Wednesday, July 30, 2014


     Danny curled his knees up on the king sized, underneath the down filled cotton, propped up by a memory foam, as a fluorescent illuminated brightly a copy of another Stephen King.  He was halfway through when he glanced at the glaringly crimson "twelve oh-one" scolding him from across the room.  He still wasn't tired, despite another full day of working on the two-storied fixer-upper he recently invested in.

     It was barely a remnant of the house that was, with its rusty memories and dusty tales of residents past.  As it was, a corpse-shell of a once living establishment, the neighborhood kids spun many whimsical urban legends about its shadowy fixtures, faded pigments, and cracked structures.  The fact that none of them were rooted in any sort of reality or truth didn't stop them from spreading like a pox on small town boredom.  The only thing special about the place was that it wasn't special at all.  Just a greatly neglected house on an ordinary street in a dull suburb with children that don't have anything better to do than to spread vile, incorrect rumors.

     Danny hoped to alleviate some of the false myths about his acquired home with fresh coats of acrylic, shiny copper, and new panes clear enough to help brighten the whole of the house.  It was now after midnight and he had to rely on the artificial light until he either finally shut his eyes or until morning arrived; whichever came first, to which Danny placed wages on the latter.  He took his gaze off of the judgmental digital alarm and scanned the page for where his eyes abandoned.


     The sound interrupted Danny's optical word hunt.  His mind raced to match the proper scenario to the sound, which took him little effort since it was clearly unmistakable; another pane of glass that was propped up by the downstairs front door had tipped over and shattered.  "Shit", he muttered, "There goes another one."  As he chose to ignore the situation and go back to his book rather than deal and clean, another sound followed the first.  It was footsteps running across the hardwood toward the stairs.  Danny closed his book, placed it in his lap, and remained motionless as he focused his eyes to the ajar darkness of the bedroom door.  He remained motionless as he used his entire body to tune in to every decibel of disturbance in the house.  The footsteps did not stop at the stairs; they chose instead to climb them with heavy thumps accompanied by indistinct whispering and giggling.  Unblinking, he faced the sliver of black, the void where the commotion was originating.  "Hey!", Danny shouted, his voice startling himself with the sheer absent-minded volume, to which the footsteps and voices responded with an abrupt halt.  He waited for what seemed like hours of still silence before the sounds started up again, right where they left off.  "I said, 'HEY!'", Danny kept stern to the volume this time.  The black void greeted his outburst with giggles, almost pleased with the annoyance of the bedroom dweller.  He furrowed his smooth brow into one with endless canyons of anger and discontent.  The door slowly started to move, announcing its opening with an unlubricated creak of the hinges.

     Danny didn't budge.  The door continued on a steady path.  He blinked.  The door stopped at a perfect forty-five degree angle, almost mocking him in its own wooden way.  Everything was still.  He was reminded of a saying that fit this situation: it was so quiet you could hear a mouse fart.  Danny hated mice, so he promptly broke the muted tension with a nostril inhale and then his voice, "I thought I told you to..."  The blood hit the ceiling with a sharp splat first, as it always did, followed by the dropping of a body with a heavy thud at the foot of the bed.  The body, one of a young girl in a yellow dress splotched with dried maroon, got up and stared at Danny with hollow dark where her eyes once rested; her lifeless, alabaster cheeks bunched up then stretched out as she opened her mouth, tearing the flesh at the corners, and shrieked directly at him as opaque obsidian oozed out of her jaws and sockets.  Danny leaned into the scream and braced himself as the dead rot breath permeated his every being.  Watery-eyed, he held back the vomit in order to instead finish and spew out, "...GO TO BED!!!"  The child huffed, screamed once more, shattering the light bulb in the process, and stormed out, slamming the door behind her without even batting an undead eyelash.

     Danny sighed, leaned over the side of the bed, reached in a plain cardboard box, and pulled out another high-efficient bulb.  He twirled it into its new home as it thanked him with super-bright white.  He looked up, out of human nature. The blood stain was gone, again.  The smell of decay was quickly dissipating.  The stomps of a cranky dead girl were fading into the night.  He turned back to the clock; "twelve oh-nine" was its response.  "Every night", he grumbled, "Every damn night."  He picked up his book and continued reading until sunrise.

