California Hollow (long fiction) (1211 hits)
Category: NoneLabels: California
Rating: 1.78 on 48 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2006-08-17 17:22:21 EDT
(Seriously, this one is pretty long. Read it when you have the time. And if you are eating... skip it until later. There is a bit in here that is just a touch on the grotesque side.)
California Hollow
East of San Francisco, between the small bay area towns of Hayward and Union City, there is an overgrown hollow.
The hollow is only a few hundred feet across, but it is over a mile long, and very deep. It is lush with overgrowth in winter and summer. Train tracks run along the length of the hollow on each side, a BART track to the southwest, and a track shared by Amtrak's Capital Corridor line and engines hauling boxcars to the northeast. The tracks cross each other in the southeast and northwest ends of the corridor, sealing off the hollow like a sweet wrapped in a twist of cellophane.
There are no markings of any distinction on maps depicting the hollow, because it is useless land, too deep and too narrow and thus too expensive to develop...
*
Doyle parked his car, slammed the door shut, and walked to the edges of the hollow.
It was a hot day, and even the light breeze tossing his hair seemed warm and dry.
Perfect weather for a fucking hangover, Doyle thought.
He crossed the sidewalk, his feet raising dust in the dry earth of a small lot between two homes that had seen better times. There was a barrier, a high wall of plywood boards covered in graffiti, and beyond that the graceful concrete curves of elevated train tracks. The wooden wall was half safety barrier and half noise barrier.
Doyle thought it was a half-assed attempt either way.
He took his cell phone out of his pocket. He was down to two bars.
"Jesus."
He looked over his shoulder. On the other side of the bay he could see the distant strip of green and gray that was San Francisco. Beyond that, he could see a line of blue and a lot of fog over the ocean. He was less than thirty miles from San Francisco, even closer to Oakland, almost next door to Fremont.
"Two bars," he said. "It's not like I'm on the edge of Death Valley."
One board in the wall was askew, and on the ground Doyle saw the prints of countless small sneakers in the dirt. He bent and pushed by an old sign reading
D nge rains
eep Ou
which was covered by a diagonal tag reading
Hoemasta
Bushmasta
There was another fifty feet of weed-choked nothing under the elevated tracks, and beyond that, a chain link fence.
Doyle passed under the tracks and stopped at the fence. Beyond the old chain link was a crumbling rim of earth and rock a few feet wide, and then a dead drop.
Behind him was a lower middle-class neighborhood. Home after home needed a good paint job and new shingles on the roof. The few cars he had seen were pickup trucks and small, economical automobiles. No BMWs or Porsches back there.
Doyle looked down. He saw the tops of trees within spitting distance. The sides of the hollow leading down into that lush greenery were steep and treacherous, covered in fallen leaves and the twisted roots of brush growing on the slopes. The sides of the hollow met not far from where he was standing. Past the hollow he could see where the elevated BART tracks crossed an older freight line.
Twenty feet away he saw an opening in the fence where rusted chain link had been bent away from one upright metal post.
Teenagers, Doyle thought. Looking for a place to drink or fuck.
A BART train passed behind him on elevated tracks and Doyle looked over his shoulder, watching the cars race by. He saw faceless blurs behind the tinted glass, people reading, listening to music, sleeping.
When the train had passed Doyle noticed a little girl through the gap in the wooden barrier. She was standing behind him in the middle of the quiet street.
Her jeans were dusty and her grimy white t-shirt was stained with a streak of something that looked like grape juice. In one hand was a doll, hanging at her side. Her other hand was raised, her arm bent, as she inspected a bleeding scrape on her elbow.
The little girl raised the hand holding the doll, and dipped a free finger in the drying blood on her elbow. She swapped the doll to her other hand, and poked at it with her bloody finger.
Doyle watched the kid hold the doll up for his inspection. The doll's eyes were now covered with smears of blood. Doyle shivered in eighty degree heat.
The little girl laughed and ran away.
Doyle was wearing jeans, sneakers, and a denim shirt. In one shirt pocket he had a small digital recorder. He checked the pocket, making sure it was snapped shut, and then went to the hole in the fence.
He pushed though the chain link and looked down into the rampant vegetation below. He could see and hear birds fluttering from tree to tree or perching on branches and singing.
Man, he thought. This fucking thing is big.
Doyle had to walk about twenty feet along the rim before he found a sturdy cluster of roots near the edge of the hollow. He bent over and grabbed the roots and started to lower himself down the slope.
Little kids probably charge down here head-first, he thought, whooping and laughing like idiots.
He moved down into the shade of the tallest trees, backing down through swaying ferns and clusters of weeds, always looking for a handhold on the steep slope.
Grabbing the thick stem of a leafy plant, Doyle got a handful of sticky sap.
"For fuck sake," Doyle said, reaching for a sturdy root with his free hand, "If this shit fucks up my clothes I'll be pissed."
He shifted his grip a few inches and got another handful of sap, but this time the fluid under his fingers wasn't sticky. It was slick.
