Into Dim Air

Bodies on Everest

Last year I fabricated a website dedicated to helping disabled people summit Everest. Within moments of posting the fucking thing, I had a hit. Some dipshit from Florida and his dad. Well, I asked for a picture and the sum of $200,000 US. We arranged to meet outside Tulsa. This tard shows up with his dad. The dad smelled like he hadn't wiped his ass in years. I made up all this bullshit about the journey and yadayadayada. 

So I get in with some assholes from the Chinese government and pay for a couple of visas and some mountain permits and access to base camp. I stole some climbing gear from REI in a daring late night raid. I murdered a security officer in the parking lot unnecessarily. Anyway, I get all my shit together and have these two assheads buy our plane tickets. So we get on this god damn plane and fly out of SFO. The fucking plane ride was something like 20 god damn hours all told. WITH a shit layover in Vancouver. 

We get into this little shit village - the whole place smelled like rat shit. We camped there, the retards in some shit tent up the road. I found a dog tepee and was able to scrounge a few beers. Everest beers. The next day we were up earlier than I ever been in my whole fucking life. We collected some Sherpas. I wrote them all bad checks for a grand each. They were all named gooseshit or something like that. So we started out. Long fucking hike. 

We didn't even see snow for three days. I got real bad ass squirts about the second day. Some berries one of the god damned sherpas fed me. They looked like horse turd bits. I ate them, they tasted like anal sex in 108 degree weather. Well the runny ass subsided about the time we got to Base Camp. There was this hot ass australian chick, some doctor. She smelled my bullshit immediately. I made her some tea and drugged it. I boned her in her tent that night, then strangled her to death. That next morning, I woke up the retards and had a doobie. We started up the mountain about 3am. 

Did I mention I know nothing about technical climbing? Anyway, I'm playing this boom box, lot of Sublime. Lot of Sublime. And I'm singing it all into the mics. I've got my air mask on and I've cranked the o2. I'm high as a jagaloon. Well one of these bastard lil brown sherpas radios me and tells me to calm down, stop singing into the radio we need to keep the waves clear. I told him to "shut the fuck up, or else [I'd] throw his skinny ass into Tibet." Well that shut him up, plus I resolved to murder him later that day. 

Anyway, we get this call over the radio that a climber has been hurt. Some dickweed from the ASPCA or something. I laughed aloud and it made the sherpas angry again. I brandished a pistol and gave them a "watch your shit" face. The tards weren't bothering me so much. Plus those ratty sherpas were practically carrying them. So we make it to Camp one and I feel like shit. The tards passed out in their tent so I started drinking. I forced one of these sherpas, gooseshit I think his name was, to carry three 24pack cases of Tecate up. I get fucking wasted. The one sherpa who gave me shit for singing Sublime, well he starts trying to sober me up with tea and he tries to get me into a tent and he's really fucking with me so I tell him I found some extra o2 tanks around the corner ya know. Well like the dumbshit he is, he follows me and as soon as we get over this little bend, I pulled my knife and stabbed the grubby donk 37 times. He was screaming and kicking the whole time. Then, I dragged the body to the edge, and kicked it over the side. So I got back to camp, piss on the tards tent, and crash. 

When I woke up the next day, the other sherpas are screaming and yelling and I'm pissed because I have the headache from hell. I burst out of the tent to find two sherpas holding the dead body of gooseshit. Fuck. I guess what I thought was an edge, turned out to be just a small hill and the corpse ended up landing on one of the other sherpas tents. Well these assholes are flipping out, pointing their fingers at me and all this hoopla. Well I couldn't help it, their belly aching was too much so I pulled my pistol and blew their heads off. I'm a good shot. I practice at my grandparents ranch almost every weekend. Well I'd had enough. The two tards were flabbergasted, staring at me as if I were from another world. I told them to wait while I went and got help. I abandoned them, and headed down. 

A week later I find myself in a russian roulette den outside of Bangkok. I've no money and have apparently been shot in the head.

A shit vacation.

