SERMON IN THE GARBAGE HEAP

My name is Jesse Jesus Sock and I’m a prophet out of my own head. God lives inside my skull. Not your skull. Only mine.

Ain’t you the dude who predicted the end of World War II fifty years after it happened?

Don’t call me dude or any other. Do not ever say that word again!

I won’t. Please do not bathe me in fire!

Oh… Alright.  Not THIS time. Okay, Okay… Stop sucking my fingers.  I fucked up the World War II prophecy. I was seven years old when I intoned that revelation. 

When I was seven years old I could dunk a basketball.

When you were seven you still licked the snot off your sister’s face. Time Fucking Magazine  said I was brilliant, articulate, and wrong.

[General Laughter]

Piss on a rug! Drink yourself to death! Decapitate your neighbor as yourself!

Hooo!  Yooo! Gag! Spit! (and so forth)

Alright, settle down.  They call me the Revelator! I never asked for this honorific, I crawled on my knees begging for it. You see, I don’t have a brain in my head. Artistic talent have I not and I tried them all.

Hey, Mr. Bathe in the Ganges Man. What effect is the plague having on the children?

The children.

Our precious ones

Weep, weep!

You hate your children.  I hate them, too. You flatter yourselves into thinking that your parenting has molded them in anything other than nasty deceiving dung beetles.

Your influence over them stops at age ten when they gotcha down cold. Now some parents think a simple family is not good enough. They want to form a cult with their offspring. the Cult of the Fishers, or the Westovals, or the Shmucks. The Iscariots.  Mold them into fat, fighting, farting, cocksuckers!

Greasy, undersexed, pussy rats!

Lead men into battle.You think any of them went to ‘Nam

Ha, ha. Fuck no!

My mommy sucked cocks. In the Navy.

Crucify them!

That’s the spirit! Crucify these people. That’ll shape them up.

Look, I got hours of fresh Japanese porn to review. Chippy the Child Molester and Creepy Pete will be around to collect your free will offerings.

Next week, bring your goddamn friends. If you don’t have any, make them up. Tie them up and drag them here. Revenue! I need revenue!

INTERNATIONAL RUB DUB from They are Riddles, Lady, So Forget the Others

From Void an Image bleats drools scorches

hands and cracking over me my skin muscle and bone mashed to blobber

(aching melodies up and down the chalky road then spreads over the Fields of Ribs)

Pay your fat + fee and leave out – She spies my car and giggles toward it


— her knotted rope back to the Apollonian Wheel She studies her own myth – not mine, nary, no. There is no there –

VOID

Butterfly makes skull a home slapping innerside my thoughts or some such

dives into pink and green

the lights blinkered syncopathlicly and

nearly wander the planet home.

Is Today Tuesday?

Ran into Eddie Poe on Oyster Blvd this morning. Looked a little peaked.

“She told me she was 25. Today the cops told me she was 11! Can’t trust anyone. I’ve learned my lesson: I’m changing brands of whiskey.”

He unleashed a graveyard of filthy language. Brrr. Just getting over it. Ever locked in a room with someone screaming obscenities in rapid-fire sequence? Well, have you? You either have or you haven’t.

Chaos drives the Universe.  It lives in Cave 34B on Mt. Everest, Tibet. It’s a lovely but stark apartment decorated with the skin and bones of fools who have tried to run it down and destroy it. Or reform it. 

Chaos is never-ending. To wit, there’s a mile-wide asteroid heading toward Earth right this second. It’s due to hit earth Christmas morning at 3:00 CST. No doubt it will pound the planet down to its constituent subatomic particles.

Nobody has told Trump yet. Don’t. He’ll blame Obama, Clinton, Rocky the Flying Squirrel – I don’t want to hear it.

What’s good End of the World music?

Lordy, Lordy, Was I a lousy waiter!

 

Why did you choose the restaurant where I worked at that particular time?  A few seconds earlier or later, you would have been safe. But Fate dropped the piano on your head, and you drew me as your waiter. Forty-five minutes later you tore headlong shrieking from that restaurant, and you never trusted another human being again.

