I’ve just posted several thousand words. Please, if you’ve liked anything you’ve read here, scroll down a bit to see everything I’ve just posted. Plans are in the works to make it easier for you. I’ve nothing against the Torah, but the scroll doesn’t cut it at patheticrhetoric.com since it presents itself like some sacred text. If I were Yaweh, believe me, this never would have happened.
You’ll see a haiku, a long story about a British boy getting into some nasty shit, literally (in the story, anyway). There’s some belching, a secret, a curse and a dose of poignant, beautiful disillusionment - all straight from the heart, of course.
Happy reading!
D. Senter
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The following is a work in progress. If I choose to add another installment, the above title will appear plus “Part 2.” The end seems like a both a stopping point and a jumping-off point, so it feels right to me. Hope you agree. — D.
It was fifth period, and just a few hours ago, I thought that God had answered my prayer. Now it was shit again, so I pressed.
“Why. Tell me.”
“Stop bugging me,” said Julia. Cute. I had never heard that one before. She must have learned that from one of the bitches that told her about my dad, an exterminator.
“Shh,” said Mrs Neely, trying to exercise maximum patience with her favorite students.
“I want to know how you could do what you did. Just…”
“Not here.”
Then where? I wondered. Lying in my bed the previous nigh – a Sunday – I had asked God to give me a sign that someone could admire and respect me. Not that I believed in any of the shit the evangelicals passed out at the mall or anything, but what the hell. Nothing else was working for me, the class clown that people laughed at. Read More…
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Hello, readers. That’s my name in the title there. Only my mom calls me James. Everyone else calls me Jim, Wog or Wogs, short for Polliwog. I got the name from my Uncle Niles when I was a wee lad the one time the whole fam went to the beach. I didnt’ want to leave the water and go back to the city so I swam and swam and swam away until I got tired and a rescue boat had to get me. Mom and pop were pissed. Uncle Niles just laughed and called me his wee little polliwog.
It stuck for a bit, until I moved. Then me mates just called me Jim, not knowing the story, Uncle Niles, mom or pop. You see, pop liked the drink much more than me mum so, instead of coming home from the mill, he stayed at the pub most nights. Can’t say I blame the old chap. When he was home, my mum, she curse and berate pop down to nothing. Or she would throw dishes or chairs. When it got really bad, I’d creep out and visit my friends in the streets. Read More…
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[ I feel obliged to remind readers that all of the events described below are entirely fictional. Any similarity to actual Venango County police officers is coincidental.
Futhermore, nothing in the following story is intended to damage the reputation of any police officer in Franklin, Oil City or any law enforcement agency in Venango County or the government. It's all a joke, baby!]
Last week, Melvin Dumbar of Venango County was cooking his usual high-cholesterol breakfast when he noticed his German shepherd’s gleaming erection and a widening puddle of drool around his forelimbs.
“I wondered to myself what could be making him so excited,” said Dumbar. “I mean, as far as sexy goes, most women I’ve asked have said they would rather date a retarded bulldog.”
Dumbar slid his spatula under his bacon, the dog barked, the red rocket bouncing in drool. “Bacon?” said Dumbar, upon which the 80-pound beast tackled Dumbar and proceeded to hump his thigh while inhaling the hot pig flesh. A sight to behold indeed. Read More…
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