I try to stay well removed from any retarded political business, argument, or even constructive discussion, but this is a little beyond politics:
Taken from an article “Obama and Clinton in talks to unify party”
“Mr. Obama asked his big-dollar fund-raisers this week to step in to help Mrs. Clinton pay off her debt… [In addition to the $12 million that Mrs. Clinton owes to outside suppliers, she pumped more than $10 million of her own money into her campaign.]”
The only thing I have to say is: FUCK YOU Obama and Mrs Clinton. We’re in a growing financial crisis, people are losing their jobs, social security is losing its reliability, and there are people all over the country who are making less money than is possible to survive on but let’s get some fundraisers to help some cunt who was unable to buy her way into office. Fucking sickening.
Look, if it’s not obvious I fucking love it when people call in to a radio show and just fucking destroy it. Like just ruin it. Goddamn I wish this shit never ended.
The best is the caller who mentions him selling shit on a sunny day. Fucking genius.
Filibuster: Delaying tactic used in the US Senate by the minority in an effort to prevent the passage of a bill or amendment. The Senate’s rules allow for unlimited debate in some situations, unless a 2/3 vote to end debate passes. A filibuster results when one or more Senators continue “debating” for as long as possible (sometimes for days).
??????
Ben was at work when his girlfriend received the news. Ben pumped gas; he made other people feel better about their lives. And he cleaned their windshield wether they asked him to or not because it passed the time. Ben didn’t mind the work, or the customers, or their impatience. He didn’t even mind the uniform that made him look like he had just escaped from the local prison. It was a gray and blue single-piece outfit with his nametag attached to the upper left pocket. Ben sometimes liked to wear it outside of work while he was attending to his own car. Because of this, there were many distinct grease stains covering the suit that his boss had been less than pleased to notice one summer afternoon.
A red 1969 Corvette Stingray sat in Ben’s garage covered with an expensive green nylon-silk tarp whenever it wasn’t being fine-tuned or driven by its caring owner. It was reserved for only two purposes: display and picking up girls. After dating Jess for over a year Ben decided that he needed to replace the latter with something else: to outrun any other neighborhood vehicles in the street races they held about once a month. They attracted a moderate crowd of enthusiasts that ranged from light to heavy gamblers. Engines were Ben’s primary interest after Jess. He spent intensive hours reading about the interior of various types of engines and the science of exterior car design and wind resistance. Half of his paychecks went towards his college tuition and most of the rest went towards imported king pin bolts, idler arms, tie rods, and radius arm brackets. Ben had only raced his trophy four times, but had already gained some popularity, not only in his town of Westborough, California, but also in some of the neighboring towns. This popularity, however, had resulted in more than one visit from local law enforcement as well as two citations.
Despite these experiences with the law, Ben loved Westborough. And two years ago, when he graduated high school (the same day he turned 18), he chose the college that most resembled his hometown. It was located only forty minutes east from Westborough and had a decent school of automotive technology and safety. Ben’s two dreams had always remained the same, ever since he was young enough to dream: to fall in love and design sports cars. After being with Jess for a year, he realized that he might actually see those dreams to fruition.
Jess was everything to Ben. It had easily been love at first sight. That is, according to Ben. Whenever anyone asked, he always wanted to make it sound like a fairy tale that was once upon a perfect start. In reality, however, Jess had never really caught Ben’s attention in the stands at those first couple of football games at the University of Stranton. There weren’t many attendees to those games and those that did watch tended to sit in one section, leaving the rest of the bleachers remarkably empty. Therefore, it wasn’t too abnormal when Jess chanced a seat next to Ben that night she stole some space in his heart. But she hadn’t come to watch the game that evening. Instead, she was there to meet someone with whom her friends had set her up on a blind date. Jess was far from unattractive. In fact, she was the target of dozens of secret crushes and more than one stalker. However, Jess had grown up without a father and often had a difficult time understanding and eventually trusting the personalities and motivations of the male species. There had been many first dates and almost no seconds. Her senior year of high school was one of only two times she let someone close to her, and even then it was six months before he was finally allowed to cop a feel. And not coincidentally, she broke up with him the next week. The second time she let someone close was due to her freshman naivety when she lost her virginity at a frat party because her only friend at school had told her to. It was only a month into the school year, and Jess hadn’t had time to learn that her friend was really just using her to fulfill her fetish of watching while her boyfriend cheated on her. In the year’s time between then and her blind date she had avoided all social encounters with any man. She was completely boarded up in the house where her virginity had once lived.
