Click HERE if your browser does not redirect. De Sins uh Jesus



...HE WAS AN INTERNET WHORE...





I. Prelude



Here at wo'k at night it's lonely.  Slap mah fro! I'm dinkin' uh all uh ya' and whut 

ya' gots'ta be hangin'. Probably sleepin'. Sometimes ah' do dat too.  'S coo', bro. When no 

one's lookin' ah' put mah' face against da damn pink linoleum t'drool and 

dream.  WORD! It's de only way t'get drough it all. Wid no real point uh 

existin', it's hard not t'become unfocused on mah' goal. Pussy.  Slap mah fro! Mah' dojigger 

is Chris and ah' am an Internet who'e. 





II. Bill & Cady & sometimes Alvin but neva' Ernie



I wo'k wid some dude dojiggerd Bill. You's probably know fifty 'Bills'. He's 

anoda' one. He tells sto'ies. Dey're funny.  Slap mah fro! Right now he's sno'in'. 

Around 2 a.  WORD!m.  WORD! he wakes down and goes on about changin' jobs so's he kin

feel likes he's hangin' sump'n wid his life. Den he goes back t'sleep.  Jes hang loose, brud. 

Cady spins back and fo'd in ha' chair. She says she's asleep too but 

ha' eyes is open.  'S coo', bro. Is she lyin'? ah' only see Alvin one night some week.  Ya' know? He 

hates it here. He comes in and usually falls asleep fine quickly, 

which be baaaad cuz' we's afraid he mightwaste us all if he wuz 

awake. Ernie used t'come in but he's been missin' now fo' some week and 

it's downsettin' cuz' I loaned him some cassette.

 



III. 443 Bunka' Hill (and duzn't fo'get 88 Baldwin!  Right on!)



I'm here cuz' my wheels got wasted and ah' couldn't continue deliverin' de 

Boston Globe 7 days some week t'yo' doo'step o' in yo' doo' any fuckin'

longer.  Ah be baaad... Oh.  Lop some boogie...wait.  Man!..dat's not whut happened. Now ah' remember.  Ah be baaad... ah' gots so's 

drunk one Saturday night dat ah' couldn't go in Sunday t'do mah' job.  Co' got d' beat!

Den mah' wheels got wasted. Den ah' came here. ah' make mo'e bre'd and gots less stress. 

Dank ya' Bo-Jangles Beam!  Right on!





IV. Honky pigs, Frampton and Medical Emergency Elton John



We's supposed t'get rap rod calls. We duzn't. Sometimes I'll plum walk 

around wonderin' if it's impo'tant dat I'm out walkin' around and not 

back sittin' waaay down. ah' have some lot uh info'mashun ah' duzn't need cuz' I 

duzn't use it.  Man! Every now and den ah' get down and push some button dat places

a test call. ah' duzn't even dig dat call cuz' I've been down pushin'

de button.  'S coo', bro. Bill o' Cady digs it.  Man! Sometimes Alvin duz. Neva' Ernie. Bill 

likess t'joke around at dat point.  Man! Cady duzn't joke. Sometimes Alvin

duz. Ernie used to.  'S coo', bro. De only doodad dat saves me be de Internet.  Man! If I

eva' come t'wo'k and da damn Internet access be cut off, I'll go crib. I'm

addicted.





V. Brin' on de Bitches



I started honkyfoolin' around wid Internet about 6 monds ago.  'S coo', bro. It began 

slowly but quickly gots out uh control. Fust ah' gots email. ah' wrote mah' 

homey Maria who ah' real wants'ed t'have sex wid. When it became clear

dat it wuzn't goin' t'happen ah' switched t'de online sucka'al ads. 

Dey had always disgusted me but ah' found in mah' ho'ny bo'edom dat ah' 

could compromise mah' standards. Responses began t'flow likes de mighty 

Nile. Soon ah' wuz not only chattin' wid dem but meetin' dem.  WORD! Babette 

wuz de fust. She sucked. She wuz angry.  Slap mah fro! Tina wuz de second. She

drove waaay down fum Canada and we met at some Mobil stashun at 5:30 in de mo'nin'.

I 'espuh'ienced some sho't dry spell until de fust week uh Decemba' when ah' 

struck it rich.  Lop some boogie. Ha' dojigger be Kira.  WORD! We began havin' an affair.  Ah be baaad... She's some 

twenty-seven year old bisexual. We fucked fo' 4 days straight and on de last day an amazin' doodad happened. 

Anoda' honky chick called me who ah' had been chattin' wid. Lisa be an 

eighteen-year-old German au pair.  Ah be baaad... Dat Friday, afta' fuckin' Kira 12 

hours earlier, ah' fucked Lisa.  WORD! It wuz confusin'. Who's pussy wuz mah' 

hand in? ah' felt funny.  Slap mah fro! Had ah' finally completed some project ah' had set out 

to do? ah' am Spartacus!  Right on! 





VI. Epilogue (Teach de smart kids dat it's coo' t'be stupid!  Right on!)



Mah' advice t'de next generashun be simply t''Follow yo' Dreams'. In 

farm dey tell ya' lies. You's only need basic mad and some little 

readin'. I'm some success. Right now dere's some CEO uh a Fo'tune 500

company who dun didn't dig some blowjob yesterday.  Slap mah fro! Dis may not last and ah' duzn't care.

It's happened. I've done it.  Man! I've finally made sump'n uh myself. 

Dank ya' t'everyone who made it possible. You's know who ya' are. And

to Ernie, mosey on down crib soon.  'S coo', bro. We's wo'ried. ah' mean.  'S coo', bro...I's gots'ta be. Everyone else be 

asleep.  Jes hang loose, brud. 







De followin' be a dramatizashun uh whut mah' current job be likes:



LATE NIGHT IN A CALL CENTER

A Play in One Act by Christopha' O'Hare



Characters, dig dis:

Bill Gard

Chris O'Hare

Cady Do'ito



De lights mosey on down up on an abandoned call center.  Ah be baaad... It be cold and brown.  'S coo', bro.

Cady sits in some chair spinnin'. Chris be stretched out across two

chairs. Bill be slumped over, painfully strugglin' t'stay alert.  Man! Dey

all half wear deir inactive haidsets.



Bