Jill Stein and Julian Assange: A Conversation

This entry is part of a series. It is set between Homoerotic Fanfic About Julian Assange/Edward Snowden and The Sacrifice; A Donald Trump and Jill Stein Love Story, but meant to be read after these two stories.


Jill enters the Ecuadorian embassy in London with a crass smirk on her face. She grinds through the usual bureaucracy, but she’s cleared as Julian is expecting her. She makes her way toward his room, as she sees a man stumbling away, face buried in his hands, crying. She is intrigued, she watches him momentarily, but does not engage him. She enters Julian’s room.

“Good to see you, Jill.” He’s still standing by the window.

“Tell me, you crazy bastard, was that Edward Snowden sobbing out in the hallway?”

Julian sighs in annoyance, “Need you be so nosy?”

“You have to be the biggest hypocrite in the world, asking me that question right now.” She laughs.

Julian chuckles, slightly. He appreciates having someone more rigid around to talk to. It is lonely here. Jill isn’t someone he can exploit. Her narcissism and aggression make her competitive; he sees her as an equal. She is someone he can have a real conversation with. He turns to face her, “You know, Jill, I really wish I could have attended the convention in person. I rather missed talking to you.”

She approaches him, puts her arms around his neck, and presses her forehead against his, “Oh, I’m sure you have many awful stories about spies, aspiring hackers and people whose lives you are actively ruining to entertain me with, darling.”

He’s slightly put off, “Jill… are you coming on to me?”

She giggles and releases him, “No, sweetheart. I know I’m much too old for you. How old were those two girls you fucked in Sweden, again?”

He is becoming frustrated, “Must you bring that up?”

“What? The great Julian Assange that I just praised as a hero, accused of ‘molestation’, you’ve denied it to the courts, are you denying it to me? You know you can talk to me.”

Julian groans and takes a seat at the edge of the bed. He is thoroughly annoyed now.

“Okay, humor me here. What did you give them? I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. Both of those girls tried to court order an STD test before they pushed rape and molestation charges. I’m willing to consider that they’re just coming after you with a grudge. What did you give them?”

“Jill, can you fucking drop it?”

“Oh come on, I’m a doctor. You can talk to me about these things.”

I don’t want to talk about fucking Sweden!” He’s about had enough of this.

Jill giggles again, “Fine, sugar.” She sits next to him on the edge of the bed. “Let’s just get high and catch up.”

“What did you have in mind?” As much as she has perturbed him, he does need a friend.

Jill pulls out a bag of mysterious, unmarked tablets. “Some white guy with dreadlocks at the convention gave me these. They’re pretty fun.”

“What are they?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Julian rolls his eyes, “I’m not taking anything if I don’t know what it is.”

“Julian, once again, I’m a doctor. Would I tell you to take anything if I didn’t think you could handle it?”

He stares into her eyes intently, making his suspicion as obvious as possible.

“Dr. Stein is telling you to take your medicine, Julian.” She pops one tablet herself, offers him one. Julian reluctantly takes the drug after seeing Jill was willing to take it. “That’s good, sweetie. We’ll both be feeling much better in no time.”

Julian lays back, hands behind his head. He’s trying to let go of the tension from earlier. He had just ended things with Edward rather aggressively and is still a bit riled up. He tries to focus on other topics to clear his mind. “So, you’re the party nominee, now?”

“Oh yeah, that was easy. There was this adorable ‘Cherney or bust’ movement among a few clowns. I had 67% of the vote. I don’t know what planet they’re living on. If you’re going to elect a spoiler, elect the most mainstream one, not some pipe bomb surviving hippie.” She giggles again, pauses briefly before moving on, “I’ve been seeing Donald, you know.”

Julian is slightly disgusted, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“You’ve focused all of your efforts on tearing down Hillary Clinton this election, and you have no real business with America. Why are you acting all high and mighty?”

“I am trying to ruin Clinton, but I’m certainly not in bed with Donald Trump, especially literally.”

Jill laughs loudly, lays down next to Julian, staring toward the ceiling. “He isn’t particularly good, but it is pretty amusing. The man is completely oblivious to the intentions of everyone around him. I’m just trying to get high enough in the polls so my party can rake in money next term. Meanwhile, I come to him like I’m doing him a favor by spoiling for Clinton. I offer to ramp up the rhetoric as long as he cuts me a piece of the power if he wins.”

