Scott was tired of paying rent to the dumb nigger James. For God's sake, it was a chain of boxes duct-taped together inside of a large sewer pipe. Every morning Scott wakes up to the glorious sounds of raccoons gnawing at the walls of his box trailer. And rent??? fOR THIS??? James doesn't even own this land! Why does Scott even have to pay rent????
Oh yeah! Scott will get killed if he doesn't abide by James' rule. James is very popular on facebook amongst many other homeless people also paying rent to him.
Scott peered out of the sewer pipe into the wilderness surrounding. Sun peering through the leaves scattering around, falling off of the trees, wind softly blowing Scott's milk-textured hair.
Ah shit! I'm going to be late for jiu-jitsu! Scott double tapped the unlock button on his fancy car keychain. The car beeped twice like in the movies. He made a running lunge and cascaded his body through the window into the driver seat. He put on his sunglasses. "Yeah I drive a Buick."
He speeds off maneuvering through trees and onto a dirt road, headed for class. There really isn't much to North Carolina besides trees, indian reserves, and hipsters. Out of nowhere!~ a girl wearing a silky purple night gown falls out into the middle of the road. Scott's car makes a loud screetching sound as he slams on his breaks and hits his head on the steering wheel. The girl is his ex gf !!!! Scott whips out his trusty Crown Royal, takes 8 shots and stumbles out of the car. "What is it, Keira?" Scott slurs with a scowl.
"Listen Scott. Your birthday is the same day my dog died added with the date of World War 2. We need to be together. Now. More than ever."
This girl is truly testing my patience, Scott thought to himself. Why was she like this? Keira had left him before when she found a man at college with the same birthday as her rapist. Fuck. She was just so complicated. Where on Earth did all her neuroses come from? Scott wasn't having it anymore. He calmed himself and got back into his Buick.
"Farewell you weird obsessive whore." Scott screeched tires and left looking in the rear-view mirror to see Keira throwing chess pieces that she never used at his Buick.
God did he ever miss her. He thought about her every day with a mixture of anger and longing. Old memories; a nostalgia that almost seemed real again if he drank enough whiskey. His fantasies intermingled with reality now more than ever. Depression hit. And it hit hard.
What if Scott got old and never found love. What if Scott had done more when he was younger. Mid-life crisis at 25. A mind of what-ifs. Endless. Crushing. Despair. At times like this, Scott turned to Christianity. Or tried to at least. But not even that, he found, could fully cure the cold emptiness in him. Like whiskey, just a dull burn, a prayer, the light of the Lord, burned only for a few minutes, a couple hours at most. It was never enough.
Fuck it. I'm skipping class. Scott veered off the road and into his friend fucking Caleb the autist's dirt driveway. Fucking Caleb the autist completely lacked social metaphysics altogether in a disgusting almost admirable way. Caleb ran outside naked down the driveway waving around a biography of Bill O'Reilly to greet Scott. "Aber autismus ist mein leben!" Scott started to second-guess this meeting.
"Belac....."
"Whffat d-d-d-tho ythou wvhhant Shcott," Belac lisped ironically.
Scott took out the whiskey and swallowed down 3 shots before being body-slammed to the ground by Belac. "No more of that my dear friend. Now go home and call me on skype. We are going to watch the 9 hour Wagner biopic whilst rubbing ourselves in peanut butter naked."
....
Later in Scott's box on his 8th computer after 5 beers and 8 shots of whiskey, he sits covered in peanut butter and 6 hours into the Wagner biopic, thoroughly re-thinking his life. Belac lies on the other end, staring into Scott's glorious bisexual eyes, enraptured.
Scott was getting invasive thoughts and could not focus on the biopic.
WHY THE FUCKING HELL WAS I CASTRATED BY MY IDIOT JEW-GROVELING PARENTS.
NO! GETTING A FORESKIN TRANSPLANT WILL NOT CUT IT. I HATE THIS PLACE. NOTHING WORKS HERE. THE MEDICATIONS DON'T WORK HERE. I'VE BEEN HERE FOR SEVEN YEARS.
Suddenly Keira appears floating above Scott in the darkness of the tunnel, luminescent and wondrous, her rippling soft purple night gown and glowing skin, like silk. "Scott, come be with me. I'll watch the Wagner biopic with you and we can be together in Germany. We can time travel back to the 1800s when women weren't allowed to be sluts. We can see Wagner live! We can find God together, really."
Scott shed a tear and almost tried to believe the harpy's lies before coming to his senses. "NOT AGAIN YOU DISORDERLY FREAK." He took out his astral katana and ripped the dream to shreds.
He quickly escaped to his Buick and decided to run over James' hut. "Farewell dirty jew."
Scott was out. He was done, tired. He was tired of living life in this society, constantly surrounded by noise, useless noise. He took a long drive in the dead of the night up to the isolate mountains. Few hikers dared to travel there, even the strong-willed. But Scott was different. He didn't care about coming back. He abandoned his Buick and began to climb. It was pain-staking and almost tedious. But Scott needed this. Upon finally reaching the top, cold and heavy hurting lungs, Scott sighed with the greatest relief and satisfaction he'd ever felt.
He unpacked his things and started a fire. He lied down on a large blanket, flames flickering, dancing shadows, and looked out upon the town below. A light snow began to fall. Scott felt an innocent peace. At last, he had found his God.