By incredible coincidence, or as Ben would say, ‘beautiful serendipity,’ the man that Jess’s friends had set her up with was also named Ben. The plan was to meet up at the football game and go from there. However, this particular Ben wasn’t in the bleachers at that time because he was a defensive lineman for their team. Her friends had told her that he played football but in her anxiety and projection over this uncomfortable situation, she had failed to put two and two together and thought that she was to meet him before the game and they might watch it together. But her friends’ plan made more sense. They had intended on easing the situation by giving the two plenty of things to talk about on their first date. Jess could watch the game, see Ben play, and then be pleasantly surprised when he came out to meet her afterwards, freshly showered and still glowing from his win. Unbeknownst to her friends, however, Jess hated football. She had never really gone to the football games to watch but rather thought it was a safe place to be on a Friday night. Even before the game had begun she tapped her foot, hoping that Ben would arrive soon so that she could suggest that they go someplace else.
And without hesitation, fate revealed its final card. Ben had come straight from work. He was still wearing his uniform and it still had his nametag attached to his pocket. A bee flew by Jess’s head and she watched it soar left of her face, passing within an inch of Ben’s nametag and disappearing out of the stadium lights. At first Jess didn’t notice the name but it was drifting through her subconscious and a moment later it stuck into her throat and she sharply inhaled. She looked at Ben. Her friends had told her that he was attractive, but she had never imagined he’d be this good looking. But it couldn’t be the right person, wouldn’t he have dressed up? But Jess didn’t really have any idea what constituted a normal blind date and couldn’t discredit his identity based on his attire. And maybe it was the slightly greased hair, or that fact that he had an even patch of scruff along his chin and cheeks that forced her to practically stare at him the way a painting may cause you to stop just after passing it and go back gaze no matter how much of a hurry you’re in. She knew he was probably aware of her stare and that she had to act. So she said,
“Hi… Be’n?” Her voice cracked from a minor case of social phobia halfway through his name. She had tried to make her voice sound sweet but it came out so weak that it sounded as if she were inhaling the words rather than exhaling. Ben’s gaze left the home-team’s cheerleader number thirteen and his brown eyes met her green eyes a moment before their persons. Her eyes were shade of money. But to Ben, it was green like the green you can’t help but drown in on a beautiful summer day when you’ve taken a shortcut through the woods on the way home from the last day of school. At that moment, it wasn’t quite love that he felt, not yet. It was something about her face, the way her chin subtly came out at the end, or the fact that her left eyelid rested a nanometer lower than her right, or the small indentation in the middle of her nose and the way it seemed to make the tip of her nose rounder, like the side of a marble, that he found completely irresistible. Jess was smiling and Ben found himself smiling, like a newborn baby will smile at the smallest hint of a smirk on its mother’s face.
“Do I know you?” Ben replied. He knew that she was attracted to him; he could tell by the way her smile jutted upwards just at the tips and the way her eyes darted over his face, taking a few quick trips down and back up the rest of his body. The instant comfortability that came from the knowledge she wouldn’t have to be ‘won over’ boosted his attraction to her even more.
“I… I don’t know… maybe.” She stammered, wondering if her friends had given any thought to how awkward and uncomfortable this was going to be without them there to make the introductions. But they had; they planned on showing up during halftime and they would take her to him when game had ended. But as she stuttered at this Ben, the game had only just begun.“My name’s Jess. If it isn’t you them I’m going to sound incredibly lame but I saw your nametag and I’m meeting someone here for a blind date and his name is Ben…so…” Ben didn’t reply and Jess wanted to run for her life, “… does any of this… ring a bell?”
