Mark

If you're reading this, Mark, you're a dick.

It's a boy

If someone got pregnant around the time I last contributed to this blog, that person might have a child by now. So much can happen during the time it takes to have a child, it's crazy. Three quarters of a person's year. 

Anyway, I decided to return here to see just how much my writing has suffered since I got pregnant. After a year in the US, where the only writing I did was on this blog, and one semester into a mechanical engineering degree, in which the writing is mostly condensed to notes and mathematical formulas, I fear my ultimate grasp of the English language has slackened to the point of hanging precariously from my pinkie finger. I'm the kind of prick that loves to correct people on their spelling and grammar. A real grammar nazi. But how can I be taken seriously when I'm making the same mistakes myself? 

So I just finished my first semester at university. Most of my friends have gone home now but I'm stuck in Liverpool until Monday (three more days). Pretty lonely. What do lonely people do? Blog. That's what they do. 

Actually, this will have to wait. My pasta just finished cooking and I want to watch a movie. Lol.

Woah.

Okay. So it's 4 in the morning but a thought occurred to me that I couldn't just ignore. I realise this may just be the ramblings of a half asleep madman but hear me out.

I was woken up about 30 minutes ago by something I can only describe as a vibration. I thought I was receiving a call so I checked my phone, yet all I had was a message on Facebook sent a few hours ago. So I tried to get back to sleep but the vibrating started again. Rhythmically, like a phone ringing. I tried ignoring it but it persisted. Eventually I was clutching my head and covering my ears, silently begging for it to stop. I thought that perhaps it was coming from my father's room and that I had developed hyper-keen hearing. However, upon concentration the vibrations morphed into snoring and eventually the snoring morphed into a low hum that resembled the wind. Later, what I believed to be the sound of an engine crept in too, which also morphed into a continuous hum, at a higher pitch. 

It was at this point that I excitedly picked up my phone and began blogging, having come to the conclusion that unidentified sounds can be manipulated by the mind. Either that or I have some sort of power. Or this might be common knowledge and nothing spectacular at all. What's important is that the vibrating went away.

Hello, blog.

So I just set off on an Amtrak train from Salinas station in Central California. I’m heading for Seattle and if the journey’s as riddled with delays as it was on the way down, I have about 30 hours to kill.

It’s dark. 6:50 PM January 23, 2014. Microsoft Word filled that in for me. I’m using Word because there’s no internet for the common folk who aren’t in the section of the train that has beds. On the way to Salinas I took photos every hour or so and posted a ‘photo diary’ on Facebook, to unanimous praise. I’m kidding, of course. But my parents certainly enjoyed it. I guess they’re who it was aimed at. Anyway, apart from that I had very little to keep me occupied. I didn’t sleep. There was no internet (except for the limited cellular data I sacrificed on posting my photos). I met a guy from Oregon and another from California over breakfast, but that’s about it. Sudoku, music, and the few hours of view I had: that was it.

This time I’m going to be writing, on and off, for the duration of the trip. I have no idea what I will write, or whether it will be of any quality. What I do know is it will be bloody long. Longer than anything I’ve ever written for this blog before. I mean, I’m writing it on Word for goodness sake. Never done that before. Hah, a green squiggly line under that last sentence. It wants me to write formally, the prick. Well too bad. Oh hoh, Weekend Warriors just came up on my iPod. Haven’t heard it for aaaages. I sung that so badly, but I can’t help thinking back on it fondly. Oh right, it’s a song I performed with my high school band, by the way. One of the first songs we played, in fact. That band was so much more successful after I left, haha.

So what was I doing in Salinas? Nothing, I took a bus from there to a place called Monterey. What was I doing in Monterey? Well, to be honest I just wanted to come down to California and my father happened to be part of a workshop down there with some research scientists from various universities and institutes around the world. It actually made me think twice about pursuing engineering. I mean, a bunch of the world’s top scientists in their respective fields, coming together in one of the most beautiful places in the world to spend a week living together in a massive house by the sea to try and tackle current major world issues, and in their down-time using university money to eat at fancy restaurants, travel the gorgeous coast, and kayak with seals, sea lions, sea otters, whales, sharks and a butt-tonne of other brilliant creatures. How freakin’ awesome is that? I’ve always thought being a research scientist is one of the most boring careers you could embark on. My dad’s going off to Iceland next week. Insane. He never told me what it was he did when he travelled abroad. I figured he was just going to seminars and writing emails and papers from an office that just happened to be in a different country.

As for what I did… How about a diary? I wrote one for my mother after my trip down to San Diego and she seemed to enjoy it. So I might end up copy-pasting this for her too.

