Back In The Day

It Was Always Better Before

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Week 4 — Jeff!!

It’s a sad thing, really. Here I was all alone in V’s house with the T.V. remote resting on my crotch while they were out doing something. GAAAAAAAAH so bored. Maybe a walk? I guess. Wouldn’t be a bad idea. Besides, I have put on some weight. I fucking hate my friends. Oh well let’s go!!

Things were about as painfully normal as you would expect in this small town. Birds chirping, sun shining, grass growing, squirrels… squirreling. But I need something to do. A destination would be nice. Hmm list of places close to here:

Arcade: No money.
Movie: No money.
Laser-tag: Banned. (And no money.)

Fuck it, I’m sneaking into laser-tag!

The walk was only like 20 minutes, kinda used to this shit by now. Alas, thou knoweth my pain of walking. But it beats the alternative of watching another episode of SpongeBob on V’s T.V. May I take your hat sir?

I showed up to the laser-tag place with perfect timing to sneak through the back entrance. A few stealthy jumps behind walls, assassinations of accredited ninjas and a quick grab of gear and I got onto the field. The place was pretty empty for a Saturday. Regardless, I kicked some ass. Some whiny little 13 year old complained “Oh you ruined my birthday” blah blah blah “you’re lucky my dad couldn’t come or he’d—” blah blah blah “but he’s really sick.” As much as his life thrilled me, I had to get out.

"Isn’t that the guy who peed on the owner!?"

I started running, but to leave a lasted impression on the play-doh minds of those staggering youths I shouted, “don’t mix liquor and pot, kids! You lose more things than just your self-respect!”

See, I’m fucking hysterical!

I got out no problem and headed back to V’s. They didn’t tell me where they were going but all I knew was they’d be back around 4:30. It was almost 5 so I figured they would’ve be back soon. If not my man, the talking sponge, could’ve kept me company.

You’d be amazed at the things you see if you actually looked. The only things that catch your eye are the things you want to see: hilarious accidents, attractive women, the hidden crevices of attractive women. They’re all easy to find. Simple pleasures, however, are not. Take the couple across the street, both with some sort of limp. They’re both aware of the imperfections each other have. It may be shared, but it’s still an imperfection. Plus watching them bone would probably be hilarious.

There were, like, a lot of sick people. With the power out from the storm and the cold the shit must be spreading like wildfire. V, and I were lucky enough to not get hit by the power outages, but Kurt lost his for a day or two.The only reason I realized this was because I made it back to V’s just in time to hear Kurt say “I can’t believe that person was practically vomiting everywhere. That was no cough in that!”

"Relax man it’s not a big deal. Besides, we got your vegan shit. Now quit complaining."

"Yeah but still. And where’s Jeff? Wasn’t he here when we—"


Kurt just looked at me like he wanted to shoot me, but he just shook his head.

"Catch!" V through a book at me.

"A book? Since when do I read?"

"It’s the Zombie Survival Guide. We got it for a dollar. Go nuts.." The sarcasm would’ve stung a little if it weren’t V talking.

"Thanks bud. Good to know a high-roller like you looks out for us little people."

"Shut up and read."

"Fine, Mr. Grouchy-Pants."

Chapter One: “The Undead: Myths and Realities”

Filed under zombies they're coming zombie apocalypse back in the day fuck the present

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Week 3 — V

Have you ever watched something die? Not necessarily a living breathing thing. Possibly just an object, or maybe even a tangible idea: something that you held onto with all you could and then watched it burn into an unrecognizable state of nothingness.

I haven’t always been such a miserable fuck. Well actually I have, I just haven’t always been this miserable. I’ve had flashes of time where things sucked just a little bit less. I used to have someone who dragged me along like a limp body in those situations, because I don’t really function well in social situations by myself. They would introduce me to other people and brag about me while I just stood there trying not to look like an idiot or scare them away, like I did most of the time. And no matter how many times I fucked up, they always believed in me and thought that there was more to me than an empty bottle and black lungs; they saw hope. And then one day they didn’t.

