The Grave Miner

The grave miner stayed in an old ramshackle house on East 18^th street towards the edge of town. The yard resembled that of a wasteland or retired landfill. A whole assortment of random objects, broken appliances and abandon projects cluttered the grounds, neglected, left to fester and decompose into the ills of destitute. Knee-high weeds with foxtails and stickers grew everywhere and anywhere deemed suitable for the indestructible breed. A primered 72 El Camino lie rusting on one side of the house, engineless and propped up on stilts, covered in decade of dust and dirt. A stranded clothesline hung from one end of a diseased fig tree. A withered office desk, an old stove and an inexhaustible horde of other unidentifiable nicks and knacks scattered themselves about in perfect symmetry and collaboration, accounting for the most flawless disaster a man ever made.

The house had been painted a pale yellow by the previous owners but all that was left of the previous paint job were some randomly scattered lead-based paint chips hanging on for dear life to the termite-infested redwood. The wooden shingles on the roof were only visible in the few select places that had yet to be patched with plywood scraps and plastic tarps. The front porch sprawled the entire length of the home and leaned forward toward the road in a desperate attempt to detach itself from the rest of the house. It looked as though it would give way at any moment. The stairway leading up to the porch looked equally as unstable. The windows of the house that had yet to be boarded up had been sealed off from the inside with a layer or two of tin foil to ensure that no natural light be permitted entry into the seedy depths. The entire structure could have easily been confused for a condemned squat house.

Moses Baxter was his name.  He appeared to be in his late sixties but was actually much younger. Like his humble abode, Moses had long since given up on the frivolous act of maintaining his appearance.  He always wore the same tacky imitation aviators jacket and worn out mesh trucker hat embellished with the logo of a local bait and tackle shop called "The Master Baiter". His Wrangler blue jeans were holey, washed out and stained with oil. His wardrobe never wavered or changed.

Underneath the oil and dirt his skin was a pasty, pale white. His unkempt beard of sorts wouldn't fill in completely but this didn't stop him from letting it go. He may have never shaved a day in his life but it didn't show. Like his facial hair he never cut or even trimmed his full head of hair but it stayed shoulder length nonetheless with long straggly strands distinguishing themselves from the rest in long greasy clumps. Whenever Moses took off his hat his hair would hang down in front of his face resembling the foliage of a willow tree and his face would appear to lie hidden behind a veil of vines.

Moses chain-smoked Bali Shag hand rolled cigarettes religiously, which added to his dense aroma. The late 70's Toyota pickup truck that he drove was red with a makeshift camper shell rigged to its bed. The oxidized chrome bumper was complete with a faded red, white and blue "These Colors Don't Run" decal. He parked the truck in the middle of the front yard directly in front of the house while the broken down El Camino occupied the space where the gravel driveway had once been.

The backyard fence happened to border the eldest section of the Oak Knoll Cemetery whose inhabitants consisted mostly of early settlers and pioneers to the area who had been laid to rest around the turn of the century. One day Moses' keen entrepreneurial sense along with his tendency to have a periodic glimpse of ambition gave birth to a great plan.  The plan involved the digging of a mine in the crawlspace beneath the house. The mine would lead beneath his own overgrown backyard, out beyond the backyard fence and into the old cemetery. The objective was to exhume the antique caskets from beneath the ground and collect the riches concealed within. The contents of the ancient coffins would no doubt reveal priceless relics in the form of gold watches, rings and other heirlooms. Moses was optimistic regarding the riches he stood to acquire. His financial state and living conditions surely stood to benefit. As soon as his grave mine began to harvest its riches he would no longer be scraping by.

So, Moses begun to dig the mine beneath his house. He used shovels and pick-axes and supported the unstable areas with two by four or whatever else he could find. He piled all the excess dirt inside of the house so as to not attract attention to his top-secret endeavor. He would surely be forced to obtain permits to conduct such an excavation. According to his calculations he only had a distance of about fifty yards to dig before he would reach the first row of coffins.

Moses spent days on end digging his mine. The dirt was fairly easy to excavate with the exception of a section of sand stone here and there and it wasn't too long before his pickaxe was met with the indisputable thump of a semi-hollow pine box.

"Eureka!" Cried Moses.

Moses exhumed the rotten casket and then carefully balanced it atop a rusty wheel barrel and wheeled it back towards the house.  The coffin was a pretty straightforward invention. This particular coffin had been embellished with a few decorative metal frills around the edges but for the most part it was just a simple wooden box. By the time he reached the house the coffin was ready to fall apart. He set it down carefully on the dirt and used a crow bar to pry open the lid.

The tenant was an average size woman wearing a withered dress though she had long ago been reduced to bones. A diamond wedding ring dangled from the bone of her ring finger and she wore a gold chain with a locket around her neck bone. Upon further investigation Moses discovered two gold teeth that he then removed with a pair of pliers. These first earnings would by no means make Moses rich but it was certainly a start. After all there were seemingly endless rows of treasure bearing coffins still waiting to be pillaged. Moses stuffed the woman's remains into the far end of the crawl space and then continued to dig.

The customary layout of graves in a cemetery made excavating the corpses extremely easy. As in most cemeteries the grave plots were basically all in long unified rows with the exception of the family plots in which case the coffins were all conveniently close to one another. In one day Moses could typically retrieve two or three caskets. At the end of each day he would collect their treasure and then discard of the remains in the crawlspace.