Anywhoooo, here goes:

Day 1: Arrival in California

The train only got as far as San Jose before the engine exploded and everybody in the first class was obliterated. Okay, it wasn’t that dramatic, but the engine was destroyed. Anyway, fortunately Amtrak offered those of us heading to Salinas, Seaside and Monterey a bus from the station. So myself and a couple others took that, leaving everyone heading down to Santa Barbara and LA to wait at the station for God knows how long. A few hours later I arrived in Monterey, which looks like it could be a town in Southern Italy, except everything’s in English (and Spanish)! I strolled around the town for a little while and then retired to the luxury hotel that the good people of Stanford had provided for me. I discovered the mini bar, read through the list of items and their outrageous prices and exclaimed out loud how outrageous they were, before heading back out for dinner. I took a peek in the art museum, listened to the sea lions making stupid noises, and then went looking for food. My search ended quickly when I discovered there was a McDonalds nearby which, considering I had about 10 dollars on me, was probably my best option. Mcflurry in hand, I returned home and watched a crap movie on amc, then fell asleep watching Pulp Fiction.

Day 2: Big Sur

I awoke to discover father had arrived. Rather than a 30 hour train ride, he had taken a couple of 2 hour flights. I ate a bagel and then we went to a place called Steinbeck Court (after John Steinbeck, whom the city takes great pride in, judging by all the places named after him) to meet a guy called Josh Cinner, from JCU (although, as he mentioned several times throughout the week, he’s been shortlisted to move to Stanford). He’s a pretty cool guy, American but lived in Australia for the last 11 years or something; really talkative. So then father, Josh and I took a car south to Big Sur and drove along the coast, which was absolutely stunning. Eventually we reached a place that, according to the location stamp on the photos I took, is called ‘Julia Pfeiffer SP’. Anyway, we went for a hike through a redwood forest and came back just in time to see the sunset. Then we went back to Monterey for dinner. We went to a place called the Sardine Factory, which upon entry looked like a fairly standard bar. We were asked to wait for a table to become available and sat at the bar where they had breadsticks and goldfish (the edible kind). After a little while we were led through a very fancy room to an even more fancy room which our table was situated in. It was pretty hilarious because everyone in the room was dressed in suits and dresses and we walked in wearing t-shirts, Josh in shorts and me with baggy jeans and a sports jacket. We were also pretty much the only table not seating a couple on a date. Josh accidentally bought a $75 bottle of chardonnay, believing it was $40 because he had read the half bottle list. After the fancy meal we went to a bar on Cannery Row (tourist-y area) where I was reminded that the legal drinking age is 21 in this country, so I watched father and Josh drink for a few minutes before leaving and walking back to the hotel. Turns out they nearly got into a knife fight with a couple of drunk, die-hard Oakland Raiders fans.

Day 3: More walking and stuff

I’m struggling to remember the name of the woman we met up with on this day, so I’m going to compile a quick list of people who I know were at this workshop thing, then use the list to find her online. Clever? Yes, thank you. So there’s father, Josh, Aaron MacNeil, Nick Graham, Tim McClanahan. Oh wow, Tim has a Wikipedia page. That’s pretty neat. Then there’s Nyawira Muthiga, whom I met in Amsterdam a couple years back. Cindy Huchery! That’s the one. Just for personal interest though I’m going to search for the rest of them. Actually, I changed my mind, that’s a terrible idea. I have limited cellular data. So anyway, father, Josh, Cindy and I went down to Point Lobos for another stroll. Although it wasn’t a particularly ambitious stroll because Cindy had damaged her leg in a skiing accident and so had to shuffle around with a leg in a cast all week. But the scenery was lovely and we saw a little otter swimming around in kelp. We also saw some white guy making strange gestures in front of a camera, later realizing he was filming a music video. Didn’t recognize him though. Ugh, Word is changing all the ‘s’s to ‘z’s.

After going down the coast again we drove to the house that we’d be staying in for the duration of the workshop. It was this big yellow house cleverly named ‘Yellowhouse’ in Pacific Grove, just west of Monterey. I stayed in the guest house with father and a guy called Joseph Maina. We watched the end of the big football game in time to see the Seattle Seahawks beat the San Francisco 49ers, much to the disappointment of every football fan in California. Which was unfortunate, considering we were in California. I forgot to mention we went shopping before reaching the house. Not that that’s particularly exciting information. It was Trader Joe’s. We had dinner and then I forget what happened after that.

Day 4: Work Begins

But not for me! This was the day that the rest of the 10 or so people taking part in the workshop turned up and their important work stuff kicked off. I kept out the way by renting a bike out for the next 3 days and heading north. Before I did that though, I paid a visit to the Monterey fire department to give them a jacket they had dropped off the back of a really loud firetruck. Josh thought they’d give me a free jacket or let me slide down a pole or something, but they just said thanks. So I set off down the coastal trail, leaving Monterey into a town called Seaside, which just so happened to be near the seaside. Seaside subsided into the equally inventively named Sand City, and then I followed a trail that ran along the coast for quite some distance. Probably the best cycling path I’ve been on before. Eventually I reached a little fork that had paths north and east. I went east and ended up in a ghost town. It was really quite creepy, just rows of deserted buildings for miles. Beyond that was California State University – Monterey Bay, which is essentially just desert with a few buildings scattered here and there. Every so often you see a student wandering along. I quickly tired of this creepy university campus and rode on to Marina where I bought beef jerky for lunch. At this point I noticed the sun hanging worryingly low over the horizon. There’s little scarier than being in a strange place and needing to cycle a fair distance through the dark without lights. So I peddled like a maniac down the bike track to beat the sun. When I realized I was going to get back before sunset I stopped briefly to do some mountain biking on the sand dunes of Fort Ord and then, completely knackered, hobbled back to Monterey. At the border between Seaside and Monterey there were a couple of geese that hadn’t moved during the several hours I had been away. I laughed out loud at this for some reason and then got back to Pacific Grove as the sun set.

