clever-sadist.com

Kramer.. please, where did you go wrong?

How you used to set upon us the giggles sliding through the door.

Your hair a wild array of standing comedy and the nemesis down the hall.

But where did you go wrong?

Looking through the glass… don’t know how much time has passed.

in a village full of louse and grouse, there lived a boy of no respectful significance or name. His father knew little of anything but the bottom of a bottle or a harsh backhand; and his mother knew less. The boy’s days were filled with chores and frightened cringing beneath the one cupboard the kitchen held.

The village was quaint. Tidy, may be a better description, nestled as it was within the woods heart. The village lay as if the yoke within the egg of the forest. Enough fields and plantations surrounded the actual village for the people to make a living and trade with the brave merchants who tempted the forest from the Kingdom on the other side.

The village was quaint. And the village was quiet.

At any time the pleasantly sweet smell of roasting flesh hung above the thatched roofs blocking the cloying, pungent smell of manure and fermenting grain. Amidst the village, those louse and grouse, they knew of the boy and knew of the boy’s parents and spectacle, but no one cared to help. No one dared to help.

This boy’s name was Harm.

Oh, Harm was of no name, his step-father would not give him one and his mother said he got more than he deserved. Harm no longer argued. The village looked aside when Harm’s step-father taught him lessons; they had since Harm had been young and not the almost man he was now. But Harm took the lessons still even though his step-father had taken on a limp two years back and Harm was taller and stronger.

Maybe his mother loved him, Harm had never pressed the issue. But she never tried to keep his step-father’s fists from flying or comforted Harm when the lumps and bruises began to spread. Her mantra became the sentence he tried his best to keep her from repeating.

“You get more than you deserve.”

For she had already caused Harm, by a father unknown to him, a father he would hopefully never know. A father he couldn’t know, a father of royalty.

The land of Kaden Roe was large and fathomless, indeed, and hardly a noble would pass through the village of louse and grouse. Harm would never be recognized or commented on, except by his stepfather, Lou the Louse.

Harm’s mother had married Lou because he was a continuous source of income and able to feed she and her son and she had silenced herself on the continuous abuse that followed thereafter. She only spoke after her husband slept, merely to say, “You get more than you deserve.”
For the most part, Harm tried his best to stay out of the way. And even through the nonstop lashings and abuse Harm grew up. And he shouldn’t have dared.

Constant work and steady food were fertilizer enough for the boy Harm for he grew tall and masculine; shadows fell just right on his face to show his well defined features. Shoulder length black hair and ice blue eyes fascinated anyone who came across him. His outgrown and outworn clothing were the only betrayal to his heritage.

As tall and strong as Harm had grown the beatings had not stopped but now Lou, Lou the Louse, always kept a sharp wary eye on him through his barrage of fists, frightened of the oppressed striking back but Harm lived on and worked hard and tried to avoid needing a lesson from his step-father. Lou said it he did it to keep Harm humber and show him he was no better than anyone else.

Lou knew himself to be wrong. Lou knew Harm was a prince indeed, Prince Harm of Roe and for this reason and this reason alone was Lou vengeful and jealous of his stepson. But it is said that you can taunt an animal only so long before the animal will bite.
Fall came on Harm’s nineteenth year, as it always did, the grasses fallow and the men harvesting the last of the crops before the first winter freeze. Harm worked and laughed with the rest of the young men, oblivious to some hateful hearts around him scorning his looks and jeering him for his upbringing. When not sweating with a scythe in hand, Harm treated thatch to fix the roofs of the village huts in dire need of repair. The coming winter would be scathing if the summer were any indication and besides, roofing was better than skulking just out of Lou the Louse’ reach and sight.

The wintering months were always rough while Lou was pent up in the house and foul about the ache in his bones brought on by the cold but first frost was still weeks away and Harm wouldn’t worry about that until he must.

But the farmwork of today was merely a prelude to the change and it came swiftly:

A resonate, eerie brass moan, like the braying of a metallic wolf, sounded from the hollow at the eastern edge of the wood breaking the monotonous pitch and sway of the scything and the normal louse and grouse sounds of the village. Like prairie dogs, the heads of the men perked up over the stalks to look around in confusion. A cry went up and all heads turned east.
The view from the village to the forest was clear though the road zigged and it zagged and in some places it curled and nearly cued and was almost helter and most definitely skelter. The sight of the forest edge was unnerving from afar for it looked as if the wood had begun to creep and crawl and edge out upon the fields, not following the road but scything a clear path for the village.

Two men dropped their equipment ran breakneck through the stalks for the village proper before the shock of the moment broke and the rest of the men headed for their homes where they might protect their families. The village green, which here in the village of louse and grouse was actually quite brown and muddy, the women had gathered and were even now surrounded by a ragged group of defenders with scythes and hammers and garden rakes; equipment only a farmer could consider a weapon.

