Revenge Is A Dish Best Served Bloody.

The calendar year of 2011 draws to a close in a few days. I would like to present to all of you readers the last piece of the year. I felt it fitting that it should be a story, not just any mere rambling. Enjoy, and I'll see all of you again next year.

The library was always quiet at this time of night. Fluorescent tubes provided the only source of light, the sound of cockroaches scurrying along the walls the only sound to be heard. He turned yet another page of the book, immersed completely in his pursuit of knowledge. As he turned to yet another page, he realized an odd flickering of the fluorescent tube directly above him. He glanced up crossly just as all the tubes in the library failed and he was left alone in the darkness. He took a deep breath in, refusing to give in to the urge to slam on the table with his fist. Slowly, he got up and walked to the door, careful not to walk into any obstacles unlighted by the moon, shining bright through the large windows. 


Once outside, he decided on a whim to take the short walk to the top of a nearby hill. It was a long walk, but finally he reached the summit. Sitting in the middle of a patch of lonely wild flowers, he looked up at the bright full moon and took in a deep breath. All of a sudden, a rustling sound from a stand of trees nearby made him startle and turn. He strained his eyes and squinted, but all he could see was nothing. Wait! There it was again! Just standing in the shadow of the tree. Barely able to make out its silhouette against the pale moonlight, he narrowed his eyes and focused hard on the apparition. It seemed to be making beckoning gestures towards him. He knew that no good was going to come out of this, but it was as if he was under a spell. Upon their own accord, he got up and staggered towards the figure. On closer inspection, it turned out that the figure was a girl. And boy, was she beautiful. He felt his heart speed up at the sight of her. Yet, there was something wrong with her. She looked familiar enough, but he just could not place it.


She smiled sweetly at him and bared her teeth. Teeth, that he noticed, ended in points. It was as though he was being drugged. He could not think clearly, nor could he see clearly. His vision was blurring, the image of the girl in his mind was swimming. He blinked furiously, trying to clear his mind.She was moving closer to him, letting him see her fully, and then he remembered. He knew her face now. He remembered the beach, at sunset. The fateful last conversation. The last meal. He closed his eyes and prayed that it would be over soon enough. As he sank to his knees, the last thing he heard was the sentence, "Never forgive, never forget."

She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and cleaned her blood-stained fingertips with a piece of tissue paper. She looked down at her handiwork, pleased with herself. She was sure that she had left an indelible enough mark, a mark that would remind people to never mess with the fairer sex. The mark was a mockery, a mere image of the turmoil in her. Yet, she felt extremely satisfied with her night's work and felt hope grow in her chest as her broken heart mended with the coming of the sun rising high into the sky. 


That very day, a startling discovery was made. A man was found spread-eagled on the top of a hill, face towards the sun, a smile on his face. All was well, except for the fact that his chest was cracked open like a walnut and his heart was cut into two by what seemed to be a very serrated blade. As one police officer remarked, his heart was well and truly broken.


THE END


*This story is dedicated to a friend of mine. This one's for you, buddy. 

Turtle Theory (Part 4)

Welcome back to Tales From Behind The Port-A-John. Today we shall be continuing with our Turtle Theory in this, part 4 of the multi-part segment. In the previous three segments, readers were introduced to the concepts of the Tadpole, Fish, and Fisherman. These segments can be read here.
Part 1
http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/07/turtle-theory-part-1.html
Part 2
http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/09/turtle-theory-part-2.html
Part 3
http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/11/turtle-theory-part-3.html
Well, enough of the shameless self-advertising. Let's get down to the nitty-gritty. Let us go on and enlighten ourselves about the most mystical and misunderstood creatures of the ocean blue. The turtle, also known by its scientific name as Testudines. But then again, that is not important. Let us begin.


The Turtle


The turtle is an ancient creature, much like the fisherman and the fish. They are mainly characterized by their unwillingness to either be caught by fishermen or catch fish. Thus, they are secretive and secluded creatures, often living alone or in groups of two or three. These turtles swim the oceans endlessly, only stopping for sustenance and rest. They observe without being observed, note without being noted, and you get the idea. Often, they are misunderstood and prejudiced against by fishermen, most of the time being labelled mistakenly as fishermen who are unable to catch fish of their own. As such, they normally do not get on very well with fishermen. Conversely and strangely, they often find that they can get on very well with fishes. Maybe its because fishes feel safe and that there is no danger in mixing with turtles. So the turtle roams endlessly, building opinions and gathering information on the ocean floor. The turtle is known to be a blind creature, unable to see what is happening around it. Yet, contrary to popular belief, the turtle is not deaf. It is able to hear remarkably well for a creature that spends most of its time underwater. It merely refuses to acknowledge the things it hears unless they are deemed important. As such, very little is known about turtles up till a point where even turtles are uncertain if they themselves are turtles.


