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Jack Tait is pissed.  he is angrier than usual and that usual is more angry than the usual guy.  usual girl.  he wants to succeed.  he wants to love.  he wants to play.  he wants to fuck.  BUT HE CAN’T.  women shun him.  men shun him.  cops abuse him.  bosses toy with him.  JACK TAIT IS FUCKED AND HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.  every fucking girl he meets is either on the rag…bitchy.  about to go on the rag…really bitchy.  or just finished the rag…really really bitchy.  he wonders why he attracts such cunts but then remembers that he was a cunt when he was younger.  a handsome fucked up and horny cunt.  Jack Tait wonders if girls from Africa and Sweden are as cunty and bitchy as girls from Canada are.  he sits and wonders.  he is red.  red from booze.  red from sun.  red from anger.  he takes a sip of red wine and touches his red penis.  if all the cunts in the world are cunts then he will have to satisfy himself by stroking his big uncircumsized penis and blowing on his hairy balls.  Jack Tait is a handy man.  a very good handy man.  he once taught a masturbation class at George Brown College but then decided that fucking the twenty one year old hotties was much better than stroking his big penis thinking of fucking the twenty one year old hotties.  Jack Tait is a smart man.  so Jack gave up his teaching career and focused on what he loved to do.  drink.
  now Jack is pissed.  drunk and mad.  “why is the English language filled with words that mean two things?”  Jack Tait has spoken.  Jack Tait reads books.  he watches movies.  old ones because the new ones suck.  he jerks off and runs and even bowls on occassion.  Jack Tait is restless.  mad.  drunk.  horny.  tired.  he knows that life is meant to explore and learn but he also knows that it just doesn’t work that way.  the reality for Jack is that he conforms to shitty rules.  he eats shitty food.  he fucks shitty girls.  he needs another glass of wine.  he gets up and attacks the bottle.  horniness has subsided but rage is just lurking beneath the surface.  Jack Tait is confused.  he is old.  he is confused.  he looks at the sky and sees grey.  always grey.  always cold.  Jack Tait walks.  he walks.  he walks.  and then he walks some more.  he thinks he is bipolar but he is just not loved.  death will help him but he cannot kill himself.  he tries and tries but remains alive and awake.
  Jack Tait makes a list of all the people he has harmed over the years and begins to cry.  he has hurt a lot of people but then a lot of people have hurt him.  he thinks of all the boring people who never cry.  never fuck.  never get drunk.  never jerk off.  never scream.  he continues on his list.  he continues to cry.  women are surrounding him and tampons are calling his name.  there are thirty days in a month.  Jack Tait goes back to his book.  he is sixty years old and is afraid to go to sleep.  he doesn’t want to die.  Michael Jackson must have been really depressed.  or really guilty.  or both.  “celebrity worshippers are women and they are probably on the rag and they should all take a bus to Keswick.”  Jack Tait had a spurt of energy.  he now lies sideways and naked.  he is on his neighbour’s front lawn.  he didn’t have much to say but then nobody listens anyway.  he is drunk and depressed.  he takes a deep breath and smells sap.  maybe pinecombs.  Jack Tait has finally lost it.  horny.  always horny.  Jack spins his wheels and goes back to bed.  naked.  alone.  drunk.  “could this be number one hundred and fifty two???”  Jack Tait has a good memory.  he falls down and does not wake up.  poor Jack Tait.