Ben was too busy musing at the way she pronounced incredibly and didn’t bother to think before nodding,
“Hi Jess… haha no, you don’t sound lame, you got the right guy. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand and she took it gently, not quite allowing a real sense of physical contact and shook it. She glanced at the field because looking at him made her face heat to a thousand degrees and it gave Ben a chance to check out her body. She was wearing a gray wool sweater and jeans that had manufactured frays. Her thighs were small; she had the body of a seventeen-year-old. He could sense that she had just expelled all the initiative she could for the night and so he took over,
“So what now? You want to stay and watch the game? Or, we could go down by the park. They’re having a free show down there tonight. Local band, they’re not bad if you’re into soft music, someone told me that they sound like Richard Marx. Honestly I’d prefer that over the game.”
Jess smiles and this time it was a much friendlier, more comfortable smile. The kind of smile you get right after a successful first kiss. What were the chances? She hated football. Among many other things, she had been stressing for the last hour that this guy was going to make small talk about a stupid football game all night for lack of any real conversation topic.
“Sure… I love Richard Marx” she whispered and Ben only heard ‘sure’ because her voice was retracting like a turtle into its shell. He held out his hand for the second time and she took it completely, curling her fingers in front of his palm and letting his wrap around her fingers and the spark that came from that full contact practically knocked her unconscious.
When he dropped her off at the end of the night, Ben kissed Jess on her cheek. She pushed her lips to his for a brief moment before she turned and practically sprinted into her apartment. Ben whistled while he walked back home. He hadn’t whistled since he was in the seventh grade.
A week ago Jess had bought a home testing kit. It was positive and she buried it in her neighbor’s trash can. She didn’t tell Ben. She wanted to, but she didn’t know how. So the next day, she made the doctor’s appointment. A child didn’t compute into either of their lives. They were both in school and they both lived from one paycheck to the next. She was a music composition major and he was doing something that was related to cars. Hell, she was one of the lead strings in the school symphony and barely had time to eat dinner. And she couldn’t work and how do you raise a family on a gas station attendant’s salary? Aside from their school loans, they had limited options for outside financial help. Last year Ben’s father had passed away and his life insurance barely covered the funeral because Ben wanted to make it extravagant and his mother had left the two of them when he was five. Jess spoke with her own parents once a month, if they were lucky. The relationship she shared with her family wasn’t the type where she could just call and ask them to take care of her child. ‘Her child;’ not quite a ring to it so much as a buzz, a broken doorbell.
And she wasn’t surprised when her doctor told her that she was pregnant and she wasn’t dismayed but rather just numbed. He said she was nine weeks pregnant and had the nerve to ask her if she wanted to know the exact date the child was conceived. She wanted to tell him that the fucking child was never conceived, the concept was too fucking ridiculous to consider conceiving. Pregnant, with child, bearing, rearing, knocked up, the physical manifestation of love inside of her, but still pregnant, pregnant, pregnant. The only relief he could try to offer was that the feeling of broken glass lining the base of her stomach was normal. Normal to whom? Certainly not normal to someone who hadn’t planned on raising a family within the decade. Not even close to normal to someone whose goals gave her four hours of sleep a night and still failed to pay her bills.
[Note: I found this in my old writing folder. I wrote it at some point in college and I have no idea what the title refers to, but I dig it. I think it’s from a song?]
Consider this: ten years of love, ten years of tears, orgasms, laughter, longing, fucking, daring, keeping, hugging, losing, fighting, loving. What if the entirety of these ten years were spent alone, without the person in question? What would you call it? A dream? Sure you feel it every day, but some dreams can ruin your whole day. I dream of my wife fucking my neighbor and when he grins at me while I’m getting my mail I knock his two front teeth out, ripping the skin on my knuckles. A law suit, a loss of friendship, all because of a fucking dream. It happens, I shit you not. So fine, we’re making some progress: the only way to experience those things without another person there is to dream it. I admit, I think we’re talking about something a little more engaging than a fantasy.
What does your wife say when you piss and moan about something she said to you in a dream? Get over it; it was only a fucking dream, Christ, what’s your fucking problem? And on and on and on, until you begin to piss and moan about what she’s now said to you after you’ve woken up. There’s definitely something missing in one’s human manifestation of pity when they can’t find it in themselves to pity someone for what happened to them in a dream.
