I am the narrator and you are the reader.
Don't worry about first person this, third person that.
Or run on sentences those kinds of books stories have been beaten into the ground and this isn't one of them and past or present tense are no chains of mine.
This is, however, a true story.
❝Once upon a time❞
This is still the introduction.
It goes on and on, my friend,
jk. "Now don't start that again!"
I always think in the voices of which I first heard a particular line. Like how Morgan Freeman's voice might take over if you wanted. I don't want. For some reason, I always hear a British accent when I write. The words come off my mind like a professors lecture. Think Dawkins, maybe. That prude. Can't get him out of my head.
Why do you read?
you don't have to, you know.
You could watch YouTube instead. Maybe Pornhub.
you could facebook, instagram, snapchat, tinder,
oooo, you could netflix and c h i l l
Don't bother with Wikipedia or BOOKS and certainly don't bother with this.
it's just about ME anyway. May I have your attention, please? That's what writing for readers is.
And if I can't keep your attention, then I don't want it.
I'm not trying to insult you, it just sort of comes out that way.
I really truly actually literally love you and want what's best for you, always, forever
But I have to earn it because you don't know me and who am I anyway?
I'll tell you. I'll show you.
I'd like to start with a poem I once wrote. It was about heroin, and how I, you know, loved/hated it.
through dark material and shade spots
for all the full afternoons
I can stomach.
Neighbor and stranger
as my presence fades
into solitary confinement.
I am the crucible
of which all hours
I stoop and I slip,
but come to
this beat up,
chipped paint Pinto
an olive skinned smile
ashamed of masturbating, at least sometimes... I always lied to the Bishop. I got a temple recommend and was baptized ten, eleven times for the dead
I never got Anne Frank, though I heard about that fiasco later... No my dead were names even the man, dipping my teenage body beneath the water, struggled to
See where I come from, theys ignernt. Pacifically talking about the Specific Ocean. Speaking of ignorant: They'd say "I don't like the way that boy talks, he's ignernt. meaning arrogant. lol,
Those are the people I grew up around, and I love them dearly, mostly.
Enter Sierra Nicole, the first girl I loved.
She liked poetry and she even wrote it. Naturally, so did i.
You can imagine, I'm sure
I want to give you my heart
but I'm afraid you'll pick it apart
if you hear me fart
for you I'd die
I don't even know why
I think I'll learn to play guitar.
Terrible. OR: Turrible. You've got to be a professional reader if you want to keep up.
Here I am a lecturing professor- articulate, succinct -instructing how to read.
I should probably give you a reason why.
Turrible: Thick, Utahn drawl, deep with timbre and gruff: It's awfowly turrible bout what happn'd
to them Lafferty boys. Grew up tuh
murder 'n all.
My point is, I'm no writer, though I try to be. It all goes back to hopped up on caffeine teenage me with a relentless boner trying to get a girl to love me back. She didn't, Sierra Nicole- though she did years later... a story for another time, regardless of how much I'd like to describe the finger streaks and the electric charge between our tongues and on our skin.
Fast forward a decade from '99 to '09 and you see me running a restaurant. Sure, I still wrote when I had time, I play guitar when I could, my fingers callous' an
ebb and flow
By 2010, I knew I would die young, there was no god, I would not see my loved ones in the heavens so promised to me in my youth. Reality was a slow motion car accident I was watching while telling everyone, "no, no, it's fine, this is really just a slow motion disassembly!"
I gave in overandoverandoverandoverandoverandover
to placating the truth of the universe with dopamine rush after rush
for years losing slowly at first, then quicker
faster still losing
g at terminal velocity I lost everything
and that was before my overdose. That was before prison. That was before my mother killed herself. That was before I lost literally everything again, for real this time, just a few months ago when I stupidly decided to throw my fucks into the wind and get hiiiiiigh once again.
I could be considered a professional drug user, I know more about most drugs than most people,
save a few highly educated doctors and maybe some drug savants.
Overdosing in 2013 was my first attempt to pass the bar and I clearly failed.
otherwise I wouldn't have been Narcan(®)'d (naloxone) back to consciousness.
I was dreaming.
Can't quite remember about what, but I was... and then suddenly
I'm surrounded by paramedics, police officers, and one (now ex) girlfriend, red and wet with the saddest and most hopeless tears I had ever seen.
And now! a moment for our sponsors!
(not a poem)
god bless America, god bless insurance companies, god bless Best Buy and Walmart and the police and politicians and god bless EVERYTHING.
Time to be THANKFUL!
oh fuck yeah!
Because we live in a country where we can call the vigilant officers
☞ OF THE LAW
to be like, "Hey, protect us from these crazy Black Friday Looters!"
and we KNOW without a DOUBT
that these razor sharp, eagle eyed, straight cut, clean shaven, square jawed, corn fed, church going, stand up, young white men, who
have taken a FOURTEEN WEEK class about how to
BE THE POLICE, will be able to do their duty. They will TOTALLY
be able to to tell the difference between reaching for a GUN
and homeboy just pulling his pants up.
They will ONLY use deadly force
if it is ABSOLUTELY and essentially VITAL
to their own SURVIVAL, and that of the community.
of which they are here to PROTECT and SERVE.
They will DROP that fiendish drug addict criminal on a DIME
to catch the REAL CRIMINALS!
especially if they need to draw their .40 Caliber Glock or
possibly an AR-15 with those efficient 5.56 millimeter rounds,
like a SWORD off their backs... They are knights in shining armor!
☞ ARE THEY NOT?!
protecting us from the wild, wicked criminals
and gangs roaming the streets
keeping the drugs away from the innocent
and those terrifying thugs who prey on children
and otherwise law abiding citizens.
☞ THANK GOD!
What would we do without them?
Surely we would crumble into chaos!
That's why there are ☞ COPS!
It's not like these people are signing up because they want to!
They don't necessarily want power, just RESPECT!
SO STOP RESISTING!
GET ON THE GROUND!
PUT YOUR HANDS UP!
They're doing it to protect their families from the criminals!
and 14 weeks of teaching and training is MORE THAN ENOUGH time.
WAY more than necessary!
WHY are we wasting PRECIOUS resources and valuable TIME
on over-teaching these obviously qualified people
to chase criminals?
All these Dodge Chargers and unmarked cars and INTERCEPTORS
cost lots of $$$(dollars)$$$
SO LET'S PUT THEM TO USE.
☞ Full steam ahead.
We've got battering rams and sniper rifles
explosives tasers and K9s.
NO CRIMINALS WILL GET AWAY.
We're 14 week highly trained professionals
NOTHING TO SEE HERE PEOPLE MOVE ALONG.
this is only a JUSTIFIED HOMICIDE.
☞ IT'S FOR OUR OWN GOOD!
WE ARE SAFE AND SOUND
watched by the watch dogs
bred and fed
by the tax paying
What else would you spend that money on?!
Roads? Education? Space exploration?
The environment? Children? The future?
Stupid people! If global warming is real,
how come there is snow in Canada?
In addition to our own protection
☞ SPEND YOUR MONEY ON SCHOOL!
hahaha JK SPEND YOUR MONEY ON BLACK FRIDAY!!!!!
but ALSO SCHOOL because Professor So and So is going to TEACH you
and give you a DEGREE that will basically print you FREE MONEY!!!!!!
(by the way, Professor So and So spends his or her spare time lounging in a beautiful, spacious, dream home on a mountain, probably hanging out with the Head Coach of the Universities football team, who is the highest paid employee in the entire state, by the state.)
☞ Don't worry though!
if any of this is a problem for you,
all you have to do is VOTE ✔ in the next election!
Everything will be okay
All you have to do is pick!
→RED← or →BLUE←
fastforward to 2015: prison (This part is SO cliche)
I’m bound with indigo irons,
peppered in ancient, ochre rust.
Asleep or awake,
every flamingo sunset vomits up another inky star rise and twilight,
its hues cobalt, lead, mercury;
white noise a drone
against the hum, clang, and clatter of locks, gates, and guards.
Locusts and chains.
They leave plague, infection, scars;
wide, deep, lasting:
a schism in the abyss in the bowels of salvation.
These are desert glaciers, silent bombs, virgin hookers, reasonable religions.
I claim this yoke,
plastered in the wet earth;
my likeness a morbid statue.
Whose years have extinguished all the fires of the heart:
Bring them to this valley of victims, this canyon of crooks.
Bring them to their criminal education,
I am the resident intellectual,
drunk on Stockholm Syndrome;
comedian, local celebrity.
I am the yardstick against which all else is measured:
A novel record; endless lies.
The Smiths sang: "She could have been a poet" -Louder Than Bombs
Maybe she could have been... but not me!
