24 November, 2009

February the 13th

The gunshots ripped through the clear silence of the night and jerked me from my uneasy sleep. I had been half-awake when the twin explosions destroyed the silence and sanctity of her bedroom. They were not the staccato pop that you heard on TV but a ferocious boom, a roar from a man-made lion of steel and corrugated metal that exploded lives and tore apart the hours of the night.

Only moments ago I had been at the hockey arena miles from the scene. I was trying to buy tickets to see BU slaughtered. BU, who had to die, who must be given a violent and bloody death on the ice at the hands of the Huskies for their reproachful win of the Beanpot a few nights prior. This injustice could not stand! I must have tickets, they’ll be taught a permanent lesson, I’ll jump onto the ice and kill them myself if I have to!

And suddenly I was in a too-warm bed, the shots rousing me from this dream. It was not BU who had been mercilessly torn to shreds but the flesh of a living human only a block or two away. I couldn’t help but think this as a silence came over the street in the wake of the noise. Maybe it was just a car backfiring, I told myself. That must be it. There’s not a person lying on the cold sidewalk just down the street from where I lie. His blood was not seeping through the burnt hole in the coat and out onto the concrete. The blood did not run down the cracks until it met the dirty ice at the edge. The ice did not soak up the blood, changing from a corroded gray and white color to an eerie pink and red shade in the night. There was only a car at a stoplight, too old and beaten down for the driver to bother taking it in to fix the annoying backfire.

The first siren didn’t silence these thoughts as it approached from a far distance. The second, beginning only half a minute after the first had arrived, succeeded. I didn’t need the third to convince me.

My heartbeat could be heard distinctly and I tried not to wonder if the person in the street still had one.

22 November, 2009

here for the gang bang: a craigslist story

The company Christmas party is coming up in a few weeks, and despite a mutual understanding with my friends at work that we'd all go stag or bring a friend of the same sex, everyone is now rushing to find an actual date. This quickly devolved into Anna, Michelle and Kate (again, names changed to protect the innocent) writing up a list of requirements for potential dates. On Friday, this was posted on craigslist with hilarious results.

Seeking Short Term Technical Friend for 12/11 - 3 positions avail (Boston)

Seeking Short Term Technical Friend

Bachelor's Degree, Masters preferred
Single, non-divorced, no baby drama
Likes sports
Loves dogs
Has a job
Tall - 5'9" plus
Can lift heavy things
No Baggage, at least not over 50 lbs.
Wears a watch
Casual drinker - alcoholics need not apply

Available December 11, 2009 from 5:30-9pm for a holiday party with possibility of overtime
Able to dress appropriately
No vomiting, all eyes on me
Ability to mingle without supervision
No lurkers

3 S.T.T.F positions available

The first few responses were about what you'd expect: terrible spelling and grammar, old guys and creepers.

hey it's kevin.i'm 5'7" 255lbs of pure loving.i do have ajob with plenty of freedom(collect cans)love all sports.love animals.can i asume u have a dog(does he bit?i carry a bag of cans around all day some lifting is no problem 4 me.(will i b lifting u)i got a new watch yesterday came with my happy meal at mcdonalds.can i shower before we go.i ride a bitchen huffy with spinners.u will look sweet on it !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hello, I'm repsonding to your add for a great man if I might say ;) No one married me so as not divorced. I've gone to school as you'll be able to tell when we meet. I can hang and crack jokes with the best of them, I like it, most poeple do too. I can watch sports without drinking much so I think you'll like me when we are around.

I like kattens, not on your list but u should konw, dogs are ok if they don't bark hard. I can lift heavy things, but not baggage (like you want ;( ) because my arms hurts. You'll be glad to konw I also do have a watch, I don't use the band because it broke but I keep it in my pocket all small like and it works great!!1! I'm technical. I can keep eyes on you as you say without vomiting unless other people do that a lot?? but I hate lurking too! It should be a good time with me, you'll see give me mailBack and well hit it off!!

Ok sounds like fun. Single, professionally employed 51, 6' 221, can dress up in a suit and tie, Batchelors degree, manager in a small company, Not sure why I would need to lift heavy things but in my younger days I did work fro a beer distributor. I wear a watch have good hygene and present myself well in all settings. If any of this interests you respond with a picture and i will share one with you.