Day 5: Carmel

Nick had told me that going south was more interesting than north over dinner the previous night so this time I headed south. Sure enough there’s this long road called the ’17 mile drive’ which follows the coast out of Monterey and goes down to, and through, Carmel. This 17 mile drive was stupidly beautiful and largely empty. I cycled past massive houses, more golf courses than you could shake a golf club at, and, of course, the wonderful coast. I reached Carmel, which is a very pretty but slightly boring town, then stopped off at the fanciest Starbucks I’d ever been in. I left my bike outside, not in the slightest afraid that it would be stolen despite not having a lock, and bought myself some salami and bread wafers before heading back through Carmel. I stopped off at the marshlands, having been enticed by a road named ‘Scenic Road’, right next to a beach which I had essentially to myself. I decided to take a different route back to Monterey, however it turned out to be a terrible mistake, as I had to struggle up huge hills and turn onto several highways. The hills paid off however, because once I turned off the final highway I was treated to a couple of miles of a downhill path, which was completely deserted. When I got back I met a kid called Jake, the son of two of the scientists at the workshop. We decided we’d go to the aquarium the next day. I’m going to have a quick snooze now. Aaaand woke up to the sound of people shouting about a train crashing on the tracks ahead of us. Yay, a delay.

Day 6: Very Thirsty

That title has nothing to do with what I did that day; it’s just that the little shop on the train is closed after 11 so I can’t get anything to drink. Blergh. Anyway, in the morning I went with Jake to the aquarium. He’d already been several times so whenever we went in to one of the informational talks he would give out facts before the speaker said them. He also insisted we spend plenty of time in the gift shop. Apart from that he was pretty good company. Smart for a 12 year old, but I guess that’s what happens when you’re the son of two research scientists. Actually, come to think of it, I’m not sure the mother is one. I just presumed that because she was there and has an intelligent sounding British accent. But I digress. The aquarium is awesome. Which it should be, considering it’s supposed to be the best in the country. We stayed there for a couple of hours and then headed back because we had kayaking planned. The kayaking was one of the highlights of the week: I’d seen seals, sea lions, otters, dolphins, whales etc. from a distance all week but getting up close in a kayak was amazing. We paddled from one end of the bay to the other, past a headland that was swarming with sea lions. As we passed it we were surrounded by them in the water. Some would follow you as you passed them, some would swim under the kayak, and some even came right up and tried to nudge the kayak. We were told beforehand not to get too close so as to interrupt the natural order, but there’s little you can do when they approach you. Past the headland was a massive kelp forest with several otters sloshing around in it. When I saw a baby otter riding along on its mother’s tummy while she was grooming it I decided otters were my new favourite animal. They were a lot shyer than the sea lions, but we still managed to get pretty close. No luck with the whales and dolphins, although we’d been pretty lucky to see so many of them throughout the week. In the evening we all went to an Italian restaurant called ‘il vecchio’ where I discovered the joys of frozen mousse and ‘Italian’ soda. Yummers.

Day 7: Today

Although it’s actually yesterday now, because it’s past 12. I stayed in for the morning and packed, and then Jake and I went back to the aquarium with our special member cards (advantage of knowing certain people). We saw most of the exhibits and shows that we didn’t get around to the day before and then before I knew it I had to rush out to the bus stop. Skip forward a few hours and I’m here writing this.

I may have gotten a bit lazy with the writing towards the end there, but I think I’m going to lie down in a weak attempt to get some sleep.

Alriiiiight, just had breakfast – buttermilk pancakes with syrup. The sun’s up now too, just in time to see a little bit of Northern California. Wow, those wide open plains like you see in the western movies. I missed all this on the way down because it was dark. Ahhh, the sun rising over the hills… So nice.

8:15 am at the first stop in Oregon – Klamath Falls. Should be about 13 hours left if the train meets its schedule. My friend told me I ought to write a story, but I don’t know if I should save it for after I’ve finished this monstrosity, else he’ll probably not read it. I’m already 5 pages in. Nobody in their right mind would read 5 pages of ramblings.

The guy in the café cart is funny. He keeps making these announcements whenever the café closes or opens. Last night there were a bunch of drunken hippies hanging around in front of it and he announced to the rest of the train that he was ‘having a blast’ down in the ‘party cart’. I imagine it’s a fairly tedious job. Oooh snow outside!

