For sure! My dad says Papa Roach isn't singing, he's talking. He might be right. What do you think? I still like Papa Roach, though.

PS: it's an insect!
silentbob Where Love Festers
A Bobby Evers Absurdity

At Sandyís funeral James was deep in thought. How could his true love have killed herself? Why? And why did she have to be so mean to him as they were going out? It wasnít so much that she was mean behind to Jamesí face as it was that she was cruel to him behind his back. Sheíd never tell him where she was, sheíd cheat on him, she would never tell him of the drugs and booze she consumed. And it was not just because she thought it would hurt him to know this. It was that she took him for granted. Even when she was pulling the trigger she didnít think once about how much this would affect James.
James didnít know for sure just what kind of wild life Sandy spent behind his back. But he had a pretty good idea. At one point she even invited him to a "friendís" house, and if he had accepted they would have shared something only shown on Cinemax late at night. All three of them. And as it turned out, Jamesí brother Michael ended up at the "friendís" house. Hmm..
There James stood, looking down upon the corpse of his disgruntled girlfriend of late. The tears flowed like the powerful rain from thunder clouds or a depressed waterfall from a mountain top. Sandy lied in her coffin, a mummy in a tomb. And as they lowered her down six feet below his feet, James vowed that despite what a horrible person Sandy had been, he would always love her and that they would be reunited someday. Somehow.

The cockroaches swarmed up and down the cold concrete of a New York City sidewalk. It was like their own little population of New Yorkers. People didnít notice as they passed, making their way into their food, their clothes, their hair.
James sat at the pizza stand on the street that wasnít very busy. He chewed on his cheesy pizza like a baby with a pacifier. He hesitated swallowing. He couldnít stop thinking of Sandy. Was this the right decision? Moving to New York to disregard any memory of her? He couldnít take being around anything she touched (especially every young guy he saw in his hometown, but we wont go into thatÖ).
James was roommates with his cousin Daniel. The rats and insects roamed there as much as James slept. He had decided to try to find a job, though it would be hard to do anything but mope since the death of his love. He decided to start low and work his way up. James got a job cleaning a comic book store. Eventually he worked behind the counter and even still he got to being assistant manager and eventually manager. But what he really wanted to do was make comics. He liked the funny stories, the drawings and the dialect. He also liked a good gothic comic book with evil super heroes. James thought he could draw pretty well, but Daniel would talk bad about him, even when he wasnít stoned.
He swallowed the giant wad of pizza he was playing with in his mouth. It dropped down into his throat and splashed into the stomach acids. Somewhere a saxophone played.
"Thatís exactly what I feel like," he informed anyone listening. Sometimes he thought about killing himselfÖbut that would only make things worse. He would love again, he told himself. Sometimes he even thought about calling LovelineÖbut it was too much money because of distance.
"What do you feel like?" the cook said.
"I feel like the defecation of a sick bull. Do you ever feel that way?"
"Hey man, it happens to the best of us. You strung out or what?"
"No," James said. "Nothing like that. My girlfriend died. She killed herself."
"Say, man, thatís tough." The guy said. "But could she cook?"
James smiled sadly and said, "That was the only thing she didnít do."
"I did too," a familiar voice said.
James quickly looked around. He didnít see her anywhere. But he was sure that was her voice. There wasnít anyone around but the cook who was now staring at him concerned.
"Boy, whatís your problem? Oh, Lord, you got a roach on your pizza. Let me at him!"
The cook swung his fist at the pizza but James pulled away before it was too late.
He looked at the disease infested insect carefully, considering whether what he thought was true.
"Thatís right, liver lips. Itís me." the bug said.
Jamesí jaw dropped. "SANDY?" he almost shouted. "But youíre dead!"
"Look, I will explain everything if you just take me home." she said.
James collected the insect standing in for Sandy and placed her gently in his coat pocket. He gobbled up the remnants of his pizza and went on his way, avoiding the eye contact of the bewildered cook.
When they got home Sandy crawled up his arm and sat comfortably on his shoulder.
"Now, James." She said. "Do you believe in Karma? What goes around comes around and all that sort of thing?"
"I donít knowÖI think maybe that you cause what happens to youÖlike if you shoot someone itís your fault even if it was to prove a point. No wait, thatís a bad exampleÖ"
"Thatís not what Iím talking about," she said in her new high-pitched but very Sandy voice. "Iím talking about reincarnation. Like if you were a saint in life you will be a wonderful animal when you come back the second time."
"Oh, like the Buddhists? ButÖthey think if you were a saint in life youíd come back as a cow."
"And if you were a terrible person in lifeÖ.?"
"Youíd be something like a cockroach or somethingÖ I meanÖ"
"James, theyíre right. I was a horrible person in life, and now Iím reincarnated as a cockroach."
"I seeÖhey, at least youíre alive! But...why can you talk if youíre a bug?"
Sandy crawled across his upper back to his other shoulder. "When I died you vowed youíd see me again. Somebody up there likes ya Jamesy."