Hopefully, you’re starting to understand, maybe linking this to something in your own life, maybe from high school. These “dreams” as I suppose we’ve defined them are about a girl in your life, one that you are in love with, and, to make things easier, she’s in love with you. Perfect, right? But, why the dreams, when you can so easily turn those dreams into reality. This girl fucks you like you’ve never been fucked, and massages your temples with the hands of God while you orgasm through your veins. She smiles and laughs, and runs you through town, showing you what life should be like, and what it means to exist in a world void of pain. She tells you that yes, that hobo vomiting all over your old shoes is really a happy person deep down inside, and convinces you that he’s smiling at you, sharing your view of a perfect world while clutching his dick and drooling on himself. She shows you God’s gift of rain, snow, clouds, sunshine, a fucking dead bird rotting on the side of the street is a gift straight to you from the big man above and all he wants to do is make you and your girl fall off the fucking planet in ecstasy. An angel created for you, with the charisma of the jolliest man on Earth, only loving you. And you are special. Fuck everyone else, fuck your friends, fuck your parents, what the fuck are they there for anyway? The whole point of all that other shit is to make you happy. But, you’ve already got your angel; you need nothing else to ever make you happy as long as she never leaves you, and you know she never will.
What a perfect girl. It’s just too bad no one else sees all the good in her that you do. It’s too bad she comes from a poor family and your parents look down on that. It’s too bad that she’s black and you’re from a strict Italian household. It’s too bad that she likes the rush of breaking the law. It’s too bad she’s a suicidal nutcase sometimes. So, everyone tells you to stay away from her. She doesn’t care about your school, your health, your happiness. She’s just using you for her own pleasure. She’ll leave someday, and you’ll be left with nothing. She’s going to destroy you. That’s what they say; that you’re a fucking idiot for falling for some psychotic cunt like her. So, you stay away, with this shit too drilled in your head of the horrors of what a life with her would be like. Fuck em, for ten fucking years you dream. Finally, you say fuck em all, and she fucks the living shit out of you.
Christ, what a way to justify the use of heroin.
The pill was green. It was double-stacked and closer to a sphere in shape than a disc. On both sides three eyes were etched in a triangular orientation. It had cost Luke thirty dollars but he was told that it was well worth the extra money. They said it was the best stuff Portsmouth had seen in a long time.
Initially, Luke thought he’d snort it. He carried a razor-blade wrapped in duct tape in his jacket specifically for that purpose. But Jason said that snorting it wouldn’t last as long and Luke wanted to be someone else for as long as chemically possible. At 10:30, Luke placed the pill gently onto his outstretched tongue and slowly reeled it into his anxious mouth. Jason and Megan ate theirs at the same time.
Megan was Jason’s girlfriend. She worked at Pizza Hut. She spit on pizzas that were ordered by cops and Asians. Jason was a fairly good boyfriend, as far as boyfriends went in the 90’s. He chain-smoked Newport Menthols and drank Heineken on a daily basis. When he and Megan fucked, he liked to keep a tight grip on her neck with his left hand. The muscles in his left forearm were slightly more robust than his right. Megan always used her tongue sparingly and with a teenage caution. Jason could always tell when she was getting really into it because she would peck its head against his tongue and then back away as if she were testing the temperature before jumping head first into a swimming pool.
