The assignment

What I am submitting today is this little project that I am doing with this coworker of mine at my job.

Premise: ping pong game where Andrew Houston (the coworker) and Kensuke Kagawa(me) throws eachother words and we see what comes out of that word. This is an ongoing thing, so I will post something new down the line. Here is what we have so far. Hope you'll enjoy.

Man Masks Owl

A funny guy, that Teddy. Got his little nephew Chuckie puffing on his

Lucky Strikes as soon as he was old enough to hold em in his pudgy

little fingers. He'd light one up, take the first puff himself, and then

hand it over. That's how it'd begin. Then he'd throw little Chuckie over

his shoulder, and march him down to the riverside, where they'd sing

steamboat songs and skip stones and take pot shots at floating bottles

with Teddy's 38 special.

Well, one day they were still at it when the sun dipped down over the

hills, and they had a hell of a time finding their way up out of there.

Teddy got all tangled up a thorn bush, and he screamed just as loud as

he could scream, "Almighty Jesus!!!"

"Who? Who?" Came down from up in the branches above.

Teddy craned his head to get a look up there, and just about lost an eye

to a low-hanging branch. "Jesus H. Christ Almighty!!"

"Who?" Soft, but confident.

Teddy figured that little voice was mocking him, so he pulled out his 38

and cocked back the hammer. "You messin with me up there, you little

shit?"

"Who?"

"You, you little bastard! I ain't one to be fucked around with. You just

asked your last question."

Teddy started shooting hellfire up into the air, and sure enough, he hit

something. A puff of feathers, then the owl tumbled down, right onto

little Chuckie, who was sitting on Teddy's shoulders.

They tumbled down to the ground together, and when they hit the dirt,

that owl's ruptured asshole slipped right over his head. He stood up,

Lucky Strike in hand, and then, well, he sat down.

Your assignment: Dolphin Sex

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"Dolphin Sex"

When she turned of the age for her to start her period, she felt a certain change in her.

"It's not a change really, it's just a shift of something in me. It's really simple how it happens,

it's like how when you were a kid you couldn't take to eating spinach even if it's frosted.

But somehow you as you age you realize that you can eat it. It's all just a shift in the mind.

It just happens".

Whatever it maybe, when she turned of the age to start mensurating she started to feel the ocan within her.

She felt little waves hit against the inside of her stomach, she felt the tide fill and deplete as the moon rose

and sunk in the ocean, she felt the taste of salt strengthen when she shed tears.

"Suppose it's natural really, we all came from the ocean after all."

From the time he came into adolescense, he didn't quite feel alright on the ground.

"I know it's weird, but it just doesn't feel right to feel sand under my feet",

he always used to say.

Growing up was a frustrating time for him. Feeling like he does not belong to what everyone is born to be

attached to, i.e. standing on solid ground.

The only time that he felt even remotely comfortable was when he was floating in the community pool,

his body afloat and his eyes looking into the sky so blue.

Naturally they met and naturally they fell madly in love.

They bought a place nearby the ocean and sometimes when the night is warm and the ocean is kind,

they would swim out naked and make love like 2 dolphins that were made for each other.

Your assignment:technological spaghetti

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TECHNOLOGICAL SPAGHETTI

It's been nearly five years since The Flying Spaghetti Monster came down

from the heavens and showed himself to be the savior of the world. Nearly

five years since his noodly appendages first began to touch the hearts

and minds of Earth's scattered masses and share his holy love. And now,

as we approach the New Year, and Pastafarianism continues to grow and

shine ever brighter, we the Blessed, the Starch-baptized Pastafarians of

the world, have to ask ourselves how we can do our part. How can we

become true manifestations of the noodly appendage? Succulent, wet,

glorious, wise. It is a problem that has troubled spaghetti scientists

across the Calzone nebula since the dawn of time.

Only now are answers presenting themselves, as we embrace the Age of

Information. I have some information for you, my brothers and sisters. A

revelation. Nothing less than a divine message from above. Are you ready

, my brothers and sisters, to fulfill your Destiny?