  Jack wakes up a new man.  he is alive and ready to conquer the world.  he listens to Mumford and Sons and drinks coffee.  LOTS OF COFFEE.  he thinks today is the day that everything will work out.  LIFE IS UNPREDICTABLE.  someone will die today.  someone will cry today.  someone will fly today.  someone will…Jack sits down again.  he almost made it outside.  he looks through the peephole of his door and sees emptiness.  now he is jumping up and down.  “HEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPP!!!!”  Jack Tait doesn’t have anyone to help him.  he never did.  he hammers himself with a hammer and starts spitting blood into his coffee.  Jack Tait is fucked.  he knows it.  his former friends know it too.  USA.  USA.  USA.  USA.  USA.  USA.  He now falls back down and looks to the sky but his shitty ceiling filled with blood stains and cum stains get in his way.  always in his way.  Jack just wants to die but he can’t.  LIFE IS HELL.  LIFE IS TORTURE.  Jack smiles as he sings a beautiful song.  music solves everything.  Jack is happy again.  he takes a big runny shit and grabs a beer and sits on his shitty torn purple reclining chair and enjoys his time alone.  he closes his eyes and thinks of all the women who are walking around today with blood gushing out of them.  in pain.  sad.  lonely.  lost.  looking for love.  always looking for love.

Jack Tait turned on the tv after a long day sitting by a lake and throwing stones.  life can be so great sometimes.  he had a bottle of Jack Daniels in his mouth and a converter in his right hand.  click.  click.  click.  click.  he couldn’t stop flipping channels.  he couldn’t find anything interesting.  this particular night was worse.  oscars.  oscars.  oscars.  oscars.  a bunch of pathetic rich pansy geeky short botoxy pricks all pretending to be drunk and important.  “WHAT A PILE OF FUCKING SHIT!!!”  Jack screamed as he hurled his empty bottle of Jack at the tv smashing it into tiny little pieces.
  Jack then got up and went to the bathroom.  he took a big sloppy shit and left without wiping his ass.  Jack was drunk.  he went to the kitchen to grab another forty ouncer of Jack and walked outside.  he opened the door.  he closed the door.  he then sat on his run down steps and continued to pour his medicine into his run down body.  a big smile appeared on Jack’s face.
  Jack looked out into the wilderness and envisioned a life filled with real people doing real things and having real conversations.  he knew that life had long ago taken a massive turn for the worse and did not ever see a return to the good old days.  he wondered why people cared about such pathetic pricks on tv.  pathetic pricks on big screens.  pathetic pricks in churches.  he knew there was a reason why he had no friends.  the world was invaded by pansies and bores.  he had a computer once but after reading phony love posts on facebook one too many times and seeing countless spelling mistakes on words such as “your” and “you’re” and “to” and “too” he smashed it in a fit of calm.  he used a louisville slugger baseball bat.
  rain started falling down on Jack as he sat on his porch but he did not care.  he was naked and he was drunk.  his long balding hair was getting wet but Jack loved being wet.  thunder.  lightning.  wind.  Jack loved nature.  he sat and listened.  coyotes.  squirrels.  dogs.  birds.  more thunder.  more lightning.  life was good for Jack.  he sat and pondered.  he pondered some more and then finished his second bottle of Jack.  he got up and drunkenly ran around his empty yard naked and in the rain.  he felt like a kid again.  he fell.  he got up.  he screamed.  he fell some more.  he took one last big fall onto the wet grass and lay there looking up at the sky and feeling rain fall down on his face and felt sorry for all those people who actually think the academy awards mean something.  people who think the academy awards are exciting.  people who actually watch those shitty movies and buy those shitty magazines.  he wished he could convince those people that there are better more exciting things to life than THAT.  but he knew his efforts were futile so he closed his eyes and went to sleep.  Jack Tait had a big smile on his face.  and a big hard on.