RMS Titanic

By 2:10 A.M. this shit show was moving downtown fast. I was drunk, fucked up on onion wine and rebarbds] cloyf. I had two red-headed shit rats with me. Lord knows where they came from, but I threw an arm around each of 'em and clasped them to me. I whispered, "I am Christ, you dumb-dicked sea shepherds." The foggy smoke which floated from my lips as I drunkenly slobbed over the pricks reminded me we were in the middle of the Atlantic. I remember, it was very cold. Very cold. Overhead, assholes from steerage were crawling over this cargo crane, trying to reach the boat deck. The lights burned with an assy eeriness. I soiled myself. Then realized I'd already soiled myself while playing cards on e deck with that douche, lE bOYLE or some shit. What a quack. Fuck, as the stern swung up, passengers discovered to their horror (bunch of dregs and English pop fucks) that they could no longer stand. Gippers and nut frogs where sliding past me left and right. I kept yelling "WOOHOO, WOOOHOOO!!" Ya know and fucking crazy and shit. Well tweedle dink and tweedle dick were bawling in my arms. I started to feel bad, but I soiled myself again and that distracted the shit out of me, literally. Then I heard -well more felt than heard- popping and cracking rion. Then lights went out and I screamed and all these crashes and groaning noises commenced. Titanic never impressed me. A mick built piece of iron turd with ass-class amenities. Pssh. Well what I was hearing then was the cheap labor tearing itself in half. Suddenly the after part was no longer plunging down. It actually seemed to be floating back and righting itself. Well this steward or deckhand I don't know what the fuck he thought he was supposed to be he looked like a god damn toilet attendant well he grabs my suit jacket and he's screaming real shriekish like and I'm all "Shut your shit or you're going to be wet before a lot of other people!" He let's go and falls overboard anyway. Well I've got these two boys still clutched in my arms and the fucking ship and all topsy turvy and everyone and their mom is losing their shit and I'm trying with all my soul to light a fucking cigarette when all of a sudden the floor was horizontal again. Stairs were no longer impossible to ascend. High on the flagstaff, a kerosene lantern still burned. In its dim glow, I saw hundreds of shadows swarming onto the deck. "FAGGOTS!" I screamed without motive. And then. the Titanic - what was left of the over-rated lemon- tipped onto her port side and began to plunge. What a shitty night. So here I am drunk as hell, no smoke and all of a sudden I'm in a swirl of ropes, deck chairs, broken planks, and flailing bodies. I swear to go I saw some dude's head get ripped off by a dead randos. Shit. Twenty-eight degree water kicked the air out of my lungs and I'm fucking livid. I held those boys in a death grip....damnit, they were yanked out of my arms, as if by a giant. Well I lost those shits right then and there. Some shit kicker I couldn't see tugged at my feet. Twice it pulled me down, and both times a parade of ascending trash buoyed my dumb ass to the surface, battering the crap out of me. People were all around me. I swear, ALL AROUND ME. I felt like I was at a Duck game. I was the only one cussing and blatantly flipping off other struggling swimmers. I pissed, not because I was scared, but because I was drunk and forgot to winky in my stateroom before the ship sank. Bad planning. WELL THESE FUCKING PEOPLE ALMOST TORE MY CLOTHES AWAY. Some dink dick tried to climb over my back, but I showed him. I dunked him under, right to my crotch and made him suck on it before I realized that shit cold water would do me in if I didn't make my escape. For twenty minutes I dog-paddled, screaming for my shit rats. Dumb as a cornish game-hen I listened for them, guessing that they were already dead. It was right about then that a hand pulled me from the urine. It smelled like the guy it belonged to had been wiping with it without paper, but it saved me nonetheless. Then some crack grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me into a half flooded life raft. It was Collapsible A. It was badly damaged and people had been using it for a toilet already. One prick was reading from some god damn poetry book. The first thing I did was to take the coat off a small child, then tell mr. poet to shuck the fuck up or he'd be swallowing more than water in a few seconds. None of these inept jagaloons could raise the canvas sides up, so the shitty dingy's gunwales were almost flush with the wa-wa and it kept rushing in. I was so heated. "YOU GOONS!" I kept shouting. Well they wouldn't listen. One special fuck bit my ear and ripped my pants. I vomited borscht on him and that shut him up. Slowly, we bobbed away, in out shit craft with thirty-one assholes with their thumbs up their butts standing or bent over. One by one these punks froze to death and we'd have to throw them overboard. I tried to get us singing. Somebody had the shittiest voice and I almost backhanded him, but I felt bad because half his face looked like porridge ram. I spent the whole trip back to NY in Carpathia's infirmary with three broken ribs and a hell of a hangover. Two weeks later, they found one of my shit rats and buried him somewhere. When they found him, he was still dressed in the clown suit I'd put on him, before going in search of lifeboats, only to find they were all gone.

The two dead cops

The two dead cops.

