John McCain

McCain

I am so sorry that John McCain is dead. I’m really sad, I mean really, really fuckin’ sad that he’s gone. I had one—just one—question I wanted to ask him. And now, I’ll never know the answer to that question. Fuck!

Hello, kind and gentle reader. It is I, Andrew Joyce. Once again, I have come to enrich your lives. Not that your lives need that much enriching, but I do what I can. Much like Jesus. Anyway, back to Mister … I mean, Senator McCain.

Recently, most of the nation has mourned his passing. And that’s cool … if you want to mourn a war criminal. Have any of you ever asked yourselves what ordnance McCain dropped while flying his missions over Vietnam?

He dropped burning gasoline on children playing in front of their huts. He dropped bombs on mothers carrying their babies. Then he flew back to the carrier, got himself a beer, and met his buddies in the ship’s movie theater to watch a first-run movie. May his soul rot in hell!

What was he defending? As I remember it, the Viet Cong were not storming Miami Beach. I was there, trying to get laid … to no avail.

Now, before you all get your panties in a twist, hear this. Yes, once he was shot down and refused release unless the rest of the POWs could go with him, speaks highly of the man. And I’m with you on that. But, if he dropped burning gasoline on your child, would you still think him a hero? I kinda doubt it. But maybe your kid’s a loser and the world would be better off without him or her. Too bad McCain ain’t around anymore to burn that loser kid of yours to death. But keep the faith. There are plenty more McCains out there.

I’m sorry … I’m getting off track here. Back to the motherfucker. Okay, he was young and believed the bullshit … or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just felt like a hotshot, slinging off that deck, going out to rain down horror and death onto men, women, and children. Damn! I bet that beer tasted good when he got back to the ship.

Believe it or not, I give him a pass for all that shit. I wouldn’t want to stand in front of Jesus and try to explain it … but that’s his problem. My problem is trying to get you guys to know what a motherfuckin’ warmonger he was.

John McCain never met a war he didn’t love. And if there was no war, he’d try his damndest to get our country into one. The guy was frothing at the mouth to start a war. What the fuck was the matter with that guy? And if you don’t believe me, go check out his record as a senator. (I wanted to say: If you don’t believe me, then go fuck yourself. But my editor said I had to be nice. So I won’t say it.)

Alright, in closing … the world is a whole lot better off without people like McCain. And you want to know why? It’s high time that we stopped killing one another so “defense contractors” can make billions. It’s high time that we stopped letting other people, i.e., the assholes in congress, tell us what the fear du jour is. I have enough trouble with the soup du jour at my local beanery.

I’ll leave you with the words of a master (paraphrased, of course). I like this guy. He wasn’t perfect, but he had one or two good ideas. Now, once again, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the son-of-a-bitch say something like this: Love every goddamn motherfucker on this planet like you’d love yourself or did I just imagine that?

McCain, metaphorically speaking, wanted to kill everyone … every goddamn motherfucking person that disagreed with the Exceptional U.S. of Fuckin’ A. If they didn’t suck our collective cock, he wanted to kill ’em.

Jesus was cool … “My kingdom is not of this world.”

Love … not fear … will get us into that kingdom.

John McCain, you better hope Jesus and his Old Man live up to their reputation regarding mercy. Because if any motherfucker (besides me) ever needed to be sent straight to hell, you’re the one.

Andrew Joyce signing off. I got shit to do and I really should not have taken the time to post this rant. But I wanted to piss ya all off. I was bored. I mean, what the fuck is the internet for, if not for porn and pissing people off?

Andrew Joyce

September 3, 2018 (and on his way to hell)

 

A Time to Die

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My so-called friends tell me that I should not write about dying. That it is morbid. But you know what I say? I say fuck it. I want to die. I want to go on to the next adventure.

We are not our bodies, we cannot be harmed. I have lived many lives in the physical. When off the physical I am God. I am not male or female, I have no body. I am God! I am a part of God as we all are. And as a part of God . . .  as God himself, I can deign who lives and who dies.

Mister Finn has to die. Mister Finn has lived far too long. Mister Finn is an abomination . . . Mister Finn has to die.

Mister Finn took my sister. Mister Finn defiled her. Mister Finn will die this night . . . as I will.

I await him with the knife in my hand. I await the warm blood that will be let loose . . . that will flow onto me. I wait with death in my soul, in my being. And in my hand. I will dispatch Mister Finn . . . sweet death this night. Sweet death for us both.

His throat is slit. He is bleeding out his life.

Now me.

Now it is time to rejoin the Godhead.

I am God!

The destroyer of words. A destroyer of men! I am God . . . I am God!

I am pitiful.

She Was Born

Sally

She was born a free spirit. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. She loved me and I loved her.

Her name was Maria . . . her soul was . . . her soul told my soul that I was worthy of her love.

She touched me . . .

She loved me . . .

Then she was taken from me.

It was a still morning. The sun was beneath the horizon. I awoke because of the sound. The scream. The horror.

Without thinking, I ran to where I thought the screams originated. But dreams can fool you.

I was alone. And she was dead.

It doesn’t matter. We all die. We are all born with a death sentence.

Her body lay before me.

Her eyes looked into mine.

But she saw naught.

She . . .

was dead.

She was my love and she was dead.

And the man that killed her was my brother.

Now he must die.

I loved her.

But as I looked at her broken body . . .

I knew that was not her . . .

Her essence . . . had fled to another part of the universe

I retrieved my gun and went in search of my brother.