THIS CONCLUDES PART 4. PART 5 IS COMING SOON!

A long-awaited Break

Just a quick story here to intersperse between the segments of the Turtle Theory. Found this on the back of a Port-A-John in some school I was in. Why they have portable toilets, I do not know, but do not question what you have been blessed with.

Mouth is burning. Throat is dry, parched. Legs are about to fall off. There's a rumbling in my tummy. Why did I have to try the Chili Con Carne? It feels as though I'm excreting fire. Breath is coming in short spurts. I can barely move my arms. Every time I cough, I emit smoke and I let off another rocket. Any moment now, and I'm going to take off and fly. 


No! I must be strong. I must leave my mark in this dark portable can. If not now, it will never happen. Okay, deep breaths, boy. Just let is out slow- oh damn. That WAS NOT slow. Is it me, or is it really hot in here? It kinda feels like a sauna. I had best be out of here before the heat melts the toilet walls and I'm left out here with my posterior hanging out for everyone to see. Honestly, I don't really mind, but I think the sight of a shiny red posterior would scare away a lot of kids. Possibly a boatload of kids. 


Now that raises a question. How many makes a boatload? I suppose it depends on the number of boats you have. I think I could scare away a raft-sized boat full of kids, but if a boat the size of the Titanic came around, I don't think they'd be scared. Maybe they'd laugh and point at me. Oh no. They'll POINT at me! I should probably go right after this- oh wow. That hurt. Okay, maybe I'll go as soon as I can get up without excreting recently digested Chili Con Carne. 


If there is anything I've learnt from this, it's to never eat Chili Con Carne, especially if its cooked by a Mexican looking guy who speaks with an Asian accent and claims to be selling "All-American Chili". If that was what America tastes like, I never want to lick it. Hang on, how do you lick a country? I supp-

At this point, the writing stops, and the wall is coated in a reddish-brown substance that is soft to the touch and feels slightly warm. I had better wash my hands after touching that. I think I saw a bean in there. 
For those of you who don't know what Chili Con Carne is, check this out:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chili_con_carne
Hey look! You're getting an edookayshun!

Turtle Theory (Part 3)

Hello again. In the first two parts of our multi-part segment on the Turtle Theory, I introduced you people to the concept of the Tadpole and of the fish. These can be read at http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/07/turtle-theory-part-1.html
and
http://poopoutyourideas.blogspot.com/2011/09/turtle-theory-part-2.html
If you have not read any of these parts, I suggest that you do so. If, however, you insist on being a rock-headed pig with no respect for the rules, go right ahead. I am not stopping you. But I have stalled for too long. We shall now proceed to enlighten ourselves on the next parts of our Turtle Theory, that is the tale of the fisherman.


The Fisherman


The role of the fisherman, much like the fish, is an ancient one. Where there are fish, there will always be a fisherman or two. As the name implies, these fishermen are tasked with corralling and catching these fish. They search the wide oceans, hunting, occasionally in packs, but more often than not alone. They employ a wide range of lures and traps to catch their fish, often spiking these utensils with the most luscious of all bait. When they have identified their fish, they will move in for the kill. Again, please be reminded that this is a mere metaphor and that no actual killing is involved except in the case of psychopaths. Once catching said fish, fishermen may choose to either keep these fish as trophies and be content for evermore, or eat them, stripping them to their bony carcasses and hurling these empty shells back into the sea. It all matters on the personality of the fisherman. As such, the fisherman is almost always portrayed as the villain of this piece, the so-called bad guy, when in actual reality all he OR she wants is to have a fish of their own. Such pitiful misunderstandings often occur and can be damaging for life. Not the fishermen, but the fish.

THIS CONCLUDES PART 3. PART 4 IS COMING SOON!

