Believe Me, I’m Dead

She doesn’t believe him.

“I don’t believe you.”

He holds the receiver close, lips pressed into the plastic, chasing after his own words.

“So dead people can’t make phone calls?”

“Dead people can’t make phone calls.”

“Believe me. I am. Just listen. Do you hear that?”

“No. What the hell are you talking about Justin, this is––“

“The dripping! Hear the dripping? That’s the sound of my blood emptying out onto the hardwood. It just drains outta the hole until I start to get weak and then I collect it in that old measuring cup of yours and put it back in.”

“Hole? Okay. To be honest, you’re being really weird and this is getting concerning––

–It should be, I’m dead!––

–and I don’t really want to have this conversation anymore. If you’re actually hurt or need help or anything I can call someone for you.”

“What is anyone going to do? It’s too late. I’m toast. I’m already pretty heavily decomposed. It’s been like, what, four months? That’s a long time for meat to be sitting out in the sun.”

“You’ve been dead for four months.”

“And counting.”

“Oh god.”

“He hasn’t helped at all.”

“You’re being dramatic. Surprisingly so.”

“Death is inherently dramatic. The loss of a life. An extinguished flame.”

“Please, shut up.”

“Shut up? My elbows no longer work as a hinge joints. They’re like wet rope. I can’t do push-ups anymore.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Say? I just want you to have some compassion. Some understanding. My landlord is threatening to evict me because I haven’t paid rent––

–you haven’t paid rent?––

–due to the fact that it’s hard to mow a lawn when you can’t even start the mower without your fucking arm detaching.”


“My body is breaking down, because I’m dead, and my muscle strength is nearly non-existent and my flesh just tears like that fancy paper used to fluff up gift bags.”

“This is so stupid. If you really have nothing better to do than act petty and strange, can you take that show somewhere else, please.”

“Yikes––I thought you cared.”

“Please. Cared? About what?”

“About me. Us. I’m dead and nearly homeless and you don’t give a goddamn shit.”

“Justin, of course I care about you. That’s not fair. I just don’t want to play your games.”

“This isn’t a game. If you could see me right now you’d be, like, horrified.”

“What is this actually about? Why aren’t you working? Do you want money––is this how you ask me for fucking money? You cannot be serious.”

“Get off it! I’m not here singing a sap-song for pesos, I just needed someone to talk to, because obviously this is a real fucked up time for me.”

“Because you’re dead.”

“Because I’m dead.”

“And you’re getting evicted.”

“Unless I can come up with $300 by Wednesday.”

“Fuck you.”

He didn’t expect her to hang up on him. It stung. It had become a foreign thing to feel anything besides the whoosh of air through the grapefruit sized hole in his chest and the wriggling of maggots in his legs. He wasn’t trying to swindle Daisy, dupe her, or anything like that. He just wanted to spend his last few months before he became completely immobile in the comfort of his own home, not outside where the earth would reclaim him with haste and without mercy. He leaned forward, not so fast as to make his eyeball slip out like yesterday, but just fast enough that when his face met his remaining hand it didn’t collapse on a limp wrist. It just stayed upright, steady.

Does anyone else feel like this sometimes?…

Sometimes I walk into places, like the other day it was this bookstore, and I look around at all of the things in the place, in this case books, and I get overwhelmed by it all. Like, the thought of all of those millions of words working together in order to construct an idea or an argument makes me get all teary-eyed. Even if it’s something weird like a memoir where a guy confesses to putting his dick in the family dog’s mouth as a kid to practice for getting his first BJ, just the idea that all of those tiny words are bundled up in the enormity of all of the other words around them in that book, and all of the other books in the store around it, stacked on each other like creative brick and mortar, is enough to turn on the water works. I’m not sure if I’m just so inspired by all of the work around me (not the dick-in-dog-mouth part, I’m not inspired by that. Yuck.) or just overwhelmed by the amount of hours and energy that went into writing all of those words, editing them, pitching them to publishers, getting them accepted and the elation that comes with that, then having them printed into hundreds, thousands, or hundreds of thousands of books that need designers to design the layouts, book jackets, print and web ads, and then all of the promotional might that goes into getting those authors into radio interviews, podcasts, or maybe even the Colbert Late Night thing where the author’s publicist gives the show’s producers a list of talking points that the author is comfortable discussing. Walking into places like that bookstore and being surrounded by all of that manifested potential makes my chest grow tight and my eyes hot and it might be that I’m inspired or jealous or whatever, but more than anything when I’m there I just want to stay in that place, feeling whatever I’m feeling, forever.