He was where I knew him to be.

I raised the gun and stuck the barrel into his ear.

His brains sprayed out

His blood formed a red mist.

He was gone.

But his death did not bring my Maria back.

Now I will join her.

The gun barrel

Feels right

It is in my mouth

I pull the hammer back

My hand is on the trigger.

My mind is on Maria

My finger squeezes the trigger.

Josie

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I have  no alibi, not that I need one.

They were three men, three men who did not matter.

It was late last night and I had a thirst. I was out for beer.

All I wanted was to slake my thirst. Instead, I took three lives.

Do you think I set out to kill?

As I came out of the store, they surrounded me. One had a knife . . . one told me to empty my pockets.

Sometimes I get weary . . .  and last night I got very weary.

Someone was going to die in the next few minutes. And I didn’t care if it was me.

All I wanted was some fucking beer. But death might be just as sweet. I am tired . . . tired of living.

Her name was Josie … it’s been a while. She visits me in the night. I cannot live with her specter no more. I loved her so much.

The big one made a move. Then I made a move. Before he knew it, I had the knife out of his hand and into his throat. Then I got pissed off. The other two died quickly.

No beer for me this night.

The cops are coming.

Josie, open the gates for me. I miss you so much.

The first cop car arrives. I stand and point my hand at him.

The bullets he gives me are warm.

Josie I am coming to you.

I love you so much.

Nobody Knows

Karina

Nobody knows . . . nobody sees . . . nobody knows but me.

Ten years ago, I saw her for the first time. She was tall . . . she was the most beautiful thing I have even seen. She was blond. She was all female. She was to be my destruction.

I loved every minute of her.

Her name was Molly.

She took my soul.

She took my body.

Nobody knows.

Nobody knows but me.

How she made me feel.

She brought things out of me.

She made my chest … my inner self

Feel so warm.

I loved her.

She was my life.

Nobody knows but me …

Nobody knows but me ….

why I had to kill her

Nobody knows but me.

She took up with another

She left me

When I asked her to come back to me

She laughed

At me

Now she is dead

And I miss her so much

Nobody knows

Nobody knows but me

Where her body is buried

Nobody knows

How I cry over her grave.

Nobody knows.

Green Grass

mourning

The sun shines down on the world, on the trees and on the green grass of my home. God is in his heaven and I lie in my grave. Two years ago, I killed a man, I thought for love. I killed him out of fear, out of fear of losing my love. But I lost her anyway when they hung me from the old oak that stands out front of the courthouse.

My name ain’t important, hell, I ain’t important no more to anyone except maybe the worms that crawl through my body. I had me some bottomland, only forty acres, but it was mine. I cleared it and planted corn in the summer of 1905.  I was a man in love, her name was Faith and she was the most beautiful woman in the world, at least to me. This is my story.

I’ve never been around woman folk all that much, so I wasn’t prepared when I first saw her. I was in town for supplies, and I had just finished loading my wagon when she walked by. She looked as an angel; she looked as I don’t know what. I fell in love. Her hair was long and raven black. As she walked away from me, the light shone on her hair and rippled as over an ocean. Her eyes were gray and she made my legs quaver.

I did not see her again until the grange meeting. I went because the topic of discussion was to be water rights. I had my water, but if someone was going to take some of it, I needed to know about it beforehand. She sat stately in the front row. Nothing much was accomplished at the meeting. Afterward, I stood outside lighting my pipe when she walked up to me. She was so beautiful; I got weak in the knees.

“Hello Mister MacDonald, my name is Faith Simpson. My people own the land next to yours; I’ve been wanting to meet you.”

That was the beginning.

Before I knew it, her family had my water and she had my heart.

On the third moon of our meeting, we were betrothed. She was mine.

Then on a cold dark night, I made the mistake of my life. She was putting up curtains in my cabin. She was getting it ready for when she would live there. Jim Peters from up a ways on the mountain had come down on his way to town and stopped by when he saw the light in the window.

I know now that I was mistaken, but this is what I saw. As I walked up to the cabin, I saw her in his arms. Now I know that she had stumbled and Jim caught her before she hit the floor. But I didn’t know that then. I pulled my gun and sent Jim Peters to another word.

It was a mistake. And for that mistake, I lie here in my grave and try to feel the warm sun on the green grass of my home, my grave

A Sleepy Delta Day

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It was a sleepy delta day and I was out in the field, picking cotton, down in the lower forty. Momma came to me with the news.

My man killed himself.

Billy Joe was my life. Billy Joe was my everything.

He was a long way from home when he died. He should have been here with me, not out chasing money.

It was me that drove him off. I was always going on about how I wanted this and that. Now all I want is my Billy Joe.

It don’t seem right that I’m here and he ain’t.

I think I’ll go to him.

The mountain ain’t that high, I can be on top by sunset.

I said good-bye to momma and started out.

I’m wearin’ the dress that Billy Joe bought me last spring. He always said how pretty I looked in it.

As I walk up the mountain, I smile. I’m thinking on my Billy Joe.

The sun is just going down over the mountain. The sky is orange and pink.

I’m now up on the ridge.

Billy Joe always said I didn’t have a lick of sense. I reckon I don’t cause I wouldn’t be doin’ what I’m doin’.

I loved you so much Billy Joe, and I am so sorry for my ways.

It’s a long way down, but when I get there, I’ll be with my Billy Joe.

It’s a sleepy dusty delta day.