I’m nothing to be idolized, only something to be discarded. They helped me realize that.

Everything dies. Whether it be you or me or that really innocent kid that meets an end that he didn’t deserve; we all die. There is no such thing as dying with dignity either, it’s always terrible. In the end we end up alone and pathetic. We’re just trying to hold on, but there’s really nothing left to hold on to when it’s all over. 

I’m telling you this because the other day while Jeff and Kurt were at school being the goodie goods they are, I was trying to figure out how I could make a bottle of Grey Goose disappear, being the magician that I am. About halfway through the bottle there was a knock at my door. This was strange to me, seeing as the only time others are here is when I bring Kurt and Jeff around after they’ve done something fucking stupid. But this wasn’t one of those times, and I wasn’t expecting company. I figured it might be some idiot mailman or something, so I opened the door, with bottle still in hand. The sight was something I hadn’t quite expected.

There they were. The one who used to carry me, gazing upon my pathetic self barely able to stand on my own. I cowered behind a veil of darkness and deceit. But they saw through it all, they knew what was really going on inside my demented fucking head. But what I didn’t know was why they were here. Did they want to kick me when I was down? Start over? No, they just wanted a few things they’d left behind so they could forget about me. I think I would’ve preferred being kicked; at least that way I’d have an excuse to be upset. Then I’d have a reason to kick back and let it all out. But I didn’t get the chance. I let them in to gather everything and they were gone in a matter of minutes, that was what we had been reduced to. Like I said, dying with dignity is a lie, and in that moment, it was all truly dead. And I was alone. 

Instead of coping like a big boy, I took another bottle because my tolerance is unheard of after years of alcohol abuse. I preferred to cope like a child. The only thing worse than my mental state and temper might be my liver’s physical state. I took the bottle and went on a walk through town. It was raining, so I was the only one outside. I don’t know why people decide to run from the rain; it’s beautiful. It’s one of the only good things left in this shit-hole word of ours.

I walked half-drunk, and thought about a quote from this book Kurt gave me by Simon Van Booy. I like him because he isn’t some old prick pretending he knows what it’s like to be young and relevant. This guy is close to my generation; he had an idea of what it was like to be of this subdivision in the neighborhood of horrible humans. He said “For lonely people, rain is a chance to be touched.” At that moment it was all I had. And it was enough.

Talking about getting better and actually being better are two very different things. We can talk all we want, but on the inside we all know how dead we feel. How helpless, hopeless, and alone we feel when it all comes down to it. That’s the kicker: we are alone. I will always be that guy who sits in the corner and mopes because I know from personal experience everything dies and I won’t let myself attach to anyone again because I refuse to say goodbye again. I refuse to let my life become that again. I have given up on what once was known as hope, because no matter how many rainstorms I may walk through, I will always be alone.

— V

Filed under zombies they're coming zombie apocalypse back in the day fuck the present

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Week 2 — Kurt

Congratulations, America, we’ve successfully avoided the zombie apocalypse. For now. Dun dun dunnn.

Not much has gone on over the past week, besides the election. But none of us are of legal voting age yet, so the election doesn’t much count. All’s quiet on the home front.

Besides that stupid fucking party.

You see, we live in middle-class suburbia. And as middle-class suburban children often do, we get bored. Only a few things can come of middle-class suburban boredom: internet browsing, video game playing, or house parties. Sometimes all three at the same time.

An acquaintance of ours, Bear, is of the upper-middle-class lifestyle and has a rather large house. His parents were off visiting family after the whole hurricane thing (yeah, I guess that happened lately, too), so naturally he threw a house party.

We’re all socially inept when it comes to parties and peers. Jeff slightly less so than V and me; if only because he actually speaks to other people. But if we’re being honest, I think it’s just because other kids take pity on him. He’s sort of the whipping bitch. But Jeff got invited to this party and somehow convinced us to go.

"It’ll be fun! There’ll be girls and booze and whatever else you need to have a good time!" He told me.

"They’ll have books and tea and a quiet place to read said books and drink said tea?"