Logically, some of the corpses contained more riches than others. Some of the more wealthy ones had been buried with loads of treasure. A ring on each finger, a necklace, a bracelet, earrings. Some even had cash in their pockets. Moses hit it big one day when he stumbled upon a family plot of some sort of Haitian royalty. Their caskets had been stuffed to the brim with a vast array of riches to ensure them a comfortable afterlife. In due time Moses had accumulated quite the collection.

Moses began taking his ore in unsuspicious increments to the pawnshop in town and pretty soon he had more money that he knew what to do with. However, he was not accustomed to having money to spend so the cash was just piling up. Soon he decided it would be wise to spoil himself a bit with some of his hard earned money. Moses bought some new mining supplies including work boots, a new shovel, a new wheel barrel, a pickaxe, some extension chords and light sockets so that his grave mine could be illuminated.  Every month or so he had to rent a dump truck to dispose of all the excess dirt that had piled up in the house. He was even able to sell the dirt to a local landfill.

One day Moses retrieved an unusual casket that was not very old at all and when he pried open the coffin he recognized its inhabitant. It was Henry Gibbons. Moses had gone to high school with him and they had kept in touch in the following years until Henry's death a couple of year's prior. In fact, Moses had even attended the funeral service. Moses stood respectfully silent for a moment or two before coming to the conclusion that Henry wouldn't need his Rolex watch as long as he was dead. So, like he had done so many times before Moses picked through old Henry's remains and then stuffed Henry Gibbons into the crawlspace with all of the other bodies. Moses encountered a close call a week or two later when he ran into Henry's widow at a local bar and she recognized the watch on his wrist. 

"My husband had a watch identical to that one!" Mrs. Gibbons exclaimed.

"Yeah? It's a nice watch." Replied Moses caught a bit off guard.

"Where did you get it?"

"Um, what? Nowhere. I mean I got it from the pawnshop. It's not real. It's just a knock off."

"Well it makes you look handsome none the less." She said smiling.

After that encounter Moses made it a rule of the trade that he would never wear any of his mining finds in public.

Moses' Grave mining success continued to flourish until one dark winter day when the widow Brigham died due to complications of old age. As fate would have it the widow's husband had expired nearly 40 years earlier and was buried in a family plot in the old section of the Oak Knoll cemetery. The trouble was, she was to be buried right beside him. So when the cemetery gravediggers brought in the baco to dig the grave they make a startling discovery. It was at this time that Moses' mine became a tunnel. And to make matters worse the six foot deep hole dug for the widow cause the whole series of tunnels to collapse into the earth leaving rows and rows of perfectly aligned indented earth where the mine had been. When the indent of the collapsed mine led straight into Moses' backyard the perpetrator became obvious.

Moses was arrested and convicted of the crime and sent off to jail. His defense testimony was based on the claim that he was simply conducting an archeological dig in an attempt to quench his compelling interest for local history. His public defender claimed that what Moses had done was really no different than what modern day archeologists do when they uncover an Egyptian tomb filled with treasure but the jury didn't buy the story.

So, Moses lived out the rest of his life all alone in a dingy prison cell. When he died he had himself cremated and placed in a third rate urn but no one ever came and picked him up. To this day he still sits on a cluttered shelf in a crematorium closet collecting dust, waiting to be claimed. 

The Virgin Mary's Bloody Tear

I found an interesting article on the front page of the local newspaper. A statue of the Virgin Mary at a church just outside of Sacramento appeared to have bled a single tear. As a result hundreds of people had apparently begun flocking to the statue to get a glimpse of the holy phenomenon. According to the article people had even been camping out beneath the statue, refusing to leave, sure that another sign from God was on its way. Now, I had read about this kind of thing before. I once read an article about a woman who swore Jesus' face had been burned into a piece of toast, but I had never heard of such a thing happening so close to my home. Therefore I found it my obligation as both a nosey bystander and a tourist of sorts to go have a look for myself.

The church was located about fifty miles away from my hometown and I had a feeling my directions may have been faulty so I was a little concerned that I might get lost trying to find the Virgin. But when I reached the vicinity of the church I realized that I couldn't have missed it if I had tried. The whole two-lane country road was jammed with fanatic soul seekers trying to get a glimpse of God. There were even police officers on hand to help direct the traffic. It was a mob scene. I parked down the road a ways, in order to avoid sitting in the traffic and then proceeded to hike in to the madness.

Sure enough, as I approached the statue of the Virgin Mary I too noticed a single blood red tear dripping down her left cheek. My first impression was that the tear actually seemed to suit her well seeing as she had such a depressed look on her face. She stood on a pedestal well above the crowd holding a cross in one hand. Now, why the mother of Christ would be holding an object symbolizing the gruesome death of her only son boggles me a bit but I try not to question these things, a task that would become more difficult in the proceeding moments.

There were people everywhere preying and crying. Some were blabbering all kinds of crazy languages and speaking in tongues. Some of the pilgrims had left offerings in the form of letters, candles and flowers. There were even wheelchairs and crutches that had been left by crippled onlookers who had apparently been cured of their ailments by the depressed virgin.