Julian is confused, “Just what kind of ‘power’ do you think you’re going to wrestle from that disaster?”

“Are you kidding me? He’s outright said he doesn’t want to govern. He has no idea what he’s doing. Ninety percent of his presidency will be Mike Pence with his hand up his ass making him talk. I’ll find a way to extort money from him, periodically build other high level connections through him, and I certainly have some old friends in Massachusetts I’d really like to settle some scores with.”

“You always were a vindictive bitch.” Julian pauses for a moment after saying that, then they both explode into laughter.

“At least you haven’t been on the receiving end of it, love.”

Julian begins to feel funny. “Ugh, what ride am I in for with this shit?”

“Oh, we’re about to lose our fucking minds. Buckle up.”

“…….Great.” Julian tries to keep calm, knowing this could fall apart if he doesn’t. His eyes get heavy, things begin to change, Jill just keeps giggling.


Julian is looking down a cobblestone path. Everything around it is too black to see, and he can only see about 50 yards forward. What is this place? He hears crying in the distance. He begins walking forward. A young Swedish woman approaches him, he vaguely recognizes her. Both of her eyes are blackened, she is sobbing. “What did you do to me?!”

“I-I don’t understand….” Why is this woman so familiar?

Her face explodes into static. A deafening wall of noise hits him. Her face reassembles, she cries, “Why did you do this to me?!”

“I don’t know what I did!” He is beginning to breathe heavy. He starts walking backward away from her. She slowly pursues, and he sees another figure emerge from the distance. He feels as if he knows this woman, too.

“What did you do to me?!” The second woman asks. Her lips and nose are bleeding. Her face explodes into static. The deafening sound echoes through this dark corridor.

“I don’t know!” Julian is terrified. Why can’t he remember? What do these women want? He feels a cutting sensation at the top of his stomach, as if someone is sliding a knife into him. He falls to his knees in agony. What can I do?! What do you want from me?!”

The two women begin to float above ground, both of their heads explode into static, the deafening sound continues. Julian gets up and begins running in the opposite direction. As he begins to get away from the deafening sound, he sees Edward, standing naked, his face in his hands, crying.

“Why… why did you have to be so cruel?”

Julian is overwhelmed with a sense of contempt he doesn’t fully understand. He shouts at Edward, “Why did you have to be so weak?!” Julian is having a hard time breathing. The adrenaline rush is taking its toll on him. His exile to his room at the embassy has been degrading his body. He falls down again, grabbing at his stomach, as the cutting sensation moves lower, he begins gagging.

“I thought you loved me…” Edward stands over Julian, his anguish is unbearable.

Trying to end the pain, Julian crawls over the cobblestone road into the darkness and begins falling into black empty space. It feels as if he’s falling for hours. The fall begins to slow as he seems to gracefully descend into what appears to be an ancient prison cell. What is this place? Why is he here? He turns around and sees Guy Fawkes standing before him.
“Remember…”

“No… no this isn’t happening. You shouldn’t even be their idol…”

“The fifth of November…”

“No! Get away from me!” Julian has never been so terrified in his life. He falls to his knees as the cutting sensation moves lower.

Guy Fawkes starts to grow taller and taller, the room extends upward to accommodate his stature.

The gunpowder treason…” Blood starts pouring from his eyes and mouth, then it begins gushing from every opening in his clothes. The cell starts to fill with blood. Julian is becoming submerged in it.

“No! This can’t be real!” The cutting sensation moves lower.


Julian’s eyes begin to open. His vision is blurry and he is trying to get a grasp on where he is. He is in incredible pain. He tries to move his hand to hold his stomach, but something is restraining it. He hears moaning. As his vision clears, he looks down and sees Jill, perched over his naked body, her eyes dilated from the drug, her hands soaked in his blood, holding a scalpel. He cries out in terror and is quickly silenced by her hands over his mouth.

“Hush, sweetheart. We aren’t done.”

Julian bites down on Jill’s palm. She moans slightly. The drug enhances the pleasure for her.

She begins to snicker. “Hold on, I’ll help you.” She takes Julian’s boxers and shoves them deep into his mouth. He tries to push them out with his tongue, but he hardly has room to move it. “Just be still. Just be still for me. I’m a doctor, I know what I’m doing. I washed my hands.”

Tears begin streaming from Julian’s face. His hands and feet are restrained. She has made an incision into his abdomen roughly 4” long. She has been sliding her fingers in and out of it. He thought they were friends. How could she do this to him?

