Words and Whatnot: The Redux

[terminoob]

"My First Memory is Mostly Unpleasant"

My first memory is mostly unpleasant - mostly only because a girl was there next to me and she wasn't unpleasant at all because if she was I would've pushed her out of the tree we were both in or, more likely, I just wouldn't have invited her up to the tree with me - however, looking back, I think I only went up into the tree because I wanted to impress her because you can't choose who you love when you're 4. Had she been an unpleasant person to be around I probably wouldn't have this memory, nor would I have any of the feelings of terror that followed the memory. I think I would've been more okay if I hated this girl, but, unfortunately, I was quite infatuated with her at the time. Not anymore, mind you. And not now thinking back on her as a child, either. Only when we were both children did I feel anything for her. I wasn't one of those kids that teases girls they like, either, because if I did, I would've pushed her out of the tree we were both in, or, more probably, I wouldn't have invited her up in the first place.

However, I did like her, and I did invite her up to the tree because I wanted to impress her, and because of that, I have this memory forever imprinted on me, still controlling my life to this day.

We were in pre-school, doing pre-schooler activities - whatever you believe those may be. Running around. Napping. Eating dirt. Throwing cookies. Her name was Blanca. Mine was still Nick. We were friends. I don't know why or how we became friends, but we were and that's really all that matters. I liked her. Liked liked. In retrospect, I mean. I don't think at the time I understood the concept of "like like", I just understood that I wanted to always be around her and make her happy and ask her about her day and if she had to wait long for the slide and how high she got on the swing and if she jumped off right when she got too high and what her favorite Bearnstein Bears book was and why and how she felt about growing old and if she thought about death and social security and over-population. The usual.

We had a tree house in the playground. Well, it was on a tree that was in the playground, I mean. I always wanted to climb it. I don't know why, I just knew I did and that's all that mattered. I knew I wouldn't do it alone. I couldn't. I had never been scared before or felt terror, but I still knew that if I climbed up that tree I would be scared. I didn't know what being scared would be like, but I knew I didn't want to feel it. I wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

Turns out, as long as possible was five minutes. Blanca had come over and saw me staring at the tree house in confusion and wonder and terror, even though we didn't know what terror was we still knew I was feeling it. But I had to get over it. I had to climb the tree.

So I did. Apparently. I don't remember the climb. I've blocked that part out. All I remember is thinking "I can probably climb that" and then thinking "I definitely shouldn't have thought I could climb that".


"The Inner Machinations of Picasso's 'Figure 1' as He Stares Longingly at Picasso's 'Woman in Garden'"

Sigh
Just
Just look at her
She's so
Ugh
You know
With those curves?
And what I, individually and subjectively, interpret as a smile but what some might interpret as some sort of kidney shape?
Yeah
She's just
Wow
She's so subjectively beautiful, in only a way that she, and no one else, can be - you know?

She'd never be interested in a figure like me
I'm not nearly as intricate as she is
Objectively, to me and only me, I don't have as many interesting shapes as she does
Maybe someone else, subjectively, believes my ball head and my triangle are "interesting", and perhaps symbolize the simplicity of the human form and how we aren't as complex as we think we are, however I, individually and objectively, do not think that and think I'm just a boring pile of scrap metal that couldn't even get a date with that woman's head over there, let alone a WHOLE figure

She probably wants someone with a dynamic silhouette
And shoulders
I don't even have shoulders
Someone may think I have shoulders and they may think my lazy silhouette is subverting their expectation and is therefore more interesting than one classically dynamic
But that someone is wrong because that someone is not me
I, individually and objectively, do not have shoulders, and you should know that because there's a reason that glass of absinthe is always empty and it's not because of how unstable the glass itself is
But that definitely makes it easier for me to drink
You know, with the whole "lack of shoulders" thing

You know who has shoulders?
David
She probably likes him
He doesn't have a lot going on though
Not too interesting of a guy
Even if I don't believe what people say about me at least they can say things about me
What can you say about David other than "oh look at this prime piece of man marble, with his lackadaisical look and his boyish charm and his legs and his chest and his curly goddamn hair and his broad fucking shoulders how is anyone supposed to compete with this giant slaying motherfucker when the rest of us just fucking stand here and wait to be defined by every beret-wearing, coffee-drinking, sketchbook-holding piece of trash that know the word 'juxtapose' I bet he's over making eyes at Mona Lisa right fucking now because who could say no to the glorious David because I certainly wouldn't be able to!"

I wonder if she'll notice me if I just stand here and stare at her

"Cupid, Draw Back Your Bow"

Who are you grocery store girl
I spend every second in line wondering that
I buy quarts of milk instead of half gallons because I go through them faster so it gives me an excuse to come to the grocery store on a more frequent basis just so I can see you
I notice your hair color changes
One day it's red and then the next it's brown and then blue and then back to red
You go to at least seven different colleges, because I see you wearing at least seven different college sweatshirts
Today you have blonde hair and you go to NYU
I'm too busy listening to Sam Cooke to talk to you, and you're too busy trying not to talk to me to talk to me
It's cute
But I look into your basket and I see we have a lot in common today
For example, we both like cheese, which is evident because we both decided to buy cheese
And it looks like you're as lazy as I am when it comes to cooking because like me you bought mostly pepperoni pizza rolls and Stouffer's lasagna
But I see you're still trying to be health conscious so you bought strawberry yogurt too - I went for the yogurt that comes with Reese's Pieces, but it's pretty much the same thing
And we both like the taste of Semi-sweet chocolate in our brownies instead of full-sweet, because that would be too sweet and that would be too much of a good thing
And we both like spicy foods because we both bought jalapeños, so we both like to be daring in our personal lives - does that mean you also used to use the big kid playground in elementary school even though you were still a little kid?
And I can tell the mannerist period is your favorite period in art history because you bought unsalted butter instead of salted
And you bought mandarins because you're also worried about getting scurvy because you don't live on the seven seas or own a parrot and you think the only way someone can justify having scurvy is by being a pirate and you frankly just don't want to uproot your whole life right now because you just started a really good book and you have too much going on in your personal life even though you know it'd be easier to just leave and never look back because that way you'd never have to make your own hair appointments ever again even though you think life as a pirate might be more fruitful because you're pretty sure that you could pay off your student loan debt with one treasure chest
And because you bought Cocoa Pebbles instead of Fruity Pebbles you must also not really listen to the Beastie Boys that often, but you bought two boxes so you'll listen to Paul's Boutique if it's on because The Sounds of Science is your favorite song by them
And you've recently overcome an almost crippling social anxiety because you bought a half dozen eggs instead of a full dozen
And you bought green bell peppers instead of red bell peppers, which must indicate that you don't trust therapists either which resulted in an emotionally stunted high school experience where you lost all your friends and someone called you a loser in front of the whole school because you didn't know how to connect to anyone and as a result you decided to go through a unicycle phase because you thought it'd make you cool, which is incidentally why people called you a loser in the first place
And that jar of salsa - it's medium, restaurant style - does that mean you also haven't had any real relationships because everyone you've ever had a crush on has decided they just want to casually hook up with you because there's just something about you that they can't exactly pinpoint that makes you weirdly unlovable even though everyone says you just aren't they're type?
Because if that's what it means, then let me tell you that if I could talk to you right now I would, but I bought sour cream and you bought guacamole so I can't talk to someone who thinks the assassination of JFK was an inside job
...But you do also think Wolverine is the best X-Men because you bought honey barbecue Fritos....
Hm.... well....
Nah, you have pumpernickel bread, and we all know what that means
Maybe next time we'll have more in common
 

"Why I am not a Rapper"


I can't drop a mad beat
But I can cook a mean beet
I can't spit fire on a dime
Unless I'm eatin' jalapenos all the damn time
And the only bars I know
They're all down on the Lower East Side

No one wants to hear it happen
No matter the time or the season
I can't even come up with a decent rhyme scheme, son
There's no reason for me to want to rap rap rap
'Cuz all I'd do is yap yap yap
To the poor sap sap saps
Until I ran out of steam
And they'd call me steamless
But I wouldn't get mad 
I'd get glad
I'd order Seamless

 

"This Place"