His fingers slipped free and he frantically scrabbled at the nearby root with his free hand, finally grasping it tight.
"You dick," he said, catching his breath while his heart hammered away. "If you don't watch it you're gonna break—"
There was a dry snap, and then Doyle was sliding backward down the slope on a carpet of loose soil. He looked down at the broken root in his hand and then realized that there was nothing underfoot.
He tumbled through open space, twigs and branches snapping in his wake, shadows and glints of sunlight swirling around him.
He hit a mat of interlaced tree branches, momentarily slowing his descent, and then the branches gave way and he was falling again.
A leg, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Gonna break a fucking—
*
"—leg or some shit. You know how it is these days with... hey, Doyle!"
Doyle opened his eyes and looked up over the map spread out on Lemaster's desk.
"You look like shit, kid. Late night?"
This guy probably calls anyone under fifty 'kid,' Doyle thought. "Downed a few with friends."
"Get any pussy?"
Doyle blinked in surprise. The short white man with the silver buzz-cut grinned back at him over the cluttered desk.
Lemaster looked beyond Doyle to make sure his office door was closed, and then let a conspiratorial whisper slip from the corner of his mouth.
"One white man to another? Black pussy's the best, don't you let anyone tell you any different. Taste's better, feels better, easier to get, easier to walk away from. Some of these girls, the ones that are legal, Christ, the bodies on them. They got no education, so you can sweet talk 'em into anything. Hell, even some of the fourteen year olds I see walking through here are beyond fucking belief, and the way they dress doesn't help. Makes me want to bust out my joint and shoot my load into the trash can right here behind my desk. Must be hormones in the food or something, fucked if I know."
As monologues go, Doyle thought, that was pretty fucked up.
Lemaster violently shook his head as if to free it from images of tits and ass.
"Anyhow, like I was saying. You fucked up and got in your car after a few drinks and took out that shop window and now you gotta do community service, no biggie. I see this shit all the time. You're a good kid. I know it, the judge knew it too, otherwise you'd have done a few days in lockup, watching the fucking jigs try to tear each other to pieces. Don't get me wrong, I'm no racist, I just realize there is a difference between an educated black who wants to work and pay his taxes and get along and a jigaboo nigger fuckhead who wants to stir the shit all the time."
Lemaster shook his head again, and Doyle wondered if the old guy had a metal plate in there.
"Anyhow, the good news is you got sent here, to Ray Lemasters. I'll give you an easy ride, kid. Now, in case you don't know the basics, Operation Bayreach is a non-profit organization that not only tries to help get the homeless off the street and has helped a whole lot of struggling single mothers, but also tracks those living out there in alleys, under overpasses, shit like that. We get easy money from a city full of bleeding-heart dicks who tool around in fancy cars and live in million dollar homes. They ease their guilt by throwing us a few bucks each year I guess. Who the fuck knows, only God, and he ain't talking shit, right? Right?"
Doyle could only stare as he fought back a yawn.
"So we get cash and we actually do some decent work out there, not that it matters, cause until you take crack off the street and booze off every corner store shelf people are gonna get fucked up, you know? But we also get paid a fee from a lot of bay area towns. A fee for information. And if we don't keep pulling in those fees, and I didn't say this, my nice fat nonprofit salary goes bye-bye, you know?"
Doyle held up the map and address Lemaster had given him. "So you want me to go out there and, what, count people?"
"Yeah," Lemaster said, grinning madly. "Yeah, that's it. We help track the homeless, performing a census here, a head count there, so each year the mayors of these communities can say 'we have X number of unmotived shitballs living within out city limits. Then the state or the feds give them an unmotivated shitball allowance, you know, tax dollars that line their pockets and pay my salary and fund more head counts. Thank fucking Christ for cash donations from guilty rich pricks, because that's the only money that most of these single moms see. Now take a look at this map."
Doyle looked away when one of Lemasters' hands disappeared behind his desk, dipping down toward his crotch.
"Man, I gotta piss," Lemasters said with a laugh. "I'm getting a piss hard-on here, for Christ sake. I mean what the fuck is that, huh?"
"The map," Doyle said.
"Oh yeah. Yeah. Listen kid, like I was saying while you were on the nod, all we want you to do is go to this place and take a head count. It's an overgrown big goddamned hole in the ground out past Hayward. What do the rednecks call it? A hollow. Just a small valley. It's not a huge spread, only a mile or so long. The walls are so fucking steep no on has ever bothered to build there. Word is there are some homeless living down there. And you are going there today. Now. Get a head count. But, you know, don't get caught."
Doyle shrugged.
"See kid, Bay Area Rapid Transit owns that land. All they see is a dangerous hole. They don't want anyone near there, or the tracks. But if we don't get the count, we can't sell the info and charge a fee. See what I mean? So you take this little digital recorder, some schmuck donated like fifty of the fucking things and half the people here can't even turn them on, fucking moron volunteers, who needs 'em? Anyhow, yeah, you just talk into it, make notes. X number of men, X number of women, etc. The date, the time, and boom, you are done, drop the recorder off here and you got the rest of your Saturday night free and clear. Sound good?"
