I find it hard to describe the feeling you get when you have had enough drinks to feel perfectly sound in mind and yet causes you to act in ways you never thought imaginable. From one sip to the next we become a machine made to fire off one-liners at light speed whilst our bodies move involuntarily to a beat determined by our blood alcohol content. Stumbling around in a drunken stupor, we become the product of an indulgence gone too far – a parody of the human form. The human animal is a clumsy creature to begin with. Have you ever even really looked at yourself in the mirror? What the hell is even going on there?
I have a really bad habit of watching porn with the sound off and really observing the faces the performers make. What’s particularly interesting is watching the girls get cum on their face – they always look so eager; and with the sound off you don’t have to hear the endless moaning of, “Oh baby give it to me all over my face,” – you just get to watch the eager arrival of a million unborn children onto freshly abused meat.
When I first saw them arrive I nearly shit myself – it’s important to note that this sort of thing was new to me, and new to all of us. I say this because we have been taught to believe that things like this simply don’t happen. We are simply no ready to believe what we see. I wasn’t either. And then they made him. They made me. I can’t forget the look on his face when they made him disappear. In one flash of light, what was once myself starting back at me disappeared as if I was never there. It’s hard to accept any sort of belief after that point – our man made dogmas don’t compare to hard evidence staring you in the face.
I’ll never understand why they chose that venue to present themselves. The toilet at the bar was broken so I took a leak on the wall outside. I made my best effort to write my name with the stream of yellow dehydration flowing from me but, as most drunken efforts are, this one was fruitless. I wonder how things would be if I hadn’t stepped out to take a piss in the alley. Somebody somewhere has to be laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation – a drunkard taking a piss in a back alley while the self proclaimed creators of life make their entrance and show you all they can do.
I’m not even that important anyway, just any regular old asshole standing at the local bar, drunk as can be. I work at a call center in Milwaukee that handles returns for a major European printer manufacturer. The job is all sorts of monotonous but the money is good, and I have the ability to surf the Internet at work. I’m not a very ambitious guy; I just do my part so that I don’t have to worry about the rent. Maybe someday I’ll meet a cute girl and shack up. Maybe a guy. Everything is up for discussion at this point. Though I don’t really like cock.
Things have been strange since they left me. I get worried that everything I am doing has no real purpose. When you see a display like the one I saw, “just living” ceases to be enough. I have so much I want to ask them and yet I’m sure I’ll never see them again.
The funny part is, they are major dicks about it. There is no grand entrance, no message to the world, no meeting with the “Important People”. They show up, announce who they are, show you how we are made, and then they leave you there. It’s a subtle reminder that we are just animals. We aren’t the same to them. We aren’t even on the same level. We are the playthings of a godlike species that doesn’t particularly give a fuck about us. It’s a beautiful thing.
They like to appear as celebrities. The ones I saw looked like Willie Nelson. I’m not sure why this is but I imagine it’s so we aren’t taken aback when three Willie Nelsons appear out of thin air. I don’t think they realize the absurdity of it all.
They are fucking with us, and they know it. They have to be. It’s beyond what anybody could imagine. Nobody has been really able to even catch a good video of them in action – save for the occasional shaky cam video that makes it onto the Internet. The worst part is they have the habit of taking somebody with them when they leave. I guess I got lucky. It might have been when I spun around and pissed on one of their legs by accident. The sound they make when they appear is powerful. Compressed steam shooting through the air as someone rips open the asshole of a dying cat. I can’t find a better way to describe it.
I’m not sure what their goal is – but they make it known that they are the reason we are here. Those that are faithless remain so – they even call into question the motives of the celebrities. They try and say that it’s all some grandiose prank – a practical joke they’ve concocted to shatter our very sense of being. Whatever their reasons are, we may never know. Part of me doesn’t want to find out. I fear that this pattern of appearing in and out at the most inopportune moments may lead to something greater. There is no way to predict when they will show up next.
I’m don’t know why I’m writing this, I think it’s maybe a form of self-therapy. Life has been significantly colorless since I saw them. When I watch the news I notice that all of the talking heads are significantly shaken up – they appear so frequently and yet we haven’t been able to get them to answer a single question. What’s worse is I haven’t been able to think or hear properly since they came. I had shooting pains in the back of my neck the day after, and since then I’ve had a consistent ringing in my ears. It’s always the same tone, always the same frequency, and it never goes away. It’s almost deafening, but also serene – the consistent high drone is almost soothing. It seems universal to everyone who has encountered the celebrities, and yet there don’t seem to be any adverse effects.
A friend came by the other day. It was weird; I’m not sure what she wanted. She didn’t like it when I asked her to strip down, but it wasn’t really her choice. The “asking” was more of a joke. We started fucking and she asked me to choke her. So I did. It wasn’t hard enough at first, so I tightened my grip. The look in her eyes was one of the utmost pleasure. When she finally stopped breathing I came inside of her and knew that they would finally have a place to go. It made the ringing go away. At least for a short while. She’s currently laid out on the kitchen counter. I haven’t gotten around to disposing of her body yet. Nobody seems to care either. I don’t think I will though. Yesterday I thought I saw an arm move, and today I could swear I saw saliva dripping from the side of her lip. I want to show them what I’ve made. I hope they like it.
Profile: Joey Blush