It was a rough evening. When I was pulled over, I was twelve Hamms deep, Rustoleum swirling in caustic, cancerous waves about my bloodstream. I crooked the mirror to get a look at the cheap shit - 'bout five ten, stocky. The man walked as if he owned the planet. He didn't. I pulled a long, slow drag from my swisher, drenched in anal fluid. I like it. Ruddy thighs, milky spills soaking my feet as if the entire car were my personal sauna of death. And as the white-yellow glow of the mag filled my bubble of shit, I ham-handedly rolled my stinky fish jeans up at the left leg, revealing a .380 stinger strapped loosely at the ankle. Slid from its holster now, it was already cocked, loaded. A crooked smile spread like a wildfire across my pocked dick face.

Tap tap tap, the end of the MAGLITE like a door knocker. I rolled the window down. It was one of those shit windows where the crank was missing (I'd lost it in a card game three years prior.) "How's it going, sir?" The crab. "The fuck you think it's going?" I haphazardly spat. "Do you know why I pulled you over THIS EVENING?!" I jumped at his careless tact and nearly put a round through the door and into his sternum right then and there. Just wait. Let this candied pup tart wiggle his peepee around in my face for just a few more minutes. "DEPENDS ON HOW LONG YOU WERE FOLLOWING ME." I found myself screaming. He casually slid his right hand to his service issue. The torch still held high like a sword. Beyond his smoky bear fuck hat, thunder rolled, a light spray of rain prompted the cabbage to squint. "Sir, have you been drinking tonight?" I couldn't tell if he was drooling. "Fuck you, pig." I know, I could HAVE thought of something better, but we were sharing such an intimate moment, I couldn't ruin it with trivial banter. The lawman stepped back and calmly said, "License and registration, proof of insurance." "Drrrrrrr....drrrr....I HAVE CANDY IN MY ASS OOOH YOU FUCK YOU BEASTLY FIENDISH PIECE OF SHIT!!" I was getting real riled up, banging on the steering wheel and shit. From a distance, it may have appeared I was sitting on hot coals. "WOOOH WOOOOH YOU COCKSUCKER!" Well the bastard had had enough as I began rolling that god damn window up again, right in his puny face. He bashed in the glass with his shit light and pulled his gun. What a winky stinky. I began to cry. He seemed to feel bad, but nonetheless he starts shouting real drill like "Step out of the vehicle NOW!" Then he poops away into the motorola on his vest something about backup. I swear I heard an old woman crackle back "I am king shit" or something to that effect. Well, before you know what's next, I had the chrome tip between his eyes, hollow point in line three inches from his birthday wishes, a clump of his wiry hair wound in my fist. That first shot, it was louder than I expected. It blew the windshield out like confetti. That god damn smokey hat flew away behind as if it were on a string, a pink mist gliding upward as if finally escaping. His eyes were all white as a flush of bloody mucus spilled over his forehead and out of his nostrils. I thought about watering the grass the previous autumn. POP POP POP the stinger's shells pinged me in the cheek, scalding. His grip on the Maglite tightened and miraculously the end plinked off spilling the batteries. A single blam from his Beretta missed my left eye by inches. Before I know what's happening there's this other motherfucker badged who has seemingly leaped from the shrubs on the other side of my car and he's blasting away like a kid at the fair. He's screaming too, like he's just woken up in his dark bedroom and Kurt Cobain minus head is standing over him.

There's no escape. I had two rounds left in the .380 so I aimed real nice and put them both into his left ear as he rounded my shit wagon. He bit his tongue off and four of his teeth shattered out like stepped on seashells. My windshield wipers had been switched on somehow. They were the only noise. My ears were ringing and I tasted metallic. I'd vomited. Without candor, I flopped from the driver's seat and onto the wet pavement. Found one of my shells, picked up the officer's shells. Walked slowly to the rear cruiser and found the log book, took it, ate the first four pages and shoved a burning Zippo into the gas tank. Vigilantly, I cleaned up all the evidence I could find and then drove away. I remember when I got home the cats were pissed. I poured a vase of orange juice with rum and tequila and half a bottle of Jack Daniels and three Coors Light. It was nine thirty. What without an unease could my visions be recognized? I buried the stinger in the park, took a long shit on it and passed out in a trash barrel. THE UNPLEASANT ODOR OF WEEK OLD LEFTOVER SALMON, HUMAN FECES AND STALE BEER LULLED ME TO DREAMS.