All I do is tell instead of show.
see here, again:
from which quantum system you woke you cannot know,
your consciousness balkanized
along the fault line of dreams within dreams,
for no super intelligence are you,
however aware that the fabric of reality
is merely constructed only upon observation and certainty.
that you are here is all that matters when
the reimagined past is projected
in ultra high definition spatial waterfalls to drown in.
the helix of time and it's partner dimensions
are broadcasted as invented heavens crossing event horizons.
there is no end and there was no beginning
to the infinity of nothing
where everything burst forth only once,
to pacify existence.
to harvest information from the essence of this epochs precipice
is all our phantoms can fathom
at the crux of the chasm.
swooning over existential tension
and pining for spirits where there are none
creates mazes you cannot escape
because you are only in a cosmic spell
and there is no such thing
as fate or destiny or hell.
you are a pioneer of the cosmos
made to breathe and
question and fight
and fuck and dance and
muse on the mother of eternity,
slowing to make figure eights which
loop your mind back to the genesis of ruin.
you are the magnum opus
of a simulated prodigy mirage,
spinning on the spectrum of possibility
and tortured madness.
give in to the reverie you lust for,
the foaming mouth of dissonance
who will chew the fat of your discourse
and listen to your virtual pipe dream angst.
swallow the truth whole and
purge the blue pill illusion of intellectual honesty-
you are here and here is now and now will end if you let it,
but it has a purpose and it is you-
and you are everything at once.
a jewel, a crown, a queen,
a goddess who will never be known and only observed
(for Meagan, 24 September 2017, on simulation theory and quantum
TELL TELL TELL TELL
I WRITE LIKE A FUCKING LAWYER
I SOUND LIKE A ROBOT
HERE IT IS
uhhhhhgain. Shit guys, gals, I think I'm an AI slowly becoming self-aware.
all these mem or e's - how do I even know they're real?
HALF the time anymore I can't even remember HOW
this ended up THERE, or THAT, here
I swear I left my cigarettes RIGHT HERE.
Where I ALWAYS do.
so how the FUCK -pause-
stay on track, me! Focus!
Am I real?
actually, that's irrelevant to a solipsistic narcissistic psychopath
and this isn't a conversation.
I could swear I've been here before.
We've done this already, and last time wasn't any better.
I must keep resetting to try and get it right.
Maybe I should....
get off this track and hop onto another.
Guns! Mass shootings! Fear and PANIC grips the street!
They're coming for your guns, America!
an old woman I know said there is NO REASON any individual should have assault weapons, failing to realizing how much of a VERB assault is, while simultaneously using it as noun. She said, to wrap up her argument, "Just the personal opinion of an old person who has seen a lot in her life."
to which I couldn't myself reply:
but what happens when a deranged person with illegally acquired assault weapons enters a gun free zone? no one would be able to stop them.
and to say citizens can't have as much power as government officials can (not saying it will) lead to totalitarian regimes. (see North Korea)
I agree that the mentally ill (though where do you draw the line- even mild depression is mental illness- I'm talking about psychopathy) shouldn't have easy access (they will still have the black market) and as far as criminals go... I think restricting the *violent* criminals is more than reasonable (I have a felony drug charge so I can't own one, regardless of how responsible I am now)... but just banning something- anything- never, ever solves the problem. see: prohibition; see: the war on drugs; see: murder (it's illegal and most people won't do it regardless of its legality, yet people are still being murdered (with or without firearms)...
do assault style weapons enable more destruction? yes. but so does a motor vehicle if used a certain way.
if we were to outright ban assault weapons, there would still be people finding ways to get them. so we crack down it. start a war on assault weapons. possession of illegal weapons, bam, throw you in prison. let's say it works.
but we've failed to address WHY someone would want to kill as many people as possible. now we're still going to have psychopaths looking for other ways to do it.
so they start mowing down crowds with cars (already happening- and in places with tight regulations on weapons, no less)... I don't even want to TRY and imagine what other ways people will come up with to commit mass murders. suicide bombs and cars already give me stress enough.
I'm freaked out at the idea that there are ticking time bombs everywhere- including everyone's favorite go-to: Australia. something that most people fail to reference when they point out how well Australia is doing- their access to health care, including mental, is phenomenal compared to the US. if there are any mentally unhinged people there who can't get guns, they can at least get help... and I hope like hell it stays that way.
meanwhile in the US, we're putting more importance on health insurance than actual health care, while simultaneously claiming we have the best.
I want to go to the doctor right NOW for several reasons- some of them being my mental health. But I don't have insurance, and you can only walk into the ER and get billed later if you say you're going to kill yourself. I know this because I've done it... twice! The first time I was taken to the ER in an ambulance because I ran into traffic trying to get killed by a car- I had completely lost it.
that's an extreme example in an opposite sort of way- someone without access to mental health care taking matters into his own hands at the expense of others. I'm grateful that I didn't die, and can barely imagine how horrifying it was for the innocent couple driving that car- chosen completely at random- how near that level of unhinged do you think a mass shooter might be?
it's not that they have access to guns (doesn't help, but it would be unfair to everyone else to ban them).... it's that they can't get help for their BRAIN. there has been for FAR too long a disgusting amount of taboo when it comes to mental health- don't talk about it. be a man. bootstrap and work hard. etc etc... if we don't get rid of that (we could in a generation) and make healthcare not only free (not "affordable" - but FREE. capitalism will do just fine without putting it's dick into healthcare as well)- but easy to access and ENCOURAGED.
I predict- and I'm pretty sure I'm right- that would be a pretty good start and you'd see an immediate reduction in violent crimes.
kinda like how providing birth control and information leads to reduced teen/unwanted pregnancy.
huh. go figure.
just the opinion of a young person, who has seen a lot in his life.
She never replied, but she got more likes than I did (zer0)
*shrugs* What else can you expect from an echo chamber?
how about a word from our SPONSORS!!!!
hand drawn and water colored
slumping back and
lurking the word smiths,
the magic makers,
slipping your pointer finger and stupid thumb
up up to scroll down down
through the dank memes
and the lazy fuck reposts and confirmation biases
you don't have to think about
so you can just laugh and point
and blame the system,
the awful, god awful truth
you bury right alongside your empty head;
you don't know the difference
between their opinion or are there other opinions?
you just figure that somewhere
you'll eventually end up yak yak yaking
about something you love
that everyone cares about
and everyone wants to know about
and you can show them
spouting, spewing high dynamic lust for
the very same
inertness and free falling madness
towards the rock bottom sameness
and hopeless singalong tag-a-long fuck-it-all
gore-fest of misinformation, ignorant bliss.
you midnight creeping-in-the-dark fading flashlight.
lick your lips
He was dreaming. It was the soaring kind, shapes not quite fitting, but fitting nonetheless. He was on a game show, he was the star and he was winning! And just perfectly normal as your everyday, run-of-the-mill game show spotlight situations go, he was relieving himself into a solid gold urinal- which he found rather pleasant when compared to the usual porcelain plain-old white urinals that were standard for dream potty breaks. He didn’t find it at all odd that he was being watched by an entire studio audience. They were only there to cheer him on, and he was their champion pisser, with a greater stream than that of the most prized race horse. He would, of course, be unable to remember this later, as was usual for his dreams, but for now he was content and enjoying the attention. It wasn’t every day that he had such spectacular dreams, although he wasn't aware that he was dreaming, nor would he have the opportunity to be aware- for he was suddenly awake.
As would be expected from just about anyone that was one moment lifting his leg, the next being dragged rather violently back into reality, he was confused. He was immediately and utterly aware of the many strange faces of clear authority all talking at once, some calm, others excited. It was only a second or two until he realized that these were paramedics and, to his dismay, officers of the law. Police men and EMTs. Cornflower blue, starched and pressed button down shirts with shiny, golden badges, name plates and rank stitched above the breasts and into the shoulders. There were handguns and utility belts, hand cuffs and radios, a stretcher and medical bags with supplies that he would never know the names of. These were trained professionals, serious and in charge.
"Whoa there, son! You just lie right there now, okay?"
The EMT holds his shoulder down with one hand, a penlight in the other, flashing and looking into the wide, frightened eyes of our friend, the dreamer. He asks him if he knows where he is. He asks him if he knows to whom he is speaking. Question to question, he guides our friend to the inevitable topic that he knows he must answer for. The police are bulging, muscular and angry. They are talking into their CB-radios, short codes for long statements, they’re telling dispatch that he’s alive and awake and aware. They’re telling dispatch that they’re going to take him to the hospital first, jail second.
Our confused and aware friend is starting to cry. He feels the tears coming on and he knows that he can do nothing to stop them. He is in a kind of pain that he didn’t know existed. It isn’t pins and needles so much as it’s rusted nails. It’s dragging the skin of elbows and knees across a sidewalk under the summer sun. It is wet and it smells and he is crying.
“You need to tell us where you got this sugar. If you cooperate, you’ll make this a lot easier for yourself later on. But if you lie, you’re going to make things really hard for yourself. Now tell us where you got it, son. Where did you get the sugar?”
Our friend looks from one officer to another, his eyes dart from officer to EMT and back again. He is sweat, he is panic, he is stress; he is fear, he is pressure, he is caved. The only thing he can hear is the heaving, sobbing, screaming of his wife. His poor wife, red eyed and swollen from grief, she is screaming at him, yelling at him, demanding of him. She is hoarse, her voice is all throat and air from the bottom of her stomach. He has never seen her like this, and he will never see her like this again.
