REVENGE
By Tom Miller

A lighthearted romp through the seedy
Underbelly of that horrible experience we call life.

� April 1996 � FREDInk Productions

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I smell something.

Do you smell that?

What is that smell?

God, that smells something awful. Whoo! Smells like somebody pulled the cork off a bottle of rot. Oh man what a smell. God. You smell it? My god, does that smell. Did someone light a bag of shit on fire? Oh, man. Whoowee! Whoo! Smells like a dead yak. Smells like somebody blew up a blimp full of shit. Whoo, what a smell. You smell it? Smells like someone cut open a dead bloated cat. What a smell that is. Man, this shit is going into my lungs. The smell is inside me. I�m breathing the shit. What a disgusting funk. Whoo. I feel like I got my head in a gorilla butt. Smells like something I let loose in the toilet the other day. Someone has laid some seriously dead fart in here. Whittikers! Holy man oh man, there�s a stench in here like someone rubbed an onion in their armpit and left it there for a week. It�s like sniffing a wino�s balls. Where is it coming from? What could that horrible smell be coming from?

Oh, why it�s me.

The Restaurant / Hair Replenishing Shop

���� Three days ago, the strangest thing that has ever happened, happened to me. I was sitting on a park bench minding my own business when this lady sat next to me. She looked fairly normal, like somebody�s grandmother, but wait �till I tell you what happened next. She reached inside her dress, rooted around, and pulled out her placenta. I thought that was so sick of her to do such a thing, but then guess what happened. She turned to me with a look on her face I will never forget, and threw her placenta at my face. She kept yelling that it was good for my hair, but I didn�t think so. To me, it was just a big bloody mess. What are you afraid of, she asked me. Babies eat it, why can�t you? But I had to get away from her and wash off before I threw up. I�m telling you, this was really gross. But here�s where the story gets strange, like I promised you. She got up and took off after me. She�s running after me and I�m thinking, this lady just threw her placenta at me, what�s she going to do now? You would never believe it and neither did I when she opened her purse and pulled out another placenta. She threw it on my back. Stop it lady, I shouted. You got placenta on my back. It was so revolting and I felt humiliated. I hoped she was through throwing placenta at me but to my surprise, and here�s where the story gets really weird, she opened her mouth and there and the back of her throat was, that�s right, you guessed it, placenta.

���� She spit placenta at me as I tried to get away. I�ll tell you, this was so strange to me, this old lady producing what seemed like infinite amounts of placenta and then throwing it at me and spitting it on me. By the time I outran her and made it home, I was covered in placenta. I ran straight for the shower and rinsed off. Boy, it sure felt better to not have placenta all over me. I noticed, however, that my hair indeed felt healthier then ever before. Maybe there�s something to this placenta after all, and then I remembered her prophetic words: Babies eat it, why can�t you?

���� Well I�ll be, the old lady was right. If my hair felt better, maybe I had better go back to the old lady and eat some of her placenta. So I got my bowl and I got my spoon and walked six blocks back to the park bench searching for the old lady and her infinite supply of placenta. Here is where the story gets weird. When I finally found her, she would not give me any placenta. No matter how I pleaded, the old lady would not give it up. You had your chance, she said, and all you did was run from me and resist the placenta. Now you�ll have no placenta. Never before had I begged for placenta in my life, but if I was going to taste it, I had to stoop to begging. Please, lady. Please let me taste your placenta. No, she replied. No placenta for you. Soon I began to get irritated, then agitated, and finally, angry. And that�s when I pulled out my gun. All right lady, give me your placenta or I�ll kill you. You should have seen her shake with fear. Now it was I who had the upper hand. Reluctantly she reached up into her dress and produced, that�s right, you guessed it, some placenta. Now put it in the bowl, I commanded. She followed my command and placed the placenta into the bowl. I got my spoon and got a spoonful of the placenta. Its rich red and beige color appealed to my new appreciation for placenta.

���� I held the spoon above my open mouth and allowed the coagulated blob to flop off the spoon and onto my tongue. When I closed my mouth and pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth, the blob of placenta popped releasing a tasty yellow nutritious pudding. I savored the unique flavor of this new experience. Lady, I said, you sure do have some tasty placenta.

���� We got together and with my money, her placenta, we opened a combination restaurant / hair replenishing shop.

���� Nobody came.

