Sunday, December 18, 2016

CUT'M UP TALES

Been a while since I said anything on here so I figured it was about time to get back at it. I stay pretty consistent at the fiction writing part but I severely lack on the regular blog posting. Which I should get on here from time to time and let you know what's going on,

So, what's going on?

Lots of stuff really. First off I have a story in an awesome anthology brought to you by JEA Publications called Rejected For Content #5 Edited by Jim Goforth called 'Dead End Job' These are all stories that are of course rejected on the sole basis of their content. As I've been told all the stories are well written but tend to sit a little heavy for some people. Here is what that one looks like.


https://www.amazon.com/Rejected-Content-Sanitarium-Essel-Pratt-ebook/dp/B01N0OSRV1/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1482062339&sr=1-1&keywords=rejected+for+content+5

Rejected for Content 5: Sanitarium by [Pratt, Essel, Eyenot, Toneye, Sgalambro, David, Romero, Evan, Carlyle, Howard, Leney, Mark, Hughes, David Owain, Cervo, RD, Lane, J.L.]




Another thing. If you've been following my short story writing challenge of a story a day for a year based on Micheal Arnzen's book of  Instigation prompts. Well, that didn't go away. I'm still working through them I just no longer post them. Some of these have been submitted. In fact, the story in the anthology above was written from one of his prompts. I get great fun out of taking a prompt and twisting it like a pretzel then I pile it up with more of the horrific. Anything can be done this way.  I started the challenge out with a story a day and got about to number 50 when I realized my writing was taking off to a whole new direction. Some wanted to be longer. Some shorter. When I write I let the story be what it wants to be and don't force it. It is what it is. But I'll be making more posts about them as well.

Also I have a small three story collection of Cut'm up Tales available on amazon for 0.99. And soon will be on Barnes and Noble and some others distributors as well.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MXZHG98/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1482062530&sr=1-1&keywords=christopher+ridge

CUT'M  UP TALES by [Ridge, Christopher]

Till then be sure to read a lot of sick stuff.  Happy reading



Sunday, September 18, 2016

UPDATE

For anybody following my short story writing challenge in my year of writing short stories have probably noticed I hadn't posted anything for a few days. I did have a bad couple of weeks, there are some things involved in that but mostly due to the fact that I have to make a few adjustments to my schedule. I am so far back logged in stories and it happened fast. And being an exterminator this time of year requires a lot of hours. We're getting a ton of calls now for spiders and on Monday there is a complaint about somebody seeing very large spiders in their yard and house. I love those kind of calls. It's what makes the job exciting though I know in, Indiana, our spiders are pretty harmless with the exception of the Brown Recluse which is probably the most mis-diagnosed spider in history.

Hmmm.... that gives me an idea. maybe I should include a few exterminating tips in my posts. Being a horror writer and an exterminator is a blast. It's no wonder I'm a sucker for BIG BUG stories.

 I'm still a few stories behind from where I should be. I can't keep all these stories short, When I'm writing these I have absolutely no idea what I'm going to write other than the prompt. I have struggled with the fact that though I am trying to keep these really short, like blog short, I realized that not all the stories want to be that short. Some are longer. Some are short that wanted to become longer but I cut them short, if you get what I'm saying and as I sit down to write when I start thinking too much about the length it just seems to block the whole process. So, I've decided to free myself up and let the story be what it wants to be and don't force it. My goal is to still have 365 stories by next July. That's the goal I started out with and that's what I'm going to finish. If I fail at that, it's like my friend, Harvey Stanbourgh said, I will have failed to success. It is because of this goal I've written more than I ever have and I will have finished with more than I would've if I hadn't had this goal. Some of these stories I've submitted to magazines, and some have been rejected for their content alone. Seems some of my stories tend to be a little extreme and gory. When I'm writing these I'm laughing my butt off cause they seem so silly to me, but I've been told they can be gory and not humorous. A sick sense of dark humor I s'pose. But, people are reading it cause I'm getting a whole lot traffic and it's a ton of fun.

I've also linked up this stuff to my facebook fan page which I just created as a way to keep things some what organized with the focus on all things extreme creatures.

I want to thank anybody and everybody who is silly enough to read this blog.

