"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." - Dr. Seuss
11.20.2010
11.18.2010
11.15.2010
11.08.2010
11.04.2010
11.03.2010
11.01.2010
10.26.2010
10.25.2010
10.20.2010
10.18.2010
10.16.2010
10.12.2010
10.09.2010
The Crappy Tea Cup
It was just an ordinary day for Bob - go to the local cafe and order a cup of tea, except today was not like any other day; when they served him his cup of tea, he noticed that they had given him a really grotesque tea cup. Why would they do that? Did they really hate him that much, or was it just a matter of running out of clean cups?
10.07.2010
10.05.2010
The Bogey Man
The bogey man breaks into the victim's nose and becomes a squatter until evicted by force.
10.01.2010
9.29.2010
9.28.2010
9.25.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 19
Everywhere I looked, the light was frenzied around me, it was eager to enter my eyeballs, and at the corners of my vision, it was performing the Mexican Wave. I swam through the sea of light out of the cafe. The sky was golden although the sun had not come out yet. The urge to go shopping arose in me, so I began to saunter to the end of the road where it met with a busier main road with shops and cars. Shop windows glistened in the sun like gleaming jewels, behind them were the objects of the hearts desire: items which you could caress, love and own. I pushed my face against its reflection to steal the treasure with my eyes. I tried the door of the store, but it was locked. So many stores that teased me with their wares, but none were open to receive my business.
Then a glint caught the corner of my eye, a gleaming edifice slowly swallowed my vision. The steel and glass monster loomed over me with an authoritative shadow that it cast onto the road and surrounding buildings. It seemed to say, I am your master, you will kneel before me and for that reason was I drawn to it, an invisible force propelled me closer. The windows were filled with beautifully adorned mannequins, draped in the finest fabrics and each one portrayed a different scene. One window displayed a long banquet table with mannequins seated along one side and facing the street, each lady was dressed in an exquisite evening gown and put into various poses, some appeared to interact with one another and others were eating. There were taxidermy fowl and foxes chasing each other around and under the table on a floor which was covered in artificial autumn coloured leaves.
Suddenly, I heard clanking from the closed front doors, the jostling of mechanisms as someone from the inside was unlocking them one by one. A minute later the doors swung open, and another minute later I was wandering around the large department store. Elevator music was played at a volume just below what might be considered loud by most people, the soothing sound of xylophones pumped out of the retro wooden speakers, played to the beat of a relaxed heart. An army of colourful fabrics and glittering jewellery paraded the aisles, readied for my inspection.
The ceiling was a homogeneous diffused flickering white glow from hidden fluorescent tubes. I couldn't see the source of light, but I could detect their audibly low frequency thrum in the air. The open plan space, uninterrupted by partitioning walls, seemed to span indefinitely in all directions, and the dull monotonous lighting provided acute visibility for all the objects and signs beneath it. The smell of cellophane, corrugated cardboard and perfume hung in the air.
This is all quite nice I thought to myself, I could do with a new suit. I found a store directory next to the elevators and took the elevator to the fourth floor for formal wear. A pair of formally attired mannequins greeted me as the elevator doors opened. It was quite empty although once again, well lit and spacious. The same ambient music was playing as downstairs. There was a huge sign hanging from the ceiling that said 'Men Swear', as I strode over towards the section, I couldn't help but be annoyed by the typographical error; I kept staring at the space between the S and the n, trying to will it shut, the closer I got, the more significant the gap, and the more frustration it gave me. I approached a male mannequin and punched it in the face, it rocked for a few seconds on the stand and stared blankly at me, my fist began to ache and I swore loudly.
“Hello Sir! How can I assist you?” said a soft, effeminate male voice. I turned around to see a jockey-sized man in a pink shirt and blue waistcoat with the store logo on the chest pocket which contained a calculator and a pocket protector with a gold ball point pen clipped to it. He pouted, and raised a thinly plucked eyebrow at me.
“I need a suit!” I said authoritatively, and straightened my back, and aimed my chin towards his cleanly shaven face.
He clasped his hands together with a nod of acknowledgement and an extended blink as if to further emphasize his acknowledgement. “What kind of suit are you looking for? Any particular occasion?” he brought his clasped hands towards his chest and leaned his head towards me, bringing his ears closer to await verbal input. The pungent smell of aftershave mixed with hair products infused the air, and made me giddy. He looked like he was waiting for me to punch him in the face, I cranked my bruised fist shut, and saw that there was a hairline crack on the face of the mannequin that I hit.
“I'm looking for a suit to attend a formal dinner in, I need something smart and snappy, you know what I mean?” The words seemed to rattle off his head like tennis balls, as he nodded eagerly to each syllable as it left my mouth. I clicked my fingers and he snapped out of his trance.
“We have this suit.” He swept his hand down the length of the mannequin with the hairline fracture on its face. It was a seventies vintage baby blue polyester three piece suit with a black shawl lapel.
“No thanks.”
He stood there slightly stunned, “Are you sure?”
“Yes, no thanks. What else do you have?”
“This is the only suit we have in the store.”
“Why didn't you just tell me that instead of ask...” He looked lost, “Okay never mind, let me try this one then.”
I had expected him to get me a brand new suit, but he meant what he said about it being the only suit they had; he began to strip the mannequin, and in the process there was a tearing sound as he tried to manoeuvre the trousers around the rigid posed legs, at which point he quickly checked the damage and brushed it off, “It's fine, don't worry, nothing to see.” He handed me the items of clothing and ushered me in the direction of the changing rooms.
that's all I got
9.24.2010
'Komodo & Me : A Love Story'
Love is in the air. Jonathan Piles, a retired eighty year old civil engineer discovers love when stranded, as the sole survivor of a plane crash, on an exotic but dangerous island ...
9.22.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 18
After playing around with an Australian accent in my head, I drifted off to sleep – when I got back into the dream, much to my dismay - someone else had eaten the rice pudding. There was the wooden donkey souvenir that I had lost in Buckaboo standing on the table next to the empty dessert bowl. I picked it up and rotated the object in my hand. “I'm so glad I found you again!” I exclaimed excitedly to no one in particular, and then a black bird landed near my feet, so I decided that the sounds from my mouth were for the benefit of the visitor.
