《BAD SID: INTERDIMENSIONAL PROGRAMMING》 1. BRASS KNUCK NIGHT I seen a guy in a 3 piece suit at a north shore house party, I asked him for a cigarette and he denied, I walked away, He then started yacking off about the goals he¡¯d finished, Of bouncers giving firm handshake and right this way, He told me this, He went on about power and how people give it to you for status, The status he had. Proposed he had, Maybe he did, He was in a three piece suit surrounded by gronks he was the man ov hour, I was drunk and he was sober, Why you here? I asked, Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. He didn¡¯t say too much instead he engaged in a conversation with a male escort, I asked him again with mild anger I was irritated, Why are you here punk? I asked, He didn¡¯t look at me twice he just gazed in one stare and looked me deeply and drunk a drink, Same reason you are kid. He spat, I looked around and thought to myself, Why am I here? Then I looked for a clock but couldn¡¯t find one, Why am I here? I looked to a friend who was unplugging a laptop and slid it under his jeans, Don¡¯t tell a soul, he told. I kept my side of the bargain and we walked outside, I was bent beyond relief but relieved myself behind a street lamp, Old mate asked for keys and I chucked him the lot he unlocked the car and chucked the laptop in back. I made my way over to the vehicle and parked myself inside the driver seat. Old mate lit a smoke and offered me half, I declined. We made way through the streets and through roundabout we smashed. It was fun in the moment but not week later when paper came in mail. I sped passed the cameras, They caught my plates in flash. 2. SIDEWALKGRAFFITI2012 You ever smoked crack? Asked the man smoking crack, Nah but after you smashed me over I kinda want to. I spoke It''s not that worser of a drug really, just eat heaps, get some sleep, it''s the fuckwits that stay up all week that give it a bad name, The violent crackhead went on, We were hunched down, squatted, Behind a dumpster in an alley behind the Westgate mall, He kept an eye out for a witness and I kept an eye on his lighter as it massaged the bulb, Lot of work goes into warming the vessel, gotta, gotta, gotta caress it and be kind to it, that''s when the good stuff happens, He informed with half his teeth present. My teeth were yellow, I chainsmoke alot and get jealous of confidence, which causes me to get knocked alot, I have a black eye and a lip ring. The crackle goes about his business, and that''s when a wave of guilt and fear and loneliness and what the fuck am I doing comes over me, finalized by a hint of maybe nah. The maybe nah, takes its victory and I Cut tracks for my crashed car that''s still entangled in the power lines. Careful not to step on wire. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Pedestrians film on phones and for a moment I remember it''s 2012 everyone has a smart phone, albeit trash smart phones. Before one of the cellular zombies can snap my mug on their shitty little androids or Iphone 4s I swat them from hands and collect them in both arms cradled. I cast them in the back of my mangled vehicle and stupidly try the ignition. Clearly no ignition like mine would ever start by choice. So I give it another go and to my utter and supreme surprise no luck who would have known? The crackle from earlier wanders across the road, misses a bus, but not by action, strips his shirt off and wraps it as mask Where are you off too bucko, can I catch a ride? He asks or not so by choice; demands of me. I would if I could mate but the car won''t start, I don''t know what''s up with it. I explain. A kid on a bike starts filming for likes, luckily for me live streams aren''t a deal yet. However YouTube is This fullahs gonna drive off after he crashed into my Dad''s Lambo, it''s a rich as car, I hope he''s rich he''ll never pay it off. I flip the camera off, and use one of many swatted phones as rocks to swat the kids phone from his mits. Thankfully, 8 pixels ain''t enough for jail time or a fine. But a licence plate sure is. Hey bro if I can''t get a ride can I have some gas money? Really need to get out of here, I got stood up, legit, I never lie, honest. The deranged addict begins. I open my change compartment by my mangled and stained steering wheel and hurl him a handful of silver. He''s grateful for a second but insists I have more. My eye still sore from his boney knuckles he struck, I stand to my feet and offer him round 2. You won''t get me this time, I yell and raise fists to guard. This is the last time I smoke K2 for life or in death! I curse. Wooooooorldstar, the kid yells. 3. $ELLING DOMAIN$ BUY EM ALL, I HAVE NO USE FOR THEM ANYMORE. ALL OF THEM GOING CHEAP GIVE ME AN OFFER AND ILL REPLY TO THE HIGHEST OFFER. Holdingadoor.com Trialanera.com Brokencatapults.com ZiggZaggZonnes.com Tododgeabullet.com Slamthedrunkguy.com If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. 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The flat is a mess and many work through its front door. ¡°What the fuck is that? Oi nah, what the fuck is that?¡± ¡°Looks to me like a combination of flem, spit and God knows what else.¡± ¡°That¡¯s fuckin disgusting, should we pull the plug?