Fragments of Broken Youth

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“All Gays should be shot.” Silence fell around us. Did they hear me, hear what I just said? I didn’t think so, so I said it again. This time, they heard me.

It was 1996. We were hanging out at Carl’s Diner in New Jersey. It was late, and I don’t know how this conversation steered in that direction. I was lost in thought, and then someone said something that dragged me back to reality.

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Fat Faggots Offer Drugs for Sex Pt. 2

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After another minute of walking, Dewey departed from the pebble-strewn road and lumbered up the steps to a mobile home. He was tempted to glance over his shoulder and make sure Christopher hadn’t bolted. His guest, however, clomped up the stairs behind him. Dewey assured himself this man would allow Dewey to please him. I am not a freak, he told himself. I can attract a worthy man. Mama’s wrong about me. She’s wrong about everything.

“I’m gonna need to smoke a bowl or two to stay in this shithole,” Christopher announced, following Dewey into the empty mobile home.

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Hitting Bottom

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Marilyn rarely slept much anymore. She would catch maybe a couple of hours, if she was lucky, but that would be about it. Maybe that’s why she woke with a start from the dead sleep; her internal clock had realized that she’d been unconscious for four hours, had known that was a mistake, and had woken her up with a tap on the shoulder. Even before she floated all the way through the black peacefulness of sleep, she knew she was alone. That brought her fully awake in seconds, not out of fear, but out of a deep, angry sadness.

She lay there quietly, listening to the sounds of the apartment, listening for Luke’s blundering around in the kitchen, or in the bathroom.

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Vreckless Vrestlers

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The Vreckless Vrestlers series is a comic tribute to pop culture of the ’80s and ’90s – wrestling, toys, cartoons, comics and games of these times. Things which still give me lots of joy and will forever remain a great inspiration. For me, one of most important things about my comics is that I am doing everything myself, except translations. Script, design, drawing, preparing files for digital and print, promotion – I do it all without crowd funding or sponsors. 100% DIY. Of course, I have support from my wife and friends!

Issue #0 introduces the main players in this time-defying universe.

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Eye Want!, Care Again!!!, Wisdom Cooks, and 24-6

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Do you know it’s in my nature to want, want people, places and things, not being fully satisfied but just always in want? Why am “eye” like this? Wanting just to be wanting, never ever really needing, just wanting?

“Eye” want my woman to love me, spoil me, cook for me, pamper me just want her to do something for me! Look at me, being as selfish as “eye” can be. When will my desire to want set me free? Is it that “eye” am just like other wanters in search of wanting and never really needing?

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Fat Faggots Offer Drugs for Sex Pt. 1

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“What took you so goddamn long, boy?” Margene demanded. “I been calling your name since the commercial.” On the big-screen television, a perky blonde with dazzling teeth cooed about the efficacy of scented douche. Whenever Margene needed another wine cooler or wanted to empty the ashtray, she wailed for her son, Dewey, to leave his computer and assist her. He shuffled from the back of the mobile home, past all the piles of cardboard boxes lining the hall, and into the living room where Margene held court. Cigarette dangling from her lips and remote control clenched in her grip, she growled for Dewey to complete the tasks her sloth made untenable.

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My Short Time as a Babysitter

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I hate children. I think children are annoying little creatures who excel at getting adults into trouble.
I used to be a child, but that was a long time ago.
I once had my arm twisted by my friend to baby sit her kid for a night while she went off to a Neil Diamond concert with her partner. I never took up such an occupation before in my life but I foolishly decided to give it a go.
Now this little kid I had to baby sit was verging on his fifth birthday and I really did not want to stay up and talk toddler gibberish with him all night so I decided to put him to bed.

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A Collection of Dark Prose

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Internally Godzilla is welcomed. I hope for something large and brooding to be fearful of. Instead my tongue swells with grief while the sunlight wrinkles my skin. Time decays waiting for a silver cumulus to let go of the shoe and I squeeze out all of my tears until I have nothing left for the rain. What will I do when my body disagrees? I’d rather choke on the dust that I leave behind than the dust that I gathered while I was here. This peculiar illusion of control corners me like a beast at feeding time. You would think by now I’d have learned enough to bathe in the sunlight instead of the blood but this slaughter is all that I know. I cashier myself until my shoulders curve raw underneath the flag of my own war.

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Here We Go Again (Another Tango Driver)

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Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day. I hope that things will be going my way. Not today.

Lately, I have come across some “fun” drivers. It just seems like everybody is wrapped up in their own little world or texting on top of the steering wheel while driving. STOP Signs have become optional. Apparently, so have YIELD Signs, but I’ll get to that in a few moments.

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