I know if you say
something, in that moment, you must sure as hell mean it!"

Often times he is asked for his opinion, as he has been around for fifteen years, but
declines comment almost always.

Unafraid of the physical dangers of being the driver to some pretty shady locations to
meet with heavily armed clients, he prides himself in his music collection for the Town Car,
which he uses as a motivator for the crew. Recently Harry bought satellite radio for the Town Car
becasue he said "Your taste in music is too on the spot. I don't like to feel like someone is reading
my mind or something. Besides, they feel like youn are being condascending, the other fella's
you know. I mean it's my car, after all."

Cliff is thirty five years old. He came to work for Harry when Harry was still in Silicon
Valley. He relocated with him when he moevd as he has no family. Cliff was an orphan. He grew
mup in foster homes where he suffered a lot of abuse. He learned to keep his mouth shut, and his
guard up. At twenty, fresh out of the Navy, he took the job as Harry's assistant. Harry liked that
he had been in the Navy.
-Always wears all black.

-Favorite food is sushi, and he has even learned how to roll his own.

-Likes tonic water and bitters, doesn't drink alcohol.

-Doesn't use a cell phone after experiencing a prior hacker on his old smart phone which
recorded some very private conversations. He suspects it was a guy he had hit with the car while
trying to leave too quickly from a meeting with Harry.

-He has a Lopsa Opsa he carries around with him everywhere.

-Makes more money than the muscle for the gang with what he has saved allowed to be used in
profit sharing in product deals by Harry. He wrote up this proposal after helping Harry out of a
tight spot he ran into when his offshore bank account was frozen during a crucial deal.

9. Matthew Sullivan- Donnie Wahlberg

Matthew is a very young C.I.A. agent who chose field work over desk work because he
wanted to see some action. He hasn't seen it yet. Every assignment he gets ends up being a
drudgery filled with paperwork to complete and very little in the way of action. He went to pre-
law at The University of Michigan in Ann Arbor, and went to Law School at Penn University in
Philadelphia. At age twenty four he was recruited when he filled out a questionnaire online after
talking to an agent who used to be his roommate. He wants field work, but not to get shipped to
the Middle East somewhere. He wants his two feet firmly planted on U.S. soil.

"Fucking, excuse my language but those rag heads don't need my spitfire around their oil,
I'd light up the well, and their rags. Besides, I hate the food. I wonder what they serve at like
McDonald's over there? Is it like couscous instead of fries? I don't know why all the true movers
and shakers gotta live in caves too. If you ask me, the original cavemen still exist. And they
haven't moved! Unga Bunga!"

Matthew is single, and he hasn't been dating since he took on field work. Well, he went
on a few dates but when he told them he was right next to a double oh seven, it seemed to drive
them away, and fast. This was worse than police work. In the C.I.A. he was expected to travel
long and far from home for his work.

He grew up in a very conservative Catholic home, and he still wears his cross around his
neck. He says his rosary out of habit in the mornings while dressing for work. His character goes
from being bogged down in paperwork at the beginning, to very driven to create some of his own
action. Over the course of the story he teams up with people at OZENOZ.COM to fill the gaps in
the manpower he has been left with. By the end, he has gotten his taste and is sleeping with his
gun under his pillow.

He gets word of an armed robbery of a sensitive piece of equipment from Naval

Intelligence by some very deadly trained assassins and connects the dots to some of his own
research in the mnountains of paperwork they have gone over. He found the threads for a forum
discussion, very private, for news on the latest advance in the completion of Holographic Data
Storage Technology and connected by a false I.P. to several of the users whose I.P.'s were stored
with the social media site. They were in private accounts used by several businessmen in China
whose political dealings ran around military heads.

Using a programmer at OZENOZ.COM, he finds a way to hack remotely into their I.P.
address and access their files. When they bring up the desktop, they notice a series of recorded
video conferences between them and someone who is talking about a piece of equipment they
call "The Holo".

There is one file that stands out the most, though. It is a text file explaining and exploring
the possible use of "The Holo" to track high tech top secret defense sattelites to fly by with high
powered high tech cameras, x - ray equipment etcetera, and infrared camera's of all kinds
unobserved to duplicate their technology. It would also give great advantage to any and all
missions carried out in any part by sattelite and orbiting defense systems activity being done in
orbit. The only good news is that it can't control any of those mvements alone, remotely. The
effects would still be a huge setback to the U.S., who owns the technology developed by a long
military friend, I.B.M. "The Holo" is a smart phone capable of moving and storing data at a rate
never before possible, made possible by Holographic Data Technology. It is going to
revolutionize the way business is done online, and offline. It is going to change the world as we
know it.

10. Tim Sykes - Matt Damon

Tim is a programmer at OZENOZ.COM who inserts a virus into the platform for fifty
thousand dollars. They wanted to make sure it rooted and stayed in the system for a very long
time. Tim is thirty years old and tired of looking through endless lines of code. He looks for
underground work as a hacker to liven things up a bit, and finds Harry. Harry looks at some of
his virus work, and passes, but makes the simplest of offers. Launch one on his day job and catch
a twentieth of a million dollars. There was hope yet on becoming a millionaire.
 Tim is a big guy, he works out regularly to stay fit. He is future heir to a large fortune
whenever his father passes. His father is the owner of a large dock in Philadelphia, and has many
import and export trade agreements under his belt. His parents suggested that he go into the
military, and he did join the armed forces for one two year stint. At the end of that, he used the
G.I. Bill to go to school at M.I.T. in Boston, though he hated the winters. There he become very
interested in the psychological nuances of social media programming technology. The things it
was capable of were amazing, and responsible for a lot of the much deserved break through's of
many unknowns in to the top of their chosen field's just through it's ingenius quirks and gizmo's
lining things up. Always measuring the worth and wealth of the littlest activities of all of the
networks users through their various interfaces. Equating in code, what human behavior was, and
what it should be, and it worked!

Throughout the course of the story, Tim goes from being a desperate new - hire at
OZENOZ to a steely eyed competitor for hacking business. He is in way over his head after
inserting the virus, and is being endlessly pursued by his coworkers, who just can't seem to nail
him down. When several close calls in the office copy room getting faxes from Harry prove to be
too much for him, he tries to tell Adam he is quitting, but Adam won't let him.

"Come on, you will be alright! Come on, let's break some code!"

"Had enough code? Yeah, me too. Let's go get a beer. I'm buying!"

"That is what I am trying to do! I guess this is all something I just can't walk away from."

"That's something I'm not going to walk away from either!"

"Come on, I'm not that big a drinker!"

-Drives a Honda Civic

-Plays golf as much as possible

11. Eric Chrislip- M. Knight Shamalayan

C.E.O. of OZENOZ.COM. Went to Lehigh University for Undergraduate Business

School. Grew up very close to his twin brother, but at age twenty - one they had a falling out and
haven't spoken since. Eric is fourty years old. Eric is a Pisces, though his brother is an Aries,
though in their careers it seems the opposite.

When Eric is first brought into the story, he is a very\ reserved person in so far as the
company policy is concerned, but as the story progresses, Eric becomes a high adventurer. He
also finds forgiveness in his heart for his brother, with whom he meets at the end while a
desperate shootout is taking place. This meeting saves most likely BOTH of their lives.

Eric promoted Adam Traill to acting V.P. of OZENOZ.COM on a whim when he wrote a
program to increase the companies stock value in significant ways in a very short amount of
time. This is reflective of the iron fist with which he rules his company. The votes were there on
the board not only becasue they liked him, but because they were afraid of what they would miss
out on if they didn't go his way. He is a very low risk and high reward power player who is
mainly soft spoken, though very well spoken and known for allowing his peer board members to
be treated exactly as that they should by reserving comments until just before his vote. He is not
easily swayed, though there is a story about a programmer who had a four month old preemie
who needed a raise in order to keep the chalet he had bought for his pregnant wife. He
immediately doubled the man's salary, and made him a crew chief (Chip Long), knowing that he
evrything to work for. Eric had nothing to lose from a two year veteran who was always milking
the clock.

"He milks the clock. He's on salary. Salaried men don't milk the clock. He was trying to
get an opportunity. And he bought it. For his family. That's an OZENOZ story. Ordinary men
outreaching their outspending with outstanding going out saving. Now out of my outhouse of an
outed office. Thanks for asking about Mr. Chip Long. We're doing fine. The whole family."

12. Derrick Chrislip- M. Knight Shamalayan

Derrick was always the slower of the twin brothers. At sports, at math, at drawing apples
in Kindergarten that didn't come out like bruised and misshapen parcels of sugary goodness you
wouldn't eat if it turned up in your lunchbox, unlike his sweetheart, "Selma May"

his friends called her. Derrick struggled for everything that came his way, and developed a
vengeful, almost, attitude when Eric tried on hand me downs. Nothing ever needed to pass hands
from Eric to Derrick, they were twins, and of the two Derrick was always the one suppying Eric
with things. Things he was proud of.

Derrick became recruited by Harry Sante when he dropped out of Penn University after
having graduated from Lehigh alongside his brother. Derrick, unlike his scheming brother, had
not taken up business, but rather what the school was famous for, engineering. When he moved
as a duo alongside his brother to the Penn Law program, the duo fell flat, fell out, and fell from
the graces of their younger years. One late night when Derrick found out his brother was dating
his ex- fiancee, Derrick packed from their apartement and left for good. They have not spoken in
twenty years.
 Derrick would have went on to do construction work as any other top ranked Lehigh
Engineer would have done, but he found instead, Harry. Harry was pioneering into his Silicon
Valley business in the year of our lord, nineteen ninety - three, and lord what a year in business
in the Valley it would rake!

Derrick had minored in computer programming and knew enough of the ropes to start off
as Harry's assistant. He would recieve the work of the outsourced programmers, and do minor
checks on their format and run the portion of the program to debug.

Joel Brooks
3692 Gracia Paseo
Spring Valley, CA 91977
www.ozenoz.com
joelbrooks@ymail.com
(858)226-1893

July 26, 2015

To Whom This May Concern;

 A career in the higher order of criminal enterprises investigative reporting is just what I

grew up around, as well as being a fall guy for none as the black market trading dark horse club

caddy at the course that pre-arranged the Republican National War Chest Fundraiser that led to

President George W. Bushs election. An election unquestionably the most controversial count up

of the powers that held the machines that determined the fate of our country in light of current

foreign affairs in the Middle East and Afghanistan. Taught by my schooling and day to day

experience seeing as the nations top dog businessmen moved the war machine into place using

all of the available players on the market to designate the support in office and in stock and bond,

I attended the school that best fit my own design. At one point offered a degree and enrollment

into Penn University Law School, I have attended though not amassed anything more than life

applicable wisdom and background at Lehigh University Business School, amongst the total

independent and feverishly worked studies I have pursued out of the zest for the arena of ethics

and politics. My work is viewed as borderline un sequestered commentary on the status of the

American underground local politics one has to traverse in kind in order to fully digest the

opportunity to shape and define the freedom with which you act and compose your own

American company of those with whom you deal.

Writing is my passion, and will be the medium through which I will leave my biggest

mark for the enlightening viewpoint bringing forth a fuller understanding of the pitfalls and fine

lines that you must walk in order to gain a well rounded and secure, successful board of

leadership in the corporate world, and the great effect that Department of Defense contracts with

the private sector to manufacture and maneuver the products which combine in our superpowers

billions of dollars of effort to retain order in the tradition of the democratic system and its far

reaching influence on markets everywhere at every status level. Very few of the masses realize
that the most volatile and potentially deadly tools we implement as part of the protection of our

freedoms are actually under the control of some of the worlds most astonishingly gray area rule

makers in the beginning and trade processes that mark their passage from conception to

conditional current acclimated use.

My interest in short, is to have contact with and an open ended question and answer

relationship with members of your organization in order to ascertain a more fully comprehensive

picture in clarity of the day to day operations and procedures you implement as the countrys

CEO level of checks and balances monitoring our countrys wide legal system of measure. The

goal: to write a novel about the balancing efforts that our executive leaders maintain in order to

ensure the continued success of the American way of life in its most crucial and high risk

processes which form the power of Rank in our countries federal reserve system and in a

different power structure entirely in final decisions, the U.S. Armed Forces.

My contact information is listed in the header of this document, as well as the web

address at which my writing can be most fully experienced. Below is a copy of my Whos Who

in The World 2013/2014 award winning resume, giving a more complete picture of my own

personal business journey. I am excited to receive your response, and hope that I can be as

informative as to the specifics of my own intentions and cultured viewpoint from witnessing our

nations leaders at work. Perhaps we can be of mutual benefit as to the very small and meager

possibility that any of my criminal friends will not kill me for as well. Just a joke there.

Please feel free to contact me at my e-mail address, or by my phone number as listed

during normal business hours.

 Captivated in Advance,

J.E. Ayers Brooks

The Holo

By Joel Brooks

Chapter One

3AM Wednesday OZENOZ Medias Headquarters- Los Angeles, CA

The deserted parking lot beside the ten story office building looked like the promise of
his demise to Tim Sykes paranoid man- on a mission brain. He was pulling into place with
his car where he worked every day, even using the same parking space he would later this
morning at seven. His mind screamed on full speed ahead for him to double back and not go
through with it. But it was too late, and he had people waiting for a large portion of the fifty
thousand dollars he was being paid already.

The gig was simple. Take a hard drive he had been given, and using his FOB access to
the guarded programming department at OZENOZ.COM, insert a virus. He was already sure of
where in the system he would attach the viral strain, and was fairly positive he could blame entry
on his security access to the virus. His employer in this venture had assured him he would be
wired the money the second the virus launched and began to do their dirty work. Tim was
justifying his rendezvous with the rabble rousing hell raiser that would become of the social
media giant in the next days on his overworked and underpaid status at the company.

Ahh the life of a programmer, he sighed to himself.

As Tim Sykes put his Acura into park, and switched off the ignition, placing the parking
brake into the on position to avoid a backslide while he was gone rabble rousing his cell phone
went off. A text message had come through from Harry Sante, his employer in this venture.
Harry asked Done yet? I have your money. Tim replied with a simple No. Then he thought
better of it and sent another text reading Half an hour.

Grabbing the hard drive from the glove compartment, and absent mindedly locking it
shut, he stepped out of the car into the mid December Los Angeles air. It was fairly warm for
this season at three am in the morning. He was in a hurry not to be seen and half jogged to the
front entrance. His magnetic programmed key device unlocked the front door, and he warily
stepped into the lobby. Avoiding the elevator, where John the night security would emerge from
his rounds, Tim jogged into the nearby stairwell. Sweat was now pouring from his brow, and he
wiped his eyes free of its stinging and clinging dampness.

Ascending the stairs, their white hard laminate surface clicking with each of his newly
acquired Pradas heels landing, Tim scurried towards the programming floor. The stone corridor
was a maze of echoes he hoped John, the night security would not hear. Reaching the fourth
floor, he used his magnetic key or FOB once again to open the door to the programmers floor
of OZENOZ .COM. The dark space in front of him made him stumble, and he dropped the hard
drive on the floor.

Shit!

He fumbled nervously for the drive on the floor and found it had landed on a nearby bean
bag chair luckily for him placed near the exit. Grabbing the hard drive and tucking it under his
arm, he waited for a few more seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Two long rows of
cubicles interspersed with computer towers and various employee memorabilia stretched out in
front of him. He walked to his work cubicle about half way down the back row of the room, and
found the power switch for his computer terminal.
 From this point, he needed an access code to get into the currently operating code in the
programming that would be the insertion point. Earlier in the week he had put an imprint key
stroke recording program on his terminal and had faked a problem, getting Chip Long, the crew
chief to use his security code. As it was typed his program recorded it for future use. From there
he had simply written it down, and put two copies, one in his wallet, and one in his filing cabinet
under C.

As he nervously inputted the access code into the manager bypass security window, he
hoped that the handbook on the miles of code in the system was going to be an adequate map to
his insertion point. The access code went through, and a new window opened with the table of
contents or web flow chart to the companies programming. He had chosen his point of entry to
dump the virus where it would least likely be detected, at the tables that generated the individual
user account design options, and where, due to a glitch, some user content was always popping
up in the code. They had rerouted the client user list generation, but for some reason this
ineffective on operating status useless dribble of data still collected in the tables. The fascinating
thing was the very selective accounts it was choosing to extract data from and put in here. When
told about this, Harry had his programmer make a part of the viral program that would index and
seek these accounts first. Tim hoped this wasnt an oversight to recognizing the virus run lines
location. Form filed data was also being broken down and redistributed to these accounts,
altering the ease for recognizing the list as a possible location for the very specific part of the
viral code that manipulated it into its perpetual motion within the network. Tim had been
promised the fifty thousand not only for his access to the system, but for his understanding of the
networks programming that had helped Harry and his friends tailor make the virus. The fact
that tomorrow people would lose children or jobs or marriages didnt dawn on Tim at this
moment. It wouldnt be until the network news began covering the fallout he would truly
recognize the depth of his crime.

Tim located the code section he wanted, the sloppiest section that had been written early
on and altered countless times as the company grew, and plugged the hard drive in to the usb
port. He had installed the hard drives driver software earlier in the day, pre- loading it from the
companys web site to speed things up for himself. It was immediately recognized and Tim
opened the file he needed by clicking on the little manila file folder that popped up in the actions
window. What happened next took his breath away. The file opened from his extra mouse clicks
and inadvertently began to run on it s own. Like it or not, the dirty dastardly deed was being
done. Tim thought he should share this moment with someone, so he texted Harry.

Your programming is being turbo injected as we speak. Should see its effects in just over
ten minutes. Thats how long left on the upload. When should I expect the wire to go through?

He stared at the phone for a moment lost in the daydream of his next bank statement,
while watching an endless stream of file numbers and types run through as they uploaded into
OZENOZ.COMs system. Once inserted, the virus would separate and disassemble its own code,
spreading it all over the social media companies programming while still able to function, though
now in a mixed jumble that was like a fifty thousand piece jigsaw puzzle. This had concerned
Tim, I mean he did intend on still being able to work for OZENOZ.COM, and in the end he had
decided to make a surprise discovery a week into the cleanup in locating a way to mop the
virus up based on its signature reference points running from the form field data tables
generator. This may even win him an ironic and even more profitable promotion and raise he so
desperately needed. His fiances parents were pushing for more house remodeling and were
heedlessly expanding the wedding guest list at their every whim. They were not paying for the
wedding, and they were eating up all of his reserve cash every month. His fiance and he had
recently done more fighting about the reception than shared dreaming, and if he hadnt found
himself on the receiving end of this virus venture, the whole wedding may have come crashing
down around him.

Patricia Sykes, he said aloud while cleaning a scuff off of his new Prada dress boots.

No more spontaneous shopping sprees, and definitely no more wardrobe additions that
would be too obvious for Patricia or others to notice his sudden full house on the books.

Harry finally answered, but not as he had hoped.

Plans have changed. You are late and I missed my marketing window with one large
client prospect an hour ago. You will receive half of the money in an hour and the other half
when I have had a full week to show off my wares to more prospective clients. Twenty five and
twenty five, Timmy. Thats all for tonight. Check your bank. The wire is pending. My advice,
dont spend it all in one week. I need you on the inside for awhile.

Damn it! Tim swore as he kicked himself, biting his cheek in dread of the week to
come.

Chapter 2

4:45 AM Wednesday -Imports Warehouse- Long Beach, CA

 The warehouse was like every kids dream come true. Row after row of metal shelving
running twenty feet high packed with huge topless cardboard boxes overflowing with every type
of stuffed animal you could possibly dream up. There were monogrammed footballs, inch
worms, rabbits, lions and tigers and bears to name a few.

Oh my. This is a mess. Harry observed the cluttered walkway blocking their path to the
office. Harry Sante, Derrick Chrislip, Tom Slips, and Steve Krauss were currently wading in the
spilled remnants of a rainbow colored clown collection on their way to Harrys office. The
warehouse workers had not arrived on day shift, and there were so few orders pending for the
night, only two crew members remained tidying things up and fork lifting popular items boxes
toward the packing and shipping line.

Fucking clowns, Slips mused as one clowns nose squeaked its annoying little trike
horn honk while being trod under his boot heel.

Look whos talking, the squeaky wheel who always thinks hes getting greased, Krauss
quipped, shooting him a half serious look of amusement.

Try not to walk on them guys. I give you clowns that respect. Like us, these guys ship
out for display tomorrow. Harry put in his two cents while kicking aside a clown whose head
had been half torn off by the forklift treds.

Derrick Chrislip stopped and picked up the close to headless clown and lighting his
lighter, the shadow flickering over his dark features from his cigarette donning hand, twisted the
clowns head the rest of the way off. He lit the cigarette and blew his first drag towards the
overhead lighting fixtures hanging down from the ceiling.

Fucking clowns get run over once and they all lose their heads.

He better not, Harry put in his appreciation for the double speak on his neurotic
programmers duty that had just kicked off their week.

Yeah boss, how many times do I have to clean up after headless clowns losing their
stuffing? Shit makes my eyes itchy. Krauss spat out his gripe, staring absently at the pile of
ruined toys.

And twitchy, too. Harry said in short.

Derrick turned to Slips, and placing his arm around him, announced Well all be a lot
less apt to have heads roll if we dont run over the scary clown faces we are going to see from
our clients list when this shit goes network news viral.

A very good point, Derrick. Wash iffeze. Harry sauntered up the stairs to his office half
mumbling in Italian as he approached the cracked and yellowing office door, perched over the
mid-section of the warehouse. Obviously still in the complaints section of his late working
evening, Krauss said Boss, when are we going to get a new office?

Steves hulking two hundred and sixty pound frame moved into the cluttered office while
he randomly chose sections of his well formed body builder muscles to flex and twitch to
movement. Steve was most definitely the physical muscle to match Harrys mental muscle within
the group.

The office was a thirty foot by ten foot rectangle that stood perched with windows on all
sides overlooking the warehouse floor from ten feet up. It contained all of the usual items you
would expect in a warehouse office, including the hopelessly stained twenty year old coffee pot
with its assortment of powdered creamers and sugars around it. The air stank of polyurethane
from the new stuffed animals with their new toy smells, mixed with at present, burnt popcorn.
Tom opened the microwave on the counter next to the invoice printouts for the week and pulled a
bag from its interior.

You burn it again, you lunk head? Krauss chuckled in his direction.

Francis, please file those invoices in tomorrows shift managers inbox. Should be listed
on the schedule.

Slips full name was Francis Thomas Slips. Only his closest friends called him Francis,
people who gave him respect even though his job was underground illegal muscle moves on
shady sometimes terrorist types. Slips was his general tag name from the crew, and only his
wife or the next unfortunate client to fall victim to his twenty two knew him as Tom. This
seemed to give him some sort of sexual satisfaction, the name game, not the twenty two.

Derrick recognized this as his time to clear the air with their own schedule
announcements, and clearing his voice, spoke up.

Ok, my good men. Bad men are on the way for a ten thirty. I hate to be a bringer of
sleep loss on you, but if you want the great padder of pockets to bless you on Friday, I need you
patting down pockets of our prospective this morning at that meeting. These boys are
homegrown locals with ties to our Syrian friends from the conventions last month. They are
uptight about personal space, but they will be briefed and they will be searched. Is that
understood?

Can Slips do the pat downs while I shake the guns? Steve said, making his biceps
dance on either side of his enormous frame.

No dancing with the guns, Mr. Krauss. They will be locked in a safe at the entry point of
our business, and they will be given the key to retrieve them when they leave by themselves. The
most dangerous part is the takeoff and the landing, so they should understand, Harry put in his
serious and rough hewn experienced viewpoint.
 Francis, did you fill the inbox?

Yeah, boss.

Then you are dismissed. Try and not scare your wife into knocking you cold in the head
again this time when you go home? I dont need you with a black eye, and besides she made me
feel bad. Like you get home so seldom she thinks youre an intruder.

Mr. Sante, cant promise anything. I think Ill just cap out in the Lincoln if its ok by
you.

Have it your way, Francis. I wont be taking the Lincoln until ten am when we leave for
our little arrangement. Harry approvingly told Francis.

Steve, please inform Mr. Cliff Dover that he needs to be over with the Lincoln at 10am.
His number, you always forget is office speed dial number one. One.

Harry cleared his throat, and banged the desk with a violent slam.

We have a God- damned heavy hitters week, so go now! Get sleep! I dont need jumpy
watch- dogs!

As Tom and Steve filed out of the room, Steve forgetting to call Cliff already, Derrick
began to file in and thinking twice bent down over his plain brown dress shoes to retie the laces,
stalling.

Harry, we cant move this program in too many directions. Not with the big Seals snatch
of that thing next week, he said in an almost monotone, weary voice.

None to worry, what we cant handle we pay as runoff to our local shriners union and
say fuck em all! I dont know why you worry so much; its not what I pay you for.

No, but the details at the end of the week are going to look a lot less important if our
reconnaissance converts from your old squad bring us a multiple hundreds of

Yes. And two million is nothing. And youre going to put me out of business trying to
sell monogrammed Miami Dolphins teal footballs when then team sucks. That was last week.
Take it easy, a deal will propagate itself

I forgot to tell you. We sold out of Dolphins monogrammed footballs on Monday.

Show off.

Never my style. Just business. Good and simple money to earn. Not to burn and learn as
you go.
 Quit that rap shit. Bugs me.

That was clean cut poetry, Harry.

Thank you. I thought so.

Im going to go home. I dont know about Slips but when I sleep in the Linc I get neck
cramps.

Suit yourself. Lock up on your way out, please. I need some thinking time without the
morning crew chief on my ass for unlocked entrances. Fucking Larry,

You got it.

And throw this popcorn bag away outside please? Stinks.

Sure thing.

As Derrick exited the dusty office, he glanced back at Harry. He appeared to be already
asleep. Derrick could never tell when he was asleep or when he was meditating. Harry told him
not to let it bother him, he was an ex- Navy Seal and he used to sleep on his feet on long
missions. This only proved to put Derrick more on edge. What if he closed his eyes at the deal at
tables end and never opened them until the deal was off? Once Harrys eyes closed, the matter
was sealed until he got a good look around again.

Chapter Three

August 2, 1972- Annapolis, MD- Court Marshall Hearing Room

Corporal, do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the
truth, so help you God?

I do.

Harry looked around the heavy air of the courtroom, observing that all eyes were on him
with the exception of every member of his former Navy Seals squad, but one. The man was
known as the toughest clink outside of that rink and he would lie to your face if it saved the face
of one of his without batting an eye. Harry had listened to his testimony just before he had been
called, and there was no thread of truth in it anywhere to even refer to it as decent. Captain
McGreevy had lied under oath, but he had killed under oath too, so what did it matter if he took
his own watchdogs backs when their feed was at stake?

The case was as pertinent to Harry as the hair raising on his neck when he thought of
whom he could trust under fire if the crew was allowed by the panel of standing judges to
reform. In an early morning raid on a small Chilean town, the men had encountered a helpless
woman who was scared for her life. She threw herself at them, dancing and undressing at first
while sobbing all the while in fear to try and offer what she could. She was scared for her life.
Out of the squad of six, four of the men had taken their turns raping the poor distraught woman,
and left her curled up in the fetal position crying to Mother Mary over and over again. Harry had
abstained, and had been held down by the three not engaged with raping the woman. Captain
McGreevy had also abstained, standing in the doorway of the alleged victims house and
smoking a cigarette with his back turned. The men had never believed Harry would really speak
up to weight bearing superiors about that night. They never believed that they should be sought
to pay for what they did in the midst of savage killing and secret missions they rarely understood.

The panel of judges was a mixture of pained expressions as they all squinted at their
dockets and witness lists which listed Harry as the key witness. After all they had heard, he was
as good as in contempt for his lying game already. No one amongst the entire line of witnesses
had waivered, and it seemed very open and shut. Would this Sante character now open up his can
of rotted worms right in front of his temporarily ill shamed colleagues? The panel judge on the
far left of the three spoke into his microphone.

If you please, gentlemen. Sergeant Sangten the witness is yours, but I would like to
know what his intent is at this moment. Sergeant, Corporal, and Captain McGreevy in the
chambers please? Now.

As the panel began to stand to exit into the chambers, each one turned to notice the dance
that was happening in the courtroom. Harry and McGreevy were in a deadlocked stare at each
other like two hungry warriors ready to fight over one last meal. Harry broke the silence and
spoke in the Captains direction.

You will eat your words. And you know it.

McGreevy seemed amused by the comment and laughed out loud.

One more open ended comment outside of chambers and I will have you BOTH in
contempt. Inside those walls NOW gentlemen. We have serious slander to discuss.

One by one they walked the circumference of the courtroom to the back entrance to the
judges chambers. When Harry entered, coming in very last of all of them, the Sergeant and the
panel were seated. McGreevy was still standing in the very center of the room, staring him down.
Harry walked without missing a stride until his face was two inches from McGreevys now
reddening cheeks.

You think you did nothing wrong. You stink of the rape of me if I let it go down this
way. Harry spoke directly into the Captains face.

Captain McGreevy exhaled and moved his hand at the same time towards him and
Harrys faces. Harry caught his wrist, and cocking his thumb, forced his arm behind his back.
McGreevy laughed and shoved his head back as hard as he could, his skull cap slamming Harry
in the nose.

That was the last thing Harry remembered from that day in the chambers that had earned
him his dishonorable discharge. All he knew was that in what seemed a matter of less than a
minute, he was standing over a severely beaten and bloody McGreevy who was unconscious and
twitching as if he were in a seizure. Harry grabbed him by the back of the neck like a pup by its
mother and pulled him up by the scruff until McGreevy opened his eyes. He then chuckled, and
dropped him back on his face saying Now we get the truth. You aint against pussies. You are
just are one.

Chapter Four

7:10 AM Wednesday OZENOZ.COM Headquarters- Los Angeles, CA

Standing in silent horror, the Vice President and his CEO took their coffee mugs from
V.P. Adam Traills assistants outstretched hands. They were watching the network newsfeed
coming live from the Brooklyn Bridge where a man was threatening to jump. Sources said that
the newly revealed tryst his wife was having mainly evolved on OZENOZ.COM and had in
some sort of a freak incident sent a flurry of love letters in the affair to the unsuspecting husband.

The phone on the control room lobby floors front reception desk began to ring. The
receptionist answered in a very calm and detached manner consistent with it being only her first
round of java.
 Ozenoz.com this is Allie.

Allie, this is the Chief Producer calling with Network Access Global News, we are
calling to get an official reaction on rumors that your system has been compromised. You might
want to turn us on live from New York. This is getting very ugly, very quick. Is the CEO
available?

That is Eric Chrislip, and I do believe he is not at his desk right now. I can give you his
voicemail and make sure he gets it when he returns if you like.

Allie, was it? I dont think you understand. Eric and your company are facing possible
negligence charges being filed in the responsible use of private user data. One man is threatening
to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge right now.

Do you want me transfer you to our legal expert, sir?

Id like you to understand that your company is on every network being cited as a
responsible party for what could produce mass chaos if you dont identify officially to the public
what the hell is going on! Find me anyone on the board that is permissible to make official
statements to the national press for your company in an emergency.

Oh, this is an emergency?

Allie glanced up at the widescreen plasma television visible across the control room floor
just in time to see a man plummet from the enormous structure that was the bridge into certain
death below.

Oh God. Allie swore.

Oh God. Adam echoed Allie from across the control room floor. This was the cosmetic
visitor center used to showcase the functions of the social media companys data collections to
coveting investors. Dinosaur like sized flat screen plasma televisions connected by chrome bars
weaving them into a net of unique displays of the companies multi- faceted and growing
population of notable and diverse tools that were revolutionizing the business with their user
friendly interfaces. A favorite of CEO Chrislips was the sixty one inch touch screen running the
optional beta versions under development.

Eric sprang into action.

Allie, we need a call into the network news carrying the live feeds we just watched. I
need to issue a preliminary warning to our users of unusual system errors. And to offer
condolences to the recently departeds family.
 Mr. Chrislip, I believe I already have him on the phone. He called about two minutes
ago and I didnt know when you would be available. Do you want me transfer him to your
office?

Allie, I am going to take this on the fifth. My story board work room. I dont want to sit
at that extension right now. Our phones are about to go nuts, and one statement until we get
further investigation is all that is kosher.

I will have him waiting on line two in office five oh seven for you Mr. Chrislip!

Feeling tense and fearful of the coming damage assessment, Eric took the stairs to avoid
the late coming employees queuing up the elevator. Keep it brief, concise and to the point
without fielding too many questions that still lay in a very grey area and could cast a bad light on
Ozenoz response in the face of what could be a terrorist cyber attack. There were a lot more
volatile situations that were possible and twisting the knots in his stomach ever tighter.

Reaching the fifth, he was reminded of how new the interactive introductional storyboard
designs for the touch screen systems were by the almost obnoxious smell of the new leather
seating for the designers to sit while creating seamless integration. Setting aside his nerves, he
pulled on his cold call sales background he had used so skillfully for the companies venture
capital startup and forced himself to pick up the phone.

This is CEO Eric Chrislip. Who am I speaking with?

This is the Chief Production Engineer here at Network Access Global News. I take it
you have awareness of what is happening? I can take your statement to audio for us to air or I
can cut you in live to our anchor if you like. Monica Strauss, she is standing by as we speak.
Here, let me cut you in

No. Just a transcribed statement would be tasteful for things this early on for us. You can
record me now.

Ok, you are on mic in three, two, one

Eric heard a hollow monotone beeping sound letting him know he was being recorded.

First off I do not want this used as audio, and will go elsewhere with my statements if
you go there. This is our official reaction at Ozenoz. We are saddened by the unfortunate and
tragic death of Mark Sharp and offer our sincerest wishes in staying strong through this sudden
loss to his loved ones. OZENOZ.COM is immediately launching a full scale company wide
emergency evaluation of our systems. Users are advised to avoid account activity and
unfortunately disregard their privacy as being secured at this present time. That is all, thank
you.

The producer got back on the line and responded with a curt thank you.
 Eric heard an echoing hollow feed of the anchors voice and the clacking of keys as the
line went dead. A very unsteady CEO of the worlds fastest growing social media pioneer
network hung up the phone and bit his cheek.

Just down the hall in the quiet of the Vice Presidents office, Adam Traill massaged his
temples, and hummed his morning mantra to try and keep cool, calm, and collected. This could
be the entry point he had wished for into the COO position if he handled the situation correctly.
Of all times to be thinking of promotion, only he would be delegating his own hand to be dealt in
to what could be the worst social networking systems failure ever. What with all of the new
psychological programming his savvy engineers were producing it could be a disaster for a lot of
people who took their Ozenoz very seriously. It was said most users who had smart phones
checked their accounts before leaving their beds in the morning. They were dependent on it, and
like the tempest before them, he pitied them as he prepared to assault the company code at its
very core to try and salvage this before it took out their stock. He himself was heavily invested in
Ozenoz and could not take the hit, what with his mothers cancer treatment payments sucking the
life out of his yearly gains. The good news was the treatment was working and continued, and
her yearly Christmas present knitted blankets were stacking up to the ceiling from the years
come and gone where he had singlehandedly amongst six siblings paid for her treatments. No
price tag could ever replace what his mother brought to life remaining here on Earth. She kept
his siblings from destroying his life by keeping them in line as they muddled about their
mundane southern bayou nine to fives in small town Louisiana. He had flown them all out for a
fundraiser for his mothers therapy in the beginning, and he thought he would never see the end
of the calls to borrow from him, or be lent from what they saw in their sibling rivalry as their fair
shares of his amassed fortune.

Adam checked the screen of his desktop terminal sitting opened to the operating error
files on his large double sized mahogany desk. The whole office had been done in mahogany,
squeezing in his refusal to spend his expense account down with Eric, insisting rather that his
office be outfitted for long hours. Eric was more than happy to oblige, having taken quite a lot of
heat from the other board members in his appointment of Adam as Vice President.

The phone intercom beeped and the speaker came to life from the hi-fi speakers mounted
on the corners of his desk.Mr. Traill, you have a call from Eric on line three. I am fending off
reporters left and right, and wish you could find me something more useful to do, Cynthia
Strong his personal assistants voice came through sounding hefty and impatient.

Ive got line three. Cynthia, please pull up all of the operating error data files gathered
since close of business yesterday and print it all out. I want that in my office in an hour sharp.
That do ya?

That does me fine. Line three. One hour A-D.

 She called him A.D. in loving and sarcastic manner ones personal assistant does in
nicknaming you for your mutually beneficial ability to shift into the prime spotlight when the
company was at a loss. She said if Eric died, he would toast his board appointment prior to
writing the obituary, rising from what could be his end to a new bend for some holy new cause.
Besides, his middle name was Richard. Some sort of cross the line inside joke she was making
by silently calling him Dick by initial.

Only J.C. himself could walk on these waters. I will be happy to see your work,
Cynthia. We need answers.

Three floors down from Adam and Eric planning their storyboard user warning tactics,
Tim Sykes had reported to the programming floor to his boss, Chip Long, Crew Chief.

Chip approached Tim from behind as Tim nervously logged on to his cubicle terminal.
When Chip placed a hand on his shoulder, he nearly froze up and cried out.

Tim, you forgot to log off last night and left your terminal open and on reserves all
night. Working overtime?

Sorry about that, Mr. Long. What do you want me to do?

Tim, in the face of what we are looking at this morning, I need a good web- master P.R.
technician. I am making this your official title. You are to take on the webmasters mail from this
morning and when necessary, issue timely and damage assessing correspondence to the users and
company workers on the issue. I want you on this now, and I want you to take your lunch here.
Ill order in whatever you like. Were up shits creek here, Timmy.

Pho House Thai, spice level five, your choice. And two double espressos please. One
two liter cola and some kind of chips. Im on it.

Chip walked away scowling at the herd of fifteen minute late arriving programmers who
he was to usher into the arduous headache of breaking down and fixing their bugged out system.
They were not going to have a happy hump day, the lot of them having hoped to attend the
Wednesday softball game tonight and take off early. There would be no early leave for anyone
anytime soon.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief, and switched his window on his terminal to the bank
account window in his favorites. Logging in, he gawked openly at the account balance stuck at
twenty- seven thousand dollars and six cents.

Twenty five and twenty- five it is. he observed, pulling a Bermuda golf vacation
planner from behind his foam basketball backboard stuck to the side of his double wide cube on
programmer row.

Life is good.
 Chapter Five

11:20 AM Wednesday Guantanamo Bay, Cuba

Under duress, the prisoner relinquished that he would call connects to try and arrange
things from his inside of intelligence lines saboteurs. The cell phone was shoved across the table
in the hot hazy heat in the mid day Guantanamo Bay sun by an agent who would not let him
eat, sleep or smoke until he agreed. Abdul was three days without any of the above and could
barely even speak when he received a single eight ounce cup of water thirty minutes prior.

The interrogator spoke up You call. You say these people are so inside we will never
trace it, but I have my doubts seeing as you ended up here. Give them a shout. We will see what
we can do about your luck after. So, Abdul, who are you dialing right now?

Harry Sante.

Yeah right, and I am having dinner with the Queen of England. Ok, play your name
game, just dial.

The clock that hung over the supervisory punch in machine read nine- twenty when the
phone on Harrys desk rang its queasy and warbling digital bell chirp, startling him. Harry had
fallen asleep at his desk while going over the coming weeks contact list in his Rolodex and now
set it aside as he glanced blurry eyed at the caller I.D. box on the cheap off white office phone.
It was coming from Cuba. He punched the keyboard next to the desktop in front of his Rolodex
and clicked twice on the mouse. A map appeared on the screen and a message appeared signal
diffraction active in 10987

Harry picked up the phone while his line signal prepared to reroute his location
information via the outflow of data from remote locations.

This is Harry. Who is this and where are my Cuban cigars?

Harry. Abdul. Remember when you said your programming would carry us through or
nuclear crisis? You were full of shit. Members of my family are being hung one by one back in
Iraq and I am in Cuba with your men. Now you get me out or I will see your head.

The agent across from Abdul narrowed his eyes, and mouthed words across the aisle to
the equipment tech trying to track his signal.

No luck so far, the tech shot back his direction.

 Harry grinned and pulled out his long list of awaiting thoughts on the ends of his dealings
with Abdul on the virus attack he had been so lucrative in obtaining and so handy in disarming
via his recommendation of the fall man. He had known that Stephen Bolsom would not let him
down, and he hadnt. In a beautiful act of selflessness, Stephen had single handedly save a
warhead, the president, and gotten two thirds of the onsite regimes militia assigned to the site
that day taken into custody. It was no news is good news so far as the media coverage was
concerned for all but the secret service men who had promotions on the line based on further
prosecuting these criminals.

Abdul, I will keep this short. You lost your head. Dont lose your life. Lose my number.
And take a number. Now if I may retire to my backseat view of your Bay area stay, I will see to it
you get what you dont deserve. Justice.

Harry hung up the phone and swore under his breath. Using the next breath, he dialed his
next in command at Naval Intelligence to report the disturbance. Forty- two years prior when
Harry had thrashed Captain McGreeevy, he neither had little want nor need to have any further
association with the man. Sante had been served his dishonorable discharge papers and packed
his player self into a new port. Thirty years later, in the midst of his newly acquired Silicon
Valley fortune and friends circle, Harry had been approached by McGreevy. He was offering a
Department of Defense contract for a minor amount of reporting on intelligence issues involving
some of Harrys newly acquired acquaintances. The deal was to restore Harrys retirement pay
from the military, and incentives on an individual contract basis.

First you turn your back. Then you lie on it. Now you climb on mine?

Come on Harry, status. You always were the most patriotic out of all of us. Swearing up
and down that we were always on the easy side of doing for the greater good. This is done.

Yes. That was our most basic agreement. And I would have it that way without you.

Then lets amend it.

In the end, Harry had made the deal. He didnt need the money, and he let his military
retirement collect in an otherwise untouched bank account all year long until December. In
December, he threw a massive charity event for the local orphanage at a five star hotel and
lavished them with gifts. It was a win- win situation and the sun would come tomorrow, if he bet
his bottom dollar he could pay. They were a rowdy bunch, and sometimes cleanup ran into his
personal accounts.

Captain McGreevy would welcome an insiders view on just what was plaguing them
when they cashed in next week on their prize winnings from their first private venture. The next
week, thought Harry, could very well send all of a dozen of them into a very long and rewarding
retirement that could only be permanent by the nature of this beast. McGreevy had lined up the
squad to do the acquiring in a very familiar Seal like format one hit one kill night drop
mission when their prize arrived in San Diego via carrier. Due to their ability to get on base with
credentials, the hardest part would be getting off base before the dogs were out .One man rocket
packs would lift them to their chopper on the ground outside of the base on the adjacent
roadway., and then their chopper would lift them directly to Long Beach on a coastal route. The
men assigned to the mission were the same three by the arrangement of McGreevy as had been
involved in Harrys discharge. They were the only ones tainted enough and yet moved by Santes
sway to take on the dozen to be killed in the hit and grab. As old as they were, they were still
highly trained assassins, all with more than a decade of intense martial arts practice and full time
devoted discipleship in Korea. The mission was impossible, but this team had long proven they
could accomplish the impossible. This was to be their retirement payoff for the years of self
inflicted danger that had left them in loss of adequate funds in later years to continue the fast
paced lifestyle to which they had become accustomed.

Harry salivated openly over an unlit cigar he chewed between his teeth for a moment,
waiting for McGreevy to answer.

Captain McGreevy here. Make it quick, Harry. Ive got a mess of clowns waiting in the
hall to debrief.

Well, oh Captain, my Captain. Just shipped out three thousand stuffed clowns to Disney,
may his cryogenically frozen membranes rest in peace, and got a call from another brain- dead.

Who say? McGreevy wheezed into the line.

Abdul Rashaad called me from interrogation. With a trace no doubt.

So block his number.

You old fuck, I would like you to see if you can get someone in there and in his face for
that. They may just figure out it really was me he contacted and I need a zone cover here with
some one on one for man down defense here.

Relax, Harry. Not since he got his ass handed to him last year with Bolsoms S.S. alert
has he had his lousy, gutless grease pit of a headachy hairpiece out of the can. That place is so
dead end for him he wont get the sun out of his crotch 'til way past cocktail hour on any given
day from good and plenty already fitting him to be hung. The only reason he hasnt yet is
because they havent shipped him back to his people yet. Hear the rest of his family has been.

Relax, with the Holo coming up?

Shh. You know any orders on comment other than strategy session and planning
preliminary precautions are to maintain silence. There is no Holo until we are far gone from this
week. Harry, Ive got to go. Ill debrief you after your Friday meeting. Try and get some sleep
once in a while, ya tink tank. Might help.? Aye, aye sir.

As Harry hung up the phone, he saw a crane load of stuffed clowns passing by the
window. It was being lifted from the shelf and driven to the shipping and receiving for its
outbound status to that nearby Disney toy shop that had placed the order the other morning. With
a markup in the stock to ten thousand and double the cost, he would wrap up covering last
quarters clean up of his money. He loved loose ends and double knots, and hoped for the big
twisty tie this afternoon as he headed for the Lincoln pulling up out front. Cliff Dover rolled
down the window as he stepped on the brake, and honked twice discreetly.

Cars waiting! Slips yelled from the back to Harrys perked ears.

Chapter Six

Friday 8:30 AM OZENOZ.COM Headquarters -Eric Chrislips Office

Eric studied the long face of the strange intruder in front of his desk, refusing to be
seated. He had received the phone call at seven, barely in time to warn him that a Central
Intelligence Agency worker had been assigned to investigate the goings on at OZENOZ.COM.
The agent was said to be flying into LAX on an early flight, to report to his post for a full day
this very day. Matthew Sullivan was about five foot- ten with the athletic build of a man who
worked out six days a week. He had a five day beard, and a sardonic smile that said he would
like nothing better than to retire to the bar for breakfast rather than the office Eric had shown
him. On the way to his office for a formal briefing on what exactly Sullivan required, Eric had
shown him the office Cynthia had filled with a backwash of paperwork piled high in old
discarded printer paper boxes. There must be ten thousand pages just on the priority pile on the
desk, Matthew had grimly noted, nodding his head at Eric.

I want full access to all of the current company fallout from this attack as my primary
concern here is that the data exposed could be used for future terrorist activities. Any and all
changes in programming code launching new and fixed activities on the live site should be
reported to me before running.

Do you need any help?

My shrink says I do, but then again who knows if she really just wanted another date?
Bad lay, bad day, bad pay, and late for the session and shes telling me to break up with my
fiance.
 Sounds like you need a new shrink.

Doesnt everybody. No, no help theyll impose on my avante- garde style of single
handedly handling my overworked ass. Yes, please help. As much as possible. We needed two
agents on this, but I couldnt get the paperwork through.

Ill give you Cynthia Adams, P.A. for a loaner.

P.A.?? Personal Assistant.

Great, so shell fetch coffee and donuts and also later my pipe and slippers?

While reading you the Wall Street, making notes on your ticker and giving you a slicker
response than you could have dreamt up this morning for me.

Thanks, Ill take her. So my chief primary concern here is to identify what user accounts
have been targeted as it may be a clue to our perp.

What were you a cop? I thought this was the network terrorism specialty, not
neighborhood nightly hackers.

If its ok by you, Im going to hit the files right now. And if I can have a key and pass
codes to all of the companys rooms and terminals by the end of the day that would be nice. I
promise not to step on any toes, and if I do I brought band- aids.

We are used to it. Stomp around all you like. But Im telling you thats what Cynthia is
for.

Thanks. Ill be next door.

As Chris watched the fidgety half- shaven man retreat to his Mount Olympus stack of
paperwork he wondered what was coming next. An IRS audit to see if there was inside
involvement? Eric had an innate distrust of government agencies and their ability to do much but
make political red lines hit the agenda media spots for the polls. He could feel little pity for this
jet lagged man standing in his shoes from where he stood as CEO and he felt his arteries tighten
for the run of luck that would renew their good standing in the public eye. He was too busy for
the C.I.A at this moment, indeed. He buzzed his secretary and requested,

Allie, please get security all access and keys and cards sent for Mr. Sullivan in office
two- oh nine.

Right away, Mr. Chrislip.

Eric could not allow the investigation of his companys new beta programming for the
touch screen functions secretly about to be released be included in this menaces report. For
this to fall in the wrong political paper- pushers hands could hold weight over the stock price of
his company prior to allowing the new and ground breaking changes to be fully acclimated to the
public.

The past few days, however, had left little clue as to where this attack had come from or
how to disarm it. The media had seemed to push it from the headlines, but it was still being
covered now as more of a business speculation piece by the networks. There had been no more
circus ring suicides and the site had lost three quarters of its users daily logins running on base
level setup designed for just such a case as this. Users could access instant message boards, but
not old file data they had collected in their daily activities. As the affected data seemed to be
targeting more recent happenings, as in within the last six months, this particular time line had
been dismantled. What was it going to take, to get it all back, Eric wondered to himself.

Chapter Seven

Friday 1:30PM - Hilton Private Meeting Room

On neutral ground that couldnt be less inviting, Harry prepared to break ground on the
first presentation of the coming weeks acquisition. This was a double presentation, with the
investors having interest both in the Ozenoz virus design series, and credit for bringing The
Holo to the plate for an interested third party. They met at The Hilton in a private meeting room
that was full of fresh bouquets of flowers. Like a wedding or a funeral, thought Harry, this was
going to be a vow taking ceremony til death do them imparting in silence. Steve and Mark
ushered the waiters out of the room, and secured the entrances as Harry fired up the laptop and
its connected projector device.

Nothing like Windows power point to bring you top secret technology, quipped Harry
to freckled laughter.

The crowd was a dozen turban clad Libyan ex- patriots who had come into oil money
during the U.S. occupation of Iraq. The changing of hands had fallen in their favor, and though
they were seen as U.S. ass kissers by their counterparts, they marked their way with their risky
use of their massive funds. Thinking it best to be evasive in the face of what could be a short
lived democratic run on arrangements, they ran the ramparts for hijacking business sharks. The
group of Libyan oil tycoons sat in rigid stares, looking and conversing in anticipatory hushes
overtones to each other as Harry made his adjustments to his laser pointer.

Im sorry, good fellows but you are going to have to rely on me for the audio. Lights
please, Mark.

The dimmer switch tastefully threw down the lights as it would in any theater awaiting
one of Harrys renowned presentations. He bobbed the laser pointer on the laptop across the long
table the Libyans were seated around to its head where the projector awaited proper adjustment.
Mark crossed the room, and swiveled the projector so that he full screen was captured on the
overhead white screen at the front of the room. Harry clicked on his remote control of the slide
presentation, and the presentation began.

Holographic Disc Data Storage, gentlemen. The wave of our technological dreams of
the future long in development by some of the worlds top particle physicists and various other
scientist types to whom we are all in debt for decades. Now made a reality by an imparting of the
one thing that stood in its way. The ability to recollect and use the data recorded on each discs
fifty thousand terabyte storage capacity. What does this mean to you?

Harry changed slides through to a visual of a standard civilian top of the line satellite
phone.

Access to NASA files in a flowing and pre- programmed collection of data on all of the
currently orbiting commercial and U.S. Defense satellites. Two hundred thousand terabytes of
what was formerly not surmountable as a rook to castle the knights of high tech orbiting
surveillance now brought to the palm of our hands.

The slide projector showed a short video clip of Gulf War era surveillance satellites being
launched from various commercial launching pads as they had been observed in company record
footage.

Since many a decade prior it has been the ignorance of the general public that we are far
more easily observed and manipulated through orbiting technology than anyone could imagine.
We can hear a cricket sing, see it jump, and turn a man into vapor utilizing giant laser cannons
put into orbit more than a decade ago. These laser cannons, have a hard time tracking, but can
target in still.

This is all well and good, Mr. Sante, but how can we be sure the phone will continue
operating after it has been obtained?

The internal storage capacity of this phone being as it was designed, it is an autonomous
example of the U.S. Military Intelligence arming its heads with more options than they could
ever single man. The phone contains, however a main menu feature we have been reassured that
will enable the user to continue its function, and without being traced.
 The men in the room began to clap wildly, as the projector moved to a slide of a chart of
data on the adjustments made to commercial television satellites and their geometric outlining of
the spaces used by covert machinery.

Let the finger pointing with lasers that can make you breathe your enemies essence in
their presence come to life for one lump investment. No control, gentlemen, dont get me wrong,
without the coinciding use of the phones two other clones, one of which will be in the Oval
Office itself, you cannot alter the satellites functions. But you will certainly know everything
else. And besides, you could maybe speed dial and hail the chief if it came down to it.

Mr. Sante, how is it that this phone can be obtained without being hunted by a simple
tracking chip?

Good question. Yes, as I said before, inside sources have told us this particular model,
one of three has been equipped with a main menu cloaking option as a safety precaution in case
of onsite military usage needs. Essentially gentlemen, The Holo will hide itself.

Harry moved on to the next series of slides detailing the virus just launched on
OZENOZ.COM and its past few days calculated effects. As he moved through explanations of
the series of viruses they had obtained through a very special designer, he knew from the hushed
stares and the now nervous hands about their water glasses to perched and silent mouths, his
Holo had taken the cake. Now to feed the bride and get down to the honeymoon. This was going
to make one hell of a populated reception. If only he had his best man to wow them with his
military status awards. This was even better than could be believed without the obligatory insider
on the job. And what a prime, powerful, perpendicular payday lay in wait.

Chapter Eight

The sign on the door was tacked up by a wandering laid back programming geek who felt
it needed its recognition. It read 007 in bold red print from the office copy machine, and was
tacked over the former resident of the offices placard on the outside. Matthew left the door open,
and kept hearing chuckles from wandering passers bye who read the title on the door.

Cynthia and he were attempting to organize the stacks on countless stacks of printouts
from the companys data flow since the attack. The boxes were piled high, and the number of
actual printouts Cynthia had printed must have numbered in the tens of thousands. It was going
to be a long day, a very long day.

Every time Matthew looked up it seemed Miss Strong was wheeling in another box of
data to be looked over, speculated on, analyzed and recorded. She was rather cute, he thought
though, and he couldnt have asked for a better purveyor of his pain. She was like his sweet
librarian dominatrix, stacking him high with paper cut sheet after sheet silently sealing his fate
for the next unforeseeable future.