Jack Tait walked up to the front door of the old white bungalow in the middle of the cornfield.  it was dark.  it was snowy.  Jack Tait was naked.  Jack Tait was smiling.   He was missing three front teeth and his gums were bleeding.  He was drunk.  He was cold.  He was sad.  He knocked on the door and began whistling, “go to sleep.  go to sleep.  go to sleep my baby…”  Jack had thirteen kids but he did not speak with them anymore.  Jack Tait tried to light his house on fire in a fit of rage thirteen years ago and now he wants revenge on the policeman who stopped him from doing this.  The policeman was young and naive.  Jack Tait was old and wise and so he stood at the policeman’s door with a baseball bat made by Louisville.  It was called a Louisville Slugger and he was ready to bash in the brains of the policeman.  He knocked and waited.  he knocked again and whistled some more.  Jack’s rage was intensifying.  he hated people.  he hated life.  he hated cats.  he hated birds.  Jack Tait was filled with hate.  So was the cop but the cop had a badge and he was able to hide his hate more than Jack was able to hide it.  The door suddenly swung open and Jack started swinging.  WHACK.  WHACK.  WHACK.  WHACK.  WHACK.  Jack would not stop swinging.  Blood was splattering everywhere.  “HEEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLP!!!!  HEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLP!!!”  the poor officer was screaming for help but no one came.  cows looked over.  so did sheep.  but humans were not visible.  except naked Jack.  Jack was naked.  Jack was shrivelled up.  wrinkled.  beaten down by life but not yet dead.  the swinging continued.  the blood continued.  but the screaming stopped.  Jack continued though.  he wanted to make sure that the officer would never interfere with another person again.  another person who only wanted to escape from this beautiful world.  Jack took his bat back one last time and came down with one last thundering jolt.  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”  Jack now relaxed.  he started crying on top of the bloodied officer.  he cried and he cried.  he was still naked.  he looked up to the skies above and saw white snow falling down.  he opened up his mouth and tried to swallow as much snow as he could.  this brought him back to his youth where he ate snow and played hockey cards against the wall of his grade school.  the game was called, “picksies upsies knocksies downsies.”  Jack was good at this game.  he was also good at sports.  Jack was popular and he was a good speller.  Jack continued to leave his mouth open and he continued to swallow snow.  Jack eventually fell asleep.
  Jack woke up fourteen hours later with a hard on.  He wacked off and then walked away from the dead policeman.  he started whistling The End by the Doors.  he got his revenge and thus his life was now complete.  he no longer cared about his kids or his wife.  he had given up hope of ever reconciling with them again as no one ever forgives and forgets.  they might forgive but they never forget and therefore Jack turned to violence.
  Jack walked through the cornfields.  he walked over dead mice.  dead squirrels.  dead racoons.  dead cows.  everything was dead.  it was still snowing.  Jack stopped.  he listened.  stillness.  quietness.  calmness.  everything still…for once.  Jack wondered who the leader of the world might be.  who made the rules.  who fucked the most girls.  who spanked his weiner the most.  he wondered if anyone ever stuck Fisher Price toys up his bum the way he used to when he was fourteen.  he always put Vaseline on the plastic toys first.  it felt good.  now Jack’s bum is too weathered.  too beaten.  too old.  getting old sucks.  Jack wanted time to stand still but it moved faster and faster.  it was torture for Jack.  after his attempted murder/suicide he was now afraid to try it again.  fear of failure always prominent in poor Jack’s mind..  he wanted to be a baby again and start over again with different parents.  different friends.  live in different cities.  fuck different girls.  Jack even wanted to try different toys up his bum.  Jack was never satisfied.  “HELP ME LORD.  HELP ME LORD.  HELP ME LORD.  HELP ME LORD. HELP ME LORD.”  Jack prayed.  no one listened.  Jack heard dogs barking and looked up.  twelve creepy looking pit bulls were fast appraoching.  barking viciously.  it is not the dog’s fault.  it is the owner’s fault.  Jack didn’t have time for such nonsense.  his skinny penis almost inverted from fear.  he ran.  he ran.  he ran.  he screamed.  he looked back and four of the pit bulls were very close.  their big balls bigger than Jack’s.  why do pit bulls always have huge balls???  Jack continued.  he wondered if this was all a bad dream but Jack stopped dreaming long ago when his parents told him to stop dreaming.  “FUCK OFF.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK.  FUCK!!!”  Jack was getting tired.  pit bulls were not.  Jack stopped and turned around.  he faced these vicious dogs like a man.  a naked man with a skinny penis which  was inverted.  he began swinging.  “GET AWAY.  GET AWAY YOU VICIOUS FUCKS.  I WILL FUCKING SMASH YOUR FUCKING BRAINS IN!!!”  Jack screamed at these dogs as if they were human or inhumane.  not dogs.  the dogs didn’t listen.  the eight slower dogs had caught up to the four fast dogs.  all dogs vicious.  nice owners or not nice owners pit bulls kill.  Jack continued to swing.  one by one the dogs fell.  the dogs yelped.  blood splattered everywhere once again.  history repeating itself.  Jack would not stop swinging.  he would not stop yelling.  smoke filled the air.  all dogs dead.  Jack turned around to walk away from this massacre and there she was.  his ex-wife.  there they were.  his thirteen children.  SILENCE.  Jack smiled.  teeth missing still.  his ex-wife smiled back.  his thirteen kids ran to Jack and hugged him.  they wouldn’t let go.  his ex-wife joined them.  all fifteen of them hugging in the middle of a cornfield with snow coming down and smoke going up.  Jack wished he didn’t try to kill his family earlier.  he also wished he didn’t kill the policeman.  he held them all tightly and whispered, “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.” 