Ah, screw it; I’m going to write the story. It’s just the right atmosphere. The snowy forest out the window, unchained melody playing on my iPod, the clear blue sky. Definitely fit for the romantic story I promised Johnny. Well, I didn’t promise him it, but whatever. If I remember correctly, it begins something like this…

I gently stroked the soft, supple back of a bat ray. It tensed slightly at first, but relaxed as it became accustomed to my touch. Upon seeing the pleasure the bat ray was experiencing, a trio of lemon sharks glided like silk through the still water to where the ray and I were bonding. They circled eagerly around my hand, occasionally darting forward to nudge it. I let out a slight chuckle and allowed one of the sharks to slide along my outstretched arm. Before long there was a large congregation of various sea critters caressing my arms. I let out a giggle of pleasure and pulled away from the touch pool quickly.

    “You silly goose” I exclaimed out loud to the animals. I turned around and my eyes were met by those of the twenty or so tourists and staff in the room. Without hesitation I lifted a plaice from the touch pool and shoved it down the front of my pants.

    “Well go ahead and look!” I shouted as the plaice writhed around. Nobody could force themselves to look away as the plaice’s squirms grew weaker. Before it could lie still I quickly retrieved it from my pants and placed it back in the water.

     “You sick bastard” an elderly woman said. I paced slowly towards her, closer and closer, until our faces were practically touching. Then I leaned to her side, placing my mouth an inch from her ear and whispered: ‘plenty more fish in the sea’. The woman stared at me, utterly bewildered as I confidently strolled from the room.

I appear to be in a place called Chemult. I’m not there anymore. I’m somewhere really snowy. I was reading a book that I can’t seem to invest myself into very well.

So I got off the train for a bit in Eugene for the first time in 18 hours, which was nice. Now it’s that part of the journey that’s pretty much just endless farmland. To be honest it looks quite pretty at midday, like something out of The Sound of Music. It’s clear enough to see the mountains in the background.

There’s something oddly calming about listening to Rammstein as we cruise through the Oregon countryside. MEEEIN TEEEIL. Choo choo.

An hour wait at Portland union station? Whyyyy. We’re so close to Washington. But no cigar. Oh, we’re moving. I should have written something in that hour. Now it just looks like I was complaining for nothing. Oh wow, there’s a movie on this laptop. Well hey!

Damn good movie, that. The Fighter. Pretty sure I’ve seen it before. Well it’s totally dark now. Just a few more hours. Pretty peckish. So I had a hotdog. On the Amtrak trains they have these kinda weird tasting kosher hotdogs. I don’t know why I keep getting them. I remember the first one I had back when I took the train from San Diego to LA and I’m sure I’ve had several since. Not that the selection onboard is immaculate. I’m talking about train food, what is wrong with me. I guess I’m just tired and uninspired. I think I’ll read over this whole thing to pass the time.

Well I just read over it. Too late to change anything now. Okay, that’s not true, but who’s going to stop me from not changing anything? You? I didn’t think so. I’m in Tacoma.

Now I’m in my bed in Seattle. Just like magic. Goodbye! *Fades away*

Disclaimer

So I feel like I should explain the purpose of the sometimes stupidly graphic content on this blog, just in case some innocent mind or a future employer happens upon it and reacts by ruining my life.

I've strayed somewhat from the roots of this once-tame space on the internet, and as I read back over some of my more recent posts I think to myself: what twisted psychopath conceived such macabre drivel. The answer is me, of course, but I like to think it's a part of me locked away most of the time.

The truth is, I write this crap when I'm angry at something or someone. It allows me to stay calm and collected out there in the real world; anyone that knows me personally can probably vouch for that. Most of the time it's about relationships with people, whether that be family, friends or just random shitheads I meet in the wild. The last post was a culmination of wanting to write a holiday tale and being incredibly pissed off at my brother. The result wasn't pretty, granted. But I felt PURE NIRVANA afterwards. 

I'm lonely too. 2 weeks ago I moved to the US from the city in England I'd known for 18 years of my life. Away from people I've known for a significant portion of that time and some I'd met and grown close to in the last 2 years, having moved back from Malaysia. I knew nobody in this massive city, and until I start classes and my voluntary work I won't have any real friends. I've met some of the faculty at the University of Washington and Seattle University, but I'd hardly call them friends. Siiiigggghh. To be fair though, there's one guy from my school in Malaysia living about 30 miles south of me, which is pretty cool. Haven't met up with him yet though. I diiid meet up with a friend in California though. That was awesome. It's a really cool place too. Southern California, anyway. I miss a lot of people though, and I'm starting to feel the distance. I haven't talked to my best friend in quite some time now. Last I heard he's getting on really well where he is, which I'm glad for. I guess when you move around so much you have to get used to this kind of stuff, but I'd like to hold on to my closest friends. Thing is, I don't know how to initiate a sort of 'catch-up'. It's stupid really, because when I was with these people it was easy to talk to them. I guess I just have this fear that they've moved on to better things and don't have time for me.