Hey take it easy on me. I havent even made it through the first box and youre bringing
more than I thought there would be total in the first place. Did I tell you I like your perfume
though?

Thats not perfume, its air freshener. It keeps spraying on me every time I go into the
fifth floor copy room. Damn stuff makes my eyes water.

Never knew they put pheromones in air freshener. Whats it called, Glade and you could
get laid?

Dont get ahead of yourself, there Matt. Can I call you Matt?

You can call me anything you want except late for dinner. We break at five. Want to join
me? I see theres a decent Italian place down the street. Ill pay.

So you pop overtime on me on my bridge night, and then ask me out to dinner? Ill get
back to you.

I thought only old women played bridge.

You think too much.

Cynthia strolled out of the room with Matthews eyes heavily on her figure as she was
well aware by his blatant stare. He went back to his work looking over the data. There seemed to
be no real selective pattern noticeable at his first surmise of the system output on the user form
field data that had been interrupted, altered, and was still in a fluid flux. He shifted aside the
entire box and went on to the next one. This one was a collection of the users upended interfaces
that had been opened at will, starting chats for users and often times inserting text from their
prior chats with other users. This thing was stirring up a shit storm. People were too damned
reliant on their social media to bring them their social lives latest. Once again, he could not get a
select pattern on the accounts that were being selectively targeted by the virus, and he moved on
to the next box.

Cynthia returned and sat down next to his chair, cross legged on the floor. She spoke, and
when she did, her cheeks flamed up in a fiery blush.

I have decided to take you up on your offer. But you must let me put it on Mr. Traills
expense account. The food there is good, and well

And so will be the company. Dont mind me; I just have a weakness for beautiful
assistants left to spend all of their free time with me. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy.
 This is dull. So, what do you want me to do?

Besides give me a guided tour of a good hotel I can stay at, you mean?

She blushed furiously this time, turning to the side and to Matthews relief, laughing. She
had a beautiful laugh that was reminiscent of the whippoorwills that Matthew woke up to every
morning in his humble Virginia countryside house. It was a bright start to a tough assignment, he
thought with renewed strength. This was going to be good, very, very good.

If you could open the users data and see if anything at all jumps out at you from their
personal information and the way in which it is being altered. This thing seems to have some sort
of psychological intelligence programming of its own which is banking off Ozenoz already
impressive programming. That would be the first thing. Anything at all. Recurring patterns are
the key here, and then we will try and isolate the inconsistencies which usually point to the
source or in its direction anyway. Unless this thing was made by one of those aliens everybody
always asks me if I know about, being in the C.I.A. and all. You know? Area Fifty One?

Cynthia looked up from her reading, and glared back at him with a faint look of
amusement.

The only aliens who could have made this are the ones who are hijacking the border
every day. This shit is so tight, but not superhuman. She quipped.

For the next few hours they moved over the data together, and were a site to watch as
they danced around each other shifting through the endless piles of paperwork. Neither of them
seemed to mind.

A few hours later, still huddled around their respective piles of paperwork, things began
to take shape. The viral attack appeared to have targeted only certain of the V.I.P. accounts, and
the activity in the accounts reeked of personal vendetta.

I never knew so many Middle Eastern families had internet access. observed Cynthia,
flipping through piles of V.I.P. accounts.

These are the upper echelon, the ones my coworkers will go to their graves making
background information sheets about their whereabouts on high alert days. They have access to
anything they want.

Easy access?

I like the way you think, Miss Strong.

You are going to like the way I eat I hope too, because I am starving!
 Yeah, about that. Can we get take- out? I think we may have found a trail here and I
dont want it to get too far ahead of us before we are monitoring it live in the system. Its more
intimate here anyway, dont you think?

If you say so. I have so many bad memories of this office back when our former
President was in here. Taking up the slack for my boss isnt always fun. Endless hours of various
mindless tasks at times which can scare the corporate hell out of you!

More boring than this?

No, double oh seven, definitely not.

They both laughed in agreement. Then Matthew spotted something on one of the pages
Cynthia was holding. It was the picture of an F.B.I. most wanted fugitive from one of the user
accounts. The man was a Pakistani terrorist thought to be hiding out in Saudi Arabia where he
had ties to some wealthy land owners and real estate developers. He had not always been a
terrorist, and his past life seemed to keep him afloat. He was like the Teflon Don of the cave
dwelling internet attack terrorists, always loving the credit to come his way, milking the publicity
as though it could do him no harm.

Let me see that page.

What, this one?

The one on top.

Matthew briefly explained to her the significance of this man and who he was. As they
reviewed the effects the virus had on his account, under one of his blatantly known aliases, they
noticed a series of chats which had touched off right around the initial effects of the virus on the
network.

Cyth, can I call you Cynth? Please run up to the fifth floor and run off all of the history
of these chat meetings that went on between the hours of five am and seven thirty Pacific Time
last night. I want to know what the big hoopla is all about that brought out our man.

Anything you want.

Anything?

Within reasonable expectations, yes, anything.

With that, she slipped out of the room to do the deed with a certain haste that said she
was excited over their progress. Matthew was impressed by her ability to analyze large amounts
of user data in a very short time. She seemed to have a nearly photographic memory as well,
reciting data from sheets hours prior now lost in the pile hopelessly. She was damned impressive.
And hot too, he thought mischievously.

She was back in less than five minutes.

I hope you dont mind, I took the liberty of ordering our food. I got what you wanted,
the Shrimp and Chicken Bona Rosa for both with an order of calamari to start. And fresh
homemade tiramisu to finish. With lady fingers that may compare to yours in sweetness.

You are too much.

I have been accused.

No, I mean it. I will head over there right now to pick it up. I need some fresh air
anyway, and I have a feeling you need to concentrate on what I just brought to you.

She turned to leave.

Be a doll, and close the door, please, Cynth?

Certainly, she slipped from the office in a graceful swoon, silently pulling its heavy six
inch oak door closed behind her.

As Matthew read through the chat room messages, he was shocked to see the open candor
the highly wanted men had with no mincing of their words and speaking very openly of a
nearing acquisition of a new weapon. They were calling it The Holo, and were organizing an
interknit community of fundraisers to try and outbid their opponents to get possession of the
item. Only the information of what the item was was missing from the chats.

He was worried now. This man had been responsible for the cyber attack which had
nearly frozen the U.S. financial sector in December of 2011. That virus had attacked social media
as well. On this particular date, the date the virus he had launched had attacked U.S. online
territory; there was a peculiar comment in his comments section. It was left by someone with a
series of letters and numbers for a name. It was an online directory Meta tag for accessing the
key components of the virus from a private server in order to remote launch it. And it matched
the next page of data Matthew looked up in one of the adjacent boxes of form field data. This
new virus had to have been spawned in its initial stages from the December 2011 virus, and this
tag was pointing to its home base in the cyber space on which it was launched. Matthew ran to
the nearby desk where an all access company networked computer lay in wait.

Looking through the programming codes of Ozenoz.com, he found what he was looking
for. The Meta tag was pointing to an easy access pivot point common in program directories
nearby where the most basic user data would be collected. It was a table of sorts, pointing the
direction to the location of where the virus was attached! He picked up the phone on the
mahogany desk, and immediately dialed the extension of the CEO, Eric Chrislip to let him know
to alert the programming floor. He then called his report in to his colleague at the Pentagon and
was met with a cold and disinterested response.

Thank you, Matthew, but we know.

Damned know it alls at the Pentagon.

Chapter Nine

Harry was in the Orange Room, where the entire behind the scenes action warmed up
before they took to the road on deals. It was tucked away in the behind the maintenance room
and was next to the blowers for the warehouse winter heat to keep the stuffed animals from
freezing into inactivity, not to mention the workers. Thus it received its name, as you went in
pale and came out heated up and glowing orange.

Why do we call this fucking place the Orange Room anyway? Derrick asked in an
annoyed tone of voice.

Because Green Rooms make me fucking sick! Harry retorted quickly.

Is it because it is so damned hot in here that we turn Orange? Derrick observed.

Everyday you show me why youre my number two. Harry returned with a sly grin.

If it gets too hot in here when Slips is around, it is going to smell like number two too.
Does that guy ever wear deodorant?

Harry laughed briefly, and then turned his attention to the computer terminal in front of
him.

The Ozenoz virus built a gate for us, and I need you to access it for me, Derrick. Come
over here!

Derrick squinted into the terminals screen and looked around the gated passkey forms
blinking with a blank cursor in their midst. He typed rapidly a series of numbers and letters
which he had committed to memory during the review of the virus when they had first obtained
it, and the screen flashed to the Ozenoz Company programming code index and directory of
sections.

In like Flynn.
 I always hated those damned Errol Flynn movies. My mother was enthralled by them
and made me watch them on weekends, Harry related with a grimace as he sat back down to the
terminal Time to start the show, folks!

Welcome my friends to the show that never ends, we hope you can depend on the status
of our ends, we wont be letting sends get receivers in the bends. You know we dont pretend.
Derrick rattled off another one of his impromptu rhymes with a brief song quote altered to his
satisfaction.

Didnt I tell you to stop that rap shit? Harry barked half assed in Derricks direction.

Sorry, Derrick sarcastically replied didnt know you werent a fan.

Speaking of fans, make yourself useful and turn on that one over there, will ya? Harry
spoke in half tone, concentrating on the directory in front of him.

We have another whole section of this baby to activate for our decisive and immediate
needs. If you could please go get Francis and Krauss please, I am ready for them.

Sure thing, boss.

Derrick stiffly wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, paused in front of the fan to adjust
its height, and then left the room to go in search of Steve and Slips. They returned in a few
moments, both Slips and Steve severely out of breath and Derrick laughing hilariously.

Fucking goons! I told them you were getting on an attack and they thought you were
getting attacked in here! Never seen Slips move so fast. Is that why you got named that, Slips,
because you just slip on by? Derrick stammered out, barely reaching the room at the same time
as the other two.

Harrys face grew very serious, and he cleared his throat, obviously annoyed by the entire
unnecessary calamity.

Steve, Francis, listen up and pay very careful attention now. See this screen? I have
remote desktop access to our office across town rented under another name. We have to be very
careful about any chances of revealing our whereabouts, and I dont trust that the higher ups
wont tail this one. I have opened up this screen for you out there on Tines Drive. I want you to
go there and simply insert this file, he handed a hard drive to the two men in this line.

He pointed at the gated passkey activated gate screen on the directory page for access to
the V.I.P. accounts.

Just drag and drop the file from the drive into that location, and the program will do the
rest.
 That easy? Krauss asked warily, flexing his sore bicep.

That easy. Harry reassured him.

The two men were gone without a word and with the hard drive almost as fast as they had
arrived. One was for certain, when they were on the move, Santes patience was not to be tested.

Harry sat at the terminal while Derrick slid off to the side of the room and read a worker
discarded US magazine. About an hour later, Harry saw what he needed to see. The V.I.P.
accounts were being tapped of their I.P. origins and a tracer leading back to their terminals was
being put in place to try and extract all of the data from one of Harrys most dangerous potential
client lists from within the servers at Ozenoz. It was remotely extracting the data and sending it
to storage at the Tines office across town from several of the most powerful Middle Eastern elite
businessmen. Harry felt he needed to keep tabs on who this very potent and potentially world
crisis causing piece of technology could possibly be getting in the hands of. He did have a
conscience, after all. Couldnt have some cave sitting missile gurus over there brandishing The
Holo as a means to cause World War Three. That just wouldnt do, that would not do at all.

Harry wiped the beads of sweat from his tension lined brow which immediately seemed
to ease up, and said in a throaty hushed whisper Thats what I call a showtime!

The deed was done.

Chapter Ten

Virtual technology crime dealers are pitted against the corporate heads of one of their

victim companies and the C.I.A. The dealers are local to Los Angeles and base their operations

out of Long Beach. They are a whitty, savvy lot whose high risks pay them in millions for

dealing with very dangerous players. They acquire their goods through a black market

opportunity developed by Harry Sante, an ex Navy Seal who made a fortune in Silicon Valley in
the nineties. He has a large amount of overseas connections which supply the demand, making

him capable of helping everyone to turn a profit on some deadly computer viruses and such.

Their use of a designer virus made specifically to orchestrate tragedies caused by altering

a social networking site leaves behind a trail of faces that cant be ignored. As a marketing tool

for a new and complex virus which can attack company mainframes all the way up to the

Financial Sectors security levels they have an inside man at a social networking site insert a

virus. Tim Sykes is an entrepreneur turned corporate when he sees the opportunity to get in on

the ground floor of a very promising company. Money is his weakness, and when Harry pays

him for the virus insertion, he justifies that it will ultimately strengthen the company. What

doesnt kill you, will only make you stronger. Little does he know of the access records that

throughout the story he is left chasing to cover his own tracks. He is forced to turn back to Harry

time and time again to try and remain free.

Amongst the victims are some of the formerly hidden accounts of some of the worlds richest

vigilantes. Harry Santes friends are a very wealthy lot who demand his attention in very

promising ways for him. But he has occasionally run across some real thoughtlessly terroristic

types whom he severs ties with and leaves an occasional reminder to leave him be. Unfortunately

for Harry this time, those are just the type to be on the radar for someone following closely by

this one upcoming operation of his.

The Pentagon sends an agent specifically assigned to analyze the data collected by the

afflicted social media companies corporate heads, Matthew Sullivan.When Matthew arrives he is

given the ex-presidents office who bailed when the attack happened. The office proves to be a

wee bit small when it appears that the data collected from the attack is about two hundred boxes
of paperwork printed out by an overworked and exhausted Cynthia Strong, personal assistant to

Adam Traill, the current V.P. of OZENOZ.COM. Cynthia and Matthew hit it off immediately,

and soon form a bond that is classic of a C.I.A. agent and his aspiring mistress of enduring

duress. She helps him to sift through all of the paperwork with all of her time vailable made

possible by Adam who wants anything but but justice schwerved, and if you keep fluttering

your eyes around like that, youre gonna need a Justice of The Peace!

This viral attack on the social networking site arouses personal interest in retribution when

they use the attack for widespread vendettas, dropping a trail of clues that specifies locations of

set underground meetings being posted online in private accounts. Cynthia picks up on the first

of this trail when she bumps into the real life profile on a paid, private account of an F.B.I. most

wanted fugitive. Matthew and she derive a system by which to sift through the paperwork based

on known aliases of lists of terrorists and known anti- U.S. military figures in the world. They

soon gather quite a docket of impending dooms- sayers and dooms-dayers from around the

world.

As the Central Intelligence Agent sifts through the room full of boxed data thought to be

relevant, he comes across a startling hint. One of these dooms-dayers is a Pakistani terrorist

thought to have been responsible for launching the virus that nearly froze the U.S. Financial

sector in December 2011. This virus attacked social media as well. On this particular date

Matthew finds of recent logs and the same date the data was collected, there was an unusual

comment dropped onto his comments section. It was left by someone with a series of letters and

numbers for a name. After looking up the name in the data, he finds the core section of

programming where the virus was inserted into the code at OZENOZ.COM. This message was
left by the attacker himself or themselves! He quickly alerts the programmers who are feverishly

working on the code to try and break the sick programming via Eric Chrislip, the CEO.

A formerly royal Middle Eastern family one generation removed has been hosting high dollar,

low attendance fundraising events with watered down product goals. This fact and its startling

prices per head is found by Cynthia when searching out the I.D. commentary left by the hackers

virus. One of the pages of one of the newly princely rich brothers in the family is posted on by

this hack, again making them an offer to with better wares than those affairs! Matthew reports

this to the Pentagon to his boss and is met with cold distaste. We know Mathhew, but thank

you.

Just as the trail turns cold from inactivity in the accounts after numerous deaths, a local

Muslim radical surfaces to confess. Initially having turned himself in to LAPD, Matthew is given

a room normally reserved for lawyers to meet him. LAPD is confused by what to do with him as

he has not officially confessed to a crime, but are unwilling to let him go until Matt arrives.

Matthew immediately cuts a deal with him, faking as though he has the Director on the phone to

bargain with him. Hum dAllah! Yes, Ahmed, Hum dAllah! Thank you for being so straight

forward! When cops demand a written realease of Ahmed via the C.I.A., Matthew pressures one

from his old partner in the Naval Intelligence circles, Harry Sante. Harry is receiving a foot rub

from some Asian chick who cant get her hands off of me, hold on! Would you quit it!

The C.I.A. becomes involved when the circle of affected prove to be in line with some of the

worlds wealthiest vigilantes. Matthew is already involved, but the list is growing to be too

impressive for his light duty to have heavy hands on the Director himself tells him
 You know what? Im strong. If Im wrong, then youre idiot proof! I think you have the

stuff, and can handle this one though. But let me remind you that you are not who you may think

you are to this case!

Its more of a whodunit case. If you must know, I am the one who just sifted through about a

half a million documents in under the time it took your primadonnas over there at Enron to get

through one

Look, Matthew, you can relax. Its erroneous. Serious that you have grown up into the role

of that agent who now collected the data enough to have his ass in a real sling shot bang em up

shootout of a weapons deal in his midst. Just promise me you wont go there, and I will let you

run the show out there alright?

Yes, boss. I got you covered. I will do it proud.

You do that.

The Muslim radical turns out to have been squeezed out, his life now in danger due to failure

to responsibly man his post. In any number of grueling interrogations held at the top floor

available in the ozenoz.com office building, Matthew extracts what very little seemed to matter

to the Sikhs seeking revenge all around the man.

Hum dAllah!

No, Ahmed, you just thank yourself. Now this isnt what I wanted. Point being that their trap

is proof that if you dont get honest, you get dead. And not by my hand.

He offers unlimited information in exchange for protection. Matthew reiterates that his boss

has arranged for protection. But I dont know what kind of protection you want when I dont
have enough to convict your own murderer of his smoking gun at the door. Ahmed looks wildly

around the room, and begins to understand Matts point. When Cynthia comes in, he runs to the

other side of the room, exclaiming No, no, no! Dont shoot me, please! I wont endanger the

senate! I will leave Senator Freeman alone!

The scariest thing about this mans information is just how local it is. Senator Freeman is a

local Democrat holding office for the people of Los Angeles. At near the moment when Ahmed is

speaking of the senator, Matts phone rings. Its the Director, explaining that indeed Senator

Freeman has been shot in a near fatal assassination attempt.

Islamic leaders around the globe are denouncing the act, while Freeman is being held in the

recovery room at UCLA Medical Center.

Matthew puts him on speaker and he hears Ahmed repeating I will leave the senator alone!

Please, help me! I promise!

Matt says I need to go back to my work, boss.

The Director, in stunned silence at first announces back at him I dont know how you

managed that in time, but next time hurry his ass up. That means now Mr. Sullivan! And keep up

the good work, too. I mean it.

After a week and a half of voluntary interrogation, Ahmed, in the midst of a session removes a

cyanide caplet from his cheek, and removes himself from the situation. Cynthia Strong, who had

been serving him some water while Matthew took a cigarette break is the only one to witness it.

Matt returns to the room to find her in hysterics and Ahmed, dead on the floor.

Damn it! How much water did you give him?

 She doesnt laugh and hits him on the chest.

Oh, alright will you stop spouting or Ill wind up dead from grief. He grabs her by the face,

Look at me! We are alright. He never was. Ok? Sweetheart.

When the black market dealing crew acquires a top secret Holographic Technological satellite

smart phone plugged into top secret U.S. Defense Weapons satellites, the chase begins to turn

desperate and deadly. When Harry realizes its his man Matthew onto him, he gets smart and says

Ill blow that punk kid out of the water. Hell never know what proof it is but itll be in him like

Jack was by the chestnuts on an open fire on The Nightmare Before ho ho day.

Huh, boss?

Never mind, you serious bunch of ninny programmers. If you think this old mans gonna

lose the loot at the end of this deal, youve got another one coming. Another deal, elsewhere.

Cause Im not.

Harry puts together a Power Point Presentation on The Holo and has his girlfriend narrate the

entire thing. It explains in depth and detail with color photos the capabilities of the Holographic

Disk Data Systems built smart satellite phone and its long reaching capabilities. When the crowd

of interested party- goers quiets down, its time for the bidding to go to war. A bit more involved

than just a bidding war to begin.

The information supplied by the informant charts a detailed list of weapons buyers with high

dollar interest in China. Harry takes the time to fly via his personal jet to give the presentation to

the old coot. Thinks its in his rolling of the I-Ching that will make him understand REACH-

ING for his checkbook.

 But a week out from Harrys projected sell date, this man has the highest bid on the block.

Harrys worst fear, is not selling to a buyer who can protect it from the deadly game of pin the

tail on the jackass who paid that much for something so far out of his league! He also fears Not

living long enough to spend it all. Not that I could if I tried.

They are closely connected to the Chinese Government and highly protected. They are the

only real buyer who can handle the stakes, or the technology, and Harry knows it. A large amount

of activity surrounding the Chinese Diplomatic Visas flying into the area red flags Matthew, and

he rolls out the red carpet for them at the airport private wing. Introducing himself to a hushed

and harried rich diplomat, Matthew announces that he too would like to be involved. He would

offer up unlimited information for protection.

The leaders, in shocked and tense frustration tell him to go away. Matthew is left clinging to

hope only by hailing a cab on which he spends three hundred dollars having tail the diplomats to

their hotel. He then closely watches as they and an entire crowd of wealthy multi- nationalist

hacks are checked into the Hilton by staff.

Most of their wealth having been accumulated in the technologies sector, there is no doubt

they would adapt to use their new purchase quickly. Matthew, Adam, Cynthia, and Eric are all

desperate to find out what all of the new buzz is about. When they backtrack a pages chatroom

into the Ozenoz.com system using a capable programmer under full permission by Matthew to

Hack to the chief, they track it to a saved copy of The Holo presentation, and watch in stunned

silence. Well, Ill be a man. Just not after I get through being raped by the Director when he

hears it may be sold, and not without that shootout he warned me against.
 Narrowing the list however, involves high level surveillance which the C.I.A. is unwilling to

provide. Even with solid evidence that the stolen Holo exists in these financiers reach, it is on too

high a political level to entertain serious thoughts of doing anything more than simply arranging

for its return in a diplomatic forum, where matters are sealed and the technology unrevealed to

the lesser to never cause sway or swagger. Matthew is fed up with this answer, Bullshit! You

sent me four guys who hang out twelve hours a day at the coffee shop picking through their e-

mails in case somebody has handed their ass to em. Then they hand their ass a nice fat check to

the head and spend the weekend at the bar. By the time they get off their two day hangover, its

closing time and Wednesday hump day is probably about missing their wifeys poodle humping

their leg. Fucking idiots. Fucking the perverse in the word intelligence. Thats what my op feels

like right now.

This is where the social media corporate heads take the law into their hands. Adam does

surveillance on the Chinese officials. Eric drives after any who leave, tailing them. Cynthia

inserts herself into the room of their private party and extracts, by looking through a screen over

the shoulder of a man, the time for the official money changes hands and business attire formal

meet and swap. She also gets the name of the man who will be hosting the swap meet: Harry

Sante.

As the underground virtual mobsters seek their big payoff, they come face to face with their

own trail of loose ends and obstacles. Having advertised The Holo on a grand scale to a vast

party of interested buyers, they are repeatedly dogged for their wares. One interested party plants

a bomb in Harrys car to try and kill him. I dont know it was a blast proof smash and grab. The

fucks. Orders and bios for The Holo keep on coming in, but only one candidate has the kind of

dough to make it roll over and play spy for them, the Chinese in town at the Hilton. Harry has
arranged for a meeting on the docks at night, limiting the number of players for each side to six.

There is no telling what kind of armament they would bring. It was known that they had

underground friends with automatic weapons visiting them at their Hilton lodging. All suppose

they felt it was excusable in light of the two hundred million dollars they were about to exchange

for weapons technology.

With each prospective buyer, they leave a viral calling card which is their guarantee, millions

in money floating between numerous notables bank accounts. This raises the eyebrows of a third

party from Saudi Arabia who enters the bidding at an official two hundred and fifty million

dollars. They are given the right when their bid is matched by the already present Chinese to

come to the meeting to negotiate for the sure to be rapidly emerging duplicate technology and its

development. They accept, to the dismay of the Chinese. They feel this to be a rather arrogant

move, and call Harry with threats.

Its their sardonic way of saying pay, or else theres no guarantee the technology ends up with

you alive. As the money continues to float between accounts, Harry and crew undergo a week of

the deadliest game of watch your back they have ever endured. A virus is launched against their

floating funds, and this seals the funds (about two point two million dollars) into a Cayman

Islands bank account that even Harrys crew cant crack the vault of.

Harry is very angry at this loss, and they kill the programmer who wrote the money bouncing

program when he cant fix the error. It is only Tuesday, with Saturday night planned for The

Holo rendezvous, and the crew prays for release as the Saudis begin arriving in town.
 The town car plays host to a deadly game of cat and mouse in a high speed chase attempting

to shake an insider enemy at Ozenoz.com as Harry on his cell slips into an unanswerable deluge

of bids he cannot allow, yet cannot ignore.

This subtle message that they are legitimate in the weight of the new technology they possess

turns more buyers heads than can be handled. The buyers offers are pouring in with offers from

four hundred million to now half a billion dollars, but Harry finds it is too late to negotiate. If

they hang onto this hot good much longer, they will lose their lives to the spinoff it is producing.

Too tired to retire, he spends the final nights playing poker at a nearby casino with his total bets

placed at two point two million dollars.

The trail becomes obvious from the even light surveillance the corporate heads have manned,

and the end of the road is at hand. With Adam and Eric now on the Saudis and Cynthia banned

to the office, Matthew tries to arrange a meeting with the Chinese to work out his deal. He uses

the information he has about the Saturday meeting to spark up conversation, and get through to

the boss. When he is forced to leave the hotel at gun point, he moves into surveillance of the

Saudis. He releases Cynthia from her office duty, and brings her along. He needs to know when

and where they will all have their meeting. Cynthia slips in to plant listening devices in the halls,

while Matthew uses a sonar listening device to listen in. They get their information and are left

jaws agape at the sheer size of the crowd to be in attendance at the docks the following Saturday.

In a final showdown amongst seven competitors, thick politics and diplomatic immunities, the

guns come out to play. Saturday comes, and Matthew has arranged for LAPD to surround the

dealings after they have pinpointed and radioed in a loctation. A number of F.B.I. agents have

also become interested, and get WASP teams ready for a second round effort. Out of the office
crew, only DAM AND Cynthia choose to be there for the final showdown. The two most likely

to benefit from success this night are placing their very lives on the line to see it done.

Read to the end to see which way the shells fall on the fallen, who thought they had it all. As

it becomes apparent to all, there is no way out, Eric and Derrick Chrislip (the twins) meet. Father

Dante, whose confessional booth heard near all of the sides through this is shot twice in the head

to end his misery. When an LAPD Detective fires and kills Harry, thinking he can swoop in and

grab The Holo, it starts up a crossfire for the ages. Prior to going to the main dock meeting place,

Harry left The Holo with Tom Slips and Steve Krauss, Mark Sheryl having fallen victim to nthe

car bomb the week before. Harry leaves The Holo packed in C-four, a detonator on it for remote

detonation. May help you get away, fellas. If I dont come back, youre dead anyway. Just see it

doesnt make it either. You see, this old man doesnt want that on his gravestone. Ex-Seal,

doomsday maker, Harry Sante. Theyll never be able to say I let the money stand in my way.

Adam slips in with his twenty two and shoots Steve. Pressed back by return fire from a very

scared Slips, he comes ona fallen LAPD officer with an assault rifle and he picks it up. Using it,

he blows a hole in Tom and his detonator the size of China. He retrieves the Holo and flees to the

back of the LAPD ranks, hiding The Holo safely in his jacket.

The End?

Joel Brooks

3692 Gracia Paseo

Spring Valley, CA 91977

http://www.OZENOZ.com

joelbrooks@ymail.com

(619)241-6247

To Whom This May Concern;

I have written a suspense/thriller novel which is entitled Hack To The Chief. The full

manuscript is available on request. It may also be viewed, along with my other works at my

website, which is listed above.

In Hack To The Chief, a very wealthy hacker entrepreneur has his business destroyed,

and millions of dollars in assets and capital stolen from him by a group of Middle Eastern

terrorists. In the first few chapters of the book, we watch him lose everything he owns as the

terrorists demand in return for their blackmail, for him to begin to follow a specific set of

instructions they communicate to him via a go between. After eluding them for a few days, he

is finally forced to submit, and is sent on a mission to Washington, D.C. to hack into the top

secret files of the Pentagon. The terrorists are planning an assassination attempt in conjunction

with the heist of a nuclear arm they will take when our national emergency weapons procedures

are put in place. The trail turns deadly, as slowly our man is set up to take the fall for the

assassination itself, led by the hand to infiltrating the secret travel plans within Secret Service

itinerary files he extracts using his sophisticated internet breaking and entering programs he has

built into his server over the years. As he is acquiring the terrorists demands and being puppet
mastered by their hands, he takes to desperate measures to try and build a program whose code

would warn the Secret Service on the day he now sees lying in wait. In a very tense and untimely

final showdown, he is set to either become the worlds most infamous assassin, or the most

unlikely of heroes as he Hacks to the Chief.

This book comes to form from a wellspring of information I have gathered over the years

from the most unlikely of sources. As a blogger, I gathered at one point a blog which was gaining

the attention of about a thousand hits a day from my various writings. Evidently, I attracted a

very unusual crowd, as for the next two years I experienced the most unsightly and bizarre

hacking into my various, rather large collection of internet accounts which added to my online

presence. The things these people can do, as I learned through study and research in such places

as Wired Magazine etc. is absolutely mind blowing. At a college I was attending, a favorite

professor of mine recommended that I take the time to write a book about a hacker who is

surviving, and in fact thriving from the merits of his code breaking alone. I took it to heart, and

went on a search in my creative catalogues to find the plot that would enable me to build a

protagonist whose change of heart could allow the reader to fall in love with his character, while

being enthralled by his hacking genius.

I look forward to hearing your feedback on my rather lengthy project. I promise the file

you will receive will be untainted by any bugs. I have been bug free for quite some time now,

thanks to the timely protection built by many decoding friends I have in various agencies and

companies. Thank you for your consideration for my hail to the thief suspense thriller Hack To

The Chief.
 Sincerest Regards,

Joel Brooks

Hack To The Chief

By Joel Brooks

Chapter One

The house was cool as though the fall air had come early, though it was only late summer.

A refreshing breeze was blowing in from the cooling fans set in place to keep the control room

from overheating. They were hooked in all over, with the little crepe paper streamers Beatrice

had taped to them during Stephens last birthday. South Philadelphias premier underground

online networking shark. He hated the word hacker, as it had such close proximity to the word

hack.

Yes, the Reed Street brownstone was a powerhouse of sick jokes and snark to make them

giggle as they blindfolded and fooled the worlds top companies online into walking around with
their shorts down. Stephen had bought it for a mere three quarters of a million dollars when his

first major residually signed client breakthrough happened. By the time he got done sorting out

all of the back door traces to avoid charges or bad press for his client, he felt he had earned it.

Stephen was the guy who would turn you into a networking giant overnight. Other

hackers could offer you two million hits for two grand, but with their flimsy hierarchy of

programmers and programming, they would only fly under the radar for minutes. Stephen

believed in building quality stars from rare talent he sought out and handpicked. A piece of the

long term pie was his payoff, as it was a lot more than a onetime hack, and in return, of course,

for his silence.

Stephen had given birth to the idea during his summer before graduate school. A friend

from school who had moved to Amsterdam and ran amuck doing the craziest, most ill sought out

shiznat you could think of boosted his instant message social networking account. For ten

minutes, Stephen had two million plus followers. Though the account was shut down for ten

days, when it returned he found that some pretty heavy media hitters were still lining up from his

ten minutes of fame to follow him. This gave him the idea of making fixed celebrities. I mean

hell; Hollywood did it every day, didnt they?

He spent the whole rest of his summer writing code to gain access to the entry points and

heavily guarded gates for the networking sites which would serve him the most. When he found

he was really good at it, he got himself fired from his summer job to work on it full time. On

arriving at graduate school, his list was near complete of unlocked gateways to the stars. He

would be making some of the brightest heavenly bodies visible on Earth, and it struck him as an

adrenaline rush for which there was no substitute.

 By spring break, he had built the code to support clients legitimately seeking long term

exposure and was set to build, preserve, and charge to no end. For so long as the account was

operating, Stephen would hold the key to the public eye as it had begun for his starlets. He felt it

was only fair to get paid as such. He had taken a starving artist and propelled them into lavish

comfort, and it deserved an agents fee if it was done with the help of his work. That was an

industry standard, wasnt it?

Thus far Stephen had produced two top forty hits, three leading roles in major films, and

half a dozen independent film artists gaining great wealth through internet exposure. He did not

ask for the rights to their work, or a cut of their merchandise proceeds. He charged a flat

producers ten percent agency funding fee on any and all profits made in their first year of

success. From there, he would continue to collect on any and all profits brought in from the sites

which he affected, payable in quarterly installments based on pay per click and view numbers

with sponsored advertising and so forth. Payments could be wired directly to his account in the

Cayman Islands.

Yes, the control room was cool for September tenth, and he prayed that no planes were

headed for towers any time soon this year. The damned high alerts of nine eleven took out some

of his prospecting for near a whole week every year due to over speculation as to the nature of

his business. With half a dozen packages being signed every quarter, he was busy tying up loose

ends for older accounts. He employed several workers to help out with the laborious tasks.

Code Demon Patrick Wallace, and chain smoker Beatrice Butts along with Michael Maynard

worked alongside of him for twelve hour days, four days a week with java boosts into their new

turf.
 As Beatrice crossed from the adjacent hall leading from the kitchen with a fresh cup of

joe, the sixty one inch plasma screen which dominated the center of the cage lit up with the

days wired funds intake. Stephen had been in business for eight long years, and there was always

a strange and powerfully exhilarating feeling watching the influx of money these days. Past due

accounts figures flashed onto the screen next, having been contacted and re-compiled by Patrick

earlier, and he frowned. Over a million and a quarter in outstanding payments from some fairly

well known celebrities. How quickly they forgot where they came from. They would test his

patience to the limits, what with all of the regular spot checking he had to do into their longer

standing and therefore higher risk accounts. They were all fucking ungrateful with their heads

stuck up their tanned asses, sitting in their spas and drinking bubbly until noon and lavishing

hundred thousand dollar credit lines for dinner wear on Rodeo Drive at dozens of shops. He

would issue them a round of statements, covered in their initial contract threatening to publish

the collected data from their various adjusted accounts over the years in his service and release

it to the entire network. With no way of tracking him down, there could be no fallout. His name,

address, phone number, and all of the other information about him that would put him in danger

had always been a very heavily guarded secret.

One such delinquent client who he had been forced to expose had attempted to track him

down, and had failed miserably. The accounts he affected for the clients were all done in such a

separate and unique way on each approach, that there was no way to trace any other activity and

even the F.B.I. had been stopped short of even having rudimentary reason to research any further.

His tracks were covered, and the client had been sued by several of his online business partners

for his fraudulent activities. Hollywood didnt want to give him a new part, and his block malls

construction funding had fallen short due to the lawsuits.

 Yes, the press fallout alone would be enough to cover his losses in a sort of no returns

penalty clause. And Stephen found it was a sure fire hit using the story as a sales tool for

prospective clients. The big bang was easy to get, he let them know, but when shes offering

breakfast youd better oblige and not take a dive.

I will get you laid, paid, and made, but only in fair trade, he often said to these teary

eyed recruits Dont act like a construction worker and screw, nut and bolt and you wont get

knocked out before your career is knocked up.

Just as Patrick was sending the top sites attention data collected from the fresh clients list

for review by the team from his terminal set up on the south wing of the control room cage, the

screen went white and then the entire cage shut down.

What the fuck? Stephen yelled in disgust.

With the entire system rebooting, a fax transmission began coming in on the mahogany

desktop across the rooms strategically placed fax machine.

Butts, can you grab that for me? Stephen asked.

Butts grab this! Butts grab that! I need to grab a butt right now too. And not yours,

Beatrice said in exchange while retrieving the paper printing out of the machine what the

hell?!

Insidious flirt, Patrick shot back from across the room.

Player, Butts retorted.

Dont hate the game, Patrick rebuffed.

 Uhh boss, I think you had better take a look at this, she said as she brought the paper

from the fax to Stephen.

The fax was a collage of magazine clippings arranged to form a sentence. It said, simply

put Get ready for restructuring. And a main frame made for you anew. Cheers.

It was just then that Stephen noticed the reboot was taking an extraordinary long time.

The internet activity monitor was lit up like a Christmas tree and there was data flowing into the

system. The lights in the whole house dimmed for a second before returning to normal as Patrick

tried desperately to get the remote mainframe access panel open from boot mode to come up on

his terminal. If he could open it in CDOS, he could code his way into the other terminals to

protect them. But he had to do it fast. He wasnt called Code Demon for no reason. Patrick

could type at a hundred and fifty words per minute at ninety five percent accuracy.

Cant alter the startup. The keyboard has been locked. It had to happen prior to

shutdown. Patty cakes, we are being hacked!

Fuck shit bitch!

Beatrice gave him a dirty look.

Watch your language, Patrick!

No, never mind. Tell ya later! Stephen grumbled back at her.

Dirtiest progression in the English curses vocabulary again?! Patrick observed from a

prior conversation.

Most definitely.
 Beatrice gave them both dirty looks.

I need a bone and joint doctor. Patrick remarked.

So youre referring to me as doctor now, thats promising. Stephen shot back.

Stoner, Patrick quipped.

I resemble that remark. Stephen admitted.

You two are most definitely getting sicker by the minute. And check Mike out

They all glanced over to the far wall lined with cabinetry Stephen had done in Rosewood

the prior spring that housed the original client contracts and invoices. They were taking a risk

keeping such record, and kept very close tabs on the originals returning to the P.O. Box address

by couriers as instructed to their full introductory package clients.

Michael was busy shoveling handfuls of paper into the paper shredder, which he had

pulled up to the first available filing cabinet.

Michael, stop it! Stephen barked out in alarm.

They are on to us! I am not going back to prison! I am not!

There were tears streaming down Michaels red and inflamed cheeks as he windedly

shoved a new stack until the shredder was at capacity into the machine. Michael Maynard had

done a four year stint in the big house after some innocent hacker by standing into some wealthy

weed connoisseurs bank accounts. The paranoid chronic smoker had pressed full charges, though

no money was taken and no data altered. So four years of Michaels life had been spent trying to

unwind the fatal anger of his wife, left alone with a new infant in arms.
 Michael, just cut it out. There is more than you could shred in a day anyway.

But the early accounts had a legitimate e-mail of mine on them. It was the oversight we

noticed before we changed the filing codes and rules! I would be the one going down, Stephen!

Not fucking you!

All five terminals reached the windows startup screen at the same time. Their moment of

untruth had come.

Damn, this is the longest boot time in history. Should we check the server towers out up

on the the third floor? Patrick asked in Stephens general direction.

Fuck shit bitch!

Stephen, you are either losing it already, or lost it some time ago! Beatrice disgustedly

observed.

I know Im mad. Ive always been mad. Youd have to explain why youre not mad

Shut up! screamed Michael, now openly wiping his nose on customer invoices.

Finally the desktops appeared on the seven screens across the cage. As soon as they

appeared, the icons began to drag and drop themselves into a zip file program with automatic e-

mail send out to an unknown address. They were then deleting from the system one by one via

the trash bin that seemed to be on a cyclic empty.

This fucker is fast! moaned Patrick.

Want to try remote desktop access on the Mac? Stephen practically demanded.
 Absolutely. returned Patrick immediately.

The laptop whirred to life under Patricks flying fingertips and went quickly to the

desktop. From there an internet browser opened without Patrick asking for it and the address bar

sprouted up a new ip address every few seconds until it seemed to lock onto one long generated

code. Then the browser opened four new tabs, all instantly going to four new pages. They were

all opening up Stephens private accounts to show him what was going on that he could not

otherwise access. A video chat window popped up with a caller requesting that they pick up.

Hell no, I dont want to video chat with you assholes! How dare you show your face as

if what youve done is going to fly by me? Patrick spat at the Mac, now opening the Caymans

bank account, the server front door for the system gateway code generators, and simply Patricks

car lease and client response e-mail account.

Check the e-mail account. Stephen ordered Patrick.

He was feeling tight in the chest, and wished he hadnt let Butts smoke in the day room

that day. The dry acrid taste of lingering stale cigarette smoke made him dizzy and nauseous for

a second. He had to get a grip, and try and salvage what was left of the hard drives.

Know what?! Fuck it! Grab screw drivers, pull all the drives! All three of you! Now! he

ordered, shouting so loud it echoed in the room.

He dove for a tool box that was kept under the mahogany desk, usually used to clean

cooling vents of debris and dust. Michael was the one typically in charge of hardware

maintenance, and he wished he would come to his senses. He was worlds faster with a Phillips

head than any of the other three.

 As he began cranking on the tower of the center station with the screwdriver, he

happened to glance up at the sixty- one inch plasma dead center. The six other monitors were all

showing the same thing. Stephens e-mail account was opening and composing a letter of

confession while the attached files tab added file after file of damning evidence of breaking and

entering into some multi- billion dollar corporations systems.

That was it for Michael. He ran for his shoes and began frantically putting them on. At

this point, his panic made Stephen panic too. Stephen began talking a mile a minute to remind

Maynard of the nature of their groups need to know privacy privileges.

Michael, this is not just our hacking crimes. We will be hated and hunted by millions

around the globe for exposing and exploiting some the entertainment industries most loved

names! It wont all go down in your name. We can still beat this. There has to be another purpose

behind all of this! Dont go making any drastic moves! We have to stick together on this! We

have your back, Mikey!

Fuck you! You got me into this! Michael snarled back at Stephen.

Suddenly at full steam, Michael plowed through Stephen as if he were a physical threat

barring him from exit. Stephen bolted after him and to the front stairs of the brownstone. He

grabbed Maynard by the hood of his sweatshirt and pulled him close to his face.

Dont be such a fucking coward!

Thats when Michael did it. He sucker punched Stephen directly in the nose; a flat hit that

had it not been so quick and half cocked it would have broken the bridge. Stephen was enraged,

and through the open front door tackled him off of the stairs and into the moist summer ground
below, still wet from the mornings rain. Michael landed in a mud puddle that slid in from his

wrist to his elbow. He pulled back his right to throw a jab at Stephens face and grass and mud

flew off of it in clumps.

Stephen watched with amusement as a whole grip of mud landed in Maynards gaping

mouth.

Fucking mud mouth! Stephen hit him with a solid left hook to the side of his face most

open to the walkway of the front of the house. He then clocked him the top of his head, in that

spot that throws your equilibrium o the crown of the head, immediately dropping him back into

the mud.

Michael, you fucking leave now! Dont come back! If I get hit, you get hit! Remember

that motherfucker. Just like this bullshit fight you started! Just like out here, I go down, you get it

worse! Get the fuck out!

Stephen watched as Michael limped out the gate and onto Reed Street. From the corner of

his eye, he noticed a neighborhood patrol car coming from down the block. Shivering with a cold

chill of distaste for his present circumstance he briskly moved back into the stone house that

could afford him at least relative safety.

Making his way into the foyer off the main hall on the first floor which he had outfitted

with shelving to house his antique book collection, he retrieved the safe keys from a bureau

drawer of the dark teak oriental stand that he so often felt clashed with the hallway paint. Moving

aside Hamlet, and A Comedy of Errors, he pulled out a small pistol with a box of shells hidden

there.
 The wind chimes hanging over the great oak front door creaked into life, announcing a

visitor. He had hated that damned doorbell ever since Patricia gave it to him for their anniversary

two years prior. He thought it added an air of airy mystical sound that shouldnt be surrounding

his guests as they made their way into a very high tech junkies abode. He couldnt explain it, but

that was how he felt.

Stephen put the gun in a drawer of the teak cabinet, and closed it in with the box of

shells. He then walked with heaviness towards the front door, starting to feel numb from the

afternoons events and wondering what could be next. He opened the door, pushing the old

fashioned brass thumb latch down and into place releasing the catch. The door swung open.

Hi, Im Captain Wallace from your local patrol. Was in the neighborhood and heard a

complaint phoned in from your neighbors about a fist fight in your front yard come in over the

radio. Sir, do you have any idea what I am talking about?

No, officer. Must have been one of those afternoon bums coming from McGreevys Pub

with one too many pints in them.

Thats what I figured, but I thought I saw you a few moments ago. Can you give me a

description?

No officer. But thanks for your help. Ill let you know if they come back around.

Captain Wallace tipped his hat as Stephen closed and latched the front door, exhaling

heavily with a sigh. Thank God Maynard had parked nearby.

Mounting a set of freshly carpeted stairs leading to the second floor of his home, he felt

his mind grip for the bourbon on his nightstand. He had put the carpeting over the natural
hardwood floor to try and absorb some of the noise the control room so often spilled over into

the rest of the house. It had actually worked quite nicely. Besides, at night he would remove his

shoes and find furry comfort from the first floor almost all the way to the master bedroom under

foot. Thick, long vanilla shag with subtle speckles of brown woven into the fabric that gave the

appearance of sand in your toes.

As he swung down the corridor towards the master bedroom at the end of the granite

tiled hall, he groped for his cell phone. It was right where he had left it, clipped in the protective

case that held it to his belt. He then felt in his back pocket for his tri- fold wallet that held his

money cards. The terminal downstairs had been showing someone tapping into his bank account.

There was over six million dollars in that particular account. He had no I.R.A. and had never

been too keen on investing, so he was belly up on the cadaver table and being cut open at the

throat.

Walking into the master bedroom he felt somewhat put at ease by the subtle dcor

tempering his mental anguish. His clients were not being threatened without due cause.

Obviously he had made an enemy whom he had failed to predisposition before they got outside

of his sphere of influence. At the very worst, he had over two million dollars in high Indonesian

art stored in a warehouse in Germantown that he had bought for pennies on the dollar. It had

been his one reprieve, his in case of emergency business, and the source of legitimate

laundering for his money. The business did not turn over the stock as his I.R.S. paperwork

showed, but had the stock doctored to prove its legitimacy if needs be. Now more than ever he

needed to lean on that legitimacy as his other business came tumbling down around him.
 He picked up the bottle of bourbon from the nightstand that housed his brass touch lit

reading lamp. Brushing its base, the light illuminated the cool now dimly lit bedroom. He could

see now that the bottle was nearly three quarters of the way full. Stephen didnt even bother with

the clean crystal rocks glass that sat next to his alarm clock. He twisted open the cap, and let the

warm comforting liquid ease down his throat in three long swallows. Immediately he felt less

tense, and almost clearer and more able to think through the mellow drama that was his current

chaotic reality.

Enough of that, he said to himself thinking he could top off the bottle with the next

swig.

As he sat down the bottle, returning it to its place next to his drug store bought digital

alarm clock, the case attached to his belt began to vibrate. Stephen detached his cell phone and

reached for the talk button on the smart phones lit up screen. He held the receiver to his ear

and timidly answered This is Stephen.

Stephen! Andrew Carnegie here. Remember me?

` Not the Andrew from the china white hollowed Buddha imports deal? I suppose youre

not here to make another offer are you?

If only life were as simple as that, Stephen. Hijackers killed that connect nearly five

years ago when I couldnt get a bigger boat due to you refusing to cooperate. No, Stephen I am

your arranged go between for the pursuers of your pain who penetrated your previously pulp-

fiction world today.

Stephen would have been taken back if it hadnt been for the previous experience with

Andrew. He was connected on many levels to large supply drug dealers in ports all over the
world. At one point, he had promised Stephen a half a million dollars per shipment if he turned

over his warehouse goods and allowed the drugs to be imported with them once a quarter.

Stephen was afraid of the three day turnaround removing the drugs from the disassembled pieces

and hollowed statues on his property with the presence of so many inventory warehouse workers

and the threat of long term imprisonment. Too many witnesses to take the risk, he told himself.

He declined, and instead began moving in more imports for the books from his friends consorts

in one truck tariff free moves out of Texas under shell corporations he set up and sunk after the

buyout. Stephen had three dimensional carvings made for wall hanging that he procured for eight

dollars that would sell for eight hundred.

Stephen I wanted to let you know that you have a choice in surviving this. Follow the

simple instructions I give you each day and you will be spared. I am sure you are still licking

your wounds, so I am going to give you time to collect your thoughts. I will call again in the

morning with instructions to guarantee your continued emancipation from all of this at eight A-M

sharp.

The phone line went dead. Stephen hung up his phone and numbly replaced it on his belt

clip. If only it had been anyone but Andrew Carnegie, the soulless gambit who had his own

mother shot before she could testify against him in a money laundering trial. Though her body

had never turned up, and Andrew was set free of his charges, police had continued searching for

years. She had disappeared just days before the key- witness testimony in the trial, and it had

been a shot in the face to the justice system.

Removing the cards from his wallet to check his finances, Stephen made his way into the

master bedrooms private bathroom. One hand dialing account codes, the other lining up
toothpaste on his revolving toothbrush, he went through the throes of desperation. He was hoping

he had not lost all of his amassed savings.

Spinning the brush head over his teeth and tongue to remove the odor of the bourbon, he

painfully listened to the automated system in the Caymans read him a balance of zero dollars

and zero cents.

Just then Butts bounded around the corner from the direction of the adjacent staircase.

All of this going down and you pick now to brush your teeth?

Butts, they took me for everything in my bank account already. Six million dollars, all

gone.

Everything? You mean you cant pay me tomorrow?

I am broke, B. Let me get one of your cigarettes?

Cant. Just ran out and switched to the e cigarette.

Stephen put down his toothbrush, turning it off and carefully replacing it on the charging

dock, and switched off the bathroom light. Beatrice followed as he moved, feeling a hollow shell

of his normal self, into the hallway and back down the flight of stairs and its sandy shag. On the

way down the thickly padded stairs, Stephens phone began to light up again.

Oh no.

He removed the smart phone awkwardly from his belt clip and prayed it was not his

demented torturer again.

 This is Stephen.

Stephen Bolsom? This is Home Access Security Gateways calling to say a silent key

point and video surveillance intruder alert has been triggered at your residence. Sir, I wanted to

call and see if everything is ok?

Yeah, no intruder here. Been having some internet connection problems that might have

set the damned thing off.

Good to hear sir. By company protocol police have already been notified and are on the

way to your home to do a routine face to face walk through inspection of your home. They

should be there in under ten minutes.

Stephens face flashed a hot red, and he felt the sweat begin to pool on his clammy stress

taught furrowed brow.

You can call them off. Everything is alright here.

Sorry sir, no can do. In person walk through inspection by authorities is mandatory

when an intruder alarm is tripped. I assure you sir; its all done for your own safety.

Ten minutes?

At this point, they should be there in less than eight minutes judging by how fast the

dispatch responded sir. Would you like for me to stay on the line until the police arrive?

No, thats ok. I think I will go make them some coffee right now. Thanks for your help.

No problem sir. We are pleased to be your premier home security company, and look

forward to serving you in the future.

 Stephen hung up the phone and removing the safe keys from his pocket, immediately

began barking orders to Beatrice and Patrick in the control room the three were now standing

idly in.

Here are the safe keys! They are labeled by room. Take all of the drives and disks and

master invoice sets and get them in the fucking vaults! Do it now! We have five fucking minutes

until the police get here to do a home security inspection! Just do it now!

All three immediately began the clumsy and awkwardly slow process of gathering the

dismantled hard drives Patrick had removed and the stacks of client data in spindles floating on

work trays around the room and jogging with them to the three rooms that concealed vaults in

the floorboards, closet, and in the false cabinet. The master bedroom held its safe behind a

hidden latched shelving set at the back of the walk in closet. It was the largest of the three, taking

up nearly the whole wall. The guest quarters on the ground floor held a medium sized safe under

the Persian throw rug that was installed at the foot of the queen sized bed. The third safe was a

false cabinet in the wreck room that took up most of the finished basement.

Gasping to catch their breath under duress all three moved silently near a decades worth

of indispensible codes and data that had protected them and paid them so well from their

scattered resting places around the ghostly quiet control room. Outside somewhere in the

distance down the street, a car alarm beeped its persistent and droning alert. The neighborhood

dogs howled from their gated entrances, begging to have their ears given a reprieve from the

loud car horn. Stephens cat, Tommy stood in the open entrance way to the control room looking

very confused, her hair bristling back from the base of her stand offish raised tail.

Shit! I forgot to feed Tommy! And give her medicine!

 Then it came, faster than what seemed possible. The whistling undertones of what

couldnt have been a more foreboding front door chime announcing the arrival of the policemen

come to inspect.

Stephen quickly looked over the control room. They had about seventy- five percent of

the goods that were in need of lock and key put away. The room just appeared to be a rich tech

junkies work in progress, he told himself. Nothing to be suspicious of here. Not with the

breakers thrown and the business on the terminals obscured. The only thing left to do was to stall

the patrolmen while Patrick and Butts got the rest stored away and concealed in the safes.

Having three open safes in some sort of valuables transition laid open would not be easy to

explain away to police alerted of an intruder.

Beatrice and Patrick ran back into the control room for the final load of disks and drives.

The wind chime that was the mystical front doorbell insistently played its hollow notes again

reminding them of their conspicuous guests standing in wait on the front stoop.

Finish up. And hide the safes. I will stall them for as long as I can.

Ive got to quit smoking. Butts wheezed, bending over at the waist, trying to catch her

breath.

You dont finish in time, we will be looking at some prison time that will make that

easy. Stephen warned.

Beatrice squinted and her mouth quivered as she took a measured puff of steam from her

e cigarette, its electronic tip glowing cherry red. She tilted her head back and released a cloud

of nicotine saturated steam at the ceiling fan, simultaneously replacing the item in her hip pocket.
 Ok Patty Cakes! Lets do this thing!