¡± ¡°Nah we can¡¯t.¡± ¡°We can, and we will. That¡¯s too much.¡± ¡°It won¡¯t take long...just...¡± ¡°God don¡¯t touch that thing. This guy¡¯s an animal, how can he live like this?¡± ¡°He¡¯s aolly dealer, whaddya expect?¡± ¡°Yeah but I¡¯d like to think he¡¯d atleast have some form of life quality or...alright put it in the bag.¡± ¡°thats...fuck there¡¯s maggots huuuurgh.¡± ¡°heuuugh, fuck this guy¡¯s a pig.¡± ¡°yeah let¡¯s get the fuck out of here. Yo we¡¯re all done.¡± ¡°True? I don¡¯t know I didn¡¯t hear a vacuum.¡± ¡°That wasn¡¯t the deal. I wanted the room cleaned.¡± ¡°Yeah? Well it¡¯s Abit hard when you¡¯ve got maggots festering away in a bowl next to some food.¡± ¡°Ohhhh are you talking about the heuk bowl?¡± ¡°is that what you call that thing? Fuck mate your next level fucked.¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°its the price we pay for convenience unfortunately. I only got like half a bag of Molly left, I don¡¯t know, are you two gonna split it?¡± ¡°do you have it on you?¡± ¡°I do.¡± ¡°Hand it over.¡± ¡°Nah.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°My rooms not vacuumed.¡± ¡°Can I see it?¡± ¡°nah vacuum first.¡± ¡°C¡¯mon Marcus don¡¯t¨C¡° WHACK!! ¡°Shit, run, run, run, go!¡± ¡°Did you get it?¡± ¡°I got it!¡± ¡°Safe, fuck that guy.¡± ¡°You got the keys? You got the keys!?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know?¡± ¡°Swear to fuckin god you have the keys!?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t!?¡± ¡°SHIT!¡± ¡°FUCK! NO.¡± ¡°What do we do?!¡± ¡°Run. Or go inside. Run, I reckon, I don¡¯t know!¡± ¡°Nah, wait here I¡¯ll go back in.¡± ¡°Dont!¡± Bang! ¡°Run! Ruuuun!¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me he had a gun!?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know either!?¡± ¡°What do we do!?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± ¡°Fuck this is bad, we gotta get out of here!¡± ¡°You have the molly right!?¡± ¡°yeah.¡± ¡°Is that all of it?¡± ¡°Yeah, I think...¡± ¡°you think or you know!?¡± ¡°I DON¡¯T!¡± ¡°What you don¡¯t know if you have it or you don¡¯t know if you don¡¯t know?!¡± ¡°what does that even mean!?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know!!¡± 5. The Record Scratch ¡°I wake up every morning wishing I didn¡¯t.¡± said Clark as he passed the joint to his buddy Tracy. ¡°That¡¯s the most sadboy emo shit I¡¯ve ever had the displeasure of hearing Clark, keep it to yourself next time.¡± replied Tracy, and passed the joint back. ¡°What the fuck kinda response is that you sefless bastard? I¡¯ve always been there for you when you¡¯re feeling low, nice to know I cant expect the favour returned.¡± spat Clark as he flicked the joint. ¡°Shit man, I woulda hit that roach.¡± said Tracy, pawing his hand at the distant smokey stub of a roach. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°Never mind the roach you bell end, what about the Wasteland that is our mutual compassion? It¡¯s not a lot to expect a bit of consolidation from a mate you¡¯ve known for so many years.¡± vented Clark. ¡°Shit man, I don¡¯t know. To be honest man, I kinda just wanna lax out. I got enough of my own problems. I don''t need more piled on top.¡± Tracy frankly stated. ¡°Next time you need a lift from the brothel or you wind up at one of your shindigs without a ride home, you can bite the bullet and catch an Uber.¡± stated Clark as he tightened his worn apron and stood from the curbside. ¡°Don¡¯t speak so loudly when you say that you dickwad, people could hear.¡± replied Clark, finding his footing. ¡°Well I hope they do, I¡¯ll gladly tell them how much of a lousy useless mate you are that has no consideration whatsoever for the people that held you up at your lowest.¡± ¡°C¡¯mon man we¡¯re on break, long day ahead of us, I dont need this BS. Give me a break.¡± replied Clark. ¡°Give you a break? Get fucked you selfish prick. Go find someone else to mope off when you need a hand.¡± 6. Liquid Metal (??Gore??) ¡°9/11 was in 2001, it¡¯s also the year I turned 5. Followed by a series of pain and anguish I endured from my father, most of whom I am still unable to process and deal with. I¡¯m battling demons that feel like they¡¯ve got a pickaxe attacking my brain and I have no light at the end of the tunnel for which to aim for or keep me going from day to day. I¡¯ve tried a lot and succeeded at none. Every time I¡¯ve worked a job, tried a hobby, hell even a friendship, they all seem to crumble eventually and I¡¯m left with the bottle most Sundays dreading the start of yet another week. Please doc, you gotta give me something.¡± I said to the guidance counsellor. He thought internally over the exact words for which to bring forth. He emphasised this with both hands as well as the failure to produce a single word for a solid ten seconds. I cringed in the inclined chair and almost began pulling the last of my hair out. The cringe was unbearable and I regretted speaking. Or maybe I just regretted paying the wrong person for this service. Perhaps they were just incompetent, that¡¯s possible too, right? My cringe began to creep into anger and in words burst out from within. ¡°C¡¯mon you pompous twat, give me something. I¡¯m laying here pouring my heart out, and you just stand there like incompetent imbecile that you are!