“You know, it’s hard to understand what it’s like to be a man, to be… inside of another person. It truly is the most intimate feeling. It’s funny how some men can enter into another person with such apathy. I feel as if I’m reaching into your soul.” She slides her hand further in, placing Julian’s entrails in between her fingers, she quivers, he tries to scream, but can’t. “Did you feel it, when you were in those Swedish girls? Did you feel the pain from inside of them, like I feel the pain inside of you? It is an incredible feeling to be inside of someone, to feel their suffering from the inside. Have you longed for that here? This is so incredible, I feel as if I am going to long for it for a long time after I leave.”

Julian’s back arches up, all of his muscles become tense. Jill begins moving her hand in and out of him as if she were making love to his stomach. His heart may not be able to take much more of this. The true soul of a narcissist, he still does not understand empathy; this transgression is new, he relates it to nothing, it is his suffering alone.

Jill comes from the excitement, slowly removes her hand from Julian’s abdomen. She lays down next to him as the orgasm runs its course, then smears her face with his blood. She catches her breath. “Oh my god, that was amazing.”

She sits up slowly, grabs the needle and thread she brought, and begins to suture Julian’s stomach shut. He wants to cry out with each penetration of the needle, but he still cannot get his underwear out of his mouth. She finishes and begins kissing the dressing of the wound. “Isn’t that better?” She slides up, rests her head on his shoulder, and gently cuddles him, making sure to not put any pressure on the regions she tormented. “You’re going to be fine, my friend. I really did miss you. I should visit you more often.”

The Sacrifice; A Donald Trump and Jill Stein Love Story

“Well, President Trump, you dodge phone calls as well as you dodged the draft.”

“Jill? What the fuck are you doing here?! If Melania finds out-”

“She’s out of town and you know it.”

Jill stares at Donald with an intensity that disturbs him. She has given signs of this before. He may be an egomaniac, but she is a true sociopath. It’s one week until his inauguration. He’s packing the personal effects from his office that he doesn’t trust the movers with. Family mementos, photographs, and things that might not necessarily be legal.

He looks at her frustrated, but with the slightest touch of admiration. “How the hell did you get in here, anyway?”

“That lovely little Latin number who answers your door doesn’t seem very interested in her job. I’m guessing you don’t pay her enough. Is she in this country legally?”

“Cut the shit, Jill.”

She smirks. “I want you back, sweetie.”

“Look, we can’t keep this up. I’m not fucking up a third marriage. I doubt Richard would be any happier about this than Melania.”

“Oh give me a break. She loves for your money, and Richard’s a militant atheist. You should see the silly little club meetings he goes to. It’s just a circle jerk about how human nature will prevail over religion. Put black robes on them and it’s the Church of Satan. He’s not particularly concerned about who I fuck.”

He puts his hands up, “I really, really can’t do this anymore.”

She grabs him by his tie and pulls him toward her, “Listen to me you silly little shit, you said if I managed to fuck up swing states for Clinton, you were going to break me off a piece of the power. I am not fucking around Donald! You try to screw me on this, I will make your life a living hell.”

He speaks carefully, “Jill… there’s a secret service detail here… you need to be careful…”

“Not anymore there isn’t.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

She trips him and pushes him to the ground, pulling on his tie. She steps on his back and keeps pulling. He’s desperately gasping for air. “Do you need to breathe, sweetheart? Want mama to let you up for air?” She lets go, he gasps desperately.

He feels a pinch in his right buttock, “What… what is that?”

“Something to help you sleep.”


Donald awakens naked in a dimly lit room. He is on a metal table with his hands and feet in leather restraints, spread out so that his sides and genital region are exposed. It takes him a minute to get his wits about him. What was he doing? He was packing. Did he get drunk and pass out? He struggles with this, he had a dream about Jill… why?

Jill walks in wearing scrubs and vinyl gloves. She’s pushing a small metal cart. On it is a scalpel, 3 sets of forceps of varying sizes, sutures, a needle, and 10 small metal rods, about 7” long, 8mm wide, and sharpened to a point on one side. She turns the halogen light on above the table. She looks at him as casually as if she’s greeting a patient, “Glad to see you’re awake.”

“What? Jill! Goddammit, Jill, where the fuck am I?”

“You’re in a recording studio.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry. We’re not making an album of your tortured cries. You’d be amazed how many hack musicians backed my campaign. One has his own studio. It’s great. The room is soundproof. You can cry and scream all you want.”