  Life is too short and shame is too long.  live life to it’s fullest and hang around with the people who make you laugh or inspire you.  don’t feel guilt and don’t conform but most of all LOVE.
  Jack asked his family to take off all of their clothes and stand naked with him for one last moment.  they did.  the snow continued to fall.

Jack Tait decided it was time to go and see his Dad.  His Dad had passed away many years earlier from loneliness.  Loneliness is hereditary and so Jack has the same disease.  He has been very upset about getting this from his Dad and as a result he has never gone to his grave to pay him respect.  Jack Tait is a lonely man.  Jack Tait is an angry man.  Jack Tait is a sad man.
  Jack set out on his tricycle in the early morning on February 17th.  His hair was not combed.  His teeth were not brushed.  They never are.  Jack Tait doesn’t work.  He also doesn’t fuck.  He sometimes throws beer bottles at the tv.  But only when he is drunk and only when his favourite hockey team, the Toronto Maple Leafs, are losing.  They lose a lot.  He’s drunk a lot.
  Jack rode through the snow filled streets of dirty Toronto.  It was busy.  cars.  bums.  rats.  dogs.  Jack did his best to avoid people and avoid things.  Jack struggled through the snow.  Jack didn’t drive.  His best friend, Rob, had died years earlier in a horrific car crash and Jack never recovered.  So Jack continued.  His struggles continued.  He needed to get to Thornhill before it became dark.  Jack pedalled as fast as he could.  Jack is not in good shape.  He only has one testicle and one ear.  Jack continued.  Jack is a fighter.  Not a lover.  Jack eventually got to Holy Cross Cemetary in Thornill and entered the cemetary.  He cried as he entered.  Jack Tait missed his Dad.  Jack Tait also missed his youth.  Jack Tait is sixty years old and beaten down.  He looks seventy years old and can only dream of fucking hot twenty-one year old girls.  His life has been filled with shame.  He only has one nut.
  Jack entered on his tricycle and saw a sea of white snow.  he didn’t have a clue as to where to look.  he knows that he should have visited before but he just couldn’t.  Jack Tait was mad at his Dad.  Jack prayed to the lord above but the lord above knew Jack was bullshitting so he didn’t answer his prayers.  Jack was stuck.  what to do?  what to do?  what to do?  Jack decided to go into the office of the cemetary.  Jack rode back to the office on his tricycle and parked it on the side of the red building.  he got off of his bike and walked up the stairs and through the front doors.  the doors reminded him of a courthouse he once visited while up on charges of assault and obstruction of justice.  Jack did not beat the charges.  Jack walked through the doors and approached the counter.  A handsome young Italian boy was standing there.  “Can I help you?”  he asked.
  “Would you please be able to tell me what lot my Dad is buried in?”
  “Sure.  What is his name?”
  “John.  John Tait.”
  The handsome boy looked in his file cabinet and came back.