Doyle nodded.
"But like I told you," Lemaster said, "Be careful. BART will shit all over you if they catch you trespassing. You know how it is. California. Lawsuit land. They are afraid of kids getting sliced and diced on the tracks or some fucking bonehead falling into that hollow and breaking a leg, which would mean them getting their asses sued off."
Doyle pulled a little packet of Excedrin from one pocket, tore it open, and swallowed the tablets.
"So that's it, kid, take the recorder and go-go-go. But sign for the fucking thing first. We aren't giving shit away here, you know."
Doyle drove across the Bay Bridge and down 880 in a daze, and soon he was pulling over and getting out of the car and into the heat and shutting the car door with a good—
*
—slam as he hit the ground knocked the breath out of him.
Doyle opened his eyes, seeing trees, branches, leaves, glittering fragments of sunlight like diamonds tossed into the air.
The first thing he did was move his legs. Then he let out a weak laugh.
He hadn't broken a leg. And from the look of the slope he had fallen from, he'd dropped a long way.
Far up in the trees birds were singing and fluttering again. It was very hot down here, and dark under the shade of the trees, and there was a sound, a faint buzzing...
Maybe it was someone using power tools up top, or a distant prop plane passing far overhead.
Doyle sat up and released a thin scream as shattered ribs ground together and pain ripped through his abdomen.
Something made a soft squelching sound and Doyle realized the ground under his ass was mushy even as something in the mush jabbed his left buttock like a dozen dull sticks.
He got to his feet, slowly... slowly, turned around, one foot sliding in the mush underfoot, another cry held back as he steadied himself and his broken ribs shifted again.
Before he looked down, Doyle realized what was creating the muted buzzing.
Flies. Hundreds, if not thousands of flies were crawling over a lumpy mass lying on the ground. The mass was red and gray and black. The tiny bodies of the flies glinted green and blue in the gloom.
Drawing his first full breath since having the wind knocked out of him, Doyle smelled the rot. He bent and vomited, wondering how he could not have noticed it before, the sickly sweet smell of decaying meat.
As his eyes adjusted to utilize what little light was filtered down through the trees Doyle saw there were corpses here, dead of all ages in various states of decay.
The wall of the hollow in front of Doyle had been scooped out, creating a shallow cave. Dead and dry roots hung down like a veil, not quite obscuring a jumble of bones.
"What the fuck," Doyle said. His voice was weak, small.
The bones were as dry as the old exposed roots, but there were more recent additions to the cave.
There was a sexless body covered in what looked like mold.
There was the body of a man, covered only buy stained boxer shorts and white socks. He had countless bugs crawling on him, and his skin was discolored. His throat had been cut, and it appeared to Doyle that the man's eyes were missing.
Doyle heaved, but nothing came up.
It took Doyle a moment to notice the oddest thing about boxer-short man. There were no cut marks anywhere on his body but his throat, not even around his eyes. It looked as if his eyes had been somehow plucked from their sockets.
Here, outside the cave full of remains, was a circle delineated in crumbling white lines, old paint, perhaps. Within the circle lay the bodies of three decomposing infants.
In his fall, Doyle had landed on one of the tiny corpses
He looked down at his feet. The mush was the rotting remains of what had once been a child, now clinging to one shoe. The dull sticks poking him in the ass had been small bones within that disintegrating flesh.
"Gotta get out of here," Doyle muttered. "Gotta get out of here now."
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. No bars.
"What the f—"
Doyle heard a snake-like hiss, a sharp intake of breath.
He looked to his left and saw a thin old woman wearing a dress almost black with grime. She was carrying a wicker basket filled with mushrooms. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was hanging open.
She looked angry, horrified, offended.
"Excuse me," Doyle said, "But I—"
The old woman drew another breath and screamed, "Violation!"
Startled birds took flight, shaking the tree branches high overhead.
"I fell," Doyle said, raising a finger and pointing overhead. "I've hurt myself and—"
The old woman screamed again. "Violation of the sanctuary!"
Responding calls came from the deep shadows behind the old woman. Some of the calls were close, some sounded far away.
Shit, Doyle thought. Didn't Lemaster say this fucking hollow was almost a mile long?
A teenage boy appeared beside the old woman. He had a streaked, brown birthmark on his face that looked like someone had thrown a handful of shit at him.
"Mister, you're in trouble. You violated the sanctuary."
"I don't understand," Doyle said.
The kid pointed down at Doyle's feet. "The resting place of the little sick ones. Some babies grown up big and strong like me. Some get sick, and we put them here to rest."
Doyle tried to swallow, but his throat was dry and hot. "What about the bones further back?"
"Violators," the old woman said. "Violators of the sanctuary. Violators of the cleft."
She gave Doyle a wide grin, and he saw that she was toothless.
Doyle turned and took one big step, hoping to run like hell. His fractured ribs stabbed at something tender inside and he shrieked. He began to trot, using the narrowing glimpses of sunlight above as his guide toward the nearest end of the hollow.