What struck me though was the amount of faith that these people had. I mean, these people honestly believed that this slab of cement in the shape of the Virgin Mary had cried blood? First of all, if this particular slab of concrete did harbor the soul of Jesus' mom, why would she cry blood instead of just a regular tear? Who cries blood? Sounds like some sort of weird disorder. Seems a little grotesque unless it was not a tear at all but that her eye had actually been wounded. If that was the case maybe someone should have brought her a band-aid. And why just a single tear? If she was so damn sad why not just bawl away? And if she was really trying to give these people some sort of sign why not just get right up off of her pedestal, come down and embrace all of her loyal followers who had journey from far and wide to come see her? Surely she could at least say something! But no, she just stood there with the same blank stare on her face, a single bloody tear staining her cheek.

The weird thing was that I found myself a bit envious of all these people bowing to this particular slab of concrete. This whole bleeding Mary thing just seemed to further solidify these people's beliefs. Now they had seen it with their own eyes! Never again would they have a doubt. I mean they were really getting something out of this experience and I was just standing there amazed that such a large group of people could fall for such a prank. I hate to sound pessimistic or closed minded but am I the only one who realizes how easy it would be for some trickster to climb up to the statue and put the bloody tear on the poor virgins face?

A month or two later I happened to drive by the church and found that the statue had been removed. The Catholic Church probably came and picked her up so that she could undergo some experiments to validify the bloody tear. She had probably been shipped off to some underground lab. Or maybe she finally decided that one measly little tear didn't do it for her any more, climbed down and just walked away. Either way, the crowd was gone and there was nothing left but an empty pedestal where the ill-tempered Mary had once stood. It was at that point that I decided it was my deed as a good semaratin to grant more people with a gift of unwavering faith. Anything I could do to help these people out.

So, when I got back home that day I went to the butcher shop and bought some pigs blood. Then I proceeded down to the Catholic Church by my house, which also accommodates a statue of the Virgin Mary. When I got to the church I dripped a single bloody tear from her left eye and then left feeling a sense of accomplishment because I myself had carried out a sacred deed. People would flock to the statue and have their faith rekindled by this single drip of pig's blood. The crippled would come and be cured. It was the least I could do to help more people strengthen their faith in God.

I slept well that night, feeling proud until the next day when I awoke and rushed to find the local newspaper where the headline read, "Trickster plays sick joke, vandalizes the Virgin with pigs blood." Was I missing something?

On the Telephone

On March 6, 1876, Alexander Bell invented the telephone.
The following year some irritating asshole invented the ring.
The convenience of telephonic communications needs not explaining -
the advantage is obvious.
It is the inconvenience of one annoying and interruptive ring of the
telephone that falls just short of Japanese water torture.
The telephone is without a question one of the greatest inventions of
all time.
It's ring however is undoubtedly the worst.

Machines Have Feelings Too

In America, there are approximately 20 million snack and candy vending machines, 30 million soda pop vending machines, and a whole assortment of others, making up a total of approximately fifty million vending machines alive and well living it towns all across this great country. Vending machines make up a surprisingly good part of our economy. In fact, vending machines have been serving this country for over one hundred years, offering goods such as, cigarettes, newspapers, magazines, snacks, candy, gum balls, stamps, envelopes, disposable cameras, batteries, pornography, maps, condoms, fake plastic jewelry, stickers, decals, temporary tattoos. The list goes on and on…and what, you ask does this all mean? Well, assuming that each machine is working 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, It would take about three people working full time to do the job of one machine and with 7 million machines well, that's a lot of people, 21 million people to be exact.

 

The problem I am having however is that I still see many avenues that have yet to be traveled. Think about all the aspects of retail that have yet to benefit from the convienience of vending machines and think of all the vending machines being cheated out of work. There are many retail positions that could easily be given to vending machines. How about a vending machine pharmacy. Then none of the pharmacists would have to go to work! How about a vending machine that offers psychiatric advice. Given the current state of the nations depression epidemic, it would be a hit! We could have one on every corner. I want to be able to get a sirloin steak and some mashed potatoes from a goddamn vending machine! Or how about an antique dresser. How about a vending machine pet store where you can get all of your pet accessories. Heck, I want to be able to get a full-grown Great Dane out of a goddamn vending machine. Lets face it. Americans need to demand the opportunity for vending machines to flourish.

 

Another dillema that I am currently facing is the fact that not only do we not give machines the chance to perform to their full potencial but that vending machines don't get nearly enough credit for all of their hard work. I mean, how many times have you seen someone get frustrated and kick a vending machine? Come on. No ones perfect. Machines make mistakes too. When was the last time you said "thank you" to the vending machine when it promptly sent your soda pop rummaging down its chutes? That's what I thought. I feel it is my duty to take a stand and speak out for vending machines. Rage against the machine? Fuck that! Praise the machine. Vending machines save 21 million people from having to wake up and go to work. 

Diary of my Death

Sunday, November 18^th 2007

I woke up dead this morning. I must have expired some time during the night. So, I put on my pants, a t-shirt, my hoodie, my boots and headed off right through the ceiling. I spent an hour or two just flying aimlessly around town. Then I flew up really high for a while until I could see the curvature of the earth. It was beautiful! Then I flew over my old school and the park where I use to play. I flew right down 2nd street and over the tops of all the old buildings down town. It was cool 'cause I could see all of the buildings from a different perspective. I never got such a good view of the town while I was alive. I flew over the river and its banks and over the toolies and wetland down by the shipyard. I spent the whole day exploring rooftops and treetops and returned home late in the evening, exhausted. When I got home my body and my cigarettes were nowhere to be found. Come to find out, after I left, my brother discovered my body and of course had to call the coroners to come and hall me off. So, by the time I got home my body was gone and my brother had smoked all my cigarettes.