It is a little known fact that our brains (often referred to as "noodles")

were crafted from blessed spaghetti strands in the distant past by The

Flying Spaghetti Monster himself, making us each pieces of divine

spaghetti, the ultimate technology of the ultimate noodle cuisine,

blessed with rich marinara logical flow and smooth olive oil

implementation. Our memory banks are peppered with parmesan cheese, and

as we ponder the meaning of life and look to the heavens, we slow roast

meatballs in our minds that are juicy and delectable! When we love one

another, brothers and sisters, we reach out and touch like strands of

fettucini alfredo, layering our thick cream sauce on thick with ecstasy.

When we ponder the great problems and pontificate on their solutions, we

are turning our metaphysical forks on the mystical aldente, tenderizing

the toughest dilemmas like so much angel hair in the pot.

So fear not, brothers and sisters, for the future. Worry not about your

place in the universe. Care not for the doubt and fear of the

unenlightened rabble who have forgotten their starchy origins. We are

the Chosen! The noodly instruments of the master scientist!

Technological Spaghetti!!!

Your Next Assignment: Vaster than Black Hole Gaps

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"Vaster than Black Hole Gaps"

Well, I suppose I can talk endlessly about that, that Gap.

And naturally for me the place to start would be with my girl frined and her miracle loose streched to the limit

pussy.

You know those talks about yelling out "Wow that's a big hole" and you can hear it back, that's my girlfriend.

Come to think of it, I think that pussy is the real her, and the flesh living above with a pair of tits is

just some nice options.

And as I am cradled in her arms after a nice session of steamy fucking, my eyes go over into the cracks on the

wall and ceiling.

As I stare at the cracks and let the mind wander off into what ever dark places it desires I feel the cracks

suck my body in and all the sudden I am a fetus floating in space and Earth is the womb and everything is so calm

and quiet.

I become the child of Earth my mother Gaeia cradles her in the womb I listen intently to the whispers of the universe

that rang out when the compressed fuck all big banged into what it is today I hear the many lives that are lived out

on Earth as well as in a far away planet that burns brilliantly without anyone ever noticing.

I saw the fires of the Sun and the illumination of the nebula, I saw a comet sweep by with its tail leaving a streak.

And I saw the black hole. As I stared into it I saw the true vacuum that no light ever escapes.

And so I stared, and as I stared I felt a beat. It was a regular thump-tump that never seemed to run out.

It the beat was in the same pace as my own heart, and once I felt that I felt the flesh of my body come back into

shape and I was beck in the back with my girl with her arms around me.

Night was quiet and I heard my girl breath softly and I laid my head against her breast and listened to her heart

until the dawn broke.

Your assignment: "self service Cesarean section"

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Strength in Numbers

Nobody saw it coming. And I mean nobody. Some thought it was a due payment for those that chose abortion,

but even those people soon saw what came and even they said fuck them and took arms in it.

Some thought it was the much belated armaggedon on Earth (year being 2012 and all), and they danced to the tune

of the big drum heart thumping as the fetus took march.

The great fetus war broke out all the sudden, unlike any other war that had erupted in the history.

It was rumored that it all started in New Mexico when some back water hill billy saw the wreckage of the UFO

and saw some of the female survivors and took them home to nurse them, where the nursing of the female crew

lead into some romance, where the romance lead into a wile frenzied sex that rocked the universe and the shafts

of the trailer homes nearby.

Now, if it ended at that, that would have been fine dandy and we'd all be at home for Christmas, but no.

See, just like the song said "Elephant and Pig genes just won't splice", and that should have been the case.

But this time some freak evil thing, must have happened when god wasn't looking, lead to the female alien to be

pregnant.

Of course the man who took her in was freaked. It's one thing to fuck an alien, we all do that in that weird

alien sex fiend porn video, but becoming the father of one?

