#1
On January 17th, 1997 I walked into Buzzard's Big Lick Grocery in Mount Vernon, Kentucky and I won a shotgun. I had placed an index card with my name scrawled on it into a small fishbowl on the front counter. At 7 p.m. that night I received a phone call telling me that I had won. It came with seven shells and a case. I never fired it once, but in a certain sense this all started with a promise of violence.

What I miss most about Monica Danes was the sex with her. There's a period in every relationship of round-the-clock sex that tends to last for weeks. A constant fuck-a-thon. A period of orgasm overload and enough ejaculation to make one's penis raw to the touch. A fuck-a-thon can be interupted for whatever reason presents itself - Loss of attraction, interest in another, a busy schedule and so on and so forth. But at the heigth of one's mutual attraction and co-dependency on another, it's a crime to have it taken away. The nonstop sex is replaced with passionate love making. You can grow so comfortable with one's body - The look of it, the feel, the smell, the arches and shapes of appendages - that you imagine yourself living inside their bodies. Moving in throw rugs and furniture and a bedside lamp and never leaving it, not even to go to work. Not even for a funeral. You decorate your kitchen cabinets with coffee mugs with your pictures on them, and you hang up posters of bands you like, or movies you grew up with, and random shit at antique shops that you both enjoyed too much to leave sitting on a rusty shelf. But every apartment has a landlord waiting at the end of that bliss to evict you, with or without offering a chance to collect your belongings and the results are life shattering.

I recall the last real time we spent together: She had stated months before her admiration for "dreamboats with beards."
"You'd be a dreamboat if you grew a beard, Randy. The S.S. Randy - Sailing from port to port charging a sixpence to stroke your facial hair."
"If I got food in it would you pick it out?"
"I'd pick it out and eat it."
So I grew a beard. A massive mound of hair that reached to Hell. It reached the bottom of my neck and kept going. It was course but soft as silk. I often dreamed of comparing beards with the likes of Grizzly Adams, Jim Henson and God and emerging the victor. My father had told me at a young age that the key to growing a beard is to shave like a man:
"Straight razors. No guards, no plastic. You open a straight-razor and you give your jaw a run over every morning as soon as you wake up. Don't ever use shaving cream. It'll hurt and it'll burn like all ****, but you have to grin and bear it. Your grandfather had a beard before the law drug him out to the woods."
So before I took this facial venture, Monica bought me a shaving kit. An antique from a general store somewhere in the hills that dated back to 1929. The razor was rusted and the applicator brush's bristles were stained black and falling out. But I only had use for the razor. I unwrapped the kit at her apartment, thanked her, kissed her and we jumped into bed to fuck. A special kind of fuck. I felt myself putting the first foot in her front door with the mover's following closely behind. I hid behind that beard for sixth months, speaking words that would never come from my mouth, doing things that I would normally never do. I recall another incident - of me bashing in the face of a bar patron that knocked a pint out of my hands. I had been in one fight up to that moment in time, and I won it. The beard had to go shortly after, and then I retreated back into shyness. Like Samson, I was never confrontational with anyone ever again, for fear of a premature death.

It was around 8:30 in the morning and I hadn't been to sleep yet. For weeks I sat on the fire escape, admiring the sunrise like a bag of blood rising over the hills, but after a certain point the sight of it made me sick to my stomach. To dry heave is worse than to vomit any form of actual excrement. It's like you're trying to rid your body of some great ghost that sneaks through your venetian blinds to steal your fucking money and hold a stand off in your chest, peering through your ribs at the cops. Nothing comes out, therefore there's not a single demon leaving your body. The best part of this depravity was dry heaving in public places. Scaring children, sending people running, as if I was repenting at a Pentecostal church. My body going through the motions. Shoulders snapping like a cocking shotgun, releasing a burst of powerful air out of my mouth. I looked a sight. I looked exactly like the way I wanted everyone to see me. I recall a phone conversation from two days ago:
"I figured that if I were to do this over the phone then all your tensions and stress would leave with me."
"Randy, you fucking stop this! Take a second and calm down!"
"The only thing I'm taking with me to introspective Hell is the last gift you bought me."
"Randy, stop."
"I'm going to eat it with my neck."
In our most glorious moment together I cupped the phone with my right left cheek and dug the razor into my neck. Like a gunshot wound blood shot into the kitchen, all over newly cleaned dishes. The phone and I both dropped and as I bled, I recalled another incident - The time my brother Kylin took a girl to the Winter Dance in 9th grade. The girl I had asked the previous day.
Poor advice.
#2
so i cant run an ad that says no portuguese..... but ah... no portuguese...
Quote by Duff_McGee
Everyone knows that the day the Metallica ends, the world ends.
#4
Haha, I had read that comment first, and kept waiting for Portuguese to show up.

Still ****ing great though, nothing in there I would change.
Agghh skeet, skeet, crit me, skeet, skeet!
#6
I normally hate prose on these boards because I almost always get bored and stop reading halfway. Not with this one. I loved it, Randy. It felt so real.
#8
I'm in no position to be handing out official critiques, because I myself can't write, but I'd just like to say I enjoyed this a lot. I've been reading your pieces for a while, and I wasn't too fond of the more recent work, until this.
#9
I really enjoyed it. Some grammatical errors but nothing major. Nice job.
#10
I'm new to the S&L forum, but this is absolutely amazing.
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