"Okay, hang on... we can't have gotten that far on a fourth of a tank." "Well, then why the fuck can't we see land?" "Is it necessary that you have to insert the word fuck at least once every sentence?" "Fuck you, pierce!" "Exactly." "I wasn't the fucking one who came up with this fucking dumbass plan in the first fucking place." "Christ. You kiss your mother with that mouth?" "FU-" "And If I recall corectly, you were the dumbass who came up with the idea of snagging a boat from the marina. Admittedly, I could have done a better job trying to stop you, but-" "I DON'T GIVE A RATS FUCK!" "'A rats fuck'!? What the hell is 'A rats fuck'!?" I sighed heavily and clambered up onto the deck. I couldn't stand Jerry and Pierces constant bickering. They were not quite an old married couple, an old married couple probably didn't start attacking people and biting at arteries when they argued. I plopped down on one of the many cushy chairs the owners had installed. Before I crashed, I looked around, for any sign of land. Nothing. Admittedly, it was August, and quite hazy, it was a vain hope at best. "Damn..." I whispered as I fell into the veil of sleep. "Damn..."
"Wake up. Chow time." I groaned, and got up. there was a table situated in the middle of the deck, bolted down. We all sat down, and poured out more from our food bag. I grabbed some smarties, chips and a can of pepsi. "Not hungry, are we?" Pierce said through a mouthful of ruffles. "No." I said, surly. We ate in silence the whole time, Jerry and I glaring at whatever and whoever happened to pass our gaze. Which was water, mostly. Pierce had a smile on his face. Which pissed Jerry the fuck off. "Stop. Fucking. Smiling." Jerry said through gritted teeth. Pierces disconcerting smile widened, as he started to chuckle. "Why shouldn't I? I'm on a big fucking boat, with my best friends in all the world, which, while it doesn't speak much for my choice in friends-" I punched him in the shoulder. Hard. "-okay, ow. It is pretty cool." "Cool." Jerry said. "Cool. That we're in the middle of fuckin' nowhere- "Can't be that far from land." "- on a fucking stolen boat-" "Not MY idea." "-with no gas-" "Saving the environment." "-and running out of food!" "Eh, if we die, we'll die thin." Jerry stared at Pierce, mumbled something and went below deck.
"Why do I fucking CURSE SO MUCH!?" "Um... excuse me?" "YOU FUCKING HEARD ME!"
"...Kay." We were all lying about on deck. A good three fourths of the food had been consumed, and all that remained would probably last us til tommorow at best. That out burst a couple of scentences up? Jerry's. Pierce and I sat dumbfounded at his revelation. "I mean, I was always brought up to be a good fucking christian you know? I still am, I go to church on Sunday, I fucking sing in choir for chrissakes!" "And you are also currently high on a massive dose of tweek..." Jerry either didn't hear Pierces comment or ignored it. "I mean, maybe it's just my own subconsious rebelling against my closeted, bigoted childhood! I never used to do this, until I caught my mom blowing the preacher in the front pew!" "...I'm sorry..." I said, although it was phrased more as a WTF question, rather than an actual "Sorry". "But from that day on it was like BOOM! 'Shit piss fuck cunt cocksucker motherfucker and tits!' I JUST COULDN'T STOP! And from that day on, I just kept on truckin'! Yes siree! Multiple body piercings, tattoos, loose women-" "Loose women!?" Pierce said, half laughing, half concerned for Jerry's mental health. "You had sex one time with one person in high school, and the only reason that you got that lucky was because it was a dark room, it was my girlfriend, she thought you were me!!!" "Ah yes, I remember that." I said mock-fondly. "The ugly 'Jamie incedent'. I was suprised you handled that as well as you did, Pierce. "Nah. I was gonna break up with her anyway, and Jerry gave me the perfect excuse! I should be thanking him..." Jerry, despite our conversation, had gone on with his rant. "But, I mean, it's not like a fuckin' sin, is it? It's not like in the goddamn bible-" "How does that statement work, exactly?" Glare from Jerry. "It's not like in the goddamn bible, they say fuckin' "Thou shalt not curse, for it do piss me off!" or some crap like that!" Pierce and I had stopped talking. Jerry had reached an inane furor, and was striding around the boat making wild hand gestures and jumping up and down as he was walking. "What the hell do I know! Maybe fuckin' God drops the f-bomb at dinner every night-" "Jerry..." "'-Mmm! This is great fuckin' steak, honey! So, Jesus, how was school? 'Not so good dad. I got in a fight with Billy. 'That little fucker!? Tell me you won!?'" "Jerry..." "' You serious!? Some punk ass fat kid beat the holy shit out of you!? No savior of MINE would lose a fuckin' fight!'" "JERRY..." "' I don't care if you don't wan to, goddamnit, but a mans gotta stick up for himself for fucks sake! Especially the savior of-'" "JEEEEERRRRRY! FOR CHRISTS SAKE ! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" It wasn't Pierce who said that. It was me. I had gotten up, grabbed him by the collar, and thrown him to the deck. I was still standing over him. We all three stood perfectly still for what seemed like ten minutes. Hell, maybe it was. I don't know. Jerry got up, slowly, and looking at me the entire time. He looked me in the eye for a few seconds. He looked like he was about to say something, stopped, turned, and went below decks. I sat back down. "Christ." Pierce said. "Crazy much?" "I know, christ, he was-" "I wasn't talking about him." "Me?" "Yes you, dumbass!" "We've been stuck on a boat for three fuckin' days! Let him vent! Don't scream and beat the shit out of him! God..." He got up, and went below decks. Lacking anything else to do, I go back to sleep.