People tell me: please, Lousy, stop with the caterwauling already. It’s been over fifty years. Does shame have a statute of limitations? Not in my soul.

1) Once I held back an order for seven clients on a busy Saturday night. They had to wait an hour before they received their food. A member of that party followed me into kitchen, a class E felony by the way. He cursed me, a 22-year boy just 19 years out of diapers because he couldn’t grind his teeth on a hefty slab of prime rib, which wasn’t good for him anyway with all that fat.

He was about fifty years old so he’s probably dead now. Or he’s over one hundred, which is unlikely given his eating habits.

They left me a stick of gum for a tip.

2) I refused to do my “side work”. Which is what? That’s cleaning up your station for the next shift: filling the ketchup bottles, folding napkins, cleaning out the johns, polishing doorknobs, sweeping up the dead rats, menial tasks designed keep me from bugging out and getting drunk.

Nobody ever told me about “side work”, and I was trained by Janice at the Holiday Inn West. She was a lovely woman with two small children and an idiot for a husband. She’s probably in her nineties.

The other servers reprimanded me severely because of my shortcoming, and I kicked and cursed at them. They all died horrible deaths before they were fifty, but I had nothing to do with any of them

3) I poured a bottle of Coca Cola down a woman’s back. Accidently, of course.

Back then, when a client ordered a Coke, you carried an open bottle with a glass of ice on a cocktail tray to the client’s table.  You would then place the glass on the table to the right of the client, fill the glass with the beverage, then put the bottle next to the glass.

You are not supposed to allow the bottle to fall on the tray, thereby spilling the liquid on the back of a female client who happened to be wearing a backless dress.

You can get away with it once. Just don’t make it a habit.

The client arched her back as the Coke dribbled down her naked spine, and she had the most comical look on her face, an exaggerated aggggggh. She was hamming it up, but I had the good sense not to tell her so.

Luckily, she was a guest at the hotel so she could change into another dress. She and her party were good sports. I’d say she was around twenty-five years old at the time, which puts her in her mid-seventies today.

They tipped me two sticks of gum.

Corrosive Verbal Acid Poured Down the Throat of the Squatter-in-Chief

Trump fails to grasp the danger of the coronavirus pandemic because nobody has bothered to explain it to him in ways he’ll understand.

Let’s listen in to an Oval Office conversation between the president and an anonymous aide who tries to guide the most powerful person on earth through the basics of the crisis.

“Mr. President, scientists can predict the number of people the virus will infect.”

“How? Those swampies and their elite science bullshit. They don’t got a gold gut like me.”

“They use what they call an exponential curve.”

“A WHAT? Owwww! Goddamn it! My brain is burning!”

“Sir, allow me to explain: you know the perfect county Republican Party chairpersons who replaced the deep state so-called experts you fired from the CDC? God revealed to our people that every infected person passes the disease to two other persons – “

“That’s fake news! I am God and nobody told me that shit!”

“Sir, you are God the Son. God the Father blessed your loyalists with that Divine Truth.”

“I’m sick of that Father son-of-a-bitch getting all the press. I’m going to fire that motherfucker!”

(Waiting for the thunderbolt to strike) “Sir, if we can get back to the pandemic.”

“Alright, so what? One sick loser infects two other losers.”

“Look at it this way, sir. Suppose you grab one pussy and, in gratitude, she shares the name of two other girls and you grab their pussies. And each one names two more pussies.”

“Fuck! That’s four pussies, then eight, then sixteen, then thirty-seven… That’s a lot of goddamn pussies! They’ll be lined up around the White House. Now what about that vaccine bullshit.”

“Mr. President, the coronavirus without a vaccine to stop it is like having an open border with Mexico. Rapists, murderers, and cannibals can pour into America killing and eating our citizens while Barack Obama and Nancy Pelosi dance naked in the forest with Satan.”

“I’m going to nail those two cocksuckers.”

