[[Kyle]]'s Stories

Diamond Phillips, LOU LOU LOU

2008-03-29T03:15:16Z

“Bitch, you best not!” Lou Diamond Phillips exclaimed, leaping from the shadows. “Dude, it’s the middle of the day. Where the fuck did you find shadows to leap from?” I asked. Well, I WOULD ’VE asked, if he hadn’t fed me my own balls through my ass. Instead I just lay on the ground trying to figure out if feeding me my own balls through my ass was even possible. Or made sense. “Now you will realize the fury of-” But he was cut short, for a pack of rabid yoga instructors emerged from pools of boiling hot lava which had formed on the sidewalk next to a peacock who was now on fire and screeching and dying and taking all the attention away from me like a little spoiled bitch man I fucking hate peacocks and they threw shit (literally shit) and LDP and he was now pissed off and that’s where I blacked out. I don’t think there’s really a “medical” reason why I blacked out, but like I said, I HAD MY OWN BALLS FED TO ME THROUGH MY ASS .

Mt. Pokee

2008-03-29T02:44:48Z

“Its beautiful!” Jenny declared as we pushed past the evergreens and emerged into the clearing. “Even better than you described it!” Taking my hand she- while, we- rushed towards the old wooden shack on Mt. Pokee. Was it a stupid name? Yeah, but I had spent many summers out here with the folks chasing fireflies at night and napping in dandelion seas during the day. “Is it locked?” Jenny asked when we reached the front door. “I doubt it,” I said twisting the knob. There was a slight resistance, but once it got to know the bottom of my foot, the door soon let go of any of its inhibitions. And the hinges. “Oops,” Jenny giggled as we pushed back some cobwebs. “Oh mark! Look at this!” she exclaimed, holding an old portrait of my grandfather. “Put that down,” I said “It gave me the creeps even when there were lights.” We were scrounging the cabin for flashlights or a lightswitch using sunshine as our aid. Unfortunately for us the sunshine didn’t reveal the meth lab in the basement that blew up and killed us.

part Two Two Two

2007-08-07T06:56:33Z

“In your fuckin’ wet dreams cum-pisser!” my friend yelled at me.
“Lions suck!”
“YOU suck!”
“Your MOM sucks!”
”...YOU suck!”
Doing a triple-backflip i pulled out my lightsaber which i always carry with me to public attractions. “What?!” My friend cried “thats bullshit! why do YOU get a light-” But, he did not have time to finish asking me why i got a lightbulb. For, my green saber of light had just pierced the region directly between his small intestine and stomach and now blood and bile were seeping through his Duodenum. A small crowd of people had gathered around his body, but a few ninja stars took care of that. “Now, if youll excuse me…” i said, kicking his life-less body, “I’m going to go feed from the lion’s tit.”

Nighty-Night Lars

2007-08-07T06:34:40Z

The dog was gray.
Maybe.
It was hard to tell through all the blood, dirt, and some slimy black ooze.
Lars tried to pick the dog up, but it yelped in pain.
Lars almost did too. His rib was on fire.
“Well,” he said kneeling down beside the dog “it looks like we’re both down on our luck.” He gently opened the dog’s mouth and poured a little Miller High Life on it’s tounge. “There ya go, boy.” He smiled and rubbed behind it’s ear a little “That’ll ease the pain and help you drift right off into a nice doggy-sleep.” He folded his hands together and sandwiched them between his head and the ground. “Which,” his eyes moved over to the dog laying down next to him “I could use a little of myself. Not doggy sleep, people sleep.” He closed his eyes and let slumber wave through his body like a black ocean.

When he awoke, the dog was gone.
His now-ruddy-red jacket was a few yards away, but his four-legged aqquaintance was M.I.A. “Huh…” he said getting up, noticing his rib was a bit sorer than it had been.

Detention Part Two

2007-07-26T19:18:59Z

Now, the sole flaw of my leather pants: The inability to hide a hard-on.

As i sat staring at her, i felt it. A bulge. Oh boy. Here we go. Lock up your daughters. Not wanting anyone to notice (especially not Crosy Stills Hash and Young sitting next to me who’s giddy laughter would be sure to draw attention) i tried to think of… softening things.

But my eyes still kept sliding back to her. With her suede jacket.

I was beginning to think it was the jacket just as much as it was her that was arousing me.

Although, her breasts outlined in suede made it even more confusing to tell.

I wanted to wwalk over to her and just rub the fabric of her jacket…
but that had Sexual Harassment written all over it.

And i was in trouble enough when i got home from just having a detention. I didnt need to be a murderer and sexual predator.

But still, she didnt look too old. 20 maybe. 21. 22 at the most. I’d be 18 in two months…

“To hell with it.”

I got up and (forgetting i was in the red)...

A Friend For Lars

2007-07-26T18:27:52Z

Lars walked along the railroad tracks whistling to himself and holding his rib.

“Do they know im gone yet?”
“Will they care?”
“Will they call Ricky?”
“Fuck Ricky.”

