Once when I was an EMT-B on an ambulance, my speed-freak partner and I got a call. Someone had went into cardiac arrest and was likely DOA. When we got there, the man’s wife was in tears and the firefighters were performing CPR and defibrillation. I took over chest compressions if memory serves, but I could tell right away that the man was gone. Rigor mortis was setting in and, well, when someone is dead they just look and feel different. Their skin turns cold and hard: living flesh turned inanimate, a human being reduced to a thing. The man had apparently been using the toilet, whether it was No. 1 or No. 2 I’m not sure, but my money is on the former. After he’d finished, his heart just stopped working and he hit the linoleum head first. Hard. He’d probably been watching some reality TV with his wife and felt the urge to piss. One minute he was walking around, talking, and then the next his life was over without rhyme or reason. There were no last words, no last cry of pain or fear, just plop! Dead on the bathroom floor.

This event has always stuck with me. There’s something indecent about dying so unexpectedly after something so mundane as taking a piss. It just makes everything seem so meaningless. I wish I would have gotten a better message from that man’s dying. Maybe something along the lines of, “Life is short, and even shorter for some.” After all, he was only in his mid fifties. But I didn’t get that out of it at all. So what is the point of anything when you could just up and die at any given second? Right now, as I type this, a blood vessel could pop somewhere inside my body and I’d be dead as hell. My 28 years on this planet leading up to nothing, just a long sleep that isn’t really sleep. Sure we can all dream of heavens and hells, anything to give us that little bit of comfort we so desperately crave. Everything’s gonna be alright, but it’s not. All of this is, the universe, humanity and all, is just a random, pointless series of events. There is no moral to this story, so enjoy it while you can if you can. If you can’t, well then welcome to the club.

The Fingernail Killer

The Fingernail Killer, his real name was Scott
He’d have sex with the bodies until they would rot
A fetish or something, I don’t know which
His victim of choice: a manicured bitch

 Oh, he was a sick puppy, I cannot deny
And after each orgasm, he’d have a long cry
A token he’d take back home to his room
A single nail in a matchbook tomb

Sometimes with a knife, sometimes strangulation
Authorities said, “We’ve got a situation.”
But the Fingernail killer was slick as a snake
Emotions he found most easy to fake

And somewhere he lives, still out there today
Stalking and hunting more victims to flay
A man on the loose, I’m afraid to say
This one psychopath, well, he got away...

I miss the fuck out of my music software. Creative constipation really sucks. I should start e-begging or something. How many of you would give me free money?

I am so sleepy.

There’s A Monster In My Potty (rough draft)

There’s a monster in my potty
He comes out late at night
Serrated teeth, hair long and knotty  
It’s quite a scary sight

He likes to eat up children
 but he’ll take what he can get
Blood and meat and fat and bone
He’ll catch you while you sit

Some say he started as a pet that someone flushed away
Thought he’d kicked the bucket cause his eyes were dead and gray
But he was playing opossum, just waiting for the chance
To grow and thrive and hunt and feed
The things that freedom grants

But who knows just what there is down there and just what it can do
From radioactive isotopes to ordinary poo
All I know is that this monster loves the taste of flesh
Bloody, ripe, and tinged with fear so tender and so fresh

Once I tried to shoot him, but the slugs had no effect
His skin is like armor and his scales deflect
I ran away just as he pounced and dead bolt locked the door
Since then I sponge bathe at a local convenience store

An exorcist from every faith, some missing to this day,
Came to cleanse my potty with their power to pray
But their prayers turned to screams, and they left behind just gore
And fingernail furrows scratched into the bathroom door

So I had to sate him, I couldn’t live in fear
Especially with all the bums and unwanted children near
Some were lured with candy, some simply had to go
What the monster did to them, I’d just as soon not know

A few cops came later too, now they tend to stay away
Once they see that monster with his eyes so dead and gray
There’s a monster in my potty, but now he is my friend
After all the living food that I nightly send

