Purrrretty amuuuusinggg.

A modest proposal

Editor, The Beacon:

I've got it. I think I have it: "Seven Steps for the USA." After reading the bad-news happenings, I put on the thinking cap.

So, here goes:

1. Guns. In the old West, an honor system implied that you don't shoot a unarmed person. We need to get rid of all weapons, including those used by the military, police, security officers, and, of course, cap guns.

This will allow our foes to see that the people are caring, lovable and harmless. In the military, we could send females to the front lines, after retraining them to be caring in a "village" sort of way.

Law enforcement, like the bobbies of England, get whistles.

How, you ask, would we control the nonconformist? Easy! Have a MD or psychologist ride along and dispense the pills or drugs the bad guy wants. If it's money, then use a reserve stockbroker to give out chits to help the lost soul.

2. Traffic citations. Use drones to follow cars and send out citations by mail. We could put chips in vehicles and call them "smart cars."

3. Immigration and obesity. Use code enforcement and checkpoints on the streets. Scales and micrometers with DNA testers should cover it. Revenue from the citations would be tenfold.

4. Work. Have CEOs change their title to "citizen" or "company" enforcement officers with the purpose of taking away employees' individuality or choices.

5. Media. Put it all under one umbrella to offer hours of reality-show coverage, similar to today's programing with no substance, all fluff.

6. Tweak the Constitution to eliminate pursuit of happiness, freedoms of choice. etc.

7. Voting. For our next generation, which I call "niners" (generation 999), mandatory liberal thinking using genetic DNA modification, like Monsanto uses.

In conclusion, these are the suggestions I've come up with. I hope you can expand or eliminate any wrong suggestions, because I only had four hours sleep and multitasking from my employer.

Ray Camper
DeLand

morons discuss blahblahblah.

 

And the elitest ass that made this

didn't take into effect that they forfeited

themselves into the last category.

 



insecticide.

Earth fenced us in and the ghetto filled to its brim.
No one screamed or cried, we all sat down and held hands with invisible strangers who left us long ago. Lungs inhaled the stale atmosphere one last time, as the flood trickled in and wandered round blistered feet.
A cold end rose to erect prose upon prepared chests and cheeks.
Air escaped through quivering mouths as we watched on,
and with those pleading eyes rolling, fading,
we were gone.

With that merciful pen an inscription was left
aloha is all it read
though, asshole is what it meant
don't trust the rain!

There were watchmen just below the currents of an estuary next door
for floors of three stood above tired lives and absent minds.
What was here to protect? It's lost on me, only dead waters and abandoned concrete to see.

To the shining sea we float on
for our hearts are stagnant and cold
and all past memories are growing old
but these lips still open and crave an exchange, whether of words or warm fluids.
A fire burns in frozen corpses for a low hum and a vibrant tune
of tongues dancing 'tween thirsts and knotted wrists
'cause we are bound in a paranormal prison of paradoxical bliss
we are done, and we are dead
...as door nails go.

Toro y Lechuza

ONCE UPON A TIME....





There was a toro.

A toro who, in his free-time, liked to drink hard liquor and wander around in life harrassing everyone he crossed. He'd throw bottles at babies, chuck bats at old ladies, and steal candy from the corner store(which he was very good at, I might add).

His evil deeds went on and on, starting on the day he left the prison walls of a chinese torture facility(back in '06), to his untimely demise...
But we'll get to that later.

Toro had no friends. People didn't like his drunken banter, nor did they like getting whomped by bats or pelted with candy poo. Toro had lost hope in people, and himself. He had become the person he hated most,





Barbara
Streisand.

Toro woke up one day, hating life more than usual, and decided he wanted to die. He dreamt a super stylized suicide like it came straight outta Hollywood-or Afghanistan-either way, it was of super-epicness proportions. Atleast in his mind, ofcourse. He had it in his lil toro head that he was gonna stuff himself with as much nitro glycerin he could steal from the army men, run from their tanks and stealth airplanes, throw a noose over a tree in a quaint neighborhood park (disguised as a pinata, no less), and let the kids whack away. then they'd all go boom. Toro sighed in satisfaction as it played over in his head. No doubt Toro wasn't doing too good. Some might suggest he go see a therapist, but Toro would never hear of such things. He'd just scream and hack and scream some more in his dizzy stupor.