"Violators pay!"
The old woman behind him cawed like a crow. Doyle kept moving, sweat soaking his shirt and running into his eyes.
"Violators of the cleft always pay! You must be invited into the cleft, or pay for your violation!"
Doyle heard new voices behind him. Three, five, maybe more.
"Who is it?"
"Is it a vah-later?"
"Look at the sanctuary!"
"Dey he is! Ovah dey!"
And louder than all the others, "I will take his muthafuckin eyes!"
Doyle couldn't help but look back after hearing that last bellow.
His face twisted into a mask of horror and disgust.
There was a growing crowd around the old woman, all of them dressed in dirty, ragged clothing.
A tall white guy sporting a long black beard stiff with dried vomit was shaking a long stick in the air.
There was an obscenely fat woman wearing only spandex pants, her massive sagging breasts glowing like distant moons.
One guy was wearing a torn blue dress and holding small skinned things that might have been cats.
A girl who appeared fourteen or so gave him the finger. She was wearing shorts and a soiled blouse tied at the waist. She might have been pretty, but all Doyle could focus on was an enormous heavy growth hanging down off of one side of her neck like a pink bag full of dark liquid.
And a black guy as big as a truck, wearing only a tight white t-shirt and construction boots, had broken into a run and was racing after Doyle.
Fuck this, Doyle thought, picking up the pace. I'm not gonna get killed by some dude with his wang hanging out.
A slender length of wood soared over Doyle's shoulder and sunk into the earth right in his path, and he had to side-step it, slipping on a leaf and nearly falling.
Jesus Christ! Doyle's fear and the pain from his broken ribs were momentarily eradicated by a burst of rage. That was a motherfucking spear!
Doyle looked over his shoulder and shouted, "You crazy fucking assholes!"
The black guy was close.
Doyle could see the end of the hollow now, the point where the steep root-laced walls to either side came together.
The walls here were almost perfectly vertical.
Doyle began to climb.
He got ten feet above the ground when a hand grabbed his ankle and pulled him away from the wall.
Doyle hit the ground hard, again. He felt something tear inside.
The pain was so intense he couldn't even scream.
He coughed and tasted blood, and then the black guy in the t-shirt dropped on him, pinning him down.
"I will teach you about violation," the guy breathed.
Despite his pain Doyle gagged. The black guy reeked of sweat and his breath was rancid, as if he had been nibbling on the decaying remains Doyle had found.
"I will take your pretty eyes, white boy."
"What the fuck are you—"
The black guy's mouth pressed down over Doyle's left eye.
He's gonna kiss-assfuck-strangle-dump me, Doyle thought, with growing hysteria.
The black guy's lips made an air-tight seal.
Doyle could feel a dick and a huge pair of balls flopping against his leg, and he could hear the other hollow dwellers he had seen coming closer.
"Please," he said.
What happened next happened very fast, but it would be the longest moment of Doyle's life.
The black guy began to suck.
As he struggled against the heavy slab of muscle pinning him down, Doyle was sure this was just some sick fetish being played out.
Until his felt his eye being pulled.
He squeezed his eye shut as hard as he could.
The black guy raised his head, peeled back Doyle's eyelids, and lowered his lips again.
The curious pulling sensation returned, and abruptly escalated from an ache within his skull to a horrific burst of pain behind his eye as his optic nerve and the muscles surrounding his eye began to stretch.
Doyle kicked at the black guy's feet, but the man was digging his toes into the ground and raising his lower body so he could bear down harder.
Something ripped loose within his eye socket. Doyle actually heard it even as his remaining eye was blinded by bursts of red and white light. He let out a hoarse cry, and the pulling sensation became excruciating as he sensed a mass bigger than he ever imagined his eye could be moving past his eyelids.
Doyle thrashed in agony, mindless spasms that made his arms and legs flail wildly.
He felt the black guy's lips move closer together.
The pain eased, a little.
My eyeball is in his mouth, Doyle thought.
The black guy's jaw was moving, and Doyle realized that the man was chewing through whatever nerve and muscle tissue was still connected to his eye.
The pain came back, furious. Doyle felt as if slender knives were slashing and stabbing at his eye.
His limbs thrashed again, and Doyle felt the black guy's scrotum slap against the back of his hand.
Doyle grabbed the slack flesh between the black guy's testicles and groin. He squeezed and adjusted his grip, like a man getting a good hold on a length of rope. Then he pulled as hard as he could.
The black guy reared up, his eyes rolling.
With his remaining eye Doyle could see a white thing in the black guy's mouth, a white thing with slender tendrils attached to it. It was leaking fluid.
The black guy bit down and moisture sprayed Doyle's face.
Doyle pulled again, even harder. Blood trickled over his fist as flesh began to tear.
The black guy screamed so loud Doyle's ears rang.
Doyle pulled one final time and his hand swung free, a warm bag of flesh hanging from his fist. As the black guy rolled off of him he let out a grunt of disgust and tossed away the man's gonads.