Luke’s friend Robert was there as well. He never did anything besides marijuana and he patiently watched television, stoned, while the other three consumed their own drugs. It was five days before Christmas and Robert was watching the live coverage of a local parade. Due to the fact that Santa’s facial hair somehow resembled Jesus Christ, they had replaced the final float with a singing Christmas tree. This was to avoid the same tension that they had received last year from concerned parents. When he was twelve, Robert had once marched in a parade with his Boy Scout troop. They had constructed a float that was a giant stocking made out of wire, wood, and lots and lots of paper mache. Because he was a younger scout at the time, Robert wasn’t permitted to help in the actual construction but was given a major role in painting the float green. After a month, the group attached it to the back of a truck so that it could be towed in the parade and ten scouts scaled the side of it into the opening of the stocking fifteen feet from the ground. It had railings so that they could keep their balance with one hand while waving with the other. Again, because he was a younger scout, Robert was not allowed onto the float, and was one of the fifteen who walked behind it, handing out candy. Throwing candy had been barred several years previously due to the fact that some thought it promoted violence. There was a boy named Trevor who walked in front of Robert during the procession. Trevor had stolen five dollars from Robert during one of the meetings. About thirty minutes into the parade, Robert stepped on Trevor’s heel and kicked the back of his knee at the same time, causing Trevor to fall onto his face in front of a crowd of gasps. He left the hospital with five stitches and a broken front tooth. Everyone believed Robert when he told them it was an accident. He had always been such a good scout. He accumulated merit badges so quickly. The two had always been such good friends Robert could never have intentionally hurt Trevor like that. But Robert hated Trevor and Robert’s father signed off the merit badge requirements without Robert’s participation and Trevor was a devious fuck who poured white-out into the scoutmaster’s coffee when he wasn’t paying attention, scoffing at the man’s inability to recognize the obvious change in hue that followed.
The green pill tasted dry and bitter as Luke closed his mouth over it. He moved it to one side and opted to chew it, accomplishing only two grinds before he had to swallow it else the unadulterated taste of chemistry make him gag. A half-full glass of Pepsi absolved his tongue. Forty-five minutes and counting.
Greg arrived with a six-pack of Budweiser. Jason refused to drink any of it. He was on his forth Heineken. Forty minutes and counting.
The five piled into Greg’s Toyota Camri. It was white. Greg couldn’t remember the car’s year. His parents believed he was spending the night at Tony’s house. That’s where they had popped the ecstacy. It’s where Robert was reminded of boyscouts and Tony’s mother had let them into the house because Tony wasn’t home but they could wait for him anyway and she was in the basement playing pool with some older friends, which actually involved less of a pool table than a tin-foil poked with holes, a lighter, and a sticky wad of opium.
Tony never arrived so they left the house at 10:55. His mother was still downstairs and the distinct sound of pool balls striking one another had completely ceased. Greg snapped open his first beer and steadily swallowed it as he pulled onto Old Dover Road. He passed his own house, which was right down the road from Tony’s on his way to Dover. They were all headed to Jason’s house. Twenty minutes and counting.
Jason lived by himself. He used to live with his parents but they were both killed by a drunk driver while crossing the road, hand-in-hand, from an Italian restaurant to their BMW on their fifteenth anniversary. Jason was vaguely reminded of this as he watched Greg snap his second Budweiser. They had been driving for ten minutes and were near Chili’s Restaurant. Megan wanted to stop and get some food but didn’t want to be in there with people when the x kicked in. She also wanted to get back to Jason’s house as fast as possible so that they could fuck. But she kept that to herself. The amphetamine cut was making her unusually horny. Ten minutes and counting.
Greg brought the three remaining beers into Jason’s house and Jason brought his small vial of cocaine. He had done only three lines at Tony’s house and still held a pretty good buzz. Megan didn’t do cocaine but she wasn’t adverse to a week-long sleepless binge of crystal methamphetamine. Five minutes and counting.
Jason and Megan went into his parents’ old bedroom to fuck and Luke turned on the Playstation in Jason’s bedroom. It had a sticker of a red alien on the front and it was given to Jason as a gift from Megan. An imported fighting game was in the system and Luke complained that it wasn’t written in English. No one else seemed to care. One minute and counting.
The three could hear Megan moaning and coughing. Robert and Greg played the first round. Greg got the first hit in, following it with a combo. The game’s theme was different members of a school (teachers, principal, students) fighting against each other for an ultimate diploma. Forty seconds and counting.
Luke sat against the wall on Jason’s bed. His eyelids were half closed. He scanned his body, analyzing his somatic sensations, and wondered why it all felt so normal. Luke wondered if he had inadvertantly purchased bunk pills. Twenty seconds and counting.
Luke wondered if Robert and Megan would want their money back. Ten seconds.
