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staymorbidoddities-blog · 5 years

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Letter From The Deadly Urges Killer Phillip Jablonski

August 7th 2018 Dearest______, Received your more than welcome unexpected letter. I believe we will have fun writing each other and learning about each other. Have a personal questionnaire for you in my letter. I have no problem with you being a _______. I am also a artist and love to draw I do portraits but not very good. But I try I drew most portraits of serial killers. Most are done only for a (not sure what he says here). I love writing people. I am 71 years old I am very honest and open with my pen pals. You mailed your letter on the 14th of July. I received your letter on August 3rd 2018 so you see mail can be slow reaching me. Question can you remember what website you got my name off of? I was raised an alcoholic father. When I was 5 years old I was molested by two male cousins. When I told my dad we confronted them. They denied it happened (not sure what he says here) received punishment by Dad for lying. Then by my cousin for telling my dad. I never open my mouth and done what they told me they used me to bondage and Mild torture. They passed me around to their close friends for sexual pleasure. They had me until I was 7. After that I was at pleasure of older men and boys in the neighborhood. The men got hold of me from (not sure what he says here). They teach me about fuck stick. How to deepthroat any size dick they used me bad (not sure what he says here) bring me back to consciousness. It first time I sleep with a man first experience a threesome and be gangbanged they made me call to them and lick feet and legs then ball sack then lick their dick and kiss the head and suck it. I was 9 years old when they had me for sexual pleasure. The (not sure what he says here) men and older boy. My dad owned apartments he rented an apartment to a high-school teacher. I was having problems with my school work so he hired him to tutor me. During our tutoring session. He tutor me in his bed. He told me your dad rent fuck his son. I was 12 years old when he tutored me in his bed he tutored me in his bed first then in my class work always totally nude. Then he tutored me to be a boy prostitute. I got comfortable to bondage and torture and doing whatever he requested from me. A John suggested I would look gorgeous dressed as a girl. So teach me to dress like a girl wearing panties, bra with different size plastic insert in bra and makeup and a dress. He pimped me until I was 15. I pimped myself and let boys seduce me. (I’m not sure what he says here) I was running errands for her. I (not sure what he says here) near the truck I didn’t know he was checking out my butt cheeks. Fantasy about sodomy me. I agree to go to bed with him he used me for is poker chips during Friday night poker game. He own a cabin take me there and he made pornographic film with me and his friend for 5 months. Two brothers I know try to seduce me not knowing I was gay when we played tag football they would pinch my butt cheek and squeeze my butt cheek act like it was an accident. When we wrestled they pinch my butt cheeks and squeeze them to. I was getting horny. Their parent (not sure what he says here) one night their parents we’re going to a party really late so they give them permission for me to stay the night giving their sons the opportunity to use me for their sexual pleasure soon their parents left. They said Philip we would like to talk to you. I knew they wanted to talk to me to put dick up in my anal hole. I went into their bedroom got nude got on the bed and put a pillow under my stomach putting my butt cheeks in the air. Making it easy to sodomy me. When they came in I said I am gay who first to sodomy me. They wore my butthole out. They gangbanged me all night and for the next two months sodomy every opportunity they got. At age 16 I pimp myself twice I am working as a caddy one day a golfer I was caddying for wanted to know if I knew where he could pick up a male prostitute. I told him I am a prostitute we had agreed to make some pornographic videos and do bondage and Mild torture. Anything goes I told him I was a prostitute I sucked him and let him sample the merchandise. We went to a motel when we got in the room there was five other men present. I (not sure what he says here) they didn’t waste anytime using me. He paid me $400. One day I was walking home from the golf course A car pulled up beside me he (not sure what he says here) me. He said he would pay me $20 to suck his dick. I agreed to suck him. He solicited me to sleep with him he pay me $50 to sleep with him I take him (not sure what he says here). I am a rapist and pedophile and child molester and serial killer. I raped my two young sister’s pussy old we were lovers until she was 15. I raped my youngest sister at 5 she helped me to seduce the neighbors 9 year old daughter. I also raped my sister-in-law’s niece then later raped my sister-in-law. Raped my own mother. And best male friend. I teach him sexual feeling he was gay when I raped him. Also raped my sister’s best male friend (not sure what he says here) I pimp both of them. When I was in high school I was in photography class. I was a (not sure what he says here) my parents bedroom into a dark room. I sleep with some seller to get some equipment for my dark room my teacher loaned me a camera to take family portraits in the 60s the biggest thing is mothers having their infants or toddlers photographed nude on a Bearskin rug. I love seeing the infant’s Toddlers then watch them strip out of the diapers then lay on their stomach. The palm of hand ran all over there sweet bodies. I was almost drooling to lick them starting feet then their petite sweet butt cheeks and lick their tight butthole out. If a girl her pussy out real good if it was a male lick his petite dick and bite it. The first infant and toddler I had the opportunity to molest. A mother wanted have photographs of her infant daughter 4 month old and her son a toddler 1 years old she left them with me in the room in their diapers. She want photograph side by side. I took photos of them in their diapers. Then I stripped them nude I took photographs of them the way the mother requested me to then I molested them. I took exotic pose and tied them with string. Next I molested two brother 1 and 2 years old. The mother want photographs nude bathtub I took pictures exotic pose of them and tied them up. I have been a pimp the youngest I have pimped was 3 months old nigger female infant and a one month male infant. Also pimp my wife’s best friend who was in the (not sure what he says here) I seduced her 14 year old son she had a 19 year old fanboy (not sure what he says here). I am a great animal lover I have been around dogs, cats and horses all my life. The first unusual pet I had what is a 3 paw Red Tail Fox. I helped nurse him back to health the fox belonged to two gorgeous young Mexican girls one was 11 years old. She liked to flirt. And for some reason to flaunt her body. She had nice small firm tits with large nipples. She 4 cut-off jeans just below her knee showing her long legs she also like to wear tank tops and mini skirts and had a string bikini. She just wore them to test her ability to attract boys. She got my attraction (not sure what he says here) I was almost drooling wanting to use my tongue up her long legs then to her sweet petite butt cheek and lick her butthole out. Then lick her pussy out real good. I want to rape and sodomy her then pimp her. Her eight-year-old sister was real fine to she wears short dresses most of the time expose her long legs but not as long as her sisters. The girls were enrolled in a (something) School. Their parents were going up to Northern California to pick fruit. They give me the opportunity to rape their daughters (not sure what he says here) so hard to read the day they drop their off I show them their rooms and walked them to (not sure what he says here). The girls get comfortable in their rooms. They weren’t going to be virgins much longer. And soon I would train my new prostitutes. (I don’t know what he says here) and strip nude. Then I called the girls is the living room the 11 year old best and a tank top and cut-off jeans showing off her sexy long legs. Her sister was wearing a normal short dress she wouldn’t be in her clothes long I had the eight-year-old come to me and she got between my legs. I turned her around so I can unzip her dress. After unzipping her dress I slip it over her head. Then I put her across my lap on her stomach. Slowly pull her panties a nice petite gorgeous View. I had my palm of my hand her medium long legs then her sweet butt cheeks then squeeze and slap her butt cheeks until they turn pink. She asked her sister why she was nude she said you fool he’s going to molest us. He is going to rape us. I told her sister to hand me my belt I tied her sister’s arm behind her back then told her give me a slow strip tease for me. When her tank top come off her small tits come into view boy did she have some large nipples. Then she removed her jeans I pulled her sister over pulling on her back. She had great surprise size tits then I slowly removed her pants I squeeze her sister’s tits. Then I told the 11 year old to go on the bed boy did her petite body move so fine. I want to sodomy that fine butt cheeks. I told her to lay on her stomach. I put her sister down her in the closet before I left the room I told her don’t move or I’ll kill you. I get my buck knife find some rope I keep in the house I am to tie her spread eagle to the bed. When I got to the bed I tied her spread eagle her gorgeous butt and squeeze it I take her sister out of the closet take her to my bedroom time to teach her about adult games. I laid her on the bed on her stomach I put her butt in the air to make it easy to fuck her tight virgin butthole. I went and got my Polaroid camera and came back paragraphs nude with her hands tied then untie her hand and put my Polaroid on the nightstand later I would take some nice nude petite poses. I put my fingers in there tight butthole I put it as deep as I could get then rotate my fingers inside her I can only get my first three fingers in her tight butthole. Then I laid down next to her her pussy over my mouth and eat her out when her pussy juice flowed into my mouth it tastes like sweet nectar. Then I laid her on her back and spread her legs and I could only get my first two fingers in her pussy hole. Then I photo her nude exotic photographing her. I found some small objects to put up her butthole. I laid her on her stomach I found a medium ink pen and slid it up her butthole then flipped her over and did the same thing to her pussy now it’s time for her to learn the molesting game. I would put my big dick up her tight butthole then in her pussy. I walked into the bedroom and photograph nudes and tie up. I untied her legs and slid a pillow under her stomach. Putting her fine but in the air I started licking her butt hole out good for her. Then I spread her butt cheeks take my hand to penetrate her sweet butthole I took my four fingers and put it in her butt it made her whole body jump. Then took them out and lay down beside her and put her pussy over my mouth and eat her out when pussy juice fill my mouth she push her pussy down my mouth it was like she was trying to suffocate me with her sweet pussy hole. Then I take more Newton exotic poses I tortured them and trained them well I teach them how to flirt and flaunt their body in front of men. I had a housekeeper she had a three year old toddler. She wore pull up diapers when I got (not sure what he says here) daughter adopted has her pet call him dog. I would see her dress ride up. Send me a good view of diaper and legs. Her mother couldn’t keep her daughter in her dress. So her daughter ran around in her diapers I would fantasize be like to use her sweet innocent body and give her body a nice tongue bath. I was looking for the right opportunity to molest her daughter and make her daughter a willing prostitute the opportunity came unexpectedly. Usually when she would go to town to get grocery shop or pay bill. But I was working in my upholestry shop backseat of a car. When come in my shop she had daughter with her. She said I know you’re working but would you mind babysitting my daughter her daughter was wearing a dress I don’t want her daughter and her dress or diaper. Her mother left the shop she was on the way to her car. I didn’t waste no time I pick her up sit down on back seat I was upholstering pull her dress over her head I slowly pulled it off her then pulled off her diaper I gave her a nice slow tongue bath. I had her laying across my lap I beat her butt cheeks bright red was enjoying it I spread her butt cheeks I can only get half a finger into her butthole. Then stand up and put her pussy over my mouth and eat her pussy out she was wiggling laughing and I laid her on her back lick her butthole again. Then I put the tip of my finger in her pussy. I wouldn’t let her remain a virgin. I got a thin pencil and shove it up her ass. I put her on her knees and made her suck my dick. Took pictures of her nude and exotic poses. I told her if she told her mother she couldnt play with fellow. She didn’t tell her mother. One night she asked if she could sleep with my silly cat. She sleep on the bed with me. I would ask her she said okay. I would being molester her daughter most of the night her sleep with me (I don’t know what he says here) she would make me crazy when I see her young body and her diapers. My next unusual pet was a raven. When the raven find me. I named him Ralph. I also had family parrots I had two macaws the male was completely red the mate was completely blue. I also had a cockatoo completely white name lady. Lady didn’t like males she love my mother I also had an African grey parrot he loves to talk on the phone he can mimic my voice perfectly. Ralph join my bird family and cause chaos. He went to pester the parrots ralph would steal the parrots food. But he couldn’t outsmart Holly she wouldn’t let ralph steal her food. I would let Ralph sample my food that I cooked but I had to be careful what I let Ralph sample because Ravens are (something). Ralph and my mother had a game she would tell Ralph he was a bird and bird would eat bird seed. But ralph never eat bird seed. Ralph love to eat fruit and veggies and hot dogs and sausages and french fries no salt salt would hurt Ralph. I had cats a Russian blue Siamese in a heavy rainstorm I named her psycho cat. When I was in the main part of the prison I was tattoo artist I tattooed gay and bisexual and transsexual and heterosexuals. I would tattoo their fine ass cheeks when I complete the tattoo I get some benefits I take my cock and put it in their anal hole even when I tattoo straight ass cheeks. I take my big dick in their tight virgin assholes. I had one straight guy I raped. After I enjoyed his butthole I pimped him. I let other tattoo artist fuck his butt to.