  “Your Dad is buried in lot 22. section 23.  row 9.”
  “Thank you…also by any chance would you have a shovel I could borrow?”
  “No I am sorry.  We don’t have a shovel here.  Trucks plough the roads but not the lots.”
  “Okay.  No problem.  Thanks anyway.”
  Jack Tait left the office and jumped back on his tricycle.  he rode down to lot 22 and began sweeping away the snow with his boots.  he was sweeping and sweeping.  the sun was shining.  there was only one other person in the cemetary.  people are so selfish.  people are so phony.  Jack continued to sweep.  he wanted to give up.  he also wanted to stay.  he was torn.  he is always torn.  Jack struggled for about an hour when he finally found something.  Jack Tait was sweating.  Jack noticed something under the snow.  he started brushing harder and harder.  it was definitely a gravestone.  he started chipping away at the gravestone with his house keys.  his apartment was dirty and empty.  he chipped and chipped.  ice pieces flying everywhere.  he finally got through after ten minutes of digging and chipping but the name read Jane Swanson.  Not John Tait.  Jack was discouraged but he would not give up.  he continued to sweep.  he continued to chip.  Jack was hot.  He had a few more false alarms and was ready to give up when he saw something under the snow as he was walking away.  he began lightly chipping not thinking that it could be his Dad.  his chipping became more intense.   more angry.  he chipped.  and chipped.  and chipped and then breatkthrough.  he saw a grave.  he started humming I WILL WAIT by Mumford and Sons as he chipped.  it gave him strength.  it gave him courage.  Jack Tait was afraid of everything.  especially his own shadow.  Jack continued to chip.  He then noticed a J.  then an O.  the chipping continued.  H.  N.  T.  A.  I.  T.  Jack Tait had done it.  he found his Dad.  he started bawling.  he cried.  and cried.  and cried.  he couldn’t stop.  Jack Tait hated his Dad for giving him the disease of loneliness but he couldn’t stop crying for his Dad.  he wondered if his Dad could hear him on top of him.  he knew he couldn’t but he still wondered anyway.  Jack looked over at his tricycle and no one had stolen it.  Jack sat still.  crying had now stopped. he was cold.  alone.  sad.  he wished his Dad was still alive.  he never got to say “good-bye” to him.  he wished things were different.  he wished that things could start all over again and he would never take his Dad for granted.  he would obey his Dad and listen to his Dad and hug his Dad and go on trips with his Dad and watch hockey games with his Dad and go on vacations with his Dad and get spanked by his Dad and get advice from his Dad and go to parties with his Dad and have lunch with his Dad.  Jack Tait started crying again.  sobbing.  weeping.  tears flowing down his wrinkled face.  this time the tears didn’t stop.  Jack Tait was now lying on the grave and he was yelling, “WHY?  WHY?  WHY?  WHY?  WHY?  DAD I MISS YOU SOOOOOOOO MUCH AND I WISH I COULD SEE YOU ONE LAST TIME!!!” 
  The sky turned black.  the winds picked up and it started snowing again.  Jack Tait was still lying on his Dad’s grave.  he was cold.  his tricycle was cold too.  “Life is too short,”  Jack mumbled to himself.  he scratched his one nut and fell asleep.
  

Jack Tait sits alone in his bedroom and wonders why he was molested forty years ago.  he is now sixty years old and has nothing to show for it but the wrinkles and red nose.  he has drank a twenty-sixer of Jack Daniels everyday for the last forty years.  the only thing he ever wanted was love.  just someone to love him and to hold him.  instead he sits alone.  drunk.  sad.  he looks at his calender and knows that life will be over in three months.  he was recently diagnosed with a rare form of liver disease and the doctor promised him that he will only live for another five months.  that was two months ago.  he has jerked off  one hundred and twenty times since.  his penis is filled with scabs and scratches.  he promised himself that he would not let his disease bring him down and so he does what he does best…JERK OFF.