 

Monday, November 19^th

This morning I woke up and headed off through the ceiling again. I didn't really want to hang around the house seeing as it was all depressing due to my unexpected death and all. My family all stayed home and mourned my tragic death. Before I left for the day I noticed that some friendly neighbor left a cute little bouquet of flowers on the front porch. It was really nice of them. So anyway, once again I lurked around in the sky, exploring people's backyards, peaking through windows and sneaking around places that I wouldn't normally be aloud. Then I went by the Higgins family mortuary down on "A" Street and found my body. I figured that's where I'd be. I'd been to funerals there before. It's kind of a creepy place. I kinda wish I hadn't seen my body because it didn't look so good. I was all embalmed and sort of disfigured. They had my head all propped up weird in the coffin and it made my neck look really big like some sort of body builders or something. I never liked myself in make-up so it was weird seeing my face all dolled up and painted on. It was caked all over my face and I was still all pale looking. I don't think the mortuary guy did a very good job. I didn't stick around the mortuary too long because it was kind of a downer. Oh, my casket was pretty nice though. It seemed comfortable. It was all solid oak with fancy metal handles, a little cramped by nice non the less.

 

Tuesday, November 20^th

Today I received an interesting E-mail. It was mostly legal mumbo jumbo crap regarding my death and my plans for the future and all. So I skimmed through it and then signed at the bottom. Then it asked me if I wanted to subscribe to the monthly newsletter and I figured it would be a good idea to be informed and updated on my options as a newly dead guy. Then it gave me a list of options. I could do all kinds of cool stuff. I had no idea! I was particularly flattered to find that I could apply to be accepted into heaven. However, I assume it's kinda hard to get in. I was really just proud that I was even considered to be eligible. Also, not so surprisingly, I found that I am eligible to go to Hell as well. The option that interested me the most though, was to just stick around town and be a ghost. I could just hang out and haunt wherever I want! This seemed like the ideal plan for me. I like my home. The earth is pretty good place to be. I can just stick around and not have anything to worry about. I don't got to worry about eating because dead people don't eat. I don't gotta work. I don't got wake up at any specific time. I can go to any store and get anything I want. Dead people don't have to pay for stuff. But best of all, no one ever talks bad about me. Everyone just remembers all of the good times and praises and talks about what a great person I was. It's really great.

 

Wednesday, November 21^st

Today was my funeral. I was really amazed at everyone who showed up. I wished someone would a thrown a party like this before I'd died. I didn't even know some of the people there and everyone was all sad. Everyone said how they missed me so much and all. I saw a ton of people that I hadn't seen in a long time. They were all sobbing and giving each other hugs. Then they all formed a long line so that everyone could get a good look at my dead body all propped up in the casket. This took quite a while, do to the large amount of people who wished for one last glimpse at the guest of honor. Following my funeral service was my burial. So everyone caravanned with those cool bright orange funeral stickers on their windshields, down 18^th street to Oak Knoll Cemetery. Some weird looking priest dude said a few kind words that he had memorized and then they lowered my casket into the ground. After my burial there was a reception at the Ides Hall on Tenth street. It was pretty cool. A few of my musician friends sang songs with their guitars and everyone just hung out and ate catered Mexican food. It's kinda funny, all these years I spent being afraid of death and here it is and it's not that bad at all. In fact, it's kinda fun. It's certainly a hell of a lot less stressful. I'm beginning to think I should have died much sooner.

 

Thursday, November 29^th (One week later)

I was never that good at keeping a diary so it's no wonder that I've neglected you for the past week. I've just been busy getting situated and all. Things have been going pretty well for the most part. Though, I think I may be suffering from some sort of post-traumatic death syndrome. The family is doing much better though. In fact, my death seems to have brought them closer to each other. The world seems to have gone on and back to normal without me in it. It's just that I'm beginning to wish I had made a bigger impact. I wish I had made it into the history books. Next time I will try harder. Next time I'll do whatever it takes. I never really thought being a ghost would get boring. I mean, I'm invisible and I can fly around! What could be better? I guess everything gets old after a while. I've been getting a bit lonely. I have been exploring a lot of really cool places though. Maybe I will go to Hell for the weekend. See if I can't run into any old friends. I think it might be nice to have some company. Anyway, I'll be fine. These things just take time and that's one thing that I have plenty of.

 

Monday, December 2^nd

Whoo! Who! I went to Hell this past weekend and it was great! Now I'm just recovering. I've got one hell of a hang over and an awful sunburn, but it was great to get out and socialize. It was a bit hectic. Hell is one crowded place. I mean it is packed down there. There were a bunch of pirates, some serial killers and politicians. Even Jesus kicks it in Hell. It seems heaven was a little too uptight and he hadn't been getting along with his dad after the whole crucifixion thing. I had a long conversation with Hitler who was a bit resentful. He told me that the holocaust was not his idea at all and that George Bush was to blame. He said that the history books have put a serious damper on his reputation. Anyway, Hell was a crowded place. Just the line to get in took three and half hours! It was a good time though. This Thursday Heaven is having an opened house for dead people who may be interested in inhabiting Heaven. For a small fee you can get a guided tour so I think I may check it out since I'm eligible and all.