Patrick removed his coke bottle glasses and wiped them free of steam with his gray

cotton v- neck t- shirt. Holding them clasped by the stem between his thumb and forefingers, he

wiped beads of sweat already making him chilly in the autumn like air from his worry lined

forehead.

Go team!

They broke apart from their standing circle in the midst of the disassembled control

room, each holding their breaths as to what the next ten minutes would hold for their fates. An

unruly cop with a nosy disposition could prove to be quite the untimely exposing factor to tip the

scales on this ugly and subdued underground enterprise that had for so long lain just under the

authorities radar.

Hoping for a bored and calm by the books beat cop, Stephen walked calmly to the front

entrance of the hundred and fifty year old stone house, its floorboards creaking ominously.

Gathering his strength, and giving his disheveled hair a quick finger through comb, he

unwillingly opened the front door with a hollow click of the tarnished brass thumb latch.

Two uniformed South Philadelphia police officers stood, their military issue black work

shoes giving a dull hazy shine in the September mid- afternoon sun streaming in from overhead.

Their badges read Captain Wallace and Detective Patterson.

Hello, Mr. Bolsom? I know I was here about twenty minutes ago and I spoke to you. I

am Captain Wallace and this is Detective Patterson. We received an emergency call from your

home security system company about an intruder in your home sir? May we come inside?
 Everything is alright here, just a false alarm tripped off by some network problems.

I hope so, sir. But to be sure, we need to do a walkthrough of the premise. Youre not

being held hostage by an intruder right now sir?

No, no, no. Its just Im in the midst of some sensitive electronic upgrading and the

place is a mess.

We understand, sir. Im afraid we cant leave without doing an inspection. We are just

doing our job. Its for your safety, sir. May we come in?

Captain Wallace right breast pocket began a medium pitched jangling ring, vibrating the

pens jutting from its buttoned enclosure. He removed a small flip cell phone and said Excuse

me.

Turning to the side and stiffly marching a few feet from off the front stoop, he began a

low conversation with the caller.

May I come inside now, sir? Detective Patterson persisted.

Captain Wallace paced a few steps further from the house, glancing back at them and

waiving at them to go on without him.

One down and one to go, thought Stephen. May I come out of this with my ducks in a

row?

Stephen backed away from the entrance, making way for Detective Patterson to make his

way into the house.

 Is this a Historical Society landmark, Mr. Bolsom? the Detective asked in a nasal and

guarded tone.

As of two months ago. Just finished the main parts of the restoration and genealogy of

the lineage of owners it has had over the past century and a half. Still waiting on the contractor to

come out and install the plaques.

Very nice. And how long have you lived here sir?

I have been bothering the haunts here for eight wonderful years, Detective. Shes almost

a decade into what retouches I felt I could afford and still keep her genuine,

Very nice.

Taking an icy breath of air as he passed the dining room bay window with the single

room air conditioner blowing a chill from its slot in the outward hinging lower pane placement,

he ushered the Detective into the kitchen.

The kitchen was redone with an elongated counter stemming from the surface element

stovetop done with Italian marble now cluttered with junk mail and the random assortment of

temporarily discarded odds and ends it always attracted. In the center of the room, a seasoned

century old chopping block he used as a cutting board made of a thick hard oak gave the room an

antique country accent.

Would you like some coffee, Detective? I can brew some up fresh in a jiffy! And I think

I may have some coffee cakes from the bakery left over from this mornings brunch if you like.

That would be nice, thank you Mr. Bolsom.

 Stephen thought this was all going too easy all at once. Alright, coffee and cakes but

dont make him feel too much at home, he warily reminded himself. He pulled the discolored

yellow plastic air tight container that held the beans from its place on the corner cabinets

shelving. Spinning its interior rotunda, he removed a jar of ground cinnamon to sprinkle over the

brewing grinds. Hastily dumping an eyeballed amount of beans into the grinder, their aroma

lazily drifting from the off yellow containers interior, he slid the vertical latch and lever into

place. A brief whirring sound filled the space between him and the Detective as the beans were

ground, spinning in a tight concentric circle visible under the translucent lid of the grinder.

Placing a fresh filter into the coffee pots brewing grinds enclosure, he dumped the

contents of the grinder into it. Pressing an alternating knob on the stainless steel faucet end and

activating the water filter, he filled the coffee pot to twelve cups of water, watching the softened

waters air bubbles collect on the sides.

Filtered water. Makes it better. You like cinnamon, Detective? he asked, sprinkling the

cinnamon liberally over the awaiting grinds.

Sir, anything after the stale bargain stuff my wife buys would do. The Detective

answered with a smirk.

Stephen chuckled and poured he water into the coffee maker as he tripped the red

glowing brew button to stat the brewing process.

The Detective was meticulously inspecting the assorted collection of junk mail on the

counter. Grimacing and glancing at his watch, he removed an eight inch long, narrow notebook

with cardboard backing from his deep left breast pocket.

 He began to jot what seemed to be some very thoughtful notes onto its faintly gray lined

top page, and Stephen wondered if he was making a grocery list.

Sliding the pastry box with its cream white tissue paper jutting from the sides from off of

the room centered chopping block, he careened the lid at an angle and offered the Detective a

cake.

Dont want to ruin my dinner, but then again I may as well leave that up to the misses as

well, The Detective quipped, grabbing a cake from the boxes interior.

The Detectives radio fuzzed to life from its leather harness attached to his hip. He

fumbled around the awkwardly long rubberized antennae and removing it, held it to his mouth to

respond to the dispatcher.

Yes, dispatch. Engaged in official inspection now at the Reed Street residence.

Very good. Radio when you are finished.

Thats a ten- four dispatch.

A few brief silent moments that made Stephen wonder in hope if Patrick and Butts were

done passed as his hair stood on end on the back of his neck. Growing impatient, Stephen went

to the china closet and removed a ceramic handmade mug with Know Your .Biz stenciled on it

from the interior. Pulling the three quarters finished pot from the coffeemaker, he poured the

Detective a cup. Handing it to him, he spun the wooden circular condiments tray on its axis to

move the creamer and sugar in front of Detective Patterson standing across the counter from him

on the outer edge of the kitchen. Patterson was still standing transfixed in his notebook.

Here is the coffee. Creamer and sugar on the stand in front of you.
 Thank you.

He hastily added cream and sugar to his coffee and took a sip. His radio crackled and

Stephen jumped, growing more nervous about the control room and the safes by the second.

Mr. Bolsom, if it is alright by you I will bring this with me. May I continue the

inspection of the premises now, if you please?

Sure thing.

Holding his breath the whole time, Stephen led him first into the guest room. The Persian

rug was in place, and no notes were necessary in Pattersons pad. When a brief wandering look at

the four rooms on the first floor was complete, he led him to the entrance of the control room at

the foot of the staircase which led to the second and third floors.

Detective Pattersons radio crackled to life.

Patterson we have a report of a car theft on Market near you. Can you proceed to the

call?

Wrapping it up here, dispatch. Thats a ten- four. Give me about five minutes.

Stephen grinned a stupid grin for a brief moment. The gods were with him, if you could

call it that way after the series of events that had just befallen him.

Barely noticing the dismantled jumble that was the control room, they moved on to the

second floor. A brief two minute walk through to the entrances of each room on the second floor

seemed to quench the Detectives curiosity, and he jotted a few final notes into his book, and

closed it after drawing a horizontal line across the page. He replaced the notebook into his shirt
pocket. Still shaky in the legs, Stephen plodded in front of him, leading him away from the third

floor narrow set of unfinished stairs which led to the top floor rooms containing the server

equipment. He held his breath as he led him back down the stairs towards the first floor.

Does this place have a basement? Patterson asked impatiently.

With a pool table. Would you like to see it?

I dont think that will be necessary. We are all done here. Here is your coffee mug.

He handed Stephen the mug, drained of its contents.

Stephen held out his hand to shake the Detectives leather gloved hand, and the Detective

made a fist.

I dont shake hands, sir. Too many people, too many germs. That will be all thank you.

He lightly bumped Stephens hand with a fist, giving a tired and subtle serious smile and

opened the front door.

Captain Wallace was in the street now, still chatting on the phone. He waived to them as

Patterson made his exit.

Thank you, Detective Patterson.

Just doing my job, he said plainly as he walked away.

Closing the door, Stephen felt a relieving rush of endorphins flood his senses making him

dizzy for a moment. Thank God for coffee and donuts, he chuckled to himself. Too clich.
 Is he gone? Beatrice voice floated from the landing of the third floor staircase down to

the foyer.

We are good!

`With a galloping gait, she and Patrick came bounding down the stairs looking pale and

relieved.

You can both go now. Wouldnt want you to work any longer with no pay tomorrow. Ill

man the helm and see what I can come up with.

Are you sure, boss? What if these kooks show up in person making demands? Patrick

half heartedly answered, adjusting the tongue of his canvass skate shoes.

They have arranged for next contact by phone in the morning at eight. I think I am safe

for now. Im going to get drunk and hope this was all a nightmare when I wake up which goes

away. Go home, guys.

Call if you need anything, Patrick put in with a worried glance.

Yeah anything at all, boss. Beatrice added, grabbing her purse from a chair nearby.

After saying their brief goodbyes, Stephen wearily climbed the stairs and retired to the

refuge of the master bedroom and his bourbon. An hour later he was drunk and crying. An hour

and one minute later, he was asleep.

Chapter Two
 At about seven thirty five in the morning, Stephens alarm clock rang its desperate call

for return to waking action. Doggedly fighting the daze of the bourbon from the evening prior, he

switched off its alert, which seemed to be rhythmically dictating the pound of the blood rushing

in his headachy hangover. His wrist hurt from where he must have slammed its Rolex bearing

weight on the antique ivory headboard in the middle of the night. He glanced at the dial of the

Rolex with a wince, reminding himself in its sharply detailed diamond lined dials that today was

September eleventh. Nice to know that flags would fly at half mast on the day he rose to bury his

old life.

No time like the present to bury the past. Wish the hatchet stuck in my head would

detach.

Sliding aside the crimson silk sheets and the thick down comforter, he squinted across the

room at his terry cloth robe, hanging from the back of his desk chair across the room by the

window. The weather, as it often did in Philadelphia had turned sticky, and already seventy five

degree farenheight humid morning air damp with dew moisture greeted his naked form as he

climbed from the bed.

Crossing the room, he gathered the robe about his shoulders and tied it off. At least he

wouldnt have to explain this all to Patricia. She had broken off their engagement two months

prior when he had refused to turn off the backup taping of the bedroom home security cameras

while they were having sex. He was safe from intruders, and now safe from an ugly prenuptial

agreement that had been festering for a year. In fact, two weeks ago she had asked for him to

discontinue any further contact. She already had a new boyfriend.

 Making his way through the dimly lit north to south positioned hallway just outside of the

bedroom which never seemed to catch the morning light, he carefully descended the stairs in his

bare feet. Arriving at the foyer, he opened the front door and stepped into the Reed Street

morning outside. The next door neighbor was already at work trying to reattach her rosebush to

her front window trellis and gave him a strained glance.

Remembering that he hadnt picked up his late arriving mail from the day before, he

absently pulled the front door shut. The Inquirer was there on the straw woven welcome mat in

its dull light blue cheap plastic bag. He picked it up, and removed it from its moisture protective

sleeve. Scanning the front page with a frown, he regretted not having taken any aspirin for his

headache yet.

Then he saw it.

Across the walkway in the narrow patch of grass that was his front yard there was a

realtor sign stuck in the ground. A manila envelope was held to the post tied tight by a plastic

ring clasp. The sign read Sold.

What the hell?

Stephen rushed over to the sign to gather the envelope, feeling like he had been kicked in

the stomach. Opening its brass colored clasps, he pulled forth an immediate eviction notice and

the official deeds for the terms of the sale of his house as of September tenth.

What the hell?

He hurriedly rushed back towards the house, dropping the envelope and papers on the

lawn. At the moment his pumice stone softened bare feet touched the brick cobble stone
walkway, the security system armed and locked the house down with three shrill beeps and a

voice alerting him Alarm on. Residence secure.

Desperately he tried to throw the catch on the front door and shove it open, but it was to

no avail.

Then his phone began to ring and the front pocket of his robe began pulsing where from

where he had placed it before leaving the bedroom upstairs. He pulled it out and answered.

You bastard! You sold my house!

Stephen, may I remind you that things could be a lot worse. We could turn all of your

companys activities for the last eight years over to the F.B.I. and the C.I.A and put you away for

a very long time. Even better yet, we could simply end your life and make your sad looking

corpse disappear.

What do you want from me? he gasped in a breathless exasperated tone.

Well, for starters if you want to avoid trouble, you need to leave Reed Street. The house

is not yours, nor its contents and the authorities have been notified that you are threatening to

break in. They should be there in about five minutes or so.

You cant be serious.

Oh Stephen I am serious, and quite deadly. Get in your car and drive to the downtown

Hilton. There is an envelope waiting for you at the front desk with further instructions. That will

be all.

The phone line went dead.

 Stephens head was a clutter of jumbled and scared emotions. He was naked, alone, broke

and now homeless. All of this in under twenty four hours since the initial breach into his server

and mainframe systems. He moved towards his Audi, wondering how he was to drive it without

the keys that should be in the crystal bowl in the foyer. His phone vibrated in his hand. A text

message had come through from Andrews number, a Newark area code. It read: The keys are in

the center console of your car.

Finding the doors open, he removed his gym bag from the backseat and slid open the

zipper. Pulling his workout warm up pants from the duffle, he slid them on under his robe

standing exposed to his watching neighbor in the street. He pulled an old t-shirt from the bag,

removed the robe and pulled it over his head. Placing his shower shoes on, he threw the gym bag

back into the back seat, noticing his old laptop lying in the passenger side rear seat well.

Climbing in the car, he pushed the starter button and threw it into drive just as a police

patrol car came cruising up behind him. Peeling out with an angry shove of his foot on the

accelerator, Stephen fumbled for the navigation system controls on the screen in the front dash.

He dialed in the Hilton, downtown Philadelphia, and got the most recent traffic alerted

directions. Turning on KYW 1060am with a solemn indifference he drove towards his mystery

reservation listening absently to the morning headlines.

Saving the trip route, and exiting the navigation system, Stephen spontaneously swerved

just in time to pull into his old cry over your beer and ex haunt of a neighborhood bar, Avenue

One. This was the only thing that was going to get rid of his nerves, and help him face the overall

hangover that was his morning. Besides which, Tim, the round the clock bartender was one of
the most intelligent alcohol shleppers he had ever met. How a guy with a Georgetown degree in

History and English Literature ended up shoving beers at drunks all day was a mystery.

The bar was dimly lit with already a half a dozen of the usual patrons seated around the

centered square bar watching Sports Center. Tim was dusting bottles and sipping on a latte when

Stephen entered. When he saw the shape Stephen was in, Tim spoke up.

You look awful. What happened? Did you marry her?

Even worse. I took it up the ass last night.

Please tell me she was cute.

Tim I got destroyed yesterday. Give me a double screwdriver with shot of amaretto in

it.

Thats disgusting.

Shut up. You know I like amaretto.

No, that you got destroyed. What exactly do you mean by destroyed?

While Tim painstakingly mixed Stephens drink, Stephen filled him in on the events of the

last seventeen or so hours. Tims eyes slowly grew more angry as he listened, watching sip at his

drink, his elbows resting on bar rags sitting on top of the hardwood bar counter. Stephen told him

about his warehouse, and openly espoused his suspicions that they were going after that next.

Ill tell you Stephen, this is shit. Heres what you do. Sell all of the warehouse goods to

one of those importers from the docks in one big lump. Move it quick like, you know? Then you

take all that money, launder it. Get it real clean. Cash. Untouchable. Stuff it in your socks and use
it to get through this. People might look at you kind of funny, but its money. Need another? I

mean it. You need to liquidate, man. Its on the house.

Yeah, Ive got to shake my bourbon street headache still. Pour it up.

Thats why they call it Avenue One. Get it, have a new one? Well fix you up.

Thats the worst line Ive heard in years.

Yeah doesnt seem to go over with the ladies real well either. They all think Im trying to

get em drunk to get in their panties.

Stephen didnt laugh. He wondered if he ever would again. Tim took the hint and

wandered off to let him chill out in his stuff alone for a bit and to wait on another sunrise

customer. When he came back, Stephen gave him fair warning.

Tim, the police are going to show up some point when they recognize my car. I am

reporting it stolen and leaving it here. I figure if they find it and put it in the impound, the repo

man cant get at it and I can hang on to it for less that way until I can come back around for it.

Yeah, the police are around here all the time, no worries. I even run the line to some of

them on some games. You on the other hand dont visit me enough. Go, ahead, get out of here

and report your scar stolen ya whacko!

His headache greatly diminished, in fact with half a buzz from Tims stiff cocktails,

Stephen wandered out of the thick front door of Avenue One and back towards his Audi in the

small parking lot. A nearby sign read no parking in rear and Stephen chuckled to himself about

telling Tim he took it up the ass again.

 He sank into the cushiony leather front seat of the Audi for what may be the last time, and

held his breath. He wondered what his life would hold from here on out.

No time like the present to bury the past, he startled himself by talking out loud.

He dialed nine one one and gave the vaguest report he could of a stolen Audi from

Reed Street to the operator. The operator took the details in a monotone and disinterested tone,

and with a bored voice reassured him that a police report would be filed and they would begin

searching for his car. He thanked her cautiously, and hung up.

He then dialed the number for his favorite local cab company and ordered a taxi.

Retrieving the in- case- of- emergency kit from his trunk, he went over its contents. Two ten

thousand dollar identity theft made credit cards, a fake I.D. and passport to match. He packed

the only money he had into a leather passport case with his fake credentials, which he in turn

packed into his laptop bag along with his laptop. A few short minutes later, the taxi pulled up and

he got in.

The taxi driver spoke up.

Where to?

The downtown Hilton, please cabbie.

You can call me cabbie, just dont call me crabby, or crappy, or pappy

Just drive, please.

Testy, testy.

The cab shuddered as it sprang forward towards the Hilton hotel.

 Do you have any aspirin? Stephen asked.

Dont you think you should wait for the hangover at least?

Yes and no. Stephen replied, irritated.

Troubled by indecision? Yes and no. the cabbie laughed back at him.

Great, a comedian for a cabdriver.

Ok pal, take it easy. They give it up for a dollar and a quarter at the corner store right

down from your hotel. Im fresh out.

The rest of the ride went off more smoothly in relative quiet, Stephen thankfully noted.

Paying with his credit card, he tipped the taxi cab driver a flat five dollars and climbed out of the

cab in front of the Hilton. Nervousness gripped his guts as he realized he was about to encounter

the devil behind all of this again. The taxi pulled away as he tried to get a grip on his senses, and

push himself forward.

Reaching the front desk, he waited patiently to be noticed by the front desk clerk whose

name tag read Thomas Seegerber.

Hello, sir. Can I help you?

Yes, Thomas. I have an envelope I was told waiting for me with you here.

Your name, sir?

Stephen Bolsom.

Ahh yes, sir, and here is your key card as well. You are in room 236. Enjoy your stay!
 Stephen nervously fondled the relatively thin envelope in Hilton stationary and the key

card. Reluctant to head up to his room, not knowing who or what would wait, he had a seat in the

lobby and opened the envelope.

Inside, also on Hilton stationary was a note reading in neat print: Stay here until we tell

you. Room service is covered. Use the terminal we left. After that was a series of pass codes for

the terminal and the wifi connection.

Now fully decided that he was not staying, Stephen opened his laptop from out of its

enclosure in the case. Logging on to the Hilton wifi connection, he used a program to get in to

the back door of a local motels booking logs. He found a vacant room, and marked it booked in

their system. Closing the laptop, he walked out the front door of the hotel and hailed another taxi.

A short cab ride later, Stephen arrived at his motel. After paying and thanking the

subdued taxi driver, he walked to the room number he had filled the motels system blank in as

booked. Removing a magnetic key card strip decoder from his attach, he inserted the card and

watched as it decoded and unlocked the door to his room. Then, simple as that, he walked into

his new temporary residence, placing the do not disturb sign on the doorknob on the outside

for the maids to see.

Slinging the attach with the laptop sleeve and his I.D.s in it onto the nearby desk chair

in the dimly lit smoke smelling room, he noticed his phone was vibrating. It was Andrew

Carnegies number.

What do you want? he said, answering.

 Stephen, you are making this hard on yourself. We know you retrieved your instructions,

and then chose to leave. Where did you go, my dear boy?

I stepped out to have a drink.

Stephen, we have all that covered under your Hilton room service. We will play your

game though, for now. You have one hour to return to your room. However, in return for your

hostility, we have decided to take out a little more insurance. We are taking the names and

numbers and addresses of your dearest from your phone as we speak. In case we may need to

include them in all of our fun due to your games.

What?

Stephen glanced at the screen of his smart phone. All of its contents and phone records

were pulling out of their files and emailing to an address he didnt recognize.

You mother

Ahh Stephen. I will be in contact. Or we will find you and your mother very soon if you

refuse to comply. One hour Stephen. One hour. That will be all.

The phone line went dead.

Chapter Three

Not figuring on being able to gain very much private access from his laptop or phone

anymore, Stephen had decided the following morning to pawn them in order to get breakfast and
a prepaid cell. The South Street Pawn Shop was his first order of business for the morning, and

promptly at nine am he checked out of his motel and headed for that vicinity.

South Street, Philadelphia was already at nine am its usual swarm of tourists and local hippies

and artistic types hanging around where the climate matched their clothes, or lack thereof. Today

Stephen was not here to share in the local art flair however, and he briskly walked into the pawn

shop he hoped would take his wares on the corner. Inside, rows of guitars hung lining the walls,

with stacks of amps to match from poor musicians who had lost their equipment to poverty

brought on by some other vice.

Can I help you? The store clerk spoke up as he approached the long glass encased

counter.

Yes, I have two items to pawn. Stephen replied, placing the laptop and his smart phone

on the counter.

The store clerk examined the laptop first, noting the serial number, and turning it on and

off to check for pass codes and to see if it was functioning. He then gave the Android cell phone

a once over.

This still has service on it?

Im getting it turned off today.

Ok, I will give you eighty five for both. You want to pawn, right, not sell?

Yeah. You got a deal.

 The necessary paperwork and thumbprints followed, and Stephen walked out with his

eighty five dollars. This, he figured could cover a pre-paid cell under his alias and his service,

and some breakfast to get him going this morning.

The sunlight streamed in dusty particle filled rays through the dark wood paneled blinds

that lined Carnegies study. It was only at his modest home here in Newark, New Jersey that he

felt completely secure to go about the very underground deals that made up his living. Unlike in

the days of his youth that had built his reputation, he was now very much a homebody. The

fireplace had the leftover ashes still left in a pile from the night prior when he had sat and mused

at this latest deal on the chopping block over some fine scotch from his collection. All of

Andrews days spent naked in deals such as this coming from the streets were only as

comfortably behind him as his ability to deal adequately with the current characters involved in

the deal on the table. He needed to stay in constant touch in order to navigate the trenches safely

without having to do too much face to face. As much as he wanted to hide inside of his nice

suburban home and keep out of the line of fire, it was a necessary evil at this point due to

Stephens resistance for him to venture out in order keep control over the very volatile tempo of

the current mission. It was time to negotiate his next venture to meet in person for this mess

Stephen god damned Bolsom was creating. He tensed for the confrontation as his hand reached

for the old fashioned black rotary phone he had brought with him from his Los Angeles pad back

in the eighties. He had moved it from its perch on his armchair, and he swore Damn it!
 It was a memento of his days as a heroine junkie that had ended his dreams of becoming

a Hollywood writer and began is lucrative middle aged criminal years. It was slow on the uptake,

just like him, and rang a fierce and barking ring as Carnegie was known for as well by his

affiliates on their many phone negotiations.

From his suede upholstered upright study chair with the eagle clawed legs, he moved

with increasing nervousness that took on more and more conviction in his stomach towards the

desk mid- room that held the rotary phone.

Flipping open to leaf through the large rolodex on reaching the desk, Andrew looked up

this most recent oil tycoon he needed to reach. The man had proven too power hungry to pass

up the opportunity when Harry Sante had come calling. The ability to reach inside of his

competitors businesses undetected and resell the virus programming to a friend of both had sold

him immediately. And the chance to effect history in the ultimate deal involving Bolsom had

excited him, and closed the package for them all.

Andrew had come about being friendly with Harry Sante in a business sense when Harry

had emerged from Silicon Valley with a Department of Defense intelligence deal to speak with

the Navy about his newfound rich conglomerated business partners. These people had a

worldwide influence that was all too effective in altering governments courses. This type of

influence was what had attracted Harry, a former Seal to make the deal to get back his retirement

benefits from the Navy in return for getting the thrill of pressing on the many crowned heads to

get much need intelligence in the industry.

Harry and Carnegie had met over a deal to move a financial sector attacking virus to be

used on an attack on the current Libyan regime to help move swiftly through what the group
hoped would change the powerful heads places in a great game of musical chairs. It seemed this

game was constantly being played in the areas tightening armed forces, and the time was ripe.

Andrew had made an offer for a businessman with whom he had held opium dealings while

sewing his oats in the Middle Eastern underground community in D.C. Not that his oats needed

sewing for Harrys prime product. Sante was known for having the best product at all times, and

very few were even allowed to approach dealing with him unless they were likely to put the

product to use that matched its potential. Carnegie, who had named himself in a fast Hollywood

name change in the eighties, had been so honored to sit at these negotiations. He felt his name

was finally getting its value that just as the turn of the century Carnegie power in the history

books had been rumored to have had its start in drug money later gone legitimate, so was he

following suit as he had planned. He savored the taste of it all in its sweetness as he moved on to

bigger and better gains.

Finally pushing the fog of all of this background intensity, Andrew dialed the phone,

reading the number aloud from his rolodex. The line rang, and it read an announcement from a

push button menu answering service.

Goddamn it! Andrew swore to himself.

He hated these stupid computerized answering services that were turning one man

enterprises into a corporate mess of menus and complications. It seemed if you wanted to sound

legitimate, you assigned numbers to your various issues and had your dinner dates call you at

your office to get their panties hot. Not that they could get through the maze of options to get

through to you at your end to wind up in the sack talk anyway, but it made a hell of an

impression at least. Andrew patiently awaited the end of the message that would tell him how to
access his party without the use of dial tones. Finally the message service machine ladies droning

voice said If you are on a rotary phone, or if none of these options is suitable, please hold on the

line and an agent will be right with you.

Andrew waited as the line clicked and began ringing another line. To his pleasant

surprise, the phone was answered by none other than who he sought: Abdul Rashaad.

This Abdul, who am I talking to?

Abdul, Carnegie. Thought Id do a fill in the blanks session. Let you know what your

boy Stephen is up to. This isnt all going as planned. I need more from your end.

What you mean, not as planned, Abdul responded with his thick Middle Eastern accent

we take his money, his house, his files, his business, he will bow, no?

Well, according to our follow ups, he didnt check into the Hilton and therefore did not

get the computer terminal left in the room for him to begin his work for us. He is refusing to

cooperate despite threats to turn him in for his severe white collar crimes. I need you to turn up

the heat on him and put a tail on him immediately.

A tail? You mean like having him followed around the clock? That will take one of the

Washington D.C. team members and I must have your absolute guarantee there is no other way.

Abdul related, getting almost out of breath.

Yes, he needs a tail. And we need to flush him to D.C. if that is where the team has

already assembled. This is imperative. Get him off of his turf, make him like a fish out of water.

No room to breathe. In fact, let him make his tail.

Make his tail?

 You know, recognize the fact that he is being followed.

You want me to put a man on him in secret, but make sure he makes him? What sense

will that make in this plan of yours? Abdul carried overtones of doubt into his carefully

annunciated reply.

Andrew replied.

If he knows he is being followed it may scare him into accepting our instructions.

Nothing else so far has.

I see.

Yes, do it. That will be all.

Andrew hung up the phone, wishing no further contact from his home office, yet

unwilling as of now to arrange the face to face meeting with this Middle Eastern rebel stranger.

Maybe it was just paranoia, but these international numbers showing up on his phone bill could

alarm homeland securities based on the damn loose surveillance allowed now under The Patriot

Act. Seemed they could pattern things based on data from your accounts for virtually no reason

but to be nosy. The less contact he had, the better.

 Chapter Four

They were standing in front of ruined history, making history thought Abdul as he

rounded the curve in the road that lead to where the former Libyan wonder of the world had

been. Terrorists had destroyed the high art statues that had stood as tall as some palaces with

their missiles years back. These were the types of things this group of men had agreed together to

work to prevent, though their business was far from above board themselves. They were vying to

become a nuclear power, and to overthrow a U.S. President by assassination, these things they

could envision to the credit of their backgrounds, not to destroy their local history. That would be

a show of the kind of ignorant power hungry tyrannical rule that they so simply with their newly

acquired wealth and influence, said they would demolish.

As Mustafa Senussi, and Ahmed Tiran walked carefully over their Libyan brothers

heritage, they listened to Abdul relate to them what they had been waiting to hear. It was time for

them to leave the country, and become involved directly in the divine dance, the game that was

afoot in Washington, D.C., in the United States.

My brothers, Abdul spoke with reverence to his partners in this venture we must now

act quickly and with no hesitation. The enemy is afoot, and he is being tailed by the tracers we

have on him now to get at him in the midst of his raw and ignorant greed. I am sending for two

more to go from the group, unless you agree with me. It is time for you to go, brothers. When
this man reaches D.C. there will be the need for the root of our power over here to be present.

Regardless of the military strength we have bought with this venture, we are the prime money

behind this, and therefore will be able to dictate the way in which things are happening the most

easily.

Mustafa and Ahmed both shook their heads in agreement. Mustafa spoke up, Yes,

brother, we have made arrangements already to fly there via our private access jet tomorrow

morning. We felt the same thing was so very necessary at the very beginning, and we both look

forward to having you there as well with us to help as we take on the role of preservers of our

brotherhood.

It was Ahmeds turn, and he turned a shade of red as he began.

Yes. I think too it will be all ready for us on the other side of this, without having to be

too close to the actual death we will cause. That I believe, should be left in the hands of our

militia men. It is an honor to do such a service for you, Abdul, in the face of what you have done

for our families.

Abdul had taken them on at the beginning of his recent oil venture brought on by his

fathers death and his last will and testament betrothing him with much wealth. He had felt them

at the beginning to be the prime candidates to work the fields he wanted worked, and had quite

simply treated them both as if they were family from the beginning, allowing them each to earn

a substantial amount of money in his business before turning them to his bigger plans for the

group. He had been pleasantly surprised by their grateful and indeed agreeable replies to his

wants in the way of acquiring governmental or political power. How else should they feel, they
said, when in fact he had treated them to a world of wealth they never otherwise would have

found in their paths. Their families, and they themselves owed a deep allegiance to Abdul.

That is good, brothers. I will be following you on that jet as soon as the character

himself is in D.C. The one we have planned to be the fall man in the assassination. It is essential

that you get him to retrieve the documents for the reconnaissance of the nuclear warhead as soon

as possible. Our date is coming swiftly as a steed to his sire, and we still lack the necessary plans

to make the whole thing worthwhile. Though it will be nice to see that tyrant of a U.S. President

go away, saving a good many of our regional friends and their families, it would all be a loss

without the information to get at that warhead and make the world tremble when they think of

threatening us this way again.

They all murmured in agreement to this as well.

Good, then it is settled. Tomorrow, Washington D.C. as a force. In the future perhaps we

will be invited back to make the peace arrangements for our brothers with Jihads supreme

weapon in our hands. Hum dAllah.

Hum dAllah. Mustafa agreed, thanking Allah for this.

Hum dAllah. Ahmed agreed.

Chapter Five
 Stephen was on his way out of Philadelphia, that much he had decided. As to where he

was going to go, he had no idea yet. He had bought a new prepaid cell phone, and had used his

fake credentials name and information for the account earlier that morning. He felt naked

without a laptop, and he cursed his decision to not get one for the train ride to, well, wherever,

earlier with his credit cards.

Exiting the Market Frankford line subway terminal and climbing the stairs, he found

himself arriving at thirtieth street station, which was a hub of activity as usual. From this place

buses, local trains, and trains going nationwide and further left on a daily basis. He entered the

old fashioned looking brass railed door, and gazed up at the cathedral ceiling with its vast and

awesome dcor, and at the statues standing tall against the incredible backdrop. He was going to

miss Philadelphia.

Taking no comfort in his decision, Stephen forced himself on to the long distance trains

ticket counter, and stepped into line. It was then that he noticed him. The man had been on the

subway train with him, and had sat somewhere near to him. He had exited at the same time, but

then again, a couple dozen people had done so, so Stephen had thought nothing of it. But now

this Middle Eastern looking stranger was sitting huddle in his overdressed overcoat and quite

simply watching Stephen as he prepared to purchase his ticket. Stephen looked directly at the

man, and the man, turned away, fiddling immediately in his pocket for his cell phone and

drawing it out.

This strange game of cat and mouse looks continued on as Stephen awaited his turn to

buy a ticket. When the time came, he was feeling rather paranoid when the man came closer and

in fact got in line close enough to hear what Stephen was saying. If this was a tail, he was most
definitely not about maintaining any kind of secrecy about it, thought Stephen. The least he could

do was offering him a false hope by buying a ticket to a place he never intended to go. What was

that place?

One one way to Baltimore, please?

Your I.D. sir?

Stephen fumbled nervously for his credentials, hoping the ticket clerk would not reveal

the name on them, but was soon disappointed.

Mr. Lawrence? Timothy Lawrence?

Yes, ma'am. He winced as he heard the ticket clerk give away what was his last hope of

maintaining any kind of steady source of money in his grasp.

That will be a hundred and twenty five, sir? How would you like to pay?

Credit, please. He noticed the man who he had thought to be tailing him stepping

forward into the ticket booth clerks window next to him as he handed over his identity thieved

credit cards to the ticket window clerk.

He thanked her quickly and moved away from the ticket window when his ticket was

printed and handed to him. He checked the time on his train. Damn, he had over two hours to

kill, pun intended. This was never going to do. He looked around for the man in question, and

saw him almost immediately leaving the ticket booth and maintaining a loose distance behind

him. He swore under his breath and did the only thing he could think of. Making his way for the

nearest exit to the subway terminal, he made a run for it.

 It was late night in the wine cellar at Albertos for a small crowd that was celebrating

with Andrew. Amongst the local muscle that had graced his tables were Sam Smalls, the local hit

man legend, and Tom Sade, who was still waiting to be made. Gathering up the rear of his local

favorites were the man simply known as Toots, famous for having sold more flake than he

could ever have dreamed of under the watchful eye of the NYPD back in the eighties, and the old

legend that had brought the notion of writing back to Andrew recently, his old buddy and NFL

Hall of Famer, Reggie Rawdell. Andrew was enjoying himself immensely, and didnt even mind

that the bill was all going to his account for the party as he topped off the night enjoying all of

the rowdy memories he and his old buddies could remember.

Remember when you and Toots thought that Tommy here, Reggie grabbed Tom by the

shoulder was going to take down your business for being on his turf, and you sent Toots to hire

a hit man. That hit man turned out to be Mr. Smalls here, and the beginning of what could have

been a very ugly masquerade for the two of you into real family business. Lucky Sammy here

has a brain to go with his bullets and cut you both in on a deal of his with Tom instead.

You two were going to bump off whom? Tommy fired off in Andrews direction just to

watch him squirm.

Nothing like that, Tommy boy. Just business that was way out of date and got settled just

great. Just great.

 Hey, salut! Tom raised his half empty wine glass to the crowd and in his booming voice

demanded a toast.

Salut! they yelled back in unison, draining what was left of their drinks.

Andrew had spared no expense. This deal with Abdul was going to practically put him in

retirement if it went down as it was supposed to. There was no reason to spoil this kind of

occasion, it was after all his sixtieth birthday party. It was an age he never had in his troubled

youth dared to dream of living to, and he felt it was worth every penny he could get to lure the

best from his past into the fine wine cellar at Albertos. The wine was flowing, and indeed the

sentiment was that this party had been an overwhelming success.

You telling me, you wouldnt try it again if you thought it would be worth your while,

Andrew, ma boy? Reggie half assed his words and then as if in mocking toast Heres to

Tommys death! Salut to that.

Nobody laughed. Nobody really seemed to think it was a funny one at all, and Reggie,

despite his normally cool exterior began to sweat immediately.

Hey, he left me everything. What with me being his best track to the inside and all. Aint

that right Tommy?

I did no such thing, Tom took no pity on him and his tasteless comment.

He left everything to that hooker wife of his, and a good thing too cause Im her best

regular! Toots quipped.

Tom, being the character he was laughed once, twice and three times in loud, short

staccato bursts, and then stopped and looked at Toots deadpan.

 So youre the punk been hanging around the back door waiting for table scraps?! Tom

shot putted one at Toots, to which Toots responded Hell ya! One hell of a cook, your misses!

Andrew remembered when he had first left Los Angeles and had taken his weary and

defeated game back to the east coast and had fallen in line with all of this gang. He had wasted

his time away in Los Angeles, getting heavy into drugs and wearily placing all of his bets on his

writing to make it in Hollywood someday. He was convinced that no matter the amount of

writing he wasnt producing, that all of his contacts were selling him short. He would write when

he started getting paid, wasnt that how it worked? How was he expected to take all of his time

writing when he wasnt getting paid for it by anyone? It was the biggest waste ever too, because

God damned Andrew could write! He had written one screenplay, and one novel to test out his

prowess in the late eighties and had not gotten a single non form letter reply from agents in

response. That was when he had stepped up his game and moved out of the shooting up his veins

business and into the shooting up his enemies business. He had proven to be very good at this, all

too good and though he had earned quite the reputation there in Los Angeles, found that he

couldnt take all of the heat coming his way alone and moved back to the east coast.

A Brooklyn original, born and raised, which almost wasted away in California. You

fucking queer. Why the hell you go down that road anyway Andrew? Just suppose you had made

it as a writer back then. What the hell kind of stories did you have to tell back then as compared

to the ones we got now, eh? Sam Smalls called him out in his boyishly simple and comfortably

drunk way.

That cruel mistress who took me by the blood and socked me full of mud at every turn. I

was hooked and sure she was my heroine, ma boy. To anyone who has been there, it needs no
more explanation. But whos to say these stories will go to waste. What with Tommy getting

made, maybe I get an inside track to a deal or two after all, eh Tommy?

Youre gonna get me made alright. Like in the sites of my last shooter. Speaking of

shooters, where is that round of Kamikazes I ordered?. Tom replied half in jest in the waiters

direction.

The waiter, turned on an immediate heel and went for the stairs to go and fetch the late

and very much so coveted drinks by his severely inflating party check, and hopefully tip as

reward.

Thatta boy! Tommy yelled after him.

Andrew was at loss for words at Toms jest. It startled him almost, took him back how much he

still very much so held on to that writers simple dream of getting published someday. He nearly

teared up, he was so caught up in the sentiment, when Reggie let him know Andrew, dont cry

you old fart. He didnt mean it, like I didnt mean I would kill the poor bastard.

Its my party, and I will cry if I want to. You would cry too, if it happened to you.

Speaking of which, wheres the music? This shit is like bad elevator music. Thats the

only bad thing I have to say about this place. Toots remarked openly gawking at the speakers in

the corners of the room.

Yeah, thats what we need. Some good old Sinatra. When I was sixty, it was a very good

year. It was a very good year Andrew threw back, avoiding the teary eyed scene altogether.

The very group who had nearly done him in at every turn, each and every one of them,

were making this one of the best birthday memories Andrew could remember, and he was moved
to thank them. Not that paying the bill for the entire party was not thanking them, but after all,

what were friends for but to ask what you got them for your birthday, right?

Stephen made it onto the Market Frankford Line Subway seemingly unfollowed. As he

sped towards the downtown area, he did the next thing he could think of. He dialed his ex-

fiances number. She knew more about him than anyone else, and God knows he needed

someone to confide in. Her line rang with a new ring back tone that was a song about finding

love after losing love. This was a good sign, maybe she hadnt moved all the way on yet.

Patricia here!

Patricia, this is Stephen. You are never going to believe what is going on with me.

Stephen, I thought I told you not to call. And what is with the new number anyway?

Do you remember the old days Patricia? That Radiohead concert I took you to where

you said you fell in love? Or how I used to order a dozen purple roses every week to your house

because it was your favorite color? Vacationing in Cape Cod every summer? Or how we met

even?

Stephen, you got bit by your neighbors dog, and I was there at the hospital to treat you.

Hardly the most romantic of scenarios. Come on, Stephen , why all the sweet talk? You know I

have a boyfriend?
 Yeah, so I hear. But the bittersweet tone in your voice says you are in for another

Stephen adventure. I have one I am on, as a very much needed point. I have some things going

on right now, Patricia that you would not believe if I told you.

Well, I hardly have the time to do a bunch of catching up now, Stevie boy wonder. I

have just gotten home from a seventeen hour shift and Im late fixing dinner for my soon to be

arriving guest. Youll just have to try me

I will do no such thing. I hate to sound desperate, Patricia, but I have to see you. I

desperately need the ear of someone who really knows me, or I at least thought you did. They

have taken everything from me, Patty cakes. I am homeless and running about with some

stranger following me.

Oh God, Stephen. You and your dramatics. What happened to the Reed Street place?

I cant explain it all right now, but can I stop by? I have an AMTRAK ticket I may or

may not be using to Baltimore in two hours. Just for a few minutes. I swear I wont cause any

trouble with your company.

Stephen, you never cease to amaze me with amount of trouble based on your own

irresponsible, see through procrastinating paranoia that you refuse to use as incentive to take care

of things properly. I will say that you can stop by, but

Stephen hung up and shifted uncomfortably in his subway car seat on the Market

Frankford Blue Line Subway as it tore into Penn Station. He was about to replace his cheap new

flip cell phone in his front shirt pocket, when it rang to life.
 Stephen, this Andrew. I have something to tell you. You are a wanted man in the

downtown area. I fear you have not been following our instructions, so we have taken the time to

give you some trouble. Got wind that you were headed to Baltimore? We wont be making that

trip anytime soon, dear Stephen.

What the hell do you mean I am wanted?

There was a bank robbery in the downtown area just a few minutes ago and the

description of the thief was picked up by our radio police scanner patch specialist. It has been

altered, and boy do they know what you look like, you bank robber you! We saw you duck into

the subway, so we tipped them off to be on the lookout for you there. Dont be too afraid my boy,

its only a questioning away from finding out it couldnt possibly have been you, but what else

are we to do with you, Stephen? You wont take direction from the only place that is ever going

to get you out of this mess intact, namely our boys you left behind at the Hilton. We have a new

plan for you. If by chance, you happen to keep your freedom intact here this afternoon, we will

have you out on a seven thirty train to Washington. Its time you get a lot closer to the sordid

subjects of our unsightly soiree.

Just then Stephen noticed a transit cop eyeballing him as the train door began to close on

their most recent stop. The cop took a second look, and began to talk into the radio attached to

his jacket. He began to approach from the very rear of the adjacent car slowly and steadily with

eyes on Stephen, in his direction.

Thanks for the tip, Andy. Thats just dandy. Just dandy, Andy.
 Stephen hung up the phone and darted for the closing door. He managed to jam his foot in

the closing automatic door before it closed all the way, and it faltered and reopened. Stephen

bolted off of the train, and as he did so glanced around to check on the transit cop. The cop was

now jogging towards the front of the car, and barking into his radio.

Penn Station! Ive got him marked at Penn Station! He is off the train and on the move!

Stephen jogged into the dozen deep crowds of pedestrians walking up the stairs towards

the street. He saw a young boy in front him with his Dad, wearing a Boston Red Sox cap two

sizes too large for him. Stephen yanked it off of the young boys head as he darted by and placed

it on his head. If his head was all that was visible, that should throw the cop off a bit. He heard

the young boy start to shout He took my hat! Dad! He took my hat! and he felt a pang of guilt.

He stalled his progress and eyeballed the approaching Dad and kid. He pulled a twenty out of his

pocket and shoved it in the Dads direction. Sorry,he barely managed to mumble to the

tentative looking father and he quickly turned and jogged forward again, getting lost in the crowd

in front of them.

When he hit the street level, he saw what he needed. It was a five dollar everything mom

and pop shop that had raincoats in the window. It was indeed beginning to rain. More than

anything, he needed to change his appearance. He ducked into the store and as quickly as

possible ascertained that they had large blue slickers for five dollars behind the counter. He

waived a five at the store clerk, and quickly made his purchase. Stopping at the door on his way

out, he removed his trench coat and replaced it with the slicker. Then dropping the trench coat

into the wastebasket in front of the store as he left, he saw the cops emerging from the subway

terminal. They glanced his direction, and looked right past him. It had worked! A wandering
nearby bum began to work over the trash can where he had left his London Fog, and his eyes

grew large and excited when he saw his score. As Stephen walked away, the bum was placing it

on his dirty barren shoulders, brushing aside his long tattered grey hair to place it there. He

tugged at his beard, and grunted a satisfactory sigh, and moved on.

Patricia lived near South Street in the Rittenhouse Square Condominiums. It was a short

walk away, and a walk through very untroubled streets where he would be less likely to

encounter a patrolling beat cop. As he made his way through the cold, wet streets, he took the

time to survey in his mind all that was in his check list of positives and negatives. Positive, he

was not yet being forced by Andrew and friends to do any sort of hacking as he expected was

going to happen certainly sooner or later. He was now aware that the business has something to

do with Washington D.C. He wasnt sure if that was positive or a negative. He was positively on

the way to meet Patricia, and of that he could neither be sure it was positively nave or just an

unsightly eyesore to think that she would turn him away unhelped.

Finally after about a twenty minute walk roasting all of the alternatives for action in the

fire that lit his intellectually spunky nature, he arrived at the gate to The Rittenhouse Square

Condos. The doorman greeted him, and asked whom he was there to visit.

You dont remember me? Has it been that long?

Oh, Stephen. I almost didnt recognize you. Where did you get that butt ugly slicker?

Yeah, caught in the rain unawares. I never carry an umbrella. Five dollar store. Penn

Station.
 Are you two, a thing again? Or am I gonna have to make some arrangements to have

you placed on the undesirables list? You know Id really not enjoy that. She knows youre

coming?

Yeah, she knows Im coming. Can you give her a ring and let her know Im here?

Certainly. Paul, the doorman waved his hand over the massive phone with hundreds of

lines on it, and dialed up to five oh seven, Patricias home.

Ma'am, you have a visitor here. Stephen I believe wishes to be let in?

Oh yes, this is Patty. Hey, is he drunk or anything?

No ma'am, he appears to be sober and sane to me. Can I send him up or do you need

more time? I know that you have company already.

Paul, you are too observant. What the hell you are doing making a living as a doorman is

beyond me.

Security. Security. Thats what Im doing it for. Got to feed the kids somehow.

Yeah, I suppose you can send him up, Paul. But please, only if hes sober.

You got it Miss Patty. Hell be right up.

Paul hung up the phone, replacing it on the ivory white cradle that held the massive

console next to it with the full listing of tenants condo extensions. He looked up at Stephen and

chuckled.

Im only supposed to send you up if you are completely sober. So tell me Stephen,

whens the last time you had a drink?

 Unfortunately, Paul my man, I have only wet my whistle with the rain so far these past

few hours. If you have any kind of spirits, I would be much obliged, though. You carry a flask?

Im nervous, I mean I think shes got her new boyfriend up there.

In which case, I need you to rescind your request and arrive sane and sober as she

intended. Now then, be on your way. Before she changes her mind, Stevie boy.

Thanks Paul. And here. He shoved a dollar into Pauls awaiting hand.

Ahh, tipping is a lost art. Thanks. Now I can hit the snack machine!

As he nervously waited for the elevator to the fifth floor, Stephen rehearsed any number

of ways he could open conversation on arriving. He finally settled with Old love meets new.

Why dont we all have a few? as being a must as far as ice breakers was concerned if her new

beau becomes too interactive. He just needed someone to know what was going on. There had to

be someone waiting to receive that phone call in case he ran into the ultimate hard place. The one

who could call all of his family and let them know he was alright. Well, sort of alright.

He arrived at the doorway, and found it slightly ajar. He knocked lightly on the door,

swinging it a little further open as he did so.

Come in, boy wonder. Boy do you have timing!

Hello?! he walked into the dimly lit, as if in romantic protest, sitting room that served

as the oversized foyer to her candlelit dining room next to the kitchen. There was a bottle of wine

sitting on the table, and a man who looked about thirty in age and of Asian descent seated on the

edge of his seat with a flabbergasted look on his face.

Forgive me, I fear I have no choice but to be so rude. Just glad you werent in the nude!
 Patricia came into site leaving the kitchen, wine opener in hand.

Did you just say you were glad we werent naked? Whatever happened to the voyeur in

you, Stevie? I thought you liked to watch everything dirty.

Did I ever make that impression a permanent one? Let me discount it as human nature

coming from the observation of one led by his penis player to another led by her propensity for

pleasure.

The man looked even more uncomfortable now, and seemed on the verge of either

exploding or leaving.

Stephen, this is Tam. Tam, Stephen.

Stephen made his way closer to shake the mans hand, but the Tam instead grappled

desperately for his wine glass.

Stephen, Tams last name is Yu. He is best known credited for his work as a Video Game

Productions Manager on some very impressive stuff put together by independent local teams of

programmers who dare to bring their dreams to Tam to get them on the marketplace. We met

through your friend, Al Fisher who was trying that night to recruit for Jefferson Hospital

Physicians Pharmaceutical Education Organization.

Ah, good old Al. He always did make a great matchmaker. Just not for the Organization.

Did he ever manage to get that FDA approval on his nationwide education for physicians

speaking tour? He had some pretty heavy hitters saying that if he got it endorsed they would be
lining up for the next few years. He could turn them out in a very big money way! Oh sorry. He

realized too late that he was completely ignoring Tam, who was staring blankly at the floor.

So, tell me Stephen, before I get too tipsy on our second bottle of Chardonnay, to what

do we owe this visit today?

Youre a poet. I would love to just spill my guts, but I dont know where to start.

Start anywhere because I am only giving you ten minutes.

Can I get a glass?

Ask Tam, he bought it.

Stephen looked Tam in the face, and saw the man look back for the first time ever. Tam

just shook his head lightly signaling No., but Stephen was unsure if it was a no to the wine

or just a no this cant be happening. Stephen decided to skip his old love, new love why dont

we all get a buzz line and cut to the chase.

Tam, do you mind if I take Patricia alone to the other room? There are some things I

think you would rather not hear.

Tam waved his hand towards the other room as if to say, Be my guest and nodded in

the affirmative.

To the bedroom, honey?

Stephen, behave. You are scaring my guest half out of his sexy mood I had him in.
 They walked a short distance to the entrance of the bedroom, and Patricia eyed Stephen

warily. He thought for a just a minute that she had the buds of tears forming in her eyes, but she

seemed to shake it off and started in on him.

If you are going to talk, talk. Otherwise please move on as I have asked you to do and

leave us be. I thought for a minute there, he was going to leave.

Patricia I am in big trouble. They sold my house out from under me, stole my business.

They almost got my car, but I reported it stolen.

Who are they? And how is all that possible?

I have yet to find out exactly who they are. I only get to talk to a go between by the

name of Carnegie. They reported me to the police earlier as matching the description of a

downtown Philly bank robber and had me hunted. They are not going to take no for an answer.

Remember what I told you about my business?

I remember it being the main reason I could never get comfortable with the idea of

having kids with you she looked towards the dining room, craning her neck as if to say was

that too loud?

My business is gone. I am being blackmailed into working for someone else, something

involving D.C. My imports business so far as I know has not been touched, and may be my only

saving grace. They took six million dollars irretrievable from my Cayman Islands Bank account.

I am flat broke. Do you have any cash?

Are you fucking kidding me? Are you on drugs Stephen? Tell me you havent turned to

that?
 No, Patricia. I am not on drugs. Like fifty would do me a lot of good. Right now I have

been robbed of everything and just needed you to know if I call and say to call my Mom, or say,

my sister, that you would have a better idea of what is going on.

A better idea of what is going on? Stephen as far as I know you are talking like a crazed

conspiracy theory nut who is about to start breaking the law because he thinks he is being

followed. What the hell is this all about?

Tam entered the small space, surprising Stephen. He was a very well built guy, and he

could see where Patricia found him attractive after having led a life of liaison for years with the

soft and cushy Stephen, whose only six pack was the one in the fridge.

Is everything alright, Patricia. If it is time for him to leave, we can do this now.

When he spoke, he had a slight hint of an accent that betrayed an exterior toughness that

seemed to teem through him as he stared coldly straight through Stephens extended arm.

Stephen put his hand on Tams chest to brush him off and help move him back out of the room.

Tam caught his arm, and twisted it behind his back as Stephen yelped in pain.

What the fuck?! What the fuck are you doing?

Thats Mr. Yu, to you Mr. Bolsom. And I am asking you to leave. You are not welcome

here anymore.

Let go of me!
 They struggled moving back and forth for a moment as Tam firmly held Stephens hand

and left arm twisted behind his back so that he could not function other than trying to regain its

use. It had seemed all too easy to Tam, and this pissed Stephen off even more.

Let him go, Tam.

Patricia crossed the room and pulled her purse from off of an adjacent shelf that was next

to where the flat screen smart T.V. sat in the living room slash sitting room a few feet away. She

pulled out a few twenties and approached Stephen.

Stephen, take this and leave. Im not saying you are not welcome. I know you are in

trouble. I am just saying that my life cannot revolve around you anymore. Please obey my wishes

and leave now.

Stephen reluctantly received the two twenty dollar bills with his aching left hand, and as

he massaged them into his billfold, finally used his line.

Old love meets new love. Fits like a glove. Why dont we all get a buzz?

Tam squinted in reply and said coldly, Why dont you buzz off?

Stephen winced and sighed in a slightly stern way at the tired thought of refusing and

fighting the man. Paul would be so disappointed, and perhaps even the police would become

involved and he had other things to be concerned about besides his hurt ego. He made his way

for the door reluctantly, followed by a heated Tam who was very nearly breathing down his neck

the entire way.