Donald begins frantically pulling at his restraints, shouting out unintelligibly.

“That’s good. Go ahead and wear yourself out. This will go a lot easier if you just relax.”

“You fucking cunt!” He’s already panting with exhaustion.

“Oh, that’s a new one. You haven’t called a woman that word on television yet. Maybe if you play nice, you’ll live long enough to have the opportunity.” She takes one of the small, spiked metal rods into her hand, climbs onto the table and straddles Donald. She gently kisses his chest a few times, then leans forward and grabs him by his hair. “Do you know what my specialty as a physician is, President Trump?”

He stares into her cold eyes, eyes that are aflutter with joy, with arousal, with immense enthusiasm for what is about to take place. “N-No, I don’t… Why?”

“Internal medicine.” She begins gently dragging the sharp point of the rod against the left side of his face. “You see, you kind of have to know a bit about everything. My favorite cases were always diseases that spread from one organ to another. Human anatomy is just…. Well, it’s my favorite thing.”

“Look, Jill, be reasonable here. We can talk. Just… just let me know what you need from me. You name it. It’s yours.”

She steps back onto the floor. She ignores Donald’s bargaining. “See, I understand your anatomy very well. I know exactly where to put these without hitting anything vital. I want you to be alive a little longer, baby.” She starts to insert the rod between two ribs, he begins thrashing around, so she backhands him across his face. “I’m going to hit an artery if you don’t fucking hold still! Get your shit together, little man!” She hits him again and presses down. Blood starts running down his chest. Tears and snot begin streaming from his face. “Okay, that one shouldn’t go any deeper. Let’s see where else you’re sensitive…”

He’s struggling to breathe. She didn’t puncture his lung, but the shock and the adrenaline are taking over. “Jill…… please…. stop this…..”

“Let’s put a couple in your gut. You’ll bleed a little bit, but I can fix you. Although you are a bit fatter than that pig I sewed up on Thanksgiving.” He screams likes the day he was born, including the whimpers in between the pain. She feels more moist with every cry of agony. She begins placing rods into his shoulders, just below his collar bone, being careful to work around the arteries. She pauses briefly and licks the blood dripping from his left shoulder. “Does that feel good?”

He cannot speak. His eyes are revolving all around the room. He thinks to himself, Am I going to die here? Even if she’s not trying to kill me, can I handle this at my age?

She stops to stretch. “You know, I thought the blood of a supposed great ruler would taste different. Nope, it just tastes like blood.” She settles back down. “Isn’t this place great? My friend turned off all his WiFi equipment before I got here. That shit gives me such a headache.”

Her tone has changed. What now? He struggles to get words out of his mouth; they are raspy and uneven, “What… does WiFi… have to do with anything?”

She again ignores him. “So, you have this lipoma in your leg. I noticed it the last few times we had sex. It’s just a clump of fat cells, basically, nothing cancerous. It’s fucking gross though, let’s remove it.” She cuts his leg open with the scalpel, spreads the wound open with the forceps, and begins attempting to remove the lipoma from the surrounding tissue. Donald is sniveling slightly, shaking a bit, but he’s too in shock to really be aware of what is happening anymore. She drops the lipoma on the tray and begins to suture the wound shut. She steps away for a moment, closes her eyes, and breathes deep. She’s almost managed to shock herself.

“N-Now what? …..Jill?”

She exhales. “You know, I never liked that you weren’t circumcised.”

“No! No Jill! Please!”

“Oh quit your whining. Trust me, you’re going to want to hold still for this. I didn’t bring a ring block, so I have to do this the hard way.”

She slips her finger under his foreskin as a guide, and begins carefully cutting along with the scalpel. He starts letting out a high pitched squeal that could break glass. His lungs fill with air and expel into this horrific sound with each cut she makes. When she is done, she sets the severed flap of skin down on his lips.

“See? That wasn’t so bad. If it weren’t bleeding, I’d almost consider putting it in my mouth. I mean, you really don’t know what you’ve been missing, dear. Then again, you’re kind of insufferable when you get everything you want.” She snickers, “Oh that’s right, I already got your blood in my mouth tonight, didn’t I? Yeah, sorry, truth is you just don’t deserve it.” She exhales and wipes the sweat from her brow, “I have to tinkle. Be back in a minute, love.”