 

Thursday, December 5^th

I visited Heaven today. It turns out everyone who dies gets the same admissions pamphlet that I received. So, I guess I'm not all that special after all. All dead people are aloud to apply to go to Heaven and it's surprisingly easy to get accepted. However, when I got there it wasn't nearly as cool as I had expected. For one, I never really liked gated communities. The whole pearly gate thing just seems a bit pretentious to me. Also, it seems to be incredibly boring, as though nothing exciting ever happens. There are way too many rules and it is a very lonely place. Business is slow and it's pretty much deserted. Apparently the recruiters have been having a hell of a time trying to get people to attend. So anyway, I don't think I'll be filling out the application. It's not so bad just haunting around town and I can always visit Hell if I feel like I need some excitement.

 

Saturday, December 7^th

I've just been hanging around the house mostly. I go out a couple times a day and fly around town for a while. I've been trying to spook people but haven't had much luck yet. Apparently I'm not a very scary ghost. I'll have to work on it. I visited my grave yesterday. They finally installed my headstone. It's pretty nice. Nothing too fancy or anything just a simple slab of shiny granite. I like my plot. It's under the shade of a big oak tree and it's far away from the road. I didn't spend much time in the cemetery though because I had to get home in time to check my E-mail. I'm expecting an invitation to a party in South Lake Hell this weekend. Could be fun.

 

Monday, December 9^th

I scared the shit out of some kids today in the toy store at the mall! I hadn't much luck in my prior attempts so this time I decided to bring a prop. I looked around the garage and found an on old chain that I figured might do the trick. Then I flew down to the mall and hid out in the toy store waiting for my prey.  Two young kids, a boy and a girl approached the action figure isle where I was hiding and I saw my chance. I started rattling the chain and moaning all scary like. Then I got about two feet from the little girl and yelled "Get out!!! Ha, ha, ha" in the deepest voice I could manage. Holy cow! I never saw a pair of kids so terrified! They ran like the wind! After that I went back home feeling proud and looking forward to having a good story to tell all my buddies down in Hell.

 

Sometime in January (I think)

I've been dead for a while now. I recently stopped keeping track of time because it seemed kinda pointless. I also don't think I am gonna keep writing in this here diary any longer. I've settled in to a quite nice routine and simply don't have the time to catalogue all of the great things I am doing. I hope the reader will understand.  There is simply not enough time in eternity for me to do everything that I want to do.  Life on earth is sorta like being in the womb compared to the wonders of being dead. The living just spend all their time running around in circles dreaming up wild theories and analogies for something that is so simple and really needs no explaining. The living Albert Einstein was stupider than the stupidest mentally retarded dead person.  Anyway, I'm starting to ramble and there is much to be done. This is Scott Allbright signing out. Xo.

My Book Introduction

I'm a really good writer. In fact I'm a natural. I'm actually good at a lot of things but this is not the time, nor the place to discuss all of my talents. Such an endeavor would take way too much space and since this is a book of short stories I intend to keep the introduction brief as well.

Being so smart and creative has not always been easy. In fact, it has often worked against me. Sometimes I find myself wishing there was something that I wasn't so good at. Sometimes I feel like the only thing I'm not good at is being not good at stuff. It's kind of weird. In grade school I was so misunderstood that my teachers often failed me. I suppose they felt threatened to have such a smart student on their hands. Like most literary geniuses and great artists I had a difficult time making friends because I was so far above all of my peers. Social situations became difficult because all the girls had crushes on me but all the boys had understandably grown jealous of my gift. I didn't bother getting a high school diploma because I had much bigger and better things to focus on. Becoming the greatest literary mind of the 21^st century was just one of my many aspirations which I will not bother elaborating on at this time for fear of sounding boastful or arrogant, but as I think I mentioned before I'm pretty much really, really good at everything.

To the overambitious reader, please don't bother criticizing or critiquing this text. To search for imperfections will be a waste of time. If you happen to stumble upon any mistakes in the form of punctuation or gramatical errs you can rest assured that they were put there intentionally to spice up the story. If at any time it seems anything to be wrong worded or seem to doesn't make sense it's clearly just way over your head. Please, don't be hard on yourself. Everyone has their weak points. I just happened to have been born without any.

Also, for the sake of the reader I will do my best to refrain from using too many long ostentatious, excuse me "fancy" words. I can assure you that I have dedicated a great deal of time making sure that the following stories and essays have been written in laymen's terms so that (you) the reader will be able to follow. Like many writers I am often forced to use a thesaurus during the editing process. My use of a thesaurus however greatly differs from that of the common folk in that unlike most writers I use it as a tool to find easier, more commonplace words to replace my highly advanced arsenal of bad-ass words. Also, for the reader's convenience, I had my chief editor read over and revise much of the following text in an attempt to tone down my naturally sophisticated grammar and intellect. The result; a timeless and epic collection of literary composition far exceeding the creativity and intellect of any author to date. You can rest assured that what you are currently reading and what you are about to read is grade A literature at its finest and you will be a much better person having read it.

Funeral Invitation

GREETINGS!!!

You have been invited to my funeral!

Please R.S.V.P.    A.S.A.P.

Come say goodbye to me!

