Philly crunk

"James is always trying to write. When we were younger he would steal the crayons from my hands and write all over my placemat. As our family was broke all the time this would usually happen on our extravagant nights out on the town... at chuck e cheese. Whenever I'd look at the big stuffed mouse singing the latest beach boys cover he'd snatched my crayons from me. I was a little more concerned with eating them then with using them for creative purposes so I didn't mind that he had them in his possession. What irked me was his act of stealing. Little shit bag. No one steals from me!"

James: "First and foremost, I'd like to mention that during one of our rendevous with the electronic muppets of Chuckie Cheese, Matt and I, in a great collobrative effort, beat the arcade X-Men game: Sentinel Attack. It cost over twenty dollars in quarters, stolen from our parents over the course of six months. I was Wolverine. Matt was a lame ass chick-maybe Storm or Jean Grey, neither of who could fight well, they just bitched slap the robots unlike Wolverine who DESTROYED his opponents. Other than the obvious bullshit in Matt's story, the rest of his lies are true."

Matt: "As a natural leader I've always carved the path for the two of us. James has always lagged behind in my shadow, his nose drowning in the sweat puddles that I've left behind. I can understand his feelings, his therapist says that he has an inferiority complex. Well she said that its a complex, but its also justified because he is inferior."

James: "The pyschologist bills Matt."


To see more of James' crap writing click here

Fragments

I crumbled up the piece of paper and threw it on the windowsill. I wish that the window had opened, that the writing would escape my world falling out into the open air.

The beer bottles sat on the desk empty, their effects were lingering in my dulled brain.

The book's spine pointed to the ceiling, the pages open spread out like wings.

The box was slightly open, crammed with letters from the past.

The dance floor had just two or three couples moving to the salsa music. The band was on its last number, the dancers were moving more sluggishly; taken over by the late night, the alcohol, and their lust.

I still can't remember what she looks like and it was only yesterday that I saw her last, that's why I keep a picture of her close to my person.