a diabolical list of Junior Ringbaum, poorly spaced and staccatoed. gloomy aftertaste.

at 8 years old i killed my cousin. an arrow piercing through his jaundiced

yellow  fffforehead. he died of panic, flapping on the ground like a bird. the real target. an apple on his head, was used to make apple crisps.  thinly sliced.    and

grilled in the oven.  i blamed the act on a passing hobo.

at 8 and 3/4 i made a death mask from the steam cleaned front portion of my great grandfathers skull which i had dug up earlier that summer. sawn with a fret saw and tied to my face through the eye sockets with bright white elastic cord i terrorized –

the local supermarket.

at 9 i was squashed in my seat by a large woman in a red velvet dress. as i forcibly peered out the window of the bus, wedged and unable to avert my gaze

i witnessed a small dog

crushed under the wheels of a slow runaway steamroller and changed into the

beautiful simplicity of a




on hot black tar. this awoke my love for art and colour. as the other passengers screamed, i cried a muffled bravo!

at 9 and a half i watched in awe as my action man which i had thrown into the monkey enclosure was tortured and eventually delimbed by a blue faced mandril. a scene which

i played over and over in my

back yard.

i relished the 60 foot monkey role, wreaking havoc on my sisters toys with a face painted with some blue emulsion purloined from

my fathers shed.

at ten i pushed an old lady onto the railway track.

at eleven i stole flowers from the local park and gave them to a married

contortionist from the travelling circus who i had fallen in love with while watching her seal

herself in a small bright yellow suitcase with lime

green lining. she

rejected me

and laughed at me

with her strongman husband.

that night i burned the big top

determined that i would only love incontortionates from here on in.

at twelve i smeared 5 jars of peanut butter on the neighbours white

cat. it struggled

to lick itself clean for three hours before passing out, its face held in a claggy

sugar-high rictus of brown glued frustration.

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6 Responses to a diabolical list of Junior Ringbaum, poorly spaced and staccatoed. gloomy aftertaste.

  1. I've read this over and over. Damn!Remind me to not piss you off. May we always be allies and you never throw me onto a train track. =D

  2. Jamie says:

    I think I liked the poorly spacedness of it the best. You've got quite the imagination Paul, hats off to you and keep it coming.

  3. imagination?? its all true Jamie!
    Junior Ringbaum stays 3 doors up the street. his father is even worse…
    Mr Ringbaum Snr.

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