Now for some personal questions 1. Where are you seduced on rape the first time you were sodomy? 2. At what age where you first sodomy? And suck your first dick? 3. Do you swallow cum? And do you deep throat a male dick? 4. Do you like big dick, small dick, medium dick, fat dick, or skinny dick. 5. Do you like bondage and torture? 6. Do you have a lover? If so how old? 7. Have you ever been photographed in the nude? Or an exotic poses? 8. Have you been sodomy on your hands and knees bent over like a horse? 9. When did your parents find out their son is gay? 10. What is the longest relationship you have been in? 11. What’s the longest sex you had? Well my friend I’ll close for now love, Philip

#Letters #true crime #crime #murder #serial killer #fucked up #gross #explict

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wonderlust-wonderstruck · 7 years

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sex. It's supposed to be sacred. It's supposed to be magical. I think you're supposed to save it for someone special, but that's not a skill I learned very well. I started this sex stuff at a young age, even though I didn't exactly know it. I was 3 when I remember my sister kissing me on the bunk bed while we were camping in a cabin. I was the boy, she said. I was 5 when I told my little friend to take her panties off. I was 7 when I remember having sleepovers at Dalton's house and I would experiment on him. I was 9 when I would take my little cousin to the closet and suck his dick. I was 10 when KK joined my soccer team and we would do a lot of kissing and other stuff that girls just shouldn't be doing. Around the same time, I remember Olivia slept over. I had a trundle bed and we were laying on it and I was touching her. I remember telling her that it was normal, because to me, it was. She was older though and told me that her mom said that things like that could give her a yeast infection. She was right. A few months later, it came out that my sister was being molested by her step dad. Her mom walked in on him raping her. It was a shock to my mom and dad, but not to me. In the following days, mom took me outside and looked me deep in my eyes and asked if Katie ever touched me. I said no. I lied. I was 13 when I realized all of that was really weird and I buried it deep in my mind, trying to make sure no one knew it ever happened. I was 16 when I technically lost my virginity. Since then, sex has always just been sex for me. Like candy. Something enjoyable and can be handed out to just anyone. I think that makes me a bad person. I think sex is supposed to be more than just candy. It's supposed to passionate, savory, a romantic dinner under the moon light with expensive red wine and chocolate dipped strawberries. If I counted the times that I ACTUALLY wanted to have sex with a man, my "number" would be way lower. But for whenever I get in a situation that sex is even a possibility, I let it happen. Even if I don't want to. It's why I call myself submissive. I think it's a trigger. I get lost in my mind when his fingers start pulling at my underwear and sliding across my waist. I can't say no. "It's normal." So I just lay there. Please everyone but myself. It's probably why I can't orgasm. I can't ever escape my mind long enough to enjoy the one thing that is supposed to feel the greatest. But how are you supposed to tell someone "sorry I didn't orgasm, I was unintentionally sexually abused by my sister as a child and it has fucked me up." You can't. So you just fake it. Fake it till you make it, baby. Maybe one day, I won't walk away from it saying we just fucked. The hope is that one day, I'll walk away and tell my girlfriends that we made love. Maybe that'll make the difference. Maybe it won't. Maybe I'm just permanently fucked up. It's normal.

dear diary, part 1

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ithinkitsdanny · 4 years

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29 MARCH 2020

COVID THOUGHTS

Who would have thought we would live in such interesting times? Every day goes by, and what was strange yesterday seems like normal today. Remember when the worst threat to our sanity was the thought of Sarah Palin as our Vice President?

I never once thought that I would live in days that would line the pages of future textbooks (or whatever it is we’ll be using to teach history to students in the future). I grew up in a boring suburb of tuCsoN, aRIzONa, and part of me thought that I would never leave that place, and nothing would happen, and that was life. But that was not the case. Things are always happening, and things just seem to keep getting stranger in certain ways.

Most people my age remember waking up one day and getting ready for school, or maybe you were at school, and seeing on the news that two towers in New York had fallen over. We watched as our country decided to invade a country most of us didn’t know existed (don’t judge, I was only in second grade, and the only other places I knew about were from watching the 2000 Sydney olympics with my family the summer before). We watched as our president and congress decided it was necessary for us to invade another country that many of us knew nothing about. We saw friends go off to fight, and sometimes just die in the desert, for something that made very little sense to us.

Michael Jackson died one day. A man accused of molesting children. Yet people mourned his loss.

One day, in high school, my friends and I were planning to go to the mall and just hangout in the air conditioning, like high school and middle school kids. But on the radios, the TVs, the cell phones, came news that a young man, living only ten minutes from my house and pictured right next to my oldest brother in his yearbook, had shot up a grocery store where a local beloved congresswoman was holding a rally. Six people were killed. A federal judge died that day, Gabby Giffords, our representative, was shot, and a six year old girl was killed. They held the funeral at the church my mom would drag us to every Sunday. But nothing changed. People kept their guns and decided they were more important than the lives of the children and neighbors around them. To make things worse, a radical christian group, one that is still active today and that just recently visited Maui, came to protest the little girl’s funeral and even claimed that their god wanted her dead.

Nothing changed. Hate speech is protected by the first amendment and people will die for it, and people will let a thousand children’s lives perish before anyone can “take our guns.”

There was some hope though. Our president was black. His middle name was even Hussein. There were people in office fighting for LGBTQIA+ rights and leaders states were slowly legalizing weed and gay marriage. We had a hispanic WOMAN put in the supreme court. There were plans to fight climate change (though they were weak). But there were still shootings popping up around the country and kids in the middle east were still being bombed daily. We’re still there, still bombing too. But for eight year, there was progress, and a lot of it.

Then 2015 came. Who the fuck did we piss off upstairs to give us 2015? A reality TV show host started his presidential bid by calling mexican immigrants criminals, thugs, and rapists. And for the first time in my life I realized that I wasn’t white (my mom is white, my dad mexican heritage from Sonora and Northern New Mexico). I remember talking to my dad, and he even said to me that in his fifty-five years of life that he never had once thought that his last name or the color of his skin could have an effect on the way people saw him. People supported this man.

I can understand why though, and it is totally ignorant for liberals or other left-leaning people like myself to not look into what made this orange man so popular. He was different. Democrats failed to improve the lives of working class peoples. Identity politics were taking the place of actual progress and stances, and Hillary was a person with a very scary past.

Trump won, and all the sudden Nazis were, like, back. People openly identifying as Neo-Nazis and white supremecists were all the sudden marching in the streets. A person was killed because a neo-nazi thought it would be okay to hit a protester with her car. But these people are protected by the first amendment and hate-speech is not a crime (though murdering someone with your car most definitely is in fact a crime). Counter protesters were out in the streets being harrassed, and some people were, like, totally fine with this guy being in office.

Basically, a lot of weird shit has happened. To recap anything I missed:

- Black kids are being shot by cops and the cops are getting off free sometimes even when there is video evidence that show their wrongdoing

-Republicans stole a supreme court judge from Barrack Obama, and then appointed a known rapist to the highest court in the country, and paid no attention to what this might mean for their daughters, sisters, and mothers

-There was a financial collapse (how did I forget to mention this?) and people were forced out onto the streets while houses sat empty

-England left the European Union

-Somehow, people living on Native American reservations still don’t have electricity and most of us are just fine with that

-Refugee children are being held in cages in America and sleeping on floors

-And uhh, coral reefs are dying off, plastic is killing animals in our oceans, and human-made climate change is real.

I am not saying this is anyone’s fault. Everyone is to blame for issues taking place. People my age buy cheap clothing from sweatshops and then throw it away a month after having it. I know tons of people that are my generation that do not recycle anything, and plenty that won’t even take the five minutes necessary to register to vote. My vehicle only gets 17 miles a gallon and I eat SO MUCH FOOD THAT IS SO BAD FOR THE ENVIRONMENT. So, we all suck in a way.

But here we are now, in the year 2020, a number that sounds made up. It feels like the times we are in are totally made up. We are not allowed out of our houses. There is a deadly virus that is spreading across the world, and people are literally dying all over. At least twenty people I know are on unemployment at the moment, the gyms are closed, and it doesn’t seem likely that I will see my students again this year.

But people seem united in a way. People are calling each other. Cousins are setting up Zoom meetings with family members from all over the world so that we can see each other. Aunties are sewing face masks for hospital workers to use. Restaurants are giving free food to laid-off service industry employees. People are singing to one another from their balconies. Waters around busy port cities are clean enough for animals to return. Air over China has cleared up. Cities and towns are doing whatever they can to keep small businesses afloat in these hard times. Co-workers are calling each other to check in. And for the first time in my life, it actually feels like people really love each other. This virus, though it sucks, has made our world look the closest it has ever looked to an actual real live Coca-cola commercial (you know the ones on TV where all the people are singing and dancing and holding hands just because someone popped open a can of diabetic sugar water). The world is paused.

In a way, it feels nice.

This situation sucks, but we are doing what we need to do: we are S L O W I N G D O W N. I am bored in my home, and I am sure most of us are, but I don’t know if I have ever seen people so united. I don’t know if I ever will again see this.

But for this moment in time which none of us will forget, we are showing each other the our best sides. We are showing what it means to really be human.

