Jason Alan. Writer, Character.

Short stories, rants, poetry, novels under construction… and look, cows!


​Terrorists hate America, but people focus too much on the religion aspect. Sure, that’s part of it, but I think a bigger chunk of it is that we. Have. Everything.

If you like to drink, alcohol is legal in every state. If you like to smoke weed, about half the states have medical marijuana and a couple of states (great fucking states, I might add) have done the balls out move of just legalizing it altogether. You’re an adult, smoke up. Imagine that, in the land of the free.

If you like warm climates, we have Georgia. If you like warm climates, senior citizens and crazy people, we got Florida.

If you want cold weather, we got Maine, Montana and North Dakota. Ok fine, Minnesota too. If you prefer the cold and smoking weed (yeah I mentioned that twice already), we got Washington state. If you want bite your nipples off cold, we offer you Alaska.

You love corn and shitty metal bands, go to Iowa. If you like potatoes and fucked out jokes about being a ho, we got Idaho.

If you like island paradise, spam and poi, we have Hawaii. Oh yes, and volcanoes could brutally murder you any day now…

If you want to live in the desert, well, first of all, you’re an idiot, but if you do, we have Arizona and New Mexico. If you like the desert and gambling and high priced hookers, we have Nevada.

If you like Mexicans, ironically enough, you don’t necessarily go to New Mexico. You go to Texas or California. Speaking of Cali and Texas, we not only have fantastic beaches, we have two fucking oceans AND the gulf of Mexico. Suck it, every other country.

If you like lovers, move to Virginia. If you’re a lover of incest, move to West Virginia.

If you like brainless, inbred hicks, go to Kentucky. If you like brainless, inbred hicks and Indian casinos, we have Oklahoma.

If you like river boat gambling, bourbon, tits for beads and horrible French accents, take a trip to Louisiana.

If you like walking down the street where the only people who make eye contact with you are the ones who are trying to grift you, fuck you or both, we have New York.

If you love God and dislike suspenders, we have the bible belt.

Back to religion, oh yeah, we have plenty of that.

We have Catholics, Muslims, Buddhists, atheists, Mormons, Chinese Christians, atheists, agnostics, Hindus, Scientologists, Jews, Jews for Jesus, Taoists, Spiritualists, Pagans, Christians that like gays, Christians that hate fags, Wiccans, and various cults where old bearded dudes play guitar and molest fourteen year old girls. But my favorite is The Church of Euthanasia. Some of their slogans include “Save the Planet, Kill Yourself”, “Six Billion Humans Can’t Be Wrong”, and “Eat a Queer Fetus for Jesus”. Personally, I’m an agnostic, but if I had to pick one, sign me up for the religion of satire.

If you like mountains, we have plenty of them.  We even have Mount Rushmore. In this country, even a beautiful, majestic granite mountain is too boring for us. We had to carve faces into them. The visages of so-called great leaders. One of whom helped to free the slaves, two slave owners, and one that was elected after the abolition, who probably wished he had a few free negros to help out with the more menial tasks at the white house.

If you want lakes, we have a shit ton of those. We even have man made reservoirs, and of course, The Great Lakes. Suck it, other lakes.

If you like big ass holes in the ground, we have the Grand Canyon. If you like big assed hoes, we have Nicki Minaj. Is she American? I should probably google it when I’m talking shit about someone, but fuck it.

We have a good neighbor and a couple of bad ones. Canada is the good one. It could be argued that the band Loverboy is the worst thing they have ever brought us, but I suppose Kids in the Hall and Trailer Park Boys makes up for it. The really bad one is Cuba, and don’t give me shit about bad mouthing Mexico. If it’s so good, then why do they keep risking their life walking through the desert to come here?

We even have the ever elusive honest politicians. They don’t get elected, but we still have them.

America has everything you could possibly want. Sex, drugs and rock and roll. Wine, women and song. Trannies, THC and techno. We got it all, baby doll. And that’s why the terrorists hate us. Plus, we have bigger dicks (and smaller pussies).

Hey God

Hey God. I must say that I was fairly certain I’d never see you. I was agnostic when I was alive.

I know, Jason. I am God the Almighty, creator of everything and all that jazz. But I have to send you back. You died too early. Clerical error.

Wait, but aren’t you infallible and omnipotent? How could you possibly make a mistake?

It wasn’t mine. You know how humans like to get drunk and/or high on something, or meditate or exercise?  For me, I shut down what you would think of as my brain for a while and let the angels handle the multiverse.

I knew it. Multiverse. Fuck yeah. Anyway, before I go back to life as I know it, can I ask you a few questions?

Sure. I already know what they are, but go ahead and inquire my son.

Ok cool. So, why exactly did you make our waste and sexual organs not only so close together, but some even exactly the same? Seriously, why do I piss and drop off semen from the same place?

*puts holy fingers to his temples* Life is very complicated to make properly. You aren’t smart enough to understand. Or, you could be dreaming and I don’t exist.

I’m not falling for that shit. You’re real, I can tell. I’ll let you slide on that question but what about this one. When I go back, can I tell anyone I met you?

Yes, but most likely you will be thought of as crazy.

Good point. Alright, what if I tell them about the multiverse thing? I know that it’s true now.

But of course, nothing more scientifically viable than ‘God told me’. Remind them I spoke to you through your dog.



Well, I suppose I’m ready to go back. Thanks, God, I’m enchanted, truly. One last question. How did I die?


Huh. I guess I figured that. Probably alcohol poisoning or coke.

No, but close. It was aspirin. You mistook them for oxy.

Ain’t that a bitch. If I took the equivalent of oxy, I’d have survived.

Of course.

Ok. Bye for now God. Nice to meet you.

Peace out, nigga. Keep it real.

Spank 2 Chapter

I’m working on the sequel to my highly praised yet largely unappreciated comedy book, Spank Material for the Clinically Insane. What you will read is a draft of one of the chapters. Some will be edited, others shall be changed and the losers will be summarily dumped in the trash.

I decided that I want to get a little help from other writers that I believe have talent because I have kind of hit a wall on this one. I can’t really come up with anything new for some reason. If you are reading this it might be because I asked you to, and the only thing I ask is that you write just one. One one liner. That’s all.

To the untrained eye, it may not be noticed that some of these are time sensitive. The David Koresh joke happened the same year as it actually transpired. If you participate in helping me write this, you can go by that or not.  It’s up to you. But if you do, I was born in 1975.

Anyway, I’ll shut up now and let you get on to the early version of what will be a chapter in my next comedy book. Enjoy.


I was thinking about my sad, pathetic life the other day and I realized something. Not only is it sad and pathetic, it’s also boring. So I decided to make some shit up about myself.

When I was a sperm cell, I put my brothers into camps and committed semen genocide. Then I drugged the egg and violated her.

Some of these could be true. You don’t fucking know me, asshole.

In the womb, I strangled my twin sister with her own umbilical cord and made a onesie with her skin.

Didn’t we all, though?

I didn’t cry when I was shat out from the womb, but my mother did. I faked being stillborn.

I couldn’t laugh yet, but it was hilarious.

At age 1, I clamped my gums down on mom’s nipple and wouldn’t let go. She ran screaming through the house as I swung from her left udder.

Even when she fell and knocked herself unconscious thanks to the old Zenith console tv, I still didn’t let go. The first responders were horrified.

At age 2, I fashioned a dildo from my soiled diaper, froze it and used it to fuck my neighbor.

True story.

At age 3, I ate my newborn brother and told everyone he ran away.

He couldn’t even crawl, let alone walk or run. My parents were dumb.

At age 4, I burned a cross in front of the NAACP headquarters.

I blame my parents for letting me watch Sanford and Son.

I spent my entire fifth year pretending I had Downs Syndrome.