She exits the room and walks down the hall to the bathroom. After relieving herself, she realizes she can’t take much more of the excitement, so she begins masturbating. The violence already had her half way there, so it only takes her a few minutes. She exits the stall and stares into her reflection with a deep admiration. “I love you, you know.” She leans forward, staring into her own eyes, “I love you so fucking much.” She kisses the mirror. “Please, don’t ever leave me.”

She opens the door to the studio room. “I’m back, sweetie.” She pauses as she notices the table is empty. Suddenly, she is pinned against the wall with Donald’s hands around her neck.

“Tiny hands! That’s what they keep saying about me! I have tiny hands! Yes! Tiny hands that can slip out of your fucking leather cuffs, you fucking bitch! But they’re big enough, aren’t they!? They’re big enough to wrap around your fucking throat!”

Jill very carefully reaches down and shoves her finger through the wound in Donald’s thigh, pushing through the sutures. Donald lets go and backs up. She gags for a moment, he struggles to maintain his balance. Seeing that he has inadequate footing, she charges him and tackles him to the floor. She feels 5 small jabs against her as she does.

Jill looks down, Donald is coughing up blood. Shit. When she pushed him down, the weight of her body pushed all of those skewers the rest of the way in. Seems the one in his ribs turned an angle and punctured his lung. She straddles him, slowly grinding against his penis. “You poor, poor little man. This could have gone differently. This could have been a warning.” She leans over, caresses his face, and kisses him. With his blood on her lips, she continues speaking. “This is your sacrifice, Donald. The sacrifice they all said you never had nor would ever make. You are the first pin to fall in my wake. I already have a dossier on Michael. Oh, the ways I can manipulate him. If he doesn’t play nice, he’ll wind up the same way as you.”

Donald’s vision is becoming blurry. This demented, bloody faced woman will be the last thing he ever sees.

“Good night, my love. Your sacrifice will not be forgotten.” She gets up and leaves. Everything fades to black for Donald Trump.

Homoerotic Fanfic About Julian Assange/Edward Snowden

“You know, I’m here with you now, and yet… I miss you. How can I miss you when you’re right here?” Edward’s words fall on Julian’s ears like the noise of traffic coming through the window. He’s looking out at the overcast cityscape. He feels nothing. He begins to button his shirt, which is all that he is wearing.

Edward lies naked, clutching the sheet, pulling it over himself as he has never felt more exposed. “Do you love me?”
“No.” He doesn’t turn as he says this. He remains stoic, looking out of his prison. How long has it been? Time seems irrelevant. It only passes when he acts on his instincts as a great destroyer.

Edward sits up, curls up, his hands trembling as he pulls the sheet further up. “How long?”
“Never.”

“That can’t be true…”

Edward thinks of their relationship. The arrangement was so difficult, but it seemed worth it. They understood each other. They stood for the same things. These carefully planned trips from Moscow to London were so dangerous for him, but he was in love. Julian had tried to arrange for him to stay at the embassy with him initially, but Edward had gotten in too deep with the Russians. Surely, Julian could not have put him through this for nothing.

“You stood up for me in the beginning.” He’s desperate now. Can he remind Julian that he truly did care about him?

“Of course I did.” Julian still maintains his gaze anywhere but Edward’s eyes. “You were a force of destruction. You upset everything around you. You were an ally. Provided, your idealism was something I could not empathize with, but the balance of your nation was upset by your mere presence. You were a person I needed to accompany me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.” It is time to deliver these final blows. Julian knows this.

“You didn’t start sleeping with me because of what I did in America.”

“No, I simply brought you into my circle for what you did in America. I started sleeping with you after you made Russian allies.”

“What? What do the Russians have to do with anything?” Edward begins trembling all over. What is Julian’s game?
Julian finally turns his head toward Edward, “You are so fucking naive, it sickens me.”

Terror begins to envelop Edward. Is he going to become violent? He can’t… not like last time…

“You prissy little shit. You don’t fucking understand anything. You try to tell the whole world your government is corrupt and against its own people, and you put your faith in fucking Russia?!

Edward begins stammering, “I- I- I had nowhere- I mean, I needed a place to go and-”
“Shut the fuck up.” Julian stares at Edward menacingly. “You really thought Russia just wanted to be your friend? You didn’t think they wanted the contents of your fucking hard drive?! You bragged to journalists that your encryption couldn’t be cracked. You’re not a hacker. You’re a fucking system administrator.”
“I thought my data was safe!” Edward begins sobbing. Why is Julian doing this? He was so affectionate earlier this evening.