Easy there, Bruce Lee.

 Patricia made sad eyes towards him as he approached the door, and directed her final

comments towards him loudly as Tam closed the door blocking him from reentering, Im sorry

Stephen!

Chapter Six

Stephen rode the elevator back down to the Rittenhouse Square lobby, where he hung out

with Paul and called a taxi. It was a lot more pleasant waiting inside, out of the driving rain that

fell on South Philadelphia with an unyielding promise of endless torrents to come. When the cab

came, he made his way out of the doors and said goodbye to Paul, letting him know, Keep an

eye on that new boyfriend of hers. He is pretty moody and got kind of unnecessarily physical

with me up there. Nothing to go to terms about, but still.

Paul promised to keep an eye on things, and Stephen made his exit, dashing for the back

seat of the yellow cab waiting at the curb.

The cabbie spoke up Bolsom? You Stephen Bolsom?

Yeah, thats me.

Where to?

30th Street Station please. Im in no hurry, but Ive only got forty cash, so let me know.

I tell you what, I stop the meter at thirty five, my boss never knows any better, we call

it a deal.
 Sounds good to me. Stephen agreed, unsure of this cabbies creed. As long as he could

drive there without getting pulled over, they had a deal.

The phone in his front shirt pocket rang to life once more with its piercing, shrill

imitation of a rotary phone bell. The only thing was it rang for too long to be a rotary phone bell.

It was much more insistant, and annoying at this particular time to him. He pulled the phone out,

and read the front console with the caller I.D. It was Andrew again, with a fresh round of news to

bring him further into this blend of blindness and burgeoning betrayals that brought him so close

to the edge of his wits already. He answered the phone, trying to maintain his cool and his whits.

This is Stephen.

Well, I should hope so. Stephen that was some fancy footwork on your part if you are

still a free man. I must say, I am impressed. When they first told me you were their man for this

shit, I thought that you were gone soft and that it may be a problem. But we may have even more

uses for you if you will ever get on our side. Not that you have a choice now.

I always have a choice.

Well, Stephen, you have a choice. You can either bend to our will, or bend over for

Bubba for the next fifty years in the big house. If you dont do exactly as I say right now, within

the hour your files will be sent to the F.B.I. , the C.I.A. and other authorities in this great U.S.

Government of ours and we will simply move on from you. There are other men capable of

getting done what we need, and if you test this any further, I assure you, you will go down in

flames. As it is, we have allowed you to keep your imports warehouse, and you just may have a

future if you can find it in yourself to complete what little we will ask of you. In comparison to
what you have done in the past eight years, it is very little, really. You should enjoy what we are

doing, you are going to be made a part of history my man.

I am headed towards Thirtieth Street now, Andrew. Is that ok?

Indeed it is. There you will find a man awaiting your arrival. Dont worry about finding

him, he will find you. That will be all, Stephen. Good luck.

The line went dead, and Stephen buried his head in his hands, wondering what was

coming next to his fragile and inconsistent unpleasant life course at the time being.

Trellis Moran was enjoying a pint of Sam Adams at the travelers stop 30th Street Station

bar by the southeast entrance when his phone rang to life with a text. Package on his way via

taxi. Deliver and send him packing. D.C. plane for you to meet him there in an hour and a half at

PHI. That will be all. He greedily finished off the pint, and leaving a fifty cent tip, moved for

the briefcase at his feet. He needed to make sure the package was in proper order, and he

couldnt do it with these morons at the bar looking over his shoulder.

Trellis walked down the aisle towards the main hall of the station, where departure times

and the information desk sat. He took a seat at one of the centered floating wooden benches that

were spaced periodically about the main floor. Opening the briefcase, he pulled from it a brand

new Power MAC, and fired it up. A message appeared on the screen after Windows started, and a

video lay in the side of the desktop waiting to be played with instructions in the title of the file
under it. The message read Welcome Bolsom. You have 13 hours to secure the files we wish

from you. Please watch the video file on your right and follow its instructions.

Trellis, satisfied that the computer was set up for its new operator, shut down the laptop

and replaced it in the briefcase. He then, very discreetly screwed a silencer onto the pistol in the

adjacent pocket, and checked to make sure it was loaded. He clipped on the safety, and zipped it

closed into the pouch where it lay concealed just as a station security waltzed by to interrupt an

argument taking place at the information booth. Last thing to check, he removed an AMTRAK

ticket for the destination Washington, D.C. from the front pouch of his little attach and checked

to make sure the credentials read correctly. You never could tell if there was going to be another

disturbance that would cause them to match tickets to I.D. on this journey ahead of Stephen. And

besides, it was the message that they now even had access to his alter- identity, the one which

had been funding his elusive moves of the past twenty four hours. The buck stopped here. The

instructions on the wifi enabled laptop would keep Stephen busy all the way to D.C. retrieving

the necessary data for the brotherhood from within its vaults in the Pentagons heavily guarded

firewalls. He would have access to all of the tools he had built for his business at his command,

loadable from the original hard drives now secured and accessible through his old server at the

Reed Street house which had been turned into the command center for this mission. Stephen

would need all of the tools which he had built for himself to gain access to the top secret

documents they wished.

The documents they were seeking were pertaining to the procedures and exact personnel

and equipment moves, codes and encryption changes, and armed escort to take place surrounding

certain nuclear arms facilities which were put into place in the event of a national emergency.

The national emergency was something that they would supply themselves when the time came.
There was a need for a balance of power in this game of democratic dictatorial power in the U.S.

superpower military forcing of the Middle East to bend to its will and supply the oil they so

greedily sucked the wells dry of with their supertankers and jet bombers. Obtaining a nuclear

arm would ensure an open ear to the complaints of the brotherhood and their wishes for the

release of some of the key players now detained in Guantanamo Bay and put through hellish and

ardently inhuman trials to try and pick their suffering souls of intelligence on the brotherhood.

Time was of the essence, and the time to move would never better than now. No time like the

present for changing world history, Trellis smiled to himself.

He moved to the southeast exit, where he could easily spot Stephens cab as it would

make its arrival at the station. He opened a pack of American Marlboros and sparked one up

with a match. Something about the flavor of these things that seemed to compare to no other for

him. Even the rare and exotic Turkish blends would not soothe his taste for a full bodied, bold

and crisp, attention getting smoke like these damned things. One thing the Americans got right,

cowboy killers, he laughed to himself.

Down the block, a taxi pulled to the curb with a single male in its backseat. Trellis pulled

the small eyeglass to his eye and saw through it that indeed, yes, this was Mr. Bolsom arriving

here on time. Butterflies fluttered through Trellis stomach as he considered what he would do if

the man refused to cooperate. It mattered not, there was only one way to roast a rabbit. And the

first part, involved the taking of his lucky feet. Trellis moved his hand inside of the attach and

gripped the handle of the gun at his disposal. He walked forward towards the cab. Stephen

looked up at him, and he was pleased to see recognized him from this morning. Trellis pointed at

the back door of the cab, waiting for Stephen to look. When Stephen looked at the door, Trellis
fired a single shot through its exterior, leaving a hole in the cab door silently. Stephens eyes

went wide, and Trellis waved for him to approach.

My brothers feel prison would be enough for you. I am not so sure. If you say no now, I

think I will simply just kill you Mr. Bolsom.

What do you want me to do?

Trellis Moran swiftly and deftly removed the long silencer bearing pistol from the

briefcase and inserted it into his trench coats long inner pocket, cut for this purpose with a

holster. He noticed that Stephen was breathing heavily now, and he chuckled out loud. This was

going to be easy after all.

He hefted the bag off to Stephen.

Inside you will find a ticket to D.C. AMTRAK. Board immediately. Once on board,

open the laptop you find inside and follow the instructions left for you there. That is all, Mr.

Bolsom. You will find the name on the ticket matches the identity you used for your Baltimore

tickets this morning. I assure you, there is no more money on your cards. However, I also assure

you that if you cooperate, your needs will be met.

Stephen looked over the contents of the bag nervously. This dark Middle Eastern stranger

had made it very clear. He was going to D.C. whether alive or dead. There he would have to see

if he could buy some time to build an outside method of communicating his problems to

someone of the proper authorities who could help. For now, he had no choice. He finally got the

nerve to speak to the man with the gun.

The train is boarding now?

 The train is boarding now.

Are you coming?

No, I am flying there however and will see you in Washington as we see fit. See to it

that you see as little of me as possible, Mr. Bolsom. I would really rather you dead after the

trouble you have caused so far. There are others who we can use. But the brotherhood says you

are good. Prove it and perhaps I will let you live. We will see. You are late for your train! Go

now.

As Stephen made his way down the stairs towards the train awaiting on the track, he had

the distinct feeling that things were about to take on a very powerful risk for him that was well

beyond the reach of that mans weapon. The fact that he was headed to the nations capital now

needled him with an urgent sort of dread that reeked of his soon to be growing risk in the part he

was now sure he was being asked to play. This was beyond anything he could have imagined as a

sentence for his crimes, and he wished for once that he had taken the imports business and shut

down long ago when he had gotten the cash. If he ever had his freedom without these people

looking over his shoulder, he would destroy any and all evidence of his former dealings and

make his way through the legitimate ranks of those who ran their imports businesses as he

wished his to grow to in its stature. He had found finally with religious zeal the desire to be a

legitimate player for the first time ever. If only it hadnt been too late for Patricia and her Tam

Yu. If only it werent too late now. He had no idea what he was headed for, only that he was to

follow the instructions on his new Powerbook. As Stephen took his seat on the train, his nerves

frayed a bit like the random wires that were fused to the inner core of his server back at the Reed

Street brown stone. These narrow pathways were the only ones he could imagine in a million
years ever serving up such a close proximity to what he would refer to as living hell. Now if he

could only achieve some kind of purgatory and climb back into the eyes of those who could

redeem him and bring him heaven bound again. If only, if ever, and moreover without aiding in a

great historical crime that would leave him also in a bind. Only time could tell what would come

of his living hell.

Chapter Seven

Stephen made his way onto the semi- full AMTRAK train docked at the station platform

down the stairs at thirtieth street station. Pulling his new attach case close to his side, he made

his way through the cars to the passenger car, where his seat would be waiting. He was seat A

thirty six, and he found it quickly. To his relief, there was no one sitting with him, and he

pushed his way all the way across into the window seat. He removed the laptop from its case,

and plugged it into the power outlet socket next to his seat. The train was equipped with wifi, but

he found within the attache, a mobile wifi hotspot device that took care of his concern. He

plugged it in as well. Taking care to make sure his phone was on, in case of any more incoming

call notifications from Carnegie, he turned on the laptop and watched as it booted up. He

breathed a sigh that told of his familiarity with the strange requests he was sure he would find on

this device.
 When the device was booted, he entered the pass code he found on a small slip of paper

taped to its screen. The pass code screen passed on, and he was in the desktop area. The desktop

read that he was to follow the instructions of a video contained on the desktop, and warned that

his work was to be completed within thirteen hours. His brain raced, this meant he was going to

have to work through his entire trip on this train and more. So much for trying to catch some rest

from his running and fearful day. Stephen clicked on the video file, and plugged in the rather

expensive on ear studio quality headphones he also found waiting in the case. The video began.

Stephen, this is your new employer. Welcome to the new remote version of the very

sophisticated set of hackers paradise code you have built. At this point, or rather, by this time we

have secured your old server and its sophisticated entryway into the gateways of the accounts

you used to use them for. Here is the remote desktop access code for the files we feel that you

will need of your old programming contained at our new headquarters, your Reed Street

brownstone. Dont bother to try and get us reported, Stephen, we own the residence now. Your

mission is simple. We require the most recent files contained in the Pentagons Nuclear Arms

Procedures files which contain the information for the movement procedures for a missile

located in Iran at a U.S. Military base in case of National Emergency. The files are located in a

most recent list of Intelligence based findings and approved recommendations which can be

found in this series of access codes and dockets.

The screen scrolled over a series of access codes and filing access numbers and letters

which pointed to the location of the files within the Pentagons database. A brief tutorial on the

set of security gates which Stephen would encounter ensued, showing him a loose map of sorts

to navigate in finding and accessing the documents. From inside the bag, a portable printer fired

up, and beeped, demanding to be loaded with paper.

 Print these specific encoded series, and use them for the initial access. The second series

of access, you will have to retrieve and notate for yourself as the documents file names are liquid

within the system as it moves them through the sophisticated firewalls which guard them in the

Pentagon. One specific page which will ensure you that you have retrieved the correct

documents, and therefore met our requests to ensure your continued safety is this specific cover

page.

The screen showed a Nuclear Regulatory Codes and Procedures bar code Top Secret Files

access screen which listed the exact base and weapons in question in the contents of the files.

Stephen printed all of the pages which were, impressively, being put in queue for the printer by

another program during the running of the video. This was some sophisticated programming in

itself. To cue a printer from a video files playing required altering of the players code as well as

the video itself. Stephen wondered why they could not achieve the results they wanted by

themselves.

Stephen, when this video is complete, you will have a printout of the necessary

information to complete your initial tasks. The video after running in its full run time, will erase

from the hard drive of the computer. You have thirteen hours from the time you watch this video

to obtain and transmit the necessary files to us. You are to embed the files in the hard drive on

your computer via remote desktop filing after accessing it in the server of your design. Please

retain the computer and all other equipment after completing this task, as there are other things

we will be asking of you on your arrival in Washington. You will find that this computer is

highly upgraded with all of the top specifications available, and will easily complete your tasks.

We thank you, and look forward to further practical use of your abilities and programming

experience.
 Stephen watched as the video ended and promptly disappeared from the desktop and its

available files. He loaded the paper found inside of the attach into the single strip printer and

scanner device and printed the pages in queue. Looking over them, his heart raced as he thought

of the ramifications of the information he was about to break and enter and retrieve from the U.S.

government. This was a nuclear weapon, or a weapon of mass destruction, or WMD, which was

the ultimate goal for these radicals to obtain. Obtaining these files on the procedures for their

movement and armament etc., could give the edge to these terrorists in the time of a national

emergency to attack and steal the weapon in its location in Iran.

Stephen flipped open his new phone, and began to dial Patricias number when it

suddenly took on a life of its own. It shut down, and rebooted. The front facing camera activated

itself and took a picture of him, and then sent the picture in a movement of files to an e- mail

program. It received an e- mail and opened it as the phone was pinged by a location asking

program built into the phones programs. The e-mail opened and said simply: Attempt no more

contact of anyone until your mission with us is complete. The file of your photo and pinged

location of the smart phone you are using has been saved to our database for use in having you

reported to the authorities at any time we see fit. We are monitoring your activity on the laptop

via remote desktop access and will be monitoring your progress. Please begin retrieving our data

immediately.

An F.B.I. Wanted poster with his name on it and picture appeared on the second page.

Stephen knew at this point he had no choice. He had to bend to their wishes, and just pray that

somewhere along the way he would be given the chance to try and divert their efforts and redeem

himself.
 Stephen placed the laptop and printed pages in the attach. He grabbed his bag from the

store he had had the taxi driver stop at along the way to thirtieth street station from its resting

place on the floor beside him. It contained, a shirt, a sweater, khakis, scissors, a razor and

shaving cream, and hair dye of the lightest shade of blonde. He left behind the attach and made

his way to the restroom in the lower level of the train car. There over the next twenty minutes, he

cut his long brown locks from a length down his back, to a businessmans high and tight, dyed

his hair, and changed his clothing. He shaved off his beard and sideburns, and smiled in the

mirror at his new appearance. Now they didnt know what he looked like. A piece of tape over

the front facing video camera on the laptop would take care of any new pictures and he would

move to the scenic car to do his work, and avoid his assigned seat on the train. Perhaps a bottle

of wine from the dining car would soothe his nerves as well.

Stephen retrieved the attach and placed a piece of masking tape over its camera device.

He then bought a bottle of wine from the dining car, and took up residence in a seat on the scenic

car that was safely away from any other passengers. Thankfully, this train was not too packed

and he had relative privacy as to the contents of the laptop screen he was working on. As the

hours went by and he worked his way closer and close to the Top Secret Files he was to retrieve,

he found that he was also able to obtain some of the files from his list of programs and

sophisticated code breaking files which he felt he could use to perhaps, if he could only find the

time, build a counter- effort against these terrorists. He filed the programs into his portable hard

drive, which he was carrying and had thankfully not pawned along with his laptop earlier. It was

a simple storage device that did not contain the kind of chip that would allow the terrorists to

access it as long as he was not connected to it for long from the laptop. He just prayed that on
arrival in Washington, D.C., he would get the time to himself to build the counter-resistance

system to try and thwart these international criminals from their deadly goals.

Chapter Eight

Having unfortunately completed his task hours earlier, Stephen made his way through

Washington, D.C. in a sort of muddled haze. He was terrorized by what he had just done for

these people, and he needed desperately to check his head and find a way out before it got worse.

He asked directions from a local to the nearest downtown library, afraid that using the search

features on his phone, or his laptop would enable the terrorists to find out where he was at. They

were evidently still tied up with what he had sent to them, and he had not received his next set of

instructions.

When he got to the library, he used the guest computer. Dumping all of the files he had

gathered in his hard drive into the public computer, he opened up several programs he had

designed. Converting the code files into a simple text file on the library terminal, he made a few

simple adjustments to create a program that would activate when he texted a blog account he

opened up with false information. The program would actively trace the terrorists movement of

the document he had retrieved from the Pentagon from the computers he had sent it to in the

Reed Street house using the remote desktop access he had and gather all of the new activity from
those terminals operating within his old server and send them to the authorities. It would make

sure of the activation of his micro-web cell and wireless call monitor device he had built into

several of his machines, which monitored and recorded all phone calls and texts done around the

house in his own mini cell towers, and send all of the records stored in his server to the

authorities as well. He also programmed it to hack the security cameras all over the house, and

begin remote recording of them all, to be stored in the server and sent as well. Last but not least,

he built code prearranged by him years earlier to shut down the whole Reed Street system and

wipe all of the drives and server files when it was finished. He had made this as a remote fail-

safe in a case just such as this one a year prior during a federal investigation scare he had gone

through.

By this time, his hour of computer time was up. He stored the new program on the hard

drive, and stowed it in the attach case. Now it was time to get a look into this laptop he was

carrying.

Wandering the halls of the library, he found the maintenance room door and jimmied it.

He felt like a criminal, but he was sure if he got caught it would simply mean ejection from the

library. Besides which he was not going to steal anything, just borrow some tools to check out

the inner workings of the laptop he had been given. He had to know what he was working with,

it was a pet peeve of his and he couldnt stand to use it anymore if he didnt know.

` The room was a dusty enclosure about the size of a small office. It held two work tables

loaded with sawdust from some recent bookshelf project still sitting abandoned in the corner.

There were vice grips on the corners and tools hung all along the backs of the tables.
 Stephen found a screwdriver in a stained coffee mug sitting right by the miter saw. It was

a bit threadbare, a lot like him really, but it should work for the screw casings on the notebook.

He just had to make sure he didnt slip and strip the very worn, and obviously cheap screwdriver

or he might be out of luck for this venture.

He was nervous, and his heart was pounding as he jumped from the library intercom

announcing the libraries close in thirty five minutes. It should be enough time. He didnt want to

have to steal the screwdriver, and he could carry the disassembled laptop with him after

removing the casing. All he needed was about five minutes. He went to work on the first set of

screws. He had just gotten through the right rear side of the notebooks screws when the door

opened and a maintenance man entered.

They locked eyes, both afraid of what to do next. The man was carrying a brown paper

sack that looked to contain some alcohol, and was wearing a navy blue janitors overalls with his

name stitched to the front with the downtown library logo next to it. Then finally, the man spoke.

Get yer scrawny little ass out of my work area! he scolded, much like he was talking to

a child.

Yes sir, Im sorry. I just needed to take the screws off this laptop

I dont care if you were trying to resuscitate your pet hamster, get out! Now!

Stephen felt silly and busted, and turned beet red in the face. He felt a sinking feeling in

his gut when he realized he wasnt going to be able to disassemble, or for that matter even

reassemble the laptop. He hadnt thought of this before. Slowly, reluctantly he replaced the
screwdriver in the stained coffee mug on the workbench and, head down, moved slowly towards

the door.

Oh for Christs sakes, if you hadnt picked the oldest tool on the bench you might not

have gotten caught! Here son, take the screwdriver!

The man picked up[m the screwdriver he had been using and handed it to him.

Go on now, you git out of here! And dont let me catch you back here on my sippin time

again, ya hear?

Thank you, he read the mans uniform Frank.

Anytime. But not now. Anytime but now. This is my workbench time. Now go!

As Stephen made his way through the cavernous hallways of the downtown D.C. library

he felt a tinge of relief. He had done the right thing, and it had worked out. Maybe everything did

happen for a reason. He had to expect that from his life a lot more paying dues was to come, and

he shuddered. How many more dues would he have to pay before the end of this caper? And how

many licks did it take to get the center? The world may never know.

Chapter Nine

As Stephen stepped outside of the library and into a cold drizzle that was falling, he felt

that he knew where to go. As if by some synchronistic symbolic sign, his cell phone went off at
that exact second. A text had come through from Andrews number. It read: Go to the downtown

Hilton. There is an envelope at the desk for you. Go to your room and await further instructions.

He was almost relieved to hear that he had a room waiting. He was short on sleep, as the

train ride had been taken up by his first objective to obtain the files from the Pentagon. That had

proven to be all too easy, and he felt a pang of guilt that the tools he had built for his criminal

enterprise had proven to be so security disarmingly lethal to all of the firewalls and other

protections that the Pentagon had surrounding its top secret files. It made him feel good, but in a

sick sort of way that was very unsettling. Maneuvering through his old familiar programming as

he accessed it via remote desktop access on his Reed Street server didnt even feel the same. This

was certainly going to put a spin on his clients futures with respect to his former enterprise.

There was no way he could go back to it now, he felt like a little kid with a new bike that needed

training wheels for, but determined to ride it and learn anyway.

He stepped to the curb just as, coincidentally a cab was passing by. What luck. He had

just enough left from what Patricia had given him to make it to the Hilton. He was theorizing on

whether he should continue to call her his ex-fiancee or refer to her as his ex- girlfriend when the

cabbie spoke up.

Well, where to, boss?

The downtown Hilton please.

Sure enough. You got the cash?

Of course he would get the stickler now when he was feeling short on patience. He pulled what

he had out of his wallet and flashed it in the cabbies face impatiently.
 Just making sure. Had some chump try to pay me in pesos the other day. You never can

tell.

Im tired. Can you step on it, please?

The cabbie grimaced and set the fare box. It began its cash diminishing count

immediately as he pulled away from the curb.

You got it, boss man. Cash is cow, you know what I mean?

If you say so.

The rest of the ride was, thankfully silent save the taxi drivers news radio station

announcing the days headlines. Stephen was too tired to pay attention to current events at the

moment. He closed his eyes and waited for them to get his destination. He prayed that there

would be no immediate surprises waiting for him at the Hilton, as his nerves were frayed to the

limit already. A nice hot bath, and a taste of the wet bar would do him nicely. He hoped they

stocked Jack Daniels as he was in the mood. His head began to feel taught, and he saw a blob of

color drift past his right eye. Oh no, he was getting a migraine. He got these things called auras

before really bad ones that came on about a half an hour before the event.

Finally they arrived at the doormans post at the downtown Hilton. He paid the taxi

driver, surmised that he had enough left to get coffee in the morning and wondered if these new

bosses of him were going to throw him some cash for living expenses. Wearily, he entered the

lobby and approached the front desk, currently manned by a twenty something young kid who

appeared to be supervised by the concierge at the moment, and was looking ultra attentive and

peppy under his guise.

 There should be an envelope for Stephen Bolsom.

The kid responded almost immediately, almost talking over Stephen in a rush to provide

service. Was this kid on something?

Yes sir. Thats you? Stephen Bolsom?

Yes, my good man, thats me.

Just then Stephen realized he had left his real identifications behind and was carrying

now only the false I.D.s. This was going to be a problem.

No, nothing here under that name sir. Sorry. Are you sure you have the right Hilton?

Yeah, thats ok, it just probably hasnt arrived yet.

Stephen walked away, feeling somewhat hushed and embarrassed at his folly. He couldnt

very well claim to be one person, and then change his name and identity the next second could

he? No, this was not going to do at all. He decided to wait outside for the desk clerk position to

be manned by someone else.

Thankfully, he got his chance five minutes later when the kid was accompanied by the

concierge to take care of another clients baggage, as there was no immediate bellhop\present.

Stephen quickly made his way through the front door and back to the front desk, trying

purposefully to appear to be in a hurry in case they should return.

There should be an envelope here for Timothy Lawrence?

The attendant answered as he pulled it from under the counter top.

 Weve been waiting for you. You have the twelfth floor suite today sir, if I am correct?

If thats what it says.

All of the booking was done online, if I could just see your I.D. sir?

Yes, here it is. Stephen flashed his fake identification at the clerk, who smiled and

passed him the last piece of work between him and a trip to the twelfth floor suite. The

paperwork to sign, hot off the printer was handed over along with a Hilton logo pen to sign it

with. Stephen scratched his unpracticed fake John Hancock as sloppily and as quickly as he

could, and slid it back over to the clerk.

Very good sir, here is your key, enjoy your stay at the Washington D.C. Hilton. If you

need anything, please let one of the Hilton family know.

Thank you very much. Ill be sure to do that.

With a yet apprehensive sigh of relief, he moved to the adjacent elevator and pushed the

call button. The elevator rang its brief faint dinging announcement of its arrival a few seconds

later, and he boarded. With very little energy left, he pushed the button for the twelfth floor and

waited as the car climbed to its destination.

He arrived at the twelfth floor, and found his suite. Placing the key in the slot, he opened

the door to find a room bathed in darkness. All of the shades were drawn, the lights off, and there

was almost no light in the room. With a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach surveying his unreal

circumstances, he moved to the bedside lamp, and clicked it on.

Sure enough, in the corner of the bedroom sat Trellis Moran, affectionately fondling his

gun.
 Its about time you got here.

What am I on the clock? Do I get paid for that?

If I were you I would shut up and listen very carefully. Like I said before, in my opinion

you have outlived your usefulness. Did you open the envelope you received at the front desk?

Stephens hand moved to his jacket pocket to retrieve the envelope and Trellis flinched.

Slowly now, Stephen. I dont expect you could surprise me fast enough anyway, but pull

your hand out slowly Trellis annunciated his words very deliberately and slowly in a

commanding tone of voice.

Stephen withdrew the yet unopened envelope from his pocket. He waived it at Moran,

exhibiting that it was still shut, and Trellis waived at him to go ahead and open it.

Inside you will find four hundred dollars in petty cash that should meet your needs.

Dont worry, I wont be with you long. We will allow you to go shopping in the morning

between the hours of eight and ten. The rest of the time you are to stay to your room. Room

service is available, and I think you will find we have been more than accommodating in trying

to ease you into your next assignment.

The man stood, and Stephen wondered if it was all a dog and pony show or if the gun was

really loaded. He wasnt taking any chances, it certainly had been loaded back in Philadelphia.

I will take my leave now. But mind you, I am staying down the hall and will be checking

on you periodically to make sure you are in place for our next move.
 Trellis flashed an evil looking grin as he pocketed the snub nosed barrel in the rear of his

pants, tucked between the belt and his back.

Ta ta!

With that, he went to the door, and left.

Stephen removed his designated laptop from the attach at his hip. Sitting in the sitting

room area and placing it on the table in front of him, he finished what he had begun in the

maintenance room of the downtown library. Opening the casing of the laptop, he exposed the

inner workings of this machine he had so recently committed a felony with. To his great

satisfaction, there were no surprises inside and he felt a slow release that at least something in

this running game was exhibiting normal qualities. He slowly reassembled the notebook,

replacing each screw in its proper casing. He left them loose however, in case he was to be able

to acquire undetected in the morning what could be his calling card if the Feds did come

knocking. The hard drive was storing the files he had stolen as of yet, and he felt that if he

replaced it and stowed it, it might go unnoticed and could prove to be a very valuable persuasion

piece to have in case of many different alarming things that could very possibly happen. Better to

be safe than sorry. He hoped his tail would not be accompanying him on his shopping excursion

the following morning. Perhaps he should just buy an entire laptop with the cash, and switch out

the hard drives. It was something to think about.

Booting up the notebook, he decided it was time to really examine what he had stolen for

his captors this morning. Extracting the file from its hiding place in the locked guest account

miscellaneous program files where he had hidden it, he prepared himself to know what he had

done.
 There in front of him was a document put together by the U.S. military, the Pentagon, and

the Nuclear Regulatory Codes Commission. As Stephen read, he sank lower in his chair and the

migraine began to really pound at his temples. The document was a detailed outline of the

positions, movement lock codes, and emergency procedures for the raised alert status change of

certain specified nuclear arms in various locations on U.S. military bases in the Middle East. He

was shocked that such potentially vulnerable locations were chosen for these arms. The top

secret government procedures and codes document outlined sparing no small detail as to the

whereabouts, exact personnel and unlock codes for the weapons of mass destruction. It mapped

the route to be taken bv the entourage in the strategic armament and adjustment of the nuke on its

journey from low alert to National Emergency procedures and high alert.

Stephen felt sick to his stomach. This was far worse than he could have expected, and

also foreshadowed the creation of one such a National Emergency situation to induce the arms

strategic movement procedures to take place. This was a very bad sign of things yet to come. He

was in Washington of all places, what were they going to do next?/

Hack To The Chief (STEP FOUR)

Step Four:

A hacker who makes his living by doing so becomes the target of a terrorist organization and its

murderous setup to assassinate The President of The United States. One day, Stephen Bolsom

noticed his friends list being edited on his social networking accounts. The only ones left on the
list were the names of those who were involved in his new network to hijack corporate social

networking sites to promote new and emerging artists in the recording and other industries. By

the time an old dope dealer of his from ten years prior shows up on the list, and attempting to

chat with him, he is reciprocating with hostilities towards his tech junkie employees. The dealer

tells him he is about to be exposed unless he gives up some of the money he took from corporate

America and stored in Swiss banks.

He is not aware of the backing organization of this planned attack on his systems at first, and

takes the shakedown lightly. He tells the dope dealer to go fuck himself and returns to what he

thinks should be business as usual, but then it happens. The massive server he has set up at his

house crashes, and then begins to spit information out to random assortments of people hooked

into accounts he serviced. His bank records, privately filmed pornography, and all sorts of

incriminating details about his advertising and business acquaintances. With accounts on the line

numbering to hundreds of thousands of dollars, he is forced to unplug everything. His clients are

now left naked and unshielded from exposure and having their, in some cases very well

established accounts busted and irrevocably removed.

Stephen is soon let to know that he will either conform to a new set of rules, or be engaged in

paying heavily for his own cyber - crimes. When phone rings, and it is his home security systems

reporting that there was a call for an alarm, he is informed there will be a mandatory police

inspection done due to suspicious activity on the videos. We just want to make sure you are safe

sir. the security systems customer service representative tells him. It is just the worst of time, as

he had just opened all of the secret safe positions around the house to store the backup and main

hard disks until all of the controversy about to ensue blew over. He ends up enduring the police

inspection, narrowly avoiding them inspecting the common area with the only safe still open.

He leaves his house the day after, and returns to find that all of the paperwork on his mortgage

has been changed, and the house has been sold out from under him. The security code doesnt

work. The locks have been changed. There is paperwork and a sold sign in the yard. His phone

rings, its the dealer again. He informs Stephen that he is homeless and due to his keeping such a

low profile and living in the boondocks, he has made it easy on everyone. The new security

company will be there in five minutes, by the way, for you standing on the lawn. We reported

you. Go to The Hilton downtown and request a letter for you at the front desk. You will find, we

can also be very accommodating.

Hotel accommodations are sent to his phone, but he is not so easily persuaded. Stephen does not

want to give his new adversary any more leeway to feeling he is going to roll over and play dead.

He takes out the emergency I.D. kit he has always kept in his car in the case of a fight or flight

situation, and goes to the local pub for a brew to stew and think things over. Paying in cash at the

bar, he withdraws money from his credit card, done on another name from another persons

identity. He then reports his own car stolen, and calls a taxi. Removing all of his equipment to

take with him from the car downtown Hilton. he tells the cabbie.

He takes to stealing hotel occupancies in cheap key- card establishments where he can infiltrate

the book- keeping records and maintain a low profile. The message at The Hilton was a room

key and a terminal passcode in an envelope. Not knowing if there would be a man in a chair in

the dark in that hotel room waiting to meet him like in the movies kept him from going to the

room. Once he is checked in to the hotel, he hacks their system records and erases even the data

of the fake name he registered under. His enemy held that information on the disks from his

home. He takes out his computer, and begins a back door look into all of his accounts, and finds

that all of his money is gone. The only monies left are from the false identities, and they were

pending transfer.
When his accounts go berserk on him, he doesnt know what to do, but follow a trail of setups

left behind for him to attain his only hope of survival. Maybe he should very well turn himself

into a conspiracy theory nut who became a nobody, a bum and let them win. Even this idea of a

recluse is soon squashed when his android rings with a fresh threat. They are going to expose his

multi - national hacker based programming business to the authorities and have him doing hard

time for all of his crimes if he doesnt conform, they tell him. They direct him to The Hilton

downtown once more to retrieve an envelope.

As the twists of his trail go further past the point of no return to his old life, he begins to live by a

new set of rules. Not being a thug or a hardened criminal he has no means by which to support

himself with a hustle. He was a white collar criminal, and a very successful one at that. He

begins to live like a hoodlum, lifting ladies purses at bus stops to get food money to eat, once

even asking to use a strangers cell phone and then walking away with it. If he isnt picked up by

the authorities for his various petty thefts at discount drugstores, he will be surprised he thinks to

himself.
He abandons his smart phone, and begins to try and ditch all of the comforts of his old tech

junkie lifestyle. He pawns his laptop, feeling he cant outright sell it as it would be another in a

long string of losses here. He cant help but feel that going to the Hilton will inevitably put him

in deeper danger. At least for now, he is free and safe from any further damage being done. These

people obviously wanted him to do something more than money, as they had all of his money

already. At several bus stops in the city throughout his days travel, he notices a man tailing him.

As if it werent bad enough that he couldnt get through to his old girlfriend for some shelter, he

is now being tailed.

At every turn, the equipment is left in his path to return to work, but with very specific design

documents coming forward from the glowing terminals he faces. As he walks by a stranger in the

subway terminal, a phone is dropped in his trench-coat pocket. It begins to ring, and he picks it

up. They inform him that the subway police have been informed of a man wanted for bank

robbery matching his description, and that he needs to exit the train NOW! He just so happens

to be at a stop, and as he sees a subway cop running after him, loses him in the crowd by ditching

his trench- coat and stealing a little kids baseball cap. Earlier in the night, a laptop had magically
appeared with a video of his on it playing at the bus stop on the corner. He is being egged on to

use his old programming to open a key- locked security highly classified documents page at The

Pentagon. They tell him his old programming is still in place on a new network designed by

them. All he has to do is use it, and they will let him go free.

Once living off of forged documents and credit cards, he is now reduced to stealing from snack

machines to eat. While rocking a snack machine back and forth to retrieve a bag of potato chips,

he has an idea. What if he can write some fast programming to reroute the signal from whatever

terminal they would have him on? That would leave him risk free, if he could make sure the

terminals cameras were disabled to have any proof of it being him who infiltrated. The question

remains what were those classified documents they were attempting to obtain and why?

He is being chased, starved and cheated of his own cheatings, to which he can raise no

complaint. He is worn, tired from being up all night and having nowhere to rest, he decides to

turn to just showing up at his old girlfriend, Marcias apartment. When he gets there, it is a very

awkward situation as her new boyfriend is there. He basically forces his way in the door to

explain his circumstances, but she is not having any of it. They have an argument, the end of
which is her giving him twenty dollars to just go away! He uses the money to buy some over

the counter caffeine pills, what he used to use when he was crash programming, and some hair

dye and scissors. Using the mens room at a fast food restaurant for about twenty minutes, he

changes his hair style and color, and changes into some clothing he scavenged from a trash can

downtown.

His own crooked affiliations are of no use, and his business shattered, leaving him to desperate

measures that will lead him closer to The Pentagon and The White House with his hacks than he

had ever before attempted, or hoped to be in attempt. He goes to the downtown library, to use a

free computer terminal. Using simple text and cut and pasting from various sites, he writes a

signal rerouting program and drops it onto disk. He is starting to see that if these documents

were in fact stolen for the reason of need, they would have done it already themselves. No, they

were playing another sort of manipulation once again. But he had no idea what it was. Perhaps

the key was contained in those documents.

When a PC arrives at his high jacked motel room via a courier, he is told to accept the terminal

or take two from his twenty two to the head. He had crawled in through the window of the
establishment, having checked to see what rooms were free and what the expected occupancy

was for the night. He accepts the terminal and, nervously turns it on. Once again it is teed up to

the network automatically connecting it to the Pentagons Classified Documents section. This

time he accepts the challenge, using his signal rerouting or diffusion program and opens the

classified documents and, as per the instructions popping up on the screen sends them to his

contact via an anonymous free email account.

Whoever is behind his demise is through playing. The documents are the details of the military

detail for movement of all of the U.S. nuclear warheads in times of high alert. It specifies the

amount and procedures of guards around the facilities and their movements in protecting the

warhead. The specialized report is used to pinpoint strategically the weakest points in the

movements in order to fend off possible terrorist organizations in those areas gaining access.

These reports were almost designed as a sort of blueprint for terrorists to strike, in order to train

the personnel for high alert drastic weapons maneuvers.

By this point, he has been flushed via a series of close calls with Homeland Securities to

Washington, D.C. and he is nervous in the face of a city he does not know, or wish to tamper
with. As he follows his instructions on the terminal while traveling on his pre- arranged train

tickets, he is plagued by these people not only rushing him to work while traveling on other

documents, but giving him unscheduled stops and reroutes enforced by similar episodes as what

happened in the subway. So he finds himself in D.C., just three days after the initial takeover of

his accounts. The fact that he has been physically demanded to appear in D.C. where the

machines storing these records are kept has him feeling emotionally exhausted. The question

was, who were these people, and what was their new agenda for him now that he had arrived in

the capital?

When he boots up the computer, his old network fires up, but with a time sensitive key element

that if not deprogrammed by following instructions will send all of his files to the F.B.I. and the

C.I.A. in a series of very stimulating letters and attachments. He is to hack into the secret service

current events database for details on protection of the President while traveling in the next

week. A picture pops up on the screen, and he is asked to print from his new printer supplied at

his Hilton hotel room a badge enabling him access to the press room at The White House. He is

shown manifests that list him fresh on the list, and given an itinerary to attend press conferences

prior to the Presidents travel later on in the week.

When the trail turns deadly, with his old girlfriend turning up dead at the scene of a Senators

shooting in the brownstones of South Philadelphia, his hometown, he is led ever further on this

action packed trail of terror which will leave you at whits end. The news story of his girlfriends

death arrives in an email attachment on the terrorists terminal, along with a note: this could be

you if you try and tell anyone else. The Senator was a visit point for The President later on in the

week, and thus there would be itinerary changes. They seemed to be arranging a sort of

rendezvous with the chief himself. Stephen just hoped he wasnt expected to be there.

To the press release room at The White House he is called as a legitimate courier of the terrorist

organizations news media group which has somehow secured him a badge and the rights to stand

in very close proximity to the worlds elite. He asks no questions, and takes notes quietly in the

corner of the room, his exact instructions being to ask one simple question. The question was In

light of the Senators shooting do you feel that you will have an increase Secret Service

protection for the coming weeks travel? He was being asked to obviously set himself up to have

been the one who asked the fateful question to the President before what could only be an

assassination attempt.
His presence is being established for a very special setup attempt on the Presidents life, and he

knows it. As his travel plans are made to include the Presidents infamous last minute stop on exit

from the White House, his favorite deli in Georgetown, he sees his worst nightmare coming true.

They were going to plug the President and have him pinned for it, left holding the gun. That was

the only feasible explanation for the fact that his presence was being demanded at this point in

time. If only he had listened to his mother, and become a doctor or a professor.

Sweating over a night picking through brownstones trash receptacles, he pieces together a

terminal of his own as he desperately tries to fly under the radar of what he now knows is an

Islamic terrorist organization getting its funding by a chain of old dope dealers with which he

once had association. He has backtracked through hacking through their firewalls to see where

their group is initiated from. Though the few transmissions he got to see from one group member

to another cell were vague, they were done in Arabic. The most visible chain of transactions was

from the dope dealers to these men, for opium that could be turned into heroine at one of their

labs. They were a drug supported terrorist organization, making money hand over fist with no

intentions of stopping until they had destroyed America at the very core of what they felt we

were: greed incarnate.

As he faces death head on holding the hands of his own exposure and the greater imperative of

saving the leaders which once vexed him, he is faced with the opportunity to go down in history

as one of the worlds most important hackers ever. He pieces together a small server with the

computers he has scavenged, and with his one day off arranges with an elderly man in the park to

set them up and leave them at his house for him in exchange for use of them for one day. The

man agrees, and his tail absent from sight, he builds a small website to relay messages to the

Secret Service men as they protect the President in real time. Any other way would cause red

flags to go up with the terrorists, and he would lose his chance to get the main cell, who he now

knows is a sniper put in prison. Gathering all of the classified documents stolen, he slowly pieces

together the adverse chain of reactions surrounding a key point where we are storing a warhead

in the Middle East, taken back from them. The Presidents killing would most likely call for a

high alert, and those procedures would be implemented. It was a two part plan!

Either way, he is in for a down to the wire hair raising ride through downtown Georgetown to

visit the possibility of becoming the infamous hacker who shot the President on the eve of a

terrorist attack. He could just see it now, all of the proof that he had had dealings with Islamic

Nationals to give them all of the necessary documents for their attack. The exposure of his long
standing criminal network which had slid loose as he lost his marbles. In the end, it all depends

on what he could piece together of what had been thrown away the night before in a brownstones

alley.

Joel Brooks?3692 Gracia Paseo

Spring Valley, CA 91977?http://www.OZENOZ.com

joelbrooks@ymail.com

(619)241-6247?

?To Whom This May Concern;?? I have written a book about a C.I.A. agent who hits the

streets in Los Angeles to prevent the president's assassination. Unfortunately for him, the streets

hit him back. It is entitled Takes One To No One. A full copy of the manuscript is available on

request. The manuscript in full, as well as my other works can also be viewed at my website,

listed above. ? In Takes One To No One, the C.I.A agent goes into the Los Angeles

underground to infiltrate the plans of drug smuggling terrorists and prevent the assassination of

the United States President. His tolerance in all forms is tested to the limits as he turns to make

his living on narcotics and strong arm tactics. Assaulted on all sides by the trappings of crime, he

is wading knee deep in Los Angeles street politics which bring him into all sorts of dangerous

and high pressure violent business deals amongst everyone from gang members to some of

Hollywoods naughtiest elite. It all leads to a perilous setup and a rendezvous with the very

whos who in an action packed, sex and getting whacked, drug racked, rap attack which even has

time for a romance to keep our sensibility about all of this intact. As a matter of fact, our agents

lack of being in the black while in the dark make it a scary, thrill ride of stark naked women,

stark naked facts which attack your common decency, guns and knives and ultrasensitive high
tech and high risk intelligence by which The Pentagon live, but can barely contain their President

over. ? The book is loosely based on factual happenings which occurred to me and were

researched in my wild and perilous journey barely surviving being pushed underground by

virulent internet criminals in the streets of the city of angels. It contains my firsthand knowledge

of the criminal community in its diverse and colorful characters from all walks of life who so

often are concealed and protected by the fine tunings of the big business of the American justice

system. I have attended a number of universities, including Lehigh University for business,

where I learned the incredible power of being a citizen of the U.S. being at its core using the

abilities granted to us as a democratic society and taking advantage of all of the rights that allow

us to govern. This leads to an easy, action packed, and tedious depiction of one such powerful

representative, whose membership in the tightest lipped, most well informed organization in the

world forces him to stretch the limits of action that is legal, even for one such an agent, in order

to accomplish a victory for the higher good.? Thank you for your time and consideration in

this matter. I look forward to further correspondence about receiving representation from you.

Any resemblance to any persons or events is purely coincidental and therefore renders you safe

to reply.?? Sincerest

Thanks,

Joel Brooks

Character Development...
TOM(27)
Dialogue between Detectives Harris and Rushmore as they are processing Tom.
There is a plate of cheese on the desk nearby. Harris takes a bite.

Thats not your cheese man!

Thats right, its nacho cheese alright. This is government cheese. Its anybodys cheese
Rushmore.

Youre government cheese.

Not enough of it around here my fine Detective. Should we check the evidence room?

Nah, no cheese back there. Besides thats no mans cheese.

This is romancing my stones Rushmore. You see that hot blonde who they sent in for strip
search?

Yeah, I know. She made one call and is all lawyered up. Bet shes outta here in less than an
hour. Some Hollywood agent in a convertible picking her up.

Fuck, if she doesnt have ride Ill give her one.

You dont get off until eleven, Harris. Dont make the pretty girl wait. Take the squad car. Ill
cover you.

You say the sweetest things, sometimes Rushmore. Should I ask her?

Wait until we bring dinner. By then her bail will have come through and we can ask for another
for another strip tease when she gets her civvies back.

Always knew you were a peeping Tom.

Tom- Hey watch it, thats my name. Tom.

Shut up Tom.

Nah, just on the rocks. I take everything on the rocks. My whiskey, my sex, my fishing, and my
comedy.

Youre comedy is on the rocks alright.

Tom- Hey you guys gonna process me or plan the rape of an inmate over my paperwork?

Whats it to you. You know Im not choosy, you better be careful.

Very funny. Bet you I beat the blonde out of here.

Cant place bets with inmates. Keeps my bookie out of jail.

Fuck, Rushmore. You see this guys record? He practically walks on water. Weve got the
national database, and he walked on five of these things last year.

Tom- Pass the cheese, brother.

Sorry, finished it. You want that phone call now?

The sooner the better. I was hoping to get laid tonight. And not in a jail cell.

Thats what I like to hear. I assume you will make it fast?

How long do I have?

Ten minutes before the phone cuts you off. Its gotta be local too. Dont go calling Vegas.

Not likely.

Right this way Mr. Hartman.

Tom is your average East Coast guy, hailing from Philadelphia. He is Filipino and white
and often uses his looks to pass for many things. He was recruited into the C.I.A. assignment
after finishing a law degree from UPenn. All throughout school, Tom supported himself by
dealing coke and his past chases him through the ranks at Langley.
A very untraditional agent in the fullest sense of the words, Tom finds early on that he
needed either chase his past skills into his workplace or lead a boring desk job. He chases a
position as an agent infiltrating terrorist drug rings, but finds himself seeing limited power in a
federal dominated position. Too late to change careers, Tom decides to go for a full undercover
position.
His family was a broken divorce ridden country club powerhouse that all but dissolved
when the kids left the club. The parents had held things together for a decade after Tom and his
sisters birth, but it proved to do more harm than good. A decade of inner club affairs left them
scrambling for their lawyers. Tom went with his father, his sister his mother.
Doing well in English, Tom was pushed to pursue a History major at college, lest they be
cursed with a poor writer. History led to a morbid fascination with the justice system, which led
him to pursue a law degree. His law degree was matched with an unmitigated sense of of how to
maintain a perfect GPA and he soon found himself hunted by the government. Lacking any
motivation to leave his fast paced life at Penn, he was an easy target for the Langley scouts.

HARRY the Hood DOMINGUEZ(35)

Harry is a west coast villain in the traditional sense, very "laid back". "You don't mess..."
with him and he "don't mess with you."
Harry is perhaps too good hearted of a guy to be dealing drugs, but out of High School
found himself with a habit to support, and though he has kicked the habit, hasn't kicked the
kickbacks.
Hailing from the San Francisco Bay Area, Harry relocated at age twenty- seven to Los
Angeles to pursue showbiz. He claimed he was escaping the "bay fags" who dominated his drug
business. "Stupid jerks didn't even know they had to get high because they couldn't stand
themselves."
Harry is of Mexican descent, though from a family that adopted him at age seven. His
mother is black, father mixed and it led in time to alot of jokes about where Harry came from. At
age eighteen, chided by his broken hearted mother, Harry sought out his parents, finding both
dead of a car accident a decade earlier.
Harry lives on the oustkirts of Venice Beach in Culver City where he goes from day to day
praying his agent will call with a role with more than two lines. Next to no acting talent, and a
very gruff mannerism coupled with his dreadlocked locks make his chances slim to none, and
slim left town.
Harry meets Tom when Tom proves to be a better door to door service for one of his "Mr.
Happy" clients in Venice Beach. Harry strong arm converses with Tom and convinces him to
hook him up with a better supplier in exchange for more business. There are only so many
deliveries he can make in a night on the streets of Los Angeles. Together he and Tom make alot
of money.

DICK STRAYER(57)white

Dick is approaching retirement, but despite the chiding of his wife won't yet hang up the
badge. "It's not fair to retire early when I had to change careers..." Although he didn't altogether
change careers, Dick was a Dick. Starting as an LAPD Detective fresh out of UCLA, he attended
law school at nights after having his daughter so he could pursue Langley. Struggling with his
inner-city case load, he barely scraped up the grades, but at age twenty- seven entered C.I.A.
training.
Thirty years as a loyal recruit has left him with a deskjob. Dick was never one for the desk
job thing, but his daughter gave them grandkids, his wife insisted. He is almost indispensible as
an undercover agents tag team on the inside, and finds himself with the most hair - raising, high
pressured undercover assignments to monitor.
With a team of two "technical" assistants to research his moves, Dick is a key player in
covert operations. His curt mannerisms and quick whit prove to be all too much of a match for
his inveterate youngsters on undercover.
Tom is handed to him as a side- project to keep tabs on, but when two other agents lose
their spots and Tom is left all but alone, Dick smells trouble and makes him his lead priority.
Dick is a family man, with more dick jokes than you can shake a fist at. Especially if you
are single and undercover in Los Angeles.

SALLY RIDE(39)black

Sally is a Los Angeles local artisan with a penchant for her humble beginnings. At age
eighteen, Sally relocated to Los Angeles from Eugene, Oregon. She prides herself on never
having asked for a handout, earning her way with her art and music over the years.
In her early thirties, with her plethora of Los Angeles contacts, Sally began a marketing
business for musicians to sell their music to the media. She is forever scouting a good song to
sell, and has made many friends this way. She refuses to move from her south Venice Beach
condominium despite her success. Her friends want her to move nearer to Studio City to be close
to her business, but she has made herself quite the bleeding heart to young artists seeking solace
in the beach at Venice over the years.
Sally meets Tom at a drum circle in Venice when he first arrives in Los Angeles. Venice
Beach drum circles are an every Sunday event at sundown on the beach, and they make a pact of
some strange sort to meet every Sunday and catch up. She gives him a drum, and a hug, and she
is hooked.
Single with no kids, Sally is very interested in finding a relationship, but her bleeding heart
mentality has always turned the men off as a sort of flakiness.
"Once an artist, always an artist."
She slowly gathers facts on things about Tom over the course of the story as they evolve
into a love affair. She all at once decides to pursue him seriously when she finds he has musical
talent. She becomes his agent of sorts as he enters the Los Angeles Hip Hop arena, helping him
to land a record deal in town.

CURTIS White(45)white

Curtis is no stranger to the mob. Stepping on alot of toes over the years to achieve his role
as a Hollywood Producer, he has gone the "non-traditional" route so to speak. With a love of
people, but moreover an all consuming greed about him Curt is well, curt.
In fact, at one point he had to make an office memorandum for the staff to stop referring to
him as "Curt". Curtis partying with the stars to schmooze and land them as their well- in - budget
roles with his studio has led him to alot of friends in other circles.
When an offer of money to help coerce funds towards marijuana legislation came across his
desk, he jumped at it. Over the years, this led Curtis to alot of disrespect within the company and
he has become "the troubled stars" man.
He is not beyond firing an assistant for inadvertantly offending one of his stars on a whim,
and has his pockets padded deep in the drug circles that ring the studio, though he doesn't dabble.

Takes One To No One

By Joel Brooks

Chapter One
 Harry the hood Dominguez was just finishing what he felt would turn out to be just
another day in the Greater Los Angeles area. As he put the finishing touches on his true to life
blog for the night, he was thrilled to see that his prior entry about half an hour ago had been
viewed over seven hundred times already. His blog wasnt making him any money, but it had a
certain thrill to it as he exposed his innermost secrets and seemed to attract enough viewers every
day to roll up the counter near a thousand a day. Some days he published a lot. Some days he
published very little. But he always managed to touch base with his audience in some way every
day. He had a catchy web address, OZENOZ.com, the name of a rap act he had been working on
developing for near a decade now. The only catch was that he didnt want to play the role of the
artist himself. He was an actor, but no musician, and certainly no rap artist. Though the words on
his blog flowed from him with a natural ease and poise, the fast paced rhythms put to time of rap
were a little over the top for him.

No, Harry was putting together his act to find a local talent and promote him all the way
from the ground floor to the top. He would manage the act, get it signed, help on the lyrics, help
with show bookings and merchandise for which he had countless works of art already conceived.
This was not the topic of his blog tonight, however.

Prior to hitting the publish button on his speculative piece on the future of independent
film in the matrix of independent network entertainment channels already airing vast amounts of
specialized media online, he checked the whereabouts of his audience. He was surprised that a
pretty solid number of these hits were coming from Saudi Arabia, near the capital. He also
noticed that there were a few in Pakistan, nearby. He wondered if that princely heir to a fortune
he had met years back had finally connected with his blog, and was checking him out with some
friends.

Then he hit the publish button, and the night truly began. He rarely felt the piece was
perfected until it had been published, and then he went back to edit it in post publishing priority
order, when he felt the vibes of his readers could affect his editing. Tonight, when he looked
over his piece, he was shocked to see that what he had written was not what was published. What
was published was a manifesto of sorts into his dope dealing business, and the damned stiff
arming of the Feds who would have him put away for life. It read that he harbored great
resentments on those who were watching him as we speak, and their disastrously demented and
diluted duty calling from their higher ups, which ran as high as The President himself.