The clown-face wood donkey looked the same as the one that I bought in real life, with one exception, it had a long donkey penis made of rubber. The rubber section was connected into a hollowed out cylindrical stub of carved wood and was fixed into place with an inset nut and bolt. The whole object had been crafted with extreme precision and attention to detail; everything was done expertly, from the carving to the painting. It truly was a remarkable work of craftsmanship. Perfect in every way. Except … it was vulgar and tasteless.
“What ever was I thinking to have ever considered purchasing you?” I said jokingly. The black bird squawked. I held the object by the protruding rubber penis which was three-quarters the length of its body and three times the width of my hand. The rubber bent, and the wood part dangled on the end. I waved it up and down, and the wooden donkey bobbed on the end. “Do you want this wooden donkey, bird?” I said to the bird and dangled the donkey's rear in its face. The bird twitched as if trying to dislodge something from its head. I laughed, “I bet you are jealous that I have this, it is a truly silly object but I shall love it and hate it at the same time!” I hugged the wooden abomination. The bird stared at me for a second, then flew away.
I laughed for no reason. It made no sense but it felt good. Then I realized that I was in a dream. The sudden revelation of being in a dream felt ecstatic, as if the white light of enlightenment shone on my face. I felt that there was a mirror on the wall to my left, I turned that way, and there was a mirror. Once again, this felt good, it felt like being god. What did I look like in my dreams? - I was curious to see. The reflection wobbled as if the mirror was made out of jelly, configuring itself into the image of a clown-faced donkey with a grin that stretched across my peripheral vision; it was the same as the one as I was holding, except that in the mirror image, it was in the place where my face ought to have been, and my own face was transposed upon the wooden donkey's.
The mirror faded and I woke up. There was light coming through the window which at first suggested that it was already morning but in fact it was just overspill from the spotlights of a giant billboard on the building opposite. I hadn't noticed it when I entered the room so it must have been recently activated. It probably explained why the room was unoccupied, the lights lit the entire space as if the sun had dropped out of the sky. Even when I tried drawing the thin moth-eaten curtains, the light still managed to invite itself in. So I didn't bother to try sleeping again, there was no clock in the room, but judging from my wakefulness I assumed that I had enough, and would go for a walk in town and maybe get a coffee.
I got my clothes from my room without waking up Wana. A quick peek at the clock revealed that it was 6:02AM, so all in all, I got about ten minutes sleep in the upstairs bed, which wasn't bad up until I discovered that it was only ten minutes and then I started to feel sleepy again. My eyelids weighed heavily as I pulled the front door of the hotel open to be met by a refreshing cool and the bluish streets lit by the brightening sky and street lights. A few birds had already started scribbling chirps in the air. I yawned, and went in search of a cafe where I could ingest some stimulation to deal with the harsh reality of lost sleep.
Without knowing where there was a cafe, I just kept dragging my feet along the street in the hope that I would eventually encounter one. The streets were fairly quiet save for the odd loner walking rapidly to get home after a hard night of partying and street sweeper who was oblivious to all but the dirt on the road. A small cafe presented itself across the road. Through the store window, I could see a few people and the smell of bacon leaked into the street like a beacon for those who sought such hangover remedies. All I wanted and needed was coffee, and I knew this place held my rejuvenating elixir. I made a beeline across the empty road and almost got hit by a car that appeared out of nowhere.
A bell above the door tinkled brazenly as I entered the warm room. A casually suited young man was smoking a cigarette in the corner besides the window. He glanced at me as he sucked on the cigarette, then concentrated on the task of extinguishing the butt.
There were a few columns of dirty plates stacked up on the counter, and behind them was a woman on a stool immersed in a tabloid. I moved to an unobscured section of the counter where she could notice me and waited. A wrinkly old woman was swiftly carving up oily slivers of bacon and shoving it into her mouth. There was a clock on the wall which was covered in grease, 6:53AM. Ten minutes passed and she still hadn't noticed me, I considered coughing or clearing my throat to get her attention, but decided to wait a bit longer, the old woman had nearly finished her breakfast and I placed my hopes that something would have to happen then.
7:12 Woman finishes her breakfast, puts a tip on the table, gets up and leaves.
7:16 Man lights another cigarette.
7:25 I clear my throat, “Good morning!” I say to the lady behind the counter as if I just walked in. I hold a smile on my face, sufficient enough to hide a grimace.
She looked up, “Good morning sir!” She said it so chirpily that I could have forgiven her, but I didn't because I quite enjoyed the feeling of directing some latent malice towards her.
“Busy day?”
“Yes, extremely.” She rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. Her appeal for my sympathy made me despise her even more, my smile had waned and I quickly propped it up again.
“Oh dear, what a shame.” I said and empathically rolled my head to one side with a tense smile and unblinking eyes. I froze there in an attempt to allow my frustration to dissipate through my skin.
“So, what can I do for you?” She grabbed a damp cloth and hastily wiped the counter top.
I controlled my demeanor, “I'd like bacon, eggs, sausages and hash browns,” recalling what I saw the old woman eat earlier, “and a cup of coffee, please.”
“You mean our special big breakfast meal?” She pointed at a blackboard on the wall which described the breakfast that I wanted.
“Yes that one.”
“We stopped serving that. Only served from five to seven in the morning.”
I felt myself boiling up inside. “Oh, what a shame.” I dug my nails into the counter top, “So what food do you serve now?”
She looked annoyed, “Chicken pie.”
“I'll have that and a coffee.”
She told me the cost and I handed her the money, then she lethargically took a pie from the fridge and threw it in the microwave and slammed the prison door shut. There wasn't enough coffee in the pot so I got a little over half a cup. The microwave bleeped after a minute and she put the pie in a napkin and handed it to me. I went to sit next to the window, there was a man sitting down with his elbow jutting out in my path, I could have avoided it, but because I was in a bad mood I decided to bump his elbow out of my way as I passed through.
I sat on the table adjacent to the smoking man and scorned him. The coffee was cold, any heat that was in the pie had migrated into my hand; the filling disappearance would have baffled even Houdini. I showed my contempt for the cold and sodden pastry by producing an exaggerated loud chewing sound with my mouth open. Then I slurped my coffee making sure that I could be heard from across the room.