Not much of a stretch, actually.

At age 6, I was hit by the short bus. The next day, I was riding in it.

I’m aware that’s redundant, but I’m a lazy writer.

When I was 7, I built an abortion clinic with popsicle sticks. Mom was so mad because it was 1:1 scale and I stole her Hoover and wire hangers.

But she forgave me for using the facility to end the pregnancy of my 12 year old sister.

At age 8, I made a volcano for science class. I dumped virgin Barbies into it. My teacher laughed so hard he almost stopped fucking me.

When I was 9, I made a macaroni art tribute to Jeffrey Dahmer. For the paper, I used Jet magazine. Then I ate the black vice principal.

When I was 10, I showed my finger painting to my teacher. She laughed at me, so I said ever heard of Jackson Pollock, bitch, and knifed her.

She lived.

At age 11, I made the twin towers in wood shop, took them home and flew radio controlled planes into them. When dad asked what the fuck I was doing I laughed maniacally and said, practicing.

At age 12, I drugged my sisters, broke out gramma’s sewing kit and made a hymen centipede. That was the first time I masturbated to climax.

At age 13, a bum let me pay him a dollar to do a skin graft with my miniature Dallas Cowboys football and a blowtorch.

At age 14, I emptied the ball pit at Chuck E Cheese’s, filled it with tree slugs and did laps.

On my 15th birthday, I built a potato gun and used it to shoot AIDS babies at cars on the highway.

At age 16, I discovered the cure for testicular cancer. Then I used the evidence papers of my findings to roll joints.

At age 17, I started a cult, fucked underage chicks and convinced David Koresh to take credit for it.

At age 18, I sank an oil tanker for funsies and served the Exxon soaked birds at the KFC where I worked.

I also sat in the back seat of OJ’s white Bronco.

At age 19, I used the Lincoln Memorial as a toilet.

It was a slow year.

At age 20, I constructed a particle accelerator in the basement. It made me sterile, which was good because I couldn’t impregnate my sisters.

At age 21, I raped a guy with a broken mop handle wrapped in barbed wire.

At age 22, I made a snuff film and jerked off to it every day.

At age 23, I slaughtered six million Germans. Just men. The women are so hot.

At age 24, I cloned a human and engineered him to be the ultimate killing machine. He just makes me coffee because I don’t need anyone to do my dirty work.

At age 25, I had sex. With a female. An adult. And human. It was consensual.

Not really. These are just jokes, people.

At age 26, I voted for George W. Bush.

I kinda regretted that a little.

At age 27, I snuck into a hospital and hid nuclear waste in the basement, turning the entire building into a cancer ward.

At age 28, I helped build a homeless shelter. A month later, when it was so full it broke the fire code, I burned it to the ground while they slept.

At age 34, I joined twitter.

At age 36?, I self published Spank Material for the Clinically Insane. Arguably the most reprehensible act I have ever committed.

Don’t Talk to Strangers

I was the oldest of nine brothers and sisters. As a kid they tell you to not talk to strangers, but every time your mother gets pregnant she’s not only talking to them, she brings them into the house. That’s what newborns are, really, to everyone. Strangers. I’m guessing you didn’t get to know them much in the womb. Not much of a conversationalist while floating around in amniotic fluid, not typing many emails, texting or facebooking. You don’t know what kind of person this is. Your brother could one day become a serial killer or worse, a Christian conservative.

I never trusted where they came from either. When I was four or five, I figured out that babies came from mommy and daddy. I felt screwed either way. Before I had the first sibling, the last thing that came out of mom’s stomach was chili and vodka. And I’ve smelled the bathroom, I don’t trust anything that comes from my dad’s pants.

