Bill Surrey

A fanciful story.

2006-12-06T07:21:43Z

This was written by a friend and myself. We switched every sentence. Originally done on a typewriter. I'm posting it replete with typos and errors.

    Once upon a time in a distant mystical land, lived a fanciful unicorn. He had a long flowing mane of golden hair the color of a cornfield on a summer night....it was black. His teeth glowed with the light of a thousand LED screens, which he had implanted to his mouth so he could play adult films on his mouth while he roamed the green meadows. He was the Pimp My Ride of unicorns, a sign of the ever-changing times and an inspiration to prepuscent foals everywhere.
    One day he was walking down a lonely road listening to the hottest new reggaeton tracks, when he spotted a little boy sitting in the middle of the road with streams of tears flwoing from his saddened eys. He didn;t want to but he took off his headphones and placed them on the child,s head, hoping to soothe his troubled mind. The chiled looked up at the unicorn, tears still flowing, and asked, " Is this Daddy Yankee?" "Because he sucks" said the little boy as he threw the headphones to the forest floor just as a HAWK swooped down and snatched them up with his TALONS. the unicorn's eyes filled with rage, and he reared up and brought his mighty hoof down on the little boy's head, crushing his skull. "That'll teach you motherfucker" muttered the unicorn, whose name is Robert Resch by the way and he trott off purposefully into the forest in search of the HAWK.
    Meanwhile at the HAWK'S lair, the HAWK beamed and shouted, "Finally I have that unicorn's headphones that will give me the power to listen to Daddy Yankee and by proxy rule the etnire Hispanic world with an iron talon. Not even the World Bank can say that he thought to himself but little did he know back at World Bank HQ in the Holiday Inn of Pomeroy, OH (whoe knew) they were one step ahead of the HAWK. "That stupid HAWK it is we who shall conquer the Hispanics, because it is we who control Daddy Yankee (in reality he is a robot built by World Bank) and once we take over the Hispanics we shall conquer the Bulschevics in Eastern Europe." But now let us be merry and partake one and all in this ginormous jello mold filled with delicious fruit cocktail and marshmallows generoulsy purchased for the offic by
Donna at the front desk from the local IGA in honor of this most auspicious occasion...the birfth of our Lord, Christopher Motherfucking Columbus Holla!!!
    "Not on my watch you don't motherfuckers!" yelled the unicorn as he crashed in through the windowed and round-house kicked the jello mold off the table in the name of our eternal lord CHUCK NORRIS BITCH!
The Legend of CHUCK NORRIS BITCH:
    CHUCK NORRIS is the strongest, grissliest, hardest motherfucer on the face of this earth, and if he even thinks about you yourw eyes will explode and, your genitals will bleed and your heart will drop out of your ass so don;t ever fucking cross CHUCK NORRIS BITCH.

    Feeling as though he had sufficiently made his point, the unicorn stepped daintily backwardst through the shards of glass, jell and pools of blood a continued on his quest for the HAWK. "that HAWK motherfucker is going down: he said as he jumped on his rainbow yet car and flew to the HAKE'S lair. Once outside the HAWK lair he fired up his teeth so he could see inside the pitch black inky darkness slowely he inched towards the faint rumblings of Daddy Yankee and rehearsed his Chuck NORRISS BITCH invocation chant. The in a flash the HAWK was upon hims, the unicorn invoked our eternal lord CHUCK NORRIS BITCH! pulled out his tech 9 and shot the HAWK and killed him.
                                                                                                         THE END?

thadicalradical @ 2006-11-06T01:23:00

2006-11-06T05:23:00Z

Experiments in Typing

Only moon-people land in sentences
Everyone else comes in phrases
The trick is to see them before
The period.

A colon is the sign of the Vesuvians
They lack the sophistication of
Puncuation we bipeds have.
What barbarians.