No, he thought, it’s definitely fake. Motherfucker… Five seconds,
Ripped, four…
Me, three…
Off, two…
One.
Luke blacked out for exactly one second. He woke up and everything had turned dark red. He felt a little nervous. But on a literal second though, he felt terrified. He could hear Greg and Robert playing the video game but it sounded so far away. Hell, it looked like it was occurring miles away. Everything was so dark, so…
Luke blacked out again, for five seconds this time. He thought he was going to die. Was there such a thing as lethal ecstasy? Was Jason going to die too? He couldn’t hear anything coming from the other room Wait a second; he couldn’t hear what Greg and Robert were saying either. In fact, the only thing that he could hear was static. It was as if the gain had been turned up too high on the amplifier within his ears.
Without warning, Luke felt the chemicals actually being physically pushed, all at once, into his brain. It felt like warm saline being injected into the very center of his head. The vacuoles of serotonin were being squeezed so tightly that they shot from their pre-synaptic cells with the velocity of a bullet fired from a gun. The receiving neurons, bombarded by cannon balls did their best to man the defenses and send couriers to the rest of the body but some lines failed and the cells they protected were killed in the mayhem. Rather than being released from their receptors, many of the neurotransmitters were actually sucked into the cell as the torrent grew in ferocity. There was simply no physical place for them to go. It was nothing less than a cataclysmic meteor shower occurring within the confines of the human brain and Luke was feeling every bit of it.
The room was filled with laughter and Robert and Greg stopped playing their game as Luke leapt from the bed. He ran out of the room, giggling, and Greg began to laugh along with him. He put down his controller and followed Luke.
Luke began pounding his fists against the bedroom door that hid the intense, practically lethal intercourse, screaming,
“Are you feeling this?!? Are you fucking feeling this?!?” This went on for half a minute before Luke gave up and darted into the kitchen, compelled by singular motivation of thirst. Greg greeted Jason, half-clothed when the door finally opened. Over Jason’s shoulder, he could see the room. The blankets were half off the bed since they had gotten tangled in Jason’s legs when he jumped towards the door to answer the maniacal pounding. Megan was lying on the bed in only her panties and she was massaging her crotch. There was some blood on the sheets.
“Heyyyyyy, what’s up Greg…” Jason mumbled, embracing his friend. Greg pushed him back and said,
“Fuck this, I need a drink. You fags are having way too much fun.” Robert was watching this all from Jason’s bedroom and he reached into the paper bag that held Greg’s beer and handed one to Greg as he entered the room. Greg sat down in front of the television and picked up a bottle opener off the floor in front of him. It was bent but it still worked. He used it to open his Budweiser and took a long sip from the bottle. He offered it to Robert and Robert took a considerably smaller one and handed it back. They resumed their video game that no one could understand because it was in Japanese.
Luke’s entire spinal cord was tingling. He kept experiencing uncontrollable shivers that felt better than any orgasm he had ever had. He couldn’t stop thinking about flowers. He could smell roses and buttercups and pine trees. The refrigerator’s door seemed almost too strongly attached to its unit; either that or Luke was simply too weak because he couldn’t seem to get the damned thing open. But it turned out to be the funniest thing that Luke had ever experienced and he fell onto the floor in epileptic laughter.
“Need some help?” Jason asked between laughs. He reached over Luke’s body and grabbed the refrigerator’s handle and pulled as hard as he could. Luke remained in the fetal position, watching as the lines became curves and colors formed infinite circles across Jason’s pant legs. There were no longer any definable objects that Luke could perceive. Instead, he just saw shapes, colors, and infinite lines going in infinitely many directions. Luke couldn’t recall what it was like to actually perceive something with real structure. His body was floating two feet above the floor and he was being spun around like a game at some circus. He could hear the song “New Sensation” by INXS coming from somewhere in the distance. Luke couldn’t recall anyone actually turning on a radio but he didn’t care where the music was coming from. The only thing that could possibly hold any relevance to Luke at that moment was the fact that he had to, at all costs, lay perfectly still. He had discovered the most comfortable position that the human body could ever manufacture, sprawled on the floor with his left leg straight and his right bent at an astonishingly precise 45 degree angle. His arms formed the shape of a circle above his head and to Jason he resembled a figure skater.