So as Toro started writing the last hate letter to Ms. Streisand, a knock sounded from his door.
Toro rose from the chair and turned to face this surprising distraction.
"...Toro? TOROTOROTORO!!!" screamed the bewildered little toro.
The knocks did not stop.
Toro, thinking that maybe there really were people that read minds for a living and that they had found out about his master plan, started teeter-tottering back and forth. Were they now here to take him back to his old dungeon abode? He shuttered at the thought. Toro stumbled about trying to burn all the evidence of his illegible scribblings in mureeka's fishbowl. mureeka didn't mind too much since Toro thought fish just ate their own poo-like he did. As he continued to stuff the little blazing bowl, his door opened enough for a beak to peak in.
"whoooOOOoo?" an eerie woman's voice called out.
"....TORO?!?"
"WHOOOO!"
"TORO!"
Toro had not noticed but...
He was on fire, and not like denzel...in that one movie, but really REALLY on fire.
Toro teetered and tottered some more, until his mysterious guest flew over him like a rescue copter and hosed him down with a bucket of mop water.
Toro now sighed in relief and looked up at his new found friend-his only friend in the whole wide world-and thought to himself, "Love..."

So from then on it was no longer Toro, drunk and alone; it was Toro and Lechuza, living free and together.
It's all they needed.
It's all they wanted.
Toro gave up the liqour, random violence, and forgot all about his Hollywood post-mortem movie deals.

Remember how I said Toro died? Yeah, well, That part's comin'.






So after a much needed visit to the optometrist(for the longest time
Toro couldn't tell the difference between tequila and olive oil),





Toro y Lechuza decided to head on over to the local REDBOX to rent a nice movie to cuddle to.





They arrived outside the HEB down the street, wondering what fantastiful movies
were held for them inside that fabulous red box.





Unfortunately, there was a line. So Toro waited patiently, and took a seat on the bench.





HURRAY! HUZZAH! The moment had arrived. It was time to make a selection.
After clicking through many of the different titles, Toro came to a conclusion on what he would pick: nothing. Everything was either about dane cook being a manslut and changing his ways or an 80 foot anadoo (half anaconda, half dugong or manatee or whatever the fuck it's called).





Toro felt a familiar heat rage through his veins.
A heat that built in his heart and whizzed out his ears.
A heat that fueled a fire that spread like buttered butt cheeks.





As Toro's returning anger flooded his mind, he glanced over at Lechuza, sitting peacefully in the truck.
Toro collected himself and got his head right. After all, he had love! They didn't need no stinking movie.
Once again Toro was a happy-go-lucky little toro. He loved babies, old ladies, and even retards.





And with that he headed to his sweet pookums, awaiting his embrace.





Then a Ford Explorer ran Toro over.

The End.

transatlanticism

"I was not proud, for I had calmed a deep woman by making her shallow. I had blocked the underground rivers that connected her to the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans, and made her content with being a splash pool three feet across, four inches deep, chlorinated, and painted blue."

fortune teller.

I called my ex last night and had an awkward conversation. between my phone dying three times and losing service constantly, we managed to say alot of nothing. I felt like calling her would make me feel better-like it used to, but all she managed to do was make me feel worse. the last time my phone died, I decided that I wasn't going to call her back.

I grabbed my computer and made my way to the shower. I put on some porn and closed it after a few seconds. I don't see random people fucking. I just see her. I hate her. I felt the urge to text "I miss your pussy", but decided to say it to her on the phone. I wanted to know how she'd respond-I wanted it to be predictable. it wasn't. I felt angry at myself. she couldn't give me what I wanted-i should've called someone that would've.