Grown men scowled and exchanged glances while the women flocked together and murmurred and gaggled as if hens at the feed.

Harm stood as transfixed as the other villages; the farm tools in his hand gripped tight out of habit but all but forgotten. It seemed the ground itself undulated and crawled like a massive caterpillar inching it’s way to village proper. Then the mass of movement became clearer as it closed distance, the whole becoming thousands of separates with faces and matching blue/black uniforms with matching swords and hats.

….to be continued

So, on a website long ago .. well, at least like, 3 years or something… I began an ongoing story called Harm’s Twisted Fairy Tale. When I was putting up this site I was initially thinking I’d just write daily about whatever came to mind (and I still intend to do so) but I think I will also make a new beginning of Harm and his travels through the Tales.

So, my next post will probably mark a different category that will be continuous and linked.

Turn your forks upon the feast and live the life of plenty.

Left-overs and entrees are a matter of choice.

But to dine is divine.

You looked me in the face; lied in little pieces like the broken mirror you make-up in. Your cheek so soft against the day stubble and growth of a man but you faced away as you pressed the shiny token against my spine. It felt like the bite of the sweetest leech dimpling my flesh and splitting tissue around it’s single tooth.

You cooed to me, simpered your want and promise and love but cleaved deeper to flesh with your drinking dagger.

And in my rage and shame and disappointment I hugged your coarse, resisting head to my shoulder and leaned into your betrayal.

Kissed the pain that made me real and let go forever of what I wanted.

The night was dark…  the well of light surrounding him his only purchase to sanity. He held his breath with deliberate, quiet care and eased the air out of his lungs when he dared to breathe. His eyes were grainy, everything he could see in the hazy urine yellow light turned into painful sculptures that he saw even when he closed his eyes. Sleep would not come, sleep would not help. If he slept the lamp light and the darkness and the grainy texture of his eyelids waited for him to wake up.

He no longer slept.

He no longer moved. Sweat and the thousand little teeth that were the strands in the rope around his wrists and ankles and his midsection had worked away the skin in those areas until blood actually made his wounds feel better. He lay still, he lay quiet and he counted the seconds since he had last thought of water.
And he remembered how he got to where he was… like a trickle of blood from his wrists the memories came unwanted and stole through the tributaries in his mind and pooled between his shoulder blades as the mighty river of memory made it’s way down his spine and caused him to shutter; the wounds at his hands and feet screaming in protest.

He knew it had been but one sentence that doomed him. It had felt so perfect saying the two dozen or so syllables that had brought about ruin and pain for him, felt so righteous.  It had been threat, warning, possibly a dash of promise but it had come with little thought and great anger. How terribly justified he had felt, protecting what was rightfully his and proudly claimed.

Now, he knew, he should have trusted what should have been a sharing, what should have been a union rather than an ownership. He had taken the path more travelled, why trust what you could control? Why join what you could lead?

The cold at his back and the burning pain in his wounds answered him silently as did the urine yellow lamp light and the gritty, judging darkness. He was weak.

I decided to take a different approach to clever-sadist.. I didn’t see why I had to make the page feel dark and gothic as I really don’t give a shit. So, there ya have it. I’ll probably end up just making posts to the page (and yes, adding my previous articles very soon).

So, I thought I’d better bring up Christmas. I feel that people will be upset to hear that I indeed have the christmas spirit. Thinking about the happy little cherub smile on my daughter’s face as she opens her presents is an infectious disease that has caused me to bankrupt on various noisy and obscenely annoying hard plastic toys that either flash or spin when you press the panic button.

That said… Where the fuck were these crazy fun and obnoxious toys at when I was a toddler? I think the coolest thing I played with was lincoln logs or those little plastic doughnuts you slide down over the complimenting plastic pegs. I mean, till later on when I graduated to things I could more easily choke on. Now Lincoln logs tell you how to build a full scale cabin and those little doughnuts sing and dance like a fucking after-school special.

I’m not sure what point I’m trying to make here, I guess I’m just giving a lead in to my confession. Yes, I wait impatiently for my little girl to pass out from over-fun and then I play with all her toys.

Very quickly, let me tell you exactly what offends me.

People who get offended.

That’s right. The pompous asses you hear about whining about having the words ‘under God’ in the Pledge of Allegiance, and no, I’m not just talking about those who are trying to have it taken out, like so much spam I’ve seen over the last three months. No, I’m talking about both sides. Let it rest. The pledge is a matter of tradition, just leave it be.

I’m offended that a misspoken word can become the newest attack in racism.