We will get through this. This will make us all stronger. You will not give up on me. I will not give up on you. We will not give up.

We are together.

Thank you for reading and I hope you take some time to call your family members, your friends, your coworkers, and you neighbors today.

Danny

Also, abolish ICE and eat the rich.

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thatweirdmod · 4 years

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Sainwell and Iglair PART 5

The time for the "good life" to end is now.

I get a message from Iglair an hour after plopping down. I read the black bits of pixelated text from my bright white screen, "I'm ready to do the black-haired chick." it says.

"You don't even know her name, when everyone says you two are cute together?"

"I know her name, but I know that you don't, Sainwell."

That's true. I've been so caught up in my hatred and spite of her that I never bothered to pay attention to the basic things, though I did pay attention to the character that she plays. "Her name is Airey."

"Wtf", I respond to Iglair.

"Yep, kinda weird, but that's besides the point. You ready now?"

"I'll get there when I get there."

"K."

I shut off the bulky beige machine that runs the best legal parts of my life. I go over to the mini fridge I bought just for personal effects, like the second beer I'm pulling out. I crack open the can, loving the fizzle and the creamy head. I suck down the cold contents gratefully.

Truly, there is a pleasure in life aside from what I'm about to partake in. I close my eyes,wondering just where any of this is going. Where am I going?, I wonder.

If it ever gets to hard, I'll find respite in the same place as my "victims". Victims. I've snuffed out the grey lives that they lived in this grey world, though it was not my choice to make. I should just take it out on myself, I guess, but for some reason I won't, not yet anyway. I eventually will, won't I.

Does she deserve this or not? The obvious answer would be "Of course not!" But, we're all filth in some way. What, or who will really miss her. This planet has been carved out around her and us for the purpose of pleasure and selfishness. She will be my pleasure, and Iglair's. What's really wrong with that? Am I a fucking nihilist?

I can tell right from wrong, sure, but somehow philosophy always raises questions- disgusting questions that I need God to answer.

I shake my head free of the swarms of filthy, other-worldly insect-like beasts that threaten my way of life, and whatever right of life I still delude myself into thinking I have. I take another deep glug of my beer. The drink is the closest thing I would call a friend, but I've forgotten about Keltcher outside, haven't I?

I walk, staggering a bit, over to my dresser. I pull down my pants and briefs. Hmm, should I go with the white briefs, or the blue boxers? Blue boxers might be better for the occasion. I change into them, and put on a fresh white t-shirt, dark blue hoodie, and black jeans.

My light brown hair is tussled a bit, I notice, when I see my reflection in the mirror. So that's me, huh? Who is that, and why?

But I'll scare myself if I think too hard, so I just pack my tools into my backpack: a flashlight, tape, ropes, a crowbar, a couple of those nice engraved pocket knifes you're wondering why I like to make a point of mentioning, hmm, what else? Ah yeah, I'll bring this hatchet, and condoms, I guess, also a lighter, some lighter fluid. Damn, my bag is getting packed, and you can bet Iglair is already bringing a lot of the same stuff.

I pack latex gloves, clothes, pliers, an iron bar, and a hammer as well. The shed is already stocked with our stuff. I guess I've known Iglair for a while, which is strange, since I can't say I like him that much.

That used to be our "secret base". The term is so normie that it makes me cringe, like we were rough, freckle-faced young bastard boys who shared titty mags there, or some shit. We were a little different, is all I can assure you.

I finish off the cold, creamy beer, and quickly replace it with an ale, you know, something a little more substantial, hard hitting, pointed. I'm getting drunk, huh? Aren't I? I don't think I've ever gone out for a killing this inebriated before. I should probably stop, unless I want to find myself unable to perform. I feel like a drink when I think about that bitch, though.

*Sigh*, I'm so damn tired. Won't someone take it all away? Oh wait, Chester Bennington already said that, "I'm sick of feeling. Is there nothing you can say? Take this all away..." I find myself mumble singing the lyrics, like a stupid bum you'd see staggering down a sidewalk, stinking up the public space.

I can't count on anyone taking it away for me. I'll have to face it myself, like he did. Anyway, this is today, and that's another day, right?

I'm half-way through the ale. Iglair is probably wondering where I am and what I'm doing now. I don't know how far he's started already. Will I be there too late, or at a time where I'll think, "Glad I didn't have to be here for the setup." *Siiiigghhh*, *yawn*, I bore you, yeah? It's fine, I'm boring myself, too.

I slip on my tennis shoes, admiring how good a job I did cleaning the stench and blood of the hobo couple from them. The memories of their stench mixed with iron-laden blood makes my beer-full stomach turn- better change my mind's channel.

I drag myself out of the door. "Dammit!", I mumble, then do a quick double back inside for my burglar's mask. I don't know exactly where my dad is, maybe at the bar or working late. He has friends, unlike me. I wonder how that's like. Whatever. I don't know or care if I'm lonely, and I'm too lazy anyway. It'd be pathetic, too, even for me. I can be pathetic in other ways, just not like that.

Keltcher's taking a nap in his dog house. Sweet boy. I know that's not completely true, but let me imagine, just for now, but I know I'll keep imagining tomorrow and the day after that too. I run down the sidewalk through the cool air. Today isn't freezing like before, but it's crisp, I guess. Why do I use gentle words like that?

I cut through the forest, trees and bushes, jogging until I reach a spot that's more the middle of somewhere than nowhere than anyone could understand. I see the old shed. It's still intact for the most part. Iglair has probably set the chains in order, and cleared up a little.

I approach and enter with a sigh flowing through my dry lips. Sure enough, Iglair turns to me. I can tell he's dulled also. His childlike excitement has somehow been evaporated. He looks sexier like this, slightly serious, but keenly after pleasure. It goes well with both the darkness of his black hair, and his blue eyes.

The black haired girl is kind of out of it, drugged for a somewhat special occasion. She hanging up by chains around her ankles and wrists. It will be a long night, if we have the heart for it.

"After this", Iglair begins, "we should find something more interesting. There must be something more exciting than this sort of killing. I've been as depraved as I could, or wanted to bother being, but there must be something more abstract, something bigger that we can aim for, or I can aim for."

I hear him, more clearly than I would've thought. "Mmm-hmph", I mumble back to him in careless consideration.

"Let's just rape her for now, though", he says. I find myself saying, "I want her to wake up before we really start."

"Yeah, agree", Iglair says.

He doesn't seem to care that I'm not on the sharp and ready. Blackie, no, what was her name? Ah, Airey starts to wake up. The more I think her name, the sexier it makes her seem. She wakes up, noticing that she's farther off the ground than she usually glides, and completely naked. You can see the "What the fuck?" on her face before she says anything.

The chains dig into her skin. Her arms and legs probably ache. I bet it's uncomfortable. Iglair asks for the first time, "Which one of us should be first?" My mild surprise appears through the haze of the beer.

"I don't care." Maybe he's annoyed, because it's not a real answer, but I really don't care.

Airey looks around, her panic rising. I wish that I couldn't even be bothered to feel the tinge of annoyance that I do at having to wait for her to come to an understanding of the situation. "Iglair?", she asks. We're both leaning on our elbows, sitting on separate old wooden benches in front her.