NOW.
I hear a splash.
I hear screams.
I hear thunder.
I hear Pierce.
"WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE THE FUCK UP NOOOOW!" "What, what, what?" "Where's Jerry?" Hang on, what? "The hell are you talking abou he's right-" I look and see a broken oar. It's sliding around the rain soaked deck. Oh god. "JERRY!" I'm yelling, looking frantically around the deck. "JERRRY!" I go below. Nothing. A couple of burnt up joints. Oh god. This can't fucking be. This cannot be fucking happening. I run above deck. I slip. I fall on my face. Hard. I can taste blood. I look up. Pierce is crying. I'm Crying. I pass out.
End of Part two.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Short Story One
Day five. Still stuck on the damn boat. Drifting. Out of gas. Still got a bunch of fucking drugs, but low on food. Jerry's rowing, for all of the fucking good that'll do. All it's doing is wearing him out. We've told him as such repeatedly, but the asshole seems convinced that if he paddles hard enough, he'll fucking get us to shore. "One:" Pierce says. "We don't know where the hell land is!"
"Two" I continue, "All you're doing is making yourself weaker. "Three" Pierce says, "This is a near fucking yacht. Paddling ain't gonna move it much." "And three" I finish, "There is only one paddle. Even if you did some how move the boat, all you're doing is driving us in circles." Jerry just gets even more stone faced and continues to row. "God dammit!" Pierce says, as he kicks the now empty bucket of bait across the deck. "I'm going below." I sigh, and lay down on the cushion of the deck chair as the splashing sound of Jerry's futile paddling lulls me to sleep. I dream of what happened.
Jerry, Pierce, and I were getting high at our place. I wasn't such a fan of the drugs, I preferred Captain Morgan (which was pretty easy to obtain, considering Pierce worked at an ABC Liqueur store. I don't even know if that's how you fuckin' spell it.) On one of their many trips, they decided to go fuckin' steal a boat. How and why the fuck they came to this conclusion is a mystery known only to the gods of whatever the hell drugs they were sticking into every available orifice. Despite being drunk off my respective ass, I recognized the foolishness of this plan, and tried to talk them out of it. They were having none of it, and considering that they were my main supplier of alcohol (Me being nineteen) I did not care to lose their friendship. So, we went to the marina, looked around for a good one that we could easily break into or start up or hot wire or whatever the fuck you do with boats. They packed a duffel bag of food, and a duffel bag of drugs. They were so high I bet they couldn't even remember what the fuck ocean they were about to ride onto. Anyway, we all climbed on, and the engine cranked to life. The snippet (Heh. I love that word.) of conversation I heard before I passed out in a drunken stupor was "Ever driven one of these things before?" "Nope." "Neither have I."
I awoke the next day, massive hangover. Pierce and Jerry were arguing about something. I climb on down below deck and they are tearing into eachother. "Well here we are in the middle of the FUCKING ATLANTIC OCEAN, WITH NO FUCKING GAS, AND NO FUCKING WAY TO GET ANY FUCKING HELP!" "Thanks Jerry. I think the penultimate term in the sentence really proved your point." "FUCK YOU! YOU GODDAMN BLUE COLLAR TWEEKER!" Nice name for a band, I remember thinking to myself. The gravity of the situation, due to the ear shattering screams penetrating my skull and beating on my beer battered brain, had not fully dawned on me, so I covered my ears, and watched the argument progress. "OKAY! Let's reasess the situation." "Happy to oblige, Pierce. NO FUCKING GAS, LOW ON FUCKING FOOD, RADIO'S FUCKING DEAD, And, to wrap it up, WE ARE HOPELESSY FUCKING FUCKED! FUCK!" "Have you ever considered anger management sessions?" I chimed in. "FUCK you, cocksmoker!" "How exactly do you smoke a cock?" Right as Jerry was about to reply with a witty retort, "GUYS!" Pierce shouted. "Calm the FUCK down!" "Is there anyone here" who hasn't said 'fuck' yet?" I said, smartassedly. I got glares from both parties.