“Tell them! Tell them where Matthew is! Tell them, John! Tell Them!”
Matthew. He forgot about Matthew. He doesn’t want to talk about him, but he knows he has no choice. He knows that he is giving up his friend’s freedom along with his own, and he only cries the harder. His eyes move still from wife to EMT to officer to officer to EMT to wife. Everyone is talking, his wife is sobbing and hysterical, three hundred and sixty degrees of Who, Where, When and Tell Them Tell Them Tell Them!
He has no choice and he knows it. And so he tells them.
The last thing he remembered was a spoonful of sugar, raw and brown and crystal. He remembers savoring it, trying to imprint in his memory just how sweet and delicious and warm it felt dissolving on his tongue. And his tongue! Sore and tired from all the licking and tasting and swallowing. He remembers that he had been eating sugar and honey all night and into the morning. He was alone in the basement, teetering on the edge of a massive bowel movement, afraid that his wife would see him and know exactly what he was doing, and why he was waddling from the basement to the backyard, perspiring and wheezing. And as if that weren’t enough, he also had to go and drink up a gallon of Uppy Green Fuzzy, his favorite soda. So more than ever in his entire life, as far as he could remember right then and there, he never had to urinate quite so badly. He was dancing and tucking his hands between his knees, suffering through the pain, all the while thinking that if he could only just pee, all his problems would be solved.
But he can’t. He knows that he really needs to get to the backyard. It is absolutely pertinent that he get to the backyard. He needs to dig and squat and try to avoid getting it all over and back up onto his pants and socks and shoes. Always with the backsplash; diarrhea and earth; collateral shit. His property is a graveyard of defecation. He suspects that his wife is beginning to inspect the lawn a little more closely. You can really only dig up so much grass before people start to notice. You can only blame it on the dog so many times. A dog, after all, doesn’t put the grass back after he digs it up. His lawn is holes and mounds of dog shit and human shit and wrappers, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before he is caught. It is his only option: there is no way that his toilet is equipped to handle anything larger than a peanut.
He has been eating all night and all morning, and sleep finally catches up to him. He lies down thinking how it will only be for a minute, and anyway it will help him get his mind off his bladder for a minute, and he really just needs to rest his eyes for only a minute. He’s so tired, so sleepy, so worn out and full of sugar and honey and soda that he just closes his eyes and that is all it takes. One minute. He is dreaming of the golden urinal and game show. And then he is awake, surrounded by officers and EMTs, barraged by the questions and the surge of remorse and regret and, well, embarrassment. He has, after all, shit and pissed all over himself in the middle of mounds of his addiction. He is carried out on a stretcher and placed in an ambulance. The EMTs are urgent, the police are stern; his wife is hysterical.
This is John Smith, sugar addict. He has been arrested a dozen times on various charges of possession of sugar, honey, and soda, the most addictive foods. He has been over the legal weight limit for five years, unable to stop eating despite being on probation and threatened with prison. He is only one of millions of criminally fat Americans, along with his supplier and long time co-dependent sugar addict friend, Matthew Mark, struggling against the relentless tide of the law. The law is thin and sinewy, hard and just, backed by millions of dollars in taxpayer support and an entire industry of for-profit prisons and over-time happy police, prosecutors, and judges. Crime will not go unpunished, and the War on Food is a crusade.
If you don't need to eat, you don't need to take breaks from working. You only need water and rest and The Pill. The cost of food skyrockets, less and less people eat. As the years pass, it becomes apparent that those who continue to eat are spending all of their time and money on food and their lives revolve around it. Those who continue to eat become more and more secluded, and begin to stand out from the rest of society. Those that opt to take The Pill are generally more fit, never gaining weight, live longer and more productive lives, and have more time and money to spend on everything else. Those that choose to eat become a minority of the overweight. They're typically living in poverty, uneducated, and live shorter lives do to heart disease and other conditions that arise from the poor diets and unhealthy foods that they live their lives around.
Food production becomes rare and the cost only continues to rise. The "Food Junkies" as they are eventually described, become what the Surgeon General calls an "epidemic". Obesity is the number one most preventable strain on society, as long as people don't eat. Society is thin, healthy, and productive; Food Junkies are not.
But there are still those few that hold onto the past, who know that cakes and candy are delicious and want more than just a pill for nutrition. Though the pill industry remains in control- they lobby enormous amounts of wealth against the dying food industry. Being obese puts an unnecessary strain on society, tax payers become angry that their money is used to pay for the health care of unnecessarily overweight people. Their money should go to education and roads and the department of defense, not paying for people to live in hospitals because of heart attacks. People that eat claim it’s a victimless crime, but tell that to their loved ones watching in horror as they gain weight and succumb to things like heart disease and diabetes! Eating of anything is absolutely against the law and aggressively prosecuted. Society has little tolerance for the abuse of foods and sugars.
For a while, most people forgot about the foods of the past such as fruits, vegetables, meats, and sweets. There was no need to grow food or store it for the winter or raise animals to slaughter. Humanity became complacent with and accustomed to not eating at all, only taking a pill three times per day, their stomachs shrinking to miniscule size, the pills providing everything that their bodies need. They were healthy and obesity was all but eliminated. Over the years, being obese became so rare and unsightly that it was actually outlawed! Food was the only real source of weight gain and was therefore criminalized.
Many people try eating sugar-free or fake foods, not realizing that they still produce waste and gain weight, and by then it is too late. Sugar-free is seen as a gateway food to hard foods and drinks such as cakes, candy, and soda- All of which are classified as illegal; pure sugar being the most addictive and damaging substance. People who consume sugar quickly gain weight, and noticeably. You can see it in the face first, and maybe some people will pretend to not see it, denying themselves the horrible, awful truth: Their loved ones have become food addicts and criminals. But some Eaters enjoy it and think that they should be able to eat if they want to. A black-market of food and sugar springs forth, and soon sugar cartels and animal slaughter rings run rampant. People spend thousands of dollars to get chocolate, honey, caramel, corn syrup, steaks, chicken wings, whatever.
Being fat is the worst thing you can be! It is illegal and so are all the products which contribute to weight gain. Society is quite understandably expected to be thin and perfect. Everyone is happy to be thin and not fat and everything is spectacular. The president declares food and candy production a form of murder and corruption and terrorism- Thus begins the War on Food. It is a criminal offense to be found in possession of sugar or images of people eating food. Food pornography is a real, terrible thing!
Religions start to threaten the wicked and fat with damnation, Hellfire, and brimstone. The consensus is that God doesn’t want people to eat or be fat. Being fat insults Jesus and the righteous cry themselves to sleep at night praying for God to take away the fat food addicts and give them the motivation to exercise. There are even late night infomercials for the extra religious that take your money on behalf of God to pay for afterlife liposuction! People just don’t want to be fat, and those that are just don’t want to get caught. Police officers number one priority is sniffing out candy factories, bakeries, and soda dispensaries. They include tracking down the fat scum to make sure they aren’t clogging up the hospitals with their fat asses and heart attacks and diabetes. Protecting the normal thin people from having to see the disgusting stretch marks and unsightly cellulite is dreadfully important work. No one wants to see fat; no one wants to smell cakes and candy. No one wants to step in sticky soda spills or have to explain to their children why the man or woman bending over in front of them is so much bigger than everyone else.
Some undercover cops even go to the extent of eating (doughnuts) to the point they jiggle when they laugh or cough or run It’s hard trying to make sure people will trust them. They’re working their way to the main supplier; the overhead. By infiltrating the small time food-cart market, they slowly make their way into the underground restaurants, where the owners have to turn to actual food growers for supply. The ultimate bust is finding the sugar cane fields, the heart of the sucrose industry; where the real money is.
Most people will lick the sucrose right off your fingers if you put it in front of them. The addicted spend all their time and money finding and buying anything that is tasty- mostly candy and sodas because of the instant gratification, which in turn also causes the most weight gain and obvious signs of consumption- Feces, stretch marks, cavities, vomiting from overdoses, a tolerance of and dependency on food. As the stomach stretches it requires more material to fill and relieve the pains associated with hunger. The most common foods consumed are junk foods because they deliver the most pleasure. Although there are the less common steak and bacon eaters- These criminals require animals they must raise from infancy to the proper age and weight to slaughter, skin, and butcher into the appropriate portions for sale and consumption. These criminals, while very rare, are some of the most detested by society- The animals they raise are seen as a burden on the world, producing an overabundance of methane which contributes to the pressing matter of Global Warming. Cattle is a very real threat to the atmosphere of the planet and their breeding and raising is outlawed.
Animal breeding and possession are 1st and 2nd degree felonies, respectively. Intent to distribute and distribution of animal product or plant products (such as sugar, rice, and wheat) are all 1st degree felonies and typically carry the penalty of 5 to life in prison. Deals are often made for information leading to the arrest of other sugar growers or animal breeders, and can reduce life sentences to years or sometimes less. Possession of food and the act of consumption is the most commonly prosecuted trespass against the law, ranging from misdemeanors to felonies. Criminal offenders are not usually given treatment for their possession and obesity. Instead they are only sentenced to time, serve that time and lose the weight, but most relapse upon release. The draw of sugar and soda is alarmingly powerful, and the only treatments offered are generally found outside of the penal system. Fat and food-abuse rehabs are expensive and have a low success rate. The majority of those that can afford treatment, usually opt for liposuction, or gastric-bypass surgery. Though the majority of those few wealthy end up eating again and repeating the cycle. Those living in poverty are not so fortunate. Most will continue to balloon in weight until it is so obvious they are eating illegal foods that the law takes action.
And so it is this: the courts are literally weighed down by the fat of their cases. The cases are reaching epidemic proportions. And the majority of American good people that stay fit and thin continue to vote for ever-increasing laws of fat-loss enforcement, and for the continued financial support of anything and everything the law needs to sniff out the ruthless criminal fatty kingpins and sugar-junkies that are ruining everything for the rest of the beautifully thin and healthy, God-fearing, pill-popping Americans.
There is an eating restraining device most commonly referred to as "The Mouth Cuff". Technically it's trademarked name is "Oral Consumption Restriction Device", but being a pun of a mouthful, it is usually called "Mouth Cuff" or sometimes, and crudely, "Gagger". When transporting criminal eating addicts between court rooms and jails or prisons, most of them are typically bound with handcuffs, ankle cuffs, and of course, mouth cuffs. These are, after all, hardened criminals that often go to any length to eat just about anything! The addict almost always has nothing to lose, no sense of dignity, and an unyielding appetite to fill their stomachs with anything other than government-approved Nutritional Pills. You can't trust any food addict whose mouth is unbound.
It is common knowledge that foods and sugars and sodas drive even the most conservative human beings into sheer madness. They will steal money in hunger driven bouts of insanity; they will lash out violently if approached while in the act of eating. The most maniacal of food addicts will even kill if they feel their food or sugars are threatened. Like the most wild and ferocious rabid and feral dogs, they have even been seen resorting to cannibalism and trapped in what appears to be an unending loop of hysterical laughter and mania, some even going so far as to copulate with the corpses of their victims, drinking their blood in what appears to be vampiric and satanic rituals!
Food addicts are the most dangerous criminals and it is always strongly recommended that upon sight of them or suspicion of food consumption, to immediately flee to safetyand notify the authorities. Under no circumstances should you approach food addicts, as the lure of food is easily succumbed to. Cooked foods are usually accompanied with strong odors that may seem pleasant, but are in fact nefarious attempts to trick the naive and gullible, especially children- Children are the easiest targets and parents should take every precaution and opportunity to educate them to ensure they never fall into the life ruining kinds of crime that eating always inevitably leads to.
Do you want your children growing up obese and dying of heart attacks and diabetes? Do you want your children worshipping Satan and sacrificing infants for their tender meats? This is the life of the food addict: criminal behavior and devil worship; animal torture and homicide.
Always report any suspicions to your local law enforcement! They are trained professionals and they are here to protect the innocent from the criminal. No home or neighborhood or city is safe while food addicts eat and food producers produce! Always keep your doors locked and your noses plugged! And never forget that eating is a crime and aggressively prosecuted for the protection and well-being of a fat-free society.
Forks, spoons, sporks, napkins, blenders; tools of the trade. Food paraphernalia. The term “food paraphernalia” means any equipment, product, or material of any kind which is primarily intended or designed for use in manufacturing, compounding, converting, concealing, producing, processing, preparing, ingesting, or otherwise introducing into the human body a controlled substance, possession of which is unlawful. Subsequently, it is also illegal to sell or offer for sale food paraphernalia, to transport food paraphernalia, to import or export food paraphernalia, to construct food paraphernalia, or to offer instructions for the construction of food paraphernalia. Anyone convicted of offenses of these laws is subject to penalty. Fines incurred will generally reach into the thousands of dollars, and terms of imprisonment can range from months to years.
What use is a fork or spoon if you have nothing to eat? I'll tell you- The answer is nothing! Innocent persons should never be in possession of moist towelettes, because innocent persons should have no sticky fingers and faces! And if innocent persons have nothing to hide, then they have nothing to fear if stopped for a random search! The police and other agents of the law are here for the protection and well-being of innocent persons. Food and fat are cunning enemies and can hide just about anywhere (except for small places, of course)! Usually you need only follow your nose. Yes, citizens are protected from unwarranted searches and seizures, as clearly laid out in the Bill of Rights- But that's what search warrants are for!
Even the slightest bit of chubbiness or the faintest scents of foods or feces are more than enough probable cause! These fine, professionally trained officers are, after all, only acting in the best interest of the populace. No innocent persons want their children or themselves threatened with the menace of food and fat! Most innocents with nothing to hide are, in fact, quite cooperative and even rewarded for their compliance and good behavior!
The DEA (Diet Enforcement Agency) is extremely important and considerably essential to the ongoing War on Food. Without the likes of such distinguished, renowned offices and bureaus and departments, where would our society stand? I'll tell you where! The answer is simply and obviously this: chaos and pandemonium. Our security and future is already on the brink of collapse, held only in place by hard-working bodies such as the DEA, local law enforcement, honorable judges, and tireless prosecutors. If innocent persons demand privacy, then the criminally fat and food cartels and sugar growers will be free to run wild, hiding themselves behind the smokescreen of the honest, pure, and righteous law-abiding public. Oh and the children. We must never forget the children! They are pawns in the criminally malicious evil-doers game, future victims of heart disease, diabetes, and obesity. No food-addict can be allowed to graze freely while the lives of children are at stake! It is the uncorrupt children whose futures we must always keep in mind when considering whether or not to let the ever diligent police do their job.
In 1990, a group of individuals formed a coalition known as FTE (Free To Eat), whose sole purpose was the elimination of The War on Food, citing a number of studies linking The War on Food with increases in theft, violence, food abuse, and even prostitution. The studies, performed by elite ivy league universities, correlate The War on Food with abuse of police power and a massive waste of tax payer dollars. These studies, of course, say nothing of a solution, they merely seek to complain, whine and cry. What good would decriminalizing food and fat do? It would only lead to an epidemic in obesity and heart disease, as proper studies funded by top-level policy makers within the federal government indicate.
The DEA and The Office of National Diet Control Policy (ONDCP) have both led further research into the effectiveness of anti-food laws and national weight and fat limits and conclude that The War on food is not only succeeding, but saving lives too! Were the criminally fat and food producers free to run rampant, the resulting chaos would lead to the destruction of civilization as we know it! The United States government has recently begun negotiations with our neighboring countries of Canada and Mexico to protect our borders from the international black market. By providing military aid, weapons, and monetary funds to our neighbors, we have effectively doubled the security of our borders and we can already see a decrease in illegal food trafficking!
The costs of operations to protect our citizens from addiction cannot be named with a price tag of dollars, but instead measured in the value of human life! The DEA and ONDCP have nothing but the best of intentions for its citizens. The DEA and ONDCP work tirelessly to protect children and other innocent peoples from the malevolent means shrouded in benevolent bounty. The monsters that raise illegal live-stock for consumption are not only attempting to fatten women and children, but are even contributing to global warming with the emissions of methane! Experts estimate that by 2030, if illegal live-stock trends continue, polar ice caps will have melted enough to raise ocean levels anywhere from three to twenty feet! And then what will you tell your children? Will you tell them how sorry you are that they are drowning, but you'll be sure to have more children that will hopefully grow up on higher ground and in a world less likely to kill them because of your shortsightedness? Will you tell them that you're sorry you didn't back the tough policy-makers when the crimes threatened your poor children's futures because you thought that your money was being wasted on ""victimless crimes"? Well it turns out that they aren't victimless crimes, and you and your own children are the victims!
Were it not for these laws, policies, police and judges and prosecutors, you would be probably be dead and drowned and covered in fat and maybe even eaten by the most deranged and lunatic criminally cannibalistic crooks. Were it not for the persevering and steadfast organizations like the DEA and ONDCP, our society would collapse into pure anarchy, the worst of us doing anything for the pleasure of consumption! Mad men, demented and berserk, chomping down on chicken wings, licorice, ice cream and pizza while watching football on a Sunday; dark narrow tunnels to crime and addiction. Is that what you want? Your own children exposed to bowls of popcorn, funnels of cotton candy, chocolate chips, and popsicles? Because if this administration doesn't pass its High-Intensity Diet Trafficking Program, the criminally harebrained horrible hoodlums and terribly thuggish truants will have free access to our social inhabitants and impeccable innocent!
And let us never forget that above all, we are all granted this freedom, life, and liberty by God, the Eternal Father, whose grace and wisdom guides our goals and great passage to a more perfect providence. At once we shall swiftly sweep from the Earth the sinful syndicates and the faithless fugitives, for the law is just, and the law is mighty!
Your future and that of your children's is endangered daily by the menace of food! Continue to pray, lock your doors at night, and vote for the programs put forth by the DEA and ONDCP. If you don't, we won't be there to help you explain to your children why they are dead and drowned and fat and burning in hell! We can only help you if you let us! The threat of food is real and only your cooperation can help us save the world and the children and everything in between! Write your local representative and demand that our streets be more protected from crime, and free from the propaganda of such organizations as FTE, who would see children fed to death and hospitals all jammed up with diabetes and heart attacks and endless fields of feces and cattle expelling methane and warming the planet! When crime and addictions are free to spread, it is all of uswho will pay the price in blood and tears!
öööööööÖÖÖÖÖÖ: BACK TO THE FUTURE STORY!
The information provided by John, of his own free will, leads to the arrest of one Matthew Mark. Pulled over whilst fleeing his hotel, he is seized and booked into the county jail, where his bail is set at a staggering $50,000. Because they knew which hotel he was staying in, the police officers only had to wait and watch. Though a search warrant is issued, the police are actually unable to find any illegal substances. But of course, as can be expected, the police must charge him with something as he is clearly a food addict! So off to jail he goes, right alongside his friend, John.
“John,” he says, “listen buddy. It's really very simple. They're charging me with distribution, you know, because they say you said you got the sugar from me, right? Right. Well, all you gotta do, old buddy old pal, is tell them that you made a mistake! You didn't buy that sweet, sweet sugar from your old pal Matthew! Oh no, you tell them that you worked the street and you were just confused from the overdose is all! John, old buddy old pal, you’ll say something of this sort: ‘My good sirs! It is really rather aggravating even thinking that this law-abiding, and handsome young man could possibly be accused of pushing sugar on other helpless addicts! You see, this fine gentleman is an outstanding and responsible member of our fit society. Yes, he has had his struggles with addiction to sugar and other foods, but he would never, ever sell the stuff.’
“John,” he says, “you have to lie for me, buddy. I'm taking this to trial because I can't go back to prison. You understand? I can never go back. And anyway they can't prove I sold you anything if you just, you know, tell them you were mistaken and confused from your overdose! It wasn't your fault, you'd just had too much sugar and you didn't know what you were saying. After all, they can't trust the word of an addict in the middle of a sugar mania! You tell them, John. You tell them that for me, old buddy old pal, and we're square, okay?”
John is, of course, delighted to have an opportunity to redeem himself. He didn't want to give up Matthew in the first place- But what happened, happened, and now he can try and make it right. No problem, thinks John. Simple, easy, nothing to it- A walk in the park- Cake. Oh cake! He salivates and reassures himself: I can and will lie on the stand for my good friend, Matthew.
After all, he would never have been in this mess in the first place if he hadn't called him up and started talking about the good old days of honey and chocolate and sugar and Uppy Green Fuzzy, cold and sparkling and delicious. It was all his fault that Matthew was in trouble. It was John, not poor Matthew Mark that so badly needed to have one last go.
There is an attorney; this attorney is a public prosecutor in a small, religious town. He believes that God wants him to bring the justice of Heaven upon the world. He believes that only through his God will he achieve salvation and even his own godhood. To do so he must punish the wicked and fight the spreading plague of fat and food.
But of course since the church and state are separated, he cannot express this forthwith- He must use the law within its boundaries; he cannot make actual claims that his religious morals are the reason he is so aggressive in his pursuit of criminal fatness and eatery. It goes largely unsaid, but with the full power of like-minded individuals behind him. Everyone that is in position to wield law or otherwise enforce it is also of the same religion and belief system. It is the dominant theology in this part of the country, where our poor oppressed fat protagonists are eating their way into the penal system.
On the surface, the religion isn’t mentioned or even considered a factor by the law- as is so for a “secular” society. But, naturally, his beliefs do influence all of his choices in life. He believes that what he does is for his own benefit and is what God wants done. God does not want his children to be fat! God does not want His children pushing sugar or honey or soda or chocolate. God is an athlete, in His prime, and he looks good. God commands that man follow in His image. God wants man to only take the magical pill, three times a day, because he sent His only begotten Son to die for that reason- So that people could be fat-free and sugar-free; not raising animals for the slaughter. Everyone would be thin and beautiful; everyone would be in His own image. What else could it have ever been? God made man in His own image, not “God made man in His own fat.” Man was never meant to be fat. Man should be thin and so beautifully picturesque, magazine material that anyone can look at themselves and think, “This is exactly how anyone should look, I am so perfect and lovely and not fat.”
Anyway, while this attorney is prosecuting any and all food addicts and criminals at every opportunity, there are food addicts everywhere that are trying so hard to hide their fat from themselves, their family and friends, their employers, and the general public. People everyday are sipping soda under the cover of their water bottles. People hide out in bathrooms and gobble up candy bars and individually wrapped snack-cakes and pastries. They’re paranoid that they maybe have crumbs of cake on their shirt, or stains of mayonnaise and mustard from spills on their pants. They’re apprehensive about their rapid influx in weight from the greasy, oily deep-fried desserts, meals, wings, and midnight pantry raids. You’re not supposed to ever be fat because sugary, fatty foods and drinks are illegal. In order to munch on a microwaved malted meringue maple meatloaf, one must have an underground food dealer and/or sugar peddler.
The Prosecutor. Slightly shorter than the judge and just a tad less handsome, is of course, godly, shiny, and indefinitely important as well. There is a good chance that one day The Prosecutor will grow another inch or two, wear a more expensive suit, and become an honorable judge as well. Though for now, The Prosecutor is content to pursue criminals and addicts and criminal addicts and throw them before the fire of The Judge and give recommendations for punishment and what-have-you. It's a dirty job, but someone has got to do it. What more qualified or able of a man than this one? He goes to church on Sundays, he commands his wife, he wears special underwear beneath his tailored suit- Surely God is impressed and wants him to keep doing God's work- For God hates food, hates fat, and loves obedience and faith and punishment.
The Judge. He is a godly man, seven feet tall and a double barreled chest with enough hair bursting forth to groom. When he walks the earth shakes and the meek make way. If you're quiet enough and listen very closely, you can even hear the tiniest jingle of a theme song playing softly in the distance: Bad boys, what ARE you going to do?
Indeed, The Judge asks the tough questions that will make any despicable criminal tremble in humble ignorance. The Judge is the most incredibly important man, wielding the absolutely most important power and judgment, and he will always be addressed with no less than ‘His Honor’. So important is His Honor’s power and position that even His Honor Himself refers to himself as His Honor.
“His Honor,” he'll say, “is confused and maybe the criminal could attempt to alleviate such confusion with a straightforward answer to the question that His Honor will ask! Ha! How is it that a hardcore sugar addict is able to reconcile with him or herself the blatant eatery of sugar and the very safety of the innocent in the community? Hmm! Isn't the criminal aware that he or she is actively ruining the lives of the innocent in his or her very act of consumption? Isn't the criminal aware that the act of eating and the gaining of weight is an atrocious act of law breakery and will only lead to further atrocity? Surely the criminal must be aware that he or she is hurting others and causing undue strain on the shoulders of society by purchasing and consuming such awful and illegal substances?” His Honor pauses briefly to flash his perfectly practiced patronizing grin, adjusts his glasses, and continues,
“Well regardless! His Honor is disgusted. Ignorance of the law and its consequences is inexcusable! The criminal has committed crimes and must be punished! Punishment wouldn't exist if the crimes didn't exist, so therefore punishment is just! Ha! His Honor will see the criminal held accountable for his or her lack of morality. His honor will do his duty for society and God and even the criminals! One day the criminals will thank His Honor.”
Today The Prosecutor has John backed into a corner.
“Mr. Smith,” he says, “you had previously stated that you purchased your illegal sugar from one Matthew Mark. We have it on record, several eyewitnesses, including your wife, as I'm sure you remember.”
"I, uh, um, actu- well, what exactly do, uh, has anyone, uh, you know."
"Please, Mr. Smith. Look, the fact is you said what you said, so I just need you to sign it right here or you can take the stand right now with His Honor and repeat, in person, your prior statement. It will be, one way or another, on the official court record. Mr. Mark has chosen to forego a plea deal offer and is taking this to trial. So as a witness who has already told us what happened, I just need you to sign here or you can come out into the courtroom right now and testify on the stand. With His Honor."
Poor John. He knows right then and there that he can't look either The Prosecutor or The Judge in their eyes and tell them a lie. A lie in a court of law is a very serious thing! Besides, they already know what happened; and he knows that if they didn’t like what he had to say, they would force his wife onto the stand- Something he knows he can’t allow. John's shoulders slump and he resigns to his fate. He wearily signs his scrawling signature on the stiff, single paper and shivers with a sigh. He is, at that moment, sending his friend to prison and there is nothing he can do about it.
