Category: Uncategorized

Jack Tait’s one ball is beginning to hurt more and more.  the more he jerks off the more pain he is in.  torture once again.  what to do?  what to do?  what to do?  poor old Jack Tait wants to eat mushrooms and drink sixty pounders of Jack all day long but today he has to go to jury duty.  he hates the court system.  he hates people.  he hates rules but THEY finally tracked him down. the boring peasants who run the world tracked poor old Jack down and told him that they would torture him by getting rid of all his stuffed animals if he didn’t do his duty and go to jury duty to put some asshole in jail whose duty it was to kill fourteen Mennonites for the Mexican Cartel.  LIFE SUCKS.  Jack puts on his best pair of underwear and walks out the door.  he refuses to wear a shirt.  he refuses to wear a tie.  he carries a bat for protection but knows that he is doomed.  “THE PEASANTS ALWAYS WIN.  THE WORLD IS RIGGED.  THE WORLD IS FUCKED.  THE WORLD IS SICK.  THE WORLD IS CONTROLLED BY MAGGOTS AND WORMS WHO WERE BORN INTO THIS LIFE FROM THE PUSSIES OF MORE PEASANTS AND MAGGOTS!!!”
  Jack Tait hops on his blue tricycle and slowly and hungoverly rides down his long driveway.  he looks around and sees nothing.  his eyes are blurry from the night before.  too much booze.  too much sex.  too much food.  Jack lives in excess.  the world lives in incest.  Jack Tait refuses to do yoga but knows that his anger will ineveitably fail him and he will die.  Jack Tait has a strong mind but a weak body.  shrivelled up and beaten down.  Jack Tait refuses to quit.  he looks up at the sun and realizes he is going to be late.  he is sweating.  he is nervous.  his mind wanders.  his heart races.  Jack pulls off to the side of the road and begins smashing the motorbike of some asshole that revs it too loud too often.  a small penised man that needs a bike to show his manhood.  Jack smashes and smashes and smashes some more.  the small penised man comes out of the shitty starbuck’s with his slutty fuck buddy and begins to scream, “that’s my bike asshole.  that’s my fucking bike!!!”  Jack Tait takes one look at this small penised man and laughs…and laughs.  and laughs some more.  the slutty fuck buddy starts mouthing Jack off as most slutty fuck buddies do and Jack laughs at her too.  “YOU CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER.  YOU ONE CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER.  I KILL YOU.  I KILL YOU!!!”  the small penised man yells at Jack.  Jack continues laughing as he begins to stroke his large shrivelled up penis.  he asks the girl to bend over and she yells, “FUCK OFF!!!”  Jack laughs and then blows his load in his right hand.  he laughs once more and then smears it all over small penised man’s smashed up motorbike.  “have a great day small penised man and slutty fuck buddy.  see you around.  I am in a rush.  I have jury duty.”
  Jack hops on his blue tricycle and pedals away.  Jack is now going to be late.