Till then,

HAPPY READING and if you're a writer. HAPPY WRITING

Monday, September 5, 2016

STORY #39 THE FOOT

One of my favorite types of short stories are surreal stores. Stories that push the boundries of reality. Surreal stories have a mysterious feel to them. In other words, they're magical would proably be the best way to put it.  Lately, I've stumbled across one of these types of writers. They're out there and you have to search for them but one in particular is on the bestseller list. And that would be Aimee Bender. She has become one of my favorites. Bruce taylor would be another.  So while I was writing this I thought what in the world am I writing? I was about ready to hit the delete button and start over but I promised myself I would never do that. That is an extremely bad habit a writer can get into and often times is hard to pull yourself out of. A writer can spend years down this hole and some never get out. I've been fortunate to have came across a professional writer (Harvey Stanbourgh) who warned me about being my own judge and just let it roll. Trust the creative part of your brain. He has helped me out tremendously.

As you can see some time passed between my last post. I had a rough week last week, work schedule changed and I was thinking way too much about what I was going to write which ended up in not writing. Thinking about what your writing tends to clog up the creative ports.

So, anyway, enough rambling.

Back on track.

This prompt was to write about a foot.

 THE FOOT

When Johnny woke his wife's foot was missing. He looked under the covers. Under the bed. Still they couldn't find it. All that remained was a stitched up stub and she couldn't even remember how that happened.
Outside it was still dark and the clock showed it was only one in the morning.
He helped her out of bed. And it wasn't one of them short ones either. It was one of those you had to get a small step ladder to climb up on. Her other good foot hit the floor with a soft thud. She wrapped her arm around his neck and he guided her to the couch.
She saw her other foot was crying. Tears between the toes.
“I have no idea where it went,” she said. Not really knowing what else to really say because neither one of them knew that body parts could just walk off like that. Her foot didn't tell her it was leaving. Didn't even say good-bye. Or will be back soon.
She scratched her chin as she tried to figure out her next move.
Her husband grabbed the phone. “I'm calling the doctor.”
“I wouldn't.”
He waved his arms as he paced frantically back and forth.”Why? Something has to be wrong.”
“I know. I think I'm probably beyond help at this point.”
“I wouldn't say that. Maybe the doctor knows something about this.”
She laughed. “I don't think so. This would be one of those strange and unusual illnesses that would go down in history if that were the case.”
“Yeah, but to have an entire body part just walk off like that.”
“I know it's insane.”
But by now it was of course way too late to even try to go out and fine it. It was no use she thought and would only make things worse.
Her other foot kicked uncontrollably and was sobbing.
She patted it and told it that everything was going to be okay and that if the other foot wanted to leave then they were better off without it.
The other foot stopped sobbing and seemed to be okay with it. While at the same moment she was thinking that yes, it was going to be extremely difficult trying to live without her other foot. It sure wasn't going to be easy hopping around on the other and it wasn't fair to make the other pick up the slack.
To assist it she and her husband built a peg and attacked it onto the stub. It was uncomfortable to walk on at first but it would do the trick. She felt like Long John Silver in Treasure Island.
In the mean time she wrote the other foot letters and in the letters she told it how much she loved it and wanted for it to come back.
Still there was no reply.
A year passed by then ten then twenty. But by now she figured there was no way of ever seeing her other foot again and gave up all hopes.
Also by then her husband had passed away from cancer. Then she lost her mother just months before that. She was so stricken with such grief she never thought once about her runaway foot.
Earlier, she'd went behind her husband's back and spoke with a doctor and asked him if it was possible for a body part runaway like that while keeping her own experience a secret. The doctor asked her what would possibly make her ask such a question and she just played it all off as being foolish and said she was just reading about something like that in a story and he laughed.
Late at night she lays in bed and reads her other foot a story just before tucking it under the covers and turning in for the night.
When she wakes she washes it, making sure the water ain't too hot, and sings to it like she were taking care of a plant. She trimmed its nails properly doing everything she could to make sure it didn't get sad and run away.
There isn't a day that doesn't go by that she didn't think about her runaway foot.
Once, while trimming the nails she clipped too close and pinched the skin at the tip of the middle toe.
The toe screamed. Wiggled. Squirmed.
“I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.” She couldn't apologize enough for what she'd done.
A rivulet of blood oozed out from under the small nail. She thought for sure she'd done ticked it off.
Two days later a fungus developed on the nail of the big toe. A thick yellow film. It was ugly and disgusting.
Immediately she hit the home remedies like soaking it in vinegar and applying the Vicks chest rub which she'd heard worked really well.
After a couple of days it cleared up and everything was okay with it.
She thought, wow that sure was a close call.
One night while she was lying in bed she heard something knocked on her door. It was Mid-night as she stumbled down the stairs. There had been a lot of break ins in the area lately and whoever could be at her door at this hour couldn't possibly be up to any good. But then again, a thief wouldn't knock.
She peeked out the hole.
It was her foot.
It stood on the front step. Toes wiggling as if it were all excited.
It jumped in her arms as if it were a cat. Gray hairs lined the top of the toes and the bottom of the foot was covered with callouses and cuts. It had been through a lot on its journey.
“You've come back,” she said.
The other foot bounced and screamed.