There is not nearly enough room on this invitation to list all of the wonderful things that I have done up to this point in my life. Nor, is there enough room to include all of the bad things…but I will say that I meant well (for the most part) and I reckon I will be missed by a few of you. There will be a reception directly following my burial where you can enjoy drinks and other condiments as well as some of the best Mexican food north of Antarctica brought to you by Pittsburg California's own New Mecca Cafe.

Hope to see you there!

Time, Date and Place to be announced.

To R.S.V.P. Please call:

925-325-2984 (unless stated otherwise at a later date

With Love, Scott Allbright

American Hate Each Other

It's Columbus Day, October 11th 2004,

Everything is going quite fine until I merge onto the highway and find myself surrounded by a thousand drooling, scowling, glossy-eyed creatures steering vehicles this way and that, on a pilgrimage to some aimless destination. I rub my eyes, look again and realize that I am completely surrounded by Americans. I begin to panic. I hide behind my steering wheel but I'm sure they can see me. I'm trying to stay calm but it's like the Nascar Indi-500 headed north on Highway-fucking-Four. I've got a monster truck on my ass and all I can see is its "Super Swamper" mud tires in my rear view mirror. There's a beat up Ford Pinto, cutting me off from the left and I know that if I happen to rear-end the primered piece of shit it will explode because I just so happened to be up at three thirty in the morning to see that episode of "Corporate Crime Fighters". I've got stretch fucking limozines on both sides and some sort of unidentified flying object closing in from above.

Just when I begin to lose all hope of making it out alive I make out a voice through the commotion. Where is it coming from? The clouds? Is it god? Where the hell is that coming from? Then the voice becomes clear…

 

Hey there, Chris Columbus here.

Just here to remind you that…

You are an American.

Calvin's pissing on you.

He's on your ass.

He's honking.

He's swerving.

He's flipping you off.

He's driving like a complete asshole.

He's got naked lady mudflaps, a gun rack and a "Fear This" decal stretched clear across his back window and the only way to get his attention is to crash your shitty car into the median, fly through your mildly tinted windshield and under the wheels of a hundred barging big rigs. In which case he will slow down so that he can sneak a peak at your dead dilapidated body sprawled out upon the highway satisfied because now he can return home with something interesting to talk about over supper with his wife and kids who will grow up to be just like him.

Good morning America!

Yes folks!

We have a beautiful day ahead of us with highs, lows and absolutely nothing in between.

Oh say can't you see?

Wake up and smell the fumes.

United we stand?

Stick a boot in your ass.

Americans hate each other.

Rueben the Vegan Mountain Lion

Once upon a time there was a ferocious mountain lion named Rueben. Rueben loved to hang out with his mountain lion buddies and climb mountains, but more than anything Rueben loved to eat, and his favorite meal you ask? Well, people of course! Yes sir, Rueben loved to eat people. Big ones, small ones, fat ones, skinny ones, old ones, baby ones... Rueben didn't care. He loved to eat all people. He wasn't prejudice like some mountain lions.

As Rueben reached young adulthood his poor eating habits began to take thier toll. Rueben became more and more overwieght and unhealthy. He found less time to go out and climb mountains for exercise and the quality of human meat was clearly on the decline. Humans fed on things like pork and beans and nacho cheese french fries and fast food. So as you can probably guess, eating all of those unhealthy people began to take their toll on the strapping young mountain lion. Rueben was faced with the inevitable truth that he may need to change his eating habits. Which was a bit hard for Rueben to swallow. He had been eating people his whole life.

One day while Rueben was hunting downtown he came across two vegan kids having an intellectual conversation outside of the independent record store. As they got up to leave Rueben followed them around the corner and then snagged one of them and quickly scarfed it down. Rueben returned home to his cave on a full stomach, just like he had so many times before. That night while he lay in bed Rueben noticed something different in the way he felt. Like a burdon had been lifted off of him. The vegan meat didn't necessarily taste as good but it was surely much healthier. Rueben was amazed at how good he felt. He felt much more energized and morally correct than he had in a very long time.

The next day, Rueben returned downtown to find some more vegans to eat. It wasn't long before he ran into a few vegans having an intellectual conversation outside of the thrift store. Once again Rueben picked one off, scarfed it down and returned home feeling even better than before.

The next day Rueben left his cave once again in search for some more vegan. It wasn't long before Rueben found his prey engaging in an intellectual conversasion outside of the vintage clothing store. Once again Rueben fullfilled his craving and returned home feeling better than ever. That night when all the mountain lions gathered Rueben decided it was time to let his fellow mountain lions in on his new discovery.

Soon Rueben's whole crew became vegan eaters. Mountain lions from other mountains caught on to the new trend. Mountain lions everywhere were turning onto the vegan way of living. Vegan mountain lions became the focal point of the mountain lion counter-culture. You were basically like, totally not cool if you were a mountain lion and you didn't uphold a strict vegan diet. Oh, how mountain lions love vegan meat!

Now one could only assume that the human vegan population would begin to decline form the mountain lions and thier strict vegan diets but like the mountain lion population, the human vegan population was on the rise as well. Soon, vegan markets were sprouting up, vegan café's and coffee shops. It became hip for humans to be vegan and the more vegans there were the more vulnerable they became because they all hung out in obvious places and not only that but they all began to look and act the same. All the vegans had really hip clothes and they all acted as if they were really intelligent and intellectual. They would use really fancy words like "obsequious" and "Sardonic" Most of them played in bands or at least had friends that were in bands so they were all really creative and artistic which made them pretty easy to pick out of a crowd. The best vegans however, were often hard to find because they all hung out on the underground. They went to the art galleries and clubs that no one else knew about and they didn't conform to the latest trends. These vegans were a true delicacy.