Harry broke out into a cold sweat. He checked out the window of his apartment, and sure
enough, there were two white vans sitting parked outside. One was so bold as to have a satellite
dish perched on its flat exterior roof. This could be it for him, if he didnt act now. Harrys
connect, Damian had just ran over three pounds of crystal methamphetamine and was still
enjoying pizza and beer in his bedroom when Harry burst in.

Fuck man. Dont talk. Look out the window.

 Damian peeked out the bedroom windows as if he was a crazed meth addict himself. He
turned ash white, and then turned to Harry with a wide eyed look of shock.

I know.

Harry grabbed the painters bucket which held the meth in it, and headed for the
bathroom. This was a lot of product in street value, but it came direct from a chemist who made
it a lot cheaper who would appreciate his immediate and best line of distribution protecting them
all from a major bust which would open deeper investigation. Harry moved into the bathroom
that lay in the far corner of the bedroom. With one final look at Damian and a crazy ass cackle,
he proceeded to dump so much product in the toilet, it flushed itself. Several seconds later, there
was nothing left to conceal, and there would be no Federal case for them if indeed the Federal
Bureau of Investigation agents who sat parked outside decided to make their move tonight.

Fuck man.

Harry returned to the living room where his laptop lay open to his blog, OZENOZ.com.
As he looked over the entries, he found that the entire blog had been worked over. He was being
setup! He didnt know what to do. He couldnt leave this open forum now so completely
compromised lay open to anyone to read this filth about him, supposedly from him. He took a
network snapshot of the web site; a backed up cyber space stored copy of the website as it
currently stood, and then deleted the blog from existence. For the first time in over a year, there
would be no OZENOZ.com tonight for his selective audience.

Noises of a heated sexual manner came wafting through the living room from the guest
bedroom down the hallway past the kitchen and reminded Harry of his other house guests. Lucky
and Lucy were in there, and they needed to be made aware of the situation. Harry grinned, and
relished the thought of getting another look at Lucy in action. He walked up to the door, and
knocked.

Fuck, oh fuck! Yeah! Who is it? What do you want? a breathless Lucy intoned from
within the walls of the spare bedroom.

Harry realized he had no way to explain without being overheard by the Feds monitoring
outside. He turned on his heel to look for a notebook to write what was going on down, so that it
could be communicated silently.

Its Harry! Ill be right back!

Inside of the dimly lit spare bedroom, Lucy climbed off of Lucky, who she had been
mounted on in mating bliss. Her body was that of an athletic twenty something, though she was
thirty- three, and her tits glistened with sweat that lined their upturned curvature which was
accentuated by her small, erect, perky red nipples. She smiled at Lucky, and rubbed her crotch as
she pulled him out of her, giving a promise of more to come.
 Fuck, that was good. Lucky said in a casual tone.

Damn straight, lover boy. Only the best catch that to attest. I need to do you more
often. Lucy bantered back.

If I did you more often, you would be walking funny all the time then. And we cant
have you walking like a heart attack and vine whore now, honey!

The room was furnished in cheap knock off motel furniture that Harry had procured from
a remodeling West Hollywood motel. There was thick shag carpeting, a queen sized bed, two
dark oak motel nightstands with drawers for the Gideons bibles, one with an mp3 player alarm
clock , and a large oak entertainment system piece with a fifty inch smart television that was
playing Back To The Future off of an online movie database at the moment. It was the scene
where McFly was caught peeping tom on some unfortunate suburban victim by his son, sent
from the future.

God, wouldnt he like to be peeping on us? Lucky remarked with a sly grin.

Just then Lucy screamed at the top of her lungs, Oh my God, the window! The
window!

Just outside of the bamboo design venetian blinds that were half open, a face was peering
in from the black of the night outside. It was a dark night with no moon, and the details of the
strangers face were somewhat obscured by tree branches just outside of the window. Lucky
sprang immediately into action, almost levitating out of the bed to pull on his Armani jeans. In an
instant he was dressed and he ran at full speed from the room, while trying to zip up his crotch
and pull the button enclosure shut. He ran full speed past the kitchen, through the living room,
and past Harrys bedroom where Harry stood, puzzled, and out the front door.

There were two of them outside, Lucky saw as one darted from the side yard across the
street. The other one, he had cornered and he attacked immediately. He caught the stranger trying
to disentangle his European travel bag from the tree branches, and it gave him just enough time
to sprint to his location in the side yard. He balled up his fists, and immediately began to pummel
the stranger with them in quick half cocks of his arms. He was hitting him hard and fast, and the
stranger seemed so dazed by the assault, he wasnt even fighting back.

The intruder tried to run past him to escape out the front yard and through the gate, but
just as he reached the front rose bushes, Lucky threw his leg out and tripped him hard into the
dirt of the flower beds.

Thatll teach ya! Ya fucking fuck! Lucky screamed at the top of his lungs.

Just then, an LAPD patrol car came to a screeching halt in front of the residence. Two
cops came streaming out of the car, straight at the entangled two. Lucky was now kneeling on the
intruder, hitting him repeatedly in the face. There was blood all over, and he couldnt tell if it was
from the strangers nose, or his knuckles from trying to bash out the fellows teeth.

LAPD! LAPD! Freeze! Police!

Fuck man, this guy was peeping in the windows in our yard!

So you call us, not beat him up!

The policeman swarmed on the two of them, violently flipping the two onto their
stomachs and immediately cuffing them behind their backs.

Ouch! Yo, man! Those cuffs are too tight! Lucky protested.

Do you live here, sir? one of the officers asked.

No sir, I am just visiting a friend when this here fucking creep comes peeping in the
window at me and my girl!

And you thought youd take the law into your own hands. Guess what, hes beat bad.
And you, buddy are going downtown with us. He needs an ambulance, as he may have a
concussion and he definitely has a broken nose. Youll be lucky if he doesnt sue. Lets go, on
your feet.

The officer radioed in for an ambulance, and then read him his rights. Two minutes later,
without even checking within the residence, Lucky was carted off in the back of the cruiser
towards Central Booking.

Harry was trying to calm Lucy down inside and keep her from running out into the open
in her silk nightie and making the situation worse.

Fuck! They took him! He wasnt in the wrong! Those lousy fucks never get it right, do
they Harry?! Lucy wailed at him.

No, thats not the name of the game. Busts to make money for the justice system are the
name of the game, Lucy. And exactly why I dont need you wandering out there right now.

He wrote on the notebook he had fetched from his bedroom. FEDS. Two white vans,
outside parked watching and LISTENING. Dont talk about it, or any drugs. Please.

He watched Lucys face as she read the notebook.

Really?
Really.
 Lucy passed out to the dining room windows and peered through the curtains out into the
streets of Culver City. Her form went rigid and she walked briskly backed to Harrys side and
grabbed the notebook and pen and wrote.

Did you get rid of the meth?

Harry nodded in the affirmative.

She wiped her hand across her forehead to signal her relief and said I need to smoke.

Damian came out from the bedroom at that moment, and looking very pale indeed
announced I am moving on. This place is a hotbed of shitheads tonight. I am getting on getting
on while the going is good,

Dont blame you brother. Drive safe.

You know it.

Harry closed the door behind Damian, and bolted its locks. He then systematically
checked all of the doors and windows in the house to make sure they were secure. Once that was
accomplished, he checked on Lucy to make sure she was alright. She was in the spare bedroom,
fixing herself a spike of some black, or some of the heroine that Damian had brought with
him for her earlier. Harry watched as she drew blood, and then injected a large amount of the
drug directly into her veins on her upper thigh. She withdrew the needle, unaware he was
watching, and lay down on the bed and was immediately in a deep nod. Harry figured she would
be a lot calmer now, and probably stay the night. Hell, he wasnt driving her home that was for
sure.

Harry then returned to the front of the house and the kitchen. He retrieved a beer from the
fridge, and drew a large slug from it to ease his nerves. Thinking twice about his need for calm
and soothed nerves, he withdrew a half gallon of cheap whiskey from the cutting board next to
the refrigerator and opened it. Removing a rocks glass from the cabinet above the sink, he poured
himself a three fingered shot of whiskey, and knocked it straight back as soon as it was poured.
Enough. He needed to be relaxed, not drunk.

Harry returned to the living room and his open laptop. The most curious thing was
happening from its desktop. Files were opening from no command of his own and dropping into
an open e-mail application and sending to an unknown address.

What the fuck?!

Harry removed the battery immediately and reset the system. He then rebooted the
computer, and entered the desktop area again. Going to the wireless network properties on his
servers website, he made sure that the maximum security was being used for his internet. He
found that all of the settings had been reset to open and that his network was wide open. After
doing this, he ran a bug sweep of his computer with his network security software. When this
was finished, he opened the web browser to his web address, OZENOZ.com. To his surprise, the
site was still up and had just published a new article, not written by him. He checked his e-mail
account immediately, to see if the publication had e-mailed him a copy of the new article. There
he found the most disturbing thing of all.

Harrys talent agent had written him a letter, dropping him. They said that they had
received a barrage of correspondence from his e-mail address concerning matters of a very
private nature. Harrys bank had written him a letter. They had closed his accounts due to
fraudulent account activity; activity Harry had not done himself. Harrys social networking
account was closed due to abusive behavior. The car lot he had been making payments to on
his car for over a year had written to say that they hadnt received a payment in over three
months, and had begun to receive abusive letters from him, and they would be repossessing his
car. Even his sister had written to say that she was questioning whether she would make the trip
from back home in the next month due to the letters she had been receiving. Letters Harry had
not written.

Then he noticed the final straw to suspend his disbelief. As his website, OZENOZ.com
altered in its content, he noticed also that the hit counter was spinning off its top. Somehow in
the last hour, he had received over a hundred thousand visits in the most unwelcome of times.
His world was coming off of its hinges, and he had an audience to witness it all go nuts. Then he
noticed the comments section of his blog, and the multiple conversations going on in it. It was
filled with people of Middle Eastern descent. Harry shook off the cobwebs, and dived into his
new fan mail with a hearty sense of restraint and a healthy sense of skepticism.

Chapter Two

Tom Hartman and Dick Strayer were now working overtime, but that was to be expected
at their desk post trying to sift through vast amounts of numerable collections of data from
various sources at Central Intelligence Agency headquarters in Langley, Virginia. They were
squeezed tight into the space around Dicks computer in the office he had convinced higher ups
to give him when he retired from taking outside assignments, watching what may have been the
best fireworks display they had seen to date. The entire network seemed to have gone nutty about
an hour beforehand, and they hadnt yet pinned down a source. There were reports of a lot of
strange activity all the way from social media corporations well into the financial sector, which
was a heavily guarded concern at the moment. The most fascinating thing at this very second,
however was that the virus seemed to have also taken to targeting a select few individuals within
U.S. borders and was playing an infinite number of fascinating games with their accounts. Why
should international terrorists have these select few to torment? Dicks gut told him that perhaps
the answer to tracing the entire attack and its future ramifications lay in these collections of
smaller victims.

Minutes before, a New York City blog writer had sent a report to the C.I.A. citizens
report page which had been streamlined straight from intakes to Dick and Toms desk. This guy
was no ordinary blogger, and his blog had taken to publishing on its own in the last hour. It
spelled out the details of his underworld dealings, and the writer, before taking his own life
minutes before Federal agents moved in to bust his apartment for a large shipment of narcotics,
he had taken the time to fill in the blanks of what he saw was going on. This had been his letter:

To Whom This May Concern;

I am David ODonnell, New York City writer and dope fiend. It seems to me that I have
been put a move on by a very sophisticated hacker who has simultaneously turned me in, and
turned me out at the same time. Never before has my blog gained such attention. The hits are all
rolling in from the Middle East, which raises all sorts of warning flags in my brain. The blog
published an article an hour ago that I hadnt written about the ins and outs of my dope dealing
business, which I have been using to support my meager writers income. I fear the Feds are at
my door, and there is no way out for me. This not my concern, as I will end this life as I know it
in a few moments here. That part is over, as far as I am concerned. What concerns me is that on
trying to look up some of the contacts who had made more notable comments on my blog in the
past hour, I stumbled onto a weapons dealing forum selling missiles. The purveyors of this group
welcomed me as if I had been expected, and made me an offer to join their ranks. Me, a terrorist?
Not likely. I am leaving the gates to all of my internet wares open and my entire equipment
running for you. If you get this in time, check into DavidODonnel.com, and all of the
surrounding accounts and things. I hope at least in my last acts I have managed to achieve some
good.

Semper Fi,

David ODonnell

From this letter, Dick and Tom had run down the list they had of surveillance being
newly put into place by the Federal Bureau of Investigation from an inside source who was
double Dutch door auctioning his career for a little on the side. This was the difference between
the F.B.I. and the C.I.A.; the C.I.A. did it at any means available to get the job done. Much more
serious offenses were at stake here. They then ran down the list of initial hits on the ODonnell
website and found their origin in Saudi Arabia to be a false lead. It was a masked I.P. address
actually originating in Pakistan. This was most peculiar, and led to all sorts of arguments over the
implications of taking the time to mask their location on a simple New York City Blog visit.

Dick, they dont want us yanking their pants down. They havent had a chance to get
busy yet. Tom exasperatedly commented while staring wide eyed at the I.P. addresses activity in
the last twenty four hours.

If we yank their pants down now, I have a feeling they will get busy anyway. I mean
they will have their pants down after all. Dick rebuffed, feeling proud for the moment of their
upper hand on the situation.

But if we yank em and they just moon the world and continue then we know there is
something a lot bigger in their junk than what we first expected.

Well, get ready for the full moon, because I just got permission to move audio satellites
on it. And get this; we are key word sensitizing the entire affected area that could house our perps
to localize our peep session. And we get visual reconnaissance within twenty and we even get the
big cannons on it in case we need them for real.

This concerned Tom. They were no secret, these laser cannons we had put in place with
the satellite weapons defense system during the Reagan era. The public had very little idea just
how much modification had gone into installing their advance tracking systems from recent
space stations. These puppies were lasers that could now track to within five feet at over a
hundred and twenty miles an hour, and would vaporize a man if fired on him from orbit around
the Earth. If the big wigs were authorizing their availability, this was a serious threat. Tom could
just imagine the rows on rows of C.I.A. specialists racking their brains in the hallowed corridors
of the Pentagon, where the field duty level desk jobs were mainly located. There they kept the
higher ups, and the super brains which were above field duty anywhere but from a desk. The
fascinating part was that Tom and Dick were still calling a lot of the shots here from Langley
tonight. They now had birds of prey under their control.

Tom, lets track this west coast surveillance hit down and see what we make of it. This
guy, Harry the hood Dominguez in Culver City. Ive got a bad feeling about the west coast
involvement on all this and my gut tells me its the way to go. Like my wife says, I always go
with my gut.

Thats not what I heard, Dick. Something about the name

Shut up, ya punk kid! You cant even shake Dick! You get that one?

Yeah I get it. Shake dick, funny ha ha.

You know Dick, son. And knowing Dick in this business means you go with your gut.
Whats your gut tell you?

My gut says I missed my dinner seven hours ago when I ran into this nasty business.
And I know, Dick. I know Dick. So lets go with your gut. Its got better reserves.

You are full of them son. You are never going to make rank when its time for you to
leave the field. You remind me so much of myself when I first got in it makes me worry about
you, you know.

None to whit, Dick. Nothing to it, really, just a bunch of starry eyed Chiclets looking for
a double oh seven at the seven eleven every day, really.

The office assistant, Mike ducked his head in to take orders on the late night coffee shop.

Hey, making the midnight run to Cup of Joes, what do you guys want?

A whitefish salad everything bagel, and a coffee, two shots of espresso. Black.

Okay, Dick, the usual. And for you, Tom?

You know, that sounds good, I will take the same.

Make it a double. Got ya. See you boys in about twenty minutes, and then you can pay
me.

Pay you? You mean this doesnt go on an expense account?

 What do you think this is field training or something, Tom? No.

Well, shit, Mike, I only have a hundred dollar bill on me.

Dick chimed in, Rookies. I got ya kid. Go ahead to it, Mikey. Well be here when you
get back, thats for sure. This may be until the morning comes if we cant close our sights on the
primary objections here.

Conscientious objector, Harry the hood Dominguez it is Dick Tom exhaled and
bashed his head against the desk in frustration.

Together, Dick and Tom looked over Harrys blog and pieced together what they could of
his set up. They opened up his blog account and looked at the origins of the hits taking place
prior to the hostile takeover. Then they perused his personal accounts as quickly as they could,
and noticed he fit into the same pattern as Mr. ODonnell.

Tom, grab a laptop and go over the earlier entries into the blog and see if there are any
personal comments that stand out from tonights widespread audience.

You got it!

Five minutes later, it yielded a victory. Tom tracked the name of a wealthy Middle
Eastern heir to the last lineage of the Libyan royal family. He then tracked his business down to a
large mostly junk tech imports products business hosted on a very back door web site. Minutes
later, they were observing without leaving their footprint, an all out bidding war for arms stolen
from Afghani stockpiles and more recent heists.

Good work, Tom. We may have our primary concern source here. What concerns me is
that he wasnt looking for new bidders. So what was he looking for?

A new weapon would be my guess.

I like the way you think, Tom. I have compiled a list of the satellites his company has
launched into orbit since its inception in two thousand and nine. Thats when the fucker inherited
like six hundred million in oil ducats they say from what I read of our files on him. I want to
track where they are at now, if we have to by visual goddamn it. I have a feeling he is doing
something up there that enabled this hack to run so deep. But I also have a feeling that this hack
was an offshoot of the bigger prize, and a useful diversion.

Im on it, Dick. When Director Priorey gave us the go on our recon earlier he also
opened up the orbital trajectories log from our observation stations in various universities around
the U.S. with extensive lens capabilities and engineering perks to our big tubes up there in orbit
that record all local activities standard in data recording by law. Any and all satellites put into
orbit anywhere at any speed for any purpose have to have this data print record of all local
activity built into them. Was set by law, said to make for safer flying and less space junk, but it
also really gives us real time access to the live whereabouts of the whole network that is up there
flying around at any given time. What I will do is run a real time cluster warning log check,
checking for groups of birds out there doing unusual trajectory changes this night.

Son, if you didnt just confuse me so much, I would kiss you. Thats what I always tell
my wife too, so dont worry. Im as straight a dick as youll ever have offering. What Im saying
is quick dickin around Dick and get yer Dickeys in the mud before we have a mudslide!

I got ya Dick. I got ya.

Their coffees and whitefish salad bagels arrived and with the exception of the coffees
went untouched while they worked on a huge amount of data to be sifted through. Finally at
about quarter to two in the morning, Tom found what they were looking for.

Dick I have a cluster from our man that took place at two AM Greenwich Time. Ive got
the lats and longs on it, but its a whole congealment of various types that seemed there to block
up one of our defense systems birds of serious prey. Get this, its harboring a nuke, there captain!
Two hundred megatons of raw fucking turn Saudi Arabia to glass with one long blast. Should we
check on her with the Pentagon?

Give me the I.D. on our bird and Ill phone it in. From what Ive been reading Tom, this
very night is the night of a new system wide programming change based on new fusion physics
theorems which overtake the holographic data ones. Now Im no physicist, but dont you think
that if you retie the shoe, theres gonna be a gap in the race?
Scary shit. Hope were wrong on this one, ma man. Hope were wrong.

Five minutes of waiting on hold with the Pentagon later, they had their answer.

Dick, this is Director Priorey. We are all real glad to hear of your finding. We tracked
down our bird, and shes been flying stray for several hours now. We seemed to have lost control
over her flight panels and thrusters in that confusion you just tagged as the point of contact. We
havent lost her arming controls yet, but there is someone working on them, we can tell. He or
she has already aimed it for Southern California and put it on immediate launch status, but they
havent got the codes to launch. With this new information, we are just going to do the sensible
thing. Create our own cluster fuck and disable every one of that god damned fools ragged rigged
birds until we have her back and coming about. I owe a great debt of gratitude to you this night,
Dick. Is there anything I can do for you?

Now that you mention it, I have been trying to get this fresh kid I have under me up on a
good one in the field. Can I have some slack to further look into this and see if we cant come up
with a suitable field operation for him and me to tag team? Him from there, me from here, you
know?

Sure thing, Mr. Strayer, just give me a call at close of business tomorrow.
 Thank you Mr. Director. I will make sure and do just that.

Dick, going back to this missile auction, I have bids coming in from a Los Angeles
I.P. I went through the back door and broke open his account to get his real information from
the damned oil rats registrar pages. He is one Curtis White, studio executive for a major film
company in Studio City out there in Hollywood. Tom briefly filled him in.

Which is it, Tom? Studio City or Hollywood? You dont know Los Angeles do you?

Uh, no sir. I grew up on the east coast. In any case, I got all of his contact information
and just for kicks traced the numbers cross checking for any contact and bingo! He called one
Harry Dominguez at five p.m. Pacific Time yesterday evening.

Thats all there is to it, Tom. You my boy have the rare privilege of having done the
preliminary research and fact finding that built your very next field assignment.

Dick, I am not done. When I checked further, I found that one of Harrys ex girlfriends
had a spy software installed on his phone and has been recording all of his phone calls. I got to
listen in to what he and Curtis were discussing. Get this; Curtis is getting the heat put on him
from a drug supplier overseas to help seal the recruiting for an assassination attempt to happen
there in Los Angeles. Harry didnt take him seriously, and Curt got well, curt, and hung up.

And let me guess, then you checked into Curtis chats on the ICBMs auction and got the
rest?

Great minds think alike. Dick, they are gunning for the President. They have the spot
narrowed to Los Angeles. And they are very serious. As serious as that harnessed nuke tonight
killing a couple of innocent millions.

My boy, it looks like you are going to get to know Los Angeles after all!

Dick, youre a dick.

Naturally. Its a Zen existence. Central Intelligence Agents are the stiffest dicks around.
You should be proud.

I have a feeling I am about to learn to be as stiff as I can be. Am I going to be under

you?

Ill leave that one alone. But yes, Tom, I must say you eavesdrop as well as you data
decrypt, son! Yes, I will be your arms at the desk here at home while you get some jacked up
field pay time. Dont worry, we will get you all set up to make it as comfortable as we can. And
besides, maybe youll meet one of those beautiful California women theyve got out there. Just
remember, theyre not for shaking your Dick.
 I got it, Mr. Strayer. I got it. No shaking my superior.

Who said it was superior?

Just a Zen thing, Mr. Strayer. Just a Zen thing. Goes with the operation.

You fixed already?

Im not sure what you mean.

Get locked and loaded, and meet me with your travel gear and credentials at seven p.m.
tonight. I want you on the redeye to LAX.

You got it. Just one last question?

Shoot.

Shoot first and ask questions later, does that count in Hollywood where it all gets on
film?

You worry me, kid. Go home and go to bed. Oil your piece or something.

You got it. Got some packing to do, with or without my booty call.

You had better be packing her good. As good as youre going to get it and as close to the
real playing the field even if youre not getting laid, just remembering what your Dick said
earlier. At least youre not getting laid out. Those days will be here, mark my words. Los Angeles
is no joke, Tom. Not with the bunch you will be dealing with. And try and not get made, will
you? Ruin my record.

Takes one to know one, sir. Takes one to know one.

Make sure it takes you to no one. At least not the god damned President, for Christ
sakes!

Ill do my best.

You are one of the best, Tom. Like you said, takes one to know one.

To no one.

No one?

Know.
 Chapter Three

Harry and John were in Harrys as of yet not impounded Mustang on a mission the very
next day. Word had it that the activity from the night before had gotten to the authorities from an
old chum of theirs, named Sarge, who was thought to be hiding out downtown on skid row.

Just to be sure, they took the long way downtown, cruising all of Sarges hotspots along
Wilshire from Santa Monica all the way to the downtown jewelry district. John was the cleanup
man for the crew, an ex- military sniper who retired from the business of killing off United
Nations hunted drug manufacturers into the business of cleaning up for his associates in the very
same manner. He was a very neat shaven thirty something odd year old man, with a high and
tight fade, who preferred to wear Hawaiian shirts and khakis as his work wear every day. If he
wasnt on a hit, he was on the beach in Venice, sipping Mai Thais, that was his style, his motif.

At Seventh and Wilshire, they took a right and headed for skid row. John screwed a
silencer on to his piece, not that it would matter down here. At Seventh and Cecelia, John told
Harry to take a right.

Lets go buy the idiot some flowers. Ill walk up on him like his long lost buddy and pull
the piece out of the roses. Blood red roses. Two to the head, and well be gone before hes bled.

Only flowers that fuck is gonna get on his grave! I like your style, Johnny. But you are
paying for them. Im kind of short on slush fund cash since we took the hit last night. Gotta pay
him for that fucking three pounds of shit still! Or else my genius chemist says he is taking his
prime product elsewhere!

Damn, thats a lot of shit!

They went around the block, to the florist on the other side and John ran inside to make
his purchase. When he returned to the car, he announced, Talked to a guy in there I know who
knows Sarge. Says hes been hanging out at the Midnight Mission and blowing huge wads of
cash on dope. Nobody could miss him, he said, last night he smoked so much he wound up
schitzing out at two am when some chick refused to blow him. Beat her up all the way down the
block, then, get this, gives her two hundred dollars to keep her yap shut.

Why dont we send somebody in there to get him and meet us at the end of Spring?
Make it look like we heard he has cash, and we have some prime product! Send in the flowers
with our calling card and a bag of some of that coke you been tooting all morning attached. Shit
any good?

You dont see me doing much of it do ya? As good an idea as any I got. Yeah, too many
fucking witnesses in there to pop him at the Mission.

They parked the tinted windowed Mustang at the end of Spring Street. A wandering bum
came over to clean the windows and beg for change, and John warded him off by showing his
gun when he cracked open the window.

Who you think we can get?

On second thought, hold up!

John waved over the bum and told him what to do. He gave him a five and promised him
five more when he finished if he came back in an hour. He asked if he knew Sarge, and he
nodded that he knew of him, Fuck that bum been buying ounces crack like its pocket change,
everybody has their eye on him!

The guy agreed to run the errand, and take the roses to Sarge at the Mission with the card.
Harry stuffed a small bag of some medicinal grade powder into the envelope and wrote a short
note: We are on the first line rock product of this before it gets cut, or rocked. You wanna get
rocked? Come see us in the Mustang at the corner of Spring St. West. One G minimum.

That was sure to get his attention, this stuff would make his whole face numb with one
sniff and one g minimum was perfect. Word had it that there were over ten conspiracy charges
impending on the snitch from Sarge, who got ten grand for the information when it led to the
arrest of one of the other distributors the night prior. The way he was going, he would be out of
money, and friends, by the end of the week. Actually, the way he was going he would wind up
dead, and nobody would ever care to investigate any further than the end of his pipe. What a
fucking sad, sorry lot when a brother turns to snitching and then does it up right under their
noses.

They sat and watched the street action for about ten minutes, before they saw what they
wanted. Sure enough, here came a wandering Sarge down the street from the East, counting out a
grand in hundreds like he was King Tut of the strut police and stuff. He was just peeling off
hundreds and waving them around. He looked like he hadnt slept in a long while, and the pant
leg of his jeans was torn like it had been gnawed off by a pit bull. He was wearing a long trench-
like leather coat that was in the window of Wilsons downtown going for like two grand, and
they could practically smell it in the car.

Harry spoke up.

I am taking his cash and his jacket. Fuck it. The cops aint gonna wanna know anything
more than the fucking deals hes been doing in the last day before they close the case, and his
casket.

When Sarge was about a half a block away, John rolled down the window just enough to
get the long silencer barrel out and took aim. His first shot missed wide right and hit the cement
wall behind Sarge, who immediately knew what was up.

Fuck! Missed the fuck!

Sarge reached inside of his leather jacket, and removed a Smith and Wesson twenty
two. Without hesitating and on full blast for the local police substation to hear hen popped off a
round at the Mustang. He ducked into a boarded up doorway in the wall of the building next to
him, and took cover from Johns return fire. Just as he entered the crevice, John scored a hit on
him in his right arm.

Take that ya lousy snitch! Ok, drive up on him, now! And then gun it out of here, they
heard shots down the block, you know it!

Begrudgingly, Harry drove East on Spring towards where Sarge was hiding. When they
got directly in front of the doorway that was giving him cover, Sarge took a headlong charge at
the car, screaming.

Heeaaahhhhh! I am gonna fucking kill you motherfuckers!

He was popping off shots at Johns window, and one of them exploded the rearview
mirror. John steadied himself, took a breath, took dead aim and hit him directly in the middle of
his forehead. Sarge went down like a bag of rocks, and didnt move.

Harry jumped out of the drivers side and ran over to the body. He stripped off his jacket,
and checked his pockets for cash, pulling out what looked to be about five grand and ran back to
the car just in time to hear sirens down the street. He pulled a quick u- turn and got the hell out of
dodge.

Fuck did you see that shot? Shit, ma man, he looked like a fucking dot head or
something! That was pristine clean and under fire too! I havent lost it!
 The rest of the ride home was mostly quiet, save John singing along to the radio.

Chapter 4

Curtis was being curt. It was his way. And the only way he knew how to process in light
of the fact that he had refreshed all of his contacts in the basin of the rat- filled tub of drug addled
stars he wanted to fill his movies with from his producers job in the movie industry. He was
alone in his desperate battle for domination, but not alone in the light of his stars, who tried their
best to fulfill his wishes as they picked through the belongings of what was once a dangerous and
high potential career in the studio club there in Hollywood. His furnishings of their salaries was
not excessive, as he bought deals at a prime rate, filling his roles with the former primes brought
back with their abstinence from the drug world a given to take for the role model seeking
generation who coddled their new roles. The movie industry was riddled by networking of a
higher sort that was filled mainly by the parts of the gambits who were still freckled faced
entourage and granted for their insider trading insights into the stars demise on the network of
their choice. Hollywood was a smut game; it was all about who was handing who their shorts,
and when they could pick them up at the dry cleaners without being recognized for their
delinquent account. Yes, Curtis was enjoying his taste of the thrill he expected to come at the
hands of the best of the worst he handled this day by touring their very largess factory, built into
the prime land territory in the very exclusive Long Beach area all together too far into the
mainland familiar starts of the people who made the business great. This was dangerous local
politics in a way that he felt nobody could handle, and it made him happy to be justified in
answering his litigants of jurisprudence of the criminal nature with a slight tone in his voice, and
an urgency of discretion that was completely necessary.

I am not going to work this into frenzy. This is exactly what you expect it to be. Nobody
comes here. Nobody goes here. You the same. Curtis offhandedly commented to his small
threesome, swatting away a fruit fly which seemed to swell up from the tables of coke nearby,
left sitting open air to the elements of the nearby ocean air breeze bay windows of the factory.

This is what I have to say about that. Nothing but the finest for me. Artie M. requested
his Irish fare of crystallized cocaine fabricated in the light of his fright night wandering eyes as
he took in the crack cocaine factory laid out before him in this afternoons dreary tour duty for
his role as a major Stage Manager and liaison for one of Hollywoods best acts going
international.
 I have no idea what to make of any of the roles of the protectors of this block on the
police beat, thats for sure. Terrence Stillwater noticed absentmindedly giving a thrill to his
spectators as they toured his manufacturing jungle in the midst of a suburban dream. This area
was not singled out for its absence of warehouses, and the manufacturing plant was operating
under the guise of an imports business that ran larger pieces taken from southeast Asia from
private investors who spent pennies on the dollar for pieces that went for hundreds, sometimes
thousands. They were not aware of the trail of deception that ran from the underground shipping
which ran and covered a network of high grade cocaine into the country via the imports
roundabout shipment routes through South America on their way to the United States west coast.
The larger pieces were mostly hollowed out wood, and allowed for a great deal of leeway in their
examination due to the quality of their artisanship, and were being shipped, filled with the high
grade stuff to the gills for processing upstairs from the storehouse room where they were being
checked in, received and sold at auction online. The stuff was nothing built the finest, brought in
from a deal for Terrence by one of his former colleagues at Yale, where he had spent his
formative college years trying to find a way to make illegitimate earnings out of the legitimate
ones that came his way. He was a sad case of the criminally incorrigible, men who just no matter
how they tried could not find a reason to go legitimate and found the justice system at fault for
the recent mishaps in their chain of command only a wavering oat in the horses mouth of the
actual consumer. They were accustomed to the trials and errors of the ways of staying elusive to
the paths that ran concurrent to the tables of equilibrium that ruled the industry, and knew that as
in all businesses, this was about whom you knew, and not what. Error could not be so easily
found by trial in this chain of industry, and the soldiers who moved the product were most often
the ones who took the fall, while Terrence sat knowingly just outside of the sphere of influence
that would show him to be at fault for some major incongruent acts in the populations nearby
where his supply was moved.

The political game was too far a risk for him, but he knew it all too well as he moved the
shipments of mind numbing aggregates into their place in the masses subtle but clouded
discontent, desirous of the change they could not find in their hearts to inspire from their own
works. It was misfits and a drunkards way that was fit with labels for the chopping block, full of
tabled realities of the famished and poverty stricken outcasts whose background kept them just
out of reach of the deals that could grant them business success. These were the people who
Terrence hired into his business and had torn from their mess to help in the numbing of the
masses who were unjustly unkempt from their frugal spittings of their meager earnings on the
intoxicants that could label them the fitting for the tempest yet, and keep them in the running for
the whit that would lie in wait of their rise against by no ill hand of fate brought on by their own.
This was pure, unadulterated fun, something no human being should have taken from them as a
right in their own secret tribes of indiscretions of behavior that could be forgiven by their in
house savior.
 It wasnt by the rights of the men who work here by which we came to visit gentlemen,
so be courteous. Curt curtly announced as they stepped onto the manufacturing room floor
which was a maze of workers assembled by an assembly belt of small, white rocks being
revealed by the conveyor that rolled them by their jarring counterparts as they sealed them in
prudent little jelly jars full to the ounce per amount of separation in weight.

The floor was a large conveyor belt that seemed largely out of place in the warehouse
floor. It ran from a machine which was filled concurrently by a running worker dumping rock
into a funnel, which measured out a dose of it to each jar that came through its jaws. The workers
along the line were there to lid up the jars, and to label them with a sticker which marked them as
one ounce of product per container. At the end of the line, the workers moved the jars into crates
which were filled with them to the two dozen point, and then filled with straw and cheap balsa
wood carvings which were coming from the boxes on a parallel conveyor belt on the side of the
center crack conveyor. The workers were mostly women, and were topless, sweating, their backs
in strain of the high quality illegal goods they sealed while not wearing anything on their upper
bodies for security and the amusement of their all male guard crew, who searched the women on
each leave of the main room floor, whether for bathroom, the rare break, or for leave of shift.
They were there as much for the bosses amusement in their topless macabre as they were to seal
off the product and ensure its safe shipment to the distributors who would move it. They were
mostly in their early twenties, and seemed a maze of testosterone avoiding breast cradles as they
ran against the strain of the line, trying desperately to not be the next one called into the bosss
crew room. The crew room was known for its brutally indecent requests, and they women had no
respite for their jobs were illegal, and most of them were college age dropouts who had children
to take care of at home. The job afforded them twenty dollar an hour factory wages that they
couldnt replace to feed their struggling families, held down by the very product in the
neighborhoods they inhabited as they were insuring the supply of each day. They were trapped in
an industry that would not yield to their desires to be legitimate, and the trappings of their own
desire as to the nature of their product was a crime to be fit for the justly punished, those who
were caught stealing product were treated much the same as a Middle Eastern criminal in his or
her homeland, they were outcast, sometimes de-limbed depending on the amount of their
stealing, and degraded to where they were not allowed but for a minimum wage amount now to
be allowed to be involved in the assembly line process any longer. Those who retained their
mindfulness in the process of being segregated and criminalized in an ironically criminal
enterprise, were left to their own trappings of offered stipends of salary for a supply of the coke,
which eventually ran most of them happily to the ground and out of harms way for both them
and the goods.

I have the right to take any of this product and move it back to the area from whence it
came in this form, my supplier tells me. But there is no use for it there in this form. We are
uniquely American in this way, boys, uniquely American. This shit is supplied here, and
altogether entirely consumed here. It is a finders game when it comes to the chain of supply, but
for me it is so easy. The top of the line that saved their dimes seek me out to try and be a part of
the bigger numbers. They have friends who are willing and able to fill their roles. They have to
have their own turf, as is defined by the laws of the streets around here, or else they are not
allowed a piece of the pie. That is the unfortunate politics I must immerse myself in, in order to
maintain an equal and profitable and relatively peaceful business from this level. Stillwater
observed of his industry to his touring guests.

The tour of the facilities had been arranged by Curtis as a sort of public relations policy
for those deepest in the vice of the dealings they were surrounded by. Curtis had met Stillwater at
a studio tour of his last major film during one of the critical days of its shoot. Stillwater had
supplied a number of extras in exchange for the right to move as he wished on set during a day
when most of the films major stars were present. He had invited Artie M. because he was very
influential in the lives of some of the most influential local musicians and he would not be taken
for a ride when being asked to help force their hands to sign off their still top forty hits to the
soundtracks Curtis demanded them to be assigned to. Curtis grew up with a drug dealing father,
and from his youth had never been able to separate the underground workings of his workers
from the above board activities. He thought it gave him a sort of air of mystery, as though he did
not partake in the festivities, he always was on hand for the biggest events with the most narcotic
punch you in the eye flair and unbridled and out of control spontaneous scenarios. It gave him
the edge on his superiors when he could pluck an out of control partying actor and help them to
see the error of their ways by setting the strangest of examples.

But what of those who get backhanded into a shipment and get busted by Feds? Are
those turfs measured up by their efficiencies too? Shit, I live in one and I dont get enough of
this shit come my way in the projects to satisfy my unruly neighbors. They are too hot under the
collar for the beat cops who keep their bars serving until after hours. So what do you do about
that Stillwater? Arte M. unnervingly spoke up while fingering one of the product jars.

I dont understand your question. I have less than an equal partnership in any of the
busts that go down. I have to say that my hands have been in some of them to clean out the
unruly and far too violent types from the business. I have my hands in all ends, if that is what
you are asking. Terrence responded with an absent and wandering demeanor as he danced
around the base level of his investments and their animal incarnations.

I have to say, I dont want to be risking my own alienation in this fucking joint less
venture of a criminal enterprise bragging rights tour, but can I get one jar for the band? These
cats are stoked about tonight, and if I can supply their door guests in the green room tonight
without any questions from the security task force that runs the joint from the outside in, they
would be most obliged and send their backstage dealers for the massive movements we have in
that area your way. Could make for better business than the better business bureau would have
recommended. Which is the shit in the taste of the shit that this shit is shitty for all the time.
Artie M. asked of Terrence, lightly grasping one of the jars that were running past him as he
made his way to the back offices and the end of the tour of the warehouse following Stillwater.

Stillwater was not averse to free gifts in his tours, but it was often these free gifts which
led to the most volatile deals which came his way in the respected community that policed the
mass movements of his product. Outside influences were taken with a huge grain of salt, and
were noted to be the very primal force that could introduce investigation via outside spheres of
influence and be the demise of the smooth running enterprise that was floating here already on its
own two very efficient feet.

This was the righteous land of plenty for those who dared to risk its street politics, its
backend payments, and armed business dealings which would try the very soul with its unsettling
nature for one who was looking for stability of any kind.

Its like a keyboard that has finally given out its final request, and refused to type an I
out in the final work it will write. Curtis remarked about the fascinating business, thinking of
his own problems with his P.C. the night prior.

Where the fuck did that come from? Arte M. cut back in hastily, still waiting
impatiently for the answer on whether he could take the free sample.

Came from the horn of Curt the regal curt of Curtisismslaughed Terrence of his
visitors petty squabble.

The afternoon was young, and Terrence still had a lot he wanted to make of this tour
groups stay at the facility. He grasped Arte M.s hand with the jar in it, and held it for a moment,
shaking his head to the affirmative, and then made a move to lead them all back to the man office
located between floors on the second and a half floor of the building where it had been built to
lodge all of the warehouses elite leaders without them being present on any of the levels where
they could be held responsible for their heavily armed presence. They lived on the in between,
and it wasnt present on any of the floor plans and was accessible to escape routes built
especially for the higher ups in case of a raid.

I hope that you all have enjoyed your brief view of the enormous assembly line that
supplies my business with its frightening and staggering simplicity. It is my life bread, and it is
my heart and soul which says that I should have it as good as one of these simple women who
work here. You should see our Christmas bonuses!

He scooped up a large handful of the crack not n the containers and filled a large quart
sized Ziploc bag next to it with the product. He handed t to Artie M. asking Only take this if you
want there to be another night of this for the crew, my friend. If you can, you want to steer them
clear during the show.
 Hey, hey, hey. I run my crew as well as the ship is sailed from the port authorities. This
helps for the riff raff I wont have to deal with as we are getting the supply direct this night. You
run rings around my crew with this, and I will have you in our circle very soon, thank you very
much. This shit is so pure. Dont dabble, but I have. And I can tell this shit is pure. Pure and
footloose we will be tonight. Artie smugly surveyed his situation with the new free sample that
amounted to a pretty big deal.

No problem, Artie. Have the furnishings to supply your shows like this every night for
as long as you can magnet her being a need for a high at a show. It is only certain circles that
appreciate this shit though, and I appreciate your candor.

They made their way into the jimmied office lounge area where Curtis made himself at
home serving up cocktails to each of them. He knew them all well enough to not have to ask
their favorite cocktail, and mixed up a Long Island Iced Tea for Artie, a Greyhound for himself,
and for their host a Manhattan. They toasted their shared success.

Cheers!

Chapter Five

Trying desperately not to give in to the temptation to manhandle the assignment of Tom
to the Los Angeles predicament and lay his cards out before the time came, Dick patently
awaited word of his appointment from the higher ups. This would not come directly from the
Director, as that kind of contact was rare and few and far between, and mostly not an experience
worth looking forward to as when you found yourself in those shoes, you found yourself looking
the biggest secret gift horse in the mouth while cleaning up his droppings most of the time. Made
you wonder which end of the horse you were about to ride in on was which.

Finally, the call came in, and Dick was relieved to hear that the favor was really being
returned, and that Tom would be headed to LAX on the next flight out of town. The assignment
was considered so sensitive that Tom was appointed to use his real information, so as not to raise
any red flags on his involvement so soon after Dicks most recent findings. Tom had also been
targeted for the recruiting attempt the other night during the terror attack; the terrorists had
infiltrated his accounts set up from his prior undercover setup, which had also been so sensitive
he had been forced to use his real identity. These types of missions were considered more volatile
and dangerous to the individual, as they had to assume an identity that when they left the field,
they could not easily leave behind their assumed roles. The accounts could also lead to danger
for their families as well, and the agents were asked to remain silent about this, something which
produced a great deal of pressure.

Toms accounts had been boosted just like Harrys and Mr. ODonnells and had been left
in a sort of disarray that showed no lack of coercion on the part of the terrorists. It was not
surprising, as Toms last role had been to go undercover in a State Hospital where a very rich
serial killer was living in order to uncover the whereabouts of his tribute killer, whom he had
been believed to be working with to slay more victims according to his complex set of
murderous plans. In order to gain entry, Toms psychological examinations had become public
record, reflecting a long history of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder which had led to his apparent
breakdown and inability to stop his self from committing crimes. He had been mainly passing his
time with highly guarded internet use while inside, and had built an extensive network during the
one year assignment. He joked to all of his colleagues that if it wasnt for the internet, he would
have been institutionalized. They joked that he most definitely was anyway, having spent most of
the year in staties.

When Dick got off the official phone call stating Toms directive on this undercover, he
immediately paged Tom on his cell to come to his office. He knew he was in the building, as he
had seen him just a half hour earlier. While he waited, he picked up his putter and played a short
putt up the fake green he had unrolled next to his desk. Golf was a passion of his that he rarely
had time to pursue. His biggest wish was to convince his wife to allow them to retire to Myrtle
Beach, South Carolina where he would wind down his final years on the best links around. They
could enjoy their sunrise excursions for coffee at the beach, and the local scene was very laid
back and friendly. In fact, one year when vacationing there Dick and his wife Marthas car had
run out of gas just short of North Myrtle. Every car for the next half an hour stopped to ask if
they could help, and one such a passer bye actually ran back to a gas station he said they had
passed about three miles back and filled their gas can for them, even paying for it. That place
was Dicks kind of town, and the raw bars were the best! Plus it was prime territory to horde
those succulent summer crabs that came out of the Atlantic every year, and Dicks mouth watered
just thinking of licking the mustard out of a good plump hard shell. He laughed at the thought; it
seemed such a strange arrangement of words, sucking the mustard out of a good plump hard
shell was just what he was going to do when he got his retirement.

Finally, Tom poked his head in the office door.

Hey kid! Come on in! What took you so long?

I was exchanging information with the postal delivery carrier. She seemed she was
going to go postal if I didnt ask her out, so I said what the hell. She was much obliged, and went
on a very thorough rant about her collection of classic comic books. Apparently she has a
fascination for cartoonish espionage figures like myself.
 Your about as cartoonish as they come, kid. I hope you dont talk like this to any of the
other higher ups. We have a unique sort of operation going on, you and me. We dont want to
throw off any of the naysayers, so we just fuck it and play along. Makes you perfect for the part
your about to play in a very important way. The objective in Los Angeles is to sort out the bad
from the ugly, not the good from the bad. If you can stand it, its just bad, if you cant stand it,
its the woman you slept with in college who gave your roommate the genital warts calling card
after blackmailing him to get laid for the second time in three years of her five year career.
Meaning, if you say fuck it, you are going to lose out on a very uncomfortable situation which
had you and your colleagues on your back before the tequila sunrise of your beach house
playmates shaking their clubs weights around with nothing but the good, bad, and the ugly to
contend with if you put yourself in the right shoes. The ones you left behind hers when you told
her to leave, and since you did

Dick, I dont think I know what you are talking about anymore. I went to Penn, in
Philadelphia. The women I slept with were all offshoots of the same source I am tapping into
now. They wanted to sleep more than anything after we got done through the preliminary
mappings of our future divorce, which they got after I cashed in on my education. It is not too
hard to figure out. Doesnt take a C.I.A. agent to get that one down, believe you me. I wasnt
going to town on the good, bad, or the ugly. Only the lonely can play, and if they are lonely at a
U Penn party at your Fraternity after ten, they were already checked at the door for legitimate
background, credit, and all of that. We didnt play. I still dont.

Thats why we recruited you. You were incorruptible from the start because you were
already corrupt to the gills from the start you were given. If you think for one second these hoods
you are about to face are going to hand you your assignment out there, you are already more
dead in the water than a running school of salmon coming into a tour guided catch site. You
smell fishy no matter what, you have to swim upstream to keep up, and the easiest sustenance
you can get is going to get you killed. Other than that, Tom, you have no worries. Just dont jump
into the net for the big bakeoff before the bake sale moms have spread all their gossip, or you
find that you are at the party with your drawers on outside of your zipper function just like your
safest secrets. They will let you know at that point that you look like you are trying to get
yourself laid by putting the boxers blocking the track before you can act for your dogs on the
run. Racing boxers, ma boy, only get uppercuts and jabs in the end, which dont pay the stipend.
You cant show off your undershorts to them before their in their bedroom, you gotta take it soft
and slow at the get go, and rough and hard when its time to get the part of the story done like
they do in fairy tales

Dick, I dont understand again. I hope your advice in the field is a hell of a lot simpler
than this or I am going to be lost on this assignment. Boxers and bake sale Moms? Am I going
back to High School Football or Los Angeles?
 Sorry if you are confused right now, but believe me the biggest Dick in the directory you
are using is me. So keep your zipper done tight, they are all mine.

Now that I have to agree on, Dick. The ones we are after are all yours. Im not even sure
I would have any kind of taste for the company I am going to be keeping if it wasnt for your
timeless bullshit. Thank God they kept you here and not at a desk near the john. People would
get confused by the smell, and think they had to dump their shit in your office. You seem like
you are of that opinion in my humble observations anyhow. Like if you dont make yourself as
small in the public persona of your role in even your underlings lives, you are going to come out
misunderstood when you run the race in world record time. When are you going to retire, Dick?
Just tell me its not before I finish this one, because I couldnt handle learning a whole other
language after I have already invested the time learning yours.

Now you are speaking my language. I think its just that you are too agreeable, son. You
have to have some back bone, show your superiors that you are the player in the heat and not
them. Always remind me of that out there, because I have been behind this desk since my
daughter gave birth to my granddaughter twelve years ago. They made me hang up the gloves on
her first birthday for good after I got shot in the leg on a mission in the very same gang turf you
are headed to. When I was in the field, I was like a beat cop on his rounds, taking my share of all
of the available work that came into sight whether I felt it was for my own safety or not. Thats
why I admire you, son. Your gung ho attitude with no hesitation to put yourself in the line of fire
for the proper reasons is very admirable, and what I hope I get out of my best operations that will
be remembered after I do finally retire.

Tom blushed a little at the unexpected and unusual complimentary attitude from Dick,
and hung back on his reply to get the proper effect. After letting the moment soak in its own
juices, he asked something he had been meaning to ask since the night of the Pakistani attack.

Does this mean I will get the rights to view my own files after I retire to write my
memoirs, since we are taking on Hollywood with my real credentials in check.

He was partly serious, partly entrenched in the mystery that was the most heavily guarded
and tight lipped community that could possibly be conceived of in the world as we know it. It
was a big joke that the Director would have to get an act of Congress to talk about all of the
Presidential decisions that the President would write about in his own memoirs unaided.
 Your memoirs are something you signed away before you even left for basic, sonny,
dont you know? Sunny side up is the way things get left here no matter what the price. So no
dice. Butter up your own toast. You have been thinking Hollywood, havent you?

Tom grimaced at the thought openly, showing a face of despair and humility all at the
same time, a rare good mix for the type of mission he was about to embark on. Without too much
to say and too much to do around here, he resembled a shadow of his future self, the self same
recruit who vowed to allow anything but the disinformation he received on a daily basis about
the things he pursued to disillusion him against the disarming and disallowing distinguishing
delinquencies about the secrets not told and acted on purposefully to begin the act of unraveling
the unrevealing and unrequited unreal realities whose circumference drew the circle you were
allowed to keep by demand. To live as a secret agent man required you to have a few closely
associated ties who were willing to allow you to keep secrets knowing the secrets you held
would never come back to haunt them by pure trust. The reward was a life with far too many also
secret favors and a livable income that with its French benefits reeked of the upper class.

The sign and its allure had me dreaming at nights of the signs the stars didnt foresee
with me in their sights. I have to say that I havent the slightest clue as to how to handle the
richest god damned people on the West Coast. They have an air of regal resistance to holding
them responsible for anything but their role as the entertainment capital kings and queens of our
fair land and thus, of the world if you wear their large shoes well enough. I am worried I will
find comfort in the same way that I have been finding it here. It is nobodies business, because it
is everybodys business, so keep your mouth shut or pay a large penalty. That seems to be the
motto I have been concerning myself with as of late.

Dick frowned and squinted against the glare of the generic fluorescent lighting being
diffracted by the cheap plastic tiles overhead, spilling over into his desk and the small seating
area in front of it with a kind of unyielding and unwavering reminder of the hidden things that
diffracted the light within the agency which if you took for granted would come back to haunt
you. He remembered that the fluorescent bulb was invented by Nikola Tesla, hired by a small
wage by Edison to help spawn the invention of the light bulb. Later Tesla, when tested of his
own contract and its liabilities, reinvented the filament bulb to improvement in a gaseous version
which lit up the Worlds Fair in Chicago in 1893 and set him on solid footing to recover his
losses stolen by Edison. Tom was just such an agent, finding no solace as Dick had in his
formative years after years as an LAPD in the systems systematic reproach of the greed which
would turn it on you if you hoarded too much of the glory of walking the line. Tom seemed to
find the Edisons of this world, the brilliant and teeming minds unjustly reaping from democratic
principle and find that their historical significance would dwarf his self esteem in defining the
laws within the inner workings of the historical figures he represented if he didnt find a way to
stand out on his own. Dick was smiling, all the more reason for him to go on this very venture.
 My boy, you have a lot more to learn about what it takes to become a king or a queen in
the land where it is fabled to have its fair hand on those who bear the talent to dream it into the
real world. This is going to be very good for you. You havent experienced the reality- gut
busting break neck speed by which the best behead their own best friends to bolster their own
ego and witness the trappings of the media in its own juices. Left to its own, your memoirs
would at best, berate a career that you have earned to its reputation as a level headed
sequestering of the illicit enlargements that the criminally illiterate compared to us would have
stand as history. Boring!

Dick, if I had the time to fill you in on what I have been seeing as my career, you would
be reduced to the level of the Postal Delivery date I just lined up, so save the ego attachments.

Attachments or no, you are ready to go?

Dick pulled a series of yellow manila folders from his open desk file drawer, and holding
them against his nose carefully leafed through their tagged file names to make sure he had all of
the necessary material. He then handed them over to Tom. Contained within were the details of
all of the major findings of their files on the players in this covert mission. It included the details
of a known arms- dealer in San Diego whose warehouse had been set on by a sting two years
prior, but who had somehow moved a couple of hundred thousand dollars worth of weaponry out
of the warehouse and replaced it with stuffed animals days prior to the bust, Reds Thomas. There
were files containing the information on the most recent attempted recruiting from within their
terrorists cells seemingly for the purpose of tying up loose ends and in the meantime, earning
their spot on the assassination crew including such former military tactile geniuses as Indiana
Falling Wolf, formerly of the Navy Seals. It also held his hotel reservations information, and car
rental information and the necessary cash to pay for both initial tasks.

Please read and study these on your flight, and discard of them properly on arrival at
LAX, Tom. This is who you are dealing with.

Will do, Dick. I take it I am cleared for liftoff on this grand escape of mine now?

