Ventura, California

I do my best to blend in wid' da' dames and joes of this 'ere town.

Imagine yourself in a place on the corner of Conservative Drive and Liberal Ave. This is where I (the name's Randy Random) live, and this is the story of one confused town.

I walk these sunny streets alone every day, and I'm forced to watch fat dames walk down the sidewalk in two-pieces, totally oblivious to the fact that they look like something God shat out. I see the local looney Joe in the rasta hat say, "Yeah maaan, gimme a quarta' or I'll bite ya legs off!" I am the only sane being in this sea of madness, and it's up to me to survive this rathole of a town. This is my tale...

Rough Beginnings

I suppose you could say I had a rough upbringing (not really). I came into this hellhole at the age of nine. My parents, if you could call them that, came and went from my life like the breeze on a fat kid's "moobs" (or man-boobs, if you are so inclined). As soon as I came here I could tell there was something amiss. There were a large number of women with implants and men with bad-looking Hawaiian T-shirts. I thought to myself, "What kind of bastard created a place like this?" I quickly found out that the entire town was crawling with overweight tourists and crazy hobos who attack you when provoked. I was forced to come up with a plan for surviving this place. I quickly found out that if I could keep my sanity through high school, I could make it out with my psyche intact.

The Tourists

I see these weirdos on the sidewalks, in the alleys, hotels, beaches, and everywhere else you can think of. Tourists are like that piece of gum on your shoe that you can't get off and that annoys the hell out of you. They come only once a year during the warm summer months and, as soon as fall rolls around, they're gone in a flash. These scum come in with their redneck SUV's yellin' "Yeeeeehaaaw!" They can be identified by their tacky Hawaiian shirts and tight two-piece bathing suits. Some of them remind of the giant hissing cockroaches that climb out of porta-potties at night. When I masturbate, their images crawl into my mind and kill any chance at climaxing that I may have had. Ohhh, how I hate those sorry excuses for human beings!

My City Cries, but I Don't

A very strange town, with an even stranger cry.

My city cries for its savior... I feel it begging for the hobo-feces to be picked up under the bridge. It sobs for the poor kids who must sit through Mrs. Maires' 7th grade sex ed. (I was never the same after that). But for all this city is worth - and it isn't much - I believe it's too late for it to be saved. It was just one cigarette butt too many that sent this city into the condition it's in today. I mourn for this once-great (not!) city of yesteryear. I will avenge thee, Ventura, mark my words, with pee (whoops, that was supposed to be blood).

Lions, Tigers, and 7th grade sex ed, oh my!

I hold in my fucked-up brain a tale that must be told. It is a tale of a boy (me) and one sick bastard of a teacher. This teacher, who shall remain anonymous, will be called Mrs. Doe (for the sake of protecting my school career, what career?). Oh, fuck that. Her name was Mrs. Maires. It all started on a day like any other at my middle school. I went through my first two periods as normal, but everything changed as I entered science class. My condescending teacher reminded me of what an idiot she thought I was by saying something like, "Now Tracer, do you remember where you sit?" Fuming at the lips, I thought, "Of course I know where I fucking sit. I have to sit here listening to your boring voice ever freakin' day!" But of course, I didn't say that. I just ignored her and sat down. She then announced that it was time to begin sex ed. "Whoopee!", I thought, "I get to spend two months listening to you talk about STDs and being abstinent." I just about shat myself when she announced that. As the days progressed, I got to watch a pregnant chick give birth, and watch her vagina stretch to the size of a black hole. I also had the pleasure of watching an STD slideshow showing pictures of random people's dicks and vaginas with nasty diseases so disgusting they'd make a porn star barf. I came out of that class of with a new found perviness that would only make my life more miserable... I'm sorry you had to read that, but it was a story that needed to be told.

Movie Losers

A crudely drawn picture of me at my local movie theater

My local movie theater holds a special stench of lazy. It reminds one of the smell of pot smoke and hobo urine that I generally encounter on my morning walks to school. The entire place is a dark dank pit of despair that plays moving pictures upon hole-riddled walls. The local dopie Joe Schmoe (a.k.a. the lazy ticket clerk) doesn't give a damn what age you are or what movie you're seeing - he'll sell anyone any movie ticket. He'd sell a 6-year-old a ticket to Saw IV. This actually works out quite well for underage movie patrons like me. This is a dark example of the even darker town I call home.

Hungry Hungry Hobos

This is a town full of crazy places and even crazier people. Some of these "local loonies" are the hobos and the transients. They are quick to attack any passerby for no apparent reason whatsoever. They fly like pigs and sting like a stick. In other words, they're kinda harmless. But what sets these hobo-Joes apart from the rest of the population is their tendency to turn to violence. I've seen their victims look like leftovers from Thanksgiving that have been sitting out for about a month. I am a survivor of one of these such attacks.

It was a day like any other in this rathole town, and I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly, a huge lump comes lumbering out of a hedge with the ferocity of a mom at the end of her rope. I was thrown to the ground with the force of a freight train. Maybe it was more like a bicycle.

I blacked out, and when I came to, I saw a haggard drunken-Joe walking away with my money. I chased the bastard down in about three blocks, and I forced him to "drop da' dough and amscray". The point here is that this is a Joe-eat-Joe town, and in order to survive, one has to be prepared for anything at any moment.

Sickly Stench From the Sea

"Holly #@!?", I declared. This is the phrase uttered by most people who visit the Ventura Harbor/Marina. It smells a bit like a piece of cheese that's been eaten, then shitted out, and then eaten again (that should give you a pretty good idea of what I mean). Or maybe it smells reminiscent of a seagull crap that lands square on your head. Many joe-sailors have learned to cope with "dis' distraction" by wearing face masks and beanies whenever their near water, but this only a partial solution. No one knows exactly why harbor water smells so bad. Maybe it's the sailors who defecate over the sides of their boats? Or, maybe its the fish who continually crap and pee in our oceans? Whatever it is, it really reeks and it doesn't look like it's going anywhere soon. Once again, the general theme here is that this is a town of of sick smells and stenches that one has to deal with in order to survive this rathole of a town.

Evil Takes Many Forms, This One Happens to be my Teacher

Have you ever wondered what satan would look like if he/she was human? Well, I already know the answer to this question, and it's called Mrs. Carr. I see this "little bit o' hell" every other day. The so-called "classroom" she teaches in really reminds one more of a bottomless pit of despair. The chairs resemble shackles and the floor somehow looks like lava. And right in the center of all this madness lies a my sack-of-shit teacher, Mrs. Carr. She looks kind of like a sausage that was just a little to big for it's casing, if you know what I mean. I have to survive this little bit of hell everyday, and you should be thankful you don't!