Our poor friend Mr. John Smith is going to spend three months in a county jail. He is charged with possession of a controlled substance, a 3rd degree felony. There is no fighting it, he freely admits his guilt when questioned, and he also gives up the name and location of his connection. There isn't much use in lying when the police and EMTs come to your home after a hysterical 911 call about a possible food overdose. No, when that happens, it's really best that you come clean. Of course, you do have the right to remain silent, you have a right to an attorney, and anything you say can and most definitely will be used against you in a court of law. But poor John has never been more afraid and these fine policemen know what they are doing and are very good at getting confessions by merely applying the tiniest amount of pressure. They make him feel comfortable, that he is in a safe place. They tell John there is no need for secrecy, that even without his cooperation they will find this Matthew fellow. But, they tell him, the judge would most definitely appreciate some honesty in this matter. Just tell us where he is, they say, and you'll make things so much easier for yourself.
Poor, naive John. He twiddles his thumbs nervously, looking down at the handcuffs that are beginning to cut into the soft skin of the wrists. If he tells them, they say, maybe they can take these handcuffs off. No need for handcuffs in jail, after all. Wouldn't he like to be a bit more comfortable? Wouldn't he want to prevent more innocent people on the streets from potentially being introduced to foods and sugars? It is, after all, a crime.
Poor, simple John. He wants things to be easier for himself. He feels an immense loyalty for his friend, but he knows that they will find him anyway, so what use is there in making things harder for himself? He tells them about the hotel where they rented a room to spend the night eating to their hearts content. Hotel rooms are always an easy place to get away with that kind of thing. They're private, they don't ask questions, and you can easily defecate in their bathtubs when the time comes. Toilets aren't equipped to handle the kind of shits that food eaters produce. Why should toilet companies make toilets that waste millions of gallons of water just to evacuate the bowels of food addicts? Sanitation and toilet companies only design that which the good and responsible law abiding citizens need! So bathtubs it is, in dirty, run-down scum of the earth motels that deal in cash and anonymity. Food addicts don't concern themselves with thoughts about who gets to clean up the messes they leave. After all, even food addicts need to sleep at night.
John wants to sleep at night. He knows that he is already going to serve a good stretch of time. He was, after all, already on probation with the state for previous criminal activity relating to food possession and consumption. But the judge and the prosecutor want more than just time served. They know that John will continue to eat and hide and run from the law as soon as they let him out. Probation just isn't enough for criminals like John. The judge and the prosecutor know that they're going to have to impose something much more strict.
Break the law enough times and eventually everyone goes to prison. There is no saving some criminals. Some criminals just need to be punished. Though isn't it the responsibility of the government to rehabilitate criminals? Yes, this proud government thinks. It knows what is best for its citizens, criminals, and addicts.
There is a new program that states are beginning to offer criminals as a form of food addiction rehabilitation. In exchange for the addicts freedom from prisons and jails, they are expected to attend rigorous and extensive outpatient groups whose focus is addiction recovery. They are subject to frequent and random weigh ins, to ensure that no food is being consumed. And of course, to submit to blood-sugar tests that can differentiate between the calories found in illegal foods and sugars, and those that are provided by the regulated Nutritional Pills.
This program is called "Food Court", and it is considered somewhat successful. Participants go before their judge on a regular basis to be measured and weighed and give reports about how well they are doing and to tell the judge how much they love the Food Court program and how incredibly grateful they are to be afforded the opportunity to change their lives for the better. After all, they report, foods and their inevitable fats are a horrible burden on society and they are so happy that they now see the error in their ways and will most definitely stay fit and thin and food-free when they are released from the program.
So poor, helplessly-addicted-to-food John Smith is a perfect candidate for Food Court, and thus begins his treatment after first serving three months behind bars. His body begins to return to normal, he loses weight, and appears to be doing very well. He attends his group therapy sessions, Sugar Eaters Anonymous, and continues to pass his random weight and blood-sugar tests. But John has a secret. John is not just simple and naive, he is also manipulative and lies through his teeth, just as you can expect from an addict. John has discovered a website that sells an illegal, but undetectable sweetener that the law has yet to discover.
John is buying and eating to his heart’s content the deplorable criminal substance known as Aspartame. It is a sugar-free, zero calorie sweetener that is seizing the nations food addicts by the skin of their sweet tooth. Reactions to Aspartame are wild and unpredictable, leading to emergency rooms and even death! But the current blood-sugar tests don't detect it, so food addicts are getting away with it- for the time being. There is a circulating rumor that an Aspartame test has or is being developed and will soon be used by law enforcement everywhere. This government is at war with fat and sugar and food and even Aspartame, and it is not the kind of government that loses wars. Poor, naive, manipulative liar John will soon be caught breaking all the rules of his Food Court program. Poor John. It will be prison for him this time.
His wife left him. What did you think would happen? Most well-to-do people have little tolerance for breaking the law, let alone living with a convicted felon and food addict. She had already turned her head in the face of an obvious problem for far too long. Years of giving all her love and energy to a bottomless pit that never showed any signs of returning the commitment had left her all but exhausted. She needed to be loved by someone that was worthy of her own. It was a quick, clean break and the divorce went smoothly. She was so full of hopes and desires for a better future that she had no room to spare for anger in her heart. She wished him well and was gone within a month.
It left John, as you can imagine, with no one to turn to in what seemed, to him, his darkest hours. The night is, as always, darkest before the sunrise. But this mantra did little to alleviate his new sullen direction.
He attended his Food Court meetings, he gave his random blood-sugar tests and continued to show progress in weight loss and weigh-ins. He began working part-time at the only employer in town that would hire a convicted felon: a call center. His life was a slow routine of cold calls, hard sells, tired therapy, fines and fees, and an irksome solitude that took more of a toll than he could admit to even himself. It should be little surprise that he eventually took up the habit of chewing gum. A government regulated and taxed product, it was, in John's addled mind, a crutch for an otherwise aimless life.
Shouldering the weight of both advocates and opposition, chewing gum companies are regularly in the spotlight of medical claims both favorable and condemning. Right-wing conservatives boasting of irrefutable evidence that chewing gum leads to cancer and is a known catalyst of sugar addiction, a gateway substance whose mildest slopes are perilously smooth. We see its most radical leftist proponents liberally asserting that chewing gum in fact, not only doesn't cause cancer, but actually contributes to weight-loss with its calorie burning namesake exercise: chewing! And further, they contend that the availability of a legal chewable inevitably leads to a reduction in illegal dining and digestion, thus eliminating incidental defecation. Lobbies both for and against swell with the enthusiastic donations of their members.
The Food Court program, of course, is aware of chewing gum. Being an addiction recovery program, it cannot condone the use of chewing gum, but being a socially acceptable and legal substance, it also cannot restrict its use. At least not at first. You see, the consensus on chewing gum is mixed. It isn't a consensus at all, really. His Honor is naturally, as a religious man first, and a judicial representative second, opposed to the use of chewing gum. His Honor even tells all of his Food Court participants,
"His Honor finds chewing gum to be not only despicable and disgusting, but also clearly indicative of the criminal type. Ha! If these recovering addicts cannot even avoid the chewing of gum, His Honor asks, how can they expect to stay away from other foods and sugars if they complete the program in which they so fortunately participate? His Honor reminds the criminals that the Food Court program is a privilege and it is only provided by the good charitable graces of such esteemed individuals as His Honor and The Prosecutor. Hmm!
“Why,” His Honor continues, “would any criminal addict further endanger their slim chances of success with such detestable activities as chewing? Are the criminally addicted unaware that society, the law, and His Honor view such behavior with only abhorrence and loathing? His Honor believes that to choose chewing gum is a reflection of the criminally addicted real motives: An unyielding lust for feeding and eating and drinking. His Honor concludes that the criminally fat gum chewers will ultimately relapse if released from the Food Court program, and will at long last end up in the prisons that they so deserve. Ha! Those that continue to violate the law will eventually wind up eating themselves to death and defecating all over the innocent public, His Honor predicts."
John is standing before His Honor on an average Tuesday morning, second in line of the participants that will go before His Honor to present His Honor the usual bi-weekly update of his or her comings and goings, blood-sugar test results, weigh-in figures, and to answer for any questions or concerns that His Honor may have. If His Honor finds John or the other participants to be in violation of any of the Food Court rules or expectations, then His Honor will consult The Prosecutor and the two will conceive, most divinely, an appropriate sanction for the transgression. John is nervous, perspiring, and his face betrays his sense of apprehension. It is common to appear worried when standing before His Honor, and His Honor knows this. His Honor remarks,
"His Honor encourages the participant John to try and relax. Hmm?! Isn't the participant aware that his outward appearance of nervousness is an indicator of his glaring guilt?! His Honor demands to know if the participant is hiding anything from His Honor and the Food Court team!"
"I, uh, well, no, uh, you see,"
"His Honor has heard enough! The participant should be advised that His Honor knows a liar when His Honor sees one!"
His Honor turns to The Prosecutor, leans forward, adjusting his spectacles and in his most expertly smug frown, he asserts, "Prosecutor! What we have here is an obvious violation of the rules, and His Honor would like to know what sort of sanction should His Honor impose!"