Thursday, August 25, 2016

STORY #38 Why you should vote Cthulhu for president

This prompt was to write about Cthulhu. There is a ton of good stuff going on about Cthulhu for president. And I came across Cthulhu's campaign. The link to that is here. So I wrote this little flash about why you should vote for Cthulhu. This is a special message by H.P. Lovecraft and he approves it.

https://youtu.be/NFfjoPDfdzk


WHY YOU SHOULD VOTE CTHULU FOR PRESIDENT



First off, you work too hard to put up with all that crab crawling crap. All they is a bunch of liars and thieves, murderers and crooks and God knows what else. Do you really think those Fart Monkeys running today are really going to change things? How bout that chick, ha? I think she needs a check from the neck up if you ask me.
And rich dude in the suit, well as far as I can tell the dude's out to lunch and from the looks of it, he's gonna be a while.
Second. I'm the lesser of the two evils, At least with me you know what you're gonna get and I sure ain't gonna lie to ya. Cause I don't have to. I'm Cthulhu. The greatest deity of them all. Though I do prefer meat I ain't gonna eat you out of house and home either.
The next thing which is one of the most important of all is that I'm not gonna make you pay taxes. Your government has been taking advantage of you since Moby Dick was a minnow or even since Paul and all those other disciples were fishermen. Time somethin' be done bout it.
Cause I'm the entity that will set things straight.
I'm Cthulhu.
Also I possess the great powers to alter the minds of your so called leaders of this nation. Their minds will become mine.
I will change them.
I will have them.
I'm Cthulhu.
I've been trying to do this since the way back of the good ole George Washington days or Honest Abe Lincoln.
Was he really that honest?
Seriously.
He was a politician. They don't call it politics for nothing.
I'm Cthulhu.
I call it Cthulhu politics ran by Cthulhu policies.
It is no secret your health care system is in great jeopardy.
I can fix that for you.
I have the ability,
It's no secret your education system reeks like rotten plankton under the control of educated idiots that think testing is the key to success. I will bring books back to school, children will do book reports and they won't know how to use computers till they learn to read and write, And they will read HP Lovecraft books.
You will be under Cthulhu's education system and I will make you successful.
Cause I'm Cthulhu. And I've been watching and have seen it all from my great depths. For I have been created by the greatest creator of all time. HP Lovecraft. Yes, he dwells inside of me and still lives on to this day.
Bring me your liars. Your haters. Thieves and dishonest souls.
Give them to me.
Feed me and I will take care of you.
I'm Cthulhu.
I know. I know. Voting is hard work these days and it's extremely frustrating trying to figure out who to vote for. It's confusing.
The one on the left is too far out to sea
While the one on the right
Thinks he's just like me.
There can only be one me.
And HP.
I can fix this,
I'm Cthulhu.
I will eat anyone who does not support my policies. But, hey, aren't things bad enough already?
Upon being elected I promise to destroy all fast food restaurants like McDonald's, Burger King and Wendy's and especially all Taco Bells. And I will give my full support to all sea food restaurants cause sea food is good for you.
As far as one nation?
I don't believe in one nation. Cthulhu believes in the entire world as one nation. No more prejudice, no more race wars or hate crimes. Cthulhu hates everybody equally and believes in one nation under Cthulhu.
If you don't believe this, Cthulhu will find out and eat you.
One world. One nation.
Under Cthulhu.
This is H.P. Lovecraft and I approve this message


Wednesday, August 24, 2016

STORY #37

In this prompt a character must stumble across a secret passageway.