But we went anyway. I swear, my generation is just a bunch of mindless idiots. Bear broke into his parents’s liquor cabinet and went to town on the rum. V and I retreated into a back corner with vodka and whiskey. We drank straight from the bottle, because we’re classy that way. Jeff was a true bit of high society, shotgunning beer. At one point, slightly drunk, V told me, “you know, I wouldn’t necessarily mind if all these people just fucking dropped dead” then took a gulp of Absolut. Alas, I shared the sentiment, and the Jameson went down rough.

Eventually we had to get out of there; it was nearing two in the morning and some neighbor had been knocking on the door and telling Bear that she’d called the cops. Jeff was plastered, so V and I actually had to bring him up onto our shoulders and carry him to V’s house. V’s house is our natural destination when we do something stupid and can’t go home—getting extremely drunk at a house party falls decidedly under that category.

"You know, this process would be a lot easier if you lost a few pounds," I told Jeff.

"Hey, fuck off, you’re just a weak little shit, worse than a twelve-year-old girl or something."

"It’s true, you could stand to work out more. Though, Jeff, you could also stand to lose a few pounds." V betrayed me.

"Oh fuck you—" He started gagging and making sounds as if he were to puke at that point. We let him go, to sit on a curb for a minute. Through some amazing feat of strength, he managed to keep down the puke. We picked him up and again and restarted our trek.

"Be grateful, without us you would probably be getting checked by police." V was in no mood for bullshit. Although he never really is.

"Hey, I am grateful. It’s good to have friends that can carry you along when everything gets too heavy—"

"—Well, you’re definitely too heavy," I interrupted.

"Fuck off. It’s just when those friends let you go and everything falls apart that you’re left stumbling around wondering where they went and exactly what happened."

When we got to the house, Jeff passed out on the couch. V and I shared a few more drinks to pass the time. I had loaned him this book by Simon Van Booy that he had been interested in for a while, so he read that while I shot aliens in the face in some video game. And I was fine with that. I like the closeness of our trio; it’s when other people get involved that I start to get uncomfortable. People make things more complicated. Parties of people make things worse.

It’s hard not to look out on a crowd of people doing something and feel both animosity and alienation. Looking at the numerous peers drinking horrible mass-produced swill, smoke the finest of skunk weed and lick each other’s faces in a way that couldn’t be confused as kissing even with squinted eyes, I felt like the only person in a room of animals. At least I had V, he’s always good to share stolen liquor and talk with. I actually still have that whiskey. Hopefully I won’t need it just to cope with the problems of existing any time soon.

Filed under zombies they're coming zombie apocalypse creative writing prose scumbag teenagers back in the day fuck the present

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Week 1— Jeff!!


First off I am not a mouth-breather. Though I may not be intelligent I am the only fun one around here. V kinda just sulks around; I know he’s had his problems but come on, you can only let your youth escape you so much. Then there is Kurt: ahh Kurt, that ego of his is pretty astounding, but he means well. They both do. Though I may be the only one who tries to acquaint myself with other, they are good people at heart. Hence why I’m here, buying them coffee and chilling.

I’m being a little serious now? Well fuck it, everyone could use a little bit of serious every now and then, but don’t get used to it. I don’t like this, I enjoy being the fun one in the group: more-or-less vital. 3..2..1..


So any who, I come from a very rich, well-to-do family. My full name is Jeffrey P. Witherspoon III. Nah, I’m just fucking with you, but that’d be some awesome shit, huh? I wish I was rich.

Probably the last bit of serious you’ll see from me for a long time so here it goes. I have my friends, they mean a lot to me, but they don’t give me the time of day. Maybe it’s just me, or maybe it’s them, but regardless things change. Maybe when they look back I’ll be more than a memory of the loud kid that doesn’t exactly know when to shut his mouth.

Oh, and if V hits me one more fucking time I’m gonna do something. Or not… probably not.