“However, a vaccine will stop the viruses cold like your mighty Trump Wall saves our Glorious Nation from those smelly brown evildoers. Bless you, President Donald John Trump, for your stupendous genius and mountains of guts. May I lick the dust off your shoes, sir?”

“Naw, today is Attorney General Barr’s day. Sorry. There’s a sign-up sheet on the bulletin board. We’re throwing a mass ass kissing party for myself next Sunday. We can probably squeeze you in. Is that it about the virus? I’m getting bored.”

“Yes, Mr. President, just one more thing. The vaccine won’t be ready for a year. It’s like the Democrats, who throw feces and urine at our warfighters. hold up funding for your beautiful wall. Meanwhile, MS-13 thugs with tattoos of Chuck Schumer on their faces will continue to slaughter and defile our precious white women by the hundreds of thousands.”

“That’s disgraceful. Hannity said these brown turds eat our sweet little white children, too. Strip them and eat them raw. Millions of them. It’s disgusting. Tell the Border Patrol to mow down all those filthy migrants. Kill them all. Fuck the Constitution. By the way, when do I tee off?”

“Two-thirty, sir.”

“Clear the course of those fucking reporters. Use the flamethrower.”

“Anything else, Mr. President?”

“I’ve been thinking: I’ve been a remarkable god, haven’t I?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!”

“Work that into the campaign. Oh, yeah, tell Ivanka I’m free tonight.”

The Remarkable Story of Adam Pill – The Smartest Person Who Ever Lived

Everybody has heard of Dr. Adam Pill, the four-year old American genius who was found in a garbage bin as a newborn, his umbilical chord had even been tied in a knot. This happened in New York City, January 15, 2035.

He was discovered by the Dr. Rev. Priscilla Sunnyday Pill, a twenty-nine year old theologian, (of all the “callings” for one to have in this day and age) who taught Old Testament Prophets online for the West-Central Delaware University of the Stars.

She also preached around the world and more often than not, she burned down churches, cathedrals, arenas and stadiums with her fire from outer space sermons. She’d wind her stem for an hour or so and by the time she finished with the people, they wept, bled, developed horrible skin rashes, died, rose again from the dead, died, rose again from the dead, over and over until they finally got sick and threw up.

One day, a horrible white Nazi creep told her: “Ah knowd, ah knowd, you a tarry black colored woman, a Negress and dat ain’t none of yer doin’. Buts y’all preach good like Hitler and I gots all the downloads.”

The drunken racist moron added: “Youse are a nigger, dats what you is. Jes don’t gits uppity. My Gospel Circle gits all gospelitis when dey see a goddamn nigger leadin’ prayer an’ shit.

Pastor Pill then smacked the man in the middle of his forehead and she whispered “peace”.

When this white man woke three weeks later, he was the kindest, most loving man ever know. Pastor Pill ordained him as Elder Willie and he gave testimony at Pastor Pill’s revivals until the Klan shot him dead a couple years later.

Meanwhile, the Doctor Reverend Priscilla Pill raised Adam, a white boy, by the way, upright in the Lord. She also realized soon after she rescued him that he was one really smart boy.

When he was one-and-a-half he was solving differential equations. The Pastor had know idea what Adam was scribbling until her brother, a math professor at Princeton, told her what they were.

In 2038, when Adam turned three, Reverend Pill enrolled him at St Judas Iscariot Kindergarten, in Super, NY.

The following is official record, including teacher’s comments, of Adam Pill first year in school:

1) FIRST in Finger Painting. “Genius! Makes Picasso a pimple popper in comparison”.

2) FIRST in Reading “Adam’s Essays on Hobbes and Faulkner breathed in the cold dust of his dead subjects”

3) FIRST in Creative Writing Gilgamesh meets Superman. Over 7500 rhymed couplets blends horror, tragedy, military hi-jinks, comedy of death, bawdy humor, provoking deep sobs and earth-shattering laughter. Readers report developing paranormal powers, creating billion dollar companies in seven months thereby gaining World-Historical respect in the all-important business universe.

4) FIRST in Potty Practicum – “Mountains of Brown Stuff in a Sea of Yellow!”

