Jason Alan. Writer, Character.

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

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.


Stupid people now seem to have the advantage. There are all sorts of lame, ignorant laws to protect them. I say we take away the seat belt and helmet laws and let them, upon glorious freeway crash with a Ford F350 dually, dine upon an all you can eat buffet of safety glass and shortly after enjoy a sweet, decadent dessert of facial concrete. Fuck them. The road is already filled to the brim with a bevy of brainless idiots that always seem to congregate directly in front of me like a soulless line at the department of motor vehicles. Let them die a violent death as nature and technology intended. But hey, it’s not just me I’m thinking of. Think of all the little old ladies driving to church who could get a tiny dent in their Galaxy 500 because some moron drove their rusty old Chevette into them when they weren’t paying attention. Do we really need these wastes of carbon based material? They’re useless fucksticks who need to get the hell off the road to make room for those who deserve it. Like me. I’m too busy texting my friends while eating a bacon cheeseburger to have to spend my quality driving time worrying about dodging these tards. Just die already. The liquor store doesn’t fucking drive to me, and my coke dealer is too goddamn high to deliver.

i am, part ten – cc: @OptimisticDoom

i do believe i finally have the final edit on this one. maybe…

i am raindrops on corpses
and whiskers on tigers
strong and weak forces
and bright copper wires
brown paper airplanes
all tied up with strings
with just our names
written right on the wings
i am nuclear warfare
crisp blue seas
naturally lubed sex
sliding with ease
i am gals in white thongs
with blue satin sashes
bowls full of hash and
colored beads for free flashes
poverty’s playground
third world paradise
heidi klum
heidi fleiss
and nice
a wild hawk that perches
and sometimes it sings
i am your most feared
your most favorite things

Chapter One: Capital Punishment, Abortion and Free Puppies

Pretty much completed (unless I decide to add to it, again) first chapter from my upcoming sequel to Spank Material for the Clinically Insane, which is available via amazon here and might I add, has ONLY five star reviews. That’s five out of a hundred, but that’s decent. Anyway, here’s a bit of what’s next. I hop there’s no typos. ‘Nuff said.


I was sitting around drinking and smoking (what’s new?), and thinking about what my first chapter should be about, and decided in my infinite wisdom to start off with some light, cheery subjects. The first? The death penalty.

Kill ’em all. Let decomposition sort ’em out.

I am all for what is referred to as ‘capital punishment’, which is a bullshit ass politically correct term for getting rid of an asshole that truly does not deserve to breathe the same highly polluted air that the rest of us enjoy. But like pretty much everything in life, I believe that this act must be carried out under certain parameters. This is a complicated topic that cannot be summed up in merely a sentence or two.

I was fucking an underage girl on top of the body of my last murder victim and the cops busted in and arrested me for growing a pot plant.

The first thing we must address is who. Or whom. I call myself a writer, so I should know this shit. But I don’t, and I digress. You can’t just execute everyone convicted of whatever heinous crimes you could think of, including pedophilia, rape, cold blooded murder and watching cooking shows. We would have to make sure that there is one hundred percent surety that the person did it. Alright, maybe the high 90s percentile region. Almost nothing is certain in this world. There are people on Death Row that are innocent. No, not Death Row Records. All of them are guilty.

Why confess to a murder you didn’t commit unless there’s somebody really hot in prison you want to rape?

Let’s take Lyle and Erik Menendez, for example. They brutally dispatched not only their parents, but two others as well. They confessed, and while some people confess to crimes they didn’t commit, it’s their own fucking fault and those people are broken so we don’t need them around anyway. As of this writing, the Menendez brothers are still alive. You and I and other (mostly) law abiding citizens of this great(?) nation are paying to house and feed them. Wonderful, isn’t it?

The only way we will get our shit together is if we all defecate in the same place.

But seriously, do we really need to keep sadistic cunts like Charles Manson in freshly laundered clothes and fed shit on a shingle using our (sometimes) hard earned tax dollars? There are citizens of California right now at work in their cubicles, going over spreadsheets and tweeting about their rampant alcoholism and the taxes are going straight to this prick. Not only that, but ol’ Charlie, while locked up, isn’t working either. And what does that mean? He’s not fucking paying taxes. Just kill him already. Either that, or let him out and force him to work at a Smoothie King in a strip mall in Kansas and die an even slower, more painful death.

