And the ice you put in your dog food bowl to replace the kibble... it melted. Bringing another mutt to it's knees, howling a Christ awful tune of despair and denial, whilst the wind chimes in with the harmony. Our fore father's told us this would happen, but we denied the hallowed cries, and went on anyway. Continuing to feed the dog blocks of ice, starving it of not only culture, but a bare necessity of life.. food. And when hunting season came around, we had no help. Just human hands holding the corroded, blood soaked neck of some, half-assed, two-bit graceful swan. The dogs are gone now, it's about time we go extinct as well.
The funniest part is that the soldier actually did join the army to maintain his status as being the biggest and best. This was the kind of kid in high school that would make jokes similar to replacing the word, "rye" with the word "eye" In the great novel, "Catcher in the Rye" written by, JD Salinger. The kind of kid that would make jokes about the less fortunate students, and would often go to physical lengths to intimidate them. Well sir, I hope you take a good long look at what your son has done. After 3 weeks serving in Iraq, the mental images of children's insides being worn out and seeing the inside of a throat were too haunting to erase. A mind which was some what once like a chalk board, which could be swept clean with the movement of a limp-dull wrest, was now restless and convulsing. He thought killing other men, would boost his inflated ego another notch up and possibly start a rip in the Earth's atmosphere. He was wrong, 2 nights after he returned home, Benjamin Craddock Eisley blew his own brains out with a double barrel shotgun he had strapped under the dining room table, in front of his entire family, during his own coming home party. Bits of brain matter were thrown from his skull onto his 5 year old daughter who then shrieked a cry of utter horror and then fainted. Chips of bone entered his elderly grandfather's eyes blinding him for the last 4 years of his life. And of course his parents! Faces soaked in blood that could never be removed!!! None the less, he was successful at destroying the humble ambiance that was held in the air just moments before. Point being, even if you make it out of the army alive, you are still going to end up as fertilizer one way, or another.
-Nick Hopper

Years after their son Benji had ended himself at the dinner table during his coming home party. The Eisley's still couldn't wash the brains from the table mat, the wallpaper. Or the blood from their hair or beneath their fingernails. After that night they could no longer see in color, taste or smell. Their existence was the definition of austere/desolate. Worst of all neither could communicate this feeling of isolation to the other. Each was a prisoner in their own skull. Mr. Eisley took to depriving himself of the things any human needs, punishment for the countless mistakes he made in little Benji's life as he grew up. Each morning he woke up and began his ritual, two multivitamin suppositories a day for meals, bending over and spreading his ass cheeks in a fashion that would put goatse to shame. The wet smack of his lips disgusted him as he slid two fingers in and out of his mouth, teased and fingered his asshole, then back to his mouth, and finally back up his hairy anus, in crawled his breakfast.
Mrs. Eisley was worse off. A typically day in the life began with railing an 8ball in 5 minutes flat on a day she wanted to take it easy, followed by hours of Oprah, Dr. Phil, and Alf. Then the long drive downtown in search of the only thing that mattered to her anymore. Months ago, before she maintained a schedule, it started off fairly innocent, you could find her on any given day either giving half-bit handjobs in the taco bell bathroom off 124 or radiating bitterness outside of the elementary school, just smoking, just watching. Nowadays the only way she could feel anything, no matter how fleeting, was through a secondhand high. Nothing did it for her better than crackhead spew. The rush you get from sucking off a crackhead dick compares to no other high. Maybe it was chems swimming in their bodies or just the act of doing something so unheard of. Between the wet slopping sounds of her swallowing every drop of saliva, sliding down their shafts and the involuntary noises she made as the man of the hour convulsively fucked her throat, she would often whisper in their ear "That's it Benjamin. Give it all to momma!" or in exasperated submission, "Such a good boy" immediately after she would almost always eat out the man's asshole, tonguing his pancreas while simultaneously stroking him off.
Mr. Eisley has long since destroyed his desire to feel, let alone his sexual desire. Dropping his sack on a block of dry ice, shattered his testicles and used a hacksaw to carve off the cock that had been on permachubby since his damned blind father finally croaked over. Mr. Eisley began to pour his soul into his career as a Disney animator. Singlehandedly composing The Little Mermaid, little nemo, and of course Aladdin and the thirteen thieves. Wanting nothing more but to end his pain, one night he dragged himself out to the tool shed and soaked himself in gasoline. He must've sat there for hours moving his eyes from the past to the match in his hand to the matchbox and back, near hyperventilating the whole time. Without thought he slowly shoved the matchbox into his pocket and, in broken stride, stumbled off in to the moonless night.
-mine