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Buddhist Warfare

Buddhist Warfare

By Michael Jerryson (Editor), Mark Juergensmeyer (Editor)

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Arts and Culture

A Piece of Cake

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Posted on Mar 10, 2012
Mr. Fish

By Mr. Fish

(Page 4)

“No!” I yelled. “Absolutely not! We have to open it!”

“What if it’s too much information?!”

“There’s no such thing as too much information!”

“How can you be so sure?”

“That’s like saying that to find out that the dot over the letter i is called a tittle is too much information for somebody who already knows there’s a dot over the i but just doesn’t know what it’s called.”

“The dot over the i is called a tittle?”

“Yes!” I shouted. “That’s why there are no words with two i‘s in them—at least with two i‘s that are next to each other.”

“Why?” asked Beats.

“Because reading comprehension would disappear if you had a word with a pair of tittles staring you in the face, don’t you think?”

Beats didn’t answer me, his attention once again falling hard upon the red cake box before us. “We can’t open the box.”

“We’re opening the fucking box!”

“We can’t!”

“We have to!”

“So open it already!”

“Quit telling me what to do!”

“For the love of Christ! I can’t take it anymore! Would you just open the goddamn box?!”

“All right! All right!” Pause. “You open it!”

“I can’t move my arms! I think I just had a stroke! You open it!”

“All right, you big pussy! I’ll open it! I’ll open it!”

“Well, hurry up!”

“Get off my back! I told you that I’d open it!”

“OPEN IT!”

Perhaps it was the jostling that the cake was made to endure during the long bike ride from Upper Darby or maybe it was the disturbing imagery from the pamphlet that I’d confiscated from my sister’s room that had burned itself into my brain with all the excruciating permanence of a branding iron—that fiendish alien head, those long alien arms, those horrible pincers!—but whatever it was the ravaged hunk of exploded gore that lay inside that opened box sent me and Beats scrambling backward against opposing walls of the treehouse. 

“Holy Mother of God! What is it?!” shrieked Beats, holding a hand out in front of himself like he was deflecting a blinding light. “It looks like a crab! What are we going to do?! What are we going to do?!”

Fighting every instinct that I had to flee, I took one step forward, balled up my fists, closed my eyes and punted the box as hard as I could into an adjacent wall, where the cake exploded in a hail of pulverized crumbs, leaving a cluster of revolting clumps to cling to the wood like brain matter.

“What have you done, you stupid bastard?!” Beats cried, lunging forward and sliding through the sweet-smelling mess on his knees, his hands working desperately to reassemble the ingredients of the demolition into a useful truth. “We had everything!” he sobbed. “Everything! It was right in front of our faces! It was right in front of our faces!”

And it was, this scattered alphabet no longer confined by reason, suddenly set free to disperse itself like seedlings in search of higher ground.


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Shenonymous's avatar

By Shenonymous, March 14, 2012 at 9:19 am Link to this comment

Now that is a most insightful contemporary line if ever there was one,
“blindsided by a reality indifferent to truth.”  While there is some
curiosity about the nudity of girls (uh…women) before the age of 11,
actual assignation for both sexes starts about the age of 12, the
pre-ist pre of preteen years.  As a school teacher, I’ve watched this
ritual for many years, many years ago.  The pre-occupation of alleged
grown men with the reminiscence of adolescent sex seems to be the
reason why this world can’t get off its ass(es) collectively and
individually.  The anecdote about the blood is rich and ohhhhh soooo
truuuuue.  Shitfaced boys…and then as men.  The sex catechism
distributed to the 6th grade girls ruined everything…forever! 

NOTE:  For women there is always a sense of doom in the air!  As for
most, though some like myself whose wouldn’t even compete with a
coffee pot, their tits (oh, along with their ass… and mine too) are “the”
things found worthy of being counted a human being.  Yes it is the
Limbaugh syndrome that permeates the entire brain pool of the males
of the species.  Let’s face it, men are not born innocent!  The obsessive
little pricks.  Coming of age is so gawdawful, especially the coming.

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By heterochromatic, March 12, 2012 at 10:46 pm Link to this comment

told ya so! 

he writes better than he cartoons…....

and someday the Mr Fish will evolve to where he’ll have his own prehensile tail.

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By jimmmmmy, March 11, 2012 at 1:32 pm Link to this comment

a fun read thanx.

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By rumblingspire, March 10, 2012 at 6:16 pm Link to this comment
(Unregistered commenter)

that story was so sweet.  thanks.

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