***
    It feels like it’s been a long time since I have given my Newgrounds account a looksy. To those two or three people sick enough in the mind to find my scribblings and noises entertaining, I hope you continue to enjoy. Please feel free to litter my comment section with your syphilitic dementia and schizophrenic ravings. It’s getting hot outside these days which tells me that the earth is apparently still spinning…unfortunately. People who get pissed off when I used ellipsis incorrectly can suck all three of my nuts. They should chance the rules so that it (…) can also mean a dramatic pause instead of just a left out word. Shut up. You know what I’m talking about. So anyway, the neighbors have a demonic dog named Sam that talks me to through my dreams. I told him to fuck off. I can think bad thoughts perfectly well on my own, thank you. Fuckity doo daa. All the live long day. Dotdotdot. I have to return some video tapes to Blockbuster. I wish Blockbuster still existed. I’m gonna go cry into a can of hobo beer now.      

Still no music making software. I’m too poor to buy any and too stupid to pirate any. All the freeware is lame.

Have you ever pissed out your butt?

     Sleep paralysis is a phenomenon in which a person, either falling asleep or awakening, temporarily experiences an inability to move, speak, or react. It is a transitional state between wakefulness and sleep, characterized by complete muscle atonia (muscle weakness). It is often accompanied by terrifying hallucinations (such as an intruder in the room) to which one is unable to react due to paralysis, and physical experiences (such as strong current running through the upper body). One hypothesis is that it results from disrupted REM sleep, which normally induces complete muscle atonia to prevent sleepers from acting out their dreams. Sleep paralysis has been linked to disorders such as narcolepsy, migraines, anxiety disorders, and obstructive sleep apnea; however, it can also occur in isolation.[1][2] (exerpt from Wikipedia.org)

     Throughout my life, I have experienced full blown sleep paralysis five or six times. For me, there isn’t any pressure on my chest. There’s just an inability to move and a feeling that someone, something, is just out of my sight and slowly coming to get me. A couple of times, I’ve seen shadowy figures just at the edge of my vision. I couldn’t move my head well enough to get a good look. It’s a terrifying thing to go through. The best way I can describe it is sort of like a conscious dream where you know something isn’t right. You sometimes realize that you’re having a dream, but you’re aware of it and unable to wake up. 

     It's a frightening thing and I have no idea why I shared that with the world.

Something Dead

I just found something dead
Not a body, just a head
Found on my back lawn
The eyes were both gone
I hid it under my bed

Oscar

Oscar loved to kill, and he loved it oh so well
And he prayed to Jesus every night to keep him out of hell
Above his house was neat as a pin with a cross on every wall
You’d have no clue, you’d never guess, he was a killer and all  
Late at night on dim lit streets with hookers all around
He’d sneak behind with chloroform and never make a sound

Just like Jack The Ripper and other friends, Oscar was quiet and quick
And the bloody mess he left behind would truly make you sick
Intestines strewn like Christmas garland slung down on the ground
The wrists bleeding, unfeeling, pale with piano wire bound

Then one day, while reading his bible, Oscar heard a knock
The only thing between him and the cops was a cheap-o, deadbolt lock
He ran up stairs, heart pounding fast, and climbed into his bed
And as policemen rammed the door, Oscar shot his head

ED

Now hear the story of poor, lonely Ed
And how something was broken inside of his head
Late at night with shovel in hand
He'd dig through the dirt, the gravel, and sand

He'd pry open vaults and take what's inside
His love for the dead could not be denied
Mummified remains all thrown in a sack
Ed took them back home to his rickety shack

Drinking cheap whiskey, he'd talk to his mother
Who had been dead almost as long as his brother
He'd speak of his life, such a dark, strange journey
Into the world of taxidermy

Then one day, as he polished a bone
He decided to make some death of his own
But poor old Ed, he just had no guile
They caught him red handed, there was no denail
 

And now poor Ed spends his days in a cell
A padded, immaculate version of hell
But he never forgets his dance with the dead
That lonely old mama's boy we all call Ed