"And?", I reply to her confusion boredly.

"Samwell? What's going on? Where are my clothes?" Her high, panicked tone irritates my ears. The rising shame in her regal like voice adds a needed bit of humor, though.

"It's Sainwell*"*, I correct her drily.

Iglair speaks up, his voice lower than usual. "You're hot, you know. I've never seen you like this before." Airey's light blue eyes are wide, bewildered and scared. Her and Iglair could be brother and sister, or maybe cousins. I'm quite sure that they are unrelated, though.

This is humiliating, and she's desperate to cover herself and get away. She's twisting, and trying to get out of the chains, but only manages to make noise in the quiet shed, while we watch. Even more awkward and shameful for her, she sways back and forth like a child on a swing as she helplessly struggles in the chains, her legs and arms spread.

The cool air on her pussy must be adding to her panic, realizing over and over again that she can't even close her legs. She halts and stares at him in a sort of defensive terror as Iglair finally rises and starts walking over to where she hangs.

His fingers immediately assault her pussy, making her release a sudden sound of surprise, something like a moan and a cry of shock.

Her face is flushed. "No", she moans, tears coming to her eyes. "Why? Please stop this, noo", she begs as he rubs her, and roughly squeezes her sizeable breasts.

My groin reacts a little as I hear the shlicking sounds of her moistening privates. She continues to groan and cry, squirming and fruitlessly trying to close her open legs. She's helpless as Iglair molests her, touching her for as long, and however he wants.

She cries out as he inserts two fingers. I watch as he moves them in and out. His pace is relaxed. She whimpers, I wonder how it feels for her. He fucks her with three for a little while, then takes off his pants and boxers, and strokes his penis to get a little harder.

He puts his dick inside her tight, now wet private area, and rapes her as she cries and moans like a whore who's not worth actually paying. I see blood smearing. Oh well, somehow I didn't think he'd had her before, though he could have with the way she had seemed to like him. He goes at her roughly, raping her with fingers inserted with his dick at times for several minutes, and then ejaculates outside onto the dusty concrete floor.

He punches her hard in the back, after he finishes, then I stand up for my turn. I kneel beneath her, and let my mouth have the first of the feast. Airey's voice comes out in ways I know she's trying for it not to, and her clit hardens as I suck and lick her privates. I wiggle my finger into her asshole, enjoying the tightness around my finger as I fuck her anus with it.

I dig my tongue as far into her vagina as I can, then suck hard on her hard red clit. I use my other hand to finger her vag while I suck. She moans as I feel her spasming around my fingers and under my tongue.

I drop my pants and jerk my semi-soft penis to hardness while I watch Airey's shameful struggle against the orgasm. I slid it in and out of her pussy, which if I didn't know any better, I'd say she was really feeling in a naughty way.

Iglair comes over and joins me. I pop my penis out of her vagina and shove it hard and deep into her ass. She screams in surprise and pain. Iglair quickly replaces me inside of her pussy. She wails in discomfort at the two penises rubbing mercilessly against and stretching out her inner walls. We bang her like that for a few minutes, but Iglair creampies her vagina and then pulls out, while I still haven't finished.

I get my knife, and stab her in the left ass cheek. Airey screams in pain. She couldn't have possibly thought we'd only give her the pleasure of raping her wet, aroused sex, but not the agony of our sadism? I dig and twist the blade around, until a satisfyingly large hole of torn up flesh is left. Blood runs down her shaking thigh and leg, dripping onto the ground.

Her teeth are gritted, her face the image of suffering.

She's trying to peer back at me, to see what the fuck I'm doing, but I say, "Mind your business. Let me do my thing, you black haired moron." I'm ready to finish, my dick is aching to in fact, so I plunge my dick into the bloody hole I made in her ass. It's very fleshy, warm, and gory. I love it. I love the pretty red dripping all over my cock.

This feels amazing. I haven't moaned like this, maybe ever. I fuck her new, raw meat, made to please asshole with new found vigor and excitement. I cum inside the hole, briefly wondering what kind of infection this could give her. Iglair has been watching, as we always watch and entertain each other. He looks vaguely surprised, his lips slightly parted, as he casually touches his penis.

I've been noticing him more today, and I can tell he's been noticing me. I hold his stare for a while, my cock still hard. He never bothered to put his bottoms back on, so I can see clearly he's hard again too. I redo the chains, so the the filthy raven whore can close her legs to cover her drying pussy. This seems to be a comfort, though her arms are bound tighter to make up for it.

Iglair joins me in front of Airey, and I walk back over to my bench, sitting down on the edge. Airey watches as he kneels in front of me. His mouth caresses the tip of my penis, and his hand, softer than I would have expected at least, rubs my length. He opens, to take me inside of the wet warmth of his mouth. I lean back as Iglair sucks me off. I come in his mouth, but he swallows and doesn't seem to mind.

We switch places, so that I can do the same to him. I take fair amount of his hard pink length in my mouth, my hand rubbing what my mouth doesn't envelope, and caressing his balls, which have a light coating of soft black hair.

I never imagined that cum could taste as sweet as his does. I swallow it all gratefully from his hard, soft pink leather covered flesh rod. I feel an interesting fulfillment. I like him a little more than I did before, but I realize that I still don't trust him.

A glance at Airey confirms that she's scared, vaguely aroused, and doesn't know what to make of the situation. As if I do either, bitch. She's seen us. She's felt us. We've defiled her, violated her, aroused her, and been inside her. There's no way we can let her go, even if I'm tired, so "whoohoo!", I tell myself. I must prime myself like a lawnmower, because it's time to cut, shred, and destroy.

I grab the hammer from my backpack, and Iglair gets his engraved golden pocket knife. I know, even I wonder where he got the money for it. We string the black haired girl back up, fright in her eyes as they shoot between the weapons in our hands.

She whimpers, and here comes the pleading. "Please.. please! Don't kill m-". My hammer comes down on her head. She screams in horror, red blood wetting her hair and dripping down, mixing with the tears streaming down her face.

Iglair is swiping around with the knife, making thin cuts all over her body. He kneels down, then inserts the blade into her vagina. If only she were a gold digger, then I could make some sly joke. It'd be the same if I were shallow enough to figure all women as golddiggers. Her wholesomeness pesters me even now, see, even as she's being sliced through from pussy to asshole, even as she's screaming like I've never quite heard before.

Blood pours and drops to the floor heavily, even through this, her character won't let me enjoy my irony. Hell, I can barely even make a joke about "tearing her a new one", since Iglair's just connecting what was already there. No, oh wait! I did technically make her a new hole to fuck earlier. "Please, I can't take any more. Please no more." Her desperation is sexy.

I force her mouth open, and use the pliers I brought to grab that dangling thing at the back of her throat. She struggles, making it a pain, especially with her face slippery from tears and blood, but I finally get a good hold, and pull until part of the flesh rips off.

I feel her jolting up and down, and notice that Iglair is having sex with some part of her vagnus, lol, that's what I'm calling it now. I beat her a few times on either side of her head with the bloody pliers. Blood and spit splatter on my face as she cries and begs.