 

There's allegedly this place. Allegedly because I dont remember being there and I don't have any pictures from being there and I don't have a t-shirt from there or any other souvenirs like a snow globe or a Keychain or one of those tacky squished pennies you can get by paying 51 cents to have a worthless piece of money and my family doesn't have embarrassing stories about me and I don't have any vacation-only friends that I created a strong bond with that'll last a lifetime even if I never see them ever again. None of that usual tourist-y stuff. I guess you could technically say I was alive at the time, but it was during the time where you don't develop any memories so it's not like I was REALLY alive. Like it wouldn't have mattered to me if I died because I didn't have any idea what life actually felt like. I imagine that place was quite warm and safe. I don't think I had any complaints about it. It was probably pretty okay. I think there was always enough food, and it was comfortable, and it was ocassionally loud because my mom would like to play Paul Simon or Tom Petty or other artists whose name began with a letter in the second half of the alphabet because she liked their vibe more than artists whose names began with a letter in the first half of the alphabet and she thought I would too, but it didn't work because I prefer Alice Cooper and Dave Grohl.

There wasn't much. It was easy to be there. I didn't have to do anything. I was too young. Everything was done for me. I didn't have to worry about anything because I didn't have anything to worry about. I didn't know what it meant to worry about something. I didn't have to worry about the small things like birthdays or holidays or how VCRs work or if the leftover Chinese food in my fridge is still good or if drinking skim milk instead of 1% is really making a difference, and I didn't have to worry about the big things like figuring out what makes me happy or who makes me happy or if happiness is real or if it's just an emotion that's been manufactured to help sell the idea of relationships and romance and timeshares in Key West or why I feel alone or why I am alone or if the concept of alone is natural or if that's also manufactured to help sell the idea of relationships and romance and timeshares in Key West or if relationships are just timeshare propaganda or why I'm so cynical about Key West even though I've never been there or having to cut my toenails every once in a while even though my toes are covered by my socks so no one would notice if they were freakishly long.

Part of me always wishes I could go back and erase all this life because being alive takes so much effort. I wish I could give back all this time. All these memories and experiences. I want to return it but it's been so long, I don't think I could. If I tried to return them I would wind up arguing with the customer service employee for two hours about the return policy and how even though it's been 20 some odd years, give or take, I still have my receipt so I should at least get like a store credit or something so I could put the money towards something I actually want, like a scooter or a bike or a Lego set or a Tonka truck or Mouse Trap or a better life. Or Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots, which would incidentally probably lead to a better life because I'd be living a life where I had Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots instead of one where I didn't.

Instead of having to constantly worry about every aspect of conscious life, I could spend my time with an open mind.

But here I am. Conscious mind and worries and every other inescapable misfortune about life, like not being able to look at myself in the mirror because all I see are all these memories and experiences that I wish I could've returned reflected back at me and I can't escape my middle school years or my high school years or yesterday because it's all right there in front of me, or knowing that this is what I sound like and I can't do anything about it because portable autotune for the public probably isn't practical yet and learning sign language just because I don't want to hear myself talk is probably not the best reason to learn sign language, or having to make your own doctors appointments, or that toenail thing.

I tried to stay there for as long as I could - I was able to squeeze in a couple extra weeks. But it didn't matter. I was kicked out, and as soon as I left they were already making plans to put someone else up for a period of time in the coming months. There isn't a poster up with my face on it that says "no re-entry allowed" or anything like that, but I can definitely tell I'm not allowed back. If I really wanted to go back I'd have to break in and on second thought I don't actually want to go back that badly because this is all okay.

"Thanksgivings"

I sat down at the table next to my sister, who was sitting in my grandfather's seat, and and she was quick to flip me off. "Look", she shoved her middle finger in my face, "like my new tattoo? I got it in Florida". She got a blue peace sign on her middle finger. Like most things she does, it left me speechless. She could read my face and grinned, "Yeah I don't really know."