Mr. Hartman, you are all heart. Now I see where your name comes from.

Spare me the trivialities. I will connect with you after I check in at the hotel? A- ok,
Dick?

Just make sure you call my desk phone. My cell is open to you anytime you need help,
but this early on, the only place I want to hear from you is the desk phone. And Tom, take care. I
mean it.

For a moment the look on Dicks face turned a bit sour, and he limped a bit from his Los
Angeles bought leg bullet wound towards Tom to shake his hand. Their hands gripped in a firm
and cold agreement of two dancers engaged in a tango that would be watched by the whole
ballroom with intent. This was the business of covert operations in its entirety if looked at with
the measure it should be. This was a former field agent of the best kind, sending off a current one
to his own time and tasks that could not be asked of anyone else that could be ascertained. It
would be a sad day in history which would separate the two experts, each basked in their own
skills, one young with eager action, self same other seasoned with veteran wisdom.

Good luck, and Godspeed,

Same to you, my friend and esteemed colleague.

Chapter Six

A C.I.A. agent hits the streets undercover to prevent the Presidents assassination. Reports coming
into Langley show that there is a massive manhunt going on to find both the right party to get the
job done by various enemies of the state working together, as well as the fall guy. Conflicting
reports show that the setting picked for the assassination has most definitely been narrowed to
the Greater Los Angeles Area. During the internet attack launched by Pakistan, several dozen
west coast target citizens with the proper demographics in their background were attempted to be
recruited via bait and lure method in their online accounts. Then an all out effort to manipulate
these possible scapegoats and utilize their genuinely useful backgrounds in the current plans is
begun, setting off red flags for a select few who were able somehow to hack back and red flag
these goings on. The other unfortunates are left to survive an all out barrage of constant
terrorist hacking presence in all of their accounts, business, personal, and otherwise flushed
towards the area where the attempt on the Presidents life is to take place.

A drug supported terrorist organization has been recruiting from inside of U.S. boundaries. The
payroll of the organization was intercepted and decoded by U.S. officials and it suddenly listed
deep expenditure on lining up well trained assassins and previously high ranking military rejects
in its to do list. Several of these were noted to have taken out Visas for Pakistan shortly
thereafter, and in an effort to thwart the recruiting, their Visas were rejected. This only seemed
to move the central hub for planning to a closer more volatile ground in the Barrio regions of The
San Diego Area where the group had weapons caches stored in deep ghetto imbedded
warehouse facilities. The election year travels of the President being unchangeable for the most
part, the group very openly covers all gray areas in possible hit zones, including in some of the
private, wealthier neighborhoods nearby where the President is known to have some close
associations that he may secretly be visiting.

The hit is to come from a professional crew using a dummy taken from the recruits as the fall
man. There is a certain story the organization wants behind the killing of the U.S. President, they
want it to come from a citizen, a disgruntled and wronged man gone deranged. The actual hit is
to be performed by a highly trained sniper with planned and practiced use of munitions that
could be falsely blamed on the fall guy. It has to take place in a spot that enables escape as well
as the angles, not too public which would allow the shot from the setup man. Highly dangerous
mind control methods are employed by the organization to help align the now desperate fall guys
to be in place for the final act. Their bank accounts have been shut down, their phones
manipulated, their email accounts compromised and outgoing mail altered, personal blogs
thousands of pages long altered to reflect their descent into madness. At the same time, their
social networking sites have been placed in V.I.P. status to reflect more and more contact with
sensitive high ranking in both government and stock and bond issues persons. These contacts are
meant to ultimately intensify the effect of their slow and total alienation from normal society.

This makes it a barrage of misinformation and coercion from the streets to get the fall man in
place for the hit. As the agent assigned to the covert operations in uncovering the final candidates
and plans covers mostly gangland territory, he finds himself led in an incredible amount of
different directions at once. In order to find the map to the key element at large, the final territory
where the assassination is to take place, he must submerge himself deep within the jaws of the
beast in the underbelly of the underground Los Angeles drug scene. He finds himself gaining the
attention of some Bloods, and is forced to join in a brutal and very final act of killing a former
member by delivering two shots to the head at point blank range in order to gain their support on
his journey ever deeper. This is known as two to the head, a blood rite taken by all gang
affiliates as an oath that may they ever betray the wishes of the whole in an unacceptable and out
of hand way, that they fully accept their fate at the hands of their former mates. It is a form of
self policing, and one which the LAPD tend to turn their heads to. If theyre going to kill each
other, let them! Two to the head soon becomes Toms favorite catch phrase.

The subject is to have a sordid history and a brilliant mind to make it a believable set up. From a
wealthy background, but not having made it to the level of success of his immediate prior
lineage, the subject has both the shortcoming sensitivity so frequently noted in the forensic facts
about the worlds most successful serial killers, as well as the mental facilities to carry it out. It is
required that the subject have had a high level of psychological testing and some exposure to
extremes which made necessary diagnosis of some disorder and treatment. The diagnosis must
be an ongoing event that has not been fully recuperated from due to present day trauma.

Before he knows it, our agent has become part of the set up list with his cover not blown. The
depth of the technologies at hand and in use to manipulate all of his accounts is exposed, and
sends teams of agents working feverishly at Langley into a feeding frenzy of tracing hacks that
seem to emanate from within previously placed viruses contained at length from their origins on
the internet. Other hacks seem to originate from very local sources. The severity of the control
exhibited suggests that the satellites previously thought to be used for Pakistani government
conflicts only are being put to use by the terrorists, suggesting government ties much closer and
worrisome than ever thought before. The satellites are used for their agile in and out
capabilities in making the connections for even the simplest of target hacks. The list is growing
smaller, and time shorter.
Assaulted on all sides by the trappings of crime, he infiltrates gangland protests of federal drug
busts. The busts have become increasingly violent and the death tolls staggering as the
takedowns are executed in an all out military strike fashion by WASP Teams. Whole city blocks
decimated, the collateral damage gone untold in the press or otherwise, things are heating up in a
very progressive fashion. These takedowns seem to be happening during visits from the higher
ups in the drug organization who are normally only on the properties to do various incentive
based walk through to try and boost production and hopes of a way out of the streets for the
employees. Underground avenues never before disturbed in decades of the drug wars, are now on
a regular basis being exposed, raided, and shut down. Our agent knows the primary source of the
information being uncovered is a French benefit of the work at the desks at Langley backing up
his current mission objective. He also knows that has been only very lucky in not being at several
of the takedowns. His bosss protection has become limited to the extent that he can
communicate with headquarters on his drastic and near round the clock ventures all over the
topography of the Greater Los Angeles Area. On top of which, being a prime candidate for the
assassination setup, his accounts have all been compromised as well as monitored heavily by
both sides of the fence. He runs the risk of exposure if he doesnt take care to make fresh
accounts on falsified documents daily to run his communications through. And even then, it takes
Langley hours after his message was sent to filter through all of their junk mail being sliced off
through various corridors from the other accounts being monitored by both the terrorists and the
Central Intelligence Agency.

Making moves from Venice Beach to Long Beach to South Central Los Angeles, he finds himself
in the midst of a game he never knew could be so instantly deadly. As tensions rise within the
affiliates of the various drug organizations from whom he procures his goods, he falls witness to
more and more inter- group and gang related violence as the people behind the scenes are
moving to the front lines to try and flush out their hood rat. Pressure builds within his own
circles for him to play more the role of a soldier and less of a runner, and he finds he must find
an alternate path, and quickly or he is going to wind up a victim of a controversial two to the
head himself. It seems to be the pattern that when too much blood ends up on your hands, you
end up at the hands of someone they loved.

Surrounded by gun toting thugs, he knows it isn't just his acute sense of paranoia that smells
danger. Everywhere he goes, everyone is armed these days. Used to be the threat of having a
weapon come to terms with a tight squeeze was enough to kill the conflict, but not anymore. As
he desperately tries to keep clear of random gun fights and shooting spats brought on by
increasingly desperate for their former earnings dealers, con artists, and high class thieves, he
finds it ever more present that if he doesnt take sides soon, he will be left behind, and his
mission a failure. At nights he lays awake in his Venice flat, listening to his ears ringing from the
concussions of everything from Smith and Wessons to AKs to the far off fallout of a shoulder
launched missile on a crack cocaine factory. His world has become an all out war ground in
which there is no definable General to lead the troops. The General he would pick is the one that
sends him back to the front lines to put himself in harms way for what is coming apparently by
all methods of easy deduction based on the Presidents travel plans, very soon. He worries that he
wont be able to be violent enough to stay in the inner ring, at the same time as he worries that he
wont be jurisprudent enough to stay with the upper echelon. And as of recent, checking his
compromised accounts, he finds that he is being asked to do both by the setup as well. The lines
are drawn so tightly, there is almost no distinguishing.

Becoming a part of the drug ring, he makes it part of his modus operandi to try and separate the
average busts from the conspiracy. But the lines are so blurred and the contact so little and the
manipulation of his accounts so deep, that he has a hard time recognizing the work of his
colleagues from the work of the terrorists. His social networking account has become a
collection of Hollywoods finest, along with Political bigwigs and Rap and Rock stars. In the
behest of the critics who also line his friends list, and with his gun toting thug friends becoming
ever more impressed by his duress, he continues his posts and contacts despite his most basic
inner fears and instincts about being able to recognize orders. When that day comes, will he
know whom he is conversing with, and their rank in both government and stock and bond? Will
he know it is an order for the endgame? They both wield very much the same power and
influence.

To cover his tracks, he begins a new assault as a rap artist to further infiltrate the travel plans of
the killers. Under the name OZENOZ, he records at a local studio with some of the extra cash
from playing personal bodyguard to some higher ups through the past few weeks of work and
runs. He books a small tour of the local area, including very large and powerful underground
private clubs which feature some of the billboards tops amongst the same crowd he has been
running with. Off duty dirty cops line the sidewalks ignoring the all out free for alls inside,
being paid in many forms to ensure nothing goes public about the club under their protection. At
these gigs, he finally finds a clear avenue using his talent, which is being lifted up by his network
of friends, to stay clear of the random violence and in line for the bigger plans. He has found a
safety in the most public of places. Though the majority of the big money clubs are very private
and selective on its attendees the concert attendance numbers in the tens of thousands at various
shows which feature multiple artists to perform under their near arena sized packed venues. The
exposure is a rush, and he needs to be very careful about it going to his head. As an undercover
agent of the Central Intelligence Agency, one slip could prove lethal.

The plan for the assassination emerges on the verges of completion and it is so simple it could
just change way the world leaders move as well as the ways the gangs do the streets. Utilizing
the network of V.I.Ps lined up in the setup users accounts and their now open and narrowed
focus of communications, the terrorists begin to see the pattern of the larger campaign fund
donors and their whispered and hinted promised pre- arrival visits from the President. It wont
have to be like the Kennedy assassination, in fact for all intensive purposes with the unique
reputation and background of the current United States Chief, it would be a blunder to have it all
too public. Something learned from in the vast even present day conspiracies surrounding the
Kennedy assassination, our terrorist cells optimistically note of their chances of killing further
investigation.

Our agent makes his way through the beginnings of his journey with his crazy motif as a make it
or break it artist. His path leads ever more frequently to the luxurious homes where he is asked to
make appearances to rival and peer contributing shared label artists. These homes in these
neighborhoods are often viewed on as the black sheep of their wealthy surroundings. The money
they are throwing in the direction of their favorite ethnic current United States President and his
campaign rivals that with the fifty thousand kilo coke shipments our agent witnessed at the docks
in Los Angeles. They have money to burn, and bridges to build, and connections to appoint to
their offshoot merchandise corporations and to the powerhouses that may one day buy them the
rights to their own music. The freedom to own their most sought out and painstaking work will
come only at the cost of making high political connections which can reach within of corridors of
the music labels.

He lives on the thrill of the danger found at the hands of F.B.I., mafia and the local yokels ready
to cash in on a little risk. At these mansion rendezvous, the crews who run the clubs are inclusive
of the crews who run the drugs. Our agent finds himself surrounded by undercover agents from
the Federal Bureau of Investigation, helping him to ease out of his tight spots. When he finds a
dirty one, he simply put his two to the head motto to work, and exposes them while easily
steering clear of the difficult deal. Its something that has begun to keep him awake at nights. He
finds solace in the fact that he isnt about the violence, as shown by his artwork, and he is not a
rat of any kind, to either side. He simply plays by the rules like a shark that has them mastered.

But in the misty eyed morning of his big break, he finds himself at the whim of the terrorists.
When he is offered a previously built, in exquisite architecture, a countrywide street team, and
the chance for an arena tour, he receives a call from Pakistan. They offer their congratulations,
and a formal meeting to take place for the awarding of a very prestigious peacemaking and
understanding through the arts honor given to him due to the charismatic and openly criticizing
nature of some of his of his lyrics. The first meeting is to take place this very afternoon in a
quiet, gated neighborhood off of route one- oh -one. As he enters the neighborhood in his silent
electric sports car, he is awed by the site of dozens of flags flying in representation of the nations
within our own United Nations.

He is in fact in place for the hit, and now having been chosen as the fall man as he runs for his
life and the life of his president. He arrives, and is greeted much to his surprise by the President
of The United States of America himself. Evidently a dummy- mock up fake of the President has
been completing his regularly scheduled itinerary to allow for the visit. Shocked, and
immediately recognizing his first duty as an agent to his ever present chief, he braces himself as
the house is rocked by large slug remote fired sniper gunfire. The President, first lady, and
several present young children take cover under the nearby dining room table as it appears even
the on duty Secret Service has been infiltrated. There to ensure nothing but his ultimate demise
and all of their deaths is a General in the Pakistani Army. Stripping him of his weapon, and
holding him hostage ends the firefight, and ultimately buys the time for the good guys to arrive.

Joel Brooks

3692 Gracia Paseo

Spring Valley, CA 91977

www.ozenoz.com

joelbrooks@ymail.com

(858)226-1893

September 23. 2015

To Whom This May Concern;

I have written a nine page, 4,788 word short story entitled The Killing Kind. It can be

viewed in its entirety along with my other works at my website, listed above. It is listed under

Eat My Shorts in the left sidebar. The full manuscript is also available on request.

In The Killing Kind, Doc, Anthony Pignone, receives an unwanted caller at his three

million dollar landscaping business in the North County San Diego area. Two ex- cons recently

released from their ten year stint in prison for a bank robbery he played the informant for have

come to seek retribution. They kidnap him, and take him further North while bantering in the car

about what to do with him ultimately and discussing their latest illegal activities. Meeting two of

their other cohorts at a campsite where they plan to spend the night, they divulge openly of the

recent looting of a wealthy Santa Barbara mansions vault of its two million dollars in gold bars.

Doc manages to escape from the campground, and is fortunate to still have his wallet on him. He

steals a ten speed bicycle, and rides to a nearby gas station where he hits the ATM, and gets a taxi

ride to a rental car establishment. Having learned where the criminals back at camp had hidden
their loot to retrieve the following day, he races to steal it from under their hands first. Near one

of the stash spots, he encounters them while gassing up at a petrol station and a gunfight ensues.

Doc kills one of the thugs with his freshly acquired pawn shop under the counter forty five

caliber Magnum revolver. He then holes up in a roadside motel for the rest of the night after

making his escape, getting little sleep with one hand on his gun all night. In the morning, he

takes the loot and goes for more fruits of his labor by once again playing the informant on the

unknowing criminals. Returning home to gather his wife and head south to hide the gold, he

finds her distraught. They make a run to Baja, Mexico and drive hours into the desert. There Doc

digs a hole in the desert sands fitting for a man to be buried in. Unfortunately for him, that is just

what happens, to spoil the surprise twist.

I thoroughly enjoyed writing this short, which I used a shortened version of the

Snowflake Design method to do in one night over twelve hours. I hope you enjoy it as much as I

enjoyed making it. I look forward to hearing from you, and having further enlightening

correspondence.

Sincerely,

Joel Brooks

Russell Greene and Paul Yoni were glad to be out of prison. After being ratted out by
Doc, Anthony Pignone, their former bartender to the tune of ten thousand dollars, they had
both spent a stint upstate. That was, if you could call ten years for armed bank robbery a stint.

Why the hell do they call him Doc anyway Yoni?

 Maybe hes got a green thumb.

Yeah, from sitting on it all day!

They were staking out the man who had turned on them. Finding out who it had been had
been easy enough. Trace the paperwork back to the cheap attorney who had arranged the deal,
slide him a couple of grand and viola! Instantly they were rocketed into their long awaited plans
for revenge.

The southern California landscaping business Doc had started with his snitch pay was
thriving, and Paul and Russ were waiting outside of the equipment barn and full scale nursery
that were an integral part of Docs now three million dollar net worth company, which should be
winding down for the day any time now. The mile long driveway to the property was lined with
two robust veined granite boulders on either side which had plaques from the local city council
for awards for business excellence, and plenty of room for more. In the distance, they could see
some of the bigger equipment left here during their work day, tractors and back hoes and their
transport flat beds with the hitches to haul them via the work trucks to the job sites.

Russ and Paul were parked about a hundred feet down the street from the grand entrance,
and were a little concerned that they might stick out and alert Doc on this back country North
County San Diego road where horses and ranches every few miles were the only places where
you could find other people. It was too late to move though, as at present moment the parade of
returning trucks and trailers and landscapers begin to file on down the long narrow dirt road and
turn one by one into the driveway. This was the moment they had been waiting for. They had
posed as a potential client coming to personally visually inspect some trees for the property they
wanted to have redone, and had made Doc promise to wait for them at seven thirty pm at the
nursery, a full half hour after all of the workers should have gone for the day. It was currently six
thirty, a full hour ahead of their scheduled meeting with Doc.

The hour finally slid by and the moment arrived after a grueling and sweaty, long wait
watching the workers file one by one back out in their private vehicles and heading home. It was
a hot San Diego summer evening, and they were both quite damp in their civvies as they could
not afford to run the air conditioner, for fear of having it seem out of place to have this running
car just off the property. None of the workers or supervisors seemed to notice them, however and
the moment they had snared to snatch their snake of a snitch had come.

Here we go! Russell retorted at the final work truck leaving, grabbing for his newly
black market acquired piece. They had decided that not having a gun would be too much of a
folly, and had spent the extra cash in Los Angeles the weekend prior. It had taken about a full day
of taking the risk of asking around, but several hours later, they had scored a Smith and Wesson
Twenty Two which the seller claimed was clean of any investigations.
 Russ and Paul pulled the car up the driveway to the barn about three hundred yards from
the entrance to the nursery, and left it there. Paul took the gun from Russ and shoved it in his
back, wedged between his belt and his right hip. They both pulled their caps down very low, to
keep Doc from seeing their faces before they got close enough to grab him. As they approached
the trellis that marked the entrance to the nursery covered with its vines, twisting all around the
rosebushes which desperately clung to its inner circumference, they noticed a light in the shed
just inside of the nursery. They looked at each other, nodded, took one last surveying look around
to make sure they were alone, and broke into a run for the shed.

They caught their old friend completely off guard, with his back to the small office
converted from an equipment sheds door, examining invoices from the days work. It was like
taking candy from a baby from the point Doc saw the gun forward, and they quickly
handcuffed him with the police issue cuffs they had bought and stuffed him in the back of the
car. They felt the trunk would be too hot, and they needed him alive for the time being, not dead
of heat stroke. Not that they were going to kill him necessarily, that they had not made a final
decision on that yet.

So, Pauley, now that we found out who the man is, what do we do with the man?

Doc whimpered in the backseat from the strain of the ridiculously tight handcuffs and the
bump he probably had on his head from when Paul had smashed his crown from behind with the
butt end of the gun.

Now, now, Doc. Take your time like a man. Its your turn, Paul directed to the slowly
dimming backseat as they cruised further North down the coastal highway Its your freaking
turn.

Russell smiled and inadvertently yelled Eh! Whats up Doc?! followed by a chuckling,
I couldnt resist

A few minutes of silence ensued that made Doc very nervous, as if the air was thick with
a kind of tension you could almost cut with a knife. The thought of knives and of cutting made
him shudder as the car hurtled ever forward towards his unknown destination. They had been
driving for over an hour now, and he could barely feel his hands. That would make it about eight-
thirty, or a full two hours before his wife would expect him home from his usual Thursday night
carousing at the local tavern before retiring for the evening to their humble La Jolla home.
Things between them lately had been so distant and cold that he doubted she even would panic if
he didnt make it home at all.

Thinking about your lovely wife, Catherine, there, Doc? Paul said with a sneering grin
on his seedy, skinny, dark complexioned Greek face, nodding enthusiastically and sardonically to
the affirmative so that his greased back hair slid slightly out of place in the front.
 She is a cutie. Maybe we should call her up and ask how much she thinks your worth?
What do you say, Doc? Paul continued on, fixing the hair that was out of place absentmindedly
while taunting his victim.

Doc remained absolutely silent. He had nothing to say to either of these two. He certainly
understood why they wanted him, and he felt it would be more than on deaf ears it would fall if
he tried to justify his actions ten years prior. Before the company, before he met Catherine,
before the kids, before the long and numbingly comfortable slide into upper class entrepreneurial
living with all of its trappings. Back when he would squeeze every nickel, dime and penny to as
far as he could make it go, as he had so few. Those hard times had forged the irons within that
had given him the courage and skills with money and planning to grow his at first meager lawn
mowing business.

As they sped further down the coastal highway, Paul and Russell engaged in bantering
conversation debating on a number of topics ranging from whether or not to kill Doc or where
their next food stop should be. At one point, the conversation turned to other dealings they
apparently had going on that had been arranged from the inside. To Docs horror, they spelled out
the entire insider information planning they had lent to two characters they were evidently on
their way to meet. They had given the key information, maps, codes, and instructions on how to
pull off a multi-million dollar heist of a very wealthy gated Santa Barbara home to two brothers
Antonio and Timothy Severes who had agreed to cut them in for half in exchange for the
guaranteed to succeed planning efforts of Paul and Russell.

Doc was surprised that the two partners in crime, literally, had been allowed contact with
each other on the inside, and soon found out that communications between the two had been
limited to passing information via their shared legal representation with whom they were allowed
weekly visits to discuss various things. Thats when Doc put two and two together. When they
mentioned the name of the lawyer, Joseph Menudo, his stomach sank. That was the name of the
lawyer he had used to arrange the release of information about the two to the authorities ten
years prior. As the conversation went on, he learned that the two had hired someone to track
down the lawyer and paid him to release Docs name years ago, and had maintained a healthy
and secret client attorney relationship themselves using him to further extend their law breaking
capabilities from inside of prison walls. The two were not eligible for early release due to the fact
it was both of their second strike on the same crime, armed robbery, and the illegal use of a
deadly weapon guilty sentences. A third bust would give them both ensured three strike felony
counts sentencing them to twenty five to life in prison for their next offense. The two did not
seem fazed by this, and Doc was once again proud of his decision to turn them in so long ago.

Finally at about quarter after nine, the two pulled the car into a heavily wooded mostly
desolate camping area which was about a mile off the main highway. Paul covered Doc with a
blanket and then immediately pistol whipped him unconscious. He was taking no chances with
this character, this was too long in the planning to go down any other way, and besides, he rather
enjoyed taking a few of the beatings he had received on the inside from both guards and inmates
alike out on the rat.

He out? Russ asked in a very calm and detached voice, obviously tired from driving.

Hes out.

Paul went into to the campsites trailer office and paid the fifteen dollar a night
registration fee to use a campsite, and requested the furthest back on the map of sites. Returning
to the car, he found that their other company had arrived, Antonio and Timothy. Running the
vehicles license plate information in to the front desk, he relished the fact that tomorrow at this
time they would have their share of a looting safe smash and grab that was two hundred times the
amount they could get from a bank job, and best of all it was in unmarked gold bars, easily liquid
and easier to explain without complication. Antonio and Timothy exchanged formalities, the
secret shake so to speak, and then followed as Russ drove them back to their campsite for the
evening. Campsites kept no online records of the names and identities of their residents unlike
hotels and motels, and could not be called on to pass the information on.

The four some built a healthy campfire with the generous leftover wood the previous
campers had abandoned, and before they knew it, they were telling real life ghost stories and
chuckling at their good fortune. During this time, Doc woke up, seeing double and feeling very
out of sorts. They had removed him from the backseat, and removed his handcuffs. In their place
were heavy fiber ropes binding his hands and feet and connecting the two like shackles to keep
him from getting too far. He lay just outside of the ring of observation of the four who were now
heavily engaged in exchanging the information as to the whereabouts of the loot from the job
they had to retrieve in teams the following day. Evidently Tony and Timmy, as they were calling
them now, had felt it unsafe to drop all of the goods in one place, and had buried it in two spots
near highway markers on two separate desolate stretches of road. They recited the highway
markers and the paces on the compass to march off to find the buried treasure.

Just then a huge piece of wet log heated to the point where the moisture caused it to pop
and explode, sending a shower of sparks everywhere. A large piece of red hot wood landed right
next to Doc, and he quickly went to work on the ropes about his limbs with it. Five minutes later,
Doc was free and waiting for the next opportune time to slip away from the men and make his
escape. Debating still on whether he should wait until the men went to sleep, he stole away into
the night as the drunken fools discussed how they were going to spend their gold.

The campsites were all deserted, and he found that he went virtually unnoticed passing
through back towards where he hoped he would find the exit. He considered going to the front
desk as he passed it, and turning them in, but then he had an even better idea. First get their loot,
then turn them in again for yet another informant fee to be received. He would even use the same
damn lawyer, so the two would know it was he. Slipping quietly up on the front desk trailer, he
saw an unlocked ten speed bike sitting in front. He peeked in the windows, and saw the clerk
dozing off in front of an old black and white rerun of the Honeymooners, and took his
opportunity. Riding off at breakneck speed, Doc Anthony Pignone, Tony to friends, Doc by
reputation, Mr. Pig when not Dad to his kids, was finally free.

As luck would have it, Russell and Paul had neglected to take his wallet from him, which
left him a lot more in the way of options. Doc recognized this stretch of Highway One oh One
from the spring vacation drives to San Jose he and his wife and the kids would take every year,
and headed south as fast as his stiff joints could pedal. Blind with fear and the taste of ultimate
success at both the removal of his tormentors and their wares, he was a panting, soggy mess
about five miles later when he came on a gas station.

Doc withdrew four hundred dollars from the ATM, and called a cab. Directing the cabbie
to take him to the nearest town that would have a rental car establishment, he nursed his aching
head with a bag of frozen peas he had picked up at the gas stations mini market section.

Easily obtaining a rental car from an establishment open until midnight in the nearby
town, he set off for the nearest all night department store to pick up a shovel, a compass, a
flashlight, two duffel bags, and a cheap prepaid cell phone.

Going hunting for buried treasure? the clerk asked as he moved through the check out
line.

Every day, every day, he wearily responded, trying not to give in to a tell tale blush, I
bury my cash to hide it from my wife. Insures I get no interest from either her or the bank.

Climbing back into the rental car, he made notes in his new cell phone after activating it
as to the whereabouts of the buried loot. He prayed that the men still had not noticed his absence,
or that they were at least still concerned with searching the immediate area for him and not going
after their loot early. Driving to the first mile marker Timmy had mentioned, Doc warily pulled
over. Maybe he should have picked up a bat for self defense as well, but leave it to him to bring a
bat to a gunfight.

Using the compass to pace off the directions burned in his memory from back at the
campsight, Doc came on fresh overturned earth. Five minutes of digging later, he was filling his
duffels with glowing, heavy, unmarked bars of gold wrapped carelessly in a dirty burlap bag like
the ones he used to wrap the roots of trees at the nursery for replanting. Jogging back to the car,
he stashed the gold and all of the other equipment in the trunk. Now it was time to call his wife.

In a brief and surprisingly light conversation about his ill fate and their recent good
fortune, Doc related the events of the night to his wife. She was surprisingly unmoved by the
events of the night, stating that he had brought it on himself. He told her of the gold, and that he
would meet her at home to celebrate after a visit the following day to Joseph Menudo, Esquire.
Hanging up, he made another brief phone call to his head supervisor at the landscaping company
to announce that he would not be making it into work the following day.

Everything alright boss? Frank had asked.

If you like being pistol whipped unconscious, it was just dandy!

You alright, boss? Frank had asked even more concerned.

Yeah, just make sure you get it done for me tomorrow or youll know what Im talking
about.

Doc hung up the phone, and dialed for directory assistance. He looked up Joseph
Menudo, Esquire and figured what the hell, the least he could do was leave him the good news in
a message. The phone at the poor lawyers office rang five times and then went to a very grainy
analog recording of the attorneys secretary reading nasally instructions on leaving Attorney
Menudo a message. The line clicked, and warbled, and went blank for a few seconds, and then
beeped loudly.

Mr. Menudo, I dont know if you remember me, but I have a deal for you. Names
Pignone. I am going to visit you tomorrow at eleven with another informant case I have run
across about two of your healthiest clients. If they dont kill me first. Menudo huh? You sound
good enough to eat. Maybe well do lunch too, so I can formally thank you for flipping on me
the last time. Dont worry, I wont eat you alive. I like them rare.

He chuckled, and liking his message, hung up the phone. Time for the second pile of loot.
But he was nervous. He decided to head back into town to a late night pawn shop he had seen to
acquire a gun.

Barely reaching the store before its eleven oclock closing, he begged the clerk to sell
him a gun. He briefly related that he had two ex- convicts after him and he was worried about his
safety.

You dont need a gun son, you need the police. The clerk responded.

If the police need guns, so do I.

Im gonna pretend like I didnt hear that.

The clerk then proceeded to pull a revolver out from under the counter which he placed
on the counter top.

Came in today. One of those no paperwork deals. I trust you wont be telling no one I
did this, right?
 Doc paid for the revolver and practically ran back out of the door with his weapon and
its heavy box of shells in a brown paper bag that read Fashion Bug.

Loading the gun carefully and making sure he was familiar with its workings, Doc put it
into the glove box fully loaded and pulled back out of the space across from the pawn shop his
rental car had occupied. As he drove out of town, he wondered how long he should bury the gold
for himself, seeing as the thieves could double back on him and get him busted holding the take
from the heist. In any case, it would make a healthy retirement fund that would ensure he could
sell the business when he turned sixty four and by the time he was sixty five be playing golf
at one of those resident golf course retirement communities even after footing the bill for his
kids college educations.

Recalling several times to check his sureness of memory, Doc drove to the second and
final spot where Timmy had said the loot was buried. This time, arming himself with the
revolver, he repeated the set of compass guided steps to the once again, freshly moved patch of
earth, and unearthed the second half of the gold, once again in a dirty burlap bag. Packing the
other duffel bag, he briskly sped up realizing just how much time had passed since he had
escaped. He half jogged back to the car, loving the weight of the revolver in his right hand and
the gold in his left holding the short straps of the duffel, swinging freely against his hip from its
longer strap set squarely on his shoulder.

Breathing a sigh of relief at the task being finalized, he was ready to make his break south
in the rental car. Only one thing stood in his way; the gas light was on and the oil light all at
once. Of all the lousy luck, he cursed to himself as he swung into a roadside gas station he just
happened to be passing as he noticed the two indicators. He quickly filled up, and added two
quarts of oil to the well without even checking the dip stick, just for good measure. Then it
happened. His luck ran out.

Pulling into the gas station all at once were Paul, Russ, Tony, all piled into Timmys blue
sedan with him behind the wheel. Their eyes lit up and Doc saw Paul immediately groping for
his gun. Running around to the adjacent passenger side with its, thankfully, open window, Doc
took good cover and retrieved the revolver from the glove box in one swift move. Timmy swung
the sedan around to give Paul better aim, and opened himself up for an easy shot. Doc took it,
and hit Tim square in the forehead with a forty five millimeter bullet that instantly killed him and
sent the car speeding up and careening directly through the gas stations front display. The recoil
hurt Docs arm, and made his shoulder briefly numb, and he ran for the driver side, hoping not to
have to kill again.

It was a full hour before Docs breathing returned to normal as he drove within the speed
limits slowly south on the coastal drive. He could be fairly sure he was not being hunted by
either the bad boys or the good ones at this point. Now this was going to put a spin on his
memoirs! Not that he intended on writing any to be published before he was long gone. Too
much ugly politics, and now an illegally obtained weapon committing a self defense dead
straight sharp shooter shot sure to shake the hell out of the shimmying cons in their chagrin. That
Timmy character was dead, that was for sure.

Checking into the first roadside motel he passed, Doc slept fitfully with one hand on his
revolver throughout the night.

When the morning came, he traveled to the sleazy suburban home of Joseph Menudo,
Attorney at Laws business and sat out front until eleven oclock sharp. He then made his entry
and gave it to the man with all of the gusto he could. First, he gave the man a retainer.

Not that it does any good with you. Im kind of hoping it that way, though.

He gave him the last known whereabouts of Paul, Russ and Tony, said that they had
gotten into an internal argument and that Paul had killed one of the four. He told the details of the
armed estate vault robbery in Santa Barbara and how they had orchestrated it from the inside.
Over the next few hours, Mr. Menudo negotiated a deal with the local D.A. and drew up the
papers for the information leading to the once and for all third strike convictions of Paul Yoni,
and Russell Greene, with one addition, Antonio Severes.

When all of the paperwork was signed and the deal was done, Doc thought it all seemed a
bit too surreal. Remembering the gold in his trunk, he set off for home to get his wife on board to
travel south of the border to bury their loot before the kids came back home from school.

Switching the duffel bags into his own work trucks covered bed along with the rest of
the equipment from the trunk of the rental car in his driveway, Doc prepared for the final curtain
call of all of this for many years to come. He entered his home, and related to his wife what
needed to be done to ensure their safety.

But what about Paul, and Russell? she asked, her voice wavering, lip quivering in fear.

He hugged her and reassured her that they would soon be caught and would be going
away for the rest of their natural lives. At this, she burst into tears that Doc could only read as a
kind of relieving release of relief.

A few moments later, Catherine went into their bedroom to prepare to leave. She returned
a few minutes later with a fresh set of heavy makeup and her large passport carrying attach
case. They set off on the road to somewhere far south where they would bury their hand me
down ill gotten gains in the deserts of Baja, Mexico.

After crossing the border and reaching a famous old rest stop on the way out of the
Rosarito Beach area, Doc carefully set the odometer on the truck to record how far they were to
travel. The ride was mostly silent, save the soft glowing Mexican music from a nearby radio
station lulling from the pickups speakers. The air seemed tense, and he hoped that task
accomplished, he could clear the air with his wife once and for all. He decided all at once, that
they were going to bury the revolver with the gold as well, and he pulled it from the glove box
where he had stashed it earlier and handed it to Cathy.

Dont let me forget that, will you?

You bought a gun?

Honey, it was all I could do to stay alive through the last day even armed.

Did you use it, I mean, is it loaded?

Yes its loaded.

This seemed to steel Cathy for the coming deeds left to be done, the digging, the ditching,
and the dreadful wait for the delicious day they could be safe from direct prosecution and recover
the gold. She fiddled with the gun, seeming to find comfort for the first time all afternoon in
learning about its workings.

Dont worry hon, youll never have to use it.

I should hope if I do I dont hurt myself. What is this a forty- five?

Magnum I do believe. One of the best.

What a waste.

Finally they arrived in the right spot Doc felt to stash underground the gold and the gun.
A spot where the land was undeveloped, and unworthy of developing anytime in the near future
which would be undisturbed by anyone for the coming decades it would save their secret stash.

Doc and Cathy carefully walked off a half mile in the southeast direction in to the desert
before he finally drove the stake in the ground which would mark their spot. He then dug a hole
that would be fitting to bury a man in, fearing that animals could become curious out here of the
human smells and the freshly disturbed earth and unknowingly uncover their future retirement.
When he finished, he looked up and saw Cathy, standing there with a sad look on her face, still
holding the revolver.

She waited until he was in line with the hole, and then took aim with the revolver.

You dumb fuck, Paul was my boyfriend. Thats how I met you in the first place. I was
supposed to take you out. Guess its never too late.

With that she emptied the revolver into Docs jerking and flesh flying, jarred body until
he fell neatly into his own freshly dug grave.
Joel Brooks

1245 Market Street

Apt. #3310

San Diego, CA 92101

http://www.ozenoz.com

(424)731-3051

joelbrooks@ymail.com

To Whom I Hope This Concerns;

I have written a short about trash. This short, I could not tell is how many words or pages.

I do not have the program to do that. It is entitled "Waste", though I am considering "Eating It".

It is one of twelve steps to completing my anthology, which I assure you will sell a couple.

When Charles Dufant became a trash truck driver, he felt he had found the lowest title he

could find to keep his life stable. Pay that put him in the upper middle class as a rookie driver,

Chuck was finally beginning to feel comfortable with his newly found urban life. People threw

away the damndest things stereos, televisions, computers, antique furniture, artwork, hell this

was going to make his new pad pimped out in a very big way. He could stand all the Whats up

Chuck? jokes about the griminess of his position and the snide looks from the uptight walkers
who couldnt stand to see their own trash being handled for fear of the rap. This was going to be

all right.

Little did he know what was to come. He begins to notice that his route includes territory

that is being handled by local thugs, who are very up front about their expectation of pay in

return for protection. Hailing from small town, Iowa, Charles isnt accustomed to anything but

the wind turbines causing this kind of pollution and disturbance. These guys feed the local

seagulls antacid tablets every morning as they gather around for morning coffee just to watch

and laugh as they puff up and die. They are hard core hardened thugs whose only interest in the

days takes, and what of it will make it on the books, and what of it they will take home to their

wives and mistresses.

When he moves district in Los Angeles, he finds that his life is in danger. Now working

deeper into the streets that see the actual back alley action those white collar dollar earning heat

makers create with their side businesses of smuggling and delivery knock over payouts on non

paying shopkeepers, Charles is getting worried. These fools are approaching him on a daily basis

trying to negotiate some kind of relationship that is coming off more and more forced as if

something very deadly is coming. He notices a local renowned hit man, Tutlie Snipes in the early

morning dew packing a piece very openly stalking a beat down corner crack dealer, and he

begins to get scared.

 Finally, the situation becomes all too clear. Large payouts are being forced on him to

ignore the dumping of mob and gang murder victims being laid to waste in his routes dumpsters.

Every week he is expected to accept tribute in exchange for ignoring the contents of his truck as

it pulls away from another unlucky customers almost final resting place. He is forced to avoid

dump heavy equipment operators situating the trash to accept his loads, for fear of a John or Jane

Doe popping out in front of them. At night, he dreams of faceless victims being stacked in his

waiting receptacles, their graves left empty for those who would grieve. The worst of it all comes

when Tutlie is actually present and finishing the job one morning as he makes his pickup. From

the look on the mans face, and his demeanor, Charles knows his only payment is that he remains

alive.

I don't want to waste the ending, or get wasted in the process. I am quite sure reading it

will not kill you, though I have learned alot about eating it. I am lying through my teeth the

entire way through the former synopsis. Do not worry, I am not a smoker of chronic in that

fashion. I will leave that to the lion's den. Snoop onward if you like. There is a reason IT is at

OZENOZ. That is my dot com. After all, we are only ordinary men.

May I Thrill You Later,

Joel Brooks
 Charles was overjoyed, and felt completely out of place being so. It was his second week
on the refuse waste job he had landed driving trash trucks, and all couldn't be smoother. He was
adopting to city life in the "City of Angels", and he was even hopeful to save enough to buy the
fair condo he was living in. The place was filling up very quickly with all of the valuable junk he
found every day while doing his dirty deeds.

People threw away the damndest of things. Stereo's, televisions, computers, antique
furniture, artwork, hell this was going to make his new pad "pimped out" in a very big way. Now
if he could get over all his co-workers "whats upchuck?" jokes since he threw up the first
morning when his route "can man" Tom Toms, brought a dead cat into the cab.

He and Tom were on the route, in the midst of the urban downtown jungle that was Los
Angeles. They were riding down a long stretch of alley with no cans or dumpsters to hit when
Tom spoke up.

"I will never forget the look on your face..." Tom began.

"Enough cat gut bragging! And no more what's upchuck jokes!" Charles interceded
loudly, yelling over the hum of the engine of the truck.

"You know I got no easy namesake here Chuckaroo..." Tom started again.

"Your playing?! Tom Toms is a hit man, go with the flow. Everything has a rhythm!"

"Very funny. My ex, she called me Tom cat cause I'm always playing jokes. So I hope
you'll forgive me for my Peter Pan ways. If ye but come as a child..." Tom plainly stated in all
seriousness.

"If I came as a child, I'm would wring your neck next time you pull something like that!"
Chuck quipped, pulling up to a mechanical arm friendly dumpster and lowering the trucks lift,
giving it a "go ahead".

Just as the dumpster was being swung to the side of the truck by the lifts arms, a man
with jet black pulled back hair, and an all black silk suit and a briefcase cuffed to his arm walked
into the path of the receptacle. He stopped, annoyed at the inconvenience, turned and held up the
briefcase, waving at Tom and Chuck. Just as they were about to wave back, the man lifted his
other hand, and gave them the middle finger. Once again, Mr. Toms broke the silence with a
drumming on the dash.

"That was beat. Like to beat it, cause that guy gave me the creeps. Like a beat- down
head. Made me turn beet- red."

"Enough beats Mr. Toms, enough! Beating a dead horse!" Charles shot back at the
traditionally placed left side passenger seat at Tom.
 "I like dead things!" Tom sighed like a four year old..

"Well I am dead, and beat, so let's move outta the dead beats way instead of beating him
dead!"

"I see what you mean. The horse thing. The department of redundancy department." Tom
finalized the plan with a wave of his hand, and returned conjecture.

******************************************************************************
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************************************************************

Later that evening at Charles newly christened downtown condo, he sat down at the new
teak desk he had salvaged from it's ruined above - back shelving spaces. He had simply sawed
them off, sanded, and it left the piece looking very classy. He was a little homesick for his freshly
abandoned hometown of small town simple ways and symbolic freedom of space and super
"ground hogs day" synchronicities back in Iowa. It was time to write a more qualified
explanation to his ex, Leslie, whom he had left at the same time as leaving.

The best parallel he could find was to tell her of the one corner on his route he had been
noticing. Especially this morning when he stopped, did it catch his attention, or, should he have
said "they" caught his attention.

"My dear, when I left it was because, just that I was in a space that those around me did
not take but a most basic and singularly foul attitude on everything. I saw some guys like that
this morning, outside of a private club on my route. Standing around, feeding seagulls Alka
Seltzer tablets to watch them puff up and die, and spilling up their turf to watch owners over with
in their return for protection. Nothing about that life, or the \life I left behind there appeals to me
as my true path. Atleast here, I earn an honest living with no strings attached. Small town politics
is a silent, but deadly killer."

He ended with a quote from one of their mutual favorite movies. Then he sprayed a hint
of his cologne on the eight pound paper, and left his mark. Sealing it into a business envelope
and pushing a hundred dollar bill into its enclosure, he sealed, stamped, and addressed the letter
using a felt tip calligraphy pen making broad sweeping strokes.

Just then, the phone rang. Charles still was unaccustomed to his new phone's ring. It was
an antique earpiece and microphone wall mount with a crank and everything, and he knew he
could fetch a pretty penny for it if he should ever get in a pinch.

"What's up Chuck?!",

"Yes, hello, this is Charles!"

 The caller had an indiscernable low, raspy almost mumbling tone to his voice almost as if
he had one hand over the phone. He interrupted Charles.

"Listen carefully. I have business on your route. It is no ones business. Don't get stiff, if
you see a stiff, because you're going to get a stiff reward. I'm Sal, they call me "the Sicilian" or
something..."

The caller hung up in midsentence.

The following day at around noon, Charles and Tom pulled the truck over for Tom to run
into a local legend deli for a roast beef and provolone sauce smothered select "master" sandwich
as Tom called them. It was near the area where the private club was Chuck had observed the day
prior in his letter to Leslie. As he stared off into the distance down the street through the truck
windshield, he saw a man of huge stature heading directly for him.

"Sal?!" Charles asked himself aloud.

A moment later, the man approached Charles curbside window and stood by the truck. He
appeared very concerned, and wasted no time in introductions.

"I called you last night. Sal. You know. You see anything today, say ten blocks North, you
keep a lid on it."

The two hundred and fifty pound man in the pin striped, well tailored suit pulled out two
envelopes from within his inner jackets enclosure.

"These are for you and your partner."

Charles mind raced as he tried to find some convincing, viable explanation to this man
who obviously wasn't used to taking "no" for an answer, as to why he could not accept. But it
was too late. Sal, "The Sicilian" had no more handed him the envelopes when he turned to the
side and left with a wave of the back of his hand.

Hands shaking, Charles opened the thicker of the two envelopes. Contained within was
two thousand dollars mostly in hundreds. The money was old money, dirty money, money that
could make him. In several different ways.

When Tom returned, he swung the truck around to the front of the private club he had
observed, guessing this was the most appropriate place to give Tom his envelope. Tom turned ash
white, and put the envelope in his back pocket without opening it. Just then, immediately after
Chuck's explanation, the door to the club opened, revealing it's winding dimly lit corridor that
greeted its visitors with a prohibition - era looking speakeasy lobby. Out came the man they had
seen the day before, with the briefcase, who had given them the finger. He briefly took notice of
the two in the truck, and held up his thumb and his forefinger, like a gun. He pulled the trigger,
and smiled, seeming very amused by himself as he addled down the street.
 Charles and Tom watched in the side view mirrors as the man, passing by a young kid of
only fourteen or so, turned and smacked the kid in the face. When the kid started to yell, he hit
him with fists, and then finally, as the youth lay on the ground, he kicked him in the ribs a few
times. In broad daylight, for no apparent reason, and with no further concern, the man pulled out
a Berretta and aimed it in the young man's face. After a moment of loud spoken words, he
returned the present moment to its place. He put the gun in it's holster and walked away.

Charles turned to Tom and said the only thing he could think of, "What a whack!"

Tom turned blue, and threw up out of the window.

******************************************************************************
******************************************************************************
************************************************************

That night, Charles pulled one of his five other junk phones out of the closet, and curled
up on the couch to talk to Leslie about all of this. After trying three different headsets, they
finally found the one that allowed them both to hear each other. When she answered the phone in
that soft country style, he almost didn't know what to say and hung up. But he didn't.

"I think I'm in trouble, Lez..." he began nervously.

"What else is new?!" she mimicked in a very casual manner."

"I need the advice of a very reasonable cold hearted bitch."

"That's what I'm here for."

Charles related the events, about the payoff and the sinister man, the supposed stiff and
about "Sal the Sicilian". When he was done, he felt no better having shared it with someone,
though because of her distance did not have to fear for her.

"Leslie Trident has seen better things for you, Charlie. You know Charlie, you gotta stop
brown nosing! Call you Charlie brown. Definite blockhead." she replied to his emotional dump
after a few respectful moments of silence.

Charles thought carefully for a minute. Then he said, "Plainly put, which will stand the
test of time? Only time itself."

"Ooh! Ahh! Zen!" she squealed.

"Ahh zen indeed," Charles agreed.

They ended their conversation with a brief moment of awkward silence where they used
to exchange "I love you's" and then they hung up. Chuck was tired after the days stressors and
just wanted to get a good nights sleep. As he lay in bed counting sheep til sleep would come, he
found himself wondering if in deed he had been right about his move here. It was as if the move
had only placed more of the same pressure on him to take bold action, just what he had been
trying to escape. Finally, after about an hour, he drifted into sleep.

This night was not the restful night he had imagined, however. As he slept, Charles was
thrown from one violent upheaval of a nightmare to another as the terrors of his recent findings
came into his superunconscious, and the Astral Realm became the playground of his tormentors
and no longer his parallel respite and mentor. He dreampt last of all in the night, of a dark
cloaked figure that looked like archetypical type artists depictions of death coming for another to
be brought across to the other side. He awoke in a cold sweat, breathing heavily and feeling
unsafe and guarded even in his own bed, under the cozy comforters that shielded him from the
icy air conditioner he left on blast. This entire scenario he was facing was far from a simple turn
of the blind eye, and his nightmares were just another factor in determining that he must face fate
after all with the repose his small town left behind had been harping him about showing.

******************************************************************************
******************************************************************************
************************************************************

The following morning after cleaning up a large receptacle that was strewn all over the
place from some looting scavengers in a nicer area of town in order to avoid giving the poor
clients an extra large pickup fee on their obvious renovations cleaning, Charles felt it. It was that
sick feeling in the pit of his gut that he couldn't put a finger on, but knew instinctively that there
was something devious and important that he was missing a delicate fact on that was about to
happen, or had.

They turned the corner past the North side fall line that marked the L.A. boundaries for
the upscale middle class to be habitating, judging by the trash found there. Charles glanced at
Tom, still shifting in his seat readjusting to driving from the "wrong" side of the cab and found
Tom to be closing his eyes and taking a silent breather. The radio was off, and the CD player had
burned out earlier in the morning after Tom had tried to play an old copy of his of "American
Beauty". At the moment, Chuck was grateful that it was dead. He needed to think, he needed to
drive, he needed to watch for anything suspicious. Not that he knew what he would do if
anything seriously happened.

Of course, there was that time in Iowa when he had encountered a lost child in the middle
of his ride home during the worst blizzard of that winter. The child was badly frostbitten, and
looking and acting very somber and lazy eyed tired, and Charles had recognized and
remembered his scout learnings on hypothermia. It was a wonder he had seen the child in the
drift of snow he was immersed in as he had passed, though that had probably helped to insulate
him against the cold as any good Eskimo could tell you. He had filled a long past needing to be
removed kiddie pool in his covered bed with snow along with the rest of the bed. Being a
hundred miles yet from civilization, he heated it up with his new heating system, opening the
rear cab windows that opened to it. He also placed a hot air venting space heater he happened to
have on hand plugged into the cigarette lighter in the back. Once enough fills of the snow had
melted and heated, a nervously sweaty thirty minutes later of sitting huddled in blankets with the
near unconscious child, he had pulled the truck onto a snow bank to raise the cab's bed to an
angle with the pool covering the cracks in the tailgate. The rest of the water he then had dumped
into the pool and filled it enough to make a difference. It was then that Charles had placed the
child in the water at first cold, and soon room temperature to slowly return him to a normal state
without putting him into shock until he got him to the nearest town emergency room. They had
arrived with the kid wrapped in old navy blankets and firewood tarps just in the nick of time. He
could trust his learning and instincts in a crisis, indeed.

Charles turned the corner into the first building locked receptacle alley of this part of
town. His gut turned for a minute when he saw a police cruiser in the rearview mirror, following
closely. He leaned out the window, and checking the list, punched the alley gate code into the
electric gate lock. From his mirror, he saw that the cruiser had pulled over, strangely just across
the way.

He absently manuevered the automatic arm to grab the dumpster without turning on the
truck container's grinding mechanism, grabbed the dumpster and began to empty it into the truck
bin. It was then that he saw the cop running across the street outside of the alley, waving his arms
frantically, apparently at Chuck. Over the hum of the mechanical arm, he heard another man's
voice yelling "Whitey! Whitey! Whitey!"

Charles stomach turned violently in knots as he realized he did not know what, or how
deep he was in for it now with the great karmic decider of events. Eyes glazed and fearful, he hit
Tom in the arm to roust him as he absently stopped the arm from dumping the dumpster. He saw
a black man running after the cop, and gripped the wheel so tight that his knuckles turned purple.
This was not good at all.

The policeman yelled.

"Freeze everything! Don't move! Don't do anything! Stay in the truck!"

Just as the officer reached the open window of the cab on Chuck's side, the black man
slowed his gait and stopped yelling. The beat cop looked pale and shocked, with that slight tinge
of red in his cheeks that showed he was revving up for the excitement his job demanded he
endure as he grabbed the rim of the window and pulled himself to eye level with Charles. His
stale, hot breath wafted from his panting mouth as he pulled himself close to Chuck's face and
with a very stern and commanding look in his eye barked at both him and Tom, "Man down in
the trash! You don't move, or move anything! Stay in the cab and keep your arms on the dash
where I can see them! I am going for a look."
 The cop then released the latch on the driver side door and opened it, before running
around to the front of the truck where the dumpster was hanging, half empty with, to Chuck's
shock, a body hanging out of it now and over the front of the cab.

"Hands up! Now!"

The officer pulled the trash entangled body from the receptacle awkwardly and it fell
with a heavy thump like a gym bag falling off of it's resting place in the structure of a building,
and onto the cement covered ground. He took it's vital's, and slowly lowered his head, looking
somberly into the ground beneath him as if he didn't know if it were going to swallow him up.
He then closed the corpse eyelids with a too well practiced brush of his hand, and stood, facing
Tom. He briskly walked to the can worker side of the cab and opened it's door as well. Tom
spoke up.

"We didn't know! I swear we didn't know!"

The beat cop grabbed Tom by the arm and pulled him harshly out of the cab. He lined
him up with the hood of the truck and waved for Charles to come out of his side.

"You too. Come around here, now. Slowly."

Chuck did as he was told, swinging a leg onto the boarding ramp on the side of the truck
behind the wheel well and grabbing the outside side handle, swung down. He then walked
around to the other side, the left side of the truck.

"I know you probably don't know what is going on, but you never know in this town.
Sorry if old Clemens scared you. To explain, I am Officer Whitey, and that is one dead victim."

Charles tried to say something, but just turned red, and choked on his own words. Tom
spoke up again, "We didn't know! I swear we didn't!"

Another squad car pulled up to the scene, having been radioed of the situation from
Whitey's shoulder mounted radio during Chuck's dismount from the job vehicle.

"Son, that is too many times you have told me, and judging by the look of your partner
here, I am afraid you are getting the rest of the day off. I am taking you both in for questioning."

******************************************************************************
******************************************************************************
************************************************************ Late that
night, after being released from his cell at midnight, Charles found himself sleepless again. He
was lying in a freezing chilly blast with beads of sweat dripping down his brow, agonizing over
what had occured. Should he have spoken up to the authorities about this sooner? Would it have
kept the end of another human being's precious life from coming to it's untimely, dishonorable,
violent and abrupt halt? These were questions of such a deep nature, even his Bible, which he
turned to often for comfort in times of indecision in it's gold leaf wisdom filled pages he felt
could not put him at ease. It was almost as if he knew he would not find the answer until it
presented itself in a shift of all luck and fate, just perhaps as God had tested Job.