Because its Friday and everyone has taken a half day except me... i decided to browse CL for fun. I assume this is a Christmas party of some sort?? Ok, 27, live by 93/95, bacherlors in Engineering, work for myself in the pharmaceutical industry, clean, like sports, am 5'10", what else did you want to know? Oh, don't wear a watch... I think that covers it. Let me know if you are interested in knowing more.

All of these provided some amusement to us throughout the day on Friday, but absolutely nothing compares to the message they received late Friday afternoon:

Subject: here for the gang bang

From: jack collins

What's up bitches,

I saw your desperate craigslist ad and wanted to respond with my qualifications:

Bachelor's Degree, Masters preferred:

I am a bachelor and I am masterful at many things. For example, a woman once looked at me with her sweaty, satisfied and adorable face and said "you just completely opened my eyes to a depth of pleasure I've never known..." It's my curse, really. I'm so good women hate me. The reality of the situation is this: as soon as a woman experiences me, they are screwed (both literally and figuratively). Why, because once you go Jack, you never go back. The euphoric pleasure that grips a woman when I'm with her is beyond orgasmic, and no man will ever get them there again. I'm pure heroin.


I have a slight bend, but I believe the women enjoy the bananarama I bring to the sack. You will not be disappointed, unless you dislike overwhelming pleasure.

Single, non-divorced, no baby drama:

Although I don't consider myself single because there are a half a dozen women in rando cities who believe I'm there boyfriend, I'm far from committed. I have commitment issues when it comes to stupid shit like getting married and being a good father, but I am desperately committed to taking you to pleasure island on an hourly basis, if you wish.


I vigorously scrub my junk after a questionable lover choice. I monthly tea bag a bowl of acid with my shaft (sans balls) to make sure it doesn't get too use to the sweet nectars of vaginal crease. This keeps it guessing and clean.

Likes sports:

Not sure what you mean here. I've done sports-themed role playing before...

Loves dogs:

Okay, beastiality is not my thing, but I'll watch you and the pup if you want.

Has a job:

Trust-fund count?

Tall - 5'9" plus:

Wow, you are demanding little bitches. I don't know of anyone who has a 5' 9" schlong, but if I did I think I would recommend that they get some loppers and shorten that bro up before he kills an unsuspecting slam piece.

Can lift heavy things:

You girls are so kinky and Jacky likey. I'm usually not into HUGE boobs, because when you get weird with the size of those things it's just plain distracting and absurd. But, yes, I would be happy to lift your 'heavy things' ... i've taken the class on how to take care of implants and have my certificate to prove it, so your heavy things are in good hands.

No baggage, at least not over 50 lbs:

I don't spend the night, ever. And why does the weight of my luggage matter? Are we going to fly somewhere? Mile high club, perhaps? O hell yeah... okay, I'll keep my bag under 50 lbs

Wears a watch:

wtf is this about? If I wear a watch your skin will be so cut up.... def. not wearing a watch. i once made this porno and the working title was "Chuck nOrris goes ape shit on sexually starving amish community" because, from an outsider watching, it looks like I'm beating the shit out of my lovers but really it is just extremely sensual rubbing and quick transitions. sexually violent is a good way to describe it. but, can you describe it with words aptly? hell no. there are about 143 women who know what I'm talking about and they won't shut up about it. heroin, bitches, heroin.


viagra not needed. my sexual rage comes straight from the reservoir of hate and pain i have from growing up with a whorish mother and alcoholic father...

casual drinker - alcoholics need not apply:

I only need water every 2.5 hours. my porn name is "camel bro" ... it's like camel toe, but with bro and it refers to my ability to perform for hours without a break.

Well, I think I answered all your questions and at this point you hos are wanting me pretty bad. respond if you want the time of your life. if not, i'll probably pick all 3 of you up at a bar at some point.... whatevs, you choose.

Oh, and I'm not sure what you require for technical assistance but it has been my experience that technology is not needed in the bed chamber. but, i have been known to fix a diesel dildo or two in my day. usually it's just the batteries... small screwdriver

You may think that I am nothing of what you want, but I believe you will find that I am everything you need.

Jack "no means yes and yes means hurt me" Collins

Craigslist personals

The story I'm about to tell happened two months ago. I had meant to write about it at the time but never got around to it. On Friday an infinitely more amusing story involving craigslist happened that I want to tell, and so I had to write this one first because all other stories will pale in comparison to the recent one. So I hope that you will read this, be moderately amused and then read the next story.