I’m offended that if you hold your significant other’s hand in the work place you can be suspended and/or fired for misconduct due to sexual harrassment. If I’m talking to a loved one and share an intimate phrase with them, I will be doing this in my ‘inside voice’. If someone were to strain to listen in on this conversation then I am offended by their incessant gossip-mongering. Screw their petty sexual harrassment bull shit. I don’t care how the third party feels about my discussion, they should really be doing their JOB and not taking part in my private matters.

I’m offended by people who get offended over books such as Harry Potter because of alleged paganism and witchcraft. Just because you say someone uses magic in a book doesn’t mean there is devil worshipping going on. If you think your boycott of Harry Potter is original take a look back to 1960 when fundamentalist Christian organizations persecuted the popular sitcom Bewitched for the use of ungodly powers.

Bewitched, people. She wrinkled her nose to do magic. Give it up.

Which brings us to the other side of the spectrum. Atheists, do me a favor and shut the fuck up. “There are no Atheists in foxholes” is not a slander, retards. It means that when you’re investigating a foxhole - which, by the way, was a hole Charlie (or enemy) would hide in wait for American soldiers to ambush them in Guerilla warfare - you are trusting to higher powers that you would not be shot as you entered. It does not mean all Atheists are cowards.

Let’s talk about my money.

When I say ‘my’ money, I mean it the most deliberate way. I mean the money that I’ve spent eight or more hours a night to earn even though I wanted to be elsewhere doing more interesting and amusing things. That is the money I call mine, money that I gave time to procure by trading a service a company finds useful for capitol I can use to purchase food, service, or items my family needs. My money.

As of 1997, and we can only assume with recent issues in illegal immigration (and no, I’m not about to pursue just illegal immigrants) that this number has grown, an estimated $1.1 Billion was provided in AFDC and Food Stamp Benefits to households in which either the head of the household or their spouse (or both) was an illegal immigrant (1). This is only illegal immigrants, remember, there are millions of born and bred American’s leeching the system as well.

Before the torches are lit and the mob breaks out their pitch forks to knock on the gates of my humble castle, no, I’m not throwing this information down the throats of those in need. If you need welfare, then use it, and I salute you for supporting your kids in whatever manner you have to though it may wound your pride. I say this because I would do anything for my daughter.

But, and I relate this from personal experience, when you throw $300 worth of food (including Russell Stover’s delicate chocolates, 4 bags of Lay’s potato chips, a mound of Little Debbie’s snacks, and several other questionable items) on the cashier’s conveyor at the supermarket and pay for all of this with food stamps while chattering amiably away on a cell phone, I will stab you in the eye.

Then spit in your good eye and break your leg. For spite, I’ll also kick a puppy on the way home.

From yet another old article, take Tamiesha and her illegitimate child (2), dropping the child off at a high school daycare after coming in tardy already and refusing to seek the child’s father for help in raising their mutual child. Instead this mother who so thoughtlessly and irresponsibly brought this child to life without thinking ahead to the future of herself and her child and bringing to task the father to help support this new life, she will (has?) undoubtedly sustained a life of poverty for herself and her kid.

This said I would like to come right out and tell you exactly how I’d handle this situation. I believe the introduction and the execution of this plan would show its pay-off in the first six months in operation.

I would like to take $1,000,000 of welfare money already budgeted to be received by those in poverty or without jobs and re-instate it to the Department of Welfare Investigation whose sole priority is to conduct investigations on people claiming welfare benefits for reasons of health or child care. This being said I’d like to recount a discussion I was witness to (names will not be mentioned and the identities of the people will be protected):

Person 1: “I don’t see why you can’t work. I know about your cataracts and your diabetes but you are having treatments and having a job would do yourself good.”

Person 2: “No, things would be too difficult.”

Person 1: “I don’t see how, I have aches and pains at all times with my job because I do very labor intensive activities, but I still work and provide for myself.”

Person 2: “Well, I just don’t see why I should when I can just stay right here at home and get a check every month.”

Don’t you wish you could stab Person 2 in the eye?

I digress. This is the new American Dream, to be considered so derelict that you can draw from the government, NO, from people who earn their living and try to stand on their own two financial feet. But not only are there laws protecting these people from having to work, there are no laws protecting the working man (woman) from being a slave to the trash of society.

More and more does the path of American society tread the dreaded ways of communism where those who can work must provide for those who won’t. But would we just take steps to insure those in need are the only gaining welfare instead of those who are illegally living in the states or welcoming the eighth child they can’t afford to the family or watching an obese person draw a check every month so they don’t have to move to become more obese, we could have the ability to lower the taxation of the working class and acclimate people into the true American dream.

This is still the land of opportunity. Right now it is the opportunity for improvement.

So screw you all, stop taking my money.
1. 1997 GAO Report to Congressional Committees
2. Tamiesha’s Story