So in his panic he took out a revolver, unloaded 6 rounds to the head of the female alien, then pumped another 6

into the swollen belly.

Now you must be thinking "Those bullets should have done the trick. Why the hell are we in this shit now?"

Well, I am sorry but they did squat. Infact bullets never reached the belly. They just floated right above the belly

like you would see in those Matrix movies.

Then between her legs slipped out the fetus, sensing danger and thinking quick about how it will survive.

The first thing it did was stare at his daddy with those big black alien eyes and without moving an inch threw

him again the wall like he was a cannon ball shot right out into the air.

What came after is the history as we all know it. He floated around the country, collecting fetuses from all over.

And as their number grew so did their sizes, and as those fetus ball (named after the shape of all those fetuses

huddling together into a ball like they are huddling together for warmth) grew so did the damage they did.

And here we are now, all them fetus balls floating over us and us on the ground trying to shoot them down but

not quite reaching them. And they are still growing bigger. They now even took to pulling babies out of their

mommies, whether they want it or not.

Gotta tell ya, I sure as hell don't know how it's gonna be, but when that 666th of them balls grow up to be a size,

we are gonna have one hell of a party.

Your assignment "Skelton wrapped in tree roots"

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Skeleton Wrapped in Tree Roots

Children sing songs about him running around the countryside, tossing

seeds here and there from his bottomless hemp sack, never stopping until

what was a grassland had become a sprawling forest from sea to shining

sea, much to the joy of Bambi, Thumper, and Tweety and the gang. The old

folks in their rocking chairs, they nod and smoke their pipes and tell

war stories that they heard from their grandparents, about how old

Johnny organized the Indians into a mean fighting machine to defend this

great nation from imperialist tyranny. And if you're in the food

services business and you want to make a sale, you put him in your logo,

on your letterhead, in your TV commercial, and let him work that magic

on your bottom line.

He's a magic man, a legend, and he was safe there in the distant realm

of legends along with Davy Crockett, Captain Blackbeard, Robinson Crusoe

until that day in the summer of my 12th year when I stubbed my toe on a

root and went tumbling down a hill while playing freeze tag with my

cousins.

I must have hit my head on a rock or a tree trunk or something, because

I blacked out, and when I came to I was all alone, with a splitting

headache and a warm, wet patch on the back of my head. It was dark, but

I could hear the birds chirping so I knew there must be some daylight

left, and as my eyes adjusted I saw that I had somehow managed to fall

into a hole, because sure enough up above there was a circle of blue sky

and tree branches.

Like all 12-year-old boys, I liked to burn and blow things up, and I

always carried a green bic lighter that I'd pinched from my dad in my

pocket. I whipped it out and flicked it on to get a better look at my

predicament, and there he was, silently laughing at me, all teeth and no

lips.

He was leaned up against a rock like he'd just decided to sit down and

take a break, but I guess he'd breaked for a little bit too long,

because an apple tree had grown up right through his rib cage. On second

thought, maybe that's what he was laughing at. It's not every day you

see a man with an orchard popping out of his shorts, unless of course

you're the bony old ghost of Johnny Appleseed himself and you've had

nothing to do but sit there staring at your wood slowly growing through

the decades.

Your Assignment: Jolly Old Jellyfoot

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Jolly Old Jellyfoot

Now, there are certain rules that should be abided by to live in this society.

1. Never fuck with your father,

2. Never make kids unless you are ready.

3. Don't drunk beer until your dick is long enough to reach your butthole,

and so on.

Canibalism is on that list as well.

And this one I can understand.

Because if we actually tasted good, what's to stop us from eating eachother, some French restaurant to start carriny

a full line of meat from babies to grannies, from some men to start breeding people like cattles to meet the demand?

But thank god, we don't taste good. Trust me, I tried.

So men came up with the next best thing. Something that has the trexture of human flesh, yet tastes amazingly good.

It's actually a wonder why this was not thought of earlier. I mean, we don't taste good no matter how we are cooked.