“When the UK had to pull spies out of hostile territory because of your mistake, I fucking laughed.” Julian wipes the sweat from his brow, points his gaze back out the window. “You trusted the Russians without questioning their motives. You trusted me without questioning my motives. All you learned about distrust in America somehow evaporated the second you left. How did you open your eyes and turn into such a child so quickly? How was that all undone?”

“When you make love to me, I know it’s real!” Edward shouts, snot dripping from his nose, he hasn’t been this anguished since childhood.

Julian points his gaze back to Edward. “Every time I penetrate you, I take a part of you. I have watched you lose more and more control as the months have gone on. This is the only way I feel anything. I don’t feel love. I don’t love anyone or anything. The only joy I know is suffering. I have dedicated my life’s work to making people suffer. The dumb fuck public think I do it for common knowledge or some sort of fucking altruistic need to save them from tyranny.” He laughs, briefly. He looks back out the window to not see Edward’s breakdown become worse. He hears it. Hearing is better than seeing. “You know, Edward, I have done this to you entirely on purpose. I want to drain the life from you. I want to drain the joy from you. I want to take all that makes you a vibrant, hopeful person, and tear it down. Hope is the great destroyer of all men. You must surrender to the frozen embrace of our world. I dragged this relationship out because I want you to be an empty husk. I want none of this naivety left in you. I want you to succumb to the same joyless existence as myself. Then, I will feel you. Then, I will understand you. Ultimately, then, I will leave you.”

Edward is in shock, briefly. What can he do? What should he do? Julian begins to put his pants back on. Julian remains silent, Edward remains still. This moment drags out for an eternity. The cold air coming through the window feels colder every second.

Julian stands, fully clothed. “You should get dressed and leave.”
“Why don’t you leave?”
“Because I’m in sanctuary in this embassy, you fucking idiot.”

Edward steps off the side of the bed. He stares at his clothes on the floor. Is this really ending? He can’t hold it in. He runs across the room, throws his arms around Julian’s neck. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m sorry, but this is really happening.”
“I know you love me.”
“I don’t.”

Edward’s entire body is trembling, but he holds on. He presses his lips against Julian’s cheek. He does not move. He does not acknowledge. This act of affection is neither accepted nor an offense. It is an idle moment that he is enduring as he waits for this situation to complete. “Why won’t you let me in? I could try to understand you. I could try to know why you’re this way. That’s what you do when you love someone. You show them patience. You show them kindness. This has always been more than sex for me. I want to really know you. I want us to support each other when we finally get out of this. We’ve done great things-”

“No, we haven’t, and no, we’re not going forward together.”

“I thought-”

“We’re garbage taking out other garbage. None of this matters. Did you feel important? Did you feel excited when you blew that imaginary whistle? You did it for yourself. Not the Americans. You did it for yourself. You’re garbage. I’m garbage. It’s time for you to go. I have no affection to offer you.”

Edward releases Julian from his embrace. He walks away, head down. He begins dressing himself. He struggles because of the way his hands are trembling. He makes his way to the door. He opens it. He looks back. “Julian…I love you.”

“No.”

The Goddamn Rodham

Since the news media is losing their shit over Hillary’s performance last night and playing Sanders “tired of hearing about your damn emails” quote on infinite repeat, I’m going to assume she’s safe to make fun of again.

goddamnrodham

Cats OMG!

Barfed this onto Facebook as I’ve been getting sick of responding to memes with actual legislative documents and mainstream news sources.

catmeme

H1||4ry4prez

Don’t get me wrong, I actually am a Clinton supporter. I’ve been having kidney problems though, thus have a prescription for Norco, got bored and this happened.

hillaryforprez

A Kidney Warming Valentine’s Day Tale

I’m going to tell you the story of Valentine’s Day, set in either 2009 or 2010, I really don’t remember.  It was my first Valentine’s Day after being dumped. It was kind of amazing.

I might have been interested in someone at the time, but I wasn’t really pursuing it and chose to engineer an album for Sacramento-based harsh noise outfit Liver Cancer instead. I was recording it in Geordan’s garage, and part way into the session I started feeling this pinching in my side. I try to shut it out. About half way through the recording session, I suddenly find myself rolling on the bathroom floor in agonizing pain. I was also uninsured at the time. Geordan comes in, “Are you alright, bro?”
“NO!”
“Where does it hurt?”
“Here!”
“I think that’s your appendix. Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“Nah….. nah. It’s probably diarrhoea or something.”
“What’s your pain level?”
“8.”
“Seriously?”
“Fuck, it just hit 9, might be dying, let’s go to the god damn hospital.