"She got 'RVM' down her neck, too", my mom chimed in as she sat down. RVM - a dedication to our grandfather, though ironically if he knew about it he'd be at her throat trying to remove it himself. "She looks like a gang member". My mom and my sister both shot each other a look, but they may as well have just shot each other with guns. They have more of a sibling relationship than I do with her. I've always thought that was weird. Like my mom was trying to be "one of the girls". They'd argue constantly about nothing one day but then the next they'd be drinking Cosmos by the pool together and laughing about nothing.

I couldn't stop thinking about Erin.

I had woken up to a text from her. We haven't talked to in two months. "Happy Thanksgiving!" she said. She had stopped talking to me, not the other way around. We had gotten involved over the summer. Casually. I was a little bit more invested than she was.

It didn't end well.

I had apologized for everything I should've apologized for and things I shouldn't have apologized for.

The day before I was told that she was dragging my friend into this. She told him to choose sides. He got pissed off that he was being dragged into this. I got pissed off that she was dragging him into this.

My grandma was setting up the table when the tattoo conversation was going on, said "God, it looks so trashy", and quickly left the room to go get more dishes to set the table with so she wouldn't have to participate in the conversation because, much like my mom and my sister have a sibling-type relationship, my sister and my grandma have a mother-daughter one.

"Joanne, sit down, you're making me nervous," my sister yelled through the dining room, hoping her voice would carry to the kitchen. Sometimes she liked to pretend to be the mom in that relationship.

"Okay," my grandma placed the turkey in the middle of the table and stood back to admire her work, "do I have everything? Mike, you want a beer or something?"

"Oh, uh," my older sister's boyfriend looked at his glass of water and then at my older sister and then at his water and then at my grandma.

Mike had gotten a little bit too drunk at my cousin Steph's wedding this past summer. It was the day of a Foo Fighters concert that we had tickets to. He clearly wanted to go to the concert instead, but chose the wedding.

At the end of the wedding my older sister was in tears and almost broke up with Mike.

It was bad.

So now he doesn't drink.

"No thanks," Mike sipped his water. I couldn't tell if he was fine with this or if it was starting to make him resent my sister.
 

I sat down at the table and before I could even fill my glass with cider everyone was already asking me questions. "So," my older sister leaned over, "how's New York?"

"I bet he LOVES it", my mom likes to think she knows everything, "it's like, exactly where he should be. It's full of artists and everything", she nodded, proudly, like me going to art school, in New York, meant something to her, "he's gonna do great".

"How's the school?" my older sister's boyfriend asked through a can of beer. "Better than MassArt?"

"Oh I'm SURE", my mom chimed in again. "Probably LOADS better. So much more culture and experience and so many more artists".

"I'm just so nervous for him," my grandma covered her face. "It's just so scary there".

"Oh be quiet, I'm his mother and I'm not even that worried"

"You know", my sister piped in, because she always has to, "I'm thinking about going to school in Florida. Yeah, I want to go into the health field. Work in hospitals. Try to rub elbows with rich doctors who can put a white Escalade in my driveway."

"Can't you go somewhere other than Florida for that?" my older sister's boyfriend asked, taking a gulp of beer.

"Well, yeah, but I can't get a TAN somewhere other than Florida."

I can't believe my mom's gonna pay thousands of dollars for a tan.

"So Nick", my mom grinned a grin a mom should never grin but one that she's done before, "meet any girls?"

"Oh come on Lise, don't ask him that" my older sister's boyfriend groaned, "I'm sure he won't tell you".

"It's been a couple years since.... what was her name?" my older sister tried to remember. "Holly?"

She was right. It was Holly. I liked her fine, but not enough. She cried. We tried to make up. I cried.

It was bad.

"You know Connor and I are gonna get back together", my sister said with a false sense of pride.

"Oh God," my mom rolled her eyes. "Why?"

"Didn't he cheat on you?" my older sister was baffled, "I would never do that", she shook her head. "I don't get why you'd want to get back together with him".

"Who knows", my mom very much disapproved. Connor had hooked up with my sister's best friend at a party.

My sister's birthday party.

It was bad.
 

I sat down at the table and it was weird because this was the first Thanksgiving without my grandfather. It felt even weirder because I sat in his seat at the table. The seat reserved for "the man" of the house. My grandma insisted.

