Category: Uncategorized

tick tock.  tick tock.  tick tock.  life going by too quickly.  stuck.  sad.  old.  angry.  tired.  lonely.  regretful.  life is meant to be lived.  we are meant to love.  to create.  to inspire.  to have fun.  to console.  to hug.  Jack Tait is stuck.  he can’t get out.  he can’t change.  periodic bouts of running and eating healthy end with disappointment and stomach aches so Jack goes back to booze and masturbation.  steaks and fries.  even the odd hot dog and pizza.  Jack Tait will die old and alone.  he wishes he could turn back time but he can’t.  choices you make when you are young come back to haunt you when you are old.  fact.  so Jack Tait lives on.  the best way he can.  he looks in the mirror and can no longer pretend that he is young filled with hopes and dreams.  his grandparents have died but he didn’t know them.  his Dad has died.  he hardly knew him.  his Mom is alive but only “kind of” knows her.  and once she dies he knows that he is next.  “why is life filled with pain, frustrations, sadness, and only periodic bouts of joy?”
  Jack Tait looked into his old hockey bag and pulled out a large book filled with old pictures of his Mom and Dad.  his brother.  his Nana.  his friends.  his aunts, uncles, and cousins.  he started crying.  and crying.  and crying some more.  he looked up to the sky but no one was there.  he threw on a toque and walked nakedly for 98 km’s in the blistering cold to his Dad’s gravesite.  he entered but snow covered the grass.  covered the tombstones.  Jack didn’t know where to begin but he began.  he found an old shovel in a deep ditch and started shovelling and scraping snow.  he was cold but determined.  he would not stop even when his one nut told him to.  Jack scraped and dug.  lifted snow and threw.  three hours passed.  nothing.  Jack continued.  he huffed and puffed and he would have blown a house down.  but he wanted his Dad.  still does.  he misses him.  he has missed him for fifty years.  Jack continued.  scrape.  shovel.  dig.  and throw.  over and over.  time passing quickly.  always too quickly and then BOOM.  he found it.  he scraped it.  he kissed it.  he sat on it.  he wouldn’t leave.  ever.  he wanted to dig the ground and sit in the hole with his Dad…forever.  but he knew that his Dad was now just bones.  Jack shivered and cried.  “DAD…I LOVE YOU…I MISS YOU…I AM SO CLOSE TO YOU…YOU ARE THE GREATEST…I HOPE YOU ARE OKAY…”
  Jack Tait continued to sit while the snow continued to come down.  Jack continued to cry while life continued on.  everything continuing except Dad’s life.  NOT FAIR.  CRUEL.  NO ANSWERS.  EVER.  WHY?  WHY?  WHY?  WHY?  WHY?  WHY? WHY?  WHY?  WHY?
  Jack Tait is a loving human being with one nut.  he sat alone…with his dead Dad and it continued to snow and then it got dark.  Jack stayed awake. and cried.

Jack Tait woke up from a drunk induced sleep and walked to the can to take a big sloppy shit.  he then flushed the toilet and looked in the mirror.  zits. more zits.  zits.  zits.  and even more zits.  life is cruel.  Jack Tait wondered why he still got zits at the age of sixty.  he had lost his hair long ago as well as his right nut.  he even lost his confidence.  but the zits kept coming.  one zit.  two zits.  three zits.  four.  how many more.  he knew that his friends had died of cancers and other diseases and that was bad too but still…”WHY THE FUCK DO I STILL GET ZITS AT THE AGE OF SIXTY???”
  Jack Tait pulled out his safety pin and began picking.  one by one.  zit by zit.  his face becoming a bloody mess but there was no alternative to poor old zitty Jack.  he started using zit cream at the age of twelve but nothing changed.  oxy 5.  oxy 10.  neomedrol.  Clearasil.  toothpaste.  baking soda.  tetracycline.  minocin.  tea tree oil.  and even Accutane.  but nothing worked.  all these pastes and lotions and medicines and nothing.  all they did was dry up poor old Jack Tait’s face…and balls.  shrivelled up and forgotten.  lonely and pathetic.  mad and sad.  Jack wished he could have a face transplant but that would cost too much.  rich people have it easy.
  Jack Tait went back to bed.  alone.  he was mad at the world.  mad at god if there was one.  other people were pretty.  other people were successful.  other people were happy.  other people had love.  Jack Tait was locked in a room.  unable to go outside.  he took a deep breath and wondered why everyone else had better lives.  he also wondered why young kids get raped and murdered.  why elder people get abused.  why there is so much disease in this world.  why there are wars and suicides.  he even wondered why mother’s toss their babies off of balconies.  life is cruel…always.  “is there any help or is this all there is?”
  Jack Tait closed his eyes and fell asleep.  fifty one zits and more to come.
  FUCK.

Jack Tait is sad and lonely.  more importantly he is scared.  his life is coming to an end.  what started out with hopes and dreams is ending with sickness and pain.  all that is left are the memories of what once was.  life is filled with happiness and sadness and pain and frustrations but no one wants to die.  no one.  Jack Tait knows that some people pretend that they want to die to go to a better place but there is no better place.  Jack Tait has regrets.  he should not have listened to people.  he should have lived his life his way.  he knows that most people are dull and lifeless and he also knows that girls like to fuck just as much as guys.  so he should have fucked more girls.  rules are meant to be broken.  follow the rules and you will fail.  you will fail and you will be bored while failing.  break the rules and you may fail but you will fail with excitement.  Jack Tait knows this now but he wished he knew it then.  Jack Tait sits and ponders.  he is old.  he is sad.  he is alone.  he is wrinkled.  he is scared.  he is in pain.  he is ugly.  he is broke.  he is worried.  he is heartbroken.  he is tired.  he doesn’t want to die but it is inevitable.  Jack Tait is human.  Most people are not.