¡± I bellowed. As if taking the piss, the shrink further emphasised his bewilderment with further frozen hand gestures and his mouth moved silently as if sounding out words. His eyes hidden behind thick reading glasses. ¡°You want something to write about? Put in my notes? I¡¯ll rip your heart out you lousy prick!! Go on, write it down! I need you to write it down, so I can get those pills and go about my merry way in my fucked up life and all it¡¯s filth.¡± I was out for blood. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The doctor surprisingly did as I wished, he scribbled his notes down and outstretched his hand. ¡°It¡¯s been a pleasure working with you.¡± He grinned at me warmly, but his hands were cold and brittle. After we shook hands, he spoke to his lab coat. Soon after a large elephant sized goon hauled ass into the enclosure and dragged me by the feet despite my kicking. They strapped me in a chair. I liked it since I had a bondage kink. But that was a fleeting thought. After I saw the lobotomy tools and the miniature hammer I began to resist the cruel endeavour for which was certain for me. I¡¯ll do anything, ANYTHING, give me a paper I¡¯ll sign it, give me a book I¡¯ll read it! Anything just not that! I¡¯m human! I screamed in blatant and excruciating terror. The doctor smiled and outstretched a contract to sign. Given quill in mouth I signed the contract with great difficulty. The doctor read the contract. Then examined a photocopy of my driver licence signature Checks out. He said. He then proceeded to inch closer with the tool and I uttered my last deathly words. But I signed the contract. He presented to me the contract, or better stated my death notice consent form. With my signature scrawled around in a tangled mess at the bottom. You snarky, slimey, slippery, son of a snake pit. You¡¯re a snake, I¡¯ll never trust you or any of you again you cuck. I¡¯ll fuck your wife until she loves me you disgusting, deceitful, undesirable, unintelligent, unforgivable excuse of an ugly man. Go jump off a bridge and survive and get hauled in here yourself and get subjected to this treatment you treacherous tyrant. I can¡¯t stand the way you super sadist inclined operatives of the night in a sewer of filth sleep at night, with all the pure fuckery that goes on here. I was going to be a movie star. I was going to be Hendrix''s best friend. Do you know that Hendrix and my dad were best friends in a past life?! Do you know who you¡¯re talking to? I¡¯m the prodigal son of the son of Christ! I¡¯m a miracle to be worshipped and praised and you don¡¯t give me flowers!? You better give me my flowers you¡­ THUNK! Brad the Bad Hitchhiker Brad sucks, he can''t drive too good. His life is a sham. He can''t pilot too good. He walks with a limp with a gimp on a leash. He sits when he talks and sips wine by himself. He has no lover. The gloves he wears have no tips like yu GI oh. He rips on his bong til he feels lonely and scared. He sits in the woods all alone, he is weird. One day he walked past a shifty lot of toilets. The toilets have holes drilled between stalls, and disgusting graffiti on its walls. He knows not to go in, but he hangs round them regardless. Ask me why he does, I really don''t know. Shit, would anyone? Last I heard he fell off a cliff in the woods where he hangs. He is that guy that''s by himself no job, no food, no clothes and no mind. Don''t know if that cliff fell rumour was a lie or truth but there tends to be a lot of rumours about the guy, none of which are nice. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. He wanders in circles, talking to himself. He claims he hates wealth but begs for change on the corner. Or at least he used to, I don''t know if he does anymore. Is he alive? Last I heard he fell from the roof of the McDonald''s drive thru but I don''t know if it''s true. Maybe? Last I heard he''s been chilling with ghosts talking in strange circles and breaking noses who talk. He doesn''t know what''s good, he doesn''t know up. Last I heard he broke into a squad car and took it for a ride. He loves his woods, it''s where he hides. There''s a damn lot of mystery to this guy, but I knew him in school. Well, mostly in halls really, but you get the point. He wasn''t much of a regular guy, but regular nonetheless. Wasn''t much of an oddball either, but he stood out. He was a midnight toker of the left handed cigarette, ate a sheet of acid and broke his mind like a mirror. He saw himself deep and couldn''t come back. Now I see him walking out of the woods wearing a burlap sack with his hair plucked out by hand. He walks with a limp. I don''t know how he got the limp but word on the street is he fist fought the wrong guy. He lost I guess. In more ways than one. Last I saw, he was dead in the woods. I didn''t know what to say. I just saw him there and didn''t know what to say. Truth be told, I didn''t want a part in it. I didn''t want to know. So I just walked on home, left him there where he lay. Lots of pain in this world, my worst fear I found today. To get left there to rot, without a stranger wanting to help. Like I''m not worth it. Like poor old Brad. Poor Brad.