Jack Tait is worried.  death is coming and he knows he cannot avoid it any longer.  as much as he hates people he loves life.  loves it’s ups.  loves it’s downs.  but he will soon be dead and this makes him think.  he thinks of all the lonely boring people trying to follow rules that get them nowhere.  lost and dull.  sad and pathetic.  desperate and broke.  the puppets of the world make Jack chuckle.  but Jack is still afraid.  he once had two balls and a big dick.  now he has one lonely ball and a shrivelled up dick.  he still jerks off five times a day but even that is becoming harder.  he sees young hairless kids running around and in love and he laughs.  then he cries as he drinks a sixty of Jack and looks at old pictures of his Dad and Mom.  his Dad died long ago.  so did his friend Gary.  also his friend Troy.  he sees kids with diseases and old fucked up monsters who live until the age of ninety-eight.  never any logic.  nothing makes sense.  there is no god.  nor is their a heaven.  life is filled with maggots.  but it’s also filled with lovely people who would do anything to help a friend or a stranger.  life continues on for poor old Jack.  he now walks alone.  he now lives alone.  he now drinks alone.  everything is alone.  everyone is alone.  lonely people and lonely lives.  then comes a quiet knock on Jack’s lonely door.  he drunkenly gets up off of the shitty purple reclining chair with holes in it and stumbles towards the quiet sound.  he fiddles with the door handle but manages to twist the knob enough to open the door and standing in front of him is a quiet and meek little boy.  lost.  bleeding.    bleeding knuckles and bleeding ear.  his hair is dirty blonde.  there is a staredown.  Jack feels sorry for the little boy.  “Are you okay little boy?”  the little boy didn’t answer back.  “Are you okay?”  nothing.  silence.  blood.  Jack burps and then pulls the boy inside.  he grabs what little toilet paper he has and wipes the boy clean.  he offers the boy a beer but the boy shakes his head indicating “NO.”  Jack then offers him a chocolate bar.  the boy smiles and is missing four teeth.  Jack wonders what happened to the little boy but he wouldn’t speak.
  BANG.  BANG.  BANG.  BANG.  BANG.  BANG.  BANG.  BANG.  BANG.  BANG.  Jack jumps.  “WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING OUT THERE LITTLE BOY???”  the little boy smiles.  Jack immediately goes to his cupboard and pulls out another sixty of Jack and chugs.  he also grabs his baseball bat.  “I WILL FUCKING SMASH ALL OF YOUR FUCKING FACES IN YOU DULL AND TWISTED BASTARDS!!!”  the little boy begins to laugh.  a silent laugh.  more knocking.  more banging.  more laughing.  more screaming.  Jack is drunk.  Jack is scared.  Jack is old.  but Jack is angry.  anger always trumping every other emotion.  Jack asks the boy one last time if he was okay but again the boy smiles but does not say a word.  Jack immediately begins smashing his face in with the baseball bat.  one big swing after another.  blood everywhere.  and everywhere.  and everywhere.  boy still silent.  laughing but silent.  Jack is sweating.  scared.  tired.  drunk.  with one last baseball swing of the baseball bat Jack kills the little boy.  real silence.  Jack sits still.  drunk.  tired.  confused.  “knock.  knock.  knock.”  the door has a knock.  Jack stumbles once again to the door.  he once again twists the knob and once again opens the door.  NOTHING.  Jack walks outside and takes a piss and then comes back inside.  he sees the dead little boy filled with blood on the floor and goes to bed.  six hours later he wakes up.  he stumbles once again to the front door and once again opens the door.  he once again takes a piss and once again comes back inside.  he is hungover and horny and knows that he will jerk off five times later that day.  he then remembers that he killed the little boy with the big grin who wouldn’t speak.  he searches all over his shitty farmhouse in the middle of nowhere but sees nothing but some bloody toilet paper and a bloody bat.  no body.  no clothes.  guilt sets in as do the fears.  Jack looks out of the window in the front of his shitty house but sees nothing.  barren and cold.  Jack returns to his purple reclining chair and jerks off for the first time that day.  he then sits in guilt.  all day.  all night.  all week.  all month.  all year.  all of his fucking life.  FUCKING GUILT.  he then wonders if he killed the little boy or if there was even a little boy at all.  Jack grabs his sixty of Jack and drinks.  still naked.  still alone.  still old.  still one nut.  still sad.  still scared.  still alive.
  Jack Tait is real.

first day of school.  Rylee.  our beautiful daughter.  letting go.  seven years old.  turning eight.  where has the time gone?  sad.  tears.  love.  alone.  her friends are put into another class.  why?  she was promised that she would stay with her friends.  being lied to already.  more lies to come.  life is cruel.  protect.  must protect.  must let go.  always torn.  never told what to do.  how to do it.  orphan.  an orphan with a Mom.  there are some orphans with a Mom and a Dad.  more sad than death.  endings.  closure.  let go.  we must let go in order to move on but nobody tells you how.  fake gods.  fake priests.  fake psychiatrists.  everyone fake.  everyone alone.  everyone sad.  even when happy.  pretenders are everywhere.  where are the real people?  boredom is common.  common for bores.  the wrong people run our society.  the wrong people ruin our society.  put in charge because of who they know.  not what they know.  resist the urge to like them.  peasants are revered.  peasants are worshipped.  peasants are rewarded.  LONG LIVE THE PEASANT.  will it ever change?  where are the rebels?  hiding.  hiding behind their wives.  their jobs.  their kids.  their money.  their cars.  their homes.  their family.  HIDING…quietness sets in.  silence.  silence.  silence.  claustrophobic.  can’t move.  can’t speak.  can’t see.  can’t lie.  can’t cheat.  can’t work.  can’t follow.  can’t listen.  can’t pretend.  can’t hide.  can’t succeed.  TORN.  ANGRY.  TORN.  SAD.  CONFUSED.  LET GO.  YOU MUST LET GO.