Craigslist has been a continual source of amusement on the slow days at work. It started within my first month when my friend Britney (all names have been changed to protect the innocent) began reading the
missed connections aloud. If you haven't read them before you should really take a few minutes and browse through them. It was probably just the suggestive and slightly creepy voice that Britney used to read these that made it so amusing, but it was a weekly tradition on Fridays to go through them and laugh at the people who anonymously tried to connect with someone they had only briefly met or made eyes at. After Britney and another coworker expressed a desire to have a missed connection written about them I hatched a plan to write one for her.

I waited a few weeks before acting and I debated the efficacy of such a prank with several people. All of them said it would be awesome and encouraged me to go for it. "That's not crossing a line?" I asked. "What if she gets pissed?" No, everyone said, it would be brilliant. Then I had to wait for an opportune moment. For this to work I had to know a specific place where Britney had been on a given day. Our office or the work shuttle would be too obvious and simply stating the location as "the MBTA red line" would be too vague. So I waited until Britney went to a show at the House of Blues, knowing it would be the perfect locale for a missed connection. The next day I posted my "missed connection," describing how she had been waiting in line with two friends and our eyes had locked on several occasions. I included a rather vague physical description of her and submitted it. And then I waited.

Of course right afterwards we both got busy with things at work and the week passed without any readings from craigslist. On Friday I decided to take things into my own hands. After lunch I asked her to read some missed connections. "Not now, I have a lot left to do today," she replied. Fuck. The post had been up all week at this point and I didn't want it to disappear into the hundreds of pages of desperation that exist on craigslist. I brought it up again an hour later. "Just take a break for a little while and read some of them," I prodded. Britney consented and read through a few pages worth but somehow skipped over mine before saying, "ok, back to work."

"Come on, read a few more," I begged. "No, I'm done. Read them yourself if you want," Britney replied. If I read the one I had written to her it would be way too obvious. She would definitely catch on, but fuck it, there was no other apparent way to get her to see it. I read out a few random ones to not be exceedingly obvious before getting to mine. "Hey, this one is from the show you were at the other night," I told her. "Really?? Read it!" she commanded.

I began reading it but keeping a straight face during this was one of the hardest things I had done. After only three weeks of working here, Britney had told me that she had already identified my "lying face," and she had been extremely accurate at identifying my lies since then. Let's just say I wouldn't make a good poker player. I knew that to pull this off my face would have to be a fucking stone. I had only read two sentences when she shrieked, "ohmygod! send it to me!" I sent her the link and her excitement about potentially having a missed connection took over. I watched her face closely as she read the rest of the ad, as it went from an expression of hope and eagerness to pure joy. "This is me!" Britney yelled while pumping her arms in the air. "I have a missed connection!"

Her shouts attracted the attention of several coworkers who were then told the story at about 15 words per second. Somehow they managed to understand what Britney was saying. I sat there continuing to do a great fucking job of not cracking up. Britney emailed her roommates to tell them her accomplishment of having garnered a missed connection. They urged her to reply to it, saying that it could be fate and other such nonsense. While she debated whether or not to respond, I was trying to figure out at what point I should tell her that I wrote it.

Our friend Scott walked up to hear the story and as Britney told it again it became clear she was going to respond to it. I couldn't let it go that far. I was already worried I had potentially crossed the line between prank and destroying someone's dream, and letting her send out a heartfelt email to her mystery soulmate would just be weird.

"Are you going to write to him?" Scott asked.
"Yes, I HAVE to! This could be destiny!" Britney said.
Fuck. Yep, have to end this now, I thought.
"Don't reply. He could be some freak. Writing an anonymous post on the internet to someone is weird," Scott said.
"Oh come on, as if you've never written some anonymous message to a girl online before," Britney retorted.
"No, I haven't. That's messed up," Scott said.
"Yeah, I haven't done that either," I chimed in. "Except that I did. Just now."

There was an awkward pause. Britney looked at me curiously and it took several seconds before the meaning of what I had just said dawned on her. Scott burst out laughing and I was laughing too, although still worried about Britney's reaction. It was as if she didn't actually believe I had written it. "Did you really write it?" she asked and as I told her that I had, I prepared to duck behind my desk in case a stapler or other metal objects came hurtling in my direction. Fortunately Britney has a sense of humor and she laughed about the whole thing. After work I told the friends who had advised me to go through with it the whole story. Their responses were all the same: "I can't believe you actually did it! That could have backfired horrendously!" Thanks a lot, assholes.