email: Zingaya@attbi.com age: 21 occupation: Student/clerk at Cumberland Farms passions: Obscenity, humor, tragedy, anything that makes you rethink your opinions or feelings. Even if it doesn't change my mind, if it's powerful enough to do that, I'm all about it. influences: Tesco Vee, Lloyd Kaufman, Christopher Lowell

Fiction

Romance

Ever have a really nasty case of diarrhea, bend over to pick up something, and explosively deficate all over a really ugly sofa that had been on fire a few minutes and upon seeing this disgusting scene, vomited all over the whole mess? Then did the couch suddenly burst back into flames, consuming the couch, the bodily fluids and the six-foot sub that lodged under the cushions a few weeks ago? Okay, probably not. I know I've never experienced this, but just hear me out. The only thing worse than the image of the disgusting occurrence is the hideous, wretched stench that emanates from it. On top of it all, you're convinced that the sandwich is still good, and you ponder for a second fishing it out, but then reality sets in, and you end up vomiting again, dousing the flames. I guarantee you I have a point here. So anyway, the soggy, vomit-soaked feces couch is finally put out, and now you have an even more vile odor permeating everything in the house. Next, you leave to clean yourself up, and find out on the way that the diarreah and vomiting has severely dehydrated you, and you pass out. You wake up a week later in a hospital bed, feeling ten times better, discharge yourself and start walking home, but between you and your house is the rough part of town. On the way home you're mugged twice, sodomized by the police for some reason or another. After that, you trip over an elderly homeless person that's panhandling to try and support her infant grandchildren, who are also homeless and have been for some reason overlooked by the state's grossly inadequate social service department. You feel really bad, but you'd been mugged so you don't have any cash to toss to her. You crash in a bus station, and sleep for the rest of the night, because it's a real long walk to your house. You wake up the next morning to find out that you'd ruptured her spleen and she slowly bled to death internally, and someone abducted the infant grandchildren. Disgusted with yourself beyond belief, you stumble home, open the door, and are nearly knocked over by the horrendous odor of the now maggot and vermin-infested couch that has had an additional week to ripen, and you're left there wondering why you should go on living. You know that feeling? That pretty much sums up why I'm breaking up with you.