The magnet holding the refrigerator’s door finally lacked the proper force and Jason fell backwards, barely keeping hold of the handle to stay upwards. He was laughing so hard he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the three inches of cold handle beneath his fingers. His chest felt as though it were bulging out in the middle and his heart felt five times its natural size.
Megan slowly got up off the bed. When she sat up, she felt a rush of blood leaving her head, as though she had been hanging upside down for a year. She was smiling, singing to herself as she pulled on her jeans. The two of them hadn’t even had a chance to get past the foreplay before the drugs hit them both like a truck passing through their heads, burning an everlasting hole. The possibility of brain damage didn’t matter to her anymore. Nothing did. The only thing she knew was that she couldn’t remember the last time she had ever felt this good. Megan was a religious girl. She attended church when she had a chance; when she wasn’t busy cutting up her arms and stomach, or bingeing and purging. But this was the first time in her life that she could truly feel God’s presence. He had enveloped her in a light of warmth and beauty that she hadn’t even had the imagination to pray for. Everything was darker yet her sensory perception had heightened. She could smell the leftovers in the open refrigerator that was in another room. She could hear every tiny beep that made up the sounds coming from the video game in Jason’s bedroom. She was in absolute love. He was the only one for her. He was everything she ever needed. Thank you God.
At that moment a trinity was formed, much like the three pairs of eyes that formed a twin triangle on both sides of the pill. There was a temporary perfection that existed in the house on Sixth Street in Dover, New Hampshire. The three drug induced individuals were all feeling the exact same thing at exactly the same moment. Their emotions were paralleled, and in that sense, linked into a circular chain that gyrated continually, sending pulses of light in a spherical direction. But the three sides of the triangle were different sides of the same triangle and they interpreted and acted upon these feelings differently. For without three different sides, neither a triangle nor a trinity can exist. Robert and Greg would never realize that they were witnessing something sacred, something that was far beyond the expectations or comprehension of any human being. Only a true God could have planned this perfection and it was felt by people within a five mile radius. They blamed it on the full moon.
There comes a time in every drug user’s life that they realize that they’ve actually been alive for a reason. Ecstasy was what did it for these three on that night at Jason’s house. Every pain, every worry, every anxiety, every single neuron firing in their nervous system that was meant to tell their body that something was wrong were suddenly clouded by the overwhelming force that is joy; that is ecstasy. There are endless lists of words to describe what happens to the human spirit when it find itself in the presence of a power of love much greater than themselves and they are every bit useless. If these three had to go back to their normal lives, taking a step down from this religious height, they knew that they would absolutely die in a single breath. Nothing, not a single thing on the planet Earth could ever compare to this green, double-stacked God. The existence of God was unquestionable in this space, as only a being with the unconditional love attributed to God would create a human body that has the biological capacity to react to a combination of chemicals in such a profound way. Evolution was proven to be false on that night.
What would Jesus do?
I dunno, probably perform a miracle like raising the dead or curing the blind and then he’d have a dialogue with God about how awesome heaven is. I’m not really sure how that applies to me.
But I wonder, if Jesus was an alcoholic, or if an alcoholic had the ability to turn water into wine, would he be able to stay sober for very long? I know I wouldn’t. What would Jesus do if he were an alcoholic? Well, I’m guessing the Dead Sea would no longer be named for its high salt content.
It’s trendy to hate catholicism, which is somewhat strange when you think about it. Well there’s the people that hate catholicism because it’s the cool, independence-proving thing to do, that’s fine that’s the majority of the population whatever, but the people who actually hate catholicism, it’s not the religion they hate but the people.
“I hate catholicism because it condones priests using their position as one of power to molest children.” No, if you read the tenets of catholicism you’d see that it clearly does not condone it. Some of those high up, however, do, and those people you hate. What is it about religion that confuses people so much when it comes to a distinction between the person and the dogma? There’s an aweful lot of people that hate George Bush, but most of them don’t hate democracy.