     The weeks passed by, the repairs healed the house, the light bulb body count increased, and the sleepless nights were taking their toll on Danny.  When he thought that he just couldn't handle the repairs or the nights anymore, he was finally finished.  Exhausted, he hung up the sign on the post planted in the fresh, revitalized lawn: "FOR RENT, 3bed/3bath, $1000/month, (non-refundable security deposit required) Call or E-Mail!"  Danny looked at the sign with a beam of pride, "Might as well make a little something for all my hard work!"

     He hopped into the driver's side of his truck, pulled down the sun visor, and removed a tattered image of a grinning, chubby-cheeked moppet in a yellow dress.  He smiled, turned the picture over, and read his own faded handwriting:

"Annabelle.  My First..."

Friday, June 27, 2014

Bound (Jump the Gun)

Bound (Jump the Gun)  06-26-2014

I have a tendency, a compulsion, a knack
To live the worst before it falls
Easily tempted off my track
Morose ridden, it lies and stalls

It's already happened
It's already near
It's already been penned
It's already here

I struggle with the fiction
before it becomes fact
I cringe at the diction
and, again, overreact

I bound forward distraught
I just jumped the gun
It never fired a shot
I haven't yet begun

Tuesday, April 1, 2014


Icarus 04-01-2014

Falling and flying
at the same time
breathing passing clouds
soaking in the sublime

Touching airplane bottoms
As passengers gawk
The birds try to converse
But I don't speak "squawk"

After a fantastic trip
The ground grows near
I can see my house from here!

As I approach my landing
I see the one I adore
He says "I love you", again
and I'm soaring once more

Saturday, March 8, 2014


I want to tell you a tale.  A tale of a little six year old boy named Brandon.  Brandon wasn't like most boys.  He didn't care for He-Man, G.I. Joe, Transformers, or other "typical" 80's young boy's toy and cartoon fare.  He didn't care for violence, wrestling, or other "macho" boy activities.  He didn't even care to hang around other boys!  Did this make him strange?  Maybe, but he never even thought about things like "Am I normal?", "Do I fit in?", or "I shouldn't be liking this; I should be liking that."  He was too occupied with his busy little days of just simply enjoying things that he enjoyed just for the sheer fact that he enjoyed them!  One day in class, there was an art project for Mother's Day.  The project consisted of taking a black and white photo of yourself, putting it in a clear plastic heart, and gluing a bow on the front.  Seemed simple and sweet enough.  The bow was also offered in two pastel choices; baby blue and pretty pink!  Simple, right?!  As the other members of Brandon's class finished their mothers' gifts, they all took to a single file line to get the ribbon put on since they were too young to handle a hot-glue gun.  Brandon knew exactly which one he wanted from the start; pink!  He thought it was WAY more 'rad' than blue and also thought his mother would enjoy it more as well!  He noticed as the other children were picking out their bows, they were falling into a pattern; boys chose blue, girls chose pink.  He thought to himself for a very brief moment, "Should I be getting blue because I'm a boy?!", but he quickly shooed it away like a pesky fly.  As he approached the teacher, she asked, "What color would you like, Brandon?  You want the blue one?" to which he replied with an enthusiastic, "Nope!  I want the pink one!"  The teacher paused for a moment as other children overheard his answer.  Various random snickering was heard, but he payed it no mind.  Even the teacher gave a coy grin, "Pink?  Are you sure?"  Brandon just stood his ground and remained resilient in his choice, "Yep!  Pink!  Mama will like that better!"  "Oh!", the teacher sighed in relief, "Okay.  Pink... for your mama...", and she hot-glued the blushing bow to the plastic frame.
Brandon took his present back from the teacher and gave a huge beaming grin knowing that when he gave this to his mother, she'd be tickled... well.... PINK!  ^_^

That heart, although a bit faded, is still residing on Mama's fridge.
A boy chose pink.  In this day and age, if this happens, people automatically jump the gun and assume he MUST be gay.  Yes, I am a grown gay male, now, but that is not why six year old Brandon chose pink nor did it have any basis on the person he was to become.  He didn't know what "gay" was let alone what sex even was!  He was six!  He just liked it better than blue!  It seemed more interesting!  He was also thinking of his mother since ultimately this item would be hers after all.  This decision was the purest form of an innocent, selfless, and loving gesture.  There was no hidden meaning behind it.  He didn't want to BE a girl.  He didn't know about the preestablished, sexist guidelines to being a boy.  He was just being himself; he was just being a child.  I long for the day when people don't try to find the hidden meaning behind things like this.  I say, if you like pink, like pink!  Like blue!  Like lavender!  Like maroon!  Don't worry about what others might think about your choices!
This is your life, and if you wanna live it pink, I say, "Rad!"

