Please note: this entry uses graphic language and disturbing imagery.
Postaday for May 2nd. Beyond the Pale. When was the last time you did something completely new and out of your element? How was it? Will you do it again?
fiction by Jason Edwards
I can’t even think of what I’ve been doing lately. Going to work, coming home, fixing the broken step out front, spending my weekends with the AM radio and the ball game , drinking beer, sleeping, eating Mexican food, reading novels, mowing the lawn, browsing the internet, stalking ex-girlfriends, stealing money from my wife’s purse, pouring gasoline in her flowerbeds, watching old TV on latenight cable, walking off my diabetes, listening to old recordss, setting a few plants on fire, lying about doing the weeding, lying about mowing the lawn, lying about not touching my wife’s purse, letting her blame some of the kids at church, encouraging her to tell the pastor by saying I didn’t think she should, since she never does what I suggest, singing hymn 193 with an Irish accent to see if anyone would notice, gently working my way up the pews week by week until we’re sitting in the row across the aisle from Hal and Lisa, timing my glance to the right so that I can look at Lisa’s legs when she stands, memorizing the large mark just above her knee that looks like Madagascar, looking up Madagascar on the internet, code-naming my porn folder Madagascar, waiting for my wife to go to sleep and then sneaking down to the liquor cabinet to take a few belts of a cheap vodka, masturbating furiously, walking outside in my robe, taking a leak on the side of my wife’s car, trying to figure out how to blame the neighbors if I managed to burn all of her gardenias, wondering if there’s any point in blaming the neighbors, mentally calculating how many anti-histamines I’d have to sneak into her nightly glass of wine to get her to sleep deeply enough that I could get into her car and drive it to the church and break a few windows and take a dump on the hood and fuck it the front seat too and then call the police and tell them it was the same kids who stole out of her purse and then walk home in the dark and stop in at a bar and get into a fight and really go to town on some faggot and maybe break a knuckle or two and get aids and get kicked off my insurance and waste away in the hospital and ask my wife to pull the plug and then when she agrees too quickly justify in my heart hiring some thug to murder her and then have a miraculous recovery and bury my poor wife and wallow in the casseroles and sympathy pussy since it wasn’t really aids and give some of the bitches in this stupid fucking neighborhood the aids cause I lied and it was and hope they pass it on to their husbands and their kids and their dogs and their fucking goldfish.
Ordinary shit. Gosh, the last time I did something completely new… I bought a hat, a trilby. Makes me look like an asshole but I wear it anyway.