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I

Buy

Flies

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Cycle of Abuse


Dog bites me
I bite dog
Dog screams
Dog is mad
Cat sees dog
Dog sees cat
Dog chases cat
Cat runs
Dog bites cat
Cat dies
I hit dog
For biting cat
Dog bites me
I hit dog harder
Dog yelps
I pet cat
Cat doesn�t care
Cat�s dead
I bury cat
Dog watches
I leave
Dog digs cat up
Dog chews cat
I hit dog
Dog bites me
I hit dog harder
Dog dies
I bury dog and cat
I buy new dog and cat
Same thing happens
Again and again

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OOPS

One day, I was sitting on a park bench minding my own business when a long hair hippie with a beard sat next to me. I had the feeling this bum was going to rob me, so taking the initiative, I pulled out my handgun and shot him dead. Little did I know, I had just killed Jesus.

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A little girl named Mary Mac
Was carrying a little paper sack
Which did contain a little snack
For Mary to eat when she got back

From visiting her grand ma ma
Who lived in West Virginia ya
In a cottage in the forest...
Fuck me on a stick

Mary Mac was on her bike
Pedaling by the railroad track
She heard the train toot toot its horn
So Mary Mac was clearly warned

She did not heed the signal though
Across the tracks did Mary go
The train cut Mary Mac in two...
Suck my fucking dick

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There�s No Such Thing as a UFO

���� I know UFOs don�t exist. But I�ll tell you this: There is an all-powerful omnipotent being in the sky and he created everything in six days and then took a break on the seventh day. He has three manifestations called the Father, the Son, and the Holy Poltergeist. His name is, God. You may have seen a picture of him on the Sistine Chapel. He sent his only son, who was completely perfect by the way, Jesus, to the earth to die on a cross. When they nailed this guy up, he died on the cross specifically for our sins. Then, when they entombed him, he came back from the dead and haunted his followers before shipping out to God knows where. And guess what� he�s coming back. And we�ll all be in trouble if we haven�t accepted His truth. But if we have, we�re all going to go to a place called Heaven, a place in the sky where everything is beautiful and little cherubic boys with no genitalia fly around with wings and play harps. If we have sinned however, and do not believe, we are going to Hell where a horned man makes fire that will burn us forever.

���� But UFOs? No fucking way.

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One Million Cows

���� To kill one million cows, you must disassociate from the sentient beings and view them as objects. You must see the body as clay and the blood as paint. You must view the objects in two dimensions and then you can begin the slaughter. You must also become two-dimensional like a painting of a machine. You must not allow feelings of guilt, shame and remorse to get in the way. With practice, to kill one million cows is easy, just like the Holocaust was.

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Everyone Deserves to Die

���� Why have counseling and therapy? Why stop drug addicts from killing themselves or others? Let�s legalize killing. Aren�t we overpopulated anyway? Why work toward longevity? Aren�t people starving because the one- percent with ninety-nine percent of the wealth are greedy bastards? Hey, man, that�s

���� Capitalism. That�s freedom. That�s the strong survive and the weak die. That one- percent knows where it�s at. Fuck it. Who gives a shit. Why give a shit? Everyone deserves to die, and everyone will. Mortality has a 100% success rate. You can�t stop it. You�ll die too. No matter what you leave behind, you�re gone. And guess what else? The ozone layer is becoming depleted. Resources are drying up. People boil down to war monkeys, even if they have degrees. The sun will burn out in ten billion years. We are vicious, violent, stupid animals.

���� Live, eat, fuck and die. All the rest is negligible.

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Happy Person

���� Hi. I�m a happy person. Love me. I love you. Live to make other people happy. Live for love. Love your neighbor. I do. Have a family. Go to the ball game. Take in a movie. Walk in the forest. Watch a child pet a cat. Look in the eyes of a baby and see the innocence and wonder of it all. I�m a happy person, all right. Now if you�ll excuse me, I�m going to fuck your mother.

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Return of Fido

���� I saw the faggot first, coming around the corner from that bar where the queers are. Bubba and I had a plan. We was going to pop them faggots with a bat, and kick the living shit out of them. I remember laughing between sips of beer about how they was going to pay. We can�t have them queers molesting our kids. God told me to stop them, but he didn�t tell me how much fun it would be. I remember yelling out to him like I was a friend. He trusted me before I cracked his head.