The man with the cigarettes had tried to ignore my display of repugnance. I could tell that he was a loyal patron to the establishment of terrible service and disgusting food, so naturally he was an enemy of mine. I could not allow him to get away with his smugness, so I walked over and asked him for a cigarette. He looked at me blankly so I pointed to his packet of cigarettes and loosely performed a smoking gesture. Reluctantly, he opened the box and handed me one of the five remaining cancer sticks. I grabbed his lighter, lit the cigarette, then exhaled a lungful of smoke into his face and went back to my seat to brood about my vandalized tastebuds.
The cigarette was strong, the most accurate way to describe the flavour would be dried horse dung mixed with bits of plastic; the perfect complement to a breakfast that would make mass murderers confess. I retched a bit, some vomit rose up to the peak of my throat and slid back down as if to say that it wasn't going anywhere near the stench in my mouth, but actually the vomit assured me that my internal organs had not been poisoned for I was still able to produce bile, and that improved my morale.
I stared at the ashtray, it appeared to magnify to enormous proportions such was my concentration upon it. I could feel the nicotine racing through my blood and into my head and the feeling that it was pushing my eyeballs out of their sockets. Oh yeah, this felt more like it. The particles of ash sharpened in my vision so I could see their crisp outlines against the tar stained ceramic. The clown donkey from my dream appeared inside the ashtray, staring at me with a huge grin on its face, “Hey yeah! You like this, right?” It danced around, stomping the freshly fallen ash, and creating a mini dust cloud. “You like watching me dance? It makes you feel sexy?” My head swirled, and the room span with it.
I looked away from the ashtray and the room flashed for a few seconds then settled down. My body felt tingly. Everything looked a bit brighter, a bit sharper, then I felt that there was a excellent day ahead of me. I stood up, my knees wobbled for a second as if a surge of energy moved through my legs from the ground. I felt bigger than the room. I saluted to the smoking man, and thought it was a cool salute as I performed every movement with utter perfection an fluency, he saluted me back as if commending my skill. I felt a word at the back of my throat waiting to be expelled, then I shouted out, “Man!” it felt great to make that sound, and more words bubbled out of my throat, “I feel good! And the world is wonderful. Thank you for making my day!”
to be continued ...
9.15.2010
9.14.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 17
Hanging out with Andrew and Wana was a fun experience, even though the pizza (without tomato) ruined it for us - as it would for any discerning pizza eaters. Turns out that the gun he was carrying wasn't real, it was just a toy, and the deer he brought along – turned out it was real, except for the brain which was plastic; Andrew had removed it from the deer's skull and threw it from his tenth floor balcony as an experiment. But nonetheless, I felt an urgent need to sleep after the evening's frivolities – fear seems to have the effect of draining all your energy, also the pizza (without tomato) was a tiring culinary excursion.
I kicked the door shut, after I said goodnight to Wana. I tore off my clothes as if they were on fire and got under the pungent bed covers in eager anticipation of a pleasant slumber. The sheets felt powdery against my skin, no doubt some form of flea protection, or just dried semen, I giggled to myself at the hilarity of the idea then promptly fell asleep. Someone, or something (if you want to be dramatic about it) crawled into the bed with me as I was about to eat a delicious rice pudding in a dream, and the resulting panic wasted the adrenaline that my body had finally recuperated in the preceding REM sleep. I didn't move, probably was petrified from shock, but my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest, and that would have caused me to scream with the rationed blood to my brain. “Goodnight again” said Wana. All I could do was stare at the glowing green digits of the LED clock – 2:23AM.
When I was a kid, I used to hear stories of night demons who would visit in the middle of the night and suck the soul out of the paralysed victim's nostrils. In this case, it was a crossdresser who I was adamant to permit to suck any appendage of mine. Finally, after what seemed like a few hours, I sprung out of bed, and my feet connected with an oily carpet; my toes curled up as a reaction to the slimy grime. I hit the light switch. The incandescent light bulb flicked on just in time for me to see a cockroach scurry across the wall to a darker corner of the room. I aimed an index finger rigidly at the bed, ready to hurl a barrage of words to the offender. At the focus of my finger pointing was Wana, fast asleep. I looked at the clock again. 5:35AM!
Wana looked quite comfortably asleep, so just in my underpants I crept out of the room and closed the door quietly behind me. I climbed the stairs to the next floor. Another dimly lit corridor that looked the same as the one below but less grimy. A door creaked open, and just as I was about to recede into the darkness of the stairwell, a skinny man in his Y-fronts slipped out of the room. He caught me slinking back and we both froze on the spot, then another door slowly opened and a larger man in yellow stained Y-fronts snuck out.
Both men closed the doors behind them and tip-toed towards the stairwell where I was standing, they ignored me and tip-toed down the stairs. I followed them. Downstairs, the lobby was filled with about twenty men in just their Y-fronts. I felt like I didn't belong, so I double stepped up all the way to the top of the stairwell.
The top floor looked clean, the carpet looked washed and the light bulb was bright. I tried a door. Locked. The second door opened and I cautiously opened it. Dark inside. The light from the corridor provided enough illumination to determine if the room was occupied. The bed was made and the room smelt like lavender air freshener. Exactly what I was looking for. An unoccupied room which the cleaner had forgotten to lock. The clean sheets felt so good, that I almost felt guilty that I was contaminating with my filth covered body, but was too tired to care.
to be continued ...
to be continued ...
8.21.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 16
I was like a good student that night, sitting in the chair while Wana explained the workings of the world to me. I sipped wine while I caught glimpses of a pizzas being created in the kitchen. But in all honesty, I wasn't paying attention, I was just nodding my head and smiling, asking questions when she paused and acting confused when she told me I looked lost – just like a good student.
“So you see, Biggadoo is where people become.” Wana concluded.
“Ah, right.” I nodded, and caught myself sounding bored, “So what, who who am I supposed to become?” I quickly added to revive my interested status.
The interest status indicator stayed green, “That's for you to find out,” she unconsciously scratched her groin, “explore the city, meet and talk to people,” I nodded and smiled, and wondered if she gave these lectures to all her clients, and then wondered if all her clients did the same kind of wondering, “there is a kind of magic in the city that really opens you up, that's your problem, you're not opened up, wouldn't you agree?”
“Ah, well I wouldn't say that, I'm a very open person. Open to new ideas and stuff, that's me.”
She slapped me hard with her palm on the top of my head, “No, you look closed to me.” She thwacked me on the same spot again and examined me, “Yeah, you are definitely a closed-off type of person.”