THE PASSAGEWAY
Garland was irritated at the price of gas, he couldn't figure out how it could be 2.85 a gallon and jump up $3.15 in a half hour. Nor, could he figure out why cars were parked in front of the pumps and nobody in them.
He was getting a headache from the odor and coupled with the July heat wasn't making it any better.
On the corner stood a man dressed in worn torn jeans, scrappy tennis shoes, no shirt and long greasy hair. He held a sign will work for food. He felt Garland watching him, smiled a missing front tooth yellow smile and waved. They used not be allowed to stand on this corner, usually they were escorted off by the police. Pan handlers seem to be growing in numbers these days and you can find them on practically every corner.
This irritated him cause they're always in the way and there was always a little part of him that felt guilty for not giving like he used to, Used to because he'd heard that most of them have more money than he does.
It reminded him of a story he saw where somebody followed one home one night, followed him to his BMW and watched him put his pan handler outfit in the trunk. He'd heard they made more money doing that than he did busting his rump as an exterminator.
The pumps still going and he watched as the dollar signs grew.
His pump clicked off, he set the nozzle inside its spot and watched as the pump on the other side of him clicked away as if it were filling the bottomless pit of the BMW. The price box showed $500.00 and still pumping away.
This was odd.
No way could that tank take so much gas.
Where is everybody?
He wiped his hands glancing at all the cars as he walked to the door. Nobody was inside. Not behind the the cash register, not by the coolers or stocking shelves.
But the place looked to be in full operation.
A box of cornflakes flew off the shelf smacking him in the face. The box landed at his feet scattering cornflakes all over the floor,
The cooler door opened and a can of Pepsi jumped off the shelf and shot straight at him which he managed to dodge.
His first thought was he needed to get out of here. The station was possessed or something. His second thought was he wasn't so sure that getting out was going to be so easy,
While he was busy looking around a can of Cocoa Cola smacked him in the eye, He felt the sting from the cold can couple with the burning sensation of his eyeball. He felt his the area around his eyebrow and could already feel a lump form. That was sure going to be a doosey. How was he going to explain the black eye to his wife?
Say that a can of Cocoa Cola jumped off the shelf and smacked him in the face at the gas station?
They'd have him committed for sure. She already thought he was El- Nutso.
It was too bad she wasn't here to witness this one. She cold write this story up as one of the articles she wrote for fate magazine.
He could smell the hotdogs from the roller grill and somebody had left a slice of pizza in the microwave.
While outside the black hoses on the nozzles moved in short rapid successions they continued to fuel the cars. He could hear the rhythmic sounds of the nozzles gulping,
Chug-a-lug-lug... Chug-a-lug-lug. Chug-a-lug-lug.
Another Pepsi can flew off the shelf and smacked him in the back of the head.
More can shot after him. One by one at a time all in short rapid fire. Then came the Cocoa Cola cans, bottles, and two litters. It was like there was some sort of all out war between Pepsi and Coca Cola.
He ducked behind the junk food aisle where all the Little Debbie snack are. His son Johnny's favorite. He used to love it coming here to this station and this was the first place he came to.
He could see him standing here beside him now. Holding out his tiny hand. “Daddy, can I have one of these?” The Star crispy ones that have Rice Krispies was his favorite. Then he'd always ask to take another for the road,
Then he used to follow that up with a slushy and he always wanted to be the one that operated the lever that he was barely just able to reach but still insisted on doing it himself,
It was two years ago to this day that Johnny ran out the door and across the lot. Tires squealed followed by a thunk and a thump.
People screaming and gathered around.
He remembered screaming the words no at the top of his lungs and still knowing that it was too late.
Johnny lay there in a small puddle of blood. A tiny man dressed in a green suit stood in Johnny's chest saying, “Satan gets what h wants when he wants and there ain't a thing you can do bout it.”
The other driver saying how he didn't see him in time.
The ambulance siren screaming along the highway and Johnny was not moving.
Every once in a while Garland comes to this station and tortures himself over and over as he tries to replay that moment in his mind trying to figure out if there was something he could've done different.
If only I had been paying attention and hadn't been admiring that woman's butt, a secret he kept to himself.