Turtle Theory (Part 2)

In the first part of our multipart Turtle Theory, we discussed the humble origins of turtles and other creatures. We have laid down the fact that everyone starts life at the same point, as a tadpole. Now, let us carry on to the first of the creatures a tadpole might evolve into after puberty. This creature will come in a pair with another creature, but more on that later. For now, I present to you:

The Fish

The fish is the default creature that most tadpoles evolve into. As the name implies, it is an ever-wandering creature, exploring the deeps and gaining experiences. Yet, it remains susceptible to trickery and is a creature that is easily confused and lured. Yes, I said that. Confused. The fish is, as is the case with real fish, easily baited. Simple lures, simple promises of trust and security, are able to bamboozle these innocent fish. Before you know it, these fish are caught out in the open air, gasping to live, flopping on the shore, at the mercy of their tormentors. But, as I said, more on that later. Basically, the fish is the type of person who is easily lured. Emotionally unstable, these fish are no more than mobile volcanoes, ready to explode at any given moment. They swim the oceans deep, searching for stability, a rock to anchor themselves to. If the rock turns out to be dangerous for them, they are unable to retreat, snagged as they are by the danger’s stunning allures. If by chance, they manage to escape, they often do so at the expense of being scarred for life. 

THIS CONCLUDES PART 2. PART 3 IS COMING SOON!

Turtle Theory (Part 1)

In life, there have been thousands of ground-breaking theories. Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.  Newton’s Theory of Gravity. Then there were theories that did not make sense. C.S. Lewis’ theory of nonsense, for example. But today, I write to you to tell you of a new theory. A theory so new only FIVE people apart from yours truly know of its existence. A theory that will have you introspecting over and over and over again. I present to you the Turtle Theory. Do not be alarmed. Though it is a long theory, I will be breaking it apart into several segments, each to come in its own time as I expand it. In this first part of my theory, I shall explain to you the roles and details of the three main characters in my theory: The fisherman, the fish, and the turtle. But of course, each role shall get its own post on this blog. Each role will be explained in depth about origins, causes, and further details. It will be a project unlike any other. As such, this will take a while. Sit back, relax, brew some coffee, and let us begin. Just note that everything said here is a metaphor for something else.

             I shall start my theory today with the simplest of all creatures, the basis of life, the phase through which everyone goes through: That of the simple tadpole.

The Tadpole

Before one can step onto the path towards turtledom or otherwise, one has to go through a waiting room, an incubation period of sorts. In humans, that incubation period is of course, childhood. From the moment you are born, you are a tadpole. As a tadpole, you are free to swim the deep sea, exploring the aquatic wilderness. 

During your explorations, you may come across experiences and other tadpoles. These will form the nucleus of your future choice. Every tadpole you meet, every water you swim, every danger you skirt, will ultimately affect your choice. But we will get to that later. As a tadpole, nothing much is required of you. It is merely the transition period. 

The moment one hits that demonic period called puberty, however, is when a tadpole stops being a tadpole. It should also be noted that once a tadpole has stepped into the deep blue sea, said tadpole cannot turn back. It is a permanent change, not unlike what humans go through during puberty. 

This though, is not a physical change nor a spiritual one. It is more of a mental change.

TO BE CONTINUED...

The First Three Minutes Of Your Life

It's dark in here. It's also pleasantly warm. This is nice. Hey, there's a light there! It's so fascinating. I think I'm going to move towards it. Let's just go ever so slowly. Okay, now I seem to be stuck. This is mighty uncomfortable. I seem to be completely unable to move. Let's just spare a moment to muse on my fate. Is this what my life is going to turn out to be, just an eternity of being stuck here?

                Hey, I'm moving! That's the way. I'm coming out! Look out, here I come! Oh, wait, I seem to be slightly stuck. Well, not anymore. Now I'm moving along just fine. Hey, there are some things here at the ends of my body! I wonder what they are. I can thrash them around pretty well. Let's see, maybe I could call them my arms. I'll just think of a better name later. Guess what, there's another two of these things near my bottom! In order not to get myself confused, I think I'll just call them my legs. So, now I have arms and legs. I wonder, do they have any real function? Time will tell.

               There's a large pink blob hovering over me right now. It looks so weird, I think it should have a weird name. Hmm, I wonder, would face work? Yes, I think I'll call it a face. I wonder if I have one. Oh, how I wish I could see myself right now. I must look pretty weird. Hey, someone's poking me! Cut it out! Maybe if I make a loud noise they will stop. I wonder, what classifies as a loud noise? Well, seeing as I've never done this before, I suppose I should try.

