"Coal as Ice"

"Actually, people don't have philosophies per say, they have personal truths," spewed Vincinzo Coal as he stood in line for the butchers counter at his local supermarket. "When you hear, 'that’s my philosophy,' what you’re actually hearing is, 'that’s a justification for my personal truth. 'My way of explaining the mess that is my life.' It isn't that people spend time meditating, come to some big metaphysical conclusion and developed their existence around that idea. No, people look a their lives, at their faults and weaknesses, then evolve an idea that will suit and complement it. So they don't look so stupid. Well, at least that’s my philosophy."
These words were spoken to a random old hag, who's brain was as shriveled as her nipples. "He'll eat carrots," she mumbled. "He'll eat garden peas," she drooled. "He'll eat broccoli," she mentalised. "Cauliflower, he'll eat that."
Coal cared not for the otherworldly ramblings of the witch, using her to direct his conversation to the tall blonde who was deciding which part of the inside of a dead animal would looking pleasing on her dinner plate.
Like many drones, Vincinzo Coal didn't have much time for original thought. But according to last month’s issue of the refined man's cum-book Esquire, the intellectual image appealed to women. Delicious scoops of thought, swirls of sticky musings, topped with crunchy nuggets of the mind. A cornetto of mental passion to wet even the driest of panties. Thanks to passages he memorised from the best selling Dan Browne novel, "Success is Not Being Yourself," he was now armed with a silo of intelligent comments.
"Hi," said the blonde. "I couldn't help but overhear what you said, what with you shouting and all. Are you a professor or something?" "No," laughed Coal as modestly as he could pretend, never having felt that particular trait, "I'm just a simple thought merchant unwrapping the delicate nuances of the world around me. My name is Vincinzo Coal."
"You look familiar Vincinzo Coal," she said touching his arm slightly. Coal was aware that this meant one of two things. For most women, this tactile maneuver was a sign of sexual interest, a twirl of the flirting dance. For others however, this was part of an insecurity that required them to have the attention of anything with a Y chromosome in touching distance without any actual attraction involved.
Rich man's paper vagina, Esquire magazine insisted that these cock wrestlers had a purpose. Friends could easily be convinced that the lady lightly brushing your shoulder with her hand was also shampooing your crotch with her mouth. Either way, I end up looking good, thought Vincinzo.
"Now where would I have seen you before?” "Perhaps you saw the pilot TV show I made last year. It was called The Naked Carpenter. I call round to a celebrities house, shoot the shit, an interview of sorts, real casual though. Then I'd stay for a few days, hang a door upside down, charge them a grand and leave. It was a very exciting format."
"Oh my God, you were on television. That is amazing."
"Well, no, it never aired. The suits had issues with the cutting edge nature of it. And they thought the title was misleading."
"You were fully clothed then."
"Oh no," said Vincinzo, "I was naked."
"Can I help you?" interrupted the saggy-bodied meat slave. Vincinzo would have read price list, but his lips were already tired from sliming to his potential trophy lay. Mentally referring to successful players jacking in the box publication Esquire magazines article on how to impress at the butchers or fish market, Vincinzo scratched his chin idly in the way he had practiced often.
"I'll have some steak," he said casually.
"Some steak?"
"Yeah, some steak."
The meat boy shrugged his shoulders displaying the universal sign of indifference.
"Aren't you going to ask me how much steak I want?" The board was set, the pieces in play.
Mouth open, eyes vacant, the meat zombie did as commanded.
"How much steak do you want?"
Checkmate thought Vincinzo and he threw a small grin in the direction of the breasts that he had been talking at before returning his gaze to the spot bag treasurer of the meat.
"All of it," he said.
"All of it?"
"You heard me," said Coal soaking in the glory.
"Would you like to get a coffee Vincinzo, talk a bit more about the world," said the teeth, tits and tan.
"I'd rather have something to eat," subtly suggested Vincinzo while staring intently at the entrance to her womb. "I'm supposed to be knocking at a wall at the old Egan place, but I'm already..." Vincinzo flicked his wrist, exposing a limited edition IWC Prada timepiece... "three weeks late, so I don't think it will be an issue."
"Are you sure you won't get in trouble for not being on time?" Coal exhaled the air in his lungs reserved for blowing off silly comments. "What you have to understand," he said, " is that Nail and Wood Relocation experts like myself measure time in a abstract fashion, like how long has elapsed between the moment you realise that someone you love has lost all respect for you and the moment you realise that you just don't care." Wealthy socialite hand jazz magazine Esquire, issue 147. "Its a different experience for everyone."
The blonde beauty, who at the tender age of nineteen mistook a miscarriage for a heavy period stood in shock. "I've never met anyone like you before. Who are you Vincinzo Coal?"
Life is full of strange contradictions. Why is that when we are young our parents teach us of death and the dangers of the world but never warn us of the pain of loving someone with all our hearts who will never feel the same in return. Or why it is that the most honest answer is always the most shameful.
"I'm unique," he said finally. The truth whispered in his mind.
"I don't know."
"I don't know."
"I don't know."

Beneath the Great Donut

Everyone gathered agreed it was a lovely night for a human sacrifice to an unholy idol but no unfortunately the mansion was struck twenty five times by lighting.
Astonish!
It must be “divine intervention,” said a local pedophile. The man who was the butler Egan lived but everyone else perished painfully in the fire and everything was burned except a chair. Remarkable!
The chair was the Min Gate of course, so you could go from this world to the next in like ten seconds by sitting on it. He made a deal with the devil no less, the man called Min who built the chair long ago so he could be immortal and escape the lake of fire if he did the devil’s bidding, which made him pure powerful and a right bastard. But the devil must have tricked him cause he died after a while. In the ashes Egan saw one person badly burned who was moving and might have been still alive but he took the chair instead. Why?
The sounds of the dead was what Egan heard when he placed the chair on the Altar Stone in the forest. Then footsteps after the howls got louder and stopped. They had him surrouned!OH NO!
AND ON TO THE CHAIR HE MUST NOW JUMP TO ESCAPE!
So he fell through space and a great donut to the outskirts of hell. He looked down from a cliff at the sea of woe where the dead floated whom the devil had tricked and he saw his old master without immortality. They floated face down for eternity! And it was freezing with sharp rocks that they sometimes hit off. Inland is the lake of fire with the bad guys without deals where he meets the devil.
So which was it to be? The fire or the freezing with the sharp rocks?
Of course he said I’ll think about it for five seconds.
And yes he went for the sea of woe and in no time at all he was back on earth to do the devil’s work.
But what happened the chair?
Well you could say he bricked up the chair in his new house where no one would find it but probably his unborn grandson.
But that would be telling.