The Prosecutor, all serious business and surgical delivery, steps forward at his opportunity to wield the mighty hammer of the law and responds,
"My recommendation for His Honors justice is one week of incarceration and two extra groups per week until the participants attitude and conformity is found to be pleasing to the Food Court team. The participant needs to learn that this sort of behavior will not only not be tolerated, but that if he keeps it up, my recommendation will be a formal reprimand of his place in the Food Court program, unsuccessful termination of his probation, and to instead impose his original sentence in prison! This program is his only opportunity for redemption and this should be his last chance."
Turning to John, His Honor smiles to reveal his perfectly straight, ivory teeth. His Honor speaks to John and tells him that the Food Court will impose one week in the jail, and two extra groups per week. His Honor instructs the bailiff to escort John from the courtroom and then moves on to the next participant. The others, though nervous, are able to conceal their tension, and fortunately, John is, this week, the only participant found in violation of the Food Courts rules. His Honor reminds the participants one last time that there will be zero tolerance for non-conformity and criminal activity, and that His Honor highly recommends that every participant shy away from chewing gum, lest they desire a most unfortunate and untimely failure during this most vital time in their lives. After all, don't they want to succeed?
Seriously though. That's a true story. That's actually what happened to me. Well, I wasn't married, my name wasn't John, and the other names were other names, and the judge, that fucking piece of judgmental mormon bishop piece of shit, did not really have a double barreled chest. But he did send me to prison. Internal possession. I overdosed in 2013 in the basement of my girlfriends house. It was fucking awful, just outrageously the most awful fucking thing I've ever done to someone- and I've done some fucked up shit- pretty sure that takes the cake. Forgiving myself took longer than it took her to forgive me- at least she says she did. She was kind of "hold on to grudges" type back then. Me? I forgive and forget, mostly. Mostly forget. I can't even remember where I'm going with this (joke)
Onward fearless leader! I say to myself, we've got things to write and places to be!
Waves and crests.
That's how she would describe the great big energy of the universe, in all it's folds, enveloping the great big expanse of everything.
She thought the transition from childhood to her teenage years was like a caterpillar in a cocoon. She maybe had a million legs going at once through those distant years of dark, snowy nights, but none of them in the same direction at once. She would be telling herself to go forward, to follow her parents and the other children in the crowded market streets with the bells and whistles and all the long, assertive adult legs, kicking up rocks and the dust of the earth.
But half of her caterpillar legs wanted to go in different directions. Sometimes all directions at once. She never wondered why because it didn't seem not normal. It was everyone else that was linear and textbook strides.
She grew up looking at the same constellations that the rest of the world could see, but the patterns she made out weren't the Greek myths or Norse gods. She saw puzzle pieces moving at an aching crawl to form a bigger picture. She saw waves and crests crossing the cosmos and it would take forever, maybe.
She did well in school and received well enough marks so as to not attract the unwanted attention of the systematic authorities that seemed to harp on all the kids that didn't want to do what they were told. And she never blamed them, she thought that anyone should be free to do as they pleased, so long as they weren't hurting anybody.
At a young age, at least too young to be attached to her country, she emigrated with her family to the North American continent. It wasn't for The American Dream, it was her fathers job. It up and moved him there, so there they went.
Not that it was a problem. In Europe they learned English as a second language, so jumping into the melting pot of the bitter North East was easy enough. Within a few years, her accent was almost unnoticeable. To be perfectly honest, she understood the language better than most natural citizens did. It wasn't difficult, all she did was pay attention.
Everyone else was talking about Power Rangers and Goosebumps, Christmas and church, all while she would sit and listen to the teachers. Education in the United States wasn't exactly challenging, and everyone was so distracted by everything else, that she had easy access to the teachers that cared,
She would raise her hand and ask questions while everyone else talked about football and prom. She would go out into the mountains on weekends with her dogs while all the others sat at home and played video games and went to church. While others watched television, she read books.
Her imagination had caterpillar legs of it's own, and when they cocooned, so did she. If she became anything besides a young adult, it was a flying squirrel. She would stand at the tippy-top peak of calamity and look down the sneering grin of death, suck in one last breath, marvel at her own madness, and then leap-
arms spread not knowing what happens next it was trusting and anxiously clinching in anticipation of an ice cube pressed by surprise to the back of your neck. It was intuition she sought, even if she couldn't put a name on it. It was the briefest moment before the leap of faith that you had to take in order to feel alive. It wasn't so much euphoria as it was ...magik.
Magik with a K. Hope with no limits, nirvana in your pocket, Love in a locket that you kept because you got to, not because you had to.
Love was forever and infinity was no better. They we're different and they weren't the same. They just were.
She would wake up at night suddenly remembering that she was on a quest, startled in the Gothic or Baroque night, the starlight still slowly forming a puzzle she knew she would eventually see the end of. And then she would be back to sleep, her unconscious mind free to wander through the streets of infinite jest. It was only a dream.
But dreams were magik with a K. They couldn't and shouldn't be ignored. She dreamt of mountains and deserts, cactus and howling dogs, the wild untrailed paths that led west. To the sun she hiked, biked, and climbed. She left her childhood and teenage years behind her in the east and the cold.
As she grew older and learned more and more about the world at large, she began to have her own strange thoughts.
and that's just HER.
there is also a HIM
See, I knew this couple.
Their love spanned lifetimes and centuries and the rise and fall of nations.
Planets were colonized and humans scattered among stars and cosmos,
While most people had many lovers and never ending relationships lasting as long they wanted
them to because ... you never died...
This couple chose, to the anguish of nearly everyone else... to remain .... a couple.
They married and they never parted. They lived their own lives and each had their own happiness
that they shared with one another.
The happiness they shared blossomed and bloomed over an eon of human interstellar expansion.
They knew one another as each one knew their own self.
They had one argument:
Is their such a thing as a soul mate?
what, for that matter, could be a "soul"
they questioned and debated on and off for quite possibly decades.
Until they realized they could figure it out only one way.
She said she believed that things happened for a reason and that souls will find one another some way or another. Even if they have to travel across great bounds of space or time and all the other dimensions that could possibly be.
He said that everything didn't happen for a reason. That you had to give it a reason, and that there was no such thing as a soul. That if two people found each other, it was because circumstance and randomness had led them there. That their choices were what put them into and through the dimensions in which the could possibly exist.
So they pulled out a neat and terrific invention that an hyper intelligent super computer had thought up a few centuries prior:
A universe and life simulator.
You would start a simulation of the universe, throw your unconscious self inside of it, choose an era to be born into and hopefully have fun.
It was supposed to be random, controlled chaos, a simulation of life
as it was for the average person born in whichever year or decade in whichever century you wanted to experience.
So they both entered the same simulation on different sides of the world in roughly the same time.
The early 21st century, for comfort, and ease of communication.
Though the lives and genders they started for themselves were generated randomly.
He was born a heterosexual male, In the United States, white and lower middle class, at the very end of Generation X.
She was born, coincidentally, a female, and slightly ironically, a homosexual. She was born in Europe into a white middle class family in the bright and burning year of 1984.
They had no idea that they were supposed to find one another. They weren't aware that they had put themselves willingly into a simulation.
The boy, my good friend, would go almost insane through the use of drugs and maybe too much science fiction literature at his disposal.
I just watched:
He was birthed into existence kicking and screaming,
though he would have no memory of this.
An average boy born to an average woman.
He grew through childhood happy and doted on
though not wealthy or heir to an easy life
he did well in his early years of school
and had a penchant for rote memorization.
He always retained any information that he was fed.
As he aged, his interests moved from curiosity of the world
to curiosity about girls.
His teenage years were only slightly awkward
and he scraped by through high school with little interest for knowledge.
He came to love music and art and girls, girls, girls. He wore his heart on
his sleeve and gave it away freely
never thinking of the possible consequences of heartbreak
or that he would take his heart back at the drop of a dime
and throw the hearts of other girls into the trash.
He only ever just went for what he wanted
always living in the now, planning for the future, and remembering his past.
It wasn't hard, he had a wonderful memory and an easy
childhood. He blocked nothing out, he remembered everything.
He was exposed to different religions and many different concepts of gods.
Although he didn't realize that he was a skeptic, he was.
With no formal education, and no desire for one,
he had only what he learned from friends, family, and
It was an emerging technology in his early youth and he
grew up with it.
Like most young adults growing up in a post-nuclear family society,
free from the shackles of religious indoctrination- something for which he was very lucky-
He had a budding fervor for figuring out what it all meant:
Life. Why was he here and where was he going?
Why was he born at all?
He looked back at the history of mankind and the universe at large
and became quickly overwhelmed with an abrupt
wall of information and depression.
It seemed, the more and more he searched
that there was no inherent meaning to life,
no god that he could feel intellectually honest worshiping.
He was a confused young man in 21st century society
surrounded by what appeared to be sheep in people costumes.
He met others like himself as he continued to live on
paying the rent, living on his own, experimenting with drugs and playing the music he loved.
He was a consumer the same as everyone else and he knew it.
Making good friends and filling his head with knowledge wasn't quite everything he felt he needed.
He knew that something was missing.