               There. I wonder how was that. Hey, they don't seem annoyed! In fact, they look kind of smug. I think I'll stop, then. Suddenly, I'm moving. Well, this is awkward. I'm going up. Hey, there's something warm up here. It smell nice, and it feels warm. I think I should open my eyes a little wider to see what I've gotten myself into. Hey, that face looks so comforting. It speaks to me. I feel so calm and tired. I feel myself slipping away. No, I must stay awake in order to experience new things. But it just feels so nice.

               Let's try something new. I think I'll just throw my arms and legs around a little bit. That should get them concerned. Hey, hey, what's this sensation? It's like someone's stroking my head ever so slowly. This is relaxing. It's so calming. Suddenly I don't feel like being active anymore. In fact, this drowsiness is taking over me. I think I'm going to take a short break. But when I get back, the world will remember me. Count on it.

Update For Readers

Dear readers,

This is the author here. To all my readers, please take note. I know this might come as a surprise to some of you, but my blog is heading in a new direction. I will still be writing stories, but they will be longer and not as light-hearted. The occasional scratching from behind the port-a-john will emerge, but for the most time I will be focusing on a more serious story angle. If any of you do not agree with the steps that I am taking to change this blog, please leave a comment. This is not permanent, as my mind changes with the seasons. But here's a reminder for all of you: Change must and will come. Just accept it. Thank you very much and you will most likely hear from me again soon in the near future.

                                                                                                                                   Yours sincerely,

                                                                                                              The Hero of The Port-A-John

A Dearth Of Creativity

Here's another one, and not a minute to late by my reckoning. Enjoy!

Hi there. OK, that felt weird. I just scratched the words "Hi. there." into a piece of lousy plastic. Who's gonna enjoy looking up from their big business and reading about some guy saying hi? That is about as interesting as watching fungus grow on a fresh bologna sandwich. Not fun at all. The other day, I found a maggot in an apple. What a cliche. Why can't it for once be an earthworm or a earwig or even a tarantula? Why must it be a maggot? Sometimes, I really feel as if my life is kinda boring and predictable. No, I'm not an emo-head. 

What does emo even mean? Does it like mean emotional? But aren't emo people lacking emotion whereas emotional people are full of it? This guy doesn't understand at all. Well, what's next? I suppose I should tell a story. 

Once upon a time...

That was cheesy. Stories shouldn't start like that. They should start in the most explosive way possible. That might either excite them till they wet themselves or it might just kill them .OK. Let's scratch out amazing idea #963: Placing fireworks in books. But it could be a good idea. After all, who doesn't want to see beautiful fireworks jumping and leaping out of the book as soon as you turn the page? Of course, the smoke trails from the fireworks might smear the pages and the heat might cause the books to catch fire, but a small price to pay for an amazing read. 

I suppose you've guessed it by now that I probably have ADHD. Oh yeah, did you know that I've already completed my uhmmmm... business several minutes ago. Don't know? Well now you do. I am really bored right now. Nothing is flowing, and that includes my business as well as my thoughts. Oh look! There seems to be scratches here. It looks as if someone used their fingernails to claw at the plastic. This is weird. I wonder what happened. Hey! There's some sort of darkish red stain on the side wall! 

It looks like blood. Ewwwwwwwww. I wonder what it tastes like. 

On second thought, maybe not. It's probably infected with E.coli or something like that, or maybe it's got herpes on it. I don't wanna get herpes! Herpes is lame. Hey, why is the ground around me rumbling? Is there going to be an earthquake? Wait a minute, this place doesn't get earthquakes! So, what is it? It seems to be coming from underneath this portable commode. Weird. Maybe it's pranksters. The other day, I pulled a prank on this guy. It was so funny. I'll tell you guys about it. It all started with a roll of toi---

At this point, the etching is cut off, with a huge spatter of blood underneath it. On further inspection the blood spatter is covering a series of etchings by different people, all seemingly saying the same thing: HELLO!

The toilet seat itself looks as though a man has been dragged through it, though that's probably just my imagination. On the ceiling is yet another carving, reading: Est hoc monstra latrina patera. Cave!

The Fall Guy

Here's another one, found begrudgingly at the bequest of someone who shall not be named.

Autumn time. I just love it. The amber leaves, the crisp air, the sounds of houses burning down, and the sad screams of suicidal people. Autumn always seems to bring the best out of people. I love autumn. Oh wait. I already mentioned that. Well, all the better to get my point across. So, let's get down to the nitty-gritty. Firstly, I am not a poet. Do not expect the works of Shakespeare, Joyce, and Keats to spew from the walls of this portable commode. The only thing spewing is, well, you get the idea. 

