High Tech Mortality

Every time I type every time I type everytime because everyday throws me off. Confusing English aside, every time a new iphone comes out, I wonder about diseases. Not from disgruntled Chinese workers putting herpes in the earhole or the ghost of Steve Jobs giving us ipolio. No, it makes me wonder how so much useless and amazing shit can be stuffed into such a small package, all for $199, and yet billions of billions (I think that equals trillions. I’ll let you math nerds figure those numbers out) of dollars can’t cure cancer, or anything for that matter. I know that sounds all high school philosophical, and something you might hear a beauty contestant say to prove her shallowness is only skin deep, after doing a baton twirl in a two piece. But, it is a valid point.

The iphone factory struggled to find their way, after they dropped child labor.

The iphone factory struggled to find their way, after they dropped child labor.

 

When I was kid I heard about chemo. I’m thirty five and I hear about chemo. I’m sure there is a bit more advancement, I’m no gynecologist. If we’re going to stick with my iphone analogy, it would be the equivalent of us all carrying around rotary phones that will need to be plugged in but hey, they got caller ID.

The newspaper said next years model will have a flashlight.

The newspaper said next years model will have a flashlight.

If any of you are the betting type, I’ll make a wager. I bet my sweet ass that they find a cure for Ebola. Wanna know why? It has quick pace. You’re dead in weeks. No profit in it. I bet the cure will cost as much as one of those fancy Ford Fiestas everyone’s been all hyped up about, but, it will cure it by God.

"Just give us the keys, and the Ebola will go away."

“Just give us the keys, and the Ebola will go away.”

Conspiracy theories aren’t my cup of tea. I don’t believe the world is being controlled by a shadowy group of power bankers and Jay-Z. What I do believe in is the trail of money in which all decisions are based, in regards to things that cost money. What a cluster fuck of a sentence that was. Sheesh. (Authors note: Learn to formulate a thought before typing.) Where there is a want or need there is a hope for reliance, where there is reliance there is hope for long term profitability. Remember that when you sign up for your two year contract on your new iphone 6, and pray the damn things don’t give you cancer.

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Gothic Benches

A position statement before I go into all this mess: I do not believe in the paranormal.

Recently, two of my best friends from high school came for a visit. These are dear friends who have been together since pagers and Tupac. She is an elementary school teacher and he is a police officer. I sucked at school and law abiding, so our friendship is most likely a lie. On the night they were leaving we stayed up telling stories and playfully pushing for wife swapping.

I vaguely recalled a story from when they were first dating, and for God only knows what reason, they would go to city parks late at night to talk. Talk? Whatever. I asked them to retell the story so Cris could hear it. Cris loves stories, and she really loves when they involve the mysterious.

The story goes that one night around 11pm in Mesquite, TX, Buttplug and Chastity (first names that popped into my head) went to Debusk Park to have their teenage-love-drama-public sex time. The park is massive, covered in trees, and at the time of the night, vacant. A walking & bicycling trail encircles the entirety and roughly every 100 feet are walkways off the main trail. The walkways have small wooden bridges. It’s picturesque and majestic except it’s located in the herpes of Dallas County.

These wooden plank mini trails lead to a circular concrete pad complete with a picnic table and benches. Once there, you’re secluded and surrounded by trees. Even during the day, no none could hear your screams, especially during the day, not over the excitement of Javier and his amigos having a go at the piñata, or the Meth Family having a go at normalcy. The place is probably safer at night, really.

Buttplug and Chastity went down one of the walkways to find the privacy they couldn’t get at home because parents. Once there, they sat down on one of the benches. Small talk, blah, blah. After about 10 minutes, they see a figure moving towards them. They said, it was as if it just appeared. Buttplug has always been and always will be the quiet badass type. He’s about as talkative as a mango, and not prone to freaking out. Before either one of them can react to the figure, a few more appear.

As the figures move closer it becomes clear that they are people, dressed in black and wearing hoods to cover their heads. The couple look towards the walkway and see the path is now being occupied by even more emo goths with too much Dungeon & Dragons coursing through their veins. Chastity looks behind her and sees they are completely surrounded by them. In total there were approximately forty.

Not a one made a noise, neither the couple nor the intruders. The mystery people did their best to keep their faces down and covered. From body types and movements, it was thought that the group was of mixed ages varying from 14-50.  Not a single face was seen. My friends have told me that the concept of time was lost. Not in the alien abduction sense but more in the “I’m scared I’m about to get gangbanged by a renegade branch of Slipknot groupies, and everything is in slow mo.” sense.

Since Buttplug is an officer of the law, he did his best to give us time frames. He said after a about 2-3 minutes of being stared at and full silence, two of the freaks began to walk towards them. One sat on his side and one on her side. Again silence. The two people acted as if the couple weren’t even there, staring straight ahead at nothing. After about two minutes the weirdos got up, and all at once the whole lot walked away.

No words, no pictures, no nothing could prepare me for the fear I would have felt if I thought I could die from a flashmob of Wiccans and Juggalos in Mesquite effing Texas. How they were able to communicate and get together before the internet was big is beyond me. This was a time when screwballs and kooks met each other through classifieds and cryptic signs on telephone poles. Their coordination is as much a mystery as their motives. Creepy shit, y’all.

Later, I’ll put another eerie story up that I was more a part of. It involves my cheating whore of an ex-wife and blood. That sounded better in my head.

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