The crowd parted as a large animal moved towards us. I heard gruff grunts as it moved through the crowd, and a few people stumbled backwards as it passed but after a quick look of annoyance they resumed as if nothing happened. A giant ape-like man stood before us, with a thick head of hair and puffy sideburns. He stopped, sniffed and scanned the room, drilling everything in the path of his vision with his intent stare. He spoke to Wana in a deep low voice, “I smell pizza. I'm hungry!”
“We'll order food in a minute, I want you to meet my friend Tog.” She looked at me, “This is my friend Andrew, I asked him to join us.”
I didn't ask why he was dragging a dead deer by its neck, nor why the creature's entrails were hanging out of its arse dripping blood all over the floor, “Hi Andrew!” I said as if I was a schoolteacher welcoming a new student into the class, but this guy was not even close to being the new kid on the block – he stood there with a take me to your leader look on his face. I stretched my hand out as if I was sticking it into a lion's mouth to shake his, I looked at his large dirty hands which could fit two of mine, enough dirt under a single nail to grow a small household plant. He didn't see my hand, or he saw it and didn't see the significance of the gesture.
He looked at me and then looked towards the kitchen, “I want food.” I giggled when I thought I saw a gun tucked into his trousers, and quickly sobered up when I realized that it wasn't a trick of the eyes – this madman was in possession of a fifty calibre pistol! Andrew garnered my respect.
“Okay! we'll get food in a minute, Andrew!” Wana looked stressed.
He looked agitated. Being in the proximity of an unpredictable human with the technology to puncture my body with big pieces of solid metal made the blood drain away from my face. “It's okay, we'll get some food! I saw a man holding a tray of empty glasses, and I waved my hands in the air frantically. The waiter hovered over a few tables, but did not see me, he began moving away towards the bar. My hopes of rescue died as he vanished into the kitchen. I turned back to face Andrew and smiled through gritted teeth.
A few people who were nearby and presumably had a visual of the weapon got up and left, abandoning their seats. Andrew made himself comfortable in the centre of the couch. Wana said she was going to order some food and that she would be right back, she dissolved into the crowd. Andrew's booted leg swept the coffee table of glasses and slung the dead dear onto it.
“Sit next to me you faggot!” he called to me.
“Sorry?” My voice sounded whiny, and did resemble his insult somewhat. I brushed some imaginary hair from my face.
“Just fucking sit down next to me!”
I stood up, and felt small in his presence, like an ant. My brain was conflicted with thoughts telling me to do otherwise, but those mutinous feelings were quickly extinguished as the rest of the brain aligned itself with the new regime – the order of Andrew the Giant. The couch cushions swallowed three quarters of my physical appearance making me even smaller. The giant smelt of sweat, leather and cheap boisterous cologne. I looked up at him, “Hi!” I sank further into the couch as I fluttered my hand at him.
“If I don't get some fucking food now, I'm a gonna tear strips off that there deer and start munching it raw right now!” He shouted loudly to make sure that everyone in the pub could hear, but they carried on with little regard for the safety of their own lives, ignorant of the time bomb that sat next to me. I told myself not to sweat – things like that could trigger the destruct mechanism wired into this man. But it was too late for me anyhow, I was beyond saving; I was now merely a witness to the slaughter that would soon take place around me. Too late, my mind had already hopelessly given in to the mysterious Stockholm Syndrome; no way, I'm going to mess with this bad boy – he's the best friend I've got right now. So I pictured the ensuing scenario, where he would wipe out everyone, save for a few survivors, and give me the gun, then tell me to compliantly shoot them in the head to forever seal the eternal bond of our new found friendship that was forged from fear. That would be the best case scenario... The worst case scenario might involve a cannibalistic orgy with elements of necrophilia thrown in for good measure.
Wana re-emerged from the thick undergrowth of sweaty and inebriated social bodies. She had the type of look on her face which you only saw in survival movies, the one where the reconnaissance party comes back and the leader tells everyone that none of the food from the crash could be salvaged. I edged away from the time-bomb and squashed myself against the arm of the couch.
“I've got some good news,” Wana ran her fingers through her long hair, I could see that it was a wig because her scalp slid backwards by a few millimetres, “and I've got some bad news!”
The time-bomb did not flinch, he appeared to be in stand-by mode. Everything depended on Wana's next few words.
“Well, they can make pizza for us, but they don't have any tomatoes left for the sauce, so it's going to taste a bit plain.”
I felt the urge to contribute, “That's great man! I love pizza without sauce – it's the best kind!”
The time-bomb turned his head to the left and froze for a few seconds, then rotated it back towards Wana, “Okay.” The following words came out slowly and mechanically in a monotonous tone, “I suppose I can eat pizza without the tomato sauce, but it was not what I originally wanted, but I guess it will have to do.”
Wana breathed a sigh of relief, and the tension leaked out of her shoulders, “Okay, we're going to eat pizza!” She ran back to whoever she was consulting.
Andrew was picking his nose when I turned to check his temperament. “We gonna eat pizza soon” he said in a rather childish voice.
I wasn't sure whether I could stomach much, not with the carcass that was rotting in slow motion before my eyes on the coffee table. Don't they have hygiene laws in this place? Then I remembered something that Wana had said, a facet of information that had somehow made it into the deep recesses of my memory while I hadn't been paying attention: anything goes in Biggadoo, there are no laws, people can do whatever they want as long as they are willing to accept the consequences of their actions – then everything made sense.
to be continued ...
8.11.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 15
We got back to the hotel room at a few minutes and some seconds past six O'clock-ish. Vana had once again primed herself for bed while I rifled through my meagre belongings - nothing was missing from my suitcase, what a relief, but what a shame that we had to leave so early when I was just beginning to enjoy the band.
“That was fun, I haven't had that much fun in a long time.” Vana said as she stared beyond the mouldy ceiling.
“It was good, yes, very enjoyable, the band performed with authority and escorted the audience to a comfortable place in the imagination” I felt as if I was giving a book review.
Vana chuckled, “We can always go back later.” She patted the bed, and I decided to use the toilet.