vancouver, BC > vancouver > personals > rants and raves

Portrait by Jaik Puppyteeth for Portraits of Brief, Casual Encounters

Lawn Rake w/ Wooden Handle, Famously Used to Beat Cheating Husband – $35 OBO

Some of you may be thinking that $35 for a used lawn rake is asking a little much, but this isn’t any ordinary rake, this rake is a piece of Internet history. This is the rake I used to beat my POS cheating ex-husband into submission in the popular Youtube video, Woman Teaches Cheating Husband a Lesson, which has been viewed nearly 2.3 million times. To be clear, international notoriety aside, this is also a highly functional rake. This past fall, before it/we went viral, I raked my front and back yard and did a really great job of it thanks to this rake, which is quite impressive considering the many large maple trees we have around the house. It was a lot of work but it had to be done, because Ken sure as hell wasn’t going to do it. He was “busy” with other “things.” “Things” being that turd Jessamine from the HR department at his work.

In honour of being transparent, unlike Ken when I first asked him if he was having an affair, I will admit that the rake is missing a few teeth. You can see at about 1:56 of the Youtube video, that when I wail on Ken with the rake as he’s turtled up against one of the maple trees, a few of the teeth get stuck in his back flesh and break off. That’s actually the moment he makes the weird, banshee-esque squealing sound that has been remixed into a bunch of famous songs on Youtube. I think my favourite is Gonna Make You Sweat by C+C Music Factory.

The rake was also used as evidence after spineless Ken tried to take me to court after the beating I gave him, but I got it back after the judge threw out the case. He said Ken deserved what he got and the five-hundred and fifty-six thousand likes the Youtube video got attest to that, which is kind of crazy in a law & order sense, since I hurt him pretty severely (he was off work for a few weeks and had to get skin graft from his ass to his face––which is fitting), but awesome for me. So if anything, going through the legal system successfully should add more value to the rake! Haha.

So yeah, fall is here and if you need a good, solid, justice wielding rake, this one is for you!

vancouver, BC > vancouver > for sale > farm+garden

Portrait by Andrea Hooge for Portraits of Brief, Casual Encounters

ISO Salvation

If anything, I’m a realist. My 76 year-old self isn’t going to be around much longer, much to the delight of at least one of my children. My mother gave into Alzheimer’s at 72 and my sisters didn’t make it past 70, thanks to a car accident and breast cancer, respectively. So really, whether or not I make it another 365 days or two-days is a total crapshoot. This is why I’d like to find someone with the religious credentials to baptize me before I step off of this earthly plane. If you’re a non-believer and wondering how I can be a realist and still feel the need to take part in a religious ceremony, I understand how that might seem like hypocritical, but it isn’t. A realist hedges their bets and prepares for all outcomes. Do I necessarily believe in the almighty? Not particularly, but I’d like to have a ticket to the party even if I don’t know where it is yet.

As a child my family went to a small Evangelical church, so if anyone has a history with that denomination that would be preferred. I was thinking Chilliwack lake would be a nice location for the baptism itself. The way the mountains fold around the water like giant, tree-lined fingers must be some sort of allegory for the glory of God; which if he/ she exists, would probably appreciate. I do have a car but my eyes aren’t what they used to be, so if you have a driver’s license that would be a plus. If this is something you’re interested in please let me know. I can’t offer much in return; a little money and a home cooked meal afterwards, but if I do end up in the arms of the Heavenly Father/Mother after passing over, I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you.

vancouver, BC > vancouver > personals > strictly platonic

Portrait by Katie So for Portraits of Brief, Casual Encounters