Trent Malone & the Thai Incident
 I rarely attend book signings but something about Trent Malone intrigued me.  Besides his important sounding name, he was sort of a local legend. He was the white bohemian dude that liked to run with gangbangers. His graffiti consisting of haikus and politicians engaging in offensive sexual acts could be found all over the city. He had recently revealed in his book “Bruised Musings that Bleed out like Ebola.” that he surrounded himself with criminals because they could find any drug at any time. That and being with them made him feel like an individual. “I’m a real novelty with those boys in the ghetto. At the local coffee bar, guys like me are a dime a dozen.” He had written. I had always dreamed of running in to him and having a splendid conversation where I could be self-important and show off my own creativity and unique perspectives and then, you know, get him to fuck me. Perhaps this would be my day.Trent was sitting behind a table wearing thick black framed spectacles and smoking a cheap smelling cigar. Next to him was a bottle of wine and some kind of stinky cheese. His assistant was slicing up an... more...
Published on 06/28/2009


Me and Myself and My Son: A Shitty Story
A man was defecating on my England hotel room floor as I walked in. He looked over and squinted at the new light surrounding me from the hallway. I shut the door and said,” The bathrooms over there, buddy.” It was All Hallows Evening and I wondered if this was a trick or a threat. I don’t know how he got into my room, either. He must have been friends with that German bellboy downstairs. The man was wearing a white shirt with green paint splattered all over it, and no pants. His face was skewed and gray from lack of light. He stood hunched over, his knees shaking as he held himself over an imaginary toilet. A long, stubborn turd tangled and then dropped. He looked at me, calm and relived. “Would you show some compassion and get me some tissues?” he asked. I threw him one of my undershirts that was lying on the bed. The only light now was coming from the bathroom, where I noticed an arm caught in rigor mortis jutting out from the bathroom floor. “And what’s that?” I asked pointing to the arm. I knew what it was, but I wondered if it... more...
Published on 01/21/2009