I didn't like how big that paragraph was getting. My brother came in and distracted me so I've lost my train of thought. Whatever, that'll do. I know you're probably reading this too, brother. Go ahead and judge. Just remember, I have plenty of secrets about you to share with everyone you know if you use this against me. You know better than to fuck with me. Learn that. Live that.

*Skips off merrily into the sunset* 

It's pitch black outside so that doesn't work. Oh yeah, happy new year, by the way. I almost forgot it's still the 1st of January. I have a good feeling about 2014. If it turns out to be awful I'll have a good laugh reading back over this and shaking my head at my past self's naivete. However, I stand by that good feeling. 

Toodles!

 - JF 

Happy Holidays! :D

Hello, glorious fanbase. By which I mean Freegal, if he/she/it isn't too busy. If by some miraculous turn of events you are someone who isn't called Freegal then you probably have no idea what's going on.

So last year I posted a Christmas tale that went down pretty well amongst my 3 or 4 readers. You can read it here if you want. In fact you probably should because I'm going to write a follow-up just in time for the end of the year. So go read. Do it. Did you do it? No? Why not? This is a free service right here. There aren't even any annoying ads on my page. I feed off views. They are my only source of nourishment. Do you want to starve me? That's so sick and twisted. Screw you. If you did go read it then disregard everything I just wrote. I love you. Anyway, try not to be too pissed off as I begin my story with one of the most hated cliches in any form of media...



  Mickey awoke suddenly, sweat erupting from his brow. Without hesitation he rushed from his room to where his parents laid. They were sleeping peacefully together, their arms wrapped tightly around one another. Mickey smiled for a moment and then pounced onto their bed, like a baby panther seeking its mother's attention.
    "Woah-ho, hey sport!" his father embraced him and let him squeeze into the bed between the couple. "What's got you in such a good mood? Christmas was nearly a week ago!"
The three of them chuckled merrily and settled down together. Mickey took in his parents' warmth with glee. They lay there for a while before Mickey's father pulled the cover off them and announced that it was time for breakfast.
    "Come on, family! We're losing daylight!" they all skipped down the hall and down the stairs and into the dining room.
    "Who wants pancakes?" Mickey's mother said as she slipped on her oven-mitts and put on her best smile.
    "Pancakes? Ooh, I don't know.." Mickey's father said, feigning uncertainty before exploding into laughter along with the rest of the family. "Say, where's our other boy gotten off to?"
Just then there was a loud slam and Dick emerged from the hallway.
    "'Sup, dudes." Dick crammed himself into one of the dining room chairs, it creaked under the sheer mass of his bulging muscles. The family shared concerned glances for a moment and then Mickey's mother placed a warm batch of fluffy pancakes upon the table.
    "Mmmmm, that smells delishful!" Mickey's father announced, playfully using a portmanteau as he regularly did. The whole family dug straight in. Mickey added a few drops of lemon and a sprinkle of sugar, his father poured a dash of syrup on his own, his mother opted out of confections, and Dick whacked a dollop of chocolate spread on top of his pancakes and shoveled them messily into his mouth. His mother gave him a look to which he responded with something about working it off in the gym, although it was hard to distinguish beneath the sound of nutella squirting from his lips.
     "Alright guys, who's ready for our New Year's Eve hike?" Mickey's father asked with such enthusiasm that he literally threw his arms up in the air. Mickey and his mother both matched his enthusiasm by raising their arms and proclaiming their excitement. Dick on the other hand let out a belch and slumped off. Mickey's mother sighed and began clearing the table.
      "Now now, Dorothy. Remember he just got back from Afghanistan. Our brave little soldier."
      "I know, he's a good kid." Mickey's mother's smile returned and she finished loading the dishwasher. "Now, how about that hike?"

   12 hours into the hike, spirits were still high. The family had been trekking through the mountain range that was practically on their doorstep, trying to reach the top of the tallest mountain in the range for the best view of all the fireworks that would be set off, come midnight.
    "Phew, how about that view, eh?" Mickey's father said from atop a boulder. "There really is no place I'd rather be right now. It's a shame Dick opted out of this." he wasn't wrong, the view was magnificent. Despite it being late at night the whole valley was visible under the light of the moon and the stars. The village below was lit up brightly by all those spreading festivity.
    "I hear the fireworks are going to be especially impressive this year, Roger!" Mickey's mother reported.
    "That is fantastic news, Dorothy!" Mickey's father patted Mickey on the back "Hear that, sport?" Mickey smiled and looked across the valley. Then he heard the snap of a twig behind him and spun around swiftly. He peered intently into the trees that lined the clearing they were standing in. He couldn't see anything but after a few moments a muffled voice came to his attention. Mickey couldn't quite pick out what the voice was saying but he detected a hint of melody and deduced that the voice was singing. Eventually he realised it was singing Auld Lang Syne, very slowly and with such a raspy tone that it was almost inaudible.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and neeeever brought to miiiiiiiiind? The voice appeared to come closer and closer, and as it did it got louder and louder, until it was right in front of Mickey, screaming into his face, causing him to clench his eyes shut. It was so loud that he stumbled backwards and nearly tripped. Mickey let out a scream as he felt a sturdy hand clasp his shoulder and shake him, just as the singing stopped.
    "Mickey? What's wrong?" it was only his father. "Are you still having those awful visions?" Mickey nodded his head and looked down at his feet, as if he was ashamed.
     "It's been over a year since this started, Mickey. When is it going to stop?" his mother said with such exasperation in her voice that it saddened him. His mind went back to Christmas, the previous year. He remembered it all so clearly, as if it had actually happened. The ghastly figures that had appeared from the trees. His mother hung from her neck. His father sprawled across a bed with his insides hanging out. His brother lying in a pool of his own blood and vomit. It caused him to let out a soft cry. His parents knelt down and embraced him.
     "Come on, Mickey. None of it is real. Let's just enjoy tonight, huh? It's less than an hour until the new year! Isn't that exciting?" Mickey nodded, picked himself up onto his feet and skipped down the track, calling to his parents to keep up. Mickey's parents exchanged a look of happiness, kissed each other and then jogged after Mickey.

   They reached the top with just 15 minutes to spare. Mickey punched the air and let out a cheer, his parents laughed affectionately.
    "Alright, gang! Settle down and park your behinds on this rock!" Mickey's father took out 3 cups and a flask of hot cocoa. He began pouring the cocoa into the first cup as Mickey and his mother sat down together.
    "So, do you have any resolutions for the new year?" Mickey's mother asked.
    "I'm going to get on better with Dick." Mickey said. His mother smiled broadly and stroked his hair.
    "That's very mature of you, son." She said before noticing that the cup Mickey's father was pouring cocoa into was overflowing. "Honey, I think there's enough in that cup already." As she said this he collapsed forward, splashing hot cocoa into her face. She screamed in pain and fell on top of Mickey. Mickey struggled underneath her before he made eye contact with his father. His eyes were open but there was no light in them. No life in them. Mickey glanced upwards and was horrified to see a machete lodged in his father's back. He quickly got up and pulled on his mother's arm.
    "We have to go, mummy!" he wailed and tugged as hard as he could. He looked at her face and saw that her eyes were in terrible condition - crimson red and puffy. His mind flashed back to his vision of the faceless creature with no eyes that had haunted him last Christmas. He shook the thought from his mind and, realising he was too small to carry his mother, ran for the trees. Crying as he did. He looked over his shoulder briefly to see a tall, dark figure looming over his mother. This caused him to stop. The figure was hooded and laden in camouflage clothing. It drew the machete from his father's back and held it against his mother's neck. From this distance it was hard to make out but Mickey swore he could hear a faint chuckle as the figure slowly pulled Mickey's mother's head backwards.
    "No!" Mickey cried, causing the figure to turn its head sharply towards him. It raised its arm slowly and twisted its hand into a fist, extended a finger and pointed it at Mickey. Then it raised the pointed finger to its mouth, which was the only feature visible inside the hood, and let out a shhhh sound. It turned back to Mickey's mother and pulled the machete back sharply across her throat. She let out a gasp, her puffy eyes wide in shock before he repeated the action, completely removing her head. The figure held the bloodied head up in the direction of Mickey and let out a tremendous war cry. Mickey darted into the trees, panting heavily between his bursts of sobbing. The forest seemed to extend indefinitely, sapping the energy from Mickey quickly. He tripped over a branch and fell into a crumpled heap beneath a large oak tree. He shuffled along and propped himself against the tree, catching his breath. To his dismay the figure appeared after only a few moments of rest. It held the machete firmly in its hand, blood dripping in a rhythmic fashion from the tip. It paced forward gradually, swinging the machete playfully in its hand. Then, almost comically, tripped over the very same branch Mickey had and landed clumsily on top of its own machete. It let out a guttural moan and squirmed about for a short time before flopping lifelessly to a halt. Mickey stretched forward hesitantly and lifted the hood of the figure. He came face to face with his brother, Dick.
    "Dick!" Mickey stated the obvious. He was in absolute shock from the terribly unfortunate events that had unfolded in the last 10 or so minutes but he felt somewhat relieved that the threat had been neutralised. Evidently Dick just hadn't been the same after Afghanistan. Only a little piece of Dick had come back home.

  Mickey sat down on the rock with his dead parents propped up beside him. He gazed upward at the stars, taking in their beauty. Then there was a loud bang that jolted Mickey forward. To his relief it was just the firework show starting up in the village below. The new year had begun. Mickey smiled as he remembered his resolution.
    "I'll see you soon, Dick." He lay down with his parents, looking up at the stupendous lights and sounds caused by the firework show. Then he closed his eyes and sighed, before he felt cold breath upon his neck and a voice whispered in his ear... For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld lang syne.


Well damn, that went on longer than I expected. Didn't work out quite as well as the last one either but hey, sequels rarely do. Anyway, I hope everyone has a happy new year's eve and a great 2014. And as always, 'don't make a scene'. ffs.