5) FIRST in Napping – “Developed Quantum Theory of Restorative Short Sleep Patterns a significant contribution to the literature.”

6) FIRST in Mathematics — “Blended hyper spaces with theology to create the concept of ‘Sin Holes’. Only three of the greatest minds in the world, besides Adam, have the slightest idea what he is talking about, but they are still agog.”

7) FIRST in Social Skills: Enslaved his classmates. Seduced his teacher.

Adam skipped all grades until his fourth year of graduate school at the University of Adam Pill, organized to educate a sole student, the Universal Genius You-Know Who. While at his university, he showed up Albert Einstein for the idiot he was.

He unlocked the Great Secret of the Eleusinian Mysteries, which he explained in book “QQ”. He instructed this book not be opened for 1000 years.

Just for fun, he produced, wrote, directed, and starred in the greatest movie ever made, the pornographic Panty Filth.

Ultimately, Adam contacted an advanced civilization from another galaxy that carried him off.

He was four years old.

There has been no sign of him since.

Fraction Man .0000000013 Was a Lousy Waiter

This is straight autobiography nothing left out.
Time frame: circa 1971-72.

If you once were a server, you would have jumped for joy SO HIGH (How high? So high that the birds shitting on the roof became constipated) if I failed to show up for the lunch or dinner shift.

Suppose you were by the grace of God off that day, you would shake your head off until your neck broke at the tales of my gross incompetence, my criminal malfeasance!

Lordy, lordy, I was a terrible waiter!

For instance:

1)Once I held back an order for seven clients on a busy Saturday night.

They had to wait an hour before they received their food.

A member of that party, I think he was a lawyer, followed me into kitchen, which is a class E felony. He cussed me out, a 22-year old man-child, 19 years out of diapers because he wasn’t grinding his teeth on a hefty side of prime rib, which wasn’t good for him anyway with all that fat.

He was about 45 years old and 1972 was 57 years ago so he’s probably dead now. Or he’s 102, which I find unlikely.

They left me a stick of gum for a tip.

2)I didn’t do my “side work”. Which is what? That’s cleaning up your station for the next shift. That means filling the ketchup bottles, folding napkins, cleaning out the johns, washing the manager’s car, whatever menial task they could think of before I could leave the joint and go get drunk. Nobody ever told me about “side work” and I was trained by JAN at the Holiday Inn West, a lovely woman with two small children. She’s probably in her nineties by now.

The other servers reprimanded me severely because of my shortcomings but I held no resentment because THEY WERE RIGHT.

3)When I worked at a Holiday Inn restaurant, I poured a bottle of Coca Cola down a woman’s back.

Back then when a client ordered a Coke, you carried a open bottle with a glass of ice on a cocktail tray to the client’s table, You would then place the glass on the table to the right of the client, fill the glass with the beverage, then place the remainder of the bottle next to the glass. You are not supposed to allow the bottle to fall on the tray allowing the liquid to spill on the back of a female client who happened to be wearing a backless dress.

The client arched her back as the Coke dribbled down her naked spine and she had the most comical look on her face. I at least had the good sense not to laugh, but my boss who was about 20 feet away and saw the whole thing had to turn himself away quickly because he found the situation amusing.

Luckily, she was a guest at the hotel so she could change into another dress. She and her party were good sports about it. The woman I violated may be in her late 70’s.

They tipped me TWO sticks of gum.

Do not think for one second these are the only boneheaded plays I did as a waiter. I was bad in small ways as well. I could never remember which client had what meal unless the client was dining alone. I rarely asked clients if they wanted to order dessert. I always forgot. I dropped dishes and glasses all the time, I was inefficient which made me pokey. Most of the time I was high on marijuana.

Maybe that’s why I was such a lousy waiter.

Hm.

Next: Fraction Man .0000000013 Was A Lousy Shoe Salesman

Wheeeeeee!

I’m happy, happy, happy!

My cardiologist told me my heart failure (a misleading term) is steady as it goes and he won’t need to see me in six months. There is a valve operation in my future, though.

A nurse told me the insurance company won’t pay until I’m near death. She told she was kidding but I recoil at the word “death”.

I say “recoil” because any word reminding me of my demise knocks me back a couple of feet.

Let’s bury this subject for a while, In case you’re wondering, I’m seventy years old and I haven’t confronted the fact of my you-know-what eye-to-eye.

My brother who was always five years older than me passed into the great beyond, leaving me and my two sisters the remaining progeny of Luther and Alice Wilt.
All of us have spread our seed and eggs into our contemporary population so the precious Wilt genes will spread into the next generation.

Isn’t that great news?

I’m so weary of that president Trump, the very mention of his name causes me to vomit —

Excuse me, I must run to the toilet —

I’m back. Dry heaves mostly.

That’s it for now!

Mark Wilt

Luther Sinn Spends the Day in Downtown Sinn City

I meet hundreds of people every time I go downtown. They sway passed me, every color and size and shape: pink, small and pretzel-shaped; large green vacuum cleaners.

Each assumes one of the five sexes. They babble in Portuguese, Japanese, Cottagecheese. I glare at them, they scowl back. I smile at them, they scowl back. I laugh and point at them, they drop foul substances on my shoes.

Then there are the Older Planet Dwellers (OPD’s pronounced “Opie Deez”. This is the plural form. The singular you should be able to figure out for yourself. God help you if you can’t)

Don’t get me wrong: I love OPD’s. My goal is to grow into a VOPD myself. Currently I am 70 years old and as every second ticks away, I am that much closer to death. Same as after you take your first breath, I know, but when your bank account is bursting with money, you don’t worry about how much you throw away on a tricked out SVU or a fancy spouse you can show off at splendid charity events. However, as the account approaches empty, every cent becomes precious and you hate to part with a single one.

Downtown is a garden of humans. Your mind boggles, your eyes goggle, your knees toggle between bone and jelly. I saw a man raving at his image in a store window. I saw an image in another store window telling jokes to an assembling crowd. One guy was hawking another person’s motorcycle. A silverback gorilla was walking his pet person.

As you can imagine, I was exhausted. Insanity Overload the doctors call it. A called an ambulance and they drove me home.

Luther Sinn Goes Job Hunting

I am an Older American exempt from working as a reward for my previous yeoman contribution to the Gross National Product. Financing my uselessness as I tread closer to certain death is the dole disguised as Social Security from our socialist government.

One pastime of my well-earned sloth is perusing available jobs in careers I might have followed had I been a different person.

My eye immediately fell on the following opportunity:

Experienced outside salesman wanted!
Must have survived numerous attempts on life.
Former prison snitches highly desirable.
Can endure countless hours of torture without breaking

None of my previous occupations included DANGER. I’m going to think long and hard about this. I’ve spent a couple overnights at my local “drunk tank”. Who hasn’t? While there it never crossed my mind to rat on anyone.

My tankmates behaved themselves, at least while I was there. I seem to have that effect on people. If I had known I could lose out on becoming an outside salesman, I would have made up something.

“The guy with the tattoo of the Normandy invasion on his back confessed to eating his mother alive, like a tiger devouring an antelope.”

That would have cinched it.

“Must have survived numerous attempts on life.” Thinking back to my early twenties, quite a few people threatened to kill me or wished my immediate death.

I ran into a guy I had known back then, this was twenty years later. He told me, he was miserably drunk, by the way, that a woman whose name I cannot recall, had bought a gun and was going to shoot me “six times in the head”. He repeated the phrase “six times in the head” several times. My! What did I do to warrant so much ammunition?

I asked that guy what kept her from murdering me. Her priest talked her out of it, he said.

Her priest! Yes! Now I know who she was!

Her? Why her?

As far as “enduring countless hours of torture”: ask my stupid father and mother about that. My smelly brothers and sisters. Grandma. Uncle June.

To quote Daffy Duck, “Unthspeakable”.

I called the number they provided. The creature who answered spoke Hindi with a Martian accent. I hung up.

Too bad. I would have been a good outside salesman.