Rantings of a Dead Writer

Oh what a beautiful fucking day it is for the auction of my belongings. My fatted siblings are sucking down coffee and stuffing sweet rolls in their faces. They must be in a hurry to meet up with me in the graveyard.

Well...there is my sweet niece...pinning my war medals and battle ribbons on a piece of fucking brown cardboard. Such a perfect place for my patriotic service memorabilia....a hamburger box...a fucking hamburger box!

I see my crates of life's works....stacked to sell for one price. Fifty years of blood, sweat and tears will ride away in the back of a truck...more than likely used to start morning fires in the belly of a wood stove.

I'll follow them home and dance on the smoke like a mad boy who just found that having a stiffy while bouncing feels wonderful!

And there...yes there is my wonderful little brother...a touch of a tear in his eye...softly saying,"I think this old clock will bring a fine sum!"

I loved that clock....it chimed though the nights of my writing and like a grandmother...reminding me to get a bite to eat. Oh...someone is opening the top crate...labeled,"Short stories."

Great...they are laughing....wait...that is one of my serious erotic love tales..now they are reading it out loud,"The scent of her mound excited him even more." Read the line before that you moron! Great...now the auctioneer helper has evolved into a comedian by adding,"Said the fisherman!"

Laugh away you oafs...laugh at the works of my heart! Even my little brother laughs with them...saying,"Poor old Thomas wrote stories for years....never had a wife...never had a life!"

I did so you sniveling little bastard...I had far more sex than you and your aerobics teaching eighty two pound soul mate...you didn't know that she grabbed my crotch at a Thanksgiving dinner and told me,"A woman needs to try on different sizes,"in her fucking drunken stupor!

Oh how nice...they're even selling my pictures and slides. How shrewd...they marked the boxes, Pictures and slides. My pictures and slides of Korean people and landscapes could bring a mint on EBay...what buffoons!

And...the first item up for bid is my computer....that's the way to sell things Mr. Auctioneer...."Outdated computer...we didn't plug it in so it's being sold as is!" Great...the Mac I paid a thousand dollars for just went for fifteen bucks!

Well now...my Korean War medals and battle ribbons went for fifty two dollars...they even tossed in the two bullets that were taken from my thigh...thank you for being so fucking grateful America!

Pictures and slides brought a whopping three dollars...the scruffy old guy that was digging through the boxes is sporting a financial erection...good for him!

Good...now my crates of stories...wow...they started at a hundred...now one fifty....jeese...five hundred....sold at seven hundred and sixty dollars! Somebody knows great literature!

What the fuck...they are dumping my crates of stories out in the trash bin! "These soda pop crates are the hottest thing on the market back home" the little balding fucker says to his fat ass wife!

I would cry but every word is stored in my mind.

I can just find an idiots ear to whisper in...late at night...he will bring my stories to light again and think they are his own...he will be famous and have beautiful women adore his never ever lonesome penis as publishers poop flowers of profits out their asses from my wonderful garden of great fucking works!

Poof..........."You really need to pass on into the light, Thomas" the little annoying angel is saying to me.

I will gladly go into the light after you help me find a budding writer with a big dick and a little brain! I just watched my entire estate sell for less than what I made in a year at the fucking Post Office...so bug the fuck off!

Hey...there's my old girlfriend Molly...oh yeah...she has some big....long... chubby nipples! Her and her brother, Joe are digging my writings out of the trash bin....wow....he's climbing in. She has tears in her eyes. "It's pathetic they would do this to Thomas...I'm going to transfer everything he wrote to CD" she says.

Very sweet Molly but YOU ARE FUCKING UP MY PLAN!

I can't whisper my stories into an idiots ear if you have fucking copies of them! Now I'll have to re-write everything as I download them into a blissful empty head....because...my sexy ex girlfriend has a fucking heart!

Poof.......Oh great...here comes a bigger angel!

"Thomas...the future shows me that your girlfriend's youngest son will find your stories and make extremely popular video games inspired by them...he will also credit you to their creations..now will you please go into the light?" he says to me.

Are there publishers in heaven? "Every work is published and appreciated in heaven."he says as he smiles wide.

Fuck that...I'm staying right here....what's the fun of writing if everybody loves everything?

Why the red face Mr. angel?

"Do you know what the percentage is of writers who refuse to go into the light is!".... No.... "10 percent.... and the 90 percent who have gone into the light...constantly chase the critics back through the Pearly Gates!"

I thought you said everything was published and accepted?

"Oh...it is...but writers can't possibly be satisfied...it is countless the times I have heard the complaint...( We're sick of great reviews and praise...just once we would love our work to be called...SHIT!)"

Well...the big angel has angrily faded away as I sit here on my old front yard maple tree limb between two sparrows. Molly and Joe are loading the last bundles of my work into her mini van. My useless relatives have long gone to divvy up the money. The people who bought my house are blabbing about changes in decor.

Oh...what a life it was. I rather like being in limbo....I became use to it...I'm a writer. What to do....what to do?......poof...................

.......Hi...who are you? "Edgar Allen Poe!" he says.

Hey...that Raven and Tell Tale Heart...great stuff!

"Fuck off....some asshole writer who wouldn't pass into the light put those in my head!"