As time went by and the vegan meat market gained more and more popularity, Rueben and his mountain lion buddies perfected theirmeans of obtaining vegan meat. They would go out on friday nights and round up all the vegans that they could find. They would wait outside of thier band practices and the coffee houses (No, not the corperate ones!). Then they would take the vegans back to their caves and store all the vegans in tiny little cages and feed them Boca burgers and tofu salami.

Now, as you probably guessed the vegan diet was an enormouse success amongst mountain lions everywhere. Rueben lived out his life as the goddfather of vegans. He formed a highly publicised non-profit organization called "The Vegan Eating Mountain Lion Accociation" or V.E.M.A whose goal was to increase public awareness regarding the benefits of eating vegans in an attempt to convert more mountain lions to veganism. Rueben even published a highly renouned and widely circulated guide book entitled "How To Spot A Vegan". He led campains, passed out pamplets and spoke at seminars in caves all across the land. To this very day Rueben is remembered as one of the hippest mountain lions in all the mountains of the world.

 

(The following is an excerpt from Rueben the vegan mountain lions book entitled "The Best Ways to Spot a Vegan" …)

There are currently two main types of vegans. There's hippi vegan and the scenester vegan. The hippi vegans hide is typically that of dirty flannels, corduroys…They often have long dirty hair sometimes matted and divided up into large rope like strands. Sometimes they will have an overgrown beard. The convenient thing about hippi vegans is that sometimes a mountain lion will not have to stray far from home in order to pick one off because they like to hike in the mountains.

The scenester vegan on the other hand often wears tight fitted pants and V neck t-shirts two sizes too small. They will most likely have deliberately messed up hair. They often can be found wearing messenger bags and riding their fixed gear road bikes around town.  They will often hang their keys on a little carabineer from one of their belt loops. Some have tattoos and piercings. The more well off or classy scenester vegans will often wear pea coats and scarves in the winter. It is important to note that many times the scenester vegans and the hippi vegans will intertwine. Living together in art galleries and warehouses.

It is very important that you pay close attention to any changes in the appearance of vegans, as vegans tend to stay on the cutting edge of the current trends. Being up to date with the style of the day is a very important asset to a vegan and can make their detection more difficult due to its state of constant change. Good luck and may your vegan lifestyle suit you well!

 

The Time I was Cheated Out Of Fame and Glory (A True Story)

I've decided to come forward and make public an incident that occurred to me a while back regarding the discovery of a dead body on the river. After giving the subject a great deal of thought and consideration I've determined it to be worth my while to write out a detailed account of the incident as I experienced it. I can only hope that the local law enforcement don't find my testimony to be an annoyance or a threat to their top-secret investigation, for they'll surely track me down and skin me alive. If I do happen to mysteriously disappear one could rest assured that I'd not be returning.   

 

So, it all began when me and a close friend of mine whose name I will not disclose for his protection were hanging out down on the river preparing for a grand excavation of some antique bottles that would hopefully lay buried somewhere on the river bank. As a self-proclaimed archeologist of sorts this particular spot seemed like a good place to begin the dig. Back in the late 1800's the old shipyard had its warf in the vicinity and you know those old shipmen and sailors didn't recycle all their bottles. Nope. They through some of 'em into the river, which meant the bottles were still there over a century later, buried in the delta mud and waiting to be found. Also, this particular part of the river bank lay upon private property making it not as excessable to the law obiding explorer. So, if everything went as planned and my calculations deemed themselves correct this would  be the place where we'd make our millions and uncover the mother lode of antique bottles. Yes sir, it was here that we were to begin our dig. However, the excavation was barely under way when I noticed something suspicious near the riverbank. There, wedged between two slabs of concrete, under some old delapitated walkway lay an awful sight of some sort. Some sort of bloated carcass all mangled, half decomposed and tangled up in rope. I might'a mistaken it for some sort of obscure river weed or one of those styrofoam boays that tend to wash up, until the breeze picked itself up and greeted me with the unignorable scent of death. Nothing's quite as disturbing and offensive as the smell of rotting flesh on the banks of a dirty river. One good whiff of that god-awful stench was enough to gag a hearse horse on month long trek through the Nevada desert.

So, we decided to investigate at once, from a safe distance that is, but it was hard to get a good look at the poor specimen do to it's awful smell and its position in space. In an attempt to identify the mistery meat we began to ponder the possibilities. On account of it's shape and size we could clearly tell that it warn't a cat or a fish or a dog and a seal wouldn't swim this far upstream. It looked to be about the size of a human being and in fact greatly resembled the upper torso of one. Still, we were fully aware of our ignorance on the subject of dead bodies having never seen a partially decomposed, weather worn, water logged human carcass such as the one that now seemed to be laying before us, but we reckoned this is what one might'a looked like. Whatever it was, it had been alive and now it was dead, and pretty damn dead at that. In further examining our mysterious discovery and after brainstorming all of the far-fetched possibilities that our naive minds could dream up, the other possibilities deemed themselves unworthy and our doubt diminished until at last we were left with but one conclusion. We'd stumbled upon a genuine dead human body.