Jack Tait wakes up and looks to the sky.  it is dark, dank, and dull.  another failed suicide attempt.  he is bleeding profusely from his hairy ear and wonders where his bottle of jack has disappeared to.  his last recollection before the bullet grazed his ear was that of him and his dad swimming in toogood pond.  he touches his bleeding ear and laughs.  the laughter quickly turning to tears.  he is now sixty one years old and has no family left.  no friends left.  no enemies left.  he literally is a man of nothingness.  his twenties were wasted with the bottle.  his thirties were wasted with the bottle.  his forties were wasted with anger.  his fifties wasted with guilt.  and his sixties are now filled with regret.  he still remembers his grade one teacher at St. Bonaventure but that was a long time ago.
  Jact Tait no longer has dreams.  no longer has aspirations.  he wants to die but death doesn’t want him.  torture once again.  “phonies.  fakes.  filthy rich.  filthy fluff.  fluffy people and fluffy acts.  a world filled with the wrong people and the wrong message.  the world is won by assholes and maggots.  heartless bastards that would stab their own daughter for a dime.  FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU…YOU ARE ALL DULL.  FOLLOWING RULES THAT WERE MADE A THOUSAND YEARS AGO.  FUCKING FOLLOWERS OF FUCKED UP FLUFF!!!”
  Jack Tait won’t die.  ever.

Jack Tait sits naked at the back of the streetcar.  his one ball dangling below the seat.  he is sick and so it dangles lower than normal.  the streetcar is busy.  it is late.  Jack is tired.  he has wasted his whole day walking around looking at young girls talking about their geeky boyfriends.  he would have fucked all forty two girls and he would have fucked them better than their geeky boyfriends.  Jack Tait has one ball but also one gigantic penis.  the geeky boyfriends didn’t.  Jack laughed as the young girls spoke.  now Jack sits tired and lonely at the back of the streetcar.  he sees a young punk up ahead pretending to be cool.  his hat sideways.  he notices a knife dangling out of his motherfucking saggy pants.  “WHAT A FUCKING POSEY ASSED MOTHER FUCKING TWAT!!!”  Jack whispers to himself.  No one hears.  Jack jerks off and blows his load onto the back of the seat in front of him.  Jack is no longer horny.  he can now focus.  he notices that the streetcar is now empty except for that poser from before.  he is screaming profanities at  cops outside.  the streetcar does not move.  the poser’s pants are down and he is calling the cops, “pussies.”  Jack leans down so the crazed poser doesn’t notice him.  Jack hears the cops yelling for the poser to drop his weapon but he refuses.  Jack is getting restless as he wants to go home and drink a forty of Jack.  “FUCK YOU PUSSIES!!!”  Jack continues to hear.  “PUT THE KNIFE DOWN.”  he also hears.  then gunshots.  more gunshots.  more gunshots.  screaming.  yelling.  sirens.  more sirens.  then more gunshots.  Jack is confused.  Jack is quiet.  he peers out from the backseat where cum is now dry and he sees the poser down.  blood everywhere.  his sideways hat in a pool of blood.  Jack stands up and puts his hands up and walks nakedly to the front of the streetcar and exits.  guns pointed at him.  cops everywhere.  angry cops grab him and put him on the ground.  his lonely ball hitting the dirt hard.  while buried on the ground Jack wonders why this young punk is laying down dead in a pool of blood.  he wonders what made this punk carry a knife onto a streetcar and start swinging it around.  he wonders why this young punk was exposing himself on the streetcar.  he wonders why this young punk was angry.  mad.  fearful.  he also wonders where his friends were.  he finally wonders why the cops felt threatened enough to shoot him and kill him.  death is never good.
  Jack is questioned by the cops and released.  he calmly walks back to his farmhouse in the middle of nowhere but hears cries from the deceased boys’ friends and neighbours and parents and they are all the same cries.  the same lies.  “Johnny was nice.  Johnny was great.  Johnny was smart.  Johnny was an angel.  Johnny wouldn’t hurt a fly.”  Jack took a deep breath and let out a big sigh.  “Lord Jesus Christ…I witnessed a young arrogant rude obnoxious prick on a streetcar tonight pull out a knife and threaten people as he pulled his pants down and expose himself.  he was being a jerk Lord.  He really was.  But I also witnessed too many cops arrive at this situation and they all seemed quite inexperienced and one man shot and killed the rude boy.  he shot him many times.  two wrongs do not make a right Lord but I am still so puzzled as to how such a “caring, beautiful, loving, friendly, smart” boy would be wielding a knife on a public streetcar.  I didn’t think such “caring, kind, smart, nice loving, friendly” boys did such things.  help me out.  please.  because people are now calling him a hero.  I am very confused.”
  Jack arrives back at his farmhouse and falls asleep.  no booze tonight.