Jackin’ It


I used to write depressing poetry and lyrics while sitting in cemeteries getting high and drinking Jack Daniels straight from the bottle. Being alone in a cemetery never really bothered me much. I felt comfortable with death, comfortable being among the dead, and besides… I didn’t have any friends who were willing to hang out in a cemetery with me anyway. Jack was the only friend I needed.
It was a chilly night one early November when I sat on Michael Hellerson (1914 – 1976)’s grave. There were no fresh flowers, no fresh wreaths and the stone was sort of fading and sinking into the ground a little causing the tombstone to sit on a slant. Each time I visited, I would choose a different grave to sit on. Usually it was one that looked like nobody had visited in a while. Walking on the graves was always a little creepy, especially when the ground started sinking like quick sand. I always knew… If I went down, I was fucked! What would I do?! I’d be left to fend for myself in some 6 foot grave with nothing but a corpse and a box and some dirt to keep me company.

I had just started writing a piece about a Victorian Vampire who couldn’t stand the sight of blood, I wasn’t quite sure where I was going with it, but Jack was by my side ensuring that it was entertaining at the very least. I could hear noises in the cemetery, which was strange, usually the cemetery was eerily quiet. I put my book down and looked around. What the fuck was that noise?! It sounded like a grunting of sorts. No longer could I concentrate on my writing until I found out what this noise was, and where it was coming from. I stood up and opened my butterfly knife as I slowly surveyed the cemetery and my immediate surroundings.

To my horror, a few rows back and behind a tree there was a man jackin’ it hardcore on a grave stone. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” I thought to myself. Slowly and quietly I approached just as he (appeared to be) “finishing off”. He threw his head back and began thrusting his hips forward, he let out a sigh of relief as he stood there with his cock in his hand.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” I shouted “Are you fucking sick buddy? Have some god damn respect!”

Judging by the look on his face, he had not been expecting anyone else to be in the cemetery. He casually answered “Is it any of your business little girl?! You know you shouldn’t be in a cemetery all by yourself at this hour.”

“WHY would you jack off on a grave?”

He sighed as he calmly zipped up his pants “If you must know… My coke-whore wife died of an overdose and left me in financial ruins. Bitch never used to let me come on her face. So this is how I seek my revenge! Fuckin’ whore took me for everything I had, and had an affair with my business partner too.”

“So you think that jacking off on her grave is some sort of pay back?!… Don’t you think that’s a little weird???”

“I don’t particularly care actually… It makes me feel good… I like it… So I do it!”

I couldn’t help but crack a smile as I said “maaan… you’re fucked buddy!”

“Yeah, well aren’t we all?! You will be too someday, if you’re not already!”

I was astounded at how genuinely awry this dude was… But damn, I admired his balls and his distorted resolve! I handed him my bottle of Jack and said “here, you look like you could use some after that rigerous performance.”

He smiled and said “thanks” as he grabbed the bottle from me. We swigged the rest of the bottle back and forth while standing there in front of his dead wife’s grave laughing uncontrollably.


10 thoughts on “Jackin’ It

  1. What the heck?!? OK, granted I laughed my ass off but I think it was for all the wrong reasons. I wonder if the coke-whore was anguishing in purgatory as hubby rubs one out on her grave? lol

    I’d ask what the inspiration for this peace was … but I’m scared of what you might say.

  2. Mion: Yeah… I dunno. I am just a little off kilter I guess… Some short circuiting going on for sure! Not quite sure what prompted this gem! You know me… such randmoness!

    Steve: I concur… I didn’t even expect this one to turn out as it did.

  3. …and during the course of my ascent I learned to love how she throws those secrets out there on the table, like tiny puzzle pieces…and because of this I always listen to her with great attention not only because her experiences are refreshingly strange but because when she writes about her wanderings with me, she seems to paint them… Everything she describes on her weblog or on stage remains in my head like finished canvasses drawn by an artisan master… A master that whenever I look deep into her eyes, forever reaffirms to me that The Writer & The Artist shall be forever intertwined as soulmates. That we are forged together like two sides of the same coin, despite whatever distraction or affair that should present itself from time to time…

    Perhaps this may be true, but then again it might be just a bunch of misguided randmoness from my journal…whoops, I mean randomness…hehehehe…I feel as hurting as that plaster Mexican who used to siesta in our bathroom (that um, er…somehow showed up as an avatar on this blog !!??)… Actually, that kinda freaked me out when I saw that…For a minute there I thought your “Stalker from the Summer” had found his second wind (and a set of lockpicks and/or maybe even a death wish for that matter)…If he decides to show up here on wp I promise I won’t reformat his hard drive again… (Hey xx-xx-xx-62-c6-09 remember me?? Jumpin’ onna scene wit da blue screen?? 8P hahahahahaha u nub biyach)

  4. Hey gurl,

    I remember sitting in a cemetary taking pictures of headstones with unusual epitaph’s….it is an odd feeling being there..you know, “with them”. I have some freaky pics…I will send them to you if I can find them.

  5. pho3n1x: thank you for your kind words and for being inspired by my writing. all good folks around here these days, no one who deserves a hard drive reformatting. thanks for having my back though 😛

    MacBros: 😉 Well… After we polished the bottle of Jack, I stole his car and kicked him in the balls. Then pretty uneventful after that.

    TJ: I know I know… I even said “what the fuck?” after I wrote it, trust me! I am afraid to show my shrink though… Don’t want those pests in the White suits coming back!

    Pegasus: Hey!!! How are you doing? I still have to call you so we can catch up one of these days soon! Fuck, maybe we’ll even find time to have that drink that we’ve been trying to have for god know’s how long now. 😉 Would love to see your cemetary pics!

  6. Once again I am astounded by the impact your stories leave upon me, but I must ask If the guy wiped off his hands before you two shared the bottle?

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