The bowl hadn't been flushed, I gagged a little as I aimed my pee around the floating faeces, until I remembered that I could have forgotten to flush earlier, and then I relaxed the leash on my urine and turned it into like a fairground game to try to submerge the logs. “No giant teddy!” I giggled girlishly to myself while I pulled the chain. Suddenly, to the corner of my eye, I noticed something glossy against the wall. It was a porno magazine. That wasn't there earlier! The turds spun in the murky liquid, then disappeared. I felt ill, I had used someone else's creations for my own sick fun. I was a disgusting person doing horrid things for my own personal pleasure. Then the realization of being in a hotel for perverts hit me, smack like a fish that thought my face was water.
I stumbled out of the toilet, slightly queasy. People were doing nasty things behind these closed doors. I need to talk to someone. The hallway strained to maintain a perspective, my room seemed far away. It felt like a million cogs were spinning too fast in my head, churning out steam from all the friction of unlubricated wheels. I reached the door and wrapped my hand around the icy door knob. My olfactory system had become over simulated by the claustrophobic musty smell of the place that had taken root in my nostrils and begun to claim my brain like a dense suffocating jungle. My vision dissolved as black creepers grew from the edges.
Within the next minute, I was gazing at a female version of me, and she was looking at me. Her voice was distant at first but gradually became closer and clearer as I felt myself become more grounded in familiarity. It wasn't me, it was Wana, and as my senses came back to me, I realized that I was lying on the floor of the hallway. “Tog? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”
“Hey,” I heard my voice was strange and tired, “How long ...”
“A couple of minutes,” Her eyes searched for signs of damage, “I heard some noise and found you on the floor.”
Music blared from a bar in a street nearby. The sound of cars and people expanded into my awareness. “Don't worry about me, I'm fine.” I smiled weakly, but it felt genuine. “Let's get out of here – I need a drink!”
“Are you sure?” She helped me up onto my feet.
“I think so.”
Wana took me to a quiet pub through the forgotten small winding streets of the city away from the throng of party-seekers. Moving through those tangled, grey, dirty streets made me forget about what happened back at the hotel, or thinking about the safety of my belongings, instead I let the city suck me into its capillaries. I'm on holiday, I reminded myself.
The sky was already dark, and the warm glow of incandescent lamps punctuated the cold blue buildings. This strange city had presented me its first task, to follow Wana, and trust that she was not going to lead me to be ambushed by a gang of blood-thirsty robbers. My mind was still functional yet I felt detached from reality. I just wanted somewhere to sit down, and as I thought of all the nice things that awaited me at the destination, like a comfortable chair and a glass of red wine, we arrived. Wana must have walked me in a circle because the pub was just a few doors away from our hotel – Anyhow, I was too tired to argue, I couldn't have walked another step, so I allowed her to lead me to a plush armchair and ordered me a glass of red wine from the bar.
Gradually, the surroundings sunk into my senses, and I realized that we were in quite a crowded place. There was lively chatter and laughing around me. There weren't many places to sit, and the chair that I sat in was still warm – Wana later told me that an old man gave up the seat because I seemed so weak, that explained the crazy elderly guy crunched up on the floor between two sofas who wouldn't accept my seat offer.
I caught a glimpse of a chef tossing a pizza base into the air as a door swung open than shut behind the bar counter. Wana waved her hand in front of my eyes, “Hello, over here Mister Sleepy Face!” she called playfully. She was sitting on a coffee table opposite me. “Don't worry Tog, you will get used to this place.” She steadied my glass holding hand, I had forgotten about the wine. “There are things you will discover about Biggadoo that you won't find in any tourist brochure or internet website.” I took a sip of red wine, it tasted good. A couple of tall provocatively dressed women walked towards us, one of them winked at me, then whispered in the others ear, and they both looked at me and giggled. As they walked past, I noticed that they had square jaws and wide shoulders, and adam apples. “This city, is very open-minded, it is a place where you can be who you want to be, and nobody will question that.” A look of pure wickedness crept across her face, “You aren't aware that I am man, right?”
The news didn't bother me, but the fact that she expected me to react when I was being calm did make me feel self-conscious, so I ended up being lead into acting astonished, “Oh! What!?”
“Don't be angry with me,” I over acted, “I should have told you earlier, but thought that you knew that you checked into a transvestite whore house.”
Then I was genuinely surprised, “I did?!”
to be continued ...
View more gifts at Zazzle.
7.28.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 14
The place was already filling up with post-lunch drinkers. I ended up in a run-down bar, not far from the hotel. Wana sat opposite me, in my jeans and t-shirt, staring into space; I didn't trust leaving her with my stuff in my room, so I brought her along for food; she didn't have any everyday clothes so I lent her mine. We had ordered a couple of sandwiches with chips, the waitress sloshed some beer on me as she put my pint on the table.
A group of old guys in wide brimmed cowboy hats were moving instruments onto the stage. Great, just what I need, country and western music, I don't feel like listening, but I'm sure the familiar sound will make me feel right at home here, I guess that's why cowboys like it. “Pardon?” Wana said.
“Huh? I didn't say anything.” I replied, slightly annoyed.
“Yes you did, you shouted out loudly, 'I guess that's why cowboys like it.'”
I noticed that a couple of the band members had paused in their tasks to stare at me, “Oh, I suppose I must have been thinking aloud.”
She smiled at me, “Oh. Okay.” then relaxed her face to continue staring into the thin air.
A young boy dropped a pink paper on the table, it soaked up some of the spilt beer. It was a flyer for an event. Something to do, I peeled the soggy leaflet off the table and turned it around so I could read it:
Welcome, welcome, welcome. Welcome to reading this wonderful leaflet. No doubt you have taken your first few steps to becoming a new man (or woman) by opening the gates of your mind to this print, please step inside (mind the gap) to my wonderful world ...
Hello, hello, hello, my name is Steve Burns and I am a world renowned expert on Life Improvement and I want to share my knowledge with you so that you can improve YOUR life TOO and become the person that you WANT to be. Come and start your journey of self-discovery, self-exploration, and self-MASTERY, join many others to hear the SECRETS OF SUCCESS. Date, time and place details below! Places are limited, so book a seat today and see you there!Two plates of food landed on the table. I made a mental note of the date and time, three days from now, and folded the paper into my jeans pocket. The speakers squealed from feedback and everyone turned to the microphone; the cowboy was up. He was a real American cowboy, or at least gave that impression. His voice was dry and strained, “Howdy ladies and gentlemen,” he pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, his neck wobbled as he spat phlegm into it. He cleared his throat, “wow, what a great turn out,”
Wow, these wrinkle skinned losers really think they are big celebrities or something. Wana shooshed me.