Within the raging pain where his eye had been, Doyle felt emptiness. He felt the slackness in his eyelids as he squeezed them shut over his wound.
Doyle got to his feet, staggered, and steadied himself.
The black guy was lying on his back, cupping his bleeding groin and crying.
Doyle saw a rock lying on the ground. It was the size of a cantaloupe. One side came to a rough point.
He picked up the rock, and looked back the way he had come.
The others who had chased him, and a few new additions, were standing in a fascinated cluster, watching him, watching the black guy cry.
Doyle looked down.
"Yeah, blubber, you fuck."
He raised the rock and brought it down as he dropped to his knees.
The rock shattered the black guy's skull.
Fluids and spongy matter leaped into the air and pattered down on the ground like rain.
Doyle wanted to raise the rock and strike again, but the rock was stuck in the black guy's skull.
He got to his feet and staggered to the wall. He took a breath, and started to climb.
"Wait!" It was the old woman again, her voice a tentative croak. "You could join us."
There was a murmur from the crowd, and then another voice said, "Yes. You could be down here with us. We need to be strong. You are strong."
The old woman spoke again, sounding almost desperate. "We have fungi and vegetables and cats and dogs to sustain us. We thrive down here."
"We make babies down here."
Doyle looked down. That was the girl with the growth hanging off of her neck. She waved at him, and the turbid foulness within that sac of flesh shifted, making the growth loll against her collarbone.
"Babies," the fat woman said, her voice a guttural drawl.
"Fuck you all, you fucking freaks," Doyle said.
The man with the puke-stiff beard was holding another spear. He started to climb, and chant.
"Muhfugga goan die... muhfugga goan die... muhfugga goan die."
The kid with the shit-stain birthmark leaped at the wall of earth and started hauling himself up faster than Doyle could have imagined.
Fucking monkey-mutant punk, Doyle thought.
He tried to climb faster, but he just couldn't.
He looked up. Almost there. Almost there...
The shit-stain kid, now higher than Doyle, scuttled across the hollow wall and began laughing and kicking at Doyle's hands.
"C'mon, bro. We could be bros. We could hang. C'mon, man."
Doyle pulled himself up a little further.
He felt a stabbing pain in one hand.
The shit-stain kid was holding a tarnished old pocket knife and playfully poking down at Doyle's hands.
Doyle could hear puke-beard coming up below him. He took a quick look and saw that the man was still carrying the spear.
"Jesus," Doyle said. He sobbed once, and then shook his head. "I am getting the fuck out of here!"
He got a firm grip on a root near his waist and let his feet slide free, dropping down far enough that he could grab the end of the spear.
Doyle and puke-beard pulled back and forth on the spear until Doyle was able to angle the slender length of wood and slam the butt into puke-beard's forehead. The man dropped away from the wall with a mumbled curse.
Getting a better grip on the spear Doyle stabbed up at the shit-stain kid, aiming at the boy's legs. The spear tip pierced the worn seat of the kid's pants and went up his ass.
The boy let out a whoop and Doyle hugged the wall as the kid and the spear tumbled by him.
Doyle climbed.
He felt the warmth of the sun on his hands and face and let out a joyful cry.
A BART train was passing by on elevated tracks and Doyle looked up. Behind one of the windows, a young girl looked down at Doyle, her face full of repulsion.
Doyle was filthy, covered in blood, and he looked completely mad.
Slender arms suddenly encircled his neck and Doyle saw the teenage girl smiling at him, the warm weight of the growth on her neck flopping against him.
Doyle made a sound of disgust and lost his grip. The young girl laughed, and her laughter was like music.
Together they tumbled back down into the shadows of the hollow.
User Reviews
Submitted by billrhine (user info) at 2008-09-28 12:41:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by PayMeLater (user info) at 2008-09-28 12:31:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2008-09-28 11:54:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This post reeks. To think I would never have read this if it weren't for KK's link beggars belief.
Submitted by JoeyG (user info) at 2008-09-28 11:54:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This post reeks of awesome. To think I would never have read this if it weren't for KK's link beggars belief.
Hats off to you.
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2006-08-21 09:38:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
that's kinda messed up jack.
It also seems to lack the refinement I expect from most of your pieces, minor problems mostly proffreading type things which I'm sure you're probably aware of so I'll just shut up now.
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-18 17:29:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Oh, and fag between.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-08-18 17:25:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
fag below
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-18 16:58:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
As another episode of Dance Fever draws to a close, I'd like to thank 'lil jacky mccallum for doin' the 'Rectum Rumble' featuring several of his alters and one heaping shit of a post.
Wonderful performance. You really outshat yourself.
Thanks to all, especially GodChicken, for his infinite wisdom and understanding.
This is the puppetmaster.
See you next post!
Submitted by icarus1987 (user info) at 2006-08-18 14:36:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You are one odd mamajama.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-18 14:30:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
The eyeball sucking, UGH, it grossed me out AND scared the hell out of me. I didn't WANT to read it all the way because it was making me uneasy (see horror/thriller movies reference above). But it was like a train wreck for me -- I couldn't stop reading.
