One day while doing his best, Simon Peters noticed that his mother noticed that he was doing his best.  She gave him a long hug, which mothers, still to this very day, think count as an ample reward for your hard work.  Simon assured her that this was not the case.  He wanted to do something that he actually enjoyed.  He asked her if he could go sledding.  She paused and bit her lip in question, which is very attractive.  Simon doesn’t think so, because it’s his mom, but I do.  Simon prematurely sunk his shoulders in defeat and braced for a mother’s classic “No.” 

         To his surprise, she accepted, as long as he took his little brother along with him, and his real dad would actually have to drive them.  This kind of completely killed the whole idea.  You see, Simon’s real dad is an alcohol and since Simon isn’t old enough to drink, hanging out with him is not very fun. 

         His little brother is even worse.  He’s at that special age when he realizes that the world around him hates loud noises.  He knows that mommy and new daddy work hard, and the last thing they want to do, is deal with screaming fits at the end of the day.  He basically gets what he wants through constant tears and “cry wolf” tactics.  He also likes Simon’s attention a great deal, and we’ll do just about anything to get it.  In addition he watches “The Matrix” once a day which is just the worst.  It’s safe to say that Simon hates his brother.            

         Simon retreated to their shed in the back yard to fume over how his reward mutated into a fate worse than an afternoon at bible school.  But there was another reason for Simon to seek the shed.  Inside laid the purpose for even asking his mother to be kind in the first place.  Inside was his sled.

          Simon’s sled was named Rosebud and it meant everything to him.  There was a lock on the shed that only Simon and his mother new the combination too.  Not even his new dad, Chad, could gain entrance.  Simon was permitted the right to place Rosebud under lock and key because of a prior skirmish his family had suffered.

          Just over a year ago when Rosebud was brand new, his brother, seeing Simon’s overwhelming happiness and pleasure, opted to urinate on the sled.  Simon caught him and drove his face into their white picket fence.  His mother scolded them both for sickening behavior, but this is also a time when Simon’s real dad still lived in the house.  When he got home, he yelled at them.  He then watched TV and drank.  After a sufficient amount of beers, he sought Simon’s room where he proceeded to beat him like an adult.  A divorce soon followed and Simon was permitted his locked shed. 

          He opens the shed and gazes upon his glorious sled.  He thinks to himself that if he can endure a day packed with vile company, then he will have time with Rosebud.  He remembers the feeling of wind on his face as he flies away from those in his life.  That’s what Rosebud does for him.  He grins, locks the shed and prepares to drift through the rest of the week until his fated day comes. 

          The day of days arrives and Simon is woken violently by his mother.  She is in a hurry because Chad has special loves plans.  Simon exits his room in record time completely covered in proper snow gear.  His brother is also ready, standing in the hall, and wipes a booger on his jacket.  Being the bigger man, Simon walks to the living room.  Sitting on the couch is his real dad.  He is already drinking a beer.  Their real dad hears the sound of snow pants rubbing together and spins around to tell them to get their shit. 

         They throw their sleds into the back of his truck and notice a pair of skis.  He’s not even taking them to a sled hill.  His little brothers starts to bitch and Simon just shoves him into the car.  He’s not letting this turd ruin his day.  After Simon ignores some extended whining, he and his brother sit quietly in the back seat and watch their family interact.  His mother is standing on the front porch wearing a skimpy outfit reserved for Chad.  Their real dad is standing next to her with a six pack in one hand and her thigh in the other.  Chad cowers in the kitchen window pretending to wash dishes.  She turns away in disgust and slams the door.  Real dad spits on the door and starts stumbling for the car.

          He opens the door and throws his beer onto the passenger seat.  He tells them that he’s really looking forward to skiing today.  They back out over the curb and take off.         

        After a terrifying trip up a mountain on a snow covered road with a hammered driver, the boys reach their destination.  Real dad tells them to wait by the back of the truck and to get their shit.  He stumbles across the packed snowy parking lot asking yuppies if he can buy their day tickets for half price as they try to leave.  Eventually this obnoxious solicitation works.  They are ready to hit the hills. 

         Simon has his Rosebud, his brother rents an inter-tube and real dad has a pair of skis that he hasn’t used since the 70’s.  Despite Simons hopes that they would all go their separate ways, real dad scoops them all onto a chair lift.  Real dad pulls out a beer that was hidden in his jacket and his brother tries to slap Rosebud out of his hands so that he would lose it forever.  Simon clings to Rosebud and holds back his anger with all his might.  If he rightfully yelled at his brother, his chances to sled could come to an end.