My farts stink so much because I’m dead inside.

Another aspect of capital punishment is the method. Oh and by the way, don’t you just love how they call it capital punishment instead of the death penalty? Might as well say ‘creative population control’. Anyway, what do we have as far as ways to end a life within the confines of the law? In the U.S., according to a website that looks reputable enough for me (it has a dot org address, what else do you want?), there are five ways. And in case you’re heck bent on correcting me, the stats are from 1976 to whenever they updated it.

If you don’t assault, rape and murder her on the first date, she probably won’t respond to your texts.

Lethal injection is the one that has been used the most, and is also the primary method in all states. One fine state of the union has electrocution as a secondary choice, and I quote, ‘if lethal injection drugs cannot be obtained’. Evidently rat poison, generic drain cleaner, bleach, large doses of heroin and air bubbles are routinely unavailable in Tennessee. Maybe they should just have Jack Kevorkian on speed dial. Yeah, I know he’s dead. Fuck off.

You give crazy people powerful weapons, people die. Prime example: the U.S. government.

Of course, the old joke refers to how they swab the injection site before they stick the needle in. You know, as to avoid the infection. Injection, infection, what’s your confection? On one hand, I hope this isn’t true. On the other foot (see what I did there?), it most likely does happen. People are not only dumber than platypus nuts, we (actually no, they, not we. I am more evolved) are diametrically opposed to giving up traditions, no matter how silly they may be. This is exactly why organized religion still exists. Many of these beliefs and practices are so ridiculous, it would take years, if not decades, of study by a Tibetan monk to find anything more patently stupid. He would, of course, have to be studying religiously, oddly enough.

Women can learn a lot from monks. Namely, shutting the fuck up and shaving their heads.

The next in line is Ol’ Sparky, the electric chair. The eighth commandment, or amendment, or whatever the kids are calling them these days, forbids cruel and unusual punishment. It can easily be argued that strapping someone into a metal chair and lighting them up like a menorah is a cruel thing, considering there is a lot of pain involved. But unusual is a different story. The first few times it was done, it was not the usual way to snuff out someone’s life. Notice that it says cruel and unusual, not cruel or unusual. Implying that the technique can be cruel but not unusual, or unusual but not cruel.

It’s sad when people die in movies, but not so much in real life.

For example, an official representing the state could conceivably give a monkey a gun and let it shoot the offender in question. While unusual, it is not cruel because it’s a quick death. That is, if the first bullet is the kill shot. If the banana eating, crap throwing primate shoots the inmate in the junk, then it is thereby upgraded to cruel and unusual. Also, hilarious. Therefore, unless the gun is secured, stationary and pointed directly at the prisoner’s head, we would have to scratch death by monkey off the list of potential future methods of execution.

Establish dominance. Stab her on the first date.

Next, we have the gas chamber. What the fuck is that one all about? What is the initial cost, and how much is the upkeep? It has to be quite expensive, considering it needs to be hermetically sealed so the nice boys in the execution team don’t inhale any of that mustard or mayonnaise gas or whatever they use in there. Don’t we realize that it doesn’t take that much money to kill someone? Just go through certain parts of a large city at night and you just might find out first hand.

Go ahead, call the cops. I’ll kill them too.

Then there’s the fact that it has been done a mere eleven times, and is only the secondary method in five states. Oh boy, does the government know how to waste our fucking money.

Now I am become taxes, the destroyer of wallets.

Next up to the plate is hanging. Hmmm, I wonder if they sterilize the rope? Now that’s what I’m talking about. Not only cost effective, but quick and uh, effective. I would take that any day over the chair or the chamber. Ooh wait, the chamber chair. I like that. An electric chair inside the gas chamber. I should write my local representative. If they make a reality show, I would watch that. Plus, the commercials would cover the costs. I’m a fucking genius.

I have literally bored seven people to death. Luckily the judge had to let me go for fear of suffering the same fate.

And last, but definitely not least, is firing squad. Not bad. A half dozen bullets or so and a blindfold, done and done. No problem with that one. And I hear that one person gets a gun loaded with a blank, but they don’t know who. That way nobody knows who offed the poor guy.

