A Conversation/Splittin' Atoms With Apples In A Room Full of Assholes.

"Southern charm? You'd be the devil if you weren't a church goin' man, I measure!' 'Well what would you know about it anyways?' 'It seems to me that you are simply watered down frustrations and a ball of mental malfuntions, my dear.' 'As if you know en-ee-thing about it!' 'Why, it was but three days ago where I found you, like a child in a candy store gawking so fervently at those teenage girls.' 'Mr. Benns, you're just a pervert and a scoundrel and no amount of so-called "southern charm" deludes my judgement.' 'What was all that talk about church then, Miss Clawdy?' 'Well... I spect as well that your only real initiative for the house of God is so you can spy on all those pretty young things sitting in the pews ahead.' 'I suffice to say, you are an incorrigable one and no amount of prayin'd do the job to rid you of your demons!' 'That's just a bunch of claptrap.' 'Oh I fear, Mr. Benn's, you some kind of disease on womanfolk.' 'Well then Clawdy, you old bird, here comes Baby, now lets just see if Baby's got the Benns..."

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*Tiny living soldiers stand guard every single night when the lamp goes out and the wishy-washy moonbeam glides through the window pane.

Sgt. McNarles, first name Charles, stands guard at the medicine cabinet and things are getting desperate. "It's just the right night for a midnight fight over pharmaceutical delights," he spouts as the soldiers shout out the roll call in the mess hall behind the bathroom stall. Tiny soldiers, all conformed to the everydays and nights of the big, savvy people and their enormous fight against nose hair and gingivitis, make of themselves simple, sorted systems of symbiotic strife. The cat is fond of them; they lose a lad nearly every month, but the cat is glad, with a belly full of miniaturized green beret. So the motto goes, "wherever there's a soldier, the cat knows, so be on your toes."
Charles McNarles, guardian of endless bottles of cure-all concoctions, is found remiss and a little on edge tonight. "I've got to get going, I've got to stay ready," he repeats to himself, over and over and over as the sink water drips and the shower curtain wades through the undertow of the air ventillation coming from below. But this was long, and long ago. The soldiers life is another story for another time.

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"What the hell am I talking about?"
-The Author

"Brilliantly written; it is warm and inviting like grandmother's cookies."
-The New York Post

"This is one of the greatest tales of the year."
-The Times

"A masterpiece among masterpieces."
-Chicago Sun Times

"Who ate the last piece of chicken?"
-Roger Ebert

"No, you idiot! You weren't suppose to put that down!"
-Roger Ebert

"Oh fuck this shit, you're all nuts."
-Roger Ebert

"I think it's nice. Go and get me a Sunday paper now."
-Mom



Well, if there's one thing we've learned in this day and age it is that the world is full of crazy assholes with nothing to do and no one to talk to and I'll be damned if I am some sort of exception to the rules. You'll be damned too. We'll all be damned. Want to know the shit-end of it all? There's no ice cream in hell. Isn't that a shame?

-Chawrlee