Fuck it; story.

Just a spur of the moment thing. Jhony, you bastard.

  Let's all for a moment pretend that Jhony survived his ordeal with the ponies in that story I wrote a little while back and travel now to his brand new cubicle off in... I don't know, candyland or some shit like that.

  A single drop of water glanced like a dainty ballerina off the tip of Jhony's pointed nose, causing him to twitch. Unfortunately, this was to be the highlight of his day.

The End.











Just kidding, you rascals. But I totally had you going there. That blank space above made this tooootally inconspicuous.

  Jhony flicked his nose and continued about his merry web surfing. Ooh, what's this? He thought as he stumbled upon a video mash-up of some random anime tribute and a 'hip' dubstep track. However, as he did a pop-up appeared advertising bread designed specifically for poking holes in and placing upon the face of a cat. He scrolled through images of several satisfied customers displaying their cats laden with bread, sighed, and unzipped his trousers. But before he could have his way with himself a small child appeared through the flap in the corner of his cubicle. Jhony muttered something about removing the stupid flap from his wall, picked up a brush and swept the child out through the flap.

  Several hours and many images of cats later, Jhony slumped backward in his chair. To his surprise the small child appeared through his flap once more, causing him to let out a guttural moan.
   "Mr Sir, may I have a moment of your precious time?" The child spoke, its voice was rough like sandpaper. That was such a terrible simile. Seriously, did I learn anything from my English classes? So cliche. Whoops, broke the fourth wall.

   Jhony put down the industrial strength tape he had used to repair the damage to the fourth wall caused by the narrator and turned back to the child.
   "What ails ye, youngling?" He said with a shrill, obnoxious tone.
   "I appear to have contracted Lesch-Nyan syndrome" The child responded. A tear escaped from Jhony's puffy eye. He knew what he had to do though. So he knelt down next to the child, placed his hand on its shoulder and told it the plan.
   "I'm going to have to suck it out" He stated with confidence.
   "Wh-what?" The child stared at Jhony in confusion. "Suck what out...?"
   "The syndrome, you dopey bastard" Jhony slapped the child's delicate face, dislocating its jaw. Then he retrieved a silly-straw from his trench coat pocket, put his fedora down on the ground and jammed the straw into the child's chest. The child let out a gasp and Jhony proceeded to suck rapidly on the straw.

   By the time Jhony pulled the straw from the child's chest it had died and he was covered in its blood. Jhony stood up, brushed the child through the flap once more and sat back down in his chair. He pulled up a tab displaying various cats in funky positions, sighed, and unzipped his trousers.
 

A Stealthy Return

It's been just over 4 months since my last post. That should mean most everyone has forgotten about this festering heap by now. I can return to my personal ramblings. Safe. Alone.

See, I sold out in a way. When people I knew started noticing The Subway of Funn, they started requesting new stories and complaining when I wrote anything but a hyper-vulgar tribute to one of my peers. The writing quality, though never particularly superb, diminished noticeably. Most importantly though, it didn't feel the same. That sense of sick joy I received from delving into the perverse recesses of my troubled mind, no more. *Sigh*

Having said that, I just returned from having abandoned this post and now have no interest in finishing it. What a waste.

Bye.

Here comes the sun! Doo doo doo doo.

   Summer! Yay! Put on your shirts and shorts, slap on some sunscreen and step outside! Then promptly retreat back inside again. At least that seems to be what a lot of people I know are doing. It's like it's too hot and sunny. Oh come on, yer pansies. I think it's lovely. I mean even me, the festering hermit that rarely escapes the dark hovel of a room I reside in, has been out. A lot actually. But now I've come back inside, with the express purpose of blessing this blog with a fresh post. A little story in fact. Guess what the theme is!

    The subject of our tale is one Coont Stoord, a sorry sap of a man. The warmth and beauty of summer is the bane of his existence, so much so that he hangs a wreath of dead plants and animals on his door when June comes around - in preparation for the coming months. Today we find Coont sitting by his window, curtain parted slightly to allow him to glare menacingly out at the children skipping and playing in the street below.
      'Little shits' he thinks to himself as he grips a cushion with the force of a vice. Eventually the children's fun becomes too much for him and he launches his clammy fist through the window, shattering both the glass and the bones in his pitiful hand. He lets out a pathetic moan as his floppy hand sloshes to and fro, the commotion causes the children to turn towards the window. The eyes of curious children upon Coont singe him slightly, so he hisses and backs away from the broken pane.

   As night falls the sun is replaced by a crescent moon. A cool breeze passes into Coont's room through the opening he failed to repair, much to his relief. He sighs blissfully as the sound of silence fills his flaky ears. The pure calm of the situation causes him to slip a hand down his belly and into his damp underwear. But his mind flashes back to the summer of 1999.