We just don't taste good, so find an alternative.

When it first came out there was that usual "You are degrading human moral" and "You sinners are gonna fry in hell!"

and "Repent before god smites you" and so on.

But one taste of that substitute meat, people had to realize that they tasted alot better than the real stuff,

so much so that Martha Stewart went so far as to publish a cook book that guides us from simple barbecue ribs

to brain puree soup.

The substitute meat caught on reali quick after that. Every canibals in the world praised the inventer,

who shall remain nameless for the obvious threat to his security.

It wasn't just the canibals that enjoyed it, even the fetishist who overly loved their object that they tended

to eat it embraced the product.

"Seriously, I can't even believe that I used to suck the meat off of little girl's finer before this came out."

Says a hand fetish,

"Now I can enjoy a good taste pot luck with out biting into those stanky jelly foot of those babies."

Says foot fetish

"This is just amazing, these eye balls feel like the real thing, yet they taste so much better! I'm really

lovin it!"

Says eyeball fetish.

So loosen them belts and ready those hot sauce. We got ourselves a good meal.

Your assignment: "Windmill Hill"

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Windmill Hill

Hand meets head and clouds meet sky

Little Tommy running when the thunder cry

Tombs below and ashes fly

Little Tommy stopping now to wonder why

A baby born and an old man dies

A circle in the sand and a twinkle in the eye

Dig another hole, give another try

Sugar on the table when the water's running dry

Hands held out, thought he'd try to fly

Little Tommy jumping up to touch a little sky

Death below, empty up on high

Little Tommy tumble in a hole and die.

Your Assignment: Cloudbusters

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Cloudbusters

"Where I was born was, was awful."

He said to me.

"You can barely tell what time it is because the government forbids any clocks to be manufactured. They say that it's

to prevent the past disaster from happening again, when we do not even know what has happened in the first place."

his pale ashened face, deep bags under his eyes, and his almost diseased wire body always shook like he is

either suffering from a high fever or that something inside of him is trying to break out and he is barely able to

contain himself.

"and the air is always so thin that you can barely have a thought without fainting,"

We were in a cafe that day. The time must have been March or April.

"night and day are only punctuated when there are street lights on and when they are off."

Every 5 minutes or so he went into a violent coughing fit that I swore he was going to cough up his lungs.

"We never know who our fathers are or mothers are because we are bred in a factory."

He came to me one day saying that he wanted to talk about his home town. I was running a zine back then, and in one

of the column I used to do this thing where I would expand on a word that I hear while at work, school, or just generally

walking around.

"The government says that we can't breed anymore because of the past wars' waste materials have accumulated into a

destruction of all that is natural, and consequently left all of us sterile."

He said that he wanted me to hear about his home town because he wanted it published, in one way or another, and have people

learn what sort of horrible place he was raised in.

"But what's depressing most of all is the sky. Where I am from, you would be lucky if you can see the sun once in your life.

The sky is covered by heavy sheet of grey clouds."

When he talked about the sky, his already depressing face took on another cover of sadness. He looked as though the

colors around him could all go away because of the change in the gravity around him.

"And the sun, by god, the sun never shines there. You'd be considered a lucky man if you see even a glimmer of the sun in

your lifetime. And the lack of sun light turns our skin pale. If you look at our city from high above, you'd probably think

we are nothing more than sickened rats."

After saying that, he stopped, took sip of coffee, lit a cigarette (oh, one little detail I forgot to mention,

he chain smoked like it was going out of style), and went quiet.

It was a pleasant March day. Sun was starting to shine through, people were still waring warm clothing, but some of them

have started to not wearing those heavy coats.

I looked out the window and imagined what his town was like. The best I could come up with was a mid-winter day where not just

your body but your soul freezes. How could a man, or a living human being for that matter live there? How could anyone

exits? I tried to imagine what a life there would be like, and just couldn't imagine what it would be like.

