Storytime With Auntie CJ

 “Fine, get out!” Andy screamed at the door that had just closed behind his soon-to-be-ex-wife. To fully express his rage, he threw a nearby vase at the door, as well, where it shattered. Amy was the second wife to up and leave him with no warning. She said something about anger issues, but he didn’t have any goddamned anger issues! He went around the house, finding pictures of her and throwing them around. His first wife, Teresa, took their son Blake with her, and Amy took their daughter Ophelia. Being peripherally aware of the bruises he had inflicted on his wives and children, he did not expect to see any of them again. When the neighbor came knocking, wanting to know if he was okay, he screamed at the man to mind his own damned business and slammed the door in his face. He needed to hit somebody, preferably a total stranger. Dissatisfied with all the venting he had already done, he headed to the nearest bar. In the smoky, whisky-scented air, he flagged down the barte...

For the third installment of the Interview series, I sat down and had a nice chat with a Satanist friend of mine:  When did you first become involved with the CoS? My first exposure to it was actually when I was 12. I was at a bookstore and I opened Anton LaVey’s autobiography and I saw him cavorting with a naked woman. I thought that was really cool. I always had an interest in it, but being very young I didn’t have the opportunity to learn more about it until about a year later, after I read in Time Magazine that he died in 1997. I got my hands on the Satanic Bible and read it, then I became involved in an online message board called Letters to the Devil. That was the official/unofficial CoS message board, and a number of prominent members including the High Priestess used to post on there regularly. When I was 19, I officially joined the church and I am technically still a member, although I am no longer deeply involved. Does the church worship the literal depiction of Satan...

Milton hated his job. He worked as a fraud intake specialist for a bank, taking reports from customers and sending them to be investigated. He exerted minimal effort in doing his job, cutting corners and not worrying too much about those little details. He often got chastised for missing important information in his reports, but he knew they wouldn’t fire him because they needed all the bodies they could get to do the job. After work, he always went straight back to his apartment, which was actually his parents’ basement, to eat a microwave dinner and then play video games until he got tired. One Friday, he was at his computer, a can of cola near his right hand, on a raid with some of his teammates. He realized that he did not have any cheese puffs, which was his favorite snack. He told his companions to wait for him, and drove to the convenience store three blocks away. Cheese puffs in hand, he went back to his car, but something happened that caught his attention. Right in fron...

  Analysis of the lyrics found in the song “Let’s Go All the Way” by the Insane Clown Posse While I do not identify as a Juggalo per se, I have a profound appreciation for ICP’s style. My favorite of their songs is “Let’s Go All the Way” on the Bizzar album, because it has what is easily the most uplifting and inspiring message I have ever heard in a rap song. It describes a true Utopia, one in which everyone is seen and loved and wanted. The lyrics to the song in question are thus (analysis in parentheses): “Ain’t nobody jealous. Everybody has they own.” (Not only does everyone have their own, this implies that partners are loyal to one another. It also means equitable distribution of resources: everybody has their own job, apartment, car, whatever. No reason to envy anyone else, because everyone is happy with what they have.) “Nobody locked up. Everbody, everybody is free to roam.” (Inferring that nobody commits any crimes that would justify being locked up.) “Look at t...

 When it comes to music, I am what is called “poly-jamorous,” meaning one who enjoys everything from acid jazz to the stylings of Mozart. (If you want to know, my favorite song of all time is Requiem for a Tower.) In my rather vast Liked Songs library, I have at least one song in every genre I have encountered so far. I don’t like songs that sound like a man angrily screaming at me, because that triggers my PTSD, but that’s my only exception. I’d like to talk a little about music and how intrinsically subjective it is. In the book War of the Flowers by Tad Williams, the main character -a musician- is thinking about an exchange he had with an older and wiser musician. The important sentence in that conversation is this: “If it gets you there, it’s good.” Wherever “there” is for you: a Zen state, a good mood, catharsis for your anger, or that sensation like your body is full of more energy than it can contain and you must find an outlet for it or you’ll explode. (That last one might ...

 “I can cover lunch,” Peggy offered once they had finished their pasta. Beth was offended. “Don’t you think I can buy my own linguine?” she demanded. “I think you paid last time. I thought it was my turn,” Peggy explained. “Well, you can take it this time, but next time lunch is on me,” Beth promised, but in her head she had already decided to cut ties with Peggy. How dare she assume that Beth was too broke to buy pasta? Never mind that she was right. The next morning, she visited the closest coffee house and ordered a latte and a bagel with cream cheese. The stupid barista got her name wrong, putting “Bess” instead of “Beth” on the cup. Then he almost forgot her bagel. She resolved to walk the extra six blocks to the next shop up, not realizing that it was owned by the same people and did not offer bagels. She was out on the sidewalk, headed to work, when she saw a woman crawling out of an alleway ahead. She appeared to be injured somehow; there was blood on her hands. N...

This story will be included in my book Changes, scheduled release late November 2025.  “Whoop whoop! Nice hat, my man!” “Looking sharp!” “Love the cape!” “You’re so unique!” “Nice shoes!” “Cool lid, bro!”   My given name is Jim. You can call me Top Hat. I spent a lot of my life being ignored or bullied, from childhood until I moved to Portland at the age of 46. The only attention I got for most of my life was hurtful, but I acted out because negative attention is better than not being seen at all. Other kids would pick on me because I was different, especially in high school. Teachers and administrators brushed it off because the bullies were football players and the sons of wealthy farmers. I got the last laugh, though. I like to look good, like men used to. I wear a three-piece suit and a tie every day, no matter what that day may hold. Sometimes I’ll put my red and black satin cape over everything. I carry a cane with a silver skull on the top. But my...