My cum sock is filled with more dead, useless organisms than Auschwitz circa 1944.

I also heard (on a tv show, which may or may not be as or more reputable than a dot org website) that there is a one in seven hundred thousand chance of dying under general anesthesia. So, obviously, we take death row inmates and pair them up with medical students. The future physicians will get to practice procedures on the people that nobody cares about (except the NAACP or ASPCA or ACLU or whoever). If the prisoner dies, who gives a fuck? If they don’t, they get to live another day and medical science is furthered. That’s a win win in my book.

A wife beater isn’t just a t-shirt, it’s also a man that knows how to treat a woman.

Speaking of beating your wife, the next topic I will be addressing is abortion. A hot button issue for many, but as usual, I have all the answers.

People in glass houses should fuck more.

Many who attempt to debate the good ol’ suck and chuck keep treating it like a black and white issue. We don’t go straight from the sperm breaking and entering the egg right to full on newborn baby. There’s some time in between. It’s a process. It’s not just pro-choice or pro-life, there are shades of… goddamnit. I can’t use the term shades of gray without thinking about that stupid fucking book.

Christians don’t like abortion because that would be one less destitute person to issue a gun to and send to Iraq.

But I digress. Again. I’m so digressive. Personally, I’m pro-choice if I have to pick one, but at a certain point a relatively civilized society has to draw the line. Nobody should, through legislation or other means, be able to prohibit a woman from taking a morning after pill. Conversely, if the fetus is mere days or weeks from coming out on its own and the woman isn’t at risk, then there’s no reason to break out the Dyson at that point. If you don’t want it, put the lil’ tricycle engine up for adoption. Let another family molest the kid.

I’ll install a 454 Chevy Big Block in your miscarriage.

And don’t get me started about the term pro-life, even though I am about to do just that. Not only are the self-righteous pricks immune to logic and critical thinking, the term itself is loaded. Pro-life, my stinky balls. How many of them support the aforementioned death penalty and/or want the entire Middle East turned into a field of glass because their prophets, not their god mind you (same god), are different people who may or may not have even existed?

We could make beautiful babies together, using parts of other beautiful babies.

It’s flat out insanity and downright childish to make up your mind about something and every single rational argument against your ideological principles is met with holding their hands to their ears and a ‘nananana I can’t hear you’ mentality. Tell your goddamn god while you’re spouting useless prayers that you have a mind of your own and fucking use it already.

Let’s go fuck some pregnant chicks so we don’t have to worry about child support.

Oh, and lest we forget that if the woman (or teenager, in many cases) doesn’t want to give birth, she is most likely poor and will remain that way. So if forced to go to term, the unwanted kid will grow up poor as well, continuing the cycle of poverty and that in turn increases the risk of your future offspring being assaulted and/or murdered, etc. Because news flash, wait for it… most violent crime is committed by the poor.

Gated communities only keep the lazy criminals out.

And plus, who the fuck wants to be raised by a most likely single parent that doesn’t want you to begin with? Personally, I would rather be cared for and eaten during a harsh winter by a nice, loving family of wolves that sadly, cannot have children. So, why don’t they have the baby and adopt it out, you might ask. Fuck that shit. Extra babies and cheap plastic shit is what China is for. I know, I’m aware I suggested adoption merely paragraphs earlier. No worries, I affect no legislation, I just write shitty books.

America owes how much to China? How’s this possible? How many bobblehead dolls do we have to buy from you slanty eyed twats to make it even?

The bottom line is, the mother is more important than the fetus, flat out. If you don’t like it, too fucking bad. Logic wins in this arena and oddly enough, wins under the law. Our legal system is no doubt a clustercunt, but it gets some things right. So maybe you should pack your shit and move to a country where abortion isn’t legal. Oh yeah, most of those places are shitholes that treat women like subhuman garbage. Good luck and smooth sailing, bitches.

I support abortion, gang rape, ethnic cleansing and bunny rabbits.

The title of this chapter promised free puppies. I lied, there aren’t any. Go suck rocks and kick eggs.


My next ebook will be my second poetry volume, a collection of romantic and dark pieces, often both. This will probably be the only bit of prose other than the foreword, unless i write another that is worthy. But you get to read it first. Happy happy joy joy.

we sat there, passing the joint casually between us, not looking at each other. stoic. our eyes engaged, enraptured in and within the ocean, red with the blood of the innocent lives we had just taken. their bodies floated all around, headless, limbless buoys bouncing. the sun was setting, tossing fiery blankets of light upon the waves, and we both knew what we wanted.

i took one last hit, flicked the roach into the amber sea and removed my shirt. i glanced at her briefly. she was a rock. emotionless. yet she followed my lead and removed her little black dress. we threw our garments into the water at the same time, still not looking at each other. we had that thing, that ‘you know what’s up’ thing.

she had on matching panties and bra, bright pink. just like her hair and her usual demeanor. i had shorts on, but nothing else. for a moment, we locked eyes. yes. we knew. then, in an instant of time that in my mind could have been recorded using a mayan calendar, we were naked, our clothes quickly doused in gasoline and in flames. swaying in the hydrogen, oxygen, blood and salt.

we were sitting up and wrapped around one another, her calves caressing my ass and my heels dug into the subtle tan lines where her underwear used to be. her arms held me close and those razor sharp red fingernails cut into my shoulders. i squeezed with my hard biceps and pulled her hair. hard. as we hurt each other, we kissed ever so softly and slowly, so deliberately. our lips played as the bodies bobbed in the ocean.

i have to be inside you, i told her.

she looked at me, still a blank slate. then, after a brief moment, smiled so brightly in that waning light. take me, she said. i was about to respond, but she pressed her finger on my lips.

please, she said. please take me.

i grinned like a schoolboy and grabbed her, throwing her back onto that packed, wet sand. i grabbed the meatiest part of her thigh and whipped her over, tucking my arm beneath her belly and lifting her ass into the salty air. pressing my crotch into her and whispering into her ear, with a little murder in my voice. you’re mine. you’re mine now.

we writhed in the pleasure and the pain we inflicted upon each other, the coarse sand scratching our bodies and biting our wounds. we were finished before the sirens reached us, off to revel in the chaos of another day.

Why? Fuck You, That’s Why.

One of the dumbest questions ever. Why? For the blatantly obvious shit, it’s annoying. If somebody said they felt like going to the kitchen, getting a butcher knife and planting it squarely in my forehead, I would of course ask why. Maybe I could talk them out of it, or distract them long enough to get my gun. Oh, who am I kidding? I would most likely point another direction, yell ‘hey look it’s Gary Coleman!’ and run like a bitch.

But when I say I’m going to the grocery store and they ask why, I really feel like telling them I’m getting a new butcher knife because the old one isn’t sharp enough to get through that thick fucking skull of theirs. Seriously, you dumbass, I’ve had a twelve pack of beer and I’m out. Obviously I’m driving to get more and to avoid your idiotic queries for a while.

There is a thing good about it, though. That stupid, three letter question gives you a nice indication of the mental capacity of this person. If your girlfriend asks you why you are putting a jacket on, you know. You are aware that you shouldn’t ask her to help you with your physics homework, but you also know she’s great in bed. Dumb women and crazy bitches are wild in the sack.

That being said, be careful. They may rock your socks and knock your boots off, but the dumber they are, the more likely they are to get pregnant. It’s best to strap on three condoms and drop a morning after pill along with the roofie in her drink.

So if you wish to at least maintain the illusion that you are not semi-retarded, then think about your question of why before it comes spilling out of your stupid face. Here’s a simple way to do it. If the question can be answered by putting ‘because’ in front of the statement preceding it, don’t ask. For example, I want Chinese food for dinner tonight. Why? Because I want Chinese food for dinner tonight.

If you’re one of these people that do this annoying bullshit and don’t take this post as an opportunity to learn something, then take a good, long hard look in the mirror. And slam your forehead into it. Repeatedly. Why? Because you’re a dumb fuck.


notice me
see me
come closer
closer still
say hello
am i nervous
sit down
talk to me
are you nervous
smile again
your hand
my hand
that moment
kiss me
what is this
meet me tomorrow
in the morning
more you
more us
thank you
the next day
will you touch me
will you hold me
will you be with me
will you marry me
will you be with me
will you love me

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