         As the lift came to a stop Simon’s brother pushed him off.  His stumble turned into a slide and he still did nothing accept clutch his sled.  His real dad laughed and made some comment about Simon being even drunker than he was.  He hopped off the lift and screamed a praising war cry about a double black diamond or something and then disappeared down the hill. 

         Simon slowly rose from the snow thanking a God he didn’t know very well.  That’s one down.  He looked to see if his brother had gone down the hill yet.  He hadn’t.  He was standing on the edge looking over like a sleepy imbecile.  Simon walked up and planned to encourage him over the edge with a lame taunt.  Upon inching closer to the edge he realized they were standing on a cliff.  It was a precipice of fate.  A gust of wind ripped by the two boys and Simon’s brother let his inter-tube slip his fingers.  They watched as the black donut of fun slid down into the abyss at an incredible speed and then was ripped from the white surface by another gust. 

          Simon was at a crossroads in his life.  He could follow his real father down the double black diamond or listen to the crying and wining from his brother that was moments from erupting.  Simon placed Rosebud down slowly but firmly into the snow ledge.  He preformed one mighty push up over the sled and then settled his torso onto the frame.  His brother, on queue, started bitching about not having a way down.  Simon shook his head from left to right slowly.  He completely shut his brother’s cries out as he prepped for a most hazardous fall of faith.  The wind rips across his face he remembers the feeling of getting away.  That’s enough for him.

           Just then he feels hands and a knee on his back.  His brother is screaming that the sled is his and to give it.  Simon turns to scream at the top of his lungs but his head is pushed into sled and he and his brother go over.

           Simon, with his brother on his back, screams down the near vertical, white surface.  The shear force of the wind and spraying snow completely blind Simon and suffocate his ears with the pressure of a vice.  He tries one of many screams but snow and air pack his tonsils and cause him to cough through his nose.  Rosebud hits a raised piece of cruel slope and they become airborne.  In the momentary speed vacuum, sound returns.  Simon hears swirling wind and despite the life ending sphere around them he hears, “It’s mine!” 

           A reflex snaps and Simon lets go of his sled.  He drifts to the left.  His brother lands back on the sled alone and speeds off down the hill.  Simon somewhat laughs before his face lands back into the snow.  A violent twist flips him onto his back and he loses consciousness.  He’s awake and sliding head first on his back.  He feels instant comfort because the snow spray isn’t in his mouth.  The top of his head burns but feels numb.                            

            He turns his head slightly.  He sees his brother collide into a tree face first.  His head snaps back like a pez dispenser.  Blood shoots backwards down his back in the shape of an umbrella.  His legs fly up and his heels strike the tree.  His body twists violently and lands in a bush.  Simon continues sliding down the slope. 

            He finally reaches the bottom and his sled and father are waiting for him.  His father asks where his brother is.  Simon picks up his sled and walks back to the truck.

            After the police finally finished, Simon’s father yelled at him for a long time.  Simon was very much used to this scenario.  When his father saw that it had no affect on him, he took the sled and threw it into the back of his truck. 

            Back at home Simon sat on the couch, silent, for hours while his mother went through throws of unyielding grief.  She would cry and hold him, retreat to the kitchen to scream and curse his name, and blame Chad for everything while hugging him all the same.  During these dark hours, Simon noticed that Chad had remained completely silent. Chad would momentarily look to Simon with nothing but calm pity in his eyes.  Simon realized that he andChad were very much alike.  Hopefully Chad would really be his new dad. 

            This state of being stayed the same for hours more until the phone finally rang.  His mother almost stopped crying instantly.  She walked calmly to the phone and answered it like a pro.  Simon figured it was probably relatives.  It didn’t matter which ones because they were all the same.  His mother suddenly dropped the phone and quickly placed a hand over her mouth. Chad runs to her and she speaks softly so that Simon can’t hear.  They both walk down the hall to the bedroom leaving Simon alone on the couch.

            After another hour of solitude in the living room, Chad emerges alone to talk with Simon.  He tells him that his father had been involved in a drunk-driving accident.  He smashed into another families car.  The impact wasn’t a large one and the other family is fine, but the force of the impact was enough to send Simon’s sled flying through the back of the truck window, decapitating his father. 