So I get a ride from the band out to Sutter Hospital in Roseville. They have me pee in a cup and give me a comfy hospital bed. Two incredibly beautiful nurses come over, start using me as a human pincushion and pressing down firmly on places that are supposed to hurt. Basically, it was the most action I’d had in months. They mention blood in my urine. Great. Every uninsured American wants to hear that they’re peeing blood. At least red pee on Valentine’s Day is festive, right?

They do some kind of a scan on my abdomen and just leave me unattended in that room for hours. I have to say, you have not lived until you’ve spent Valentine’s Day in the emergency room. The grand rotation of insanity that ensued made me not feel lonely in the slightest.

First, we have an elderly man who is a tad bit wasted. He doesn’t like his hospital bed. He might have a bit of dementia. He decides he’s tired of hanging out in here and just leaves in the hospital gown with his bare ass hanging out. Shortly thereafter, nurses are scrambling around trying to find the man. He’s humbly returned with police escort and handcuffed to the bed. I sense a BDSM theme forming.

Next, we have the girl. I see her wandering around the hall in a daze, hateful look in her eye, ghost white, and I start thinking, “Huh, what are you in for?”

One bad fucking night. That’s what she was in for.

She goes into the womens’ room and locks the door. Suddenly, there are 2 police officers outside the bathroom door banging on it. They demand she unlock the door or they’re going to unlock it and drag her out. Well, they unlock it and drag her out kicking and screaming. They bring her fiancé in to try to calm her down, but he really, really isn’t helping.

It starts getting ugly when she throws a bedpan on the floor and hurls her cell phone at a nurse. She’s screaming up a storm. The cops hold her down and cuff her to the bed. When do I get to be restrained?

This sad woman was a paranoid schizophrenic with a bladder infection following a medication abortion, and the police are there because she’s on suicide watch. Her fiancé starts coming around periodically and being horribly frigid and cold. Regardless of your stance on that subject, it’s a horrible experience for a woman to go through, and this guy finds that to be a mild annoyance. A schizophrenic dating a sociopath sounds like the beginning of a really bad movie. At one point he walks in, tells her that he never really loved her, and just fucking leaves.

FIREWORKS ARE LIT NOW! She starts convulsing in a maelstrom of loathing and sadness. Here come the authority figures and medical technicians. “Give her Geodon.”
“No! No! You don’t know my medication! You talk to my fucking shrink! I take Seroquel! Don’t give me that shit!”
“Did you bring the shot?”
“No! I don’t want it!”

I probably should have warned you this story goes from being darkly comic to kind of terrifying. She starts to fade out, and for some reason they wheel her out into the aisle like she’s on public display for the rest of the ward. She’s half coherent and the guy handcuffed in the bed next to mine is starting to sober up and chimes in. “They’re trying to help us you know.”
“…gurgh…..ggg….fuck……you……”

They continued on like that until she finally passed out. A friend of mine at the time who was also my emergency contact pops in. There was an ongoing joke that we had the same bad taste in women. He jumps straight to “Who’s the hot girl cuffed to the bed?”
“Dude… just…. no….”

Doctor comes in, tells me I have a kidney stone, I need to drink lots of water, and that’ll be $10,000. Liver Cancer named a song after it, you can listen to it here:

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!

The Return of Demon Baby

Placerville is a weird place. I’ve been posting these pictures to my social media account as this has been going on. This one below is from December 13th. I was taking out the garbage and this was sitting on my trash can.

Yes, I was compelled to make dumpster baby jokes.
Yes, I was compelled to make dumpster baby jokes.

After posting it, various Satanists and drummers started asking me to steal it for them. I went down later that night, but it was gone. I didn’t see it again until nearly a month later. I was walking my dog last night and it was hanging out on the picnic table in the courtyard.

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What happened to it’s hand? HOW DID THIS THING GET SCARIER?!

When I left for work this morning, it had moved off the picnic table and onto the grass. I’m thinking of adopting the little bastard, but I also consider that it has been moving by its own free will, and will likely turn into one of those catholic haunting movies if I let it into my home.

As it stands right now, my dog doesn’t want to go up and down the stairs anymore.

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