"Shuutt up, you stuupid cunt! Do you know how rude that is?" I yell at her, choking her and beating her with my fists now.She's been going limp for a little while. Something inside is dying. She really can't take it. Iglair finishes, and I grab the lighter fluid from my backpack. I smirk at her a little, while she looks at me with red, tear-filled, puffy eyes, mouthing terrified pleas over and over again, even though I can see in her eyes that she's entirely expecting what comes next.

I drench her new sliced vagnus with it, which gets her screaming and begging with the voice of a broken royal. It turns me on.

Iglair huffs a small laugh, and when I turn back, I see he's already holding the lighter. A flick on the slick, and she's alight, glowing brighter than her grades and good looks ever made her.

Horror and pain- that's her face. Her tender skin and once pink pussy and asshole, pardon me, vagnus, blacken. The fire smokes out after a little while. She can do nothing but hick and whimper.

Airey's body vibrates as she sucks in painful, slow breaths, shaky with tears and the fragments of her crushed spirit. She's just hanging onto consciousness. To be honest, I'm impressed that she hasn't quite gone into that annoying, pathetic shock, but she's heading there. She'll be completely boring in a few minutes, so we'll start to wrap things up now.

Iglair and I get our metal bars and beat her until she's covered in bruises, but thankfully still hanging onto consciousness, because I want to use the hatchet now. I loosen the chains, and she falls to the ground like a rag doll.

I gather my energy, and hack her head. She makes a strange, muffled scream. I hack and hack, pieces of her blood, brains, and skull making a mess all over my hoodie. A couple strands of her long black hair somehow find their way into my mouth, as hair always does (#relatable), and I have to spit several times during my hacking to rid my lips of them.

Once her formerly brilliant brain has been split and spread on the dirty ground before us to my satisfaction, her skull is half broken up, and my jeans are soaked with her blood and brains, I rise. Iglair frowns down at her- our last minor enemy.

Iglair gets an axe from the corner of the shed, and uses it to dismember her. I put her divided body parts into two garbage bags, and Iglair starts leaving with the other one. But before leaving he says, "Night." I say nothing back.

He did the initial heavy lifting: drugging her, kidnapping her, bringing her here, chaining her up, and bringing the axe and cleaning supplies.

Therefore, it falls to me to clean up the shed, and dispose of half of Airey's body. It's strange, how this time I feel a hint of regret, sadness at the death of this girl. She was probably going somewhere. She could've been as close to happy as is possible under our grey sky.

No, I mean she would've been able to see the stretches of red, orange, the streaks of sunlight breaking across the broad blue, whereas Iglair and I are color blind.

She would probably have earned every bit of color that she saw, too. Did we have to crush her, for that? Sure, a portion of her sights would have been illusions, as no human can see completely. I regret it just a bit less, now, because she would have perpetuated the grey, while choosing to be blind to at least part of that inconvenient fact.

I've finished cleaning, and I see that Iglair left a change of clothes for me. I dispose of my old clothes in the bag with her body, which is destined for a nearby junkyard. The trucks will come again soon, and help me bury her deeper and deeper. Maybe years from now, someone will find the victims, and waste millions of tax dollars trying to piece together the rotten, stinking pieces of the past, trying to find killers which may be dead themselves, or killers which cannot be caught.

It's probably 2:00 A.M or so. I hope my dad isn't home yet, but I left my window unlocked so that I can go in that way. Dad thinks poorly of me, but even if he caught me sneaking in this may be the last thing he would assume, unless I inherited my strangeness from him unbeknownst to me.

The alcohol wore off as the night wore on, and I realized how annoying it was, how much I didn't want to stand it, but I didn't want another beer either. I can only hope sleep comes easily. What's wrong with me? Not just today, this whole time. Sainwell is dirty. Sainwell has become dirty. I catch my reflection in the mirror, looking hollower than when I set out earlier. My hair is messy, stained a sticky red in far too many spots.

I'll be caught soon, if I continue being so careless, if I continue at all. I'm beginning to realize what I have to do. Even if I regret it, the time is coming to end this story. To end Iglair and myself, and all the grey that I sulked so long in hatred of.

#violent crime #crazy #kidnapping

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thecockandcarrot · 6 years

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The Struggle...

Sometimes you wish for a four-course meal, but all life gives you is a can of beans in shitty gravy. You could throw the can of beans away because you think you're better than that. Or you can eat your beans and pray that your next meal is a little bit better, you know, like an extra bean or bacon bits. Keeping in mind that, one day you will get that four course meal, it may not happen as fast as you wish, but you set it on the top shelf, knowing that one day you will be able to just reach up and grab it.

There are days where I struggle with what I am entitled to in life. I've grown up in America, a land that sells the "American Dream"; a dream that is nothing more than a product on the bottom shelf of life's grocery store. A product that sells happiness slapped on a yellow box with pictures of happy families on the outside, but on the inside, a black void of falsehoods. Drunk husbands punching their wives; drugged up moms watching their babies eat their drugs, but they are too high to get up; old rich men "who made it in America" flying out of the country to buy children to fuck; cousins raping little boys because that’s all the love they were shown; and drug and alcohol addicted war veterans that everyone is so proud of but no one wants to talk about their problems, it’s cheaper to let us kill ourselves or kick us out and not have to deal with us anymore. So come on everyone! Jump on the bad wagon on the Oregon Trail. Let's wave our American flag in everyone else's face, so we don't have to deal with the fact that no one is that happy family on that yellow box that we all grew up longing for.

I think I'm on my 5th can of beans, though now I can say at least I have some meat and potatoes in it. I am writing this today, the 12th of November in the year of 2017 on a Sunday at 0331 in the afternoon, which is saying a mouth full without realizing it. I practically came out dead of my mom's vag, then my father left us when I was only two. I survived the earthquake of 94' in Los Angeles from which all I can remember is the terror in my heart as I ran in the dark screaming for my mother. I was sexually molested and raped by an older cousin when I was seven—It went on for months. At the age of ten I was sexually molested by a family friend, actually it was the son of my mother’s best friend at the time. Coming out of the closet wasn't easy; I ended up having to drop out of high school and going to an alternative school in DC. I did this to evade my parents’ radical anti-gay behavior, only to get drugged and raped by one of the students on campus (Go Job Corps!). If you were to ask me if I could go back and not have dropped out, I still would have made the same choice. It's easier to accept strangers betraying me than being repeatedly demeaned and betrayed by those that I love.

At the bright and clueless age of 20, I walked by the big shiny glass window on 5th avenue in New York City and stared up at all the yellow boxes with pretty pictures. Moms baking cookies, dads playing catch with sons, children chasing after their dogs, girls jump roping, young men saluting the American flag (none of these being people of color). Can you guess which one I chose? I chose to dawn the fabric of America, because up until this point, everyone I had ever loved and trusted had failed or hurt me. I wanted to have a life to be proud of, not one that I was ashamed of. Well, as soon as I made that choice, like a bull in a china store, life reminded me that it's not that easy. Again, I found myself in a situation where fellow human beings felt entitled to using my drunk and blacked out body. That memory is hard for me to bring up to this day; I still don't know how many there were that night. What hurts the most is knowing that some of those men were men in uniform, my brothers.... This was before "Don't Ask Don't Tell", so I did what every other gay service member had done before me. I sucked it up, and went on pretending life was great because I was doing my country a great service. Soon after, I found my self alongside my fellow marines, as a corpsmen in Afghanistan. A decision I will never regret. I joined with the purpose in mind of going to war—I wanted to see what the newscasters weren't telling us...my thoughts on my experience there? I'll just say that my gunny's didn't want the "gay doc" on their missions, but I made sure my ass was on all of them— fuck that shit.