    Coont stood in a clean, shiny room, surrounded by his peers. The teacher lifted her hands and, as if raising tortured souls from perdition, told the kids to go out and play, because it was such a beautiful day. Coont leapt to his feet, clasped his then-chubby hand around that of the girl next to him and waddled outside. A couple of children dove into the sandpit, some went to the swings, and many played tag in the field. However, Coont had other plans - he took the girl he was with to a spot shaded by a great oak tree and sat her down next to him.
      "Bertha, have you ever had a kiss before?" he asked the girl, his face a bright red. She giggled.
      "No, how do you do a kiss?" she responded.
      "Well, I think it's like this" Coont said as he pulled his face towards her, his lips puckered. Alas, before they could make contact with Bertha's, she darted away and covered her nose.
      "Ew, you smell funny!" her face was scrunched up in disgust. A few seconds passed and she erupted into a violent fit of vomiting. The sick sprayed all over Coont, filling his shirt and coating his face. This caught the attention of all the other kids in the vicinity, who surrounded Coont. They all pointed and laughed at him as he lay squirming in the pool of vomit that had accumulated around him. He burst into tears as Bertha ran off.

    In the present day, Coont's eyes water as the memory strikes him again. He never saw Bertha again after that day, she had moved schools to escape bullying. Coont, however, did not. By the end of the summer he had no friends and had adopted the nickname 'Sicky Pants'. Just goes to show how very witty and mature primary school children are. Coont draws a knife from beneath his pillow and holds it against his neck, the tears flowing at this point. But he withstands the temptations and instead brings the knife down to his arm, carving a crucifix into it despite having no religious beliefs. His ears flicker as he hears the door to his room open.
     "Mister, your front door wasn't locked and I heard you crying so I came in to give you these" it is a little boy holding a box of cookies. The boy is slightly chubby and has a bright, red face - reminding Coont of his childhood self. Coont sniffs and lets out a few more tears. Then he twirls the knife in his hand, catching the blade in his palm, raises it above his head and throws it towards the boy. It plants itself square in the middle of the boy's forehead, the force knocking him backwards. He lets out a splutter before toppling backwards, coughing blood as his head strikes the ground. Coont remains still for a moment before approaching the limp corpse of the child. He bends down, looks straight into the boy's lifeless eyes and retrieves a cookie from the box still gripped firmly by the child's hands. As he chews the cookie a wicked smile stretches across his face. The smile evolves into a grin and before long Coont is laughing maniacally. He pulls down his pants and urinates into the boy's open mouth, chuckling as he does so.

    "What the fuck are you doing?" A voice cries from the open door to Coont's room. Apparently the boy's mother noticed her son had disappeared and had been looking for him. She looks down at the boy, staring in shock at the knife implanted in his forehead and the urine leaking from his mouth.
      "Bertha?" Coont asks, his eyes wide in disbelief.
      "How do you know my name, you sick bastard?"
      "It's me, Coont, from primary school"
      "Who?" this response shocks Coont. He has thought about her every day since she left. So he launches himself at her, grasping his knife-throwing hand around her neck as he beats her with his floppy, broken hand. She screams out as the sloshy mess repeatedly bashes her slender cheeks. Within moments a tall, heavily built man bursts into the room, shoving Coont aside and catching Bertha in his arms.
     "You slimey fuck, I'll end you!" the man shouts after placing Bertha on the soiled mattress Coont uses as a bed.
     "Who are you and what are you doing with my girlfriend?" Coont asks with what one might almost be able to call an assertive tone. Despite the situation the man manages to let a gasp of laughter escape his throat.
     "She's my wife, you pathetic shrivel of a human being" he says as he plants a fist in Coont's face, breaking his nose. Blood erupts from his nostrils, causing him to cup his face as he squeals in pain. The man approaches a table in the corner of the room. It is covered with various strange contraptions that he mistakes for torture equipment, which actually happens to be Coont's S&M kit.
    "You really are revolting" the man gazes at the kit with absolute shock before turning back towards Coont, picking him up and dragging him towards the window. Coont lets out a final pitiful moan before being launched through the window, falling two floors and landing in a crumpled heap on the patio below. The children outside gather around him, pointing and laughing at his mangled body as blood oozes from every orifice.



Now that you're happy and cheerful, go outside and play! It's a beautiful day. What's that? It's winter where you are? Well screw you!

     

Meep.

I'm bringing back this awful disgrace. At just the right time too: smack bang in the middle of my final exams.
Why? Because fuck you and fuck your family, especially your mother. Oh no, I said a cuss word. What are you gonna do? Tell on me? I'll skin you is what I'll do. Oh no, I'm being creepy again, are you going to show this to all your little girlfriends? You know, the ones that are way too young for you. And you call me the fucking creep. Who am I talking to? Nobody in particular. Maybe the manifestation of all the shit I've witnessed. Anyway, go ahead and call me a rapist. Even if I haven't raped anyone. Yet. Hah, no, I'm a nice guy. Come on. It's obvious. Give me a hug. Yeah, you. It's okay, I'm not going to hurt you. I care about you. Come here. Do it. It's because I love you.

Yeah, that's right. That just happened. Deal with it you closed-minded fucksicles.