James and Sandy went everywhere together. The theatre, the restaurants, the museums. They saw the city. James made Sandy a nice little bed in a tiny card board box with Kleenex lining. She slept comfortably by his bed. He introduced her to Daniel and he could not hear her talk for some reason. As it turned out, James was the only one who could.
One day James discovered Sandy watching a curious looking white hairy patch on a spaghetti sauce stain on the floor. "Sandy, what is that?"
"JamesÖI should tell you. Iíve met someone else."
"What?" James was astounded.
"His name is Contrition. Heís really fast. Weíve been going out secretly for a while now. James. These are mine and his eggs." She pointed to the white fuzzy patch on the floor.
He was in a fit. "But I thought we were doing well! You talked to me more these past months than you did the whole time weíve been going out!"
"I know, I know. Itís been really beautiful. But I donít want it to end. It isnít you. Itís me. Itís the whole difference of species thing that got to me. I have urges just like you."
"I never have urges!" he shot back.
"Oh yeah? You think I donít know what goes on when you go into the bathroom with the picture of my old face? You think I canít see through the cracks and breaks in the walls and doors? Iíve got you on 24-hour surveillance, honey!"
James face reddened. Then he said, "Sandy, I donít want to fight. Please. Iím sorry."
"Youíre right. Iím sorry, too."
After a moment of hesitation James said, "YouÖare going to kill the eggs, right?"
"Oh, so youíll abort our child, but you wonít kill the children of some roach!?"
"You say the name of my species with such contemptÖdo you hate me because Iím a roach?"
"SandyÖI could never hate you. Even when you sold my Camaro to buy cocaine I still loved you for offering me some. Even though I thought drugs were morally wrongÖ"
"James. I love you."
"Sandy. I love you."

One day James awoke to find that Sandy was nowhere to be found. She wasnít with the other roaches that festered in the corners of the apartment. She hadnít squirmed into the fridge. She wasnít even sitting in front of the window, basking in the glow of the sun which was a rather unroach-like thing to do.
James went into Michaelís "library" of porn videos and magazines. Michael was there. "Whereís Sandy?" he asked Michael.
"Your roach friend? Squished her. She was trying to eat my cereal."
James didnít know what to doÖhe was so confused and frustrated that he set Michael on fire and burned the whole building to the ground. He insulted the world and questioned reality. Then he shot himself in the head. Twice.

The roaches of New York city haunted its streets like a ghostly memory of what was to come. After the whole mess was torn down and all the people were deadÖroaches would still survive. They had it real tough and they knew how to get around in the big apple. They knew where everything was.
As two people walked down the street, hand in hand, eachís head on the otherís shoulder, two roaches scuttled down beneath them, bristly leg in leg, eachís feeler on the otherís shell.
"I love you," he said to her.
"I love you more," she said to him. And they both began to feed on a discarded hamburger lying in a sewer.

The End.
birdmad that was cool in an extraordinarily warped way.

that made my day, bob
silentbob thank you bird, thank you very very much :)
check out the "- Absurdity -" blather
unhinged "to eat or not to eat....that is the question."

i had never smoked out of that bowl before and even though it was only half a joint that joint was as wide as a camel wide cigarette...("is that just for the two of you guys?! you are going to be so fucking retarded...) so needless to say even amongst three people that was a lot of dank consumption and then that resinated roach...good christ i couldn't even think about walking for at least an hour. aaaahhh...weed is a beautiful thing.
like rain. don't hate me because you are afraid of the things that you have decided are ugly. 010511
what's it to you?
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