The spaceship Prepostion has landed
They seek our independant clauses
Only he has been impeached
By spud-boys.

thadicalradical @ 2006-11-01T23:54:00

2006-11-02T03:54:24Z

One word is a finger
A phrase a pair of legs
An entire system of functions and sequences
in a sentence
Everything comes to an end at the right hand
it all falls
This great stack
This tower of characters
These backbones
This kingdom of lines
All smoke and mirrors in the press of a
woodblock

thadicalradical @ 2006-04-28T01:11:00

2006-04-28T05:12:27Z

“Bill, I still don’t get why you told me we was getting dog food when we ain’t,” Frankie said, “You ain’t ever lied to me bout where we was going any other time. Why you lying to me this time?”

“Will you give it up on the damn dog food Frankie, Jesus. Why the fuck does the dog food matter to you so fuckin much? Do you really care that we ain’t gettin dog food man? Like I said it don’t make a damn bit a difference what we’re doing you’re here ain’t ya?”

“Yeah, but still, If you are gonna lie to me about the dog food, what else you gonna lie to me about? Don’t ya think I should atleast know why we’re drivin out to the middle a nowhere? I mean I know I ain’t too bright but I think I’m bright enough to know what we is doing.”

“I fuckin told you already, we are gettin rid of some old junk I don’t need no more.”

“Hell Bill why didn’t you just say so instead of makin up this dog food stuff?”

“Cuz you ain’t gonna like what it is we’re gettin rid of.”

“Now come on Bill, what do I care bout some ol’ junk a yours huh?”

“Just trust me Frankie, you’s gonna care.” I looked into the rearview mirror at the red duffle-bag in the back seat. The cherry wood grain of the butt of my revolver peeked out from the opening in the zipper. I shifted my weight and felt the bullets in my pocket grind against eachother.

thadicalradical @ 2006-04-27T01:28:00

2006-04-27T05:30:41Z

“Shit Frankie, I didn’t ask for no sidekick, you were just some guy I picked up off the side of the road one day and never thought to tell ‘get the fuck out’ to. Not that I mind you riding with me, yeah I sort of grown to like having the company, but you ain’t my fuckin side kick.”

“Come on now Bill, you don’t mean that. Besides that was years ago and you knew you was gonna pick me up, you even said so on that first trip out to the salt flats that you felt like you was gonna find someone out on the road.”

The sun burned red hot. It was just after noon and it sat high in its unyielding fury to burn everything to dust. The heat baked the sweat that formed under my hat and left a salty residue on my face. I grabbed my handkerchief out of my breast-pocket and wiped the sweat from my forehead. “It is too fuckin hot to be havin this conversation. I can’t take you and the god damned heat at the same time.” It felt like fire bore down on my neck and choked my patience right out of my body. I felt the bullets in my pocket get warm and it reminded me of where the drive lead. “Hey, we got any water in here Frankie. I need a fuckin drink of something or I am gonna dry up.”

“I think so Bill, but after that I think you right deserve to dry up for what you’ve been saying to me.”

“You know I don’t mean it an all, just this damn heat scramblin my brains like a couple of eggs in a fryin pan. Now come on where’s the damn water.”

“Here ya go Bill, don’t want you passing out and wreckin the whole damn car against some cactus or something.”

I drank the bottle like I would never have any again and let out a long sigh of relief as the cool water pushed back the sweltering heat for just an instant, but I knew I would soon melt under the stare of the sun.

thadicalradical @ 2006-04-26T00:44:00

2006-04-26T04:47:28Z

        “Wait a minute,” Frankie said as he pulled another cigarette from his crumpled pack, “Alice don’t have no dog Bill, right?”

        “Jesus Christ Frankie Can’t we go two fuckin minutes without you asking some stupid fuckin question?”

        “Sorry Bill. I just wanted to know why we’re getting dog food when Alice don’t have no dog.”

        “It don’t fuckin matter why Frankie. Now shut up and sit still.” I shoved my hand into my pocket and fingered a handful of bullets. Frankie sat with his mouth turned down and puffed away, the smoke trailed him like he was some train chugging across the open sands. “Shit man,” I sighed, “Gimme one of those.” He tossed his pack over and I pulled out his last smoke, lit it and took a drag as long as our drive. “Look. We ain’t gettin dog food. We ain’t getting anything. We’re gettin rid of somethin. Just some old shit I don’t need no more.” I let out a cloud of smoke and turned over a bullet with my fingers.

        “Why didn’t you just say so Bill?”

        “Cuz it didn’t fuckin matter what I’d of said, you was gonna come anyway.”

        “I guess you’re right Bill.”

        “Damn straight I am.”

        “You know what?”

        “Christ Frankie, what?”

        “Most folks think I’m some sorta idiot, always asking questions they think I should know the answers to, and never thinkin to know what’s goin on. But not you Bill, not you. You always bring me along on all these drives, even if we’re just gettin rid of some shit like today, you always bring me along. Sorta always figured myself as your sidekick; Bill ‘n’ Frankie ridin the desert like a pair of tumbleweeds, always traveling but never gettin no where.”

thadicalradical @ 2006-04-25T01:07:00

2006-04-25T05:11:54Z

        I drove out on the red Mojave desert. The wind blew sand against my face, setting the deep grooves of the road in leather on my brow. Frankie the Mulatto sat shotgun and smoked a cigarette. His hazel skin glowed in the heat. We popped something real smooth into the tape deck of my old blue Lincoln convertible and let the song roll along with the tumbleweeds.

        “Think we’ll find the place alright?” Frankie turned and asked as he let out a puff of smoke. I shrugged my shoulders and kept my eyes on the road.

        “It’s not so much the place,” I finally said, “It’s the finding it that I like.” The way the black rubber tires spun over the grey concrete and made that soothing hum that told you, you were going somewhere.

        Frankie laughed and took another drag from his cigarette. His skin matched the color of his eyes and his nose was thin and sharp. The feathered tan hat covered his tightly curled black hair. He looked out to the jagged cliffs that watched over the cacti and the shrubs, took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

        “Who we meeting again?” he turned again and asked.

        “Jones, man. The guy from the department store.” Jones could get anything and got it wholesale. He’d worked at the same department store since he was seventeen and never thought to do anything but sell men’s pants and shirts.

        “Oh yeah. Wait, why we meeting him?”

    “I told you before man, to get a crate of dog food for Alice,” I said, losing patience with Frankie’s questions.

        “Oh, okay.” He put is cigarette out in the ashtray and looked ahead into the endless stretch of road..

        “When we get there, I don’t want you to say nothin. You hear me Frankie? Nothin. I’m gonna try to get Jones to knock the price down a few bucks and I don’t want you blabbin on and on. Got me?”

         “Sure Bill, I got you.”

The Classroom

2006-04-24T01:57:57Z

        A little bald man stands behind a podium. Scratching his snowman’s beard, he jerks around shouting, “The ants are stealing the eggs of washed up cunt ” in a robotic fashion as if bellow the podium sits a massive clockwork skeleton. Pink flesh wrapped around cold steel works through his tiny frame. Eyeballs are eyes for the machinist pulling levers to make gestures, turning gears to make speech, and greasing joints for locomotion.
        “The old loon will never get it right,” grumbles the machinist as he loads a brick of shit into the furnace, “It’s not the ants. It’s the damn horseflies. What would an ant want with that old washed up cunt’s eggs? Only the horseflies would need that much protein. They’re stealing the whole damn market. Next thing you know we’ll all be running around pissing and shitting ourselves due to a shortage in placenta.”
        A cog slips and the structure begins to rattle. The man spins violently. Springs and belts snap. Blood and oil mix, spurting and oozing from every pore. Joints buckle and sparks fly. Gears shatter under the immense weight of collapsing beams. The machinist shrieks as the wreckage topples to the ground. With a thunderous clap, the pile of mechanical parts spread across the floor. Caught under a support beam the machinist kicks his reptilian legs and spits up amphibious blood. A flock of ravens gathers around the body, hungry for the saline eyes of the dying machinist.
      “Succulent,” squawks a raven as he slurps the viscous liquid from one of the eyes.
        “What I wouldn’t do for some crushed caterpillar legs,” chirps another raven,” Nothing is as sweet as eyeballs mixed with caterpillar legs.”
        “You are quite right my friend, quite right,” replies the first raven.