"No, not on the side, Nick", she directed me, "you sit there. In Ralph's seat". She pointed to the empty seat. It's been almost a year but I think it's still getting to her because she hasn't stopped moving for 11 months and I know when I'm distressed I have to keep myself moving and my mind occupied because otherwise I'll start to think about whatever it is that I shouldn't be thinking about.

"So Mike," my mom nudged my older sister's boyfriend, "where's that ring?"

He sipped his beer, "where's the money to buy it?"

"I don't think we're ready...." my older sister looked down.

It got kind of quiet.

"So Nick", my mom grinned a grin a mom should never grin but one that she's done once before, "meet any girls?"

"I'm sure we'd know about it," my older sister responded for me. I didn't want to talk about it, so I'm glad other people can do it for me.

My phone buzzed and I looked at it. It was a text from Brenna. "Hey", she said. Classic Brenna.

I didn't tell my family about Brenna. We were never "Facebook official". They didn't need to know. It wasn't going to last. As far as they knew I had only ever dated Haley and Holly, even though in actuality it had been Haley, Holly, Allie, Ashley, and Kristy. And Brenna.

We had been hooking up on and off throughout the semester. Nothing official, because it was easier to end something that wasn't official. She had called it off in early October, but it wasn't easy. I didn't see her or talk to her or Snapchat her for a while. I ran into her at National Portfolio Day. I was bringing my stuff to the SVA booth because I wanted to get out of MassArt and Boston. She said "hey" to me there too. That was a couple weeks before Thanksgiving.

We've been hooking up since then.

It was gonna get bad.

 

I sat down at the table and my mom was grinning a grin a mom should never grin, "WHEN ARE WE GONNA MEET HER?" she burst out. "I can't believe you didn't even tell us about her!," she shook her head. "I swear the only way I'm gonna find out if you get married someday is when I open the mailbox and see a Save the Date".

"How long have you been dating? Connor and I have been dating for almost a year", my younger sister sneered. She thinks her and Connor are a perfect relationship.

"My future son-in-law", my mom joked.

"Mom, STOP", my sister was so embarrassed all the time.

"Son-in-law?" my grandpa asked, "Mike's not gonna be your son-in-law. Rachel's not your daughter."

"No, she means Jen and Connor," my older sister corrected him. We had to correct him a lot recently.

Rachel and Mike joined us for Thanksgiving every year, even though Rachel wasn't my mom's daughter and therefore had no connection to my grandparents, but our dad never answers his phone so she can't join him.

Earlier that day Rachel gave me a note. It was a note from our dad, to Rachel, explaining why he is the way he is. He had a somewhat bad childhood experience, but he didn't get any of the torment his siblings got. That was it. He had cheated on his first wife, Rachel's mom, with my mom, and then cheated on my mom with his current wife, and continually neglected his kids but not his step-kids. His siblings have normal families and normal relationships and they went through the worst of it.

"Her name's Holly, right?" my older sister tried to remember, "I saw that on Facebook. Is she coming?"

She wasn't. I was meeting up with her later, though. Walk through town. In a weird coincidence, Holly - who lived next door to me in my dorm hall - has family in my home town. Her uncle went to high school with my mom. I had asked Holly about that before we left for break and she said she'd ask him about it.

My phone buzzed. It was Holly.

"I just asked my uncle", she had said. "Yeah?" I texted back.

My grandpa had taken a scoop of stuffing and put the spoon back in the gravy instead, and then took a scoop of mashed potatoes and put the spoon back in the stuffing.

My phone buzzed again. Holly. The text read "He says 'THAT Lisa? DAMN she was HOT'".

It was gross.

"So how's college?" my older sister's boyfriend asked, taking a drink, "better than high school?"

It was alright so far. I'm sure it'll get better.

 

[terminoob]

"7 Minutes in Heaven"

It's 3:07pm and I'm in bed with the lights off. I finish taking a gulp of spiked eggnog from the carton and I bite into a Philly cheesesteak, being careful enough to not let the grease drip onto my bedsheets but not careful enough to let it drip onto my shirt because I don't plan on seeing anyone today, and if I do I can put on one of my flannels and just button it up to hide the stain.