--
Thanks!
Submitted by alwayspeach1 (user info) at 2006-08-18 14:17:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I don't know if I liked this Jack. That DOESN'T mean it wasn't good. I'm terrible when it comes to watching horror/thriller movies. I'm the one squirming on the couch, hiding not only behind my hands but also a pillow and screaming at the dumbass characters in the movies. My kids hate it.
The writing was good, the story was riveting. The eyeball sucking, UGH, it grossed me out AND scared the hell out of me. I didn't WANT to read it all the way because it was making me uneasy (see horror/thriller movies reference above). But it was like a train wreck for me -- I couldn't stop reading. I couldn't read while hiding behind my hands, not even peeking between my fingers. So I had to resort to squinting. Imagine all the laughs I garnered from people walking past my office seeing me do this and questioning my mental state. On the bright side, it increased your reader membership by about 10 people.
+2 for making me yearn for a "hiding" pillow at work.
Submitted by inion_de_trua (user info) at 2006-08-18 14:00:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
tentative +2. because i have faith in your writing.
be my jesus?
Submitted by Maltese (user info) at 2006-08-18 13:42:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
ain'T goT no how whaTchamacalliT
Submitted by GodChicken (user info) at 2006-08-18 13:40:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-18 12:50:44 (#)
Ranking: 0
This is like trying to stomp a roach to death wearing sponge shoes.
=======================
Why are you engaging him in the first place? Classic trolling, and the way he presents himself is identical to about half a dozen others who are most likely all the same person.
He's pushing your button and you're responding. Quit entertaining him.
Submitted by wookie (user info) at 2006-08-18 13:28:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
"Fuck this, Doyle thought, picking up the pace. I'm not gonna get killed by some dude with his wang hanging out."
That's a great line.
Submitted by nrduncan (user info) at 2006-08-18 12:58:04 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Awesome
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-18 12:50:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
This is like trying to stomp a roach to death wearing sponge shoes.
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-18 12:31:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-18 12:14:39 (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-18 12:09:22 (#)
Ranking: 2
How many alters you got, McRectum? Just curious.
--
Like everyone else I played with alters when I started posting here, but now they are all long dead.
Have you hit puberty yet?
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Stop hitting on me.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-18 12:14:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-18 12:09:22 (#)
Ranking: 2
How many alters you got, McRectum? Just curious.
--
Funny, a ball-less alter asking that question.
Like everyone else I played with alters when I started posting here, but now they are all long dead.
Now answer MY recurring question.
Have you hit puberty yet?
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-18 12:09:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Ha ha. IT WASN'T ME, IT WAS MY ALTER'S ALTER!
Thanks for the explanation, too_many_horses.
I was waiting for jacky to find that old password.
So predictable.
You should post more. But then jacky would have to give his other half (third? fourth?) some of those precious hits he craves.
----------
I said this:
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-16 18:05:54 (#)
Ranking: -2
too_many_wheels
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McRectum said this:
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-16 18:31:56 (#)
Ranking: 0
Wait a minute.
I think too-many-wheels is/was on uber.
Your point, whysenheimer?
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And jacky boy digs up ANOTHER alter to cover for him. AN ALTER OF HIS ALTER, even. Who writes and argues in the exact same style.
Funny stuff.
"It was MY FRIEND pretending he didn't know me to help sell my shitty book.
It wasn't me using an alter. I SWEAR IT," McRectum said, sweat pouring down his face.
I give you a +2 for amusing me and coming up with such a lame cover story.
IT WAS MY ALTER'S ALTER!!!!
ha ha ha ha ha ha!
How many alters you got, McRectum? Just curious.
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2006-08-18 11:08:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Okay...
Enough of this...!!!
Dear Wankin'heimer:
I am indeed the guy who introduced Jack to Ubersite.
I found it one day after Googling for some forgotten thing, and, after creating an ID, I decided send a link to Jack.
I used the "too_many_wheels" user ID at the time, but somehow I was unable to log onto it after a while. (Dunno why. It seems I wasn't the only one who had that problem.)
I then created the user ID you see now.
I don't post because, unlike you, I know enough to keep quiet and not tie up bandwidth when I have nothing important to say.
I will reply, however, if I feel strongly enough about something I read on here. (..as Jack has already explained..) Of course, being the junior detective you are, I'm sure you've already noticed that that doesn't happen often.(..which, of course, must make me an alter, right?..)
Yes, I shilled his book. Yes, of course I knew it was him, Einstein. I didn't see anything wrong with little theatrics to get people to ask about it. Why not? For sure, it's not War And Peace, but it's not so bad. He put a lot of time and effort into it and though it is only my opinion, I feel it's worth a read.
You see, with Jack being an unproven newcomer on Uber at the time, I figured it would probably have been a breach of Uber-etiquette for him to spout off about it so soon after arriving.
I simply thought I'd try to get people to ask about it because at the time, nobody on Uber knew, or cared, who I was, either. They still don't.