Getting caught up took a while. Apperently, last night, during their trip, Jerry and Pierce got the munchies, and ate a good portion of the duffel bag of food. They ran around the boat for a while, until the engine cut out. they took a look and discovered that they were out of gas. The owner of the boat only left a fourth of the tank in the engine, something that never occurred to us in our drug-alcohol induced stupor. After discovering that, they searched for extra gas on the boat. Nada. Then, they tried to radiio for help. Radio was out of batteries, probably one of the things that the owner would have fixed on his next boating trip. "So basically" I said at the end of the story. "We're hopelessly and utterly fucked."The other two nodded their heads. "Great." I said, sighing. "Just...fucking...great."
End of part one.
"Two" I continue, "All you're doing is making yourself weaker. "Three" Pierce says, "This is a near fucking yacht. Paddling ain't gonna move it much." "And three" I finish, "There is only one paddle. Even if you did some how move the boat, all you're doing is driving us in circles." Jerry just gets even more stone faced and continues to row. "God dammit!" Pierce says, as he kicks the now empty bucket of bait across the deck. "I'm going below." I sigh, and lay down on the cushion of the deck chair as the splashing sound of Jerry's futile paddling lulls me to sleep. I dream of what happened.
Jerry, Pierce, and I were getting high at our place. I wasn't such a fan of the drugs, I preferred Captain Morgan (which was pretty easy to obtain, considering Pierce worked at an ABC Liqueur store. I don't even know if that's how you fuckin' spell it.) On one of their many trips, they decided to go fuckin' steal a boat. How and why the fuck they came to this conclusion is a mystery known only to the gods of whatever the hell drugs they were sticking into every available orifice. Despite being drunk off my respective ass, I recognized the foolishness of this plan, and tried to talk them out of it. They were having none of it, and considering that they were my main supplier of alcohol (Me being nineteen) I did not care to lose their friendship. So, we went to the marina, looked around for a good one that we could easily break into or start up or hot wire or whatever the fuck you do with boats. They packed a duffel bag of food, and a duffel bag of drugs. They were so high I bet they couldn't even remember what the fuck ocean they were about to ride onto. Anyway, we all climbed on, and the engine cranked to life. The snippet (Heh. I love that word.) of conversation I heard before I passed out in a drunken stupor was "Ever driven one of these things before?" "Nope." "Neither have I."
I awoke the next day, massive hangover. Pierce and Jerry were arguing about something. I climb on down below deck and they are tearing into eachother. "Well here we are in the middle of the FUCKING ATLANTIC OCEAN, WITH NO FUCKING GAS, AND NO FUCKING WAY TO GET ANY FUCKING HELP!" "Thanks Jerry. I think the penultimate term in the sentence really proved your point." "FUCK YOU! YOU GODDAMN BLUE COLLAR TWEEKER!" Nice name for a band, I remember thinking to myself. The gravity of the situation, due to the ear shattering screams penetrating my skull and beating on my beer battered brain, had not fully dawned on me, so I covered my ears, and watched the argument progress. "OKAY! Let's reasess the situation." "Happy to oblige, Pierce. NO FUCKING GAS, LOW ON FUCKING FOOD, RADIO'S FUCKING DEAD, And, to wrap it up, WE ARE HOPELESSY FUCKING FUCKED! FUCK!" "Have you ever considered anger management sessions?" I chimed in. "FUCK you, cocksmoker!" "How exactly do you smoke a cock?" Right as Jerry was about to reply with a witty retort, "GUYS!" Pierce shouted. "Calm the FUCK down!" "Is there anyone here" who hasn't said 'fuck' yet?" I said, smartassedly. I got glares from both parties.
Getting caught up took a while. Apperently, last night, during their trip, Jerry and Pierce got the munchies, and ate a good portion of the duffel bag of food. They ran around the boat for a while, until the engine cut out. they took a look and discovered that they were out of gas. The owner of the boat only left a fourth of the tank in the engine, something that never occurred to us in our drug-alcohol induced stupor. After discovering that, they searched for extra gas on the boat. Nada. Then, they tried to radiio for help. Radio was out of batteries, probably one of the things that the owner would have fixed on his next boating trip. "So basically" I said at the end of the story. "We're hopelessly and utterly fucked."The other two nodded their heads. "Great." I said, sighing. "Just...fucking...great."
End of part one.
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