Given the current state of our new aqaintence I reckon it'd been there for a week or two rotting on the muddy banks. It became apparent at once however, that we weren't the first to discover the remains, for the flies and other hungry river insects had gotten there a good while before us.

 

Now, one can only begin to imagine the exitment deriving from such a discovery. The fame and fortune seemed inevitable. We'de surely be the talk of the town. The girls would go to war amongst each other. We'd have to line them up in an orderly fashion and chose which ones we wanted to go out with. Our male peers wouldn't praise us though. No, they would grow jealous of our good luck. So jealous that thier envy'd keep them up at night. They'd lie awake wishing that they had been the lucky ones to uncover such a treasure. And once the press caught on to the masterpiece the police department would have to hold a special press conference at which time the police officers would each give speeches where they'd praise us for our honesty and bravery and tell the public how the world would be a much better place if there were more people like us in it. Then we'd get a plaque or maybe a statue dedicated to us in a park somewhere and there would of course be streets named after us throughout the town. Maybe even an avenue or a boulevard. Hell, they may as well just make a holiday out of the incident to stand as a monument to the bravery that we so couragiously displayed on that faithful day. Yes sir, life as mangy, insignifigant river kids was lost and gone forever. We'de be regarded as heroes from now on.

 

So, after taking a few pictures with my camera and poking it with a stick we decided that it was our duty as good responsible samaritans to call the local law enforcement and let them have a look. In almost any other situation I'da refrained from dealing with the law on mere principle but this was clearly an exception. It was the only way we were gonna get the recognition that we diservered for being the ones to discover the thing, and besides, someone might'a seen us hopping the fence with the shovel and then they'd probably assume we were the ones who'd dumped the damn thing. So, we ditched our muddy shovel, called the cops collect from a payphone and waited on the other side of the fence for 'em to show up. And when they did there were three of 'em. A rookie, a woman, and a seargent or a luitenant or something, whom I've since done the honor of naming officer Honcho, for the sake of the story.

 

The officers asked us to show 'em where to go and we led 'em back over the fence and out onto the point where the lonely specimen lay rotting. When we got there Honcho sent the rookie in to investigate with a flashlight and a pair of rubber gloves. Once he fully emerged himself into the watery grave he had a hell of a time trying to get a good look at the thing. He fumbled around for about five minutes before he said,

"I think it's a bird...(a pause)

No, I'm sure it's a bird...

Whatever it is, it's got feathers."

But Honcho was not at all satisfied with the explanation of his young apprentice because then he ordered him to pull out a feather and bring it back up top. A minute later the rookie emerged with a chunk of HAIR! And I mean Human looking hair! We took a deep breath of unfresh air and took a few steps back while Honcho took control of the situation and went in to have a look for himself. After meeting with the dead thing for a minute or two Honcho started having doubts about whether he could bring the poor thing back to life. He ordered the rookie to escort us back to the boat launch parking lot and wait for further instructions. So, we went back up top and sat down by the fence for a couple minutes and in a little while the female officer approached. After taking down all of our info on a little cue card she thanked us for doing such a great job at reportin' the incident and assured us that we'd done the right thing and fullfilled our duty as citizens and all. Then she told us that they warn't sure if the remains were human or not, but that they probably weren't and that it be better to not jump to any conclusions. She praised us one last time for displaying such responsible conduct, we thanked her for being so nice and she sent us on our way...

 

But we didn't leave. We hid in the blackberry and poisoned oak bushes on the river bank downstream and watched the cops excavate the stinkin' corps out of the rubble and into a goddamn body bag. We sat there for an hour and a half watching the coroners and the detectives poke around the premises with all their little gadgets, tying police tape all over the place and putting little markers over every piece of garbash in sight to use as evidence. They enclosed the whole area, blockaded the road and everything. When we finally did leave the scene the body had been taken away in some sort of police van and the last of the detectives were left millowing around the place searching for more clues and such. We left in a scuffle, snuck up the river bank and followed the train tracks and the trestle back towards town with our muddy shovel and made our getaway safe and sound, as quiet as we'd come.

 

Nothing to my knowledge has been printed or reported regarding any of these occurrences other than the story which you have just read. My accomplise and I have yet to recieve any of the credit that we so obviously disserve for finding that body. Our heroism has gone completeley unnoticed. As of now the public and media have yet to be informed of any of this, which just proves that those stingy police officers have no respect for entertainment value even when it's for the good of the community. Anyway, I can't just sit back and let them have such an exciting story all to themselves while a whole town of inocent civilians are left in the dark, consumed in the day to day repatition and totally unaware that interesting stuff is happening just outside thier screan doors but is being concealed and locked away by greedy law enforcement only to be forgotten amongst the vast array of wasted entertainment floating downstream.

Upon telling this story to some aquaintences a friend of mine responded by telling me that my story greatly resembles or reminds him of a novel by some horror writer, Steven Queen (McKing) I think his name is. Anyway, he said they made a pretty good movie based on the book called "Stand Behind Me" or something like that. The difference is that Mr. Queen's story is made up and mine is not. As far fetched as all of this might seem I can assure you that this story is true and is written word for word as I experienced it. If you don't believe it then it is you who has suffered and it is a shame that you have such little faith in the human race as to think that I'd make such a thing up.