The old man on stage looked at me, “appreciate everyone for supporting us tonight! We're going to start with a favourite of ours that some of the older folk in the crowd might recognize.” I quickly surveyed the room and there was nobody who looked over thirty, the band began to play.
We are here,
to make you listen,
to our song,
that we wrote
for your enjoyment
lah, lah, lah …
Wana appeared to be enjoying herself, bopping up and down to the music like a fly trapped in a spider-web. The song was quite awful, I thought these old guys would have been better, what with all their experience over the years as performers, I expected something more sophisticated from them, but maybe they weren't professionals, maybe they just started out, a career change at seventy, no wonder they suck so badly, but hey, these days people enjoy listening to crap music. Wana leaned over to speak over the noise, “Did you say something to me?” I shook my head and she switched back to dance mode. They certainly looked the part with their fancy costumes: the tall, wide brim rhinestone hats, spurs on their boots and guns.
So if you ever - ever -
have a doubt,
Just be who you want
and get back
on the track
YEEE HAWWWW!
The lead singer had completed his musical part and the instrumental took over. The drummer increased the tempo. The vocalist improvised the part of a band member taking a break from the performance, nodding his head approvingly to the music whilst scanning the crowd, as if recruiting support for the players on stage with each nod. YEEEE HAWWWW! He wailed into the microphone, out of sync with the beat, but the crowd still cheered. Like a car on a cliff without a driver, his gaze trailed off beyond the edge of the crowd into infinity. Once again, the god of bad showmanship possessed him: rhythmically, he jerked his body up and down, a fist gripped invisible reigns, and the illusion of riding a crippled horse was created. His other hand pulled a gun from the holster, and he fired a few live rounds into the air. An imaginary train robbery was taking place right before our eyes. His vacant but intent stare said, “nobody is in right now, please leave a message ...” No longer consciously involved with the same physical space and time frame – Ladies and gentlemen, Elvis has left the building.
to be continued ...
7.13.2010
7.09.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 13
Biggadoo City, founded in 1882 by a colony of tin miners. Now a hotspot for party and club goers from all around the world.
I could sense the vibe as soon as I exited the train station, at this time of year, the city was alive with tourists. I felt laid back and remembered that I was on vacation when I walked down a lively cobbled street lined with different themed bars and restaurants, midday drinkers dressed in colourful light fabrics on the porches, watching me watching them. The smell of sizzling food permeated the air; I hadn't eaten for almost fourteen hours, the train buffet carriage was filled with flies which used the mouldy offerings as practice landing strips. Along with the sound of stainless steel utensils that swished against hot pans, the smell of someone's sauteed potatoes snuck out from the kitchen and fornicated with my senses. My stomach grumbled as if a structural column had collapsed inside me.
There's nothing like the temptation of food to bring the senses home, and indeed I could be at home for this was a one way trip - I had packed up and left my tiny rented apartment, dumped all the things that I couldn't take with me in a skip at the end of the road and given the rest of it to a second-hand charity shop. I thought about a pair of shorts that I would have liked to be wearing; I imagined them on a plastic hangar, squashed on a rail between other musty clothes. I wished I hadn't given them away, oh how I longed for them! However seductive the restaurants were, I had to ignore the call of my digestive system and look for a hotel, or I would be sleeping on the streets. Biggadoo didn't look like the kind of city where you could get a peaceful night's sleep outside on the pavement, especially when the revellers were knocking the alcohol back as if they didn't need to find their way back to their beds.
How does one select a hotel? When planning in advance, one might look at the hotel room's photos in a travel brochure, read some reviews on the internet; whether the cost of the room is within your budgeting requirements and if the facilities meet your requirements. The price of the room was not an issue, even during the tourist season, Biggadoo is fairly cheap. So the first thing I looked for was a sign that said “HOTEL”; it didn't take long before I came across a five storey stone building that had these letter hanging over its entrance.
I stood outside to assess to the best of my ability, what kind of hotel it was: clean? Rat-infested? Bed lice ridden? Were there dead bodies plastered into the walls? These are the kinds of questions, a wary traveller like me has to ask himself. There weren't many clues, crimson curtains were drawn behind all the windows. Okay, I'll go inside and ask. I pushed open the glass door and was greeted with the perfume of recently sprayed cheap room deodorizer. The small foyer was panelled in wood, there was an small unoccupied counter to my left which was behind security bars and perforated perspex glass. I looked inside and noticed a black haired man reading a newspaper at a desk with an overflowing ashtray that threatened to erupt. He saw me, “What do you want?” he said in a gruff voice. A rhythmic banging sound began from somewhere above.
“I need a room for a week.”
“What for?” He looked at me suspiciously. The muffled moan of a man experiencing joy from his groin joined in the auditory performance happening beyond the ceiling.
This sounded like an odd question, but I replied nonetheless, “To sleep in, sir.” I straightened up my back and lined my arms against my sides.
“Just to sleep?” He put the paper down and reached for a packet of cigarettes on the desk. There was a knocking sound, “Wait one minute!” I noticed a door on the other side of the small office. He uttered something in a foreign language, and a small middle-aged woman in an apron with a bucket and mop came in. She put the cleaning stuff into a small cupboard, he gave her some money, she counted it, shook her head disapprovingly with a sigh then left. He came over to the counter, “Look buddy …” His accent was flaky as hell, “ … this hotel,” he swirled his forefinger in the air and pointed his pupils upwards, “you gotta get a girl to stay here, know what I mean, buddy?”
I needed a hotel, and this hotel was as good as any other, if he had a room I was going to take it, there was no guarantee that the other hotels would have vacancies. I leaned on the counter with my elbow, it creaked, “Where can I get a girl?
He smiled, “You are in luck, sir! Every room comes with a complimentary girl! Will you be paying for the week's stay by credit card or cash?” I handed him my credit card. “Please sir, take a seat over there,” he motioned me towards some worn purple velvet upholstered chairs by the entrance and pressed a button that was just out of sight. A buzzer rang in the distance. I took a seat. He lit a cigarette. There was a clomping sound down the red carpeted stairwell, then three ladies emerged. They marched into the lobby and assembled into a rough line. “Take your pick sir, but don't take too long about it.” he added as he tapped the dial of his gold wristwatch.