"But I am going back there one day. I am going to change all that. No one deserves a life like that. I am going to

break a hole in the sky so big that the sun will fall through it, I will put all the clocks out of the town until

we can only tell time by when the sun goes up and down. And I am going to cure everyone so that we could have sex and raise

children of our choosing."

He said with energy that was impossible to have come out of him.

"Thank you for listening to me. I hope this will make a fine material."

He said and just as sudden as he came, he went out without saying a good bye.

After he left, I thought again about what it would be like to live in a town where there are no clocks, everyone is

sterile and you can't have sex, and no sun shines through. I tried, and I tried hard but I just couldn't imagine it.

The weather outside was starting to look nice, almost inviting me to take a walk.

So I took a walk thought about what I should do for the day.

You assignment:standing 3 feet away from your own tomb, too afraid to face the sun

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3 Feet Away From Your Own Tomb, Too Afraid to Face the Sun

You don't know me, wouldn't recognize my face out of a crowd, don't know

the sound of my voice nor the stink of my breath, are unfamiliar with my

hopes and dreams, fears and pet peeves, clueless about what makes me

tick. You don't know why I'm here, leaving this note inconspicuously on

your windshield, furtively watching you read it from a place where you

can't see me, executing my plans flawlessly in sequence while you wallow

in confusion and fear.

You don't know me. I, on the other hand, know you very well. I see you

there, and am aware of what you're doing, thinking, feeling. I could

pick your face out from a mile away. I hear your alarm clock go off in

the morning and your hung over groan in response, listen to the off-key

rendition of Sinatra you sing in the shower, smell the stinking coffee

brew while you clip your nose hairs in the grease-stained mirror in your

moldy little bathroom.

I know you dreamed of being a detective, a real Humphrey Bogart, a real

whip, cracking tough cases wide open, putting the real bad guys behind

bars and saving grateful dames from diabolical drug-addled villains. I

know you hope you'll get that raise so you can get out of walking the

beat in this stinking neighborhood you've grown to hate so much. I know

you're terrified that the captain will find out about your little side

business with the Chinese on the port, and send you back to directing

traffic before you can say, "fuck me sideways." I know you think you're

a smart, under-appreciated, over-qualified, on the ball, off the cuff,

in the know kind of guy, but I've got news for you.

I know all about you, and I don't know how else to put this: you've got

it all wrong. You're a moronic, over-privileged, under-skilled, off the

rocker, high-horsing idiot, and I've got your number. Get ready, asshole,

because things are about to get a whole lot more interesting.

Love,

Solomon

P.S. Look behind you.

POW!

Your assignment: 40 Days in the Desert

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40 Days in the Desert

We started the first 10 days in high spirit.

The desert wind scorched the very core of our being, while at night we were frozen into statute by the same wind.

The stars danced over us in full orchestra and we huddled around the fire, sure that this trip will change us for the better.

On the 20th day we were struck by a desert storm. It descended on us from nowhere, and in a matter of 20minutes robbed

us of tent and food.

When it started it came from the sky, when it hit us it was a cloumn of sand 4 miles wide and 5 miles high.

Some of us were struck by the storm and were literally sucked dry of water. When it was gone, the day was high and

we were left with only 16 of us.

30th day found us all literally fighting over our urine to drink. Some of us, in the disparation and hunger, took to eating

our own excrement.

By then I was reduced to drinking my own urine as well. I spent my days lying down and watching the remainder of us

fight and argue about how we are to survive.

And on the 40th day I saw him, in flesh and infront of my eyes.

Malnutrition and weakness could have made me imagine him, but when he came riding that magnificent horse dark as the night

and blowing on trumpet made of silver that hurts your eyes to look at and made sound that shook the entire desert.

As my limbs grew cold and stiff, I saw him approach me, his armor shining pale under the moonlight.

After one look at me, he blew on the horn again, and the wind picked me up and carried me to the sky.

I now know I am dying, my only hope is that one will find my body and wonder over what happened to me.

Your assignment: "Drop your flap jack or we will open fire"

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