So, autumn. Why is it so great to me? Well, for starters, I burned down my first house in autumn of '81. It was so beautiful. The glow of the flames was just fantastic against the backdrop of drooping autumn leaves. Which reminds me, I've got to go and burn someone else's house down later. It's the 30th anniversary, don't you know. The first time, I was still an amateur. I used kerosene and matches, can you believe that? This year, I'm going high tech. I'm using something like a Nerf gun, except that its not. It's a flamethrower. Yes, I know, it sounds lazy, but remember, this is my 80th house. 

So anyway, the house I'm going to burn down belongs to some widow. Don't judge me. At least I'm doing her a favor. This time tomorrow, she'll be eating cakes in Heaven with her husband. I hope so. Wait a minute. What was that? Oh, it's just some rain trickling in. But why does it look greasy? Phew! The temperature just increased! It's really hot. Wow, this is really redefining my opinion of autumn. I'm sweating like a pig. Huh. Who would've thought you could sweat like a pig here during autumn. Ouch! The wall feels hot! What's happening? There seems to be an orange glow around this commode. Plus, it's now really hot. 

Wait a minute, I think that's fire! Oh, no. I suppose this is what it feels like to be an arson victim. Wow, I really envy them! It's almost like a sauna. I should be charging them for this! I wonder what fire feels like. Ouch! It's hot! I'd better get out of here, I think. Well, time to sign off. Hey! I can't open the door! Help! Someone! Oh wait, why am I writing this down? I should be screaming. Just a second. Okay, no one's hearing me. I'm so dead. Well, this is the end! I just wish I'd done something more with my life. Goodb-

The rest of the transcript is smudged out by black soot and there is what seems to be a human femur jammed in the toilet bowl. What truly happened, we will never know. In the soot is smudged a phrase reading, "Ignis nunquam utor secretum cum."

THE END

Purgatory

It's been a while, but finally I managed to find something good for this blog on the back wall of a Port-A-John in Cuba. Enjoy!

Purgatory. The word describes it all in a nutshell. Imagine working in a factory 8 hours a day not including overtime and also having to pay for it! But that's nothing compared to the purgatory I'm going through. I am having constipated diarrhea, I am losing my house to my kids, and most of all, this portable toilet smells as though it hasn't been emptied in several years. 

Well, I don't have much space to write, seeing as the bottom half of this wall has be blackened by human excrement so I guess I'll just have to keep this short and sweet. Where should I start? Oh yes, purgatory.

I don't know how many of you out there actually want to hear about the purgatory I'm in. But still, here goes. I am a businessman. I'm currently on a business trip to Cuba. I know. Odd, isn't it? Well, let's just say I have my perks. Before any  of you judge me, let's get back to the story. On the flight over here, I had to sit next to the wettest man ever. Even at 12000 feet, he was still sweating like a pig. The seat was drenched and water was soaking through his clothes. And the smell! It was horrible! But not as horrible as the smell of this toilet. 

The moment I got off at the airport, some small kids tipped me and my suitcase into a fountain. My case snapped open and all my manly unmentionables spilled out. I think I managed to get all of them back, but I think I've lost a pair of Calvin Kleins. Well, I suppose I'll buy some later. The odd thing was, I saw a pair of CKs that looked like mine hanging on a line somewhere. But I don't think they sell Calvin Kleins with personal monogrammed initials done in gold thread. At least, I think it was gold thread. For all I know, it could just be some excrement finger painted on. The next thing to happen was just horrible. But for some indescribable reason, I can't remember it. Well, till next time then. Oh wait, there won't be a next time.

Did I mention that the sun here is terrible? I know the brochure said "Get a tan in Cuba!" but I didn't realize that the tan would come with hot sun. Even the cigars here are expensive! Come on! We pay a bomb for cuban cigars in the U.S., but here in Cuba we still have to pay a bomb? Where do these cigars come from? China? I don't know. In fact, everything advertised has turned out to be a sham! So where will I go next? Ireland, I suppose. To see if their shamrocks have now been replaced by real rocks, i suppose.

What's that sound? It sounds like a construction site coming to life. I'd better get out of here. But no! I must make my mark on this portable toilet! Just one minute...

At this point, there is a small score scratched into the plastic that looks like the opening bar of Beethoven's 7th and a small inscription that reads I regret nothing, except maybe the Cuban cigars.

And below that, there is another inscription gouged in reading, "Quid sibi vult ista wikipedia stercus semper referendo?"