It's primitively funny how humans choose to bandage up their emotional wounds with little threads of pseudo-happiness. Some of us find it when out shopping, in abusive relationships, cutting slits into their skin, sex addiction, beating their children, killing animals, becoming a perfectionist, OCD, extreme sports, at the bottom of a bottle of vodka, overdosing on pain killers. Or, in a pair of running shoes like I once used, but I now find it easier to bring a needle to my arm because after all of the cans of beans of I have been served, it's the only thing that feels good.

Being active duty and an addict has been a really rough road. On one hand they want us to ask for help, but when we do, we are viewed as weak. When we start disappearing for our mental health appointments, all of a sudden, we become an inconvenience. I became an inconvenience to the Navy, so I was treated as such. Military has a funny way of dealing with our problems if we don't "HURRY UP AND GET BETTER," then they will find ways to just get rid of us. Unfortunately, the military has always glamorized alcohol: "Go get a drink or do anything to patch up your problems; just show up in uniform tomorrow and get the job done!" Well what happens when alcohol doesn't do it anymore? I went from running marathons, to running to the liquor store, to running drugs through my veins, to running out of reasons why I shouldn't love myself.

Last night life served me a side of beans. I walked into my garage only to step in a puddle of water. My garage is like my "Manish Cave." lol I use it to store junk, as an art studio, and a place to store my artwork. Whatever! There’s a couch in there, so that makes it a man cave! Anyway, I start feeling around, and EVERYTHING IS WET AND SOAKED THROUGH! So much so that the luggage I kept in there was filled on the inside with water. All my old sketches and paintings gone! Most importantly though, some of the paintings I had for the group exhibition show Pancakes & Booze next week on the 15th are ruined and the frames warped...

So, I can't quite reach up and grab that four-course meal just yet, but I am closer to it than when I started. Everything we endure is a step closer to becoming a super human. There have been numerous occasions where friends have confided their problems in me, and I was able to help them because I HAD BEEN THROUGH IT. Think of it like this, we go through all the things we go through in life, just so we can become lifeguards, ready to bring a fellow human back to shore.

TO ALL MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS IN ARMS WHO ARE SWIMMING IN THE DEEP END WITH ME...IT'S OK TO ASK FOR HELP. YOU ARE NOT ALONE, AND EVEN THOUGH OUR BANDAGES AND SCARS ARE DIFFERENT. WE ALL BLEED THE SAME. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

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martywurst · 7 years

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My First and Worst Year: Open Mic Hell

It can be pretty lonely going to an open mic when you’re starting out, especially if none of your friends are comedians. I missed the boat when a wave of my friends had just quit a year prior. I think they were just depressed by the overall experience or had moved on to better things. Eventually, I ran into a couple of people that I knew, but we didn’t hit all the same mics.

You venture out to these open mics, sign up on a list or throw your name in a bucket for a lottery draw. Echoes Under Sunset was typically swamped with 40-50 comedians. If I was way down the list, it could be hours before I got up. Then by the time it was my turn I might have an audience of 2 because everyone either bounced to other mics, or were just hanging out in the other room, charging their phones and socializing. I’d marvel at comedians that dropped in and were immediately put up. What the fuck? Why do these motherfuckers just get to go up and bounce immediately after? I've been waiting for 2 hours!

It made my blood boil.

Sometimes I'd go to an open mic early and the host would show up with the list. Then I'd go to sign up and there would be 10 people on the list already! What the FUCK?

All part of the game. This would happen for a number of reasons. People are texting the host for an early sign up- friends hook friends up, especially when everyone's trying to hit 3-4 mics a night. Or maybe it's a comic with a higher status- someone who's been in the game longer, so they get the respect and are granted "pop-ins". A few of those comedians would drop in and then shit on the venue in their set. Like it was beneath them to do that open mic.

Occasionally I'd luck out, get up early, and see a lot of comics in the audience...looking down at their phones, not supporting at all. Maybe just frozen in a grimace. I realized that all of this was just part of the grind. I think it's personal, but it's not. I'm just not funny.

Some mics feel like cliques, where the support isn't there unless I'm already in their circle. More than likely, I just suck!

Comedians in the open mic scene have witnessed the same cliches pass through a million times. The young cocky guys that want to be shocking. The misogyny. White guys that think they can drop the N-word because their favorite comedian did it. Comedians that can't take the silence so they start screaming at the audience. And not at other comics, they're screaming at customers- just innocent people that happen to be there.

I saw a comic walk up to someone who was studying and scream in his ear. Just some student who didn't care that an open mic was going on because it was a fucking coffee shop. Lot of these open mics are in random places and customers might feel like they're being held hostage. I saw a young comic scream at an elderly man to suck his dick. Others have called audience members cunts. Long sets devoid of jokes.

Familiar topics range from:

1. Fat women should be grateful that I want to fuck them!

2. Midgets are ridiculous.

3. Homeless people are gross.

4. I'm fine with gay people, (my cousin is gay) as long as they don't try to fuck me in the ass.

5. Rape, molestation, 9/11, Hitler, and incest.

6. Passive aggressive rant about (insert race here)

7. Bitches be crazy.

8. A woman having her period (a disgusted man's perspective)

9. Asians are bad drivers. (occasionally told by a comic of Asian descent)

10. Dude, that's so gay.

11. Hitting women.

12. Aids. (very popular)

One of my favorite segues was at Rockpaper Coffee- a mic where the darkest of souls would gather to charge their phones. This dude named Glenn just said horrible stuff about women for a few minutes and then he transitions with,

"I just want a girlfriend."

I remember there was an avant-garde asshole at The Palace. We'd perform upstairs in this Chinese restaurant (it's still going) and this one dude starts yelling down at a family that's just trying to celebrate their kid's birthday party. The comic is doing this violent hacking cough, flailing his arms, jumping into the wall behind him, and leaning over the balcony to yell at the party. He picks up a potted plant and all this soil spills out over the floor. It might sound hilarious as I'm describing it, but nobody was laughing. The host was livid. Of course he leaves without helping to clean up. One of those real artistic performers.

I change my mind, that guy was fucking brilliant. I think his name was Crispin Glover.

That's the thing, I end up meeting people that respect those kind of performers immensely and I have to question my judgement all over again.

Oh, I see, he's emulating unfunny incarnate, I just didn't get it!

I've seen so many long, ranting monologues. There's never a shortage. I'm so depressed. I want to kill myself. Comics shitting on everything they're not. Shitting on religion just because. Comedians rolling around on the stage, screaming, doing their version of an uncomfortable Andy Kaufman set. I subjected my girlfriend to a few of these mics.

I've become a little desensitized to the appalling behavior and just come to accept it. Most of these morons will be gone in a year or two, or they'll change their strategy from attacking the audience to writing actual jokes.