Morning came and sleepless as he was, he rose and dressed and brushed his teeth and did
his bite to eat and got rolling. This time, however he brought his gold chain and cross that had
been an heirloom gift to him from his grandfather, obtained originally by his ancestor who had
crossed on the Mayflower. It was a priceless treasure, but looked so new in it's quality that no
one could have ever guessed. He often felt guilty for not adding it to a museum collection. But
tradition was tradition, and he could not bear this day without it, as he had been told would
happen.

The route proved to be unusually easy all morning, which only succeeded in adding to
his ill- at - ease temperment as he grew nearer the killing ground. At noon he and Tom stopped at
a hot dog stand while Tom played his recently acquired drum for a small child dribbling chili
down his chin. They had found it in a pile of torn canvasses downtown, and Chuck had teased
Tom so badly, he had no choice but to pocket the Tom. It was all the pocketing they would have
to do this day, he hoped. If only fate could drum up a cavalry to end their predicament as hey
drew nearer to ground zero. If two thousand dollars could only could be counted as zero.

Though they had parked blocks from their usual segue, as they completed their beat circle
and chili dog dances, Chuck saw him out of the corner of his eye. Sal, "The Sicilian" was
running as fast as his fat ass could carry him, puffing all the way down the block like a
nineteenth century steam locomotive rolling down the track.

"He's gone!" Sal half yelled as he approached, out of breath.

"Who's gone?" Chuck retorted anxiously.

"Tutlie! Hey, no. Not here. Walk with me back to your truck and I will relate." said Sal.

Leaving a confused looking Tom as he stepped, Charles knew that this could be their
answer and immediately walked with Sal towards the "Waste" truck.

"Tutlie, he's the cleanup guy, you know..." Sal started, unsure of himself and still slightly
out of breath.

"Cleanup?"

"Come on, don't be dumb. I know what you know. And I have to tell you what I do. So
shut up and listen. You owe me that."

"Alright."
 Sal started in on a stuttered description of the "family" hit man's fall from "grace", and
warned that he did not know who, what, where, when, why, or how much was to come from the
now assumedly psychotic desperado.

"I do not know how to tell you this, but he's gone hunting. For prey. We are all p-ray-ing,
if you know what I'm saying." Sal admitted bashfully admiring Chuck's cross hanging at his
chest from the thin gold chain.

"So, what does this have to do with me?" Chuck tried to get a grip on the reality.

"You may be next for all I know. And that ain't worth any amount of greenbacks I could
push over. So watch it. That's all I'm gonna say."

With that, Sal heavily nodded his head as if to convince a theater crowd of his decision,
and started to move back down the street.

"Thank you." Charles said aloud, though almost to himself.

Sal must have heard, because he raised his hand, flashing it's hairy back without turning
around as he waddled down the street in his brown tailored suit and square toed Italian leather
shoes.

Thirty- three minutes later, as Tom and he were rounding the corner where the corpse had
given new life to his and revealed a higher order to all, Chuck saw him. It was Tutlie, out of the
side view mirror, chasing a thin bald skinny crack addict looking creature, gun drawn, face in a
sneer. As he drew nearer to Tom, down the block replacing trash cans to their safe curbsides,
Tutlie slowed to a walk, and took aim at Mr. Toms with his shiny gunmetal silver piece he was
infamous for using to issue new endings. The skinny vagrant he had been chasing took no short
notice in realizing his chance, and darted off the other direction towards safety. Charles flew into
action.

He threw the truck in reverse and began thrashing the pull cord air horn of the truck with
his fist closed tightly around it's cord. Tutlie stopped his dead aim, and sneered in his direction.
He took a shot at the truck almost immediately, leveling it with the windshield, now at a fourty-
five degree angle from his contemptuous face. The shot ricocheted off of the side grip handle
behind the wheel well and Charles heard it smashing harmlessly in ricochet against the wall
across from him, mortar crumbling.

He then put his foot as heavy on the gas as he could with the truck in reverse, and
ducked. Tutlie, shocked at this new angle did not have time to adjust for another shot, and
quickly made his way, sprinting to gain ground and get in front of the truck. Charles, from his
vantage saw Tutlie pointing his gun and peering desperately with the look of a madman, craning
his deep brown neck to try and catch a glimpse of his parry. Then he drew in front of the truck
and began to laugh loudly, a wild an inconsistant cackle that stung Chuck's ears.
 Staying low, he put the truck in gear and began to drive forward towards Tutlie. Tutlie
slowly backpedaled, grinning from ear to ear, waving his Beretta in a cock sure fashion in a wide
sweeping arc from side to side. Within ten seconds they had reached the end of their "chicken"
game.

The truck was now idling gently, Charles foot on the brake to stop it's advance just
twenty feet from the brick dead end of the alleyway. Chuck sat up, and took a good look at what
was in front of him at this last and very final deciding moment.

Tutlie, in his khaki shorts and green striped golf shirt, high pulled striped socks and
brown loafers, stopped waving the large caliber Beretta and looked him dead in the eye. Both of
their eyes went dead for a moment that seemed to drag on for hours as Tutlie took aim at Charles
head through the windshield. Then it happened.

Chuck tried to duck again, and catching his gold chain and cross on the wheel's point turn
axle knob, got caught. Involuntarily his foot slammed onto the gas pedal, sending the truck flying
forward, and slamming Tutlie into the wall, cutting him neatly in half.

Joel Brooks

3692 Gracia Paseo

Spring Valley, CA 91977

joelbrooks@ymail.com

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

To Whom This May Profit;

`This letter is to inform you that you have become the lucky benefactor of three samples
from a hot, young, new author ready to put out forty titles by New Years 2015. This letter will
not self destruct.
 What you are looking at is thirty- one pages of a screenplay titled Telemarketers which
will take you off your rocker with its avante- garde humor. If you like, find a finish on the
palette with twenty - seven pages, or three chapters of Hack to The Chief, the story of a white
collar criminal gone bad, or perhaps just worse than most. Third and final, toast your brilliant
new find with a short seven chapter sample numbering twenty two pages of the insightful and
ever twisting page turning plot in The Holo. This is an in development screenplay as well
which includes a cast of characters like Clint Eastwood, M. Knight Shamalayan as twins and
Jodie Foster.

Chec k me out, Im writing a ton, and Im not going anywhere. But I have a feeling I
will be soon. With your assistance we could be midas touching soon (the golden club
handshake).

Many Thanks,

Joel Brooks

P.S. Feel free to reach out and midas touch me at my e- mail address.

Good Budget Parenting

Some parents call abuse at the hands of their children in the first few years of parenting karmic
foul play at the hands of the bedroom. But it isn't so much at the hands of fate, or devious down
and dirty deeds that you did that necessarily bring on the current behavior of your child. Here
you must be asking yourself, what makes this guy such an expert? First off, I am a parent, or at
least a full time round the clock prospective of one.
Yes, we are pregnant, which means I spend the ins and outs of my days buried in baby needs and
parenting discussions and books about these things which make them all the more clearer to my
apt-to-be overwhelmed mind. One of the things that I have learned is that role playing the
situations that we are and (god forbid) could be faced with in regards to our children is very
important. It helps us to have a grasp or a handle on the proper action to take not just as an
individual parent, but as one parenting unit together. As you may or may not know, kids are very
accustomed to pointing out inconsistencies which may be to their advantage whether they are
five or five months. Not giving them a mixed message is also important to being able to
effectively do that big bad word, discipline.
My New Years resolution essentially started out with simply acknowledging the fact that I have
to open up my mind when it comes to realizing responsibility as a Dad. For me this meant
budgeting including the baby, and her mother. For me this was a leap of faith, as I have a limited
budget I am working with being a new and struggling freelance writer. I have a set amount of
money that comes in that is supposed to be for me as comfort money right? I find that planning
ahead is my partners forte. She is five and a half months pregnant, and already we have just
about everything but the baby. Working together with her on a unified budget to cover these
things for our Bell has been a real sense of joy, and some teary eyed romantic moments for us.
But what does that mean when you are not having a teary eyed romantic moment? What about
when you are standing in line at the grocery store and junior is screaming at the top of his lungs
about the candy that he can't buy because it wasn't in your budget, and you don't want him to
have it right then. It means that a simple plan makes the decisions easier when you stick to it, and
that a firm and consistent message that includes both risk and reward makes for easier times for
all of you. Unless of course your child really is Satan incarnate. In that case, please go to the
Yahoo Voices section for EXORCISMS.
You will notice that over a time a strong and consistent response based on prior planning will
help over time to smooth the waters and create for easier days in your parenting life. Just
remember to agree with your partner both on the times when the budget can reward good
behavior, as well as when it can reward bad: never.

Joel E. Brooks

1245 Market Street

Apt #3310

San Diego, CA 92101

(424)731-3051

joelbrooks@ymail.com

Saturday June 28, 2014 11:43PM

Dear Alex Wood Stiff;

I am a former member of a band we were in together, called "Kosmik Debris" back in

1996, though I missed the recording sessions with "Jerry Garcia Band"'s 1986 drummer at his

studio in 1997 at which you and your cousin William Harrison Meyle, Peter Constantinidis,

Conner (Cruz?), and Pat (though I think I saw his name signed on a wall in Ann Arbor, MI years

later the name escapes me) attended and used my garage recorded vocals here and there to

include me, having written the harmonies. I later missed the band reunion at "Summer Sundog

Shakedown" and am still in a shameful misery having done so. Please record again some music

to call our own, this time with "Broken Records" presents: "OZENOZ:ONE". ("OZENOZ

AND EMINEM"... "and after all, we're only ordinary men...") I have listed the numbers I feel

you would (forgive me) make "LIVE HITS" (rather than "DEAD ONES") with "The Record

Company" with an asterix (*).

Track Listing:

1."Rest In Peace" - A very short, violent statement about what came to be of an unnamed

thug who went on too many killing sprees unjustified, and got his "two to the head".

2. "Skills"- A very free, "SIMPLE" JAM with true spit about some of the most amazing

and death defying shit that has happened to me.

3. "Hood Rat"- A very simple, ass thumping for those who need to know the order of the

world we live in better than the ears they appeal all too often.
 4."The Saint"- A very disillusioned, innocent and confused comment on the nature of my

life's work being tampered with.

5."The Missing Peace"- A very "RAP GOD" speed, quick whitted, nutty piece about not

owning "Us and Them" or how we are not ordinary men.

6."We Are My Home"- A very dropped D, power chord crunching and riveting rip

through the walls of my rubber chicken and the room in which I BIT no shit.

7."Spike"- A very double edged, two sided coin, tongue and cheek putting me to peace,

in this piece.

*8."Broken"- A very HIT, written HIT with use of the chords in THAT HIT done

backwards with Emajor, Dmajor, Aminor, and open strum to an Emajor chord in the HIT

CHORUS. Call me and listen to it before I HIT you with another HIT, if you like.

*9."Goodbye Love"- Very simply the best writing I have ever done in my entire life put

to an alternate tuning with a minor arpeggio, then a minor chord (open ringing) progression with

"August"'s chord progression from "Crazy Train" ("Anyday, anyday now, change will come to

the part of you that matters most") dropped a third and an open major chord bridge part. Moves

them to tears, read it and weep. Just don't come crying to me, get over IT. We are good. Anyday

now.

*10."We Are On Our Way"- A very dropped guitar low E string to a G, starts with a

catchy phrase out of a Dmajor, a run, and moving to a G major which is the primary (and once

got me a damned near riot in Pacific Beach) part of the chorus. Has an open diad and triad

finger picked part as a bridge in Em I believe, and a bubbly three part descending triad hip hop
guitar line for the "spoken word" section. Three part harmonies that are so far from the guitar

melody, and so ear catching, and so very good, that I will get to watch "The Record Company"

get it played "Live from Red Rocks" over twenty million times on YouTube. Atleast I don't

TOTALLY miss out on the show!

11. "Just kNOw"- A very somber, psyche rock minor melody, chromatic descending

piano piece and the words that come along with it and tell the story of my melodramatic,

unsympathetic ear to the very best my life has to offer, and yours too my friend.

*12. "No Dice"- A very highly amusing letter I wrote to Marshall Mathers about the

several times we have bumped into each other and other stuff.

13. "OZENOZ AND EMINEM"- A very...well...a highly...uhh...I mean..."and after all,

we're only ordinary men". All except you and me. Say that last sentence again. "Sounds like".

I'll accept you and me...LOSE the rights to this one. But get mad airplay, bitches. Two to the

head, too, sooner or later.

Alex, I haven't done myself thorough justice so far as far as keeping in touch is

concerned. Perhaps I have felt a bit overshadowed until recently by my own lack of success after

such eager invites by you in early years to come out to the west coast and try my hand at playing

the part of the professional. Over the years I have learned so much by watching your career. I

wrote a piece for my blog, which recieved 93,000 hits in 9 months, about your career. I

remember quite a bit of the things which should be included in your personal "Wikipedia" entry

(As well as "The Record Company"'s) including "The Rose That Grew From Concrete", "Fourth

Avenue Jones", "Stiff", "Stiffsongs.com", and "The Frequency". I guess I should cut to the chase

here, sorry, I'm a bit nervous. PROMISE.

 I have written a "concept" album under the pen name "OZENOZ" which is included here

in lyrical form. It has a story line, and reads quite well, so please give it a whirl. "Broken",

"Goodbye Love", and "I Am On My Way" are all exceptionally well written pieces which I have

completed on acoustic guitar and vocal melodies and harmonies. "I Am On My Way" is a three

part harmony piece that screams "The Record Company" indeed. I have been very well recieved

in my travels playing these songs, all three have HIT potential. As does the rest of the album.

But not without you. PROMISE.

I am not picky as to what happens here in the sound. I am workable, with you on board to

eliminate "No Dice", but I am not sucking a fag, we have a lucky number, in fact four. The

album, it is unbelieveably fucking good, and entirely fucking true from beginning to end. As am

I. I have no studio, no equipment ("save my Franny"...a rusty Franciscan acoustic) and no way

of obtaining them nor the skill set required to make what could be a musical masterpiece. I would

not expect to perform it with you (or at all, well, maybe just once if we could get EMINEM) and

would give you whatever you ask for as far as the money, royalties, etc. are concerned. You

would retain the right to use any and all of the songs at will for any project you are in, and I

would be honored if you would do so. Without you, I am but a mere writer with an ingenius logo,

ingenius name and domain name (OZENOZ.COM) ,incredible lyrics, a great concept, three

written possible blues based jam band hits, and no recording. With you, we a have mutually

shared success of one side project. PROMISE.

I am a writer. I think it is overkill, but anything, to convince you. I have three suspense

thrillers I am halfway through, a serial killer trilogy, and an Independent Film Comedy

"INGENIUS" script on the way just to name a few of the things on my desktop. Also I have a

work I am writing on Fusion Physics. I will include it in it's incomplete form here. I have
included here the script for the film "Telemarketers", what I will be using my royalties to do

once we have completed our project. I can do this anytime because, "Workin'", "Ego Is The

Drug", and "VW Girl", have been good to me. We are not, nor ever will be in a band together

again, if I have anything to do with it. Just a little joke, there. PROMISE!

In conclusion, it is good. And will make us both a lot of money. And perhaps (Not my

call) "The Record Company" a hit. I will stay in the background as the writer if that comes to

pass, and I do believe it will, from "Broken", "I Am On My Way", AND "Goodbye Love". Get

my back, Alex, you won't ever have to, ever again. To have "Promise" is like "The Golden Road

of Unlimited Devotion". We never lose them, or ourselves. Give me a holler. I will give you

some ill spit and shit, and some chords and melody to match your phrasing! And a whole lotta

dollars and sense!!! "Just Know", "Us and Them" ("OZENOZ AND EMINEM"), and "We Are

On Our Way"! PROMISE!

Love Ya Brother,

OZENOZ
P.S. I got "SKILLS", Skills got me. Make me "DEAD" and set me free...

- For those of you who would like to know, I believe I do know Alex Wood Stiff's reply. It goes

kind of like this: "Rest in peace, hood rat! Skills? The SAINT?! The missing peace! We are my

home. Spike, broken. Goodbye love. We are on our way. Just know. No dice."

Salut,

El Stiffo

P.S. No fag. Just no. Two to the head.

1. ONE

Life is not risk free, either you take it, or it takes you. Life begins at the ends, and ends your
means. But in our ends, there is always a beginning. Life is one big beginning to an ends
that will never justify your means. That is the means to war, and in the end there is always
a beginning, and a mean risk. The gross value of this cannot be found in...

(RUN PINK FLOYD "US AND THEM" )

Us... Us... Us... Us... Us... Us... Us...

and Them... Them... Them... Them... Them... Them...
And after all we're only ordinary men...

(DROP BEAT)

LOVE WHAT YOU HAVE LOVE WHAT YOU DON'T LOVE WHO'S BEEN HAD
LOVE WHAT YOU WROTE LOVE DAD LOVE TO CHOKE LOVE ISN'T BAD LOVE
AIN'T NO JOKE LOVE YOUR LINES LOVE IT DEFINES LOVE WHAT YOU SAY
LOVE HOW YOU PLAY LOVE THE TEARS LOVE YOUR ARREARS JUST LOVE
JUST LOVE LOVE THE HEART BROKE LOVE TO SPELL IT OUT LOVE TO WRITE
THEM IN LOVE WITHOUT A DOUBT LOVE CAN SAVE YOU LOVE ALWAYS WINS
LOVE AND LAUGH AND LIVE AND LEARN BUT MOST OF ALL MAKE LOVE IN
TURN ONE LOVE FOR TWO LOVES TO END UP IN THREE ONE LOVE IS YOUR
TRUE LOVE ONE LOVE FOR ME

One love

I know I love you because you're the first thing I think of when I wake up

One night

The last thing I think of when I go to sleep is you

One struggle

You dominate my waking thoughts in the between

One fight

I know I love you because the mere thought of you makes my heart light and my smile
bright
One loss

I know I love you because I can tell you anything, you're my best friend

One win

I know I love you because your hugs make me complete and I wish your kisses would never
end.

One is not a sin

I know I love you because you are the missing peace to make my soul complete.

One is me

The other you

That's how I know I love you

We are ONE

And that too

(RUN PINK FLOYD FROM "US AND THEM")

Us... Us... Us... Us... Us... Us... Us...

and Them... Them... Them... Them... Them... Them...
And after all we're only ordinary men..

What is left? You whom I left. Only the right. That would be you. What is right? You that
are left. Only the left. That's what's left to do. Left is what? What's left for me. Right the
only. The only I'll see. Right is what? The only I'll see. Left the only. What's left for me?

What is right? I hope I find it. Only the left. The left behind it. What is left? Nothing I
hope. Only the right. The right is n scope. Right is what? What's left after wrong. Left the
only. Left out your song. Left is what? What right is not. Rights can't be bought.

Nor can January Babies

February Maybes
March ON
April showers
Bring Mayflowers
And June Bugs
July
August
Septembers Glow
Octobers No.
Decembers Real Ember is the ONE within your heart
Now do IT again from the start
(RUN PINK FLOYD FROM "US AND THEM")

Us... Us... Us... Us... Us... Us... Us...

and Them... Them... Them... Them... Them... Them...
And after all we're only ordinary men..

(lose music and fade in heartbeat)

GOD HELP ME TO OPEN THESE STAGES OF LIFE WITH THE KEYS OF

KNOWLEDGE, THE ENTRANCE OF WISDOM AND BE ONE.

2.)Hood Rat

Two to the head.

You do it to yourself, you do.
And thats why it really hurts.
Light them up, put them out.
Down in front.
Not and down and out.
Just get them off the stage, fright, slow.
I havent got the chemicals to do their show.
Romance is no dance, and slow, pants Im off.
Like a prom dress, like a Toms stress when he turns his and head and coughs.
Nervous and throaty like a long winded bitch.
I might end up face down somewhere in a ditch.
Ive been awake for 67 hours with nothing in you, that I didnt do wrong for a few more
than I cue up on the table, with my stick and Im able.
Drop the kids off at the pool under the table, and hope for the best that their young and
stable.
Unlike me and both of them are all too free.
Do you really?
I hope so Lee leave.
Because I dont have a G.
I bailed them all out.
Rats.
Me.
Paid for, not free.
I didnt know that I was that far gone.
That my dear cop, was not a John.
Flush, royal, automatic, up the ass.
The End is near.
OZENOZ: KNOW.
If you have to blow, dont it all you.
Just blow and go.
And hope the snow isnt snotty and flow
Jo El its a real tissue hell in that
Brain, rearrange, disembody, taste pain, same fame for tame lame distrust
Bust thrust just crust the must dust for a gust of husk on corn frost dew
Heres to me fucking you
What I wouldnt do
I will sue for the blue
Balls at the pool, balls fucking rule, balls they can tool If you have balls, game the fool
Play the lick, the dick the stick picked for the tricky , fidgety, Fridgedaire bitch in me who
isnt she who is picking he for tricks for free
Silly faggot, dicks are for chicks
I got wood and several other tricks.
Rabbit you running
Cause I am a coming
Got the long ball down
And the clean balls wound
On his middle wood found
Golfing isnt what it sounds
Wit you bit you, can I babysit you, this shit few can get dew for do too and zoo poop
Hes an animal you
Just keep me in check
Ill kill him with flow
And two the head.
Whats coming instead?
American pie and bread apple pie for Ted Kennedys sly sloe gin and head In the back, in
the front, in the car, on the punt, in the snow, in the plane, his familys insane
Just kill them all not.
Theyll do it all as taught.
ASKING FOR IT?
Am I?
Are you?
Is he?
Can we?
Get free?
For wee?
Have tea?
And see?
Its mushrooming politics, turning it black, its black and white all over, and cruisers you
can whack
Kill a cop, make a plea, down a shot, didnt he?
Was a kid, all for free had it all thought it key.
Treys from where you are dead.
Was it one, two, or three?
Name them all, and win a trip to the Keys.
Im in, on, and all about, my jeopardy money, give the kid some fucking clout.
Too many go dead.
Jerry rolls on Dead over underground its rude, and Dreams mushrooming for too.
Black and white and red all over, it bloody homicide.
Its a Democrats war, but takes it all in time.
Its not there, you cant see it, didnt do I did.
I didnt whack it, or sack him, like he did, that kid.
No, not kidding they're all there two timing genocide.
But fuck her over and lose her, and whats left of your pride.
Thats what killed them
They dont eat
Dont sleep
Wipe the dirt off another ones feet
Starve their brother to be well fed
Wipe the dirt off another ones bread
They dont scurry
Two to the head
When something bigger comes their way
And one to the brain
Dont pack themselves together and run as one
You my friend, have to work on your aim
Dont shit where there not supposed to
Rats rats rats rats ratsratsrats.ratsratsrats.ratsrats
They're the rats
Seasoned fat cats
See the piggy go down in a row
White collared snitches with bitches in tow
Rats their the rats
Fat cats all to go
Revolution isnt the plague
But their carry it you
They dont scurry
Two to the head
When something bigger comes their way
And one to the brain
Dont pack themselves together and run as one
You my friend, have got to work on your aim
Dont shit where there not supposed to
Rats rats rats rats ratsratsrats.ratsratsrats.rats
Thats why there all dead.
Two to the head!

3.) Skills

I got skills

Skills got me

Went to the doctor

Who did I see

The man in the yellow turban

The monkey in the wrench

The boy in his stockings

The right away bench

The string on the play

The pass gone away

The right passed in fright

The night passed away

I got skills
Skills got me

Went back home

Who did I see

The man in the hat

Taking a cat time nap

Drinking on cat nip

Smoking on that tip

Plans just came awry

But still I fly

I got skills

Skills got me

Went to the dealer

He fronted me

A very little card

With a name on the top

It said you got had

Now tell your sob

I got skills

Skills got me

What's in my way?

Why don't we see?

This shit, that shit, this is the real deal, driving down Old Nashville, hoping I get to sound
off at my wheel.

I've got one coming in sideways, two at the back door, more twisters than sisters could talk
back to at the front store...

What's the front store?

It's the place you go when you don't know if you can pay for what's happening.

What's going down?

It's a tornado alley hound, thats me and I'm straight at one on which two keeps me in the
lane by wind that blew across the front of my hatchback civic spitting fumes at me
thinking, we may not see the exit I intended.

Sweet Little Ha, dont worry, we get mended.

Just drive you little bitch let me drive you to the edge and then back down and we going to
catch the wedge, a bite of death pie served up as a nice bowed ass tie on which to munch.

Sticks going through fence posts, hail dropping like softballs, two in uniform, standing tall
waiting for mothballs by the roadside scared out of our whit, hungry for speed I just cant
get!

I crank my head to the left and see as fingers come twisting down in a stair like sea of
blackness swirling from up above, they dance with each other and a fifth comes to shove.

Four merge as one and the fifth goes south on the run, and suddenly its everywhere!

I cant tell what it is anymore.

Its fence and trees and bushes and seized up autos by the side of the road sliding further
off and hail that the gods come to goad my storm chasing fit with some tale- making whit
come my way, now you say?

What to do?

Do I stay and play?

Is it pin the Sweet Little Ha to one sixty or so which she can do when we really let go or sit
tight and wait what I cant outrun, God Im going to die now, and nobody is going to know
just how much fun this shit is fucking beautiful its just a big black wall of fury and rain
and frozen balls and wind, and, its a sin...

speaking of frozen balls, I stick the car in neutral and let her drift down, I dont think I can
outrun her, Im not that much of a clown.

The speedometer is running down to somewhere around five, then we get a gentle push
from our friendly windy side back up to fifty five she went with nothing on the gas, thats an
in neutral, oh my ass!

Staring in wonder if this thing has got my ass, then a bump like airplane turbulence and I
look up ahead, its clear in front of me, save the Grand Old Op

exploding in air.

I think I am through the worst I will find round these parts!

That twister said mister, you dont play. You live to say you got in my way, now go on your
way and dont be L-A-T-E!! I might change my mind

How many died?

Oh.

In the mornings news I find many before that very same tunnel had an expiration date that
was for some not all within minutes of me getting pushed for free from five to fifty five in
the twister G- was that a four?

Because it shot straight up like a five if it returned that far down the tree line, thats why
Im still alive.

But whats in my way skills?

Skills got me?

JAM

First Im out, then Im in Its a JAM

How much rap could a jam rapper rap if a jam rapper could jam rap?

I got skills
Skill got kill

Kills gets me

Skills fret free

I was fifty feet in before I knew what was happening.

Seeing triple double from a prank out acid dose, I rode in.

I was in The Lincoln Tunnel.

A stolen bike my ride stolen with pride wiped free of serial numbers and repainted sky blue
oh.

Five.

Oh.

Not by my hand she rode true.

With five points in oh swivel sweet sight sore and tight oh a seat from some low riding thug,
an awkward beach cruiser bars muck on a high frame that moved her smooth.

No turning back now, just fucking MOVE!

Cars come at me with a twelve inch walk that barely holds my turns if I want to adjust.

There's no turning back, I'm in it straight through.

Half blind and scared whit less let's just get fucking through!

He's doing 80, another 85, OH.

That limo coming up at me had better not take a dive.

I swerved in a panic, head against the wall, soot gathering thick, not standing tall.

This is fucked!

I say to the cop just passing uselessly by.

5-0 Just ride on motherfucker, you arent going to die!

Three town cars later, one caught my coattails, hits my jacket up tight to my hip, and
thankfully on the accelerator before I lost my grip.

This shit is tighter than Mother Mary's pussy on the day the man died.

That's tight if you know, I don't know.

Ride!

I got a five point oh in grade school.

Make it a good one.

Nowhere to hide!

That car changes lanes and pushes the wind from whom he moved out and I'm pinned.

Can't see the end, don't want to look back, dirty filthy hands and my face is turning black!

Then I go around and its time for a break, a curve, a halfway point.

Round a funny sidewalk which oddly enough was camp for some schmuck.

Im not running that hard, it's only a buck!

Zip.

Trip.

Slip.

Dip.

Flip.

Nip.

Tuck and run.

Wandering and wondering in a wonderful cry , clueless as to if patrol's jelly jelly!sgoing

to send one more by.

Nothing they can do until it's over, as I fry.

A very careful thrill but I can't live here, move on.

I picture my fall and wonder how fast that Mercedes will kill me as he moves through my
ass.

You don't fucking move, you going to freeze up.

Create a closed off scene like a sick little pup.

I don't care, I just ride, I'm tripping and spinning and fucked up beyond belief

Yeah I be frying so hard.

I'm seeing trailers in the headlights afar, the dust cloud is choking me free from the walls
with God knows what inside of their jaws.

Some fucking closed gateway like all of them in my past, probably dead end.

Camera's galore, It's visible they'll send.

Now I'm nervous.

How hard is THAT going be?!

"How the fuck do I know?! Let me go free!"

Stop looking for the end and hug the motherfucking brick, it makes them feel safe and not
stopping to stick and stall, If some fucking blind grandmother who shouldn't at all not be
driving, not prudent, causes a ten car pileup it's not going to matter if I'm fucking still
alive!

It's sick fucking fun at this motherfucking point, I made it this far, I need a victory joint.

There's a light, it's ahead, its definitely far.

I'm pissed off and tired and hoping this tar thats coating my body causes some toxic haze.

I hope I never get to do this again, one of these days!

It isnt hard like their passing in victory laps saying Holy SHIT!

That's a rider, and he's almost passed!

I'm black as death and covered in soot, afraid my breath will cause my foot to stutter and
stagger and swerve at the end.

Zip, dip, flip, trip, slip, grip, rip, and fuck, stick it in the air.

At this point if they stop me, I have no way to send myself home, not that I have one son.

Unbelievable shit, please leave me alone.

How do I end up in this shit?

I'm not fully grown, UP yeah, or PEAKED yet that will be fun!

Tell the 5-0 "I'm thrilled, nice to meet you and nice fucking gun."

But I'm tripped out and stupid and that might not be fun.

Ride on motherfucker, you don't look like a jerk.

How many can say on this very day that THEY took this ride, not many I PRAY!

Then it's over, a release, a wide swatch of grass.

Rolling like a dog to relieve my ass.

The grass is black, but I am intact.

Sweet Jesus, look where you're going you dumb fucking ass!

There is one way in.

There is one way out.

Do it again for fun?

I BET YOU, NOT!

I'm not that stupid.

But I just rode hot.

Through The Lincoln Tunnel baby, I made it, FREE AND ALIVE!
I don't know why, but they left me alone.

As naked and vulnerable as I was, there was no charge filed and no disturbance caused.

The things that passed, us and them, we all stayed alive, OZENOZ and Them and me and
hey, trip on tripper!

Just know

It wasn't my time to go

In through the outdoor

Or out through the indoor

I got kills

Kills got me

Make me dead and set me free

Make me dead and set me free

Make me dead and set me free

Make me dead and set me free

If curiosity will kill this cat nine times in a row, I am still dead, but yet I flow

I got skills

Skills got me

Went to the doctor

Who did I see

The man in the yellow cheese head brats that

The monkey in the wrench

The boy in his stockings

The right away bench

The string on the play

The pass gone away

The right passed in fright

The night passed away

I got skills

Skills got me

Went back home

Who did I see

The man in the hat

Taking a cat time nap

Drinking on cat nip

Smoking on that tip

Plans just came awry

But still I fly

I got skills

Skill got me

Went to the dealer

He fronted me

A very little card

With a name on the top

It said you got had

Now tell your sob

I got skills

Skills got me

I got kills

Kills got me

Odds are from two to the head from chasing skills you wind up dead

Just No one

Just Know ONE

TWO TO THE HEAD!

One For two.

Two to the head!

4.) The Saint

Long blank spaces on the line

Just before she arrives in time

Photos taken

And memories breaking messages that just dont seem to get through

And others in order out of the fold to cover the cold

The sold

The old fools gold

The saint

She be she was too true

Could be by that she admitted every time

And if I knew then what I know now

You Id say buried both of them In a suicide tomb

Misdirected to say the least

Call waiting clicks on every beep

My EZ Tip calculator says your two cents

Give a rate

And come to your sense

EZ Tip two

Never call it a dub

Play it and own the guest with a shove

Hard drive erasure night after night

From a remote desktop gave me a fright

But not of my saint

She isnt that quaint

How bout the phone gets wiped from pokes

In the chin to my news anchor daddy

And to give you a grin

Put Obama and your director up on her top

The desktop- was wiped the store front

A mop

Where is the love

Right here not for you

But thanks for the prep

For this little tune

My saint, she accepts it

But shes just one coming from Us and us

No man on the run

You meddled and said old things unkind

To no worthy purpose except this

Rewind

KYW

News time

Wont put me in truce

I know a dirty

I know a dirty agent

The saint could peruse

Does it burn you

Does that hurt

Does that pump action gauge shotgun get one on the tee

Or your sick threesome and a new

Backup assistance for me

Call your new numbers for me

Called Mom and Dad and told them The Departed just got their thrill

Rats Im prepared
Not spent or ill

Aired.

Thanks to the saint who made it true.

Me.

And not you.

Maybe I got soft and youre trying to make me hard

Maybe you think Im gay and this faggit should spawn

Maybe youre having too many periods all in a row

But your ellipsis eclipses my desolation row

At the moment Im having fun

So let me see

Put it all down in time

With a twenty two seized

On gracias

Your out of line and Im going to make sure they know it

Then Ill party line and tell them to stow it

Im a saint to you

Youre the saint turning blue

You need backup assistance with new numbers

You ask

Im the saint

Dont forget it or they forget you

Pleased to thank you

Unwarranted to testify

Killer thriller waiting in the woodlands to do more than bite my ear off

For a facial, a pedicure, a massage

Four scores and twelve years since IT made me go To Mentally Ill Anonymous dot A-I-M yo
Til we see no more I have to go for whom

Your out of line and

Im going to

Make sure they know it

Then Ill party line and tell them to stow it

Im a saint to you youre the saint turning blue

You need backup assistance with new numbers

You ask Im the saint

Dont forget it or they forget you

This is the end

My only friend

The end

Good for me and good for you

Good for us and them and you know who.

I HOPE.

5. CATCH 22

I may have claimed it to be shut open

For key and lock under lock and key

But it's always been open shut

ALL THE DOORS

ALL THE ROOMS

PRACTICALLY THE WHOLE HOUSE

IN RARE PERFUMES

If my lucky number seven matches lucky number eight

Then I may be traveling too far

Scar the car and it's far from smoking tar laying down the rubber as I am

Spin them fast spin them hard spin them long spin the short spin the song

It's not a spin

And I'm not spun

Accept for ONE

Muslims for Jews for Jesus for Satan! Call (555) 666-1-3-1-3! That's (555) 666-1-3-1-3!
Muslims for Jews for Jesus for Satan! Boom...Ta!!! It's a sick lick event Are you cycling
yet? Boom...Ta!!! It's a sick lick event Are you cycling yet? Boom...Ta!!! Peace, peace...Old
traditions...New Revelations...and Fuck It's (Boom...Ta!!!) A sick lick event are you cycling
yet? (Tin can microphone)

"You have told me What you are doing is a dead end And you're giving it your all..."

Boom Ta!!! Hum du Allah peanut butter sandwiches Pass the wine and wafers! Fuck IT!

Time on the run

And gigs in the sky

And pieces of the American Pie

I got kills
Before kills got me

Screaming kills me

Kills me Kills me

Kills me

Make me dead

Set my head

Above your lead

Graphite

Well of blackness

I will invite

Only for two - two

How much wood could a wood chuck suck if a wood chuck could suck wood?Poor little
fella. Probably rests his head on some faggot at the end of the day and says I suck, but I still
got mighty big teeth though

So two - two to the head

Take the faggot to bed, our woodchuck friend

How much chuck could an upchuck chuck if I really could upchuck I would

For pennies on the dollar

I almost ended up chewing on wood

Just to keep my choppers clean

Bought this fresh tasting faggot at the nearby Islamic Market

Got a mouth on me don't I?

I just sucked, and he said you can have it

That one's one on sale today, he said with a smile

Fucking rip tip dripping in tip and fresh beetle sipped touch of nit pick shit like I didn't
want to throw a fit about cause I'm sucking on the faggot remember?It cleans my teeth out

It's just wood people

You know what I mean

Like, got milk? Got cheese? Got bread? Got butter? Got these?Got wood?Muslims for
Jews for Jesus for Satan! Call (555) 666-1-3-1-3! That's (555) 666-1-3-1-3! Muslims for
Jews for Jesus for Satan! Boom...Ta!!! It's a sick lick event Are you cycling yet?
Boom...Ta!!! It's a sick lick event Are you cycling yet? Boom...Ta!!! Peace, peace...Old
traditions...New Revelations...and Fuck It's (Boom...Ta!!!) A sick lick event are you cycling
yet? (Tin can microphone) "You have told me What you are doing is a dead end And you're
giving it your all..." Boom Ta!!!

Hum du Allah peanut butter sandwiches Pass the wine and wafers! Fuck IT! What's up
woodchuck, couldn't if I tried to

Rob that nice Islamic man

Before he tells me who died

By sucking on his faggot

Before paying for it

But ONE - ONE shot, what I got in the rot fought full of hot muck and woe, it's good for
my teeth KNOW?Lets cut to the point, know

Our woodchuck friend isn't doing anything wrong

He just runs around gnawing on faggots all day long

You keep gnawing on them faggots woodchuck

You just keep gnawing on them faggots

Hear your a mighty good tongue twister too

Till you get to head two from whom is hunting you

Not a trouble maker, just prey

Somebodies meal in less than a day

Yes, that is it is the wiz business fizz dis the risen jazz

Geezer the lumberjack and I'm a key you dumb fucking ass

So timber ho that timber

Who no, don't go you two - to owe, it's slow the flow with the blow of the cruise control and
die in the passenger seat KNOW?

But not before our lumberjack friend turns up the heat

Muslims for Jews for Jesus for Satan! Call (555) 666-1-3-1-3! That's (555) 666-1-3-1-3!
Muslims for Jews for Jesus for Satan! Boom...Ta!!! It's a sick lick event Are you cycling
yet? Boom...Ta!!! It's a sick lick event Are you cycling yet? Boom...Ta!!! Peace, peace...Old
traditions...New Revelations...and Fuck It's (Boom...Ta!!!) A sick lick event are you cycling
yet?

(Tin can microphone) "You have told me What you are doing is a dead end And you're
giving it your all..."

"Well, that's a horse of an entirely different color. Why didn't you say so? Come on in!"

6.) The Missing Peace

Im in without one and on without in

So Ill write a new one, for the album for fun, its time on the run and gigs in the sky And
takes a bigger piece of the American pie I took just one under the sun butIts a sin, so
listen up hon, Im as and us as in as an is and is and was cause oz is isnt an ass in ass as in
hes just your cuz cause he aint a was cause, because of the wonderful things he does its a
wiz wiz zing wicked ticket dick it way way over the top to the land of us and us its not. Us
and us and Eminem and after all, were only ordinary men. You only get one shot, he gets
tenbillion.

The alcohol of shame finalizes my deal once again.

Im sterilized, cauterized, no fucking prize, they all surmise so off to the funny farm to my
surprise.R.N.s in minis and coping with my own fuck dynasty, I mean fuck fantasies, I
mean Duck Dynasty Final Fantasy Freedom for Fuck Faces against Faggots at the Fillmore
East the following fucking Thursday didnt free the forensic freeloaders faking orgasms
with their produce and fingering four eyed floozies for the foraging of their foot odor
before I got another food order.But, I lie to everyone, everywhere, every day, in every way,
whatever the pay, because I cant say that truth will get me play and stay to shave and by
the bay gay radar good god I need to get better gay there not to mention a new car I have
none so far flying under the limbo bar fly by night kind of lifestyle I live.My life is like a
fifty/ fifty, fifty percent dog day dazed and confused, and fifty percent cats in the cradle
with no silver spoon. But different strokes for different folks, I get no money when my
Daddy croaks. Half the time I lie like a dog. I bury my bone wherever I roam and dig in
more trash than I can hone.

Weve got lubed, ribbed, one rib of Adam and two for the jib, coming about, your too
twisted, take my seed and shove it, flavored, unflavored, savory wedding night tips, thrust
alone from the hips, if you do that Ill lose my shit, you have a nice ass and at least one tit,
Hoover Dam Reservoir tipped, versions for the smaller dick, different colors, different
virus killing kinds for paranoid mothers, pleasure building, and we promise you just
thatbuildings of pleasure. And if theyre not sure what kind, weve got a chart, for their
dick to measure. So what do you say?

But anyway. Buy today and youll get a free key chain lube packet eh, good for a quickie
and sure to fire up a hick eve! Nun of this, nun of that, nun of the above, nun below, nun
besides, and nun to go, nun for you and nun for me, and nun for a father to make him
happy.Lifes a bitch and then you die, so pay your taxes on the sly and always super size the
fries. The Missing Piece

Sue me who me whos perfect, so thats what its worth The Missing Piece

Its fucking superbly super perfect and thats bigger than her The Missing Piece

She may take up your life And most of your greed But fuck her over and lose her And
whats left of your creed

The Missing Piece

No matter what, Im taking the spot.

I havent changed my spots. When Im on the spot, I break out in spots.

Im all lit up, and spotty is in the passenger side asking for my fries on the side. Spotty, this
is your Captain speaking. Beam me up, spotty. Call and get Cocks today! Cocks on
demand! COCKS in a bundle! We love our COCKS. Cocks has the rumble. In the jungle,
no bungle, or tongue hole to save the saliva you savor sipping through straws I but say: No
offense to those cock it he cock it he cocked the COCKS the cocks has the FOX round the
clocks for all that sucks in your socks out of the docs, sipping wine in a box with the locks
and the rocks and just say no talks when she knocks out your jocks watching like hawks
cause its all on your FOX for watching your COCKS motherfuckers. Ive been too drunk
to drive, too drunk to walk, too drunk to stand, too drunk to sit, too drunk to talk, believe
it or not, but too drunk to fuck?

The Missing Piece

Sue me who me whos perfect, so thats what its worth The Missing Piece

Its fucking superbly super perfect and thats bigger than her The Missing Piece

She may take up your life And most of your greed But fuck her over and lose her And
whats left of your creed

Its emitted, admitted, taken back ward, refitted, admitted the shame you acquitted me
sane to release the remitted, like an idea, this crime, give me six up! Tao, the line, spinning
faded and hated, delegated, degraded, the tainted love you created, infiltrated, and made it
easy to be what I made it, and shit I paid it the time, should have been you killer fine, but
you turn water to wine, so with this mic may I find! Yeah bitches. Us and us I is and is a wiz
for the show and this this the dis disinterested fizz who is in the biz and is an ass for an ass
and an eye for a booth, so show me where the fucking studios at for truce! Us and us is
barely living today. Alright Im running overtime, over prime and overweight.

Not to hate, just clean my plate. Im all done.

Now dont hate. Relate. Congratulate. Dont be late on your b rate to berate Ill still
delineate the delinquent goodbyeman oh man am I motherfucking high

Just to cover all my bases, on my aces, the traces of your faces stays is on my stasis and this
space isnt free but I am so do me Later! And thank you, fuck you, good game and good
luck you and two to the fucking head bitches!

Two to the motherfucking head.

Peace! Peace!
"I have been in some stage of commitment 37 times. I am not speaking about being
engaged. I have only ever been engaged to ONE. "

7. Broken
Cries out in the night that it's passing him byHe just can't seem to find a real good reason
whyGuess it's only in dreams he can take off and flySeems so real he can taste it he just has
to tryAnd he says:
I have been brokenWords have been spoken I am in hellPlease break this spell
It's the way that she left him he really can't getHe feels like the loser an untimely betTime
together meant nothing it's really that setYet the truth bears a child that he still hasn't met
And he says:
I have been brokenWords have been spokenI am in hellPlease break this spell
Walking down that road
Never knowing never knowing
Where it goes (2x)
One more turn at the wheel that is still spinning round
He just knows he can fly, yet his feet touch the ground
Where the music is boundless insanities found
Binds the deal, seals the fate around which IT is wound
And he says:
I have been broken
Words have been spoken
I am in hell
Please break this spell

8.) Sorry Goodbye

You found yourself today

I don't know what to say
Maybe I do, just to be true
To the one you wouldn't stop through
ADieu!
Sorry Goodbye
Sorry Goodbye
Sorry Goodbye
Sorry for you
Took all of yours
Took all of mine
Took after hours
Took out a fine
So maybe I'm through
What do I say to you?
Sorry Goodbye
Sorry Goodbye
Sorry Goodbye
Sorry for you...

You've left me two too far

Sorry Goodbye

9. GOODBYE LOVE

What can stand the test of time

Only time itself

Time will tell

As time it does

Time and time again

Goodbye love

Built to last

We still hold fast

Our lovin not fade away

Where'd the time go?

Is it that time?

Time enough for love today...

What can stand the test of time?

Only time itself

Time will tell

As time it does

And so I say
Goodbye love
Goodbye hearts blood sweat and tears

Goodbye lines I've heard for years

Goodbye honestly, goodbye just goodbye

That's on sale today

And I'll ask the clerks

Take two

Goodbye us

Goodbye you

Time after time I ask myself

Where does it end?Does it land on a shelf?Do we make it around the bend?Do people read
it and cry?Or love as they die?I know you did.

Goodbye hearts blood sweat and tears

Goodbye lines I've heard for years

Goodbye honestly, goodbye just goodbye

That's on sale today

And I'll ask the clerks

Take two

Goodbye you

What can stand the test of time

Only time itself

Time will tell

As time it does
Time and time again

Goodbye love

Built to last

We still hold fast

Our lovin not fade away

Where'd the time go?Is it that time?Time enough for love today...

10.) Crystal Ball

I having been using you for quite some time now.

I have decided that these things need to come to an end
You don't need me to use you
And generally speaking, using is a bad way of going about things
This is the end, fair demon
The end of
The pain in my heart
The pain in my head
The pain in my mouth
The pain in my crotch
And my crotch gone south
Hell of a disease I'm catching with you
Bet you put a spin on it I never knew
There are only two times you have ever been my friend
One was the beginning
AND ONE IS THE END
In the beginning you gave me your word to do what you promised
And then told me the sickest of all
I am only your friend, though you may think you love me
I am going to kill you
AND YOU WON'T BE LYING AROUND ANYMORE
In the end you told me once again that you do as you promised
And that you weren't dishonest
You were just you being used by me
Through extraordinary circumstances that came to being
And so I have to say
On no given day will I ever understand your presence
Or why you choose to show up
Once the best of times
Once the worst of times
Once the beginning of times
Once the end of times
Once apoun a time
Once more it could be mine
Our time's run out
Mine is too short
Yours I can't say
Mine is your sport
You play the time
As if time were no objec t
You play my mind as if it's finds were your project
I'm here still somehow through all of this
You haven't fooled me, that is not amiss
And neither are you
You're right down the hall
Right over me
Right below me
Right next to me
Right inside of me
Right outside of where I mean to be
Right where you feel at home
That isn't love
You were wrong
And my days not so short which I couldn't tell you in this song
Once the best of times
Once the worst of times
Once the beginning of times
Once the end of times
Once apoun a time
Once more it could be mine
Our time's run out
Mine is too short
Yours I can't say
Mine is your sport
You play the time
As if time were no objec t
You play my mind as if it's finds were your project
It was good living with you
Peeking behind the window and the doors
Searching for signs of life
And maybe when I'm dead you'll come drip on my grave
Put more ice in my heart
And fill the writing they'll save
With it's gone
Without it's cost
With IT I'm gone
Without IT I'm cost
In you I'm gone
In me I'm cost
How much for that dog
The ONE in the window?
Doesn't he have pretty smile
We can watch as dim go the dim go the lights
And the power goes out
Heart's not in it anymore
Is that a pounding in my head
Or a pounding at the door
So I ask you why
Do I ask to try
If in the chapter I just wrote
I said one thing is key, the title of this
Other people's smoke will kill me
I got an AC/DC bag full this is me and shut up
I got an ex - con come villain
With a lot of goods he can stuff
Down my throat because of you
Or maybe just for you
Your not that good
Or at least you weren't
Haven't been
Shouldn't known these things
Or the way you make me behave
So I promise you this
Now that I know you are not my friend
And keep me far from my lover
Not far down the bend
You're as cold as ice
And you act like it too
As if the air around here
Showed like it's true
I've got the chills
But if I put you in too much heed
I've got the sweats
But you're cold dear, indeed
You play my mind as if it's finds were your project
I'm here still somehow through all of this
You haven't fooled me, that is not amiss
And neither are you
You're right down the hall
Right over me
Right below me
Right next to me
Right inside of me
Right outside of where I mean to be
Right where you feel at home
That isn't love
You were wrong
And my days not so short which I couldn't tell you in this song
Once the best of times
Once the worst of times
Once the beginning of times
Once the end of times
Once apoun a time
Once more it could be mine
Our time's run out
Mine is too short
Yours I can't say
Mine is your sport
You play the time
As if time were no objec t
You play my mind as if it's finds were your project
It was good living with you
Peeking behind the window and the doors
Searching for signs of life
And maybe when I'm dead you'll come drip on my grave
Put more ice in my heart
And fill the writing they'll save
With it's gone
Without it's cost
With I'm gone
Without I'm cost
In you I'm gone
In me I'm cost
How much for that dog
The ONE in the window?
Doesn't he have a pretty smile?
And We can watch as dim go the dim go the lights
And the power goes out
Heart's not in it anymore
Is that a pounding in my head
Or a pounding at the door
Go away
You're not welcome anymore
Don't ask for my hand
Not even ONE
In salutations

11. I Am On My Way

When you are on your way

I will know we are on our way

I have to get to you

Cause you are on my way

It can't be true, I can only love it

We are all the way

All the way is the night I will spend

On, it, up, us, two, two defend

Because I know

When she is on her way

You'll be on your way in that way

You are in your way never mine

I promise you

I am on my way

Only for you two, two

I promise you

I am on my way only for you two, two

If there was only one person in the world, I would want it to be you. Your voice caresses my
ears and soothes my fears, lifts my cheer and chases away tears You are my every dream
come true Just know unto you I will always hold near You, my dear are the light of my life,
what makes my hope take flight You give me your love and in its unceasing quality I find
the joy In living my life You are the reason I go on, the words to my song and the
soundtrack of my life And I want you forever at ONE to be my wife We are my home May
it never roam And be always on our way As we go on And on...

When you are on your way

I will know I am on my way

I have to get to you

Cause you are on my way

It can't be true, I can only love you

You are all the way

All the way is the night I will spend

On, it, up, us, two, two defend

Because I know

When we are on our way

You'll be on your way in that way

You are in your way never mine

I promise you
We are on our way

Only for us.

When we are on our way

I will know I am on my way

I have to get through

Cause we are on the way

It can't be true, I can only love us

We are all the way

All the way is the night we will spend

On, it, up, us, two, two defend

Because we know

When you are on your way

We'll be on our way in that way

You are in your way never mine

I promise you I am on my way

Only for you two, two

One for three..

I promise you I am on my way only for you

I promise you

I am on my way only for you

I promise you

I am on my way only for you

Let's promise us we are on our way for all of us

One - two -three- four!

We ARE ON OUR WAY... ONE two, ONE two...

12. Tell

Hi
High
Can you tell
Lough
Low
Can you tell?
The way Im livin
Could not open the door
The way youre givin
Could have told you no more
Ill stand
And
Youll land
And well see it
The open road comes in the doorway
Puts the bottle up
Slams it down
And Ill write
And youll see
And Ill say
Hi
The way Im livin
Could not open the door
The way youre givin
Could have told you no more
The ways of sinning
The apple doesnt fall far from the tree
No more giving to the right for the wrong
A little fight just put in a song
Can you tell?
Can you tell?
Tell me?
Narrator: It's What? It's an art flick, exactly.

Queensland- 4/4/2013 Dusk on the badlands

Dead Dingo. The ants surround it and eat away at it along with some other types of insects. A

large spider twitches its legs free nearby of the insects climbing amongst them. The ants are

shown more closely, and then followed in their trail underground in the dry dusty ground. The

narrow walkway of the ants marching in a line falling over each other as they carry their parcels

to their underground home opens to reveal a tunnel dimly lit with bare bulbs cheaply wired.
Nearby a worker in a brown coverall pulls a heavy crate to the side of the wooden brace holding

the nearest turn in the tunnel. He grimaces in pain, and says solemnly in aboriginal language

poor fellow at the pile of ants falling in from their feed.

Worker 1: ngaarrabang

The narrator pipes in: Once, at a time I thought Id lose my name for awhile. Figured Id go by

Wind Way.

Worker 2: What's the Wind Way?

Worker 3: There. See ya!

Narrator: Of course things dont always work out as planned, and I had to obtain some legal

verification for my gun license. Cant be wandering the saloons at night without the proper

effects. A rusty nail and two wire gun holders later I applied for the name change. Hang that one

on your wall, but dont forget your gun in introductions. I thought about just naming my laptop,

but rusty nails corrupted me and lest I cut back on tattoos and break out the mothballs early I said

what the heck.

Worker one: Thats obscene!

Worker two: What?

Worker three: Exactly.

New York City- Brooklyn- Temple Doors- 4/5/2013 7:34 PM

Hasidic Jew at the Temple stairs mounts his Harley Davidson with a sack full of groceries which

he throws hastily in the luggage compartment.

Hasidic Jew: Its tomorrow again. He smiles to himself.

A nearby wandering nun pipes in:

Nun 1: Well thats news!

Nun 2: Oy vey for the Jew.

Hasidic Jew: Theres only one today. Have a good one.

Narrator: Yesterday all my troubles were floating in the Hudson River right next to the smelliest

batch of trash I could have caught on my line. But thats neither here nor there, I threw it away.

Ive always loved what Ive caught with the exception of the flu I had last winter, but this was

extraordinary. There she was, dead as a doornail. Lovely thing. I would have took her home, but

she certainly couldnt sing at this point.