The slump-shouldered women wore a drawn glazed look. They looked about thirty-something, but I guessed that they were actually in their late twenties. Each wore a dressing gown and slippers, and all of them bore a kind of red rash on their cheeks and forehead. Since I wasn't actually going to have sexual intercourse with any of them, it didn't really matter which one I picked, but I decided I didn't want the obese one with the pronounced underbite and fat lower lip, or the big nose anorexic-looking girl with wide shoulders and a protruding collarbone bone. I pointed at the shortest one with black hair, bushy eyebrows and dry scaly lips beneath a thin moustache.
“Ah, you have made an excellent choice, sir.” He sent the other girls back up into the darkness where they came from. He returned my credit card with a receipt, gave a set of keys to the remaining girl and issued a set of instructions to her, she nodded, “Wana will take you up to your room.”
She turned to me, “Come this way, sir.” she said in a lacklustre tone. She dragged her slippered feet along the red carpet. I followed her up two flights of stairs to a dimly lit corridor where a light fixture flickered against a faded damask wallpaper pattern. There were two doors to the side and a room at the end. The air smelt damp. Slapping and moaning could be heard from behind one of the doors we passed. We reached my room at the end of the corridor. She fumbled the key into the hole, and made a grunt, “Funny, it – is – not - locked.” She opened the door and gasped, a naked fat man was sleeping on the bed. “One minute sir,” she said to me and she entered the room to wake the guy up. A few words exchanged, and the guy looking embarrassed, grabbed his clothes and left, profusely apologizing to me on his way out.
Wana straightened out the bed sheets and the pungent scent of damp sweat wafted into the air. An aluminium ashtray sat on the bedside table with a couple of bent cigarette butts in it. There was another room off to the side with just a shower and a basin, some wet towels lay on the floor.
“The toilet is outside, in the corridor on the left.” said Wana. When I turned to face her, she was already lying in bed under the covers. I excused myself.
I didn't trust Wana and I needed to empty my bowels, so I took my suitcase into the toilet with me. The space was lit with a low wattage bulb that hung naked from a rusty watermarked ceiling. Once inside, I realized that I couldn't turn around with the suitcase that I was holding on it's side, so I backed out, and reversed into the lavatory with the luggage. Getting my trousers and pants off involved resting the suitcase on my knees and against the door (which fortunately opened outwards). It was the late afternoon already, and my stomach growled angrily for skipping a step in my daily routine … food, I needed to get my teeth into some, before the natural instinct for self-preservation kicked in and drove me to procreate with an ugly prostitute so that I could ensure the survival of the human race, or, at least, salvage my genetic information from starvation. Time to hunt, lunchtime.
to be continued ...
6.30.2010
Muscle Lover
6.28.2010
6.21.2010
6.20.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 12
The train station was an impressive oblong structure strung out of mud, bamboo, wood and corrugated metal that reached three stories into the sky. From the ticket office, I could see that the train was already quite full so I bought a first-class ticket and hurriedly boarded. This was the first and last train of the day and it was leaving in forty-two minutes. I could have taken it slowly, but I couldn't trust myself with the time, and besides, the spring cushion seats in the carriage were much more comfortable than the wooden benches on the platform which were covered in bird shit. I sat next to the window and took a nap.
When I woke up, the train was whizzing through the dessert. Nothing but flat terrain, sand and rock. An elderly gentleman sat opposite, to the right of me, hunched over a newspaper on his lap; it was a local one, The Daily Spirit. He was wearing a tie-dye tee shirt and khaki knee length shorts. He stroked his facial hair, about two months growth, while he scanned the words with a smile his face, at first I thought that it was something amusing in the article, but after about half an hour, I noticed that the smile hadn't budged a millimetre, and came to the conclusion that the grin was perhaps a permanent landmark on his face.
The door opened and another tourist came into the compartment. The elderly man looked up and the woman smiled back at him. They both ignored me. She set her plump bottom down next to me; the seat cushion wobbled as the springs underneath redistributed their loads to accommodate the new mass. She fumbled around in her handbag and extracted a small colourful packet. She pulled open the package, and put one of its contents into her mouth; it rattled against her teeth. “Would you care for a sweet?” she waved the bag between the man's head and newspaper.
“I thought you'd never ask!” They laughed. He took a red ball, and placed it into his mouth after a quick admiration of the product. “Mmmm, very tasty! What flavour are they?”
She spun the bag around in her hand and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Hmm, not quite sure. It doesn't say anything except Ooboo Ooboo and everything else is in Biggadese.”
“Well, it doesn't matter as long as they taste good, right?” He grinned as he spoke, a juggling act of lips, teeth, tongue and unidentified spherical object.
I laughed and they glanced nervously at me then pretended that I wasn't there.
“Would you like some of my paper to read, madam?”
“Is that the Daily Spirit? I love to get my daily dose of Daily Spirit!” she guffawed.
He plucked a couple of sheets from the front and handed them to her, “I haven't read the back yet, but the middle should keep me busy for now.”
She leant back into the chair and once again pushed up her glasses to read. I caught her squinting at me and she hid behind with the paper. The front page headline read, “Serenity Boy gig cancelled by disruption!”
Something slid off my head, bounced of the opposite unoccupied seat and landed on the floor in front of me with a loud clonk, narrowly missing the old man's knees. I heard a high pitched yelp and a rustle of paper from next to me. The fallen object was my suitcase; I'd forgotten that I was balancing it on my head for safe-keeping while I slept.
to be continued ...
6.18.2010
6.17.2010
6.15.2010
6.12.2010
The Terror Bear
The terror bear is based on an ancient aboriginal myth of a bear that would coil your tongue around its body then insert the tip in its ear then stick a tree branch into your eye.
6.10.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 11
There was a knock at the door. I looked at the open window, the billowing curtains beckoned me to go through it; I picked up the suitcase under my arm and headed towards it. There was more banging at the door, but this time it was accompanied by a familiar voice, “Hey Tog, open up, it's me Jason.” He must have followed me back last night. “I left my sunglasses on your dressing table.” Sure enough and as right as rain he was, there was a pair of sleek black shades that hadn't caught my attention before. How did his glasses get inside my room? Suddenly, a flashback. Jason had indeed followed me back last night – Ah, how could my brain have lost so much information? But the memories flooded back as if I had scored the jackpot and retrieved a bunch of items from a lost property office.