I'm friends with comics that have done these things. That's on me. I have conflicting emotions because you meet really nice people that have done awful things on stage. You should be able to express yourself at an open mic right? Maybe they just needed to get that shit out. I've definitely embarrassed myself countless times, but I firmly believe that I sink by myself. I hate comics that attack the audience because they can't handle their bombing.

With that said, I'm sure I'm due for a meltdown in the future.

Besides, that last bit killed at Flappers, so fuuuuuuuuuuck you pregnant lady, your unborn child's a cunt!

...sorry about that.

This might cheer you up, here's a picture of Jared Levin playing to a totally empty room!

So I would spend hours trying to get up at various places. Sometimes there's a drink minimum. Maybe a $5 entry fee. Some mics are absolutely free. Average 3 minute sets. Some were 4-5. At Marty's you could do 20 or more. That's not necessarily a good thing.

To add to the insanity I'd see these crazy people getting on stage.

They're clearly not serious about doing comedy, and now they're robbing me of stage time! Motherfucker.

I took it really personally. Anyone who didn't seem to care about stand-up just got under my skin. I was taking the metro blue line to the red line from Long Beach up to Hollywood, which would take anywhere from 90 minutes to 2 hours. Then I would wait around for an hour or two to MAYBE go up (lottery draw, mixed with drop-ins and employees) and then some careless fuckhead employee at the Improv automatically gets to go up? They didn't even write any shit! They even said it three time during their set,

"I didn't write anything."

GREAT! Now there's this ancient vaudeville fuck doing his act from the 1940's. He's getting out the shoe polish....DEAR GOD.

I actually heard a Tammy Faye Baker and Monica Lewinsky joke- I couldn't believe it.

It's just one of those things, there's certain people you only see at certain open mics over and over- like The Laugh Factory, The Comedy Store, or The Ice House. Same weirdos popping up. A woman singing some horrible song and rambling incoherently about her life story. The dude with the huge sombrero that kept clearing his throat and fucking with his phone during everyone else's set. There was also a conspiracy theory guy that would bring charts on stage.

Most of the hosts just embrace these people. Just give them their time and move on. Maybe these mics are keeping them from doing something worse. Or maybe it's keeping them alive. Pretty dramatic, but who the fuck knows.

One guy showed up to The Ice House to battle his fear of public speaking. He would break down and cry almost every set.

Some open mics encourage feedback from other comics after your set. It's a great idea that a lot of people take advantage of. I was never crazy about it because I'm stubborn and I hate most comic's material, so why would I want their input? I do like technical notes about what I'm doing on stage, but I'm a stickler for what's written. No one can improve my 9/11 dick joke, it's the best one clearly.

Then I found myself giving unwarranted advice to comics that didn't ask for it. Jesus Marty, you're barely a year in. What the fuck do you possibly have to offer?

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. I gradually made friends. It took awhile. I struggle to be myself in front of other comics to this day because I care too fucking much. I come off like a phony and I know it, but I'm trying to let it all go. No one is thinking about me! They're probably thinking, well that guy sucked, or not this piece of shit again, but that's probably it. They're worried about their set.

The Comedy Store patio mic was instrumental in finding my voice a bit. Very thankful to Josh Martin for hosting it. It was the 50-yard line for an open mic week. Wednesdays AND Thursdays at 4pm, which is really early for a week day mic. It left me plenty of time to hit some more mics at 6 or 7pm. When I was taking the bus everywhere, it meant a lot to get those two guaranteed mics in every week. I started to loosen up because of this place. I felt a camaraderie here. I really bonded with some good people.

There were so many distractions- the street noise alone. Every few minutes, a bus would pull over to take pictures. TMZ and Rasta buses. Double decker buses. Just a bunch of tourists on vacation getting bombarded with worthless information about The Comedy Store and now they were staring at us. So we would try to make something of that moment. Or I might just say something lame, lose my place and never recover. Some comics screamed at them. We'd hear the occasional request of,

"Tell us a joke!"

One time I took the challenge and told a quick joke to a bunch of tourists on a bus and got the laugh. That felt like the accomplishment of the year for me- Sean K. was just clowning on how I was gonna choke and then under the gun I got the laugh.

One time a bunch of dudes in a party bus asked a comedian to hop in for a ride.

He did. We never saw him again.

PJ Stansbury would wander into the mic, drinking PBR and promptly shit on everybody during his set. He's what most moms would call a "potty-mouthed troll." I had no idea he was a paid regular. This guy was spewing so much toxic bile I was stunned to know his name was on the fucking wall. First impressions man. They never last. Now he's just a potty-mouthed troll that I happen to like.

Pauly Shore would occasionally pull into the driveway to do business at the Store and give us a wave.

Sometimes pedestrians would participate in the madness. They could hear us from the street, so they'd yell shit out as they walked by. Heckling would take place too, or on a couple of occasions a shouting match. It was always fun to see people stop in their tracks and then actually come in for a few minutes to watch. The bar was open after all.

That particular mic was a great training ground and there was just something about that energy outside on Sunset Blvd.

There were the audition mics like Flappers, that could lead to an audition, which would lead to those bringer-type shows.

Or you could stand outside the Laugh Factory for a few hours and sign up to perform the following week! Also an audition type scenario that could lead to longer sets and showcase consideration... don't hold your breath.

Always a sober moment when some beautiful person in a fancy car rolls down their window to question the line of 15 comics, standing outside the Laugh Factory.

"Who are you waiting for, what comedian?"

"No, we're waiting to sign up- WE'RE the comedians."

"Oh." (sympathetic wave, drives off)

Some of the comedians are in lawn chairs. One guy is eating a sandwich from the deli next door. An old man is talking our ear off about his "comedy career" back in the day. They cut the line at 15, but the 16th person is waiting anyway- just in case. They're going to be disappointed. No exceptions.

I'd sit around, try to write a joke for a minute and then give up. Someone would start a conversation with me. Or hand me their dog for this picture.

That's the only good thing I really have to say about standing outside the Laugh Factory. I meet good people. I won't meet the owner, Jamie Masada. At least, not any time soon. He's in the Bahamas or something. Which is a good thing, I'm still terrible. He was there once out of the 7 times I've done it. so I eventually grew bored and got involved with other things.

I'll end this entry with another painful artifact. I can't bring myself to watch this again, but I'll post it.

I was interested in the Flappers podcast, the "FlappCast" because the owners/hosts had on a lot of comedians that I knew. Anyone could do a short set. Plus they booked some pretty good guests to sit in and give feedback. Very much like the KillTony podcast except nothing funny happens.

I take that back, GT's appearance, which I must hunt down. They were so shocked by his performance. Nothing like an eccentric, hated, ticking time-bomb comic to blow the lid off an unsuspecting room.

So I found out how to sign up and made a fool of myself. I remember being so disappointed that they didn't get me. That I was doing these outlandish bits; an over-the-top impression that couldn't be serious. An over-the-top story that couldn't be true. When I talked to them I felt like they hadn't even listened to me.

Not that any of my material was good, my shirt alone sealed my doom.

to be continued...

#martywurst #laopenmics #comedystore #flappersburbank #flappcast #laughfactory #jamiemasada #thelexington #echoesundersunset #theicehouse #hollywoodimprov #comedystorepatio

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