He always felt guilty when he looked. Even with that old adage look but don't touch, still, it didn't seem appropriate and it always made him feel guilty. It also didn't help, his wife, Janet had put on several pounds since they'd been married making her far less attractive, not to mention she'd gotten pretty comfortable lately with making all the decisions herself, things he didn't agree with.
In only a couple months later, their marriage was on the rocks and the tide was coming in quick flooding all their plans and hopes and all the other things they'd dreamed about doing and talked excitedly about was being washed away and carried out to sea.
A month after that, Janet filed for a divorce because she'd met someone else. A doctor, she says. Go figure. There was no competing with a doctor. Doctor in left hand, exterminator on the right. What should I do? He imagined her flipping back and forth. Doctor. Exterminator. Doctor. Exterminator.
Nope. Score for the doctor. Ditch the exterminator.
He told himself that it was all for the best. She always seemed to be the one who always wanted the larger things in life. Live the ore extravagant. Have the best of everything.
Garland was more into living life. Not every day was about work and tomorrow was always another day. Why bury yourself with work just so you can afford overly high priced material garbage that you don't have the time to use anyway? He never understood that. No, he didn't have a lot as far as people like her were concerned but he also didn't struggle getting out of bed and didn't dread going to work. And sitting at home on the front porch drinking ice, listening to the birds and watching the squirrels run up the tree was far better than spending time at a fancy restaurant pretending to have fun with people you don't even like. There was no getting through to Janet about any of it and finally he just stopped.
Have your mid-life crisis and just move on if that's what you feel you need to do. And good luck with life.
The tiny little man in a green suit was perched on his shoulder. “It's not your fault, Buddy. It's all part of Satan's plan. He gets what he wants when he wants it and there's nothing you can do bout it. He's not through with you yet.
Satan's plan. That tiny green man always said that. He'd been coming around at least once a week to torment him and vanished whenever his wife walked in the room or when out in public.
The station shook and thundered as if stricken by a huge earthquake.
\Boxes falling off the shelves.
Cans tumbling over.
While outside all was still.
A door appeared on the wall. At first it seemed like it was an apparition. That door had never been there before.
He wondered what it went to. They'd done some remodeling in the past and had this area taped off for a month while getting the modern building makeover. A lot of buildings had been getting makeover these days.
McDonald's started the trend with updating their entire building, making the larger with more seating. Lining the d├ęcor with glossy ceramic tile and stainless steel handrails. And they are always so clean, you'd think eating at McDonald's was a healthy food choice.
Next the Burger King joined in and made themselves over. Then came along the Dairy Queen and then Wendy's.
All the fast food joints and gas stations were getting makeovers. It was almost as if threw was some kind of silent war going on between them that happened at night when they were all closed up and nobody around.
Except for the gas stations that remain open twenty-four hours.
The building shook and rumbled more furiously and garland was getting the impression that the building was mad at him. It was like it hated him being inside here. He wasn't sure what it was but he didn't feel right.
He turned to charge out the main door but it was gone. Shelves stocked full was now in its place.
Had the door moved?
He heard an echo, a soft grumbling sound like an irritated old man stricken with arthritis trying to get up from his wheel chair and nobody is around to help him.
He had no choice. He had to walk through the ghost door.
He put his hand on the knob and wrapped his fingers around it. He couldn't feel anything but his fingers were on it.
He turned it and the door opened.
A crowd of applause greeted him. A group of McDonald's buildings, Burger Kings and Wendy's and all the other fast food restaurants you can imagine greeted him with open door.
Various types of lolly pops rained down.
He walked into this own special world. A world where fast food restaurants ruled.
In the center of all this he could see his son running among the lolly pop rains, splashing in chocolate puddles. Grabbing lolly pops from the sky.
Climbing in gummy bear trees.
He didn't get to speak to him. The images were ghostly apparitions but somehow it managed to give him comfort that even though his son was no longer with him everything was still okay.