            Simon sat alone again for another hour.  The police stopped by and as a gesture of giving a damn.  They washed Simon’s sled and returned it to him.  His mother eventually came out of the room, hammered, and offered to make everyone dinner.  After a very quiet meal his mother pulled him aside.  She now seemed to have a deep affection for the sled and asked if she could carve her name into it.  For the first time in Simon’s life he had found a perfect moment in time and told her to go fuck herself.               

            Simon took the sled back out to the shed.  It was dark, but he didn’t need to see the lock to get it open.  He carefully placed his sled in its proper place and locked the shed.  Before turning around to go back inside, he lets his mouth speak.

 “Rosebud.”

                While watching this video game version of the greatest sport ever paid for, I noticed that the game was made realistic enough to include sweat and refs resembling douche bags.  I did however notice and feel the vacuum and absence of a half time show and mind draining advertisements. 

                I propose and somewhat vigorously demand that the future games include these distractions.  I notice that my colleges have a hard time working the controls for two quarters while still trying to chug beer to keep the game interesting. 

               This is where a commercial or atrocious half time show would proudly stomp across the screen allowing a possible smoke break.  For less cooler individuals who refrain from nicotine and wish to spend the time interactively, I propose and somewhat vigorously demand an interactive half time game, allowing players to get to know the characters they love so well. 

               For example, one could go with Michael Vick to a dog fight.  For fans of fighting games, the option is available to control the dogs fore paws and jaw strikes.  For fans of gambling, one could place bets on which dog dies and which dog comes away only horribly disfigured.  And lastly, for less patriotic individuals who prefer animal rights and cuteness as opposed to good old fashion fun, the option will be available to select your favorite kind of dog or puppy for the ensuing melee.  Everybody wins plus a bag of chips.

             For players who covet an appreciation for finer things, they could bro up and troll for pussy with Ben Roethlisberger.

             The possibilities are endless and with the forthcoming release of Playstation 4 and XBOX 1080, I demand a next gen experience that causes parents to purchase unnecessary mood altering medication for the their children.  And please, let’s get this done before madden dies from dementia.

 There is no greater turn off then walking into the bathroom to execute a simple stand pee and bearing witness and judge to the fruit of both your loins floating crimson in the toilet bowl.  It’s like a rocket made of tissue lost helm control and plunged into a fetus only to soft land creating a slow spreading hazmat concern. 

 However offended and compelled to launch a campaign for change, do not approach her about it.  She’s likely to crucify you worse than her recent leftovers that are just now, by your hand, making their way into the sewer system. 

 On a side note, have you ever considered all of the genetic filth that gets sucked into the sewers?  If you were a fan of ninja turtles, I’m sure you share my fears.  Have you considered that you may one day face an army of your own mutated children or maybe just one entity that is a composite of all flushed love, named Gorgal the unwanted?

You totally have.

 Tuffle is a mouse who lives in a dirt hole.  He is poor, for his father doesn’t make very much money and often times, doesn’t do anything.  Sometimes his younger sister goes without food because they are more inclined to feed themselves first for she has proven to be useless.  Despite his sister’s handicap, Tuffle loves her dearly and hopes that one day she’ll be given proper nourishment.  He would share with her, but Tuffle is hungry most of the time and enjoys eating. 

Normally, Tuffle’s life is a swirling void of depression, because he lives in a dirt hole with little to eat and a useless sister.  But this month brings something different to Tuffle’s heart and hopes.  This month is known to the giants as December, and on this special month, the giant’s decree that everyone in the world gets a gift, no matter how poor, dirty or useless you are. 

  Tuffle father comes to him one day, as he has a lot of time on his hands.  He asks Tuffle what he would like for Christmas.  Tuffle looks past his life of staggering shame and self loathing and allows himself to dream.  Tuffle’s eyes close and he thinks of colors, beautiful colors that are not present in his world because he lives in a dirt hole.  He begins moving his hips in a circular motion because it feels very good.  He ventures a small hum and his father stops him with a gentle slap in the face because it sounds ugly.

Tuffle declares that he wants a hula hoop.  Not just any hula hoop, but a hula hoop with bright colors.  His father sighs and reminds him that they are poor, because he rarely does anything.  He suggests an alternative gift that just might be affordable.  Tuffle’s eyes widen in anticipation.  Tuffle’s father suggests a blanket, because winter is here and his sister is cold. 