  Jack was once a strapping young handsome man.  he had friends.  he had parents.  he had bosses.  he had skills.  he had talents.  he had his whole life ahead of him.  Jack thought that he would live forever.  he never took life seriously for life never took him seriously.  Jack had pimples.  Jack also had an uncircumsized penis.  he still does.  he used to pull the skin back when he was in the changeroom.  not anymore.  he is never in a changeroom.  Jack Tait does not leave his apartment.  he orders food in.  he orders booze in.  he orders hookers in.  he doesn’t fuck.  he only talks to them.  Jack is a virgin.  Jack’s uncircumsized penis and pimples prevented him from conquering women.  he watched his friends fuck.  suck.  abuse.  belittle women.  but not he.  he wondered why the girls stayed with all the jerks.  he wondered why they told him that they wanted to meet a nice guy yet fucked assholes.  he still wonders this as he sits alone in his crappy apartment.  Jack reads books.  Jack is smart.  Jack is nice.  Jack is sad.  life never seemed to work out for poor Jack.  he loved music.  still does.  he thinks music is more important than sex.  but he really doesn’t know because he has never had the opportunity to pound a beautiful girl for hours on end and blow load after load all over the dirty bed and scream and moan and huff and puff and groan and sweat.  Jack is lonely.  he pauses as he listens to someone outside his apartment screaming, “LIFE NOT FAIR.  LIFE NOT FAIR.  JESUS SAVES.  OH GIVE TO THE LORD JESUS CHRIST!!!”  Jack touches his penis but it hurts.  he takes a big swig of his Jack Daniels and then pukes.  he walks to his window and looks outside at the bright sunshine and sees kids playing.  he wishes he was never molested and wonders why he let it happen.  he also wishes that his Mom and Dad weren’t murdered.  before they were murdered they didn’t give poor Jack too much love but their love was better than none at all and now he sits alone and sad.
  Jack Tait wants to stay awake for the next three months and drink and jerk off but he knows that this is impossible.  Jack marks his calender with an “X” for every day lived.  Jack Tait hears a knock at his front door and this startles him.  he grabs his gun and walks toward the front door.  “Who is it?” he asks.
  “yabba dabba do.”  the person responds.
  “Who?”  Jack continues.
  “Yabba dabba do.”
   “I WILL FUCKING SHOOT MY FUCKING GUN RIGHT THROUGH THIS MOTHER FUCKING DOOR AND FUCKING KILL YOU FRED FLINSTONE IF YOU DON’T LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!!!”  Jack Tait has anger issues.
  “SHUT UP.  SHUT UP.  SHUT UP.”
  bang.  bang.  bang.  three bullets leave Jack’s gun and shoot right through the door.
  “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”
  Jack hears a big thud and listens intently for ten minutes.  nothing.  he opens the door very quietly and sees an eighty year old Russian lady with a black dress and black veil on.  blood is on walls.  on floors.  on her face.  on her dress.  she is dead.
  Jack Tait walks back inside.  he thinks about what he did.  he is sad.  he feels bad for the poor old Russian lady.  she was alone.  she was old.  she is now dead.  she must have watched The Flintstones when she was younger.  Jack takes a big swig of his Jack Daniels.  he strokes his uncircumsized penis.  he blows a load into his left hand.  he transports it into his right hand.  he then goes to the bathroom and turns on the tap.  he puts his right hand under the tap and flushes it down the sink.  he then lies down.  his eyes close.  Jack Daniels now on the floor spilling onto the shitty shaggy green carpet.  Jack is naked.  He is sixty.  he has a disease.  he has no love.  he is a drunk.  he is not circumsized.  he has been molested.  his parents were murdered.  he has never fucked.  he has killed twenty-three ants.  he has only killed one human being.  that lady was an old Russian lonely single lady dressed in black.  self defence. 
 “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”
  Jack is troubled.  Fifty nine days left to live on this earth.  Going out in pain and alone.  virgin.  scabby penis.  uncircumsized.  he always wished things were different.  Jack is nice.  Jack is asleep.