Jack Tait woke up again and immediately screamed, “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!  EVERYONE IS SO GODDAMN BORING AND I HATE EVERYONE.  FUCK THEM ALL!!!”  
  Jack didn’t hold back.  he once liked people but after sixty years of dealing with boring people and boring rules that those same boring people followed he decided to take an anger enhancement class and lash back at all those fuckers who bored him.  he took out his nine iron and walked the streets of rural Ontario smashing everyone and everything in sight.  he even bloodied Alice Munro’s face for being so fucking drab and dull.
  Jack Tait had one sagging nut and an old wrinkled face with eleven zits on it but he no longer gave a flying fuck.  he once prayed but nobody answered so he never prayed again.  another piece of boredom that he no longer needed.  he had worms in his bum as a kid but he no longer does.  they died.
  Jack Tait searched for the dullest people he could find in rural Ontario.  they were everywhere.  khaki pants.  suits.  dull jeans and dull boots.  old ladies with half curly blue hair and shitty glasses with shitty shoes and fake smiles.  he found them all.  one by one although always in a group he swung and hit.  bloodied and hurt.  “FUCK THEM ALL.  I WILL BRING SOME GODDAMNED EXCITEMENT TO THEIR MUNDANE MUNCHING LIVES!!!”
  Jack smashed forty one humans and sixteen dogs…even one pitbull.  he bloodied them all.  he stopped on the side of the road to take a quick piss and then continued walking.  continued destroying.  he saw two old hags walking their golden retriever but let them go.  they were already sad and dead.  Jack continued on his rampage.  he made a quick pit stop at the liquor store and picked up a forty of Jack and three tallboys of Guinness.  he chugged them and continued.  it was getting dark out when Jack decided to go home.  he wanted to be in bed by nine because he knew that if he could sleep eight hours he would wake up and be healthy.  he had been told this for forty years but his “one nut” never got healthy.  another lie by the lying bastards that run the world.  Jack Tait began running and swinging.  he managed to bloody thirteen more boring people on his way home.  he arrived at his front door to his shitty house and smashed that too.  HE WAS IN A RAGE.  Jack smashed his door in and saw fourteen Mexican senoritas sitting on his dirty floor.  they were naked.  they were smiling.  they were drunk.  and they were horny.  one by one he fucked them all.  some screamed.  some moaned.  some cried.  each and every one was different.  all Mexican.  but all different.  “CANADIANS ARE SO FUCKING DULL AND BORING YOU GODDAMNED FUCKING ASSHOLE.  WHY?  OH WHY?  WHY ARE WE SO DULL?”
  Jack Tait began laughing hysterically.  so did the girls.  Jack Tait then fell asleep.  ne needed his eight hours.  when he woke up five girls were left so he fucked them and then brushed his teeth.  he called his Mom but there was no answer.  Jack Tait was tired.  he wanted to have another day of smashing boring people’s faces in but decided to do yoga instead.
  Jack Tait is complicated and confused.

fake.  fake.  fake.  everyone fake.  Jack wanted real but most people wanted fake.  Jack wished he was from an earlier era.  a better era.  now he sits alone.  tired.  drunk.  sad.  bored.  life shouldn’t end this way but life is getting the better of Jack.  twenty years go by in the blink of an eye and then BOOM.  everyone is dead and you are old.  Jack looks in the mirror at his wrinkled up face.  he sees a life that was once lived.  a life filled with sorrow.  also a life filled with fun.  excitement. many fucks.  many arrests.  many blackouts.  many jobs.  many struggles but also many accomplishments.  “I want to live forever.   I know that I won’t.  But I want to.  I will never kill myself Lord.  Killing yourself is weak.  meak.  I promise you that I won’t do it.”   Jack Tait often spoke to the Lord but the Lord never spoke back.
  Jack Tait hops on his blue tricycle and heads north.  he searches for his long lost daughter.  his long lost wife.  he still wonders why they both left fifteen years ago.  he also wonders why his right nut hurts and why his farts smell like fish.  Jack Tait is lonely.  He is tired.  He pedals and pedals and pedals some more.  he breaks all the road rules like every other asshole cyclist.  Jack Tait is frustrated.  “WHY CAN’T I FIND THE TWO MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN THE WORLD?  WHY?  WHY?  WHY?”  Jack Tait stops searching for his wife and daughter and goes to the liquor store.  he comes out with a forty ouncer of Jack.  he rides home in the dark.  alone.  he jumps off of his blue tricycle and walks inside.  He sees pictures of his Dad.  Dano.  Gary Brown.  Nana.  Grandad.  Auntie Chris.  Uncle Frank.  Auntie Ann.  Linda.  Maureen.  Therese.  Adrianus.  Gerry.  Bruce Wood.  Troy May.  Frank Harvey.  Rose Beckett.  They have all passed away.  life is filled with sorrow and loss.  But Jack does not want to die…ever.  He drinks his forty of Jack.  jerks off.  looks out of the dirty window.  turns off the lights and goes to sleep.  alone.  “Tomorrow is a new day.”