Jack Tait woke up.

Jack Tait woke up after a few months of depression.  a few months of self reflection.  a few months of utter debaucherous behaviour which included forty pounders of Jack and forty pounders of Gin.  he even drank wine.  anything he could get down he got down.  he also masturbated eight hundred times.  his penis was chafed and bloody but it was his only excitement in life.  his only success in life.  while Jack Tait’s former friends were either physically dead or emotionally dead and filled up with Viagra and lies.  phoniness and cries.  Jack Tait pounded himself.  his penis was bigger than it had ever been and it was always big.  even back in high school when it was afraid to come out.
Jack Tait walked to his throne in the bathroom and emptied four months of runny shit into the yellow and brown toilet.  he then flushed and washed his hands.
Jack Tait tried to down some water but gave up after five minutes and searched for beer.  searched for booze.  EMPTY.
Jack Tait then left his run down farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and hopped on his blue tricycle.  he rode down the long driveway filled with dirt and stones and started his journey to the beer store.  the sky was dark and the wind was brisk.  a few sprinkles of rain soon turned into heavy rains but nothing was going to stop Jack Tait.  when Jack Tait had a goal he succeeded.  when Jack Tait did not have a goal he floundered.  then masturbated.  Jack Tait is a complicated man.  he always was.  he always will be.  there is a misconception that when people get older that they mature and become “normal.”  But what exactly is “normal?”  If a man is a psychotic maniac when he is young then nine times out of ten that same man will be a psychotic maniac when he is old and wrinkled.  psychotherapy doing little to change the man.  the only change being a little lighter in the pocket book and a little more confused.  the psychotherapist usually being more fucked up than the man he is trying to morph into a respectable man.  FUCKING RULES AND FUCKING PHONY MAGGOTS RUNNING RAMPANT IN THIS FUCKING BORING WORLD!!!
Jack Tait jumped off of his blue tricycle and walked gingerly into the beer store.  his one lonely ball hanging low and looking for a friend.
Jack Tait walked into the beer store and went straight to the micro beer section.  he had no time for shitty beers like Molson’s or Labatt’s.  Even fucking Corona was piss in a bottle.  the richest breweries offering the worst product.  “Is this a pattern?”  wondered Jack.
Jack Tait found his favourite beers and, of course, they were filled with dust while Molson Canadian and Labatt’s Blue are sold out.  FUCKING POOR TASTED PEASANTS!!!
Jack Tait filled his hockey bag with a hundred beers and jumped back onto his tricycle.  he is a super hero.  a real super hero in a world filled with fake plastic super hero’s like superman and batman.  fake actors portraying fake hero’s.
Jack Tait had a goal of filling his hockey bag with one hundred quality micro beers and riding nakedly back to his rundown farmhouse in the middle of nowhere and nothing was going to stop him.  he would go out swinging if anyone tried to stop him.  he refused to be a peasant.  he refused to be a maggot.  “yes” people succeeding in life but offering up nothing while “real” people with “real” talent get labelled as drunks and misfits.  Jack Tait would never allow a maggot to ruin his life.
Jack Tait rode and rode.  he then rode some more.  helicopters flying overhead.  planes flying overhead.  birds too.  life whizzing by.  day by dreary day.
Jack Tait arrived back at his farmhouse and rode up the long and lonely driveway.  lights in his farmhouse turned off as usual.  coyotes howling off in the distance.  squirrels scampering.
Jack Tait jumped off of his tricycle and walked into his run down farmhouse.  he turned on the lights and saw his Mom.  his deceased Dad.  his brother.  his long lost wife.  his long lost daughter.  the clock was ticking.  Jack’s mouth was dry.  he was speechless.  tick tock.  tick tock.  tick tock.  the clock continued to tick.  the clock continued to tock.
everyone looked old.  everyone looked sad.  “what happened?” Jack asked his family.
“we’ve lead a hard life Jack.” they answered.  everyone except Jack’s deceased Dad.  he couldn’t talk.  he only smiled.
“do you want a beer?” Jack asked his family.
one hour later the whole family was drunk and laughing.  drunk and playing.  drunk and talking.  drunk and hugging.
music blaring.  energy soaring.
the clock continued to tick but nobody heard it.
life.
family.
fun.
clock ticking.
love.