Last night, I had run all the way home; in my panic, I hadn't even bothered to turn around and check if anyone was following me. I was splashing water on my face when there was knocking on the door, “Hey Tog, open up, it's me Jason.” I opened the door.
“I hope you don't mind, I followed you all the way back,” he paused to pant and catch his breath, “wanted to check if everything was okay?” His mouth tossed a line of spittle across his chin and he wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“Oh hey! You're ... uh,” I pretended to search my mind for a name, but was actually wincing at the sight of a swollen zit on his nose which looked ready to explode any minute on it's own accord, “Jason, from the boat, right?”
“Yeah man.” he replied monotonously.
I grinned, “Well come in then, dear boy!” I swept a path in the air to welcome him inside, “Long time no see, I hope you're doing well?”
We had hung out, all night, drinking the bottle of whisky that I kept in my suitcase, and smoking his weed. I knew he would eventually ask my motive for attacking the guy, and when he did after several more full swigs, I told him that I kicked him for farting, we laughed and drank some more. We did some more stuff and I passed out on the floor … Hold on a minute … Did some more stuff, what stuff did we do? I felt my pores prickle with cold sweat. One thing I was sure about was that I didn't do weird stuff, no sir, I'm normal.
Suddenly, the long haired hippy who was standing on the other side of the door, assumed a monstrous appearance inside my mind. He didn't have a beard, but I pictured him with one, holding a floral bouquet and standing with the happiest grin of his life in a white wedding dress. I gagged a bit. “I must do the right thing and open the door.” I said to myself?
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, be right with you, just getting dressed.” Ah, I woke up with my clothes on, so that means nothing happened. I opened the door with a wide grin. “Hi!”
He crept under my arm and went for the sunglasses. He wore them on his head. “You going somewhere?” He noticed the suitcase.
“Depends.” I leaned out into the corridor to check for cops.
“On what?”
“You've been out today, what's the word on the street?”
“Huh?”
“The cops," I closed the door quietly, “they looking for me, right?”
“No.”
“Really?”
He walked over to the window, “nice view,” he restrained the excited curtain, you can really see the street up here now it's daytime.'
“I'm thinking of leaving for Biggadoo City today.”
“Oh, The Forsaken Joy already left port last week – won't be back for another three months.”
“I've got to get out of this place,” a donkey hee-hawed loudly outside, “it's driving me nuts.” For a second, I entertained the idea of throwing a tantrum: go completely wild and start tossing furniture around the room to make Jason feel uncomfortable, and induce a premature departure for us.
He sat on the windowsill, his streamlined face sailing through the breeze which puffed the curtains up once again like sails. “You should go to Biggadoo City,” He pulled out a rectangular tin from his pocket and played with it in his hands, “but I'd like to join you there when I'm done here, is that okay with you?”
to be continued ...
6.09.2010
THE HUNGRY MAN CHRONICLES: PART 10
A black mass cannoned the door into the publisher, winding him in the process. Robert was suddenly on the ground too. “What the …?” said the publisher as he picked himself up.
A donkey stood in the middle. It was made from dark stained wood and it's varnished gloss rippled reflections as it rotated it's head to examine the surroundings. The creature pulled it's painted red lips into a clown's grin then spoke, “Hi Tog,” Cold polished black stone eyes fixed on me, “it's real good to meet again, I see you have company.”
Robert still on the floor, had assumed a seating position and watched the wooden monster with wide-eyed curiosity as it strode toward him like an amateur clay animation. “ don't like this man,” it said, “he is vain and obnoxious because he cares too much about how others perceive him, but he makes a good servant as he will do anything for money … don't trust him.”
A weight pulled my upper body towards the ground for an instant, I didn't realize what it was until I saw that a sizeable sledgehammer had materialized, quite snugly, into my hands. The tool looked brand new, the Khan brand logo was crisply emblazoned in black on the bright yellow shaft. The metal head glinted like a wink at me. A thought broke into my head like a fat cat burglar squeezing through a window frame. A grin spread like molten cheese across my face. Laughter erupted from my mouth. The donkey had recoiled, eyes exposed like the fear that trembled beneath it's smooth grainy exterior. A shadow writhed over it like a snake and I saw the reflection of a man possessed by madness in the cold stone eyes. There was a loud crack, and wood chips shrapnelled into the air.
----------------------- commercial break ------------------------
Darkness with a fuzzy orange glow. The sound of car horns and engines, somewhere else. I opened my eyes. I was in my hotel room, lying on the dusty timber floor. A warm morning light invited itself into the room. I couldn't remember how I got back, but the guilt of the previous day's assault on an innocent man nibbled at my conscience – why oh why? The room span for a second as I got to my feet. There was a dusty dressing table, I wiped it's tarnished mirror, then examined myself. Okay, I looked close to mint condition, no visible signs of damage – the body is once again ready for exploration in the physical realm, maybe the other guy was not so lucky; I can't believe I kicked that guy in the butt.
I've got to get out of this place. Can't stay, the local police will be keeping an eye out for me. They probably won't throw me in the slammer, no, they're too smart for that - they don't want scumbag tourists occupying their oh-so-precious jail space. More than likely, they'd be scary horndogs who like to play it cool, but they like to teach out of town troublemakers a lesson that they won't be forgetting too quickly; you know, these moustached guys that join this small town law enforcement are all closet homosexuals anyway, waiting to wreak all those years of pent-up sexual frustration on some poor chap who just had one drink too many.
My stuff! I've got to gather my belongings … that's what they do in the movies, anyway. I grabbed my battered suitcase and threw it on the bed. A colourful assortment of travel labels adorned the case which reminded me that I had been given an “I [heart symbol] Buckaboo!” sticker upon arrival, I pulled it from my back pocket, quickly uncrumpled it, then adhered it in the largest unoccupied area, taking a split second to admire it by tilting my head at a slight angle to one side. I smacked the side of my skull with the palm of my hand, “Think! THINK!” After a momentary pause, I switched into action mode, flipped the suitcase open and flung my clothes into it.
to be continued ...
6.08.2010
6.07.2010
6.01.2010
The Dirty Hamburger Eater
If you must know, I bought an account at DeviantArt http://zombiehellmonkey.deviantart.com/ - I paid my way in, that's the way to do it.
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