Mea Culpa.
So sue me.
I could care less about what a talentless little whiner like you thinks, anyway. I'm only replying to this because I'm hoping you might, finally, please, for God's sake, shut the fuck up about this whole "too_many_wheels -2" thing.
Why you need to take so much of your time banging your non-opposable thumbs on a keyboard, cranking out so much spiteful,inane drivel is beyond me.
Oh, and by the way, if you think an "I-know-you-are,-but-what-am-I ?" grade-school response to this (..of the sort that you are apparently famous for..) is gonna drag me into an online insult exchange, forget it. I've got no time for a grunting match with a simian like you.
Tace atque abi!
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-18 09:23:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Whysie, if you can't recognize a tongue in cheeck, 'hey, is that you?' then you are hopeless, pal.
Here's an example of horse87, once too_many_wheels, talking about cars with fat tony.
Read through my stuff. I have NEVER been able to write this kind of detail because I don't have that kind of knowledge. My buddy it a walking encyclopedia when it comes to cars...
http://www.ubersite.com/m/86592#1931843
And before you shit yourself and say a lter reply from him (a very long one) was posted by me... he tried to post a few PAGES worth of car stuff and uber wouldn't take it. It emailed it o me and wondered what was going on, so I broke it into two segments and was able to post the thing.
Dick.
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-18 02:46:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
And the fucking book is dedicated to him and he didn't know if you were his lifelong pal?
Amazing.
You camp on this site.
The only reason you didn't respond before was because you were coming up with that lame story.
I linked it when you were online arguing with some other douchebag.
Just admit it. Nobody cares.
But that fucking cover story is the best fiction you've ever come up with.
You should shell out some money and publish it.
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-18 02:41:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
So the guy that introduced you to ubersite and proofread your shit and knew you your whole life didn't know who you were, even though your user name is Jack_McCallum, he just recognized your writing style 10 days after he joined and had to ask if you were the same guy.
And then shilled your fucking book as if he just heard of it.
You are so fucking full of shit it's unbelievable.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2006-08-18 01:15:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
it's a rarity for me to take the time and return to re-read any post...especially @ Ubersite
very well done indeed
Submitted by forensicgirl3 (user info) at 2006-08-18 00:58:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
On a semi-related note, this story reminds me of Rob Zombie's song 'Demon Speeding.' Do you like Rob Zombie? Be very, very, VERY careful how you answer that for me! ;)
Hey, do ya love me. I'm untouchable darkness
A dirty black river to get you through this
Hey, do ya love me I'm a devil machine
(hey do ya love me I'm a devil machine)
Get into my world all american dream
In the mouth of madness
down in the darkness
no more tomorrow
down in the hollow
Hey do ya love it when the kids are screaming
Wrecking on the road violate their dreaming
Hey, do ya love to see the filth in the clean
(hey do ya love to see the filth in the clean)
get into the gone all american dream
In the mouth of madness
down in the darkness
no more tomorrow
down in the hollow
i'm demon speeding
i'm demon speeding
i'm demon speeding
i'm demon speeding
get it on, get it on, get it on, get it on come alive
Hey, do ya love me elevating the madness
(Hey, do ya love me elevating the madness)
a super death rising to get you through this
(a super death rising to get you through this)
hey, do ya love me like a beautiful fiend
get into my world all american dream
Submitted by forensicgirl3 (user info) at 2006-08-18 00:46:06 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Sucking out someone's eyeball?
Yes it is but realistically you'd have to peel back or remove the eyelid, especially if the victim is still alive and/or conscious since blinking is a reflex to lubricate and protect the eye orb.
In eye surgery they peel back and hold open the person's lids with device that looks like it came straight out of Clockwork Orange. Why else was a technician there dropping moisture on Alex's eyes?
But really that's nitpicky. Only some asshole person working in the medical field would catch it. *nervous ahem*
as far as outlines and character development goes, I do indeed have it written down. As I said, my problem is striking a balance in writing something that will hold someone's attention but not lose or bore them with technical stuff.
I hate to say it, but I'm thinking I'm going to sacrifice the technical. I shouldn't (for accuracy) but if I don't it'll just be tedious in some parts.
hint, medical horror.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 23:54:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Hey forensic...
Why not write down little bios of your character or characters? Short lists, just for you. Make these people real in your head, then they won't be overshadowed by details later.
I have the opposite problem. I don't know shit, so I fudge the details or spend endless hours Googling.
I was going to go to one of your posts and ask if this was even possible, but that would have given away the big gross-out.
Besides, your piece called "I'm Sorry" was very good, as I said there, the tech stuff wasn't an overload.
Submitted by forensicgirl3 (user info) at 2006-08-17 23:34:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Between Kaos (and now you).....I'm almost there in my quest to get the Horror muse to bite me. I sort of feel a twinge on my left butt cheek but you never know with these butt things.
I've got a horror story cookin' but I need the muse to bite me on the ass because the story has very specific and technical elements to it. I don't want the writing to get overshadowed by the technical aspects.
