One time I feeled up this tree to see if it had diamonds in the bark. Someone had tipped me off and told me a rich man who had plenty of disposable income decided to make buckshot out of diamonds. Real diamonds. Not synthetic and not glassy fakes. He wanted to kill a deer with it so that he could serve venison with prizes. Oh, how eccentric he would be.
“Look at me I’m so crazy and wealthy! I’m a tart and I don’t care! Everyone listens to what I say so that I’ll throw them a bone filled with cash!”
So, he took a jar of diamonds and poured them into the casing and topped it off. He made five of these. He fancied himself a Van Helsing but stopped short of wearing a fedora.
I’m brilliant. I should film this. No. I’ll get Johnson to film it.
“Johnson!”
Where is he?
“Johnson!”
“Yes sir.”
“Go get the camera. Posthaste! We’ve got an artfilm to make.”
“Getting it.”
Johnson began filming.
“No. No. NO. more cameras! Here’s the AMEX. Go to Best Buy and get three more! No, wait go to B & H and see if you can get good ones with minute lenses.”
“You’re the boss.”
“You’re damn right I am. I’m the damn captain.”
So, filming ensued and the captain made his bullets, killed some deer, made some sausage, fried up some venison and made a dvd out of the whole thing.
When the friends came over for dinner, the captain waited for them to find their easter eggs in the meat but never did. He sweated and pined until finally someone said,
“Captain?”
“Yes!”
“Where’s the coke?”
And with that he walked over to the entertainment system showed them the dvd, talking through the movie, telling them what idiots they are and made all of them use the bathroom in a prospector’s pan.
So, when I say I’m feeling up this tree, I can tell you that I know two things: The captain is a poor shot and after sifting through poop I deserve these diamonds or my name isn’t Def Code Johnson.

Once upon a time my dog was sick for his mouth was full of bacteria and needed a professional teeth cleaning. The fee was $300 which I didn’t have so I studied some mystics and learned how to possess my dog since teaching him to gargle was near impossible.
I possessed him and it was neat. I tugged on a sock that I had previously tied to a chair leg while full-on human. It felt good to tug.
Then, I proceeded to the dog dish where I had laid out some mouthwash to which I gargled and spit. I then went over to a chair where I had duct taped an electric toothbrush perpendicular and proceeded to concentrate on each tooth. I gargled again and then went to lie down in the sun to see what the big whoop was about. It was real nice.
Then, I pooped in a corner to see why that was cool and it was and I was so proud of myself that I ate some “silver bells”, otherwise known as Hershey Kisses. I forgot about where I was being a dog and all and started throwing up.
I quickly unpossessed my dog and returned to my human body. I picked up Harry, my dog, and took him to the vet where he got his stomach pumped for about $300.

Due to his piddling, the man known for highjacking enormous amounts of time and flushing them down the commode got sick on a pizza box that grew a mold so dense that it imploded and circumvented the room with gas like a ghost fart’s whirlwind. Luckily, his maturity level automatically kicked into second gear and he threw the box away but not before inhaling enough spores to render him unconscious.
During this time he had a dream that superpowers were bestowed upon him. He was able to lift heavy bikes, push open locked doors, and see through bedsheets translucently. When he awoke, a nurse gave him antibiotics and he turned on the tv.

Some candles are put in windows in order to keep out the wind. They’re called drafters and they mimic forcefields, not unlike those on starships. My grandmother had one and said to not remove it lest the Bell Witch come inside.
I figured I was wise on her and that she just didn’t want me to catch cold during slumber. But it was hot in the room so I removed the drafter and cracked the window.
Just in case, I grabbed a clove of garlic from the nightstand and cuddled it under my chin.
As if my grandmother had planned it, a shadow floated inside the room straight from the window that I had opened!
The cloak in the shadow separated from the figure and I was soon draped over my bed in a quilt that smelled like synthetic rose oil with a hint of cod.
When what I assumed was the witch reached my face, her hand grabbed the garlic, placed it in her mouth, and then turned into a cat and turn into a mouse and turned into neon gas which I inhaled accidentally while gasping.
Consequently, if you and I are talking and sulfur is visible on my breath, do not listen to me as I will say nothing but horseshit.

On a Tuesday morning in 1842, a witch named Edgar found himself in the middle of a stabbing field (called such by farmers for the hard stalks of corn left behind after harvest). He knew not how he got there or why he had a hard time standing. Once upright, his precarious gait allowed him to walk the line of a pendulum hooked to an S-track, giving him a chance to be impaled on a broken stalk of corn.
Two crows watched until the buzzards moved them.
Edgar reached to the ground as if reaching for dirt and broke his fall. A fondness for crawling ensued and his shoes made sled tracks across the field.
As he ambled to the edge, the two buzzards began talking. It sounded like English but consonants were missing in too many places to be understood.
Edgar grabbed one by the gooseneck and pulled its beak close to his ear and mimicked a telephone call (he was clairvoyant).
“Hello?” he said as he poked the eyes to get better reception. “Hello? Hello?”
He then slit its throat with his thumbnail and said, “Wrong number.”

There was this young boy named Ralph Red who had pants that would not pull up.
It always looked as though he’d just been potty.
His underwear came up but his pants refused.
“Hello, my name is Ralph Red.”
“Alfred?”
“No, Ralph R-”
“HEY, YOU’RE PANTS ARE DOWN, ASSHOLE!”
“I know. I can’t pull them-”
“ASSHOLE!”

Whenever someone would complain about anything within earshot, Ralph would always reply,
“At least you can pull your pants up.”

c. 2003

Dave was humpin’ it. Really humpin’ it. He had tires that were in one room and
a need for tires in the other room. So he moved the tires as fast as he could.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
He was humpin’ it.
Taking a new tire off the rack, spinnin’ round, letting go, and letting it thump into the new tire room.
“Thirty-six, done,” said Dave as he wiped his sweaty eye sockets.
His boss came in and said, “I said I needed two tires by 6:30. Put these back.”
Dave was humpin’ it. Putting thirty-four tires back in their places.
“Thirty-four, done,” said Dave as he wiped his sweaty eye sockets, again.
Dave was humpin’ it in his mind. He never worked in tires his whole life. But
he knew how to work his brain. And he was a self-starter. When you get
trapped in a dungeon there is little work to be done in your brain. The
year was 1389 and he had no idea what tires were. But, when you have nothing
to do but astral project yourself into the future, you learn what tires are and
you count them.

c. 2003

2 cans are waiting on a shelf.
“Have you been dusted?”
(Cans that collect dust must be dusted or no one will buy them.)
“I think so.”
“How come we’ve been here for so long?”
“No one is eating canned field peas with bacon.”
Cans can’t see. They talk by thought. They don’t have souls
and no form of brain although they have minds.
When you open a can, though, it dies and the can’s
mind floats inside the empty reservoir. Forever.

c. 2004