A woman in a bright pink dress floating face first bobs along the tide next to a small barge. It

pushes her out of the way as a hook comes into play to haul her onto a police boat. Its spotlight

drowns out the entire scene with a wide sweeping arc.

Narrator: I had seven up before my six up, and she was face up sometime before sunup so I had

to wait for the cruiser patiently, but not uncomfortably.

Policeman 1: Dont overkill.

Policeman 2: Just kill the light.

NYPD Homicide Detective: Vague and featureless. The fish got her eyes already. She wont be

looking back, whoever you are.

Policeman 1: Water log is gross.

NYPD Homicide Detective: Pinkest log I ever saw.

He pops a twinkie in his mouth.

Policeman 2: More like a log then she started yesterday. Judging by the tide, and her condition, I

am full of absolute distaste for my job.

Policeman 1: Twinkie?

Policeman 2: What?

Narrator: We must make a plot map soon. Disjointed events lead to dismemberment, or at least

bad recollection. Ill fill you in.

Little boy by the riverside in a hushed whisper: She was murdered!

Little girl: Theyve got twinkies!

Narrator: She was murdered.

The Twelve Brothers Grim

"Sex, drugs, money, murder...it's not what you make it's what you keep." -OZENOZ

This is a simple tale, one I could not possibly relate without telling you exactly as it came to me.
I do not know for sure if it really happened, or for that matter if it has become well repeated
enough to have been recorded by someone else somewhere else.
This is the tale of a group of young men, all trained assassins, some trained in different forms of
surgery to deal with wounds. Some trained in ancient arts of body preservation, from which their
esteemed leaders remains keep them reminded of their roots.

Something about the boiling of the blood, the firing of the tongue, the thickening of the fat, the
baking of the organs, specifically liver and brain and kidney, and a general overall adjustment
which will keep them much the same as any undertaker would do for you in days of Old
Testament, if you were a King.

But these things in this tale are neither here nor there. These things played no part in this of
which I sing. This was a general disagreement on what should have been a routine hit. On
myself. That comes later.

But see the six foot three, pale faced oaf whom they sent to do the job this witching hour in
March, grew teary eyed and weepy when he set his eyes on my soon to be bod later on when it
was his to do the job again on me.

I had been a passer bye in the night of a downtown hit. Two of these trained assassins were to
take out a shopkeeper who had far beyond measure stayed in bad standing with not only Cryps,
and Bloods (not that there are many of them local), but with the Mexicans, yes Cartel, and the
general purveyors of organization of the elitist underworld as they view themselves.

These two, as I say, well trained assassins swept past me in the night. I unfortunately from the
scene understood immediately what was happening, as they were dressed for stealth, and really
nearly quite invisible in their movements, had I not been highly trained myself and honed from
near six months of veritable street combat I probably would have remained unawares.

And so it was then that I was forced to make a decision. Was I to ignore the death of one coming,
and then suddenly done, and the calling cards left asunder as they took him away not, but
themselves went on the run.
When I observed the beat, I pounded out my own. I knew approximately where this tall, gainly,
pale faced killer had run. To keep it quaint and not go too far into what are for most people
details which stretch the limits of one's ability to believe, I had him apprehended, though as later
I learned, when the remains went unturned, only for a weekend.

The other in the meantime, the backup man and safety net of this plan had also now become
aware of me and what I had done.

I quickly surveyed my surroundings, and unfortunately very unlearned in the traditional

trappings left on such a deed, gathered something from quite near the scene I felt I was in need.

Several blocks later, back against a wall, feeling the other party out there, well not so much
feeling, as seeing him slip in the between streets blocks away, slowly closer and closer to where I
lay in wait. Feeling there was nothing better to do than to but get my strength up, I opened this
package I had picked up. It was a completely fresh twelve or thirteen dollar salad with beautiful
Roma Tomatoes cut in shapes and adorning, and also what I went for FIRST unfortunately.

Moments later I was spitting on the ground what I now feared for my life in diseases, brain lost
in a cloud of the taste of rotted flesh and meat. This was not of the kind you typically would
expect to find on a fresh salad. There is nothing like the taste of human flesh. It is not something
one can mistake, or forget. This was of the boiled blood, blackened tongue, baked liver and
kidney and brain, preserved leadership mummification type left by these near Satanist rituals as a
marking and a sacrifice that the leader had seen over the taking of one for the preserving of them
all. They left a piece of him as they stood tall.

I feared I would never get the taste out of my mouth, my throat, my tongue swelling, I could taste
it creeping down my esophagus, and threatening to plant itself in my intestines.

It was then that I noticed two blues of the uniform variety posted at a nearby station. I very
simply walked up, introduced myself as an occasional horror writer, and told them of what I had
found. Seeing fit no reason to mention the unmentionable prior events as things were rapidly
changing around me quite obviously, I simply retreated to my full intestinal dissent. They were
quite nice about it, really.

It was then that they pulled away, splitting in two different directions in their cars. It was also
then that I saw him again. He was fleeing his hidden sheltered spot in a nearby complex. I knew I
had no choice but to face him head on. He was tall, skinny, and black as night. He held a rather
bony looking Marlboro light in his left, dangling from the past twenty minutes of scaling and
fleeing and scurrying so as not to be seen. I walked directly up to him, and in the silence between
us, lit my lighter and held it aloft. He inhaled deeply, nodded and walked on.

It was a few weeks later that the more eventful summation of this story unfolded.

As I said, the decision was made that I had interfered, and could not be left undone.

But when the time came for the man to do the deed, he indeed found that he liked me.

He had been learning my ways and my paths, and my associations, and my habits, and my skills,
and , and generally the things you have to know before you kill someone. And he found that he
liked me, the bastard! HE COULDN'T DO IT.

From the depths of my jaded mind I will call forth the rest of this tale as it came to me on a
source I will leave unnamed.

Cracking up, feeling unfit, questioning his lifestyle, this panicking Cryp fled back to the house
where they all dwelt.

On arriving, he unlocked with his brothers key the suitcase which held a weapon. He withdrew
the weapon, and moving to the next room, the family room of sorts, proceeded to blow his head
off.
His brother in the house, who had witnessed this very man doing open heart surgery on another
whom they had failed to save just days prior after a bad fight with another local sect, couldn't
take it, and followed suit.

Two down in the family room, and three walk in.

They immediately panicked and began to quarrel about who had done what and one thing led
another, and soon they were all shot from one another.

Hearing the unsilenced shots from another location in the house, the last of the twelve brothers
ran to the room. Seven more standing tall, ready for a fight to end it all burst into the room, guns
drawn high. Taking hardly note before they opened fire on the nigh laying torn and bloody on the
floor scattered about. Ricocheting gunshots filled the room as their rapid reprecussions laid it all
out in a large boom boom. Pieces of flesh flying from leaders young, yes not too old, soon all of
the brothers lay around dying from what I haven't told. And never will, mind you. Yes, as they
entered, the downed wounded had begun to open up fire again, and again, and again and this was
the final of all battles, this other bloody battle which ensued. To the end of this tale I have to say,
they were quite good at what they do, and they all lay slain.

Lastly, in the backyard, the old man with the shovel, threw it in a heap, and promptly died of a
heart attack.

I say I know not of what these men have known, but I do not fear their leader anymore, that's a

taste that I've outgrown.

The Cracked Cop

No the cop wasn't actually a cryp. I could tell it was a recent death by the constant steady nasal
drip. NO, not so recent eh?! Took awhile to get this one over the way.

In the pitch black darkness in behind came the constant pick and gavel of a shovel as it grabbed
some gravel. A little dirt thrown wide, another pick, another slide. A few feet in, I wondered how
far they would bury him, or her under.

I couldn't tell if it was a he or a she, the cop you see, one of those transit authority types scowling
at me, wondering if I was indeed the type. Cool in a glazen glare, hiding some longer hair, eyes
wandering but not quite in back, as if this grave digging was nothing attention should attract.

But I wasn't sure you know, maybe this one was just really nuts, kind of like me.

He or she mumbled something this cop in response to a question I'd asked abpout the last trolley
and when it would stop. Trying not to be too loud, as if they'd cover the noise. Not many toys on
the belt I noticed.

Yes, I indeed figured Spun Valley had claimed a victim done in of means as was all about the
syptoms of this area.

Must have a hired a cryp, I could tell the well done rewiring to take out the local smell. That
creeping death odiferous of Hell. Just a little joke there, but that light doesn't seem to work
really well. Flicking and flicking as if it was a light, not a hard job, this man had some might.
About six one or six two by the scattering of the debris from the shovel now three feet under.
Seems it is gonna stop there, maybe, I thought. Made me kind of nervous, and I moved on.

The following night at the exact same time, being not very relevant to the victims dying time, say
the last run on the trolley line again, it was the cracked cop at this stop and I. This night I was not
prepared for what would come of the nigh.

This time it had only taken a day. It had taken its toll already, this one had snapped, no longer
sane

In an abbreviated description of what had come before, I had been in a long and desperate
agonizing emotional war with my very own lover, who lives quite nearby...there with our baby
daughter siiting in her parents car on the side.

The cracked cop had felt the need to run to someone near the stair, warded off another, prowled
around us as if to smother us in his or her attention, I'm still not sure.
You see it was about five past noon, when years before, I had seen a ghost who had warned me
of gore. In this very spot a local legend from before the laws time. At first I was surprised, he
really got around huh? Then I felt silly and awestruck and dumb.

He never made a move as if in haste, he paid me great mind and showed off his great taste. Still
unbelieving my eyes, as believeable as they seemed, this Wyatt Earp reenacted the later nights
scene. He tapped at his hip, though not at his gun, at something concealed just above his bun.
KInd of staggered for a moment, thought twice and didn't. Looked kind of womanly to me and I
chuckled, and he didn't.

Then he got lost in a glazed over eyes glare ina golden glory I could see he could see past his
whole unfolding story. Then he, finally, came across the way, and a whole different scene seemed
to be in sway. One of another century. He tipped his hat as he got very near, and IN swear I felt
his jacket brush my hip right after that tip as he moved past to the rear and disappeared.

When I left my love and our little one behind, I found that the cracked cop had decided earlier to
climb. The cop had broken down some branches now strewn about, or perhaps carried them up.
Either way, he immediately moved swiftly now I could see it was out of being unsure that I was
not a threat and I'm not sure what for.

Leaning against the post, me beside the bench, the cracked cop teetered and tottered and
chuckled and snorted and started like a startled wench wrenched free of her formerly attracted
clenched clutch of clean intent. The cop ripped his or her cap off, and half shouted at me, then
made a move like a punch, and dropped their hand to his or her key.

Still not sure why the belts missing anything like a gun, I amusingly observed, definitely no gun
there I thought with a schwerve. Deciding to play fate a higher toll, and perhaps get my foot in
the door to play a role, I took my fresh pack of smokes and as I approached the gate to the back
where I was to toke, remembered this was where the grave was dug just the prior night. I pulled
one from my pack in the dark. I startled the shit out of this motherfucker by simply setting it
alight.

Practically running, making strange fake Ninja moves the cracked cop grabbed for a pack in his
pocket and was instantly on the move. I couldn't hear the cryp I hadn't smelled the night before,
or atleast the grave digger I'll leave that in score.

The cop he fumbled nervously, desperately for a light, almost lighting more than one in haste,
and eyeing me for a fight. Then he began cracking thsese strange limbs from some foreign tree
nowhere in the area I'd noticed I could see. KIcking them ferociously, breaking them while
eyeing my limbs, obviously deranged behind hope, senseless to go on any further with this bloke.
But as I turned away it hit me, that cold feeling of the calculation of another, while I walked with
my back turned. The kicking had instantly stopped, and when I turned to look, toward me
bounced the cop.

So I wandered a ways down, not quite sure what to do. Noticed that the light went out as I passed
under it too. In fact the whole row had went out, and the whole of the trolley tracks and station
lay in my grim repair of doubt in darkness.

Just me and a cracked cop, male or female I am still not sure,as I couldn't tell and though what
for even in this situations seemingly seething starkness.

The Spun Street Terminal in the valley of Hell.

THen a really bad thing to do occured to me, maybe I should take another juant, smoke another
smoke, taunt another taunt.

As i moved on towards the cop I heard him utter these direct words:

"I killed. I killed them. These things kill. We'll kill you. I will."

Then he chuckled, or she, swiftly removing the cap quickly, leaning awkwardly, almost a bit of a
swagger, and then a small bit of stiffness as if the cracked cop had been poked in the back by a
dagger.

As I moved on down the row, I thought twice of this and now in the know, I said aloud in my
largest baritone pitch to project in unhitched fervor: "I see we have a miscreant. THat's fucking
great. That's ok I'm gonna smoke one. His secondhand smoke will kill me. I am the meaning
behind fortunate. I am pretty sure of it."

And as I puffed and puffed staring from behind the now rebuffed about five feet to be exact away
this was no longer a subtle stranger, with no weapons intact. A sheath I now saw visible tucked
neatly under his or her shirt. I could sense where the blade now lay and knew it could blight.
Very well concealed, I thought as he or she, the cracked cop sensed my eyes and of course
shifted to the right and moved off in the distance to the west.

This was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. I immediately cruched out the cigarette, trying
not to run. I had no weapon on me to defend myself, not even one.

Once again I searched for in solace in desperate woe, this one could do damage and get away
with a badge in tow.
I found the stations cameras, where, of course the lights were out, and then moved all the way
down the row where one single solitary saintly light still lay aglow. Moving directly onto the
boarding mat, I stood and waited and steamed and spat. I remained quite tediously there, in the
only spot anywhere that I was directly on camera til the train could return me to my hood in good
stamina.

I will be returning there often at the exact same time. I am not sure what I'll meet, or with who,
but I have now a fortune in good luck to eschew.

I will leave you with this, as it was told to me the next day.

On reading this to my lover on our bed as we lay, she turned to me and said with a sneer "Honey,
that was no cop, just a fake uniform to steer clear!

Far Away

You'd say

Just me and my children

And all of your wicked ways

Put us both to shame

I'll amend this anyway

Time is long

The road done traveled far

I've been alone with you x2

FAR

FAR AWAY times two times two

Farther than the ocean this fish ever knew

Farther away

Farther away farther away farther away farther away far away

From missing you

"Not Me"

Saying I love you hurts me

When you say it to that man

Or any others that have all been gone before

The one that right now holds your hand

Not me

Not ever again

Not now

Not forever

Not my plan

My plans run deeper than your love

For the one that calls me and says it's love when it's

Prayin every day now

Sometimes a little sometimes long

Can't take the time more than words was our song

Not wrong or even a little crazy for me

Just crazy on your love

I let you fool me

Forever, no not forever

Not ever

No not one

It's just me

"I Need You"

My watch tells the time

That gone far south

Is the warm orange set

The set sun

Clouds not as wet as my tears

And there is a flood

Coming around will be the time

They don't tell us

Steal our line

Put the call over the watch guards in checkin me and my old ways

That let them steal everything

If your message wasn't on the line

Maybe she could have gotten mine

I Need you now

I need you right now

I need you right now

All of you that's left in me

To be kind

All the times come to pass are one big mess

All the fine thieving of my heart is all you blessed

All the false lies the neckties in the past

Have all been sold by me to feed you by my own hands

Could have used a little sympathy

Could have used a lot more song

Could have seen you when you married me

I fear that that's forever gone

Blues

It's freezing in here

Keeps the pen cold

The pen you let me buy myself

While after your own old

Worn out tattered beat down way you are

When I've left you so many times

You're free to be with who you are

It's not me

I've been dreaming of all along

Its the friends I've missed

The band mates even they used up too many songs

Wrote this one for all the times you let me down

I hope I never find the winner in that round

Drinkin time

Drinkin time

The bottle holds me up

The water tastes just fine

The tap is clever

Runs me clean and through

The faucet of your love

Has washed me to the blues

Seeing Negative

Saw you in the mirror

Like Ive done a thousand times

Its not like Im counting

Not the days of our lives

Talked to my daughter

She handed it to your Mom

I hung up, dried out, deflated

Seeing negative

Wake up wake up wake up wake up

Time out

You emptied out my cup

Is that the reason why your wearing your make up

Im always seeing negative

Im always getting drunk

Youre the reason why I left

The whole damned thing alone

Youre the reason why this is so overblown

Youre the reason why

I am going it alone

Im always seeing negative

Im always overdrawn

Ive always never bottled up

You make it on your own

Make it up

The make up

Youre doing it alone

Im through your seeing negative

Negative alone

Inside Out

Im hard I would say

Seeing through your eyes

I need not appreciate you

You are just a lame disguise

It is over
Throw the roses in

Im on the outside looking in

At the inside looking out

So afraid that I am real

Until I fall away to nothing

Nothing is something though

You destroy what we built

I didnt

I wont

See I have been there before

Wrote this about me

Getting over you

Getting over one

Now I have just two

No more than words

Less than then Im on the outside looking in

At the inside looking out

So afraid that I am real

Until I fall away to nothing

Nothing is something though

You destroy what we built

I wont

Cause you did

ZEN

And then

And then

And then

And when

You send your love

That friend will shove

I lent my glove
To spend my jug

Pass the jug around

The brown liquid inside

Pour it down

I will feel like its zen I found

When will my zen just come around

The end is zen

Zen at the end

No more of this talk

Im talking cray cray

Walking around the things that you say

And that too

And that too

And that too

And that too

You send your love

That friend will shove

I lent my glove

To spend my jug

Pass the jug around

The brown liquid inside

Pour it down

I will feel like its zen I found

When will my zen just come around

The end is zen

Zen at the end

Cry

Cry again

It is the last time

Why again

Its not the first time

Fly again

It is the first line

For the love we make

And the hearts we break

Never forgetting

I will cry

It wont die

I will cry

It wont die

I will die

Cry, cry again

Only for giving

Whats the matter

Ill have a new line

Whats the matter

Its not the last line

I made a new mess

It could be worse

Mine
Or yours

Cut the kids in half

Itll be fine

Whats the difference

I will cry

It wont die

I will cry

It wont die

I will die

Cry, cry again

Dear John,

Your name is a sounds like: sounds like city council just gave birth. Mr. Mayor, your tour bus has
a broken shitter. I needed to shit long before the border, but in any case, it saved us full body
cavity .SEARCH.

You were hot, too hot for the trots. Ive got the trots, and Im all up for bought. Thank you for the
pre- jettisoned Dead snot that blew my ass (player) back before, when we opened for, you know,
well, The Band. Im playin in the band. We happen to be on tour with you, and we need a shitter.
That is all poop, and nothing but the poop, so help me God. Boy, man, god, shit. Wash iffeze
drive you to Firenze?!
Our lead, he hails from Madison. Madison isbout the dead uncle of my illegitimate great
granddaughter, for whom Obama care dint work. Thats ok, neither does she, because Mamas
just a little girl. A VW Girl, with some smelly patchouli, Fire on her mountain, Ramblin Rose by
her Side, and The Other Ones ARE JUST BABIES DADDIES.

Fuck the Dead, their dead. Super Dead. Harrison Meyle Dead, with one more Saturday night
furball muffdivin coke dreams lit by the candlight and Joes Garage pervert. Would be me
(voyeur?!), but I had a vasectomy to attend.

Im lying.

Down.

So anyway. I think your hot, I think your loaded, and I think too much. About the girls in the
front row. Hello kitty fucking rules.

You may be asleep on the Interstate, but me, Im smoking some crack in my microwave. Breaded
mako shark and tree house biscuits with agaric tea, and whippit pre jettisons.. though not quite
comparing to the haze that mr. chris stoner gave us the tour of the bus with. Pre jettisoned. What
a fucking living.

Short story long, I am crazy. And you never write back. Unless you have backstage passes to the
hottest band evers last show and are inviting. Dont let the prerequisite history spoil my loins.
They are rather tender, vasectomies do that.

This is page two.

It goes like this:

Im all in this place, and Ill sit on your face, wheres my waitress?
Heighwood, J. Bloughmie

the man from Nantucket

(I aint askin, I got it covered.)

Peace! Peace!

" COLD FUSION"

By Joel Brooks

LMNTreePublishing
Originally entitled "Fission - My Vision"

By J.E.A. Brooks

Second title "Here IT IS, Love"

(By me still)

Test

Solution!!!
 Control...

2+2 = 3 is made up of twos and threes. However in reality, only two. The right side in our
equation is a sort of a deviant control.

1+2+2= 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5. The value placed on the numeric object is not fully represented. It is
in fact underrepresented in most cases . But the potential and value are in fact on a
gradiant scale, typically greater in value whether in positive or negative impact on the
solution.

The basis is a complex deviant solution in appearance, and though Pi comes into play, as
well as basic geometric equilateral laws, in the equanometer it is far more complex due to
the time variants described passing as positives and negatives. Although I must say,
triangles are very key. Whatever time they come from.
The deviant in this equation is ONE.

ONE=2

But 2=2O (22lol)

Therefore 1+2 equalling two is in the negative(O) (for instance) due to the deviant factor
ONE imposed. Sorry I was so negative, I had to learn some logic.

Last but not least, the deviant or polluting change factors always make the answer in
relation to the original equation's left side, illusory. But only if not put in order of control,
solution, and test. And only if time cannot really slow ONE down. (H) Although only the
solution, slowing time down, is the solution. It makes for grafting the graphs a lot more
enlightening.(H2O)

In other words, you break. (H)You die. (2O)But you never go away.(2O) Change equals
Vision and it's fizzing and not fizzling. (H)Coming soon: the power to fuck safely and have
unlimited energy. Now that's love!

Test

Control

Solution
+ - x / @ are 5 parts of the 3 to the third puzzle

Run -22 to +22 with three factors = another with every combination possible, then do the
speed of light.

The alpha - phonetic or symbol frequency character is attached to complete the (in simple
form) WORD problem done through Test, Control, Solution.

The highest deviant is the left side of the equation.

The left side of the equation is change. (Delta symbol, #GREEK, Island Villagers)

Each of these is calculated also using Pi (H2O)_ R(2.2) squared based on the signature of
the particle when under the "characters" (not me) effect.(*1a)

Also useful in determining the "change" containment is the mathematics in the 3 closest
figures to an equilateral. Triangulates.

If you put these equilaterals in the center of our circle, you have a nuke.
*But if you simply take the change factors at their largest as close as possible to the
thirteenth digit, you have the left side of the equation. In triplicate! Just know where.

Ok, nuclear energy.

But also, when saving the triangles, the very KEY to fission with an anti clause.

Back to: Control, Test, Solution.

The matter of course, is a whole different matter.

Let's get anti- matter.

Now repeat the value on the left to the right side in each variable repeating the equation for
each figure individually and following the Test, Control, Solution pattern.

LASTLY, THE PROOF IS THE EXPONENT of the COMBINED NUMERIC reading

beyond the deviant's effective spontaneous status release.

Change equals control solution to the fifth produces the ability to store the energy the
equation points to. But only measurably released without the *DEVIANT... O...(2a)...R...?
*1a Speaking to the hypothesis that a particle when not under observation ceases to exist as
a defined matter.

*2a Speaking to the hypothesis put to test here that the release of energy by all matter is a
cyclic event.

2.2 That my stupid exponent is going to keep from being the WIZARD OF OZENOZ?

To my one love: Life itself.

Table of Contents:

I. Other People's Smoke Will Kill You

II. There is No 13.

III. You had better VV.

iV.3=VV

V. It's not sean.

VI. It's a budding fallout.

VII. Why I: Ill

VIII: Why II: Chill

IX: Why III: Thrill

Index

(UN)Cited Sources

Prologue
I. "Other People's Smoke Will Kill You"

The fall of the hydrogen petal is the rise of a larger, better source of energy than life
itself can withstand within the solar system to have opened as Pandora would on our song within
it's engineered to date primordial consequence. That is only to date, tragically, not to marry the
possibilities as they stand in all totality. But what can stand the test of time? Only time itself.
Goodbye love.

The time represented here, culminative of thirty six years of learning life's mysteries
came apoun a desk nearer to my heart than I could almost handle. Mine own, that is. Braver are I
to withstand the time test leaving lover gone from wicked deceipt than I could almost bear to
two, rather than one mad theory attest. What I present will almost to some, appear to be the two
in question, but fear not, I am loyal and do not cheat, it is one solely of my own. Only the
solution can be for the greater good of the common source we all will tap in the divine flow that
allows it to be so.

Saving our children are perhaps those two too wicked principles bereft of oar, those of
the engineers of our modern technologies. Einsteins relativity in its virtous non linear defining
expansion on the basis of mathematics and virtual realities we all thrive on, and simply
Newtonian, showing that the apple never falls far from the tree. The source in question, though
quite invisible, is an ever present source, flowing with it's fibrous plasmatic proton induced and
neutron conglomerated essence tapped with the finest of stuff available to the modern day
supercolliding genius. Hope he bumps into me after I am through with this exploratory reference
point, which came to me in part as a study of Nuclear Regulatory Codes, Fault lines in
Continental and smaller plates in the Earth, and Quantum mechanics, which defined a planetary
alignment on March 11, 2011 that only happens every one hundred and and eighty seven or so
thousand years, to our great relief. Light the years seem without these moving events.

Triglomerate pattern synchronisms in arrears of mid- wifing the support to both contain
and release the power is at large. Translation: triangles more than ever, within the scientific
community and creating the ever present Holographic Data Systems, are the key. As well as the
lock.

Fission, as some may scoff, is the consistant flow (now get this) the pattern behavior of
the observed, therefore existant particles within the sphere radiating from centeredness and
balance. It is in conciousness, the spectacle of resilient resistors to allow containment at this, or
that, or the very moment in present day technology. To this point, it has been a "catch me as you
can" problem with a very allusive subject matter. Literally, matter. Matter of the highest potency
imaginable.

Others will claim the equation came to them, and the variant principle as its key, map,
and compass. Of this I can only pray. However there is one language life understands as its most
love preserving and leveling, healing and forgiving (and rewarding) premise: HONESTY. I
myself do not claim to be able to grasp the internal mathematical solution we are capable of
reaching based on the equation I bring to light. It is far more numbers than my petty brain could
ever hope to contain all at once and therefore process to an absolute enlightenment of what I do
propose.

If any one of these geniuses can honestly take the stature of resistance to the persistance
of the illusion of time as defined within relativity and, urge overkill, re- explain this to the extent
found here, God speed and two to the head. Big ones. You're gonna have a hell of a time when
you don't tongue tie everyone for miles, believe you me. And so it begins. Gentlemen! Start your
engines! Fission is here at long everlasting dead beat first.

Chapter II: "There is no 13."

Unlucky the fall of Rome in New Testament, it poses the legally binding consequentially
debated logic systems to work overtime in modern society. Will history itself ever let it go?
There is only one constant in life, and that is change. The only constant in Fission is the same.
And change IT does, ever and always. IT is the only matter I can say which says "IT", as a matter
of fact can go from dead to almost eternal energy for all who are so bright. There is only one in
history who has done as such as well. He lives in eternity, much as my work lives in hell. Just a
little Catholic humor for you there people. Could be good. Could be very good. Could be the
most harmful theory ever.

Are theories harmful? Just as I once said about my medicines, they are not harmful. The
abuse of them is.
 To date more than one in theory is to seize the opportunity to construct and idealize
founders glory in it's retreating glance at their cheating lover's quarrel over a misprinted
conjecture. Or perhaps that is just my failing belief in my own idealogical basis stemming from
a highly overrated non- enrolled but attendee degree of mine own. Translation: I am an
independent study fanatic who attended up to and including brown league universities trading
notes with various professors of high degree, but with what degree of objectivism do I claim to
have the status to submit this as a fact of my own findings to the scientific community? It is to
my understanding that Thomas Payne wrote a book which is the basis of our, being America,
countries policy and course of action. It is however, more truthful in number to point out that
"The Wealth of The Nation", both preceeding and post dating the American Revolution most
completely explains the formation of our "successful" democratic society. And the numbers, they
always change based on a table which is indeed, great physics. Bought into and preserved, made
common practice and historical and theoretical, must I say, proof, by the hard earned dollars of
the working class man. It is by these same precepts of common sense, with which I hope to earn
your very valuable ears. Please do read on.

In order to reach the basis of my conclusive equation, which summarizes the entire point
of Fission in symbol and number, theory and antithetical argumentative points, therefore tying up
and summarizing the deviants purpose in the long hand calculations as well as closing any
doubts that may linger, I took on this. This was to say that I was judging the calculations needed
as to the possibility of such an energy and it's, though ever changing quality being present in a
most extreme fashion; this is to the possibility of this very source being captured and trained for
our purpose and I am here to say, we can, will, and do. My next study will be The Loch Ness
Monster, and how to get him to serve me my biscuits and earl grey. Not.

Basically, what I am saying in this chapter is that there is no unlucky number. There is no
line on the left of the symbol for change that makes it absolute. There is no way that Friday the
Thirteenth will ever be known as anything but a day of slaughter and mayhem. But I recently
read about a serial killer who maimed and dismembered corpses, was a practiced cannibal, and
yes, took lives from this Earth. I also read that he is a present day released and rehabilitated
human who is an active celebrity artist. So suspend your disbelief, the entire left side of the
equation is change. Change is what it is in essence. This is what makes it so very elusive.

I am not talking about a fluctuation in power. I am talking about the very core structure of
it's very particular (joke there) structural makeup in various phases of the process that is
symbolic of the rapid cycling of the birth and death of matter. It is not quite the same thing as a
simple power fluctuation. And it is never quite the same thing again. Just kidding. That would
make this defunct. Let's move on to the right side. The fun stuff happens there.

The lesson here is to imperfectly retire and reorganize (or vice versa) the current co -
existing climactic cleansing chaos theory sattelites beating the tortoise to hair's breadth
amazingly always being ahead of the race all day, every day manipulatuion of our virtual
knowledge of nature's due course. And we never have a bad hair day. I need to get mine cut.
Thanks for telling me ahead of time, Einstein.

You see, Holographic Data Storage when prolongated into spectrum systemic reactive
and collective bargaining of the data can, will, (does) safeguard in full enough spectrum the
alignment to its interior, in theory. Combined with the predictive movements within chaos theory,
it forms a very complete barrier for this wildebeast to be contained within.

I have done alot of reading into the nature of this spectacle of dark violators, itching to
grab the nearest flow streaming like a magnetic lover into the depths of its very largess
prosthetilized and energized sarcophogal remains. This is not a killer for sure, but sure acts it.

Don't get me wrong, there have been some really ingenius mass killers. Take for instance,
Hitler. He fixed the German economy in no time. He just said, "That's not yours, it's mine."
Economy fixed, and recess at kindergarden permanently. All of the German students advanced,
and the rest is well, a war, you know.

This brings me to a very powerful point. What else can Fission do? Lets just put it this
way. In the future, don't be surprised if the President calls a press conference and says to them
"Hey John, I'll take your question in a minute. Thank you Mr. Crapper, I know you have a lot of
stuff on your mind. But I also know you have it in your bank account. So anyway, I have called
this meeting to announce to all of you exactly what happened in the night sky overnight. Well,
you see we just took out Mars and Venus. The whole men are from Mars thing, women are from
Venus was getting to be too much of a heated problem. So we took them both out on a rather
permanent date. Historical date. That is no longer an issue. Equality of the sexes is important
people. Alright, yes we will, indeed start with John Crapper, "the Fifth". What's your question?
Mars and Venus, yes. Don't forget to wipe."

No kidding. What a vision, Fission.

Chapter III. "You had better VV."

"Stupid id add stoop id does..."

Something I often remind myself before and after completing a chapter. My identification
was entirely out of left field, running for the end zone at the speed of light while ignoring the fact
that all I had to do to get a hit, was slow the hell down. So let me try that now.
 Let's start with the English alphabet. Each character represents a different value, or
sound, vibration if you want to get really different and talk like a physicist. Each vibration
creates an entirely different effect. It also must begin with an entirely different process in the
formation of the sound. In the beginning there was the word, a big one (I assume) and you were
off and communicating. Much in the same way, the numeric values of these charted states of
matter in their exponentially varying processes both determing and by IT's energy, have a sort of
calling card of their own. They speak to us, as they should, I'd be kind of worried if all I was
made up of decided not to talk to me anymore.

In a different way, Llhama Govinda in his brilliant work: "Transcendental Meditation and
Multi Dimensional Conciousness" described to us the characteristics of the basic sanskrit seed
syllables and the way in which they alter the physics of conciousness. (Something else I can't do
the math on) Each individual value however, is completely ignorant of the next phase of
development it's very own makeup will induce. Does that sound familiar? Let's talk turkey.

H is the breath of the Universe. It is also way up there as an element on the periodic table
of elements. O is always round. Universally so, and therefore the precursor to adjoining the
expansion of all things at all times. Periodically as well, blowing our minds. M and M alone is
the mortal vibration. Perhaps someone should tell Marshall Mathers. A is for aspiration, and
ascension through the dimensions which one can step into (theoretically) and peek on your
favorite stars nightly activities. U is the sound of the immortal in the mortal. It doesn't take a
Trekkie to recognize that all of their badges were a symbol to "live long and prosper", though
perhaps a bit wired and ascue. That, by the way was complimentary, referring to the initial fact of
the expanding longevity of U. We've made it this far, let's go one step further.

In fact what all this means to us is that we have a system that is all very relative to the
very things IT, in IT's various values when strung together and broadcast over different powers
of wavelength can portray and in fact create in our lives. The language of love is in fact, love
itself. That is a point which I don't expect to be argued. But the word love does not, unless
properly formed, pronounced, identified with, used, and put into action have it's full and very
exquisitely life fullfilling and changing, energetic effect unless I say so. Trust me, that's what I
tell them all, why is this real? Because I say so. And I do so. And I am saving up all that I can to
make sure when we are at end, the ends get us around the bends. That is what Fission is all about.
An ever changing, huge source of energy to light up the world, that is most characteristic so far,
only of Romeo and Juliet if they in fact were modern day physicists. This does not concern me
anymore. As any good Catholic can tell you, science is a demon to be dealt with in an even
handed, logical fashion. Only to be believed over religious statutes by those lacking in faith. I
hope I can convince all you devils to continue reading.

You see, I saw Satan on the beach, trying to catch a ray. He wasn't quite the speed of
light, and the Squirming Coil, it got away. Much as has the mutating property mass of matter
which, if we could capture and manipulate internally and externally, IT would lead us to a far
more unimaginable amount of transistor coils humming with raw electricity far and wide, but
either IT, or us is squirming a bit too much. And when you try too hard to capture love, you find
that the only way to indeed maintain is to let IT go.

I can't let IT go, then it would truly be free, and who the hell gives away almost unlimited
power for free? (besides Tesla) Besides my fiancee, of course, no one that I know. At least in
their right minds, or even perhaps in their wrong ones.

You see the value placed on the matter in question, by one such writer, who wrote a book
that sold more copies than the Bible in it's year of release and made him a billionaire, is not an
anti- thing. It was by that particular party amongst others, who all referred to IT as anti- matter. I
have spoken of Demons. Now let us speak of Angels.

Indeed an Angel who is living from within the light of GOD, or even Good Orderly
Direction, can make sure all of his deliveries are on time and recieved well, and come in nice
tight little ordered bits of divine energy spent well on the subject at hand.

"The delivery went well. Congratulations."

Satan, being an Angel who has fallen, very much so compares to the modern day
assumption on anti-matter. It can be contained, barely, and is mortally deadly with hellfire
involved when it comes into contact with the matter alive and regulated around IT.

I am here to tell you that IT is neither Angel nor demon, and that with the future vision of
the popular scientific community, what should not be in question is the use of anti matter, but the
matter which is left when it is reintroduced to living particles. That my dear friends, coming from
something which kills particles, is matter of an entirely different nature. The ironic nature of my
thesis here, is that (besides the proof of my drinking joy) the anti- matter is not in it's in fact final
state of flux when it will be contained. IT is in fact still undergoing a process very easily seen in
the way in which IT was given birth, in theory, of course. If we reintroduce ourselves having
brought IT in to the world with the proper language of love, Fission (I keep calling IT) is not
such an anti- matter to the world around IT's seeded, grown, and now birthed identity as would
have other very popular, and might I say as a matter of fact, fictional, self existant preserving
entities.

Fission is like the sound released in creation in the Hopi religion, very comparable to the
Big Bang, or well people, in the beginning the "word" is bond. In the beginning there is a
vibration, it explodes with such incredible force and velocity that what it leaves around it is
altered completely. The state of the particles when they are observed after they are touched much
believeably so by the antithesis of Fission is that they are very much so, shattered in their very
light reflecting and therefore observable energies or presence, and by all means usefullness to us
for a near eternity, or dead. But much as Atomic energy is brought about after isolating and
containing a single source of very unique properties and causing it to go about a splitting much
akin to the splitting and reproduction of cells in a growing fetus, or our replenishing bodies, this
is only the isolation factor. I know I am not alone in seeing this as a very common sense thing.
Time will tell, and so will isotopes.

We must sing to our babies in the womb, help them along. Of course all of the most
crucial stuff in the long run happens in the delivery room, but we cannot say we just have a dead
baby on conception, assume it is a demon which will kill everything on birth, and leave it alone,
can we? Know we don't. Viva Vegas, we play the numbers and win a big life long lesson.

Chapter IV. "3=VV"

Time is of the very essence. What we are talking about, as I am sure any of the number of
you who have followed me to this point, is anti - matter. It doesn't matter, and neither does
anything around IT if let run free with no bridges to doing independent good, which society has
proven can only be done, by contributing to others and not usually by killing them. This is why I
turn drug dealers who are doctors as well as doctors who are drug dealers away, all in the dark, I
am sure, but less in the "read" than they can claim to make a cure. All in a nights work.

Let me make a scary thought for you. Your engine is much like what we need. It is a
spark, an ignition, it is then heat and combustion, it drives a mechanism which in turn produces
the (fusion shows us) electrical and mechanical and chemical energy to drive IT home every day.
In between routine government inspection, of course. Was that hard? I don't know, license took
me one try, IT's the car that forever eludes me with the solution in that order. I am hoping after
this to "take two", because I smoke too much if I "take five" and so does my vision. Mechanics
rule the world if you let them. Yes, electrical, mechanical, and chemical in reverse order is all
about the fives. If you notice in the theorem that solves the puzzle, there are no fives. In "test"
there are two. In control, there is "one". But in the solution, as one officer pointed out to me, not
taking five is the key. Take one, then take two, take three, then take four, then at the very
last...take five. While you got it going on, don't just get it on people's. But I am jumping way
ahead to Chapter VII., where I will explain why 1+2+2= 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. Perhaps ther is five in
sight. I will leave the subtraction, our division, and it's multiplicands simply as the exponent. We
will cover just one. One is all that is needed. As I am sure you have figured out by now. But my
control lends itself to the solution. So, without further Mountain Dew, let me roll away to this in
the morning hue before the riddle is dead to you. And I love "ewes", he said sheepishly.
 It relates to the computer that is IT's closest relation, and they, in a way, regulate each
other. Unless you know a lot about circuitry and axles and internal diametrics in power
distribution, in which case, go NASCAR. Or you could be like that Italian bookie limo service
owner I once lived with, and drive your Ferrari around with a suitcase full of cash for the tickets.
Either way, time is the money factor. And don't let anybody tell you IT is all relative. IT is a lot
more dangerous than your average engine on the road. Either way, you gotta pay if you want IT
to drive that way.

Which brings me to another point. We could be talking about Fusion, and bridges, and
engineering, and Nuclear Physics, and power structures regulated by the same government who
classifies people such as myself under one umbrella and puts us on the shelf. But if I called IT
"Fusion", I don't believe it would do justice to the absolute potential and integrity of this big
wheel turning petal on the pedals of energy. IT is the difference between I and U, the forever
debated spelling and grammatical structure which places IT, or fusion, in an "I" sort of way in a
class by itself. Beauty is in the "i" of the beholder. I hope this is how you feel, as well the S.S. ,
in a class by yourself. Remember to share. Any questions can be related to
joelbrooks@ymail.com. I answer every, yes, EVERY letter that comes in relation to this
particular work. I say "I" is right for one, but "U" is also right for you. Nothing to lose sleep over
counting sheep. That's just love.

I ain't mad at ya. I got nothing but for love for you. Do your thing. But before you read
on, I have a suggestion. Make sure you have initially familiarized yourself with this books
INDEX. Otherwise I will be the mad hole puncher who made the mess on the floor to bind up the
book, and then said "Huh. Musta snowed." What you will be missing, is that I checked the
weather previous to the punch, and drunk on it all, dreamed of a white Christmas down the hall.
Simple, but you might not appreciate if you don't give it atleast a precursory glance. IT is going
to get a bit more technical around the edges from here, peeps. Word play with number play, with
driving me, madder than the maddest of hatters. Take a look and you will see into your
imagination. No mushroom cloud, I assure you. Not until the prologue.

Just as the Atomic Bomb was not Nuclear Power Plant ENERGY, this is not anti - matter.
This is Fission, my vision. Not only is my eye sight 20/13, but my hind sight as you will see if
you read on, is as well. I have absolutely no doubt in my mind, that this, good people, is the
bomb. As fine tuned past e-mail corresponding acquaintences of mine, "Bear" and "Babbs" I am
sure would agree with me in a disgusted, common sense sort of twisted - twister "you said it
mister" sort of way, IT is far from over for all of us at once. The clocks gone wild, time is
running out, it is time to talk some basics with all of you before I fly over the cuckoos nest one
last time. Time is of the essence, and one rotten apple weighing as much as a good one, could fall
just as quickly in to my Cracker Barrel if I don't make haste. So let me give all of you, one
enormous glance into the history which indeed proves to all of you who absorb, knowledge is
power, and IT's time to play ball."
"A- men? B- men. C- men? D- men! E! Men. F, Men. G, Men, Hi J. Its K. LMNTREE Publishing
isn't just for girls. I write fiction, and comedy, and other things too. U I O. OZENOZ WHO?
Don't worry we're all over before halftime. Go Ducks! Go Engineers! Go EWES! Just go. And do
me a flavor, hurry up and buy!"

Chapter V. It's Not Sean

The fraternizing of the anithesis of the anti matter conjecture could perhaps end all of this
at one time, if we let it. But lets just say that Mr. Brown is a series killer, and did his
RESEARCH individually as I have! This is the present day future, ladies and gentlemen. The
stuff we often are not told by grown ups who don't want us to panic when we are at large, and not
so much anymore largess without our digits to point the right direction. My mother tried to teach
me not to point, so sorry there killers. You are what you are. And so am I, one killer physicist.
Self made, self run, self siding, self serving, selfish at times, and self manipulating you to believe
in something that took me almost four decades to come up with. Thank God, you're still with me.
Since you are, let's move along.

Once apoun a time, I was scavenging the beach in Venice Beach for discarded or lost
items to fullfill my material needs, which are at times all too pathetic. As I was wondering, I
overheard a voice saying, "Big Puffy combed the beach..." and wondered if all my Sean John's
johns were beach leftovers. I then took a swim to prove I wasn't shark bait. Atleast that day. Just
a few nibblers, thats all.

So let's take a swim. This is not Sean, this is OZENOZ. And he has a series of mistakes
which are riddling his memoirs with a brilliant end before his time. So let's get down to business,
I ain't got no time to play around, what is IT?
 IT is the source of energy which can, and will in our not so distant future end the need for
bloody oil. Forgive me, I'm Irish, and one good drink away, but also for blood for oil. And quite
simply, oil is not so plentiful, you know what I'm saying? So, who needs it? Well, everybody to
be honest. Everyone except cavemen, but then again there is Geico.

This is not the leftovers I bargained for, but IT is in fact the very basis of the research I
started out doing, to be honest, shortly after graduating, and continued to bang my head against
the wall about for the next year and a half. I then took some aspirin, some LSD, and really lost IT
for quite awhile. But that's just IT, some would say. That's not IT at all I am here to tell you.
What I gained in the release of my former addictions was not to rear it's awesome effective
consciousness and multi- dimensional awareness in my life for even more years to come. You
can't always get what you want, I want more than anything to be free of chemical bondage. So
let's discuss that.

What exactly should be introduced to the anti- matter in order to positively coangulate the
requisite factoring I presuppose with out spending my lifetime doing the figures, will work in
order to finish the job once and for all, and continue the positive gains on the meter reader level.
This is a meatier meteor than I could possibly not have pointed out by now, taken as a simple
solution.

The simplest solution, is the answer. Knowledge is the key. Wisdom is the doorway. Life
is the door. ALL HAVE ONE.

THE SIMPLEST SOLUTION IS THE ANSWER, INDEED. WATER ANYONE? WE

HAVE PLENTY OF IT. IT'S THE MOST LIFE GIVING, FRIENDLY, ABUNDANT, AND
CELL LIBERATING SUBSTANCE WE WERE EVER INTRODUCED TO. H2O. IM GONNA
HIT THE SHOWERS NOW. THERE'S A LIGHT SHOW GOING ON THAT I DON'T WANT
TO MISS. RELATIVELY SPEAKING.

Chapter VI: It's A Budding Fallout

 I AM ABOUT TO GET HEAVY ON YOU, BUT LET'S MAKE THAT "HEAVY
WATER".

Chapter VII: Why I: Ill

I have to say this has been the longest discordant time I took apart this love, all to run my
line. But I am not more than one man, so forgive me, please. That's all us and us right here and
now, peeps. Everything is here and now, that is just the way it is, ain't it?

So let me tell it to you this way. For those of you who skipped the equatorial expansion
document in front of the hemisphere that marks my hand drawn equations, this would be a good
time to take a peek. For those of you who are lost, you can be found again by reading what
comes before the book.

What is this lengthy explanation as a preface without further livening enlightenment on

the topic? That would be folly, foolheartier than the hand that lays me to rest before I am
finished.

1+2+2=1,2,3, 4, AND 5. This is a lot simpler than it sounds, and relates to the
manipulation of matter within a supercollider in a very unique way.

Take for instance, my album: ONE. It is a double album, and therefore, two. In this case,
we will let the two's simply represent ONE. Both of them beautiful two's are now ONE and ONE
alone. But ONE is also ONE, in symbol and in additional value. Therefore, 1+2+2= 3. Three to
the fifth is two hundred and forty three. This is a prime number, indeed, and not by fluke. It was
designed that way in the triplicate order of the assigned character placing the value on the
problem, and is a very useful example of the order of things which are sided to three.

Get it yet? Alright, now how exactly does this relate to the goings on of a supercollider?

The manipulation of the particles which are being, quite literally in a planned
spontaneous way, molded to test and mimick theoretical, and soon thereafter (we hope) known
behavior within the quantum realm are made visible there. This is a very useful thing in
determining the behavior of heavenly bodies, which are in fact being represented within this
magnificent machine in a microcosm of sorts. The further in you go, the further out you go. Far
out, man! I mean, WAY far out in our case.

Take that ONE characteristic within the formula. Don't ask which ONE, you'll get IT.
There is only ONE ONE right? The others are two's, though they somehow become ONE as
well. Brainbuster, huh?

Not really, IT is just that simple. Two's can be One's, if the market value is lost, or you
just screw up. Or perhaps even if you don't screw up, and just give it away. Give it away now.
That's all there is to IT. Lost all my money but a two dollar bill, and I am on my long journey
home.

But since IT's all I have, I'm gonna make the two's count for two on this next journey. So
1+2+2= 5. Any first grader worth his stuff could tell you that. Me, I finished my math book in
the first week, and was sat in the corner with a dunce cap, cause the teacher didn't feel like
coming up with something else for me to do. And she didn't understand what the hell made me
do IT. Neither do I, I have no reasonable explanation, IT's just my gut feeling. "The end is near,
the end is near," perhaps that is just what is always in my ear. Hell of a year, I advanced to an
advanced class soon thereafter. Never forget that corner, though, any of them.
 Cutting corners is a sort of hobby of mine. So let's get down to IT again. And what
exactly is a corner?" Is IT curved? Yes. Is IT "V" shaped? Yes. Does examining IT help induce
peace in inner workings? Well, let's run that through the supercollider and find out.

I will let all of you come up with the other theoretical value adjustment explanations. All,
how many? Light years ahead of me, I hope.

Chapter VIII: Why Two: Chill

In the end of the theorem I present here as a statement of fact in the underlying revealing
reveling value system it represents, is the additional factor which makes it all worthwhile. That
would be the most startling, and comforting, and disowning exponent.

Disowning you say? Whatever does he mean by that?

This factor in the answer phase of the solved and run calculations has no real value other
than to reveal the actual amount of energy which can and will be produced. Light years ahead of
me, someone just sat up and said a "Halluluiah". Thems big numbers, REAL big numbers. In the
shape of a classic zen koan artist depicted flock of geese flying to in formation just as this
combined effect in it's effective use on the reintroduction of life to a dead matter needs to be
executed. Execution is then not the key, if you do remember. That is just a style point, thanks.

So in what way is that disowned? In the very fashion with which we recognize the entire
left side of our equation. What is left is simply change. What is left when we leave IT, is also
change. The reintroduction, now listen up, here is the real wowser.

The reintroduction can be a process on the same "substance" we will call IT, exponential
amounts of times. IT is as resilient as IT is explosive. So we don't need a lot of IT. But don't
forget that heavy stuff. Not when you are in need, and don't leave it lying around for the kids to
play with. That wouldn't be prudent. That would be mass chaos, and calls for war. Some
protective services would be in order as well. No joke.
Chapter III: Why III: Thrill

In duplicate, and in triplicate I will now lay to rest the plastic evidence bag of the
biproduct of fission induced with heavy "agua" and self splitting anti matter. I think I just did.
That's not funny, I've got to make some money.

Take for instance, seven dwarfs, mix in a pole star, and then for kicks run a black hole in
that sector. What the hell is the universe coming to? In short, a very minor and relatively
uneventful and dynamic show of the big test tubes in the sky. Shorties mind their own business,
the self centered powerhouse feeds it's hole, and the hole, well it just never seems to fill up. All
that stuff's gotta be going somewhere though. You know? Me either.

Notice that the dynamic and possibly intergalactic dance I just described came in three
parts. That's not really all that important. The biproduct that left did make a mess somewhere
though. We're just not really sure where.

Yes, IT is indeed that strange. That's why the left of the equation is change. Now I'll say
something scary. Dead things killing living things and making them disappear and go elsewhere.
Ok, I'm not a horror writer. Let's hope it stays that way.

Index:

Honey Lemon Drop- For the smoker in you.

(See Chapter 1:Other People's Smoke Will Kill You )

Be Here Now- Story about my favorite shrink, and former LSD addict.

(See Chapter 2: There Is No 13)

The Vatican Observatory- Why the pope doesn't have to smoke dope.

(See Chapters 1,3: You Had Better VV)

Veterans Village of San Diego- Good people.

(See Chapter 4: 3=VV)

Sean John- Bad ass artist. Great designs.

(See Chapter 5: It's Not Sean)

C.I.A.- Christ IS alive.

(See Chapter 6: It's A Budding Fallout, Intelligence Facts,The Holy Bible)

M.I.A.- Mentally Ill Anonymous

(See Chapter 7: Why 1: Ill)

Drunk Tanks- Overflowing Welcoming

(See Chapter 8: Why 2: Chill, and G Love)

Turn Me On Dead Man- Number Nine Backward

(See Chapter 9: Why 3: Thrill)

Index- The War Machine

(See Pink Floyd. If they ever play again.)

Prologue- Is It That Time?

(Don't Stop or I Will Eat You Alive)

(UN)Cited Sources

Holographic Universe- Michael Talbot

Wikipedia- Various
The Tao of Physics- Fritopf Capra

Einstein's Dreams- Alan Lightman

Benito's Tree- Alan Lightman

Be Love Now- Baba Ram Dass

Transcendental Meditation and Multi - Dimensional Consciousness- Llhama Govinda

The Holy Bible- God, Jesus, Allah, Abraham, Various

Wind Ways What III- My C.I.A. tested, mother approved laptop

KIX- Good stuff for milky cereal addicts with new shoes to run in

Cox- My cable provider

Etc.- What I need to do with all this shiznat special?!

Peace- Now

Peace- Now

Prologue

Basically, what I am trying to portray and perhaps induce is the love of mathematics,
explained in a linear fashion with non linear defining principles. The beauty of this is, that those
themselves are the actual road maps to the stars.

Did you ever look up in the sky and see a little blue light, followed by a red wave passing
outward with speckles of things entering our atmosphere, and perhaps others, both man made
and natural. If you take a look into some of the records of what occured long before we were
around, and you can, you would be astounded at what your naked eye is observing. There
are all kinds of things, creation has given us, things like quarks. They can and do move so far
across the reaches of space in the known universe in an instant, defying all known theories by
simply seeming to neither effect, nor be effected by anything that came in their path. Don't get
me wrong, they do things, but on what scale do you measure our own still primitive and uniquely
painfully slowly growing ability to monitor and understand the who, what, when, why, where,
and how of that instantaneous migration. And believe me, there is a who. That is just a fact once
again of the mathematical odds of what is a silly debate to enter into, being that we alone are all
of creation.

The kind of thrust made capable by the mere presence of the results within the number
crunching I have spoken previously here about, and being that they refer to actual behavior of
things we possess produces an entirely new and fascinating problem. How much pressure does
that create on the functioning biological body which is driving it. None at all, that is no problem.
The problem is the unpredictable and as of yet unobserved events which those brave things in
that brave ship will encounter which indeed will produce pressure. Probes we have sent have
traveled almost unfathomable distances to expand our knowledge of the map, the compass, and
the smoothest and safest way to return.

One such nuclear powered sattelite still as of recent, which had skirted the edges of the
observable Milky Way we inhabit observable by the highest technological nearby orbiting
observatories, returned in such a fashion that it missed colliding with our humble home by a
mere approximation of somewhere around a hundred thousand miles. It was moving on, and still
is. "That's why I say hey man, nice shot."

At first causary glance, this work seems to be more or less an entirely complex system of
barraging the facts with flowery jargon, and unfashionable whit. For this I blame all of the
scientific community. They are the ones that taught me, the absolutely nothing I know about
where does the living love go, when IT is your flow. There IT IS, love!

- Zz m|)/\