Below is a tidbit of my novel my agent is reading, about the the tension between high school jocks and skater punks in a small wisconsin town that eventually leads to a bloody massacre. enjoy.

I love the piss out of Afghan Wigs.

And, yes, Cain, i will come to see you at some point and let you pierce my nipples

oh - thank u every1 who fed my puking fetish by sending/posting pics of folk throwing up, please feel free to keep it coming!

"The Boys Of The Demonic Hermitage Kaleidoscope"
***Marhollow***
“You promised you’d leave me a pair of your jeans,” Jesse said once we were in the car.
“Yer, I know.” I kicked an empty soda can out of the way. “I’m leaving you my car,” I reminded him. “But I also left you a ripped pair of Calvin's. They’re in the trunk,” I lied. I wasn’t going to leave him those.
“You better had washed them.”
“Nah, but I never wear jeans without boxers, you know that.” I started wondering why we were having this conversation. We pulled out. I refused to look back at the rotten farmhouse. I took a deep breath and felt the house I’d lived in since birth fade away as I exhaled.
“I like the ones you have on,” Jesse went on about my jeans. They were the most ripped up pair I had. They were also baggy enough so my cock didn’t get irritated. My uncut shit. Thanks, mom. Jesse always bragged about not wearing boxers. I just needed to stop thinking about this. Jesse popped in a tape. White Zombie’s ‘Thunder Kiss 65’ reminded Jesse of the cheap stereo speakers he was about to inherit, along with the rickety car that hadn’t ever been to a car wash. Maybe I owed him a pair of jeans after all. This car could be more of a burden than a gift.
I did look at all the other crumbling skeletons of houses we passed. A few more miles and we’d be in the rich district, where fake grass stretched for miles over golf courses. Then there were the country clubs like Makers Lake and Ballenking.
“I will not miss this place. I will not fucking miss this place at all,” I confessed. “Fuck you, Baileys Harbor.” If my hands weren’t gripping the steering wheel with such fire I wondered if they’d be shaking. I was ready to get out of here so bad.
“You won’t even miss the beaches? You won’t miss the fence we kicked to shit when we were drunk?”
I shrugged. “Yer, I’ll miss that.”
“Are you gonna miss me?” Jesse asked. I looked at him, pleading him to cut me some slack.
“I’ve known you for what, three years? You just asked me if I’ll miss you?”
“But were they good years or bad years?”
“Good, man, real good – I mean the stuff with you.”
“It’s cool,” Jesse slid down in the passenger’s seat a bit. He rubbed his hands on his jeans as if they were wet. “I know the shit with your mom that went down. I know it’s been hard on you.”
The thing was Jesse didn’t know. I’d barely told him anything. Maybe he could sense a lot; my hatred. But he couldn’t understand from where it came.
“Hey,” Jesse started with a crooked smile. “Remember that tree you set on fire? It was the same night I keyed your car.”
“Don’t talk about that night. That night was horrible. I cried so much my eyes swelled shut. And setting shit on fire is shit my schizo mom would do, so I never wanna be reminded of the shit.”
“Okay, Jesus,” Jesse stressed, wanting me to calm down. I couldn’t, though, I was anxious. I couldn’t believe I was finally leaving Baileys Harbor. It seemed too good to be true. I kept expecting something horrible to happen. It would be like a cheesy film with a bad ending. We’d get in a car wreck. I would die. I’d never make it out. Poor boy struggles, poor boy cries, poor boy dies.
I didn’t mean to speed by the grassy island range lights so fast. That was my only favorite place in Baileys. It was a cluster of abandoned lighthouses, shitty boats parked for good, and an old forgotten factory just behind it all, and then the water. No one ever seemed to hang out there but me.
“I just want to make sure you don’t hate me. I don’t want you ever hating me.”
“I don’t hate you, Jesse,” I said as convincingly as possible. I looked at him deeply and everything, until it grew so heavy with discomfort that I had to look away or I was sure he’d kiss me.
“Yeah, okay.” He sounded so relieved it almost frightened me. I wanted to ask him if he was going to be okay here without me. I worried more about him more than I did my little brother.
“I wouldn’t have made it through the last year at Nicolet High without you. That night on the beach I was just drunk.”
“You don’t have to explain it to me. I know all that.” If he was trying for a teary-eyed goodbye, it might just work. “It was a night that happened and now it’s over.”
“Okay.” Jesse still sounded sad. I looked over at him. He had no one. He was just a skinny queer in a dumbfuck town and he had no one.
My car was so filthy I found it mesmerizing. A lemon-shaped air freshener hung from the mirror. It no longer smelled like lemon. It smelled the way the car did before I bought the stupid thing. On the dashboard was a notebook with the Nicolet High School emblem of a sketched knight – it was actually just the armor, no face. Then the letter N and the word KNIGHTS spelled out on a ribbon tied to the bottom of the armor gear. The image was done in boring black and white. For fun Jesse and I would sketch corpse versions of the kids at Nicolet we hated the most. The wind flipped the pages open. I saw the one that Jesse did of the projector crushing the skull of Eric Jacobs. That was the best one I thought. Eric Jacobs, football quarterback – never see him again. The wind flipped over to Betsy Gardner, Eric’s cousin. She was a cheerleader. Their whole family must have been proud. We shot both of Betsy’s titties off with an 1885 limited edition Winchester. Jesse had done her mouth like a blow-up dolls and her breasts blew away like individual slices of pepperoni pizza.