The pain in his rib was letting up, partially from the sleepiness numbing his brain, partially from the half of a 40 Oz. he had found a half mile back. The sleepiness was partially from the 40 Oz. too. And partially from walking. The 40 Oz. was partially from walking, and partially to numb the pain in his rib. The pain in his rib was partially from walking. It was a vicious circle.

Lars was deep in his thought wandering on down the tracks when a sharp yelp peirced his mental rambling.

“Whos there?!” whisper-shouted Lars. A shape staggered from between two big green dumpsters and fell, about fifteen feet ahead of Lars and ten away from the tracks.

Lars half-hobbled, half-ran over to the shape. Upon kneeling he saw it was a dog. A hurt dog. It was, or had been, bleeding. Lars took off his coat, and set it on the dog’s body.

Lars the Hobo

2007-07-26T18:16:16Z

Lars had no job.
Lars had no money.
Lars had no home.
Lars had no parents.
Lars had no car.
Lars had no hope.

What Lars did have, was an asshole brother who had stuck him in a mental institution a year ago.
That, and a broken rib.

The rib he got from jumping out the third story window at St. John’s, the brother, well, you know where babies come from.

Actually, he was lucky he only got a broken rib. It was a pretty nasty fall, luckily he had landed in bushes. He felt bad about ruining the nice bushes, but hey, he was fifty. It was time to quit fuckin’ around and go live a real life.

Room 235

2007-07-26T18:02:56Z

So there I sat. Between a stoner and a goth. Sweet.

Oh well, at least i had my leather pants.

The long-haired delinquant on my right smelled badly of smoke and it was giving me a headache. His faded gray shirt had, in white letters, “Led Zeppelin 1977” above a white naked man-angel. His legs were robed in ripped old light blue jeans. They wouldnt keep him warm in winter like my leather pants would. I rubbed the knee of my pants, feeling the texture, an orgasm for my fingers.

Captain Cheerful to my left was sporting a black “Korn” hoodie and baggy, chained-up pants that played Jingle Bells when he walked. His long straight black hair (Smokey McBongwater’s had been a dirty blonde and somewhat wavy) hung just above his shoulders. His face was dark around the jaw with stubble. At least Cheech had shaven.

Overall i wasnt too thrilled with either one of them. But they were better than the whiny PETA kids. They kept to themselves.

Well, the hippie laughed from time to time.

Hoover's Encounter

2007-07-26T04:24:29Z

Hoover went home that night with his owner, Samantha Jefferson. Along the way home he had been stpped and petted by more than ten people, and by the eigth, X94 -D7 had swam through his ear and into his brain lobe. Project S was in system.
One of the petters had been a small boy named Christopher Williams.
Hoover and licked his hand, while the boy squealed with glee. He was after all, only four. After petting Hoover, Christopher had (like most four-year-olds) picked his nose. Being the curious soul he was, he had put the little green discovery on his tounge. That did it. Project S was in Hoover’s saliva on Christophers hand, and was now being absorbed through the membranes in his mouth. Within 24 hours, little Chirstopher Williams, would assume room temperature.
And so, Project S had been put into motion.

Project S

2007-07-26T03:30:53Z

Hoover was a black lab.
X94 -D7 was a programmed nano-bot.
His program?
A disease more contagious than laughter and more deadly than AIDS .
There was no offical name for the disease, but the geiiuses who created it called it “Project S”.
One of the masterminds behind Project S, Dr. Wolfe, went out one day for a stroll in Grand Central Park, he donned a flannel shirt and blue jeans, looking completely non-conspicuous. He even dropped a five in a panhandeler’s guitar case. Rounding a bend he spied Hoover sitting under a shady oak tree. Walking up to Hoover’s not unattractive owner he smiled “What a beautiful dog,” he said kneeling down “Oh! Thank you!” replid the perky brunette. “May i pet her?” Dr. Wolfe asked “Its a he. And of course! Hoover wont bite, will ya Hoov?” she asked, turning to the dog Dr. Wolfe dipped his hand in his back pocket and rubbed behind the dog’s ear. Unknown to the pretty brunette or even Hoover, he had just been infected with the very first case of Project S.

Good Morning, Beautiful

2007-07-25T23:45:42Z

“What?!” I shout “Thats retarded!” I point to the big wooden door of the study “Get the hell out!”

Slowly he slinks away, i roll my eyes “Why mom smoked crack when she was pregnant with him is beyond me…” i say to myself , turning in my office chair to face the desk, more specifically the Dell N610C sitting on top of it. I sigh deeply “Well…” i look around the room for inspiration..

A painting. Nope. Wheat fields and broken windmills dont do it for me. Thats my mom’s thing. The painting. Not doing it for me.

A guitar sat against a window opposite me. Interesting. A guitar… and… there was a weight in the pocket of my brown Levi courderoys… and a bag of grass… i looked back to the guitar against the window, there was the highway about ten yards away from my house. The usual crawl of traffic went past, most station wagons and minivans. But then, something caught my eye, a blue and white Volkswagen Microbus. I had my three items.

A guitar, a baggie of weed, and a blue and white microbus.