Monday, February 17, 2014

Carrie Gets Her Revenge

Is it sad that I can crack myself up to the point of tears?  Foul and hilarious things just pour out of my mouth and take me by surprise.

I now know what it's like to be a Kanye West.

While playing Condemned: Criminal Origins on the XBOX360, a video game about serial killers, I'm tracking one down and wandering through an abandoned high school. I go through the gym, locker room, and a set of showers. Then I stumble across this second set of showers. I turn to Will and say:

"Oh, this must be the girls' showers..."

"Hey!  I just became a woman!" 
"Me too!" 
"Oh my god, me too!" 
"Period fight!!!"

It seriously looks like Carrie got her revenge on the other girls for the whole "plug it up" humiliation by using her telekinesis to make all of their vaginas explode simultaneously.  Yes, that is a fire axe in my hands.  Remember what Bloody the Bear says!  "Only YOU can prevent period fights!"

In other news, that joke may have just cost me my fiance.  :-P

Also, you may have noticed that the site looks a little bare these days.  No pictures and all links to pictures lead to dead ends.  That's because the bastards at decided to just fall off the face of the fucking planet with no warning whatsoever.  Awesome.  So now I have to find somewhere else to host pics and do a bit of maintenance.  Thanks, Razzi!  >_<

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Getting Older & Staying that Grade-School Kid (with potty humor) - A Birthday Post

I awake this beautiful birthday morning with the love of my life still sleeping beside me and as I am welcomed to the online world with warm Facebook birthday wishes from friends and family, I realize something...

I'm content.

I mean, yeah, of course it would be awesome to win the lottery or something, but I feel far richer than any stale billionaire that sits eccentrically alone in his mansion of material wealth.  I'm lucky.  I have a job, a house, awesome noms, an adorkable kid (my little Kenzi Bo Lauren puppy-kins), not just one but TWO kick-ass families, multitudes of extended friendship-families, and I've found the ONE... the one I've been looking for my entire little life.  Not many people get to this point, and those that do sometimes even take it for granted.  I'm thankful to have not been born with the bitter tang of a silver spoon in my mouth, otherwise I fear I'd be one of those blind few.  I also don't think I would be able to laugh so damn much at everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, my life has had to offer.

(nice segue, eh?)

Laughter is the only thing that I can think of that is gratifying to all parties equally.  It's also the only form of exercising that I love to do and can't wait to do again!  I find that as I get older, my love of making others laugh no matter the means has never dwindled, even if that means airing out my own hilarious and embarrassing moments.  I mean, if I laugh at this stuff alone, it's a waste of a perfectly good joke!  (if a Brad laughs alone in the forest, does he make a sound?)  Which is why I say to hell with embarrassment and get right down to the funnies.  I have always looked up to MANY comedians for their ability to stand up and bluntly tell it how it is.  I yearn to emulate that.  So, what better way to start (or is that 'continue'?) than to share with you something that happened to me recently.  Something that others might be mortified to share, but I say "Fuck it".  Life's short and ya gotta leave behind SOME sort of legacy!  Even if that legacy is some cheap, dirty, potty humor.

(warning: yes, this is awful, disgusting, and horrible... but also pretty damn hilarious; read at your own discretion)

My birthday gift to you...

I had not "evacuated" in a little over three days, despite having eaten quite a bit over the course of those days. I was extremely gassy, but that was all that ever abandoned ship. Then, finally, the USS Brad felt that familiar urge to go make a splash-down. SO, of course it takes some effort on my part, more so than the usual, and I just know the pain I'm feeling is either me slowly splitting in two or my very soul being wrenched from my body through my exposed rear. I was straining so much, I forgot to breathe, saw stars, and became winded.  There was no kersploosh 'cause it all came out in one very long, very hard, solid serving. So large in fact that once the pucker-pinch was activated, it fell forward instead of back, slapping my low hangers in the process. Yes... my goods received a brown high-five... or fist-bump... or whatever sick little celebration those two were having down there.  Like they were both so happy to meet.  "Yay!  You did it!  You arrived!"  I dunno to be more worried that I was THAT compacted, or that I'm getting so old that I can sling those dangly fuckers over my shoulder, to my chest, and into a bra.