TRUST ME = FUCK ME.

Jack Tait walked nakedly to the end of the world and looked over the edge.  he saw nothing but emptiness and garbage.  he witnessed one hundred and twelve deaths over the span of sixty years.  some traumatic.  some dull. some expected.  some a complete surprise.  he saw many people cry and many people die.  nothing seemed to affect humans for more than three weeks.  “life went on.”  peasants pretended to care but Jack Tait knew that everyone was selfish.  selfish people and selfish rules.  selfish countries and selfish souls.  “only the strong survive.”
  Jack Tait dangled his right nut over the edge of the world to see if he would get any bites.  he sat there for three days but nothing.  humans were too busy to see poor Jack Tait’s right testicle.  they were consumed by sales and bad tv.  even the odd bad movie.  Jack decided to pull his right nut up.  “maybe next year I will get a bite.”  Jack Tait began to walk back home.  he walked nakedly through the cold air.  cold winds.   cold people.  then he walked through the hot air.  hot winds and hot people.  all the same.  one big glob of boredom.  conformity.  Jack Tait had more fun with his squirrel than he did with the human race.  at least his squirrel was honest.  she ran away when Jack approached.
  after one hundred and eight days Jack Tait entered Keswick.  five hours away from  his shitty farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.  he walked nakedly into the liquor store and grabbed a sixty pounder of Jack and walked straight out.  no one even noticing poor Jack.  he opened the bottle and took four big swigs.  some bum outside asked for a sip and Jack let him take two.  Jack said bye and then continued on his journey.  most people live in their own bubbles of nothingness.  family and nothing else.  crap trips to florida and vegas.  walmart and zellers.  even the odd trip to tim Horton’s. Jack Tait travels the world.  Jack Tait is the world’s most interesting man.  he once met that old leather faced Dos Equis guy but he was dull.  not interesting in the least.  another lie by society.  Jack Tait continued on his journey.  he was both sweating and frozen.  nervous and cocky.  a man filled with contradictions.  Jack Tait missed his blue tricycle.  he lost it in a drunken stupor four years ago and could never replace it.  similar to wives losing their husband’s to a tragic death.  the good one’s are irreplaceable.
  Jack Tait was a mere moments from his home when a big old black limousine pulled up to Jack and honked it’s big old horn.  Jack reluctantly stopped and looked up.  the back window opened up and a voice came out.  “are you Jack Tait?”  “yes…why?”  “jump in.”  “no way…the last time I did that some old greek man pulled down my pants and jerked me off.  I blew my load but I still didn’t like it.”  “trust me sir…I won’t do that…trust me.”  Jack Tait ran.  his one ball dangling in the wind once again.  he knew that the words “trust me” meant “I will fuck you.”  Jack Tait didn’t want to be fucked by some old weird rich white guy.  he ran and ran and then ran some more.  he heard CCR playing on a big loudspeaker at the county winter’s fair.  he smiled and thought of Apocalypse Now.  the limo chased Jack.  Jack ran.  limo chased.  Jack was losing the race.  he always does.  the limo was now right beside Jack and the window opened up once again.  “TRUST ME JACK.  TRUST ME JACK.  TRUST ME JACK.  TRUST ME JACK.  FUCK ME JACK.  FUCK ME JACK.  FUCK ME JACK.  TRUST ME JACK.  TRUST ME JACK.  TRUST ME.  FUCK ME.  TRUST ME.  FUCK ME.  TRUST ME.  FUCK ME.”  Jack Tait stopped.  limo stopped.  car door opened.  one leg out…two legs out.  Jack Tait began to cry.  “why?  why?  why did you do it?”  “I don’t know Jack.  I was horny I guess.”  “but you should have fucked your wife…not me.”  “i’m sorry Jack…TRUST ME…I am.”  Jack Tait stood frozen once again.  “hop in…I will drive you home.”  Jack Tait…stuck once again.  “okay.”
  two hours later Jack made it home.  he said “bye” to the man in the back of the limo.  he also said “thank you.”  he walked slowly and sadly up the long shitty driveway and walked into his long shitty farmhouse.  he went to the fridge and grabbed another bottle of Jack and sat on his shitty purple reclining chair.  he opened the bottle and then opened his mouth.  one hour later Jack Tait was sleeping.