Saturday, August 20, 2016

STORY #36 BREAST CTHULHU

This was a different prompt. This one was to write about a woman discovering a lump on her breast. What is it?


 BREAST CTHULHU


Sue just checked her beast out yesterday. Now, something is there.
Inside her breast.
She could feel it go thump and felt the bump inside just on the underneath.
“Feel this,” she told her one night stand named Andy. At least she thought his name was Andy. It was late and almost closing time and he seemed to be the most desperate. She was exceptionally horny. Andy was a big boy but she liked'm that way.
Andy smiled. Always up for that kind of challenge. “Of course.”
“Squeeze right here.”
“You know this is starting to get me excited.”
“Not today. We have other issues.” She guided his hand on the lower part of her breasts. “Feel that?”
Giving it another honk honk this time a foul odor emitted from the nipple. It smelt like boiled eggs left out in the July summer heat which reminded him of his grandfather's farts.
She felt it go thump. Saw the expression his face and could tell he felt it too.
“What do you think that is?”
“I don't know. Should get it checked out.”
She felt it move inside her. Next the whole left breasts jiggled, throbbed like a beating heart. She could hear it go.. Thump Thump... Thump Thump... Thump Thump....
The one thing she was afraid of the most was cancer. Her mother died of breasts cancer two years ago and always warned her about it running in the family. She wouldn't have thought that much of it but her grandmother died of the same thing and so did her mother and so on and so forth.
The breast jiggled even more as if it were a bowl of jelly.
It screamed.
Andrew jumped back. “What the...?”
“Told you somthin's wrong.”
“Definitely need to get that checked out.”
The breast moved and shook violently. “Something's in there.”
Veins popped out from the top of the breast as if she were stricken with a bad case of varicose veins.
It grew and grew.
She had cantaloupe breasts before now they're watermelon shape. It reminded Andrew of some old school aunt Jemima looking woman.
Pulsating in short rapid successions.
The things looked like they were about to explode and he pictured the new sofas coated with rotten thick sludgy milk.
“We're gig to have to get you to a doctor.”
The pulsing grew louder.
Wiggling.
Squirming.
Veins popping out of the breast, breaking through the skin. Long tendrils elongated from the pores busting through the walls of the breasts.
Tendrils waving in the air.
“What is that thing?”
Sue tried to cover her breast as if she were attempting to stop them. There was no stopping them.
They were like snakes slivering out of their cave for the first time. Hissing. Spraying breast milk at him.
He covered his face.
Crying cause the milk burned. Pussy blisters formed on his face. They wrapped themselves around his neck.
Squeezing with the grips of a boa constrictor,
Tighter.
His face turning red, grabbing at the slimy tendril trying to tear it away.
Sue screaming for it to stop.
The tendrils squeezed tighter.
His fingers fumbled for the pocket knife in his pocket, found it, had it in his hand then dropped it on the floor,
By then the tendrils had him swinging in the air, slapping him against the wall as if he were a rag doll.
Blood splattering on the wall as it, swinging him back and forth slamming him on the floor with a thunderous splat.
They wrapped themselves around his face like a octopus.
Sucking. Snorting.
The sound of twigs snapping, crackling as the thing ate at his face sucking his brains as a mosquito sucks blood.
His feet kicked at the floor. Slipping, sliding as he fought out his last breath.
More tendrils came out of the breast cave, grabbed the rest of him pulling him inside. His feet leaving a trail of blood in their wake as they pulled him in.

Sue's breasts went back to their normal cantaloupe size. She was able to tuck them back in under her bras for safe keeping. At least till it was time for their next meal.

STORY #35

Gonna switch things up a bit and switch to poetry mode. This one was to write an usual request durring the reading of a will.


PAIN THE IN THE ARSE


Pops, he finally passed away,
You'd think that's all
he'd have to say.
Choked on steak
drowned in  beer.
ha ha haha
I didn't shed a tear.

He'd done croaked
cause he choked.

Gathered around all
family at the table
sons and daughters wondered
how he became so unstable
and how he forgot his name
and often where he was
the look in his eyes
showed his brain went buzzzzzzzz

He'd done croaked
cause he choked.


Perhaps the biggest
of my wife's dreaded chore
was his peeing and pooping
all over her wood kitchen floor.
"Get'm some diapers and cinch them tight.
But he'd fuss and he'd cuss
and put up a fight.
Kicking n' screamin'
he thinks this is fun
lets see how he likes it
when I pull out my gun

but he'd done croaked
cause he choked

The moment arrived
for the reading of the will
but I didn't expect all
that much from him still
cause he burned our house down
and totaled our cars
to me he's always
been a pain in the arse.

Would've shot'm back then
but my wife would complain
you'd think I'd care?
Cause pops. He's insane.

But he'd done croaked
casue he choked.


Don't think for one second
all the trouble stopped there,
oh, remind me to tell you
all about his dino underwear
running all naked through
the neighborhood street
peeing and pooping
showing his meat.


Hissing and spitting
creating a fuss
popping all his butt zits
just oozing with puss.
I would've shot'm then
If I could
but hey, I'm sure
most anybody would.

But he'd done croaked
cause he choked.

At the reading of the will
there was one final request
this was only the beginning
of the trouble of our quest.
 I always knew he
wasn't right in in the brain
Kept tellin' my wife
your pops is insane.
If I would've thought back then
shoulda dropped him off at the bog
made him find his way back
like some lost puppy dog.

But he croaked
casue he choked.

Ohhh you shoulda seen
the shock in our eyes
when he read the will
and gave us the surprise.
Please take care of my lover
my stripper from Mars
I haver her locked n' secured
and tied up with red scarves

They'd been looking for this woman
at least several years or more
and not once did I think
to open that door.

Pops is long gone now,
scattered among the stars
still so far far far away
still a pain in the arse.

All cause he croaked
cause he choked.