It's 3:08pm and I shake my carton of spiked eggnog. There's still a considerable amount left, but the fridge is out of my reach. I don't want to leave the carton on the nightstand because it'll go sour, and that's a waste of both good eggnog and good enough rum. I give it another shake. On second thought, it's not that much.

It's 3:09pm and I finish one half of my cheesesteak with acceptable collateral damage to my bed. Crumbs. I flick them off to the side and pick up the second half of the sandwich.

It's 3:10pm and I want a cigarette.

It's 3:11pm and it's been five months but I still can't stop thinking about her. I've told six different people about what happened and each person individually agreed that I should cut her out of my life. I think she did it for me. It hurts knowing that I cared more about her than she cared about me and that it never seemed like she respected me as a person or saw me as someone who might have feelings because of how cold and callous she'd be, like when she'd tell me she could never ever ever see herself dating me or when she'd tell me how unattractive I am or how she never cared about my life or my interests or my art. I thought she had changed, but four years in and she continues to be the same person. She refuses to change because she expects everyone else to change for her.

It's 3:12pm and I finish the carton of spiked eggnog. I toss it off to the side, not caring if it makes it near the trash or not because I haven't taken the trash out in a few days anyway so it'd just bounce off and fall on the floor and I don't think I want to get close to anyone anymore.

It's 3:13pm and I feel broken. I stare at my sandwich and there's one bite left. This half went by quicker than the first one. I eat fast when my mind is preoccupied. I crumble the aluminum foil wrapper and toss it towards the trash. As I thought it bounces off a pile of various other sandwich wrappers and empty coffee cups and falls onto the floor, next to the empty carton of eggnog.

It's 3:14pm and I shut my eyes because I think I'm sad again.


"Mark"

Mark, mark my words
When I say 
You're moving farther and farther away
From being my father
And that you are far and away the worst father I have ever had
Perhaps long ago in a galaxy far far away
You were a good father
But now that we're both older
And times been slipping on and on
You keep skipping out time after time
By tripping and slipping on and on on time
We both know you're not someone I can call a father
With all these missed days in my life
Who knows what you were off doing
Or who you were off screwing
While my baseball games and birthdays just kept dragging on and on
Because you missed them all

I wanted you to teach me how to be a Superman
I wanted you to be like Pa Kent
But instead you left you're number one fan
And now you're just a Pa Can't
I thought for so long maybe I'm just a bad son
It never occurred to me that I could fight the pain
Like Bruce Wayne
That I could be a Bat son

After years and years
And
Tears and tears
You've finally given me a birthday gift
You've given me a fear to fear
A fear without a face to face but instead many faces to face with my one face that I will face with tears and tears in all my coming years and years
And I pretend that it doesn't faze
And that this is just a silly little phase
That I must face
But in truth this is not a phase
And this fear I face each and every day when I confront all these faces is fazing me in a way that I am afraid to face and it is certainly holding me in my place
And in fact it is the only thing holding me each and every day throughout these years and years and tears and tears
Because I cannot bear to face another face with this fear and these tears you have given me throughout these years
So for that I bet you bet that I must be forever in your debt
And that I need not say another word to you
Because you think you know it all
So what more is there to say
If I just say the things you've known all along

But trust me when I say that one day I will come over this hurdle and I will overcome this unfortunate sequence of consequences you've handed out instead of Christmas presents
And I will strike the right chords
So that this is conquered
And I will fly high like a condor
Away from your cons and out the door
All the way out to Concord
Because this is my conquest
So thanks for nothing but trying your best

[terminoob]

I posted this one before a while ago but I moderately edited it so the beginning is more unsettling

1123 Pumpernickel Lane
Brings up memories of life
Love
And pain
There are many stories being told
And myths being created
Because humanity’s love of horror
Is never quite satiated
This is one such tale
And it starts with a man
Old and frail
With one stunted leg
And one too tall
He was forced to walk with cane
And lived in the house on the hill
On 1123 Pumpernickel Lane

All the old man wanted was quiet and peace
So that he did not regret his lease
But kids would play on the lawn