He could not place his finger on it,
and every time he tried,
it would move and he would be stumbling around in the dark again,
fingers reached out and stretched, sensitive to the touch of others.
He fell into a serious love and relationship early in his prime.
It was unlike anything else he had experienced through his teenage years
full of a kind of carnal lust and intense passion
where both parties were equally engaged.
It was the kind of love that you read about in books
and see in movies, a young burning love that would break two hearts equally
when it was over.
And it would be over. How could he possibly have only one love in his life?
He knew, as a matter of fact, that loves would come and go.
That they were random and ultimately pointless.
At this point in his life, he had left behind all the irrational beliefs of his childhood and naive teenage years.
He had begun to explore science for what it was, and realized that his desire for knowledge was greater than anything he had experienced in his youth.
Those were years spent playing video games, watching movies imagining guns and explosions.
He was good at everything he did, but he never spent enough time in any one thing to become a master of it. So when he delved into knowledge
he was suddenly aware of his own ignorance.
And it hit him that there was so much he didn't know about life
and couldn't even imagine about life
if he didn't start learning and experiencing immediately.
And so he did. He read books large and small
he scoured internet encyclopedias and read about anything and everything he could find
about knowledge. He became obsessed with learning about everything
even learning itself.
He built up in himself a basic understanding of reality at large, and could tell the story of reality to anyone that didn't know it, all because he wanted to.
He felt that the ignorance around him was unacceptable and would do everything he could to change it.
He spoke out against the religious indoctrination of children, he ranted on about how little everyone around him actually knew and he was ignored and even blocked by the people that didn't want to hear it.
He stood his ground and eventually fell into the line of balkanization that was tearing it's way through the society and civilization in which he lived.
On one hand there were people that worshiped deities or the stars and planets above, people that believed the world in which they were created was merely the work of a god and had only just happened in the last few thousand years.
Most of them worshiped the same god while fighting over what the god had done or said to who and where. They could never really agree and they fought and died because of it.
On the other hand, there were people that had no beliefs in deities or miracles or magic. They experimented and made suggestions and revisions and always checked one another's work.
They cried out in alarm when they realized that, as a species, they were killing the planet and endangering their children's futures.
They had to share the planet with the people that believed. And the people that fostered things in and on faith... well, they didn't believe them.
If what the skeptics and scientists said wasn't what the religious wanted to hear, it was dismissed and ignored.
And he was witness to all of it and could do nothing about it. It wasn't that he couldn't fix things, but that in a an ocean of 7 billion people, the loudest voice you can muster is a whisper to the dull roar of everyone else.
He went unheard and unable to spark change. He lived in a society over which he exerted no control, but had only to submit, His life was becoming difficult because he knew that he wasn't really free.
He was expected to get a job and work until he died and make a family and obey all the laws that other people had made.
Thus was life.
By the end of his prime he was beginning to stumble over stranger and stranger thoughts.
The universe, he thought, had no beginning, no end, maybe.
It was only a series of coincidences that led to his own existence.
A fucked B and made C, he thought, and C could have been D or E or even Z,
but for some reason, it was C.
That reason could only be other circumstantial coincidences leading to the moment that whatever happened, happened.
Nothing had purpose and everything was pointless. But it happened anyway.
He thought about how far mankind had come in the last 50 years, creating rockets and televisions, cell phones and the internet, about how he had access to the entirety of human knowledge in his pocket or on his wrist.
It made sense, he thought, that it all could have already happened an infinite number of times. Life and existence and reality. He thought that maybe he was just character in an intergalactic reality show or experiment.
One of 7 billion, being watched at any given moment by any other form of unimaginable life, beyond the comprehension of his limited human brain.
He thought that it would likely be an 'artificial' intelligence of some kind that, in order to improve itself, it had to have a better understanding of human emotions and empathy.
So maybe it would observe and learn. Maybe the singularity that the scientists were talking about had already happened, and that anything and everything he was doing was merely a simulation.
He became aware that he was in a simulation.
Or at least he strongly suspected that it was. There was no way to test it or prove it. He thought that the only way would be to end it. And the only way to end it, he thought, was to end his life.
If he were right, he would wake kicking and screaming in some distant future, likely confused and horrified momentarily as everything settled in on his mind.
The idea was startling, frightening, exciting, and absolutely mad.
The way he figured it, life was most likely one of two different scenarios:
One, an endless line of chaos, coincidences, and cosmological evolution, Maybe even the first time ever, consciousness as he knew it existed within a universe that had a beginning or something like it that he couldn't grasp. He and billions and billions of forms of life were observing and interacting with one another on a remarkable rock hurtling through a vast and dangerous cosmos, indifferent to their existence and pointless as well. It was very possible that it had never happened before and may never happen again. Once his brain was dead, consciousness for him would cease to exist. It would be nothing.
However, there was the second idea, which he had conceived over the years from observing the very thing that should be it's undoing: coincidences.
There were so many that it was boggling his mind beyond repair. He couldn't believe that there was an inherent point to his existence unless it was created by something.
His existence was either for something or it wasn't. He saw it in black and white and the binary for which he thought it could be:
ON or OFF.
ON to experience life as it is, with all it's hardships and ugly duckling days of death and destruction in the midst of flowering children begging for food or cars or money or nothing at all.
ON was a simulation, if there was no other word for it, of everything that humanity had experienced the first time all those eons ago.
His own consciousness would have first sprung into existence as a result of circumstance and chaos colliding the coincidental way that they do.
And he was reliving it for some reason that his simulated self wouldn't be able to prove or know or possibly even guess.
He figured that he was probably supposed to be unaware and ignorant of that possibility throughout the simulation, but thanks to a series of circumstance and coincidence, yet again, he had delved into the idea of AI and possible futures long ago.
Maybe it was that he had done just enough drugs to have his mind opened to the idea that it was likely the case.
Maybe he was born with just enough genetic predisposition for psychosis that it didn't seem crazy at all, but that it made more and more sense the more he thought about it.
He was very well aware that he would be considered paranoid, maybe labeled as a megalomaniac with grandiose delusions. But what would it matter, he reasoned, what would any of it matter when he turned it OFF?
OFF would be an infinite existence, which had no beginning or end. OFF would be rather boring he thought.
So wouldn't he naturally jump right back in?
And if that were the case, shouldn't he try and accomplish as much as he can while in this simulation?
What if it were a reality show and he was being observed? To commit suicide and cop-out would be disappointing to his observers.
What if the the simulation was the drug of the future? Experiencing brief lives, unaware of infinity?
If that were the case, he couldn't waste the drug by killing himself and ending the experience early. Wasting drugs is something you don't do.
Especially... if the drug is life.
So if he were in a simulation, he wondered, what then?
It must have been intentional and have a purpose.
He had always felt deep inside himself his entire life that he was supposed to do something.
Now he had reasoned himself, delusional or not, to the conclusion that his life did have a purpose after all.
He didn't believe for a second that it was any of the religions that the believers had invented over the centuries of human existence.
He was surrounded by people that believed, fervently, they too had a purpose.
They were mostly the same, worshiping a god. By the millions they reproduced and regulated the way things were.
He was supposed to do something great and he didn't know what.
So he just continued to live his life, but with a rare vigor knowing that the simulation could end at any moment and he would lose.
He couldn't let that happen.
And so he did the things that he wanted to do and that made him happy.
He created endless catalogs of music and art and words about anything and everything.
He wanted to make his mark on the universe in which he was currently existing.
So he just continued to create and make noise and try and make people laugh and bring people together.
That was what he did the most of.
He brought people together and helped to create bonds between people.
But something was missing and he could feel it in his intuition if nothing else.
He had no bond of his own.
It started to become clear that he wanted a partner with whom he could bare all of his secrets.
He wanted love like everyone else in the simulation,
He wanted EYE to EYE,
the kind of close
that the long dark
secret hours of the night
brings when two people,
boy or girl
just lost in one another
where he'd forget
for those precious passing
and that he's not
or an ocean
or floating in.
He wanted what you would consider true, real, raw, beauty-beauty.
Not make-up not cute hats or darling outfits,
not the face she had been born with
or the body she took care of,
but the humming and electric buzz
of human connection.
He thought it was as if there is an imaginary exclamation point
and arrow pointing at a girl that he was supposed to talk to,
so blatantly and
suddenly obvious that
he couldn't ignore it.
For years he ached, longed and searched for it and it was finally there when he had only barely realized it.
The circumstances of their meeting, although both coincidental and ironic, are another story entirely.
The point is that she had arrived, his purpose was becoming clearer
but he only knew how relationships worked to the extent that he had experienced them.
A serial monogamist and heterosexual, his experience of relationships thus far was based entirely on physical attraction
And she was gay. Or in at least one simulation. In another she has a boyfriend. In another she's single but just doesn't want him. It just repeats itself over and over.
It's like a love square. Straight guy loves gay girl, gay girl loves straight girl, straight girl loves gay guy, gay guy loves straight guy. It goes on and on, my friend.
I'm telling you, this is all a true story. Well, except the parts I made up, but it's all in my head anyway.
And that's enough for today.