But we’re all grown up now, and I can say that I’m glad to have all of them in my life. I can say that, but I won’t. Fuck those assholes. Except for the one who actually did become a serial killer. I kinda like him. It’s hard to borrow money from me and not pay it back while you’re in prison.

i, the wordsmith @metalhanded


i, the wordsmith,

forge felonious phrases

in dank diction dungeons;

a half-full kerfuffle

of crestfallen curmudgeons.

i, the wordsmith,

construct metaphors,

maxims and mottos in

valleys of vivacious verbiage.

drinking inspiration

blowing words in the smoke;

the greenest of the foliage.

i, the wordsmith,

deliver the hammer;

with an arch boldly true,

vainly accurate.

striking song, pounding prose.

bringing them to a close

with this, that, these and those.

i, the wordsmith,

punctuate sentences

with the comedy

of constant conflict

an emoticonvict

with wet eyes and dry wit.

my mind the drill, the rhyme the bit.

Crafting with colons and commas,

As an actor unfolding the drama


i, the wordsmith,

post paragraphs aplenty

pouring out pages

profusely pushing to apprehend a penny.

i punctuate with nouns

on literary ground

that is structurally sound

i, the wordsmith,

put tongues in cheeks

accents on letters like days on weeks.

thoughts on black and white

alphabetical peeks.

i, the wordsmith,

chip away at the brick and mortar.

drop the vernacular off at the border.

of reality, arranged and deranged

in tidy arrays of disorder.

i, the wordsmith,

sculpt blistering expression;

shaped with formidable fury

sparks fly, composing

incandescent symphonies of worry-

pulsating, reverberating

among the corridors of thought:

the imagination of the reader.


Florida is a fucked up state. YouTube commenters are even more fucked up.

A few weeks ago, a man in Tallahassee was jerking off to a youtube video of a woman crushing a live bird with her high heel.

The first comment was a woman in London wondering if she could get a pair of Prada shoes in bird blood red, and a matching Coach bag.

The second comment was a woman in New Hampshire saying how dare you, that’s disgusting. You don’t wear Coach and Prada together you sick bitch.

The third comment was by a starving kid in Zimbabwe and it said hey lady, you gonna eat that bird?

Then the comments degenerated into nonsensical arguments between people who have never and will never meet. They end up calling each other names like Jew faggot and saying I hope you get hit by a bus full of retarded nigger children with AIDS and Hep C.

Then someone compared that person to Hitler and me, I was reading through all this while watching reruns of Better Call Saul and laughing at those crazy fucks, the cum on my stomach drying up as I wondered… should I come back to Florida again or no?

Black and White

I am seriously fucking tired of the versus mentality of the human race. Us versus them, blacks against whites, dark skin versus light skin, Christians fighting Muslims, Mexicans hating Guatemalans, men versus women, atheists against agnostics, Jews versus Jesus, capitalism versus socialism, rich against poor, republicans versus democrats, congress versus progress, bloods versus crips, breeders against faggots, Coke versus Pepsi, Kramer vs. Kramer, the dindus versus the doodoos, whatever the fuck it is.

It’s time we all start acting as cells inhabiting the same body. Too many of us are goddamn viruses, constantly attacking not only the host but each other as well, and it’s not good for anyone. And frankly, I’m sick of it all.

There’s a war on women, a war on drugs, a war on terror, a war on freedom, a war in Africa, a war in the middle east, religious wars, a war on Christmas, race wars, war and peace, Warren Buffett, Warren G, cake wars, star wars, the war of the roses, a war of attrition, war of the worlds, game of war, et cetera.

Bloody hell, when is enough going to be enough? I can’t watch or read the news any more because the best that comes from it is a shake of my head and a long, deep sigh. The atrocities people commit on a daily basis are depressing, disappointing and downright infuriating. And I, for one, shall not stand for it. I, as a living, breathing, thinking, creative mammal with opposable thumbs, I refuse to stand for this utter nonsense any longer. So I will sit, right here, and complain, and drink another beer. Why? Because I’m an alcoh… uh, wait, because I’m an American, and that’s what we do. Good night, retards. And God bless. Cunts.

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