And they'd give his door a knock
One, two, three

And then suddenly flee

No matter how much the old man yelled
They wouldn't listen
“Those kids are too loud!”
Cried the old man
“Making all that noise!
All that ruckus!
They should not be so proud of this brouhaha!”
So what did that sweet old man do?
Did he call the police?
No.
He bought a chainsaw

The very next day he threatened the children
"That's right!"
He chased them with the chainsaw in hand
"Scram! This is my land!"
And they all ran out
But there was one child named Steve
Who got to the gate
A little bit too late
"You know,"
The old man huffed
And brought the chainsaw down
Straight through Steve
"Blood stains are my biggest pet peeve"

The very next day, again, the police arrived
A warrant for arrest
"Blast!"
The old man shouted
"Those pests!"

They knocked on the door
One, two, three

And as to what to do
The old man hadn't a clue

"Open up,"
A voice blared from a megaphone
"This is the police"

The old man
The one who lived in 1123 Pumpernickel Lane
Had hatched a dastardly and wicked idea
That was downright insane

He walked over to his nice table
And sat down in his chair
Both made of oak
And he revved up the chainsaw
He was gonna make himself croak

So with one deep breath he gave a tug
And shut his eyes
“I hope my blood doesn’t stain this rug”

I have heard a story
About what would happen
Should you approach the door and knock
Though many mock
I know it to be true
Because I approached the door

(Though I didn’t want to
I was in love with my friend
And I wanted to impress her
So that she might let me undress her)

I walked past the grass forgotten by time
Over the moat
Up the steps so jagged
They seemed to be made for a mountain goat
On that rickety porch I did stand
I turned back and waved my hand
My friend was on the sidewalk
Rolling her eyes
She thought I was all talk
"I'll kiss you if you knock"
She had told me

What's the worst that could happen?

I knocked on the door
One, two, three

And waited there in front

So far
Nothing was happening
But then came the bang!
The porch lit up with fire!
If I told anyone now, they’d take me for a liar
A man stood there
Where the flames had been
One stunted leg
And one too tall
He carried a cane
Here was the denizen
Of 1123 Pumpernickel Lane

“Why are you here?”
He exclaimed
“I- I came with a promise of a kiss!”
Was my reply
And then he changed
To a voluptuous woman
I couldn't believe my eyes
I whistled
Hot damn
And he gave me a kiss
“There!”
He shouted
“Go on! Shoo! Scram!”
I stood there in silence
Shy as a lamb
At last I spoke up
“That is not what I meant”
He gave me a glare
“Then tell me what it is”
He spat
“I gotta take a piss”
“Well,”
I began
“I hear you offer a challenge”
He gave me a look
And got too close
“Oh yeah?”
He sneered
“Think you can beat me with those?”
He smacked my legs with the cane
This man wasn’t so sweet
The one who lived up here
On 1123 Pumpernickel Lane

“You know the rules, I hope”
He disappeared again in a flash
And I fell off the porch
And onto my ass
“Beat me in a race to the gate,”
A voice said
“And I’ll grant you a wish”
I writhed on the ground in pain
The voice laughed,
“Lose, and you’ll never again be whole”
“Because I’ll own your soul!”
And then it began to rain

The man was nowhere to be found
Until,
That is,
He made a sound
Looming over me he stood
He wore a suit,
And a new face
He leaned down and smiled,
“You’re losing this race”

The stories had ended all the same
Someone goes up the steps
Hoping for fame
And comes down
Without a life
Without love
And full of pain
This old man could not be beat
Who was he?
God?
A demon?
Or some salesman named Pete?

The rain fell on me in little spurts
I rolled to my back and sighed
“This is the worst”
The old man
Who was now a little boy
Came strolling up
And I wanted to hurl
“You know”,
He said sweetly
“No one has ever ever beaten me”
I closed my eyes
And knew it was true
So my thoughts drifted off
I wonder if he ever used the loo...

“Get up!”
My friend shouted from the sidewalk
So I did
And went for the gate

On that day
I learned the true tale
Of that sweet man
Old and frail
The one with one stunted leg
And one too tall
Who had to walk with a cane
Because that was the day I lost my life
On 1123 Pumpernickel Lane