Tuffle is conflicted.  He loves his sister and he could share the blanket with her as winter is very unforgiving in a dirt hole.  He then thinks of the hula hoop and how it spins with color ablaze.  Tuffle decides that he will beg and hope on high for the hula hoop.  He informs his father.  His father shakes his head in disappointment.

Christmas morning arrives and Tuffle is presented with a glorious hula hoop.  He dives into the center and begins a dance of joy never before seen by mice for they are filthy.  His sister politely asks for a turn and her overjoyed brother gently slaps her in the face.  She is sad, but use to poor treatment.  She is just happy to see the colors. 

That night Tuffle sleeps with his hula hoop and his sister sleeps with nothing.  Since she has type-2 diabetes and walking pneumonia, she dies that night.  Tuffle and his family consider burying her the next morning but since they already live underground, they decide it would be pointless.  They leave her body in her room to rot. 

 -  The moral of the story is that Tuffle should of let his sister play with the hula hoop before she died.

Happy Holidays and a special hats off to Anne Curey from Coulter Rail

            In the near future, humanity’s numbers are stressed and dwindling after a global epidemic of avian flu.  A cure is eventually found, but medical patents and creative authorship of the cure cannot be decided.  The human race is finally wiped out.  It’s time for animals to once again rule the planet.

           Whales seem to be the largest and most forceful, but they seem to have trouble getting on land and travelling across it to assert they claim.  Also, despite what scientists’ had told us about whales, they’re actually stupid.  Bear’s descended from the mountains but could never bring themselves into the center of a metropolis.  They were easily distracted by dumpsters and thus could not assert their claim. 

           Indians were very satisfied with their situation and remained on their land and various casinos.  The only animals with the domestic training capable of taking up the reins humanity had left behind were cats and dogs. 

War was inevitable. 

           That is not to say that an effort for peace and coexistence never took place. 

          It was in the beautiful and astrologically forgiving month of May.  The peace talks had gone well until the dogs refused to bury their shit.  With the lines having been drawn figuratively it was now time to draw the real lines that would wet the earth forever.

           Dogs took up a west coast position and urinated from North Dakota clear down to the middle of Texas.  Cats, being East Coast elitists, sprayed gingerly from the inland edge of Massachusetts down to New Orleans.  No one wanted the true center and heartland of the country because it’s shitty.

           Dogs began constructing armor out of garbage cans and other forms of accessible metals.  The skills of their black smiths were crude but highly effective.  They chained tires around their necks and pulled them for hours at a time.  They also gnawed on bones and Doc Martins to ensure their biting prowess.  Elaborate training facilities were erected using old playgrounds.  After learning that they lack the acrobatic nimbleness of felines and regarding the multiple fatalities that occurred they were all closed.  That was the extent of effort that the dogs poured into this campaign.  They were confident in their superior strength, size and ability to be beaten while still wagging a tail. 

           Cats began building trebuchets, mid-level V2 rockets and a rudimentary laize.  They even managed to successfully construct a bunker buster but found their lack of opposable thumbs made piloting an aircraft problematic.  They excelled in weapons construction in the beginning, but quickly became bored.  They started erecting statues of Persian cats that stretched majestically down the coasts, but the Tabby class felt oppressed and a small revolt ensued.  After the Tabby Revolt of 2037 was put down, the rest of the cats now had a taste for genocide and were ready to engage to the dogs.

           On December 7^th 2041, a date which will live in infamy, the cats launched V2 rockets into the dog territories.  The dogs had no warning or defense when it came to the missiles, because their just dogs.  Millions were killed.  One of the K-9 generals decided that a long distance war with the cats would be too hard fought because they didn’t have missiles.  Close combat was to be the only way.  All dogs marched nose to anus on the cat frontier. 

            Despite the well designed V2 rockets, the cats were surprised to find that the trebuchets were crappy.  They could not keep the dogs at bay.  With fury and swollen balls the dogs descended on the feline army.  It was a beastial massacre because dogs will screw anything.  Blood, fur and spray rained down.  At end of the day it looked like the dogs had one.

            But just when the dogs were about to take a nap, something peculiar started happening.  One by one, the dead cats began rising from the blood soaked earth.  It turns out that the dogs poor intel and failed covert ops missions never revealed to them that each cat had nine lives.  So the dogs killed them again, because their still just pussy’s.  After about the fifth round though, the dogs began to tire and the cats were eventually able to overcome them with sinister acrobatics and superior small arms fire.           

 And so it came to be.

The Cat Empire was established and ruled the entire world for 2 weeks. 

Then the Dinosaurs came.