Submitted by forensicgirl3 (user info) at 2006-08-17 23:29:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 17:45:43 (#)
Ranking: 0
Glad you liked the eyeball bit. A year ago or so I asked my eye doctor if it would be possible to suck someone's eye right out of their skull. She just looked at me like I was nuts.
What's HER fucking problem, huh?
-------------
Uppity bitch.
Now to your story........
Ewwww! <shudder>
*applause*
Submitted by Wildman (user info) at 2006-08-17 22:37:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 22:15:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Was that too_many_words, whysie, you mangy little fuck?
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 22:13:55 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
SUCK ON THIS, whysenheimer!
http://www.ubersite.com/m/91898#2106086
------------
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 22:02:20 (#)
Ranking: -2
HAHA!
You IGNORANT asshole!
Here's the scoop.
--------------
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 22:05:57 (#)
Ranking: -2
too_many_wheels is a guy I went to high school with. He took the username to horse87 after a few posts. He has never posted, but most recently was in a big drawn out discussion about cars with Fat Tony a month or so ago.
This is the guy who introduced me to ubersite.
In one of my stories, Cherries, maybe (now on hiatus) I mention a guy who rebuilt his car engine over a summer in high school. That's the guy. I know dick about cars, he loves 'em.
So that blows your theory right out the window, fuckhead.
---------
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 22:07:03 (#)
Ranking: -2
ps - pissant. I would have responded to this sooner, but the fucking thing got so many -2's so fast that it disappeared from the front page. I didn't even see it until now.
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Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 22:09:35 (#)
Ranking: -2
pps - Why did he love the book? We think alike, and he has been reading my shit since we were teenagers.
Oh, and the book is dedicated to him as well, because he's been a good friend for most of my life, AND because he proof read everything I wrote in regard to cars and guns.
http://www.ubersite.com/m/91898#2106086
Submitted by Jeanneee (user info) at 2006-08-17 21:49:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
awesome
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-08-17 21:45:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by kaos-king (user info) at 2006-08-17 20:47:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Damn you, Jack McCallum...
This was absolutely perfect.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-08-17 20:43:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Well done, sick, and twisted. You have bad dreams, don't you ?
*
Heh. When someone asked my daddy an unanswerable question, he often
replied, "Christ only knows, and he ain't talkin'
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2006-08-17 20:22:03 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good.
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2006-08-17 19:22:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:44:29 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:39:23 (#)
Ranking: -1
too_many_words "
use your real account
homo
------
what, and prove what a gutless fag he is? That day will never come.
Losers like that LIVE for this negative shit.
Submitted by joedaddy (user info) at 2006-08-17 19:22:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Drawbridge
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:55:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
I was just kidding jacky-boy about his alter/press agent.
Actually, it wasn't the length that bothered me.
It was the girth.
I'm amazed you managed to infuse pomposity in short fiction containing fetid corpses and cannibalism, but you did.
The length was what saved it from -2.
Don't be afraid of the length, jacky-boy.
That's your best quality, from a literary standpoint.
"The food sucks in this restaurant."
"Yeah, and the portions are too small."
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:45:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:39:23 (#)
Ranking: -1
too_many_words
--
I guess you missed the "long fiction" in BIG BOLD LETTERS after the title
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:44:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:39:23 (#)
Ranking: -1
too_many_words "
use your real account
homo
Submitted by whysenheimer (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:39:23 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
too_many_words
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:24:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by GodChicken (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:21:49 (#)
Ranking: 2
There was a place like that in the back corner of my elementary school.
It was all overgrown with blackberry bushes and swampy mush, but man were those berries sweet.
I stepped in a meat-bee nest there and got fucked up beyond belief. :(
--
Yaaaaah! When I read that I winced!
Submitted by GodChicken (user info) at 2006-08-17 18:21:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
There was a place like that in the back corner of my elementary school.
It was all overgrown with blackberry bushes and swampy mush, but man were those berries sweet.
I stepped in a meat-bee nest there and got fucked up beyond belief. :(
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-08-17 17:45:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-08-17 17:40:08 (#)
Ranking: 2
I've read - i like.
The guy in the census office was a bit over the top though?
But then I guess he has to be in a short piece.
The eyeball sucking thing was awesome. I've never seen that before.
--
If you would be so kind as to rate AFTER you read it would considerably ease my everpresent urge to throttle you until you are blue in the face and your eyeballs pop out and roll aout the room.
Good DAY sir!
Glad you liked the eyeball bit. A year ago or so I asked my eye doctor if it would be possible to suck someone's eye right out of their skull. She just looked at me like I was nuts.
What's HER fucking problem, huh?
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-08-17 17:40:08 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I've read - i like.
The guy in the census office was a bit over the top though?
But then I guess he has to be in a short piece.
The eyeball sucking thing was awesome. I've never seen that before.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-08-17 17:24:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And if you are eating... skip it until later. There is a bit in here that is just a touch on the grotesque side.)"""
why should I read something you don't believe in?