Filed under Jeff

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Week 1 — V

My name is Vladimir, those who talk about me when I have my back turned call me either that or Vlad, but those who know me call me V. Before I even tell you anything about how life is going I have to tell you who I am first, because I really hate being called by my actual name. Let’s see, I’ve been on my own for the last 4 years and I’m only 17 so I might be what you would call an “orphan” but the way I see it in order for that to happen you have to have had a family in the first place.

All I can remember about my mom was that she was married to Vlad but spent more time with Jack. She ended up dying drunk behind the wheel after running over Vlad for hitting her again. Yeah, I should also mention how much I hate him, I share his name and that’s all we have in common and sometimes that’s even too much, so that’s why I prefer being called V.

As for daily life, I am your typical scumbag teenage type, except the part where I don’t go to school. I spend my time in the house my parents owned before they went and killed themselves and the state pays for it because they felt bad for me. It’s no palace, but other than my name it’s really all I have. I have two “friends” when it comes down to it, but I wonder sometimes if they hang out with me out of pity, fear, or something other than general interest because for fuck’s sake, it’s pretty obvious nobody really likes me.

I spend the nights smoking cigarettes and drinking to kill time, during the days I work out and train in parkour, maybe it’ll come in handy one day, but now that we are acquainted I can tell you this: I am no hero. When I die my gravestone will read something along the lines of “He deserved it” because when it comes down to it, we all do. 

I need a cigarette so I think I’m done for now.

— V

Filed under Vlad We like you man no worries zombies they're coming

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Week 1 — Kurt

The day started with breakfast, as days tend to do. For us, really, the day had never ended anyway. Halo 4 just came out, you see, so we decided that the best idea we could have would be to stay up all night playing it. So, after a night of sugary energy drinks, V, Jeff and I wanted something with substance.

We walked out of the local deli brandishing what, to us, would be the most delicious meal of our entire lives. Breakfast sandwiches: bacon, egg and cheese. Any other day, this would be a shitty 3 dollar breakfast. Today it was like eating gold. Well… not eating actual gold, because that’s probably not healthy. But fuck you, you know what I mean.

V and I were already chowing down when Jeff came out of the deli with our coffee.


I always hated the way he said “hello.” It sounded like a fucking autistic child who just got a concussion and was drunk as fuck. Was that offensive? Probably. I’m tired. Leave me alone.

Due to this stupid hurricane, the gas station next to the deli was packed. Cars were everywhere, and the drivers were bored. So they were yelling at us; throwing things at us from their windows; and one tried to hit Jeff. Which, personally, I found hilarious.

It got old quick, though. People just suck. People suck especially hard when you haven’t slept in 48 hours. The night was a success: Halo 4, blasting The Clash and Bomb the Music Industry repeatedly, and hookers and blow. Except that last thing didn’t happen.

Filed under 1 Kurt back in the day fuck the present zombies they're coming

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Have you ever noticed how things are always better upon reflection? It could be anything, it doesn’t matter, everything is always better in the past. People are always just… stupider, or maybe, more irritating when you have to deal with them in the here and now.

Though I guess I’ve chosen decent people to surround myself with in the here and now.

My name is Kurt, by the way. This blog is just going to be my friends and I… talking? I guess “talking” works, even if typing is more apropos. We just need somewhere to vent and talk about things to each other, you know?

We’ll update weekly (hopefully), with a new person talking each week. It should alternate like this:

Me — Vlad — Jeff

Vlad… well, we usually just call him V. Which totally works, if you’ve ever seen V for Vendetta (or read it, but I feel like not a lot of people read anymore). He’s not all that cheery, but you get to like him. Or maybe you like him because you know with him around no one is going to mess with you.

Jeff is a fucking clown—a real mouth breather type. He’s funny… or, he thinks he’s funny. But again, you get used to him.

We kind of live our lives as outcasts, and somewhere along the way we just got used to each other. 

And I’m Kurt. Maybe I’ll go the way of Kurt Cobain, who knows.

Nice to meet all none of you.

Filed under Kurt Vlad Jeff back in the day venting teenage angst so much teenage angst fuck the present zombies they're coming