���� "Hey, come here. I got something to show you." Little faggot could have run, but lucky for America he came over, probably to get some dick. He wasn�t counting on a stick. The first crack went from the top of his skull to his neckline. That�s when Bubba joined in and kicked the shit out of him. We was hoping his friends would come around and we could get some more, but I guess this one didn�t have no friends. So we kept kicking him. I had steel tips in the ends of my boots, and getting blood on �em was just making me madder. "Don�t you bleed on me, fucker. Don�t you get AIDS on me, faggot."

���� Then Bubba must have kicked his face clean off �cause he stopped moving. "Come on and fight, faggot." No fight left in him. We ran back to the truck and tore out of there, screaming victory, punching the window. We showed him. I heard on the news the next day, that boy didn�t make it off the sidewalk alive. But the news that really made me think was the feel-good story about a dog that found its way back home from all the way across the country.

���� How do you suppose a dog does that?

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Dan�s Adornment Palace

���� I wasn�t willing to settle for common adornments. I was a unique individual who was willing to deal with some pain to stand out in a crowd. I had seen it in the nose, the ear, the cock, and the pussy. I had seen branding and scarification, tattoos, but this was all sissy stuff compared to what I was going to do.

���� Dan�s Adornment Palace was the place where I would come into my new reality. Dan himself, and nobody but nobody gets Dan personally, had been preparing all day to do me right. I had a fifth of Jack Daniel�s in me just to get me going. Dan was going to put a hot steel rod, two feet long by three-inch circumference, through my butt cheeks to pin them together. Then he was going to stretch my cock around to my asshole and pin them together. Next, my ears were coming off. That would show them sissy earring boys what a real statement was. Finally, knitting needles through my body, from the front to the back, and a ring pierced into the dead center of my right eyeball. Just for fun, Dan told me he would throw in the chiseling of all my teeth into vampire points. I loved every minute of it.

���� Dan got so into his work that he flayed my back open and left a square foot of skin dangling over my ass. "That�ll dry into leather.: he told me. "Then we can sew it into a bag and you can keep your stuff in there." Right on, Dan! This guy was an expert. When he was done, I took a good look at myself in the mirror. Man, I really fucked up. What was I thinking? I couldn�t live with myself like this. I threw myself out of the window. Me, and about one pound of glass, hit the cement twenty floors below.

���� Everyone in the crowd really noticed me, but I was way too dead to care.

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Artist Man


���� In an attempt to add new ideas to art, an artist man got himself a live Rhesus monkey and stabbed it in the neck with the pointed end of a wooden stake. He stuck the stake into the ground with the struggling screaming monkey hanging off of it and video taped the event. He also took 35mm photographs of the suffering animal. When the poor animal reached its conclusion, the artist man allowed it to dry up on the end of the stake over the course of the next several months.

���� Birds chewed on it, pieces fell off of it, decay set in, there were smells, transformations of shape and texture, color and form, and ultimately the thing just dried up and resolved itself, artistically. At this point, artist man began a sketch: Monkey on a Wooden Stake. He sketched it in many different angles. He wanted a real multimedia event.

���� He then fashioned a press release for the media and opened his display to the public. He was subsequently arrested for animal abuse and put into jail where he was raped, beaten and stabbed. Years later, he was released and began work on his next big project: Puppy in a Blender.

���� Some folks never change.

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The Knife

The streets are dark

Glistening wet with moisture

Footfalls echo off terra-cotta walls

I feel the need to become

Part of the whole

Disconnected from

Memories of childhood

Lonely times spent

Locked in the closets

Sometimes kitchen knives

Sing songs

Looking into your window

I want to be you

Jealousy, fear, hunger, rage

Peace comes to those

Who fillet

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I Like Being a Dog

I like

Being a dog

Crying

Hungry

Looking

Around the yard

Digging up bones

Chewing them

I like

Being a dog

Pet me

Like you do

So well

Lapping up

Refreshments

From my

Slimy yellow cup

Hit me with

The newspaper

I don�t mind

I kind of

Like it

When it�s cold

I would like

To join you

By the fire

Maybe I

Will stay out here

I like

Being a dog

My chain tied

To the tree

And I go

�Round and �round

until my chain

runs out

I like

Being a dog

I like

Being a dog

I like

Being a dog

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