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 Sandy’s 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 wasn’t so much that she was mean behind to Jamesface as it was that she was cruel to him behind his back. She’d never tell him where she was, she’d 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 didn’t think once about how much this would affect James.
James didn’t 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 "friend’s" 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, Jamesbrother Michael ended up at the "friend’s" 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 didn’t notice as they passed, making their way into their food, their clothes, their hair.
James sat at the pizza stand on the street that wasn’t very busy. He chewed on his cheesy pizza like a baby with a pacifier. He hesitated swallowing. He couldn’t stop thinking of Sandy. Was this the right decision? Moving to New York to disregard any memory of her? He couldn’t take being around anything she touched (especially every young guy he saw in his hometown, but we wont go into that…).
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 wasn’t 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.
"That’s exactly what I feel like," he informed anyone listening. Sometimes he thought about killing himself…but that would only make things worse. He would love again, he told himself. Sometimes he even thought about calling Loveline…but 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, that’s tough." The guy said. "But could she cook?"
James smiled sadly and said, "That was the only thing she didn’t do."
"I did too," a familiar voice said.
James quickly looked around. He didn’t see her anywhere. But he was sure that was her voice. There wasn’t anyone around but the cook who was now staring at him concerned.
"Boy, what’s 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.
"That’s right, liver lips. It’s me." the bug said.
Jamesjaw dropped. "SANDY?" he almost shouted. "But you’re 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 don’t know…I think maybe that you cause what happens to you…like if you shoot someone it’s your fault even if it was to prove a point. No wait, that’s a bad example…"
"That’s not what I’m talking about," she said in her new high-pitched but very Sandy voice. "I’m 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? But…they think if you were a saint in life you’d come back as a cow."
"And if you were a terrible person in life….?"
"You’d be something like a cockroach or somethingI mean…"
"James, they’re right. I was a horrible person in life, and now I’m reincarnated as a cockroach."
"I see…hey, at least you’re alive! But...why can you talk if you’re a bug?"
Sandy crawled across his upper back to his other shoulder. "When I died you vowed you’d 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?"
"James…I should tell you. I’ve met someone else."
"What?" James was astounded.
"His name is Contrition. He’s really fast. We’ve 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 we’ve been going out!"
"I know, I know. It’s been really beautiful. But I don’t want it to end. It isn’t you. It’s me. It’s 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 don’t know what goes on when you go into the bathroom with the picture of my old face? You think I can’t see through the cracks and breaks in the walls and doors? I’ve got you on 24-hour surveillance, honey!"
James face reddened. Then he said, "Sandy, I don’t want to fight. Please. I’m sorry."
"You’re right. I’m sorry, too."
After a moment of hesitation James said, "You…are going to kill the eggs, right?"
"Oh, so you’ll abort our child, but you won’t kill the children of some roach!?"
"You say the name of my species with such contempt…do you hate me because I’m a roach?"
"Sandy…I 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 wrong…"
"James. I love you."
"Sandy. I love you."

One day James awoke to find that Sandy was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t with the other roaches that festered in the corners of the apartment. She hadn’t squirmed into the fridge. She wasn’t 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 Michael’s "library" of porn videos and magazines. Michael was there. "Where’s Sandy?" he asked Michael.
"Your roach friend? Squished her. She was trying to eat my cereal."
James didn’t know what to do…he 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 dead…roaches 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, each’s head on the other’s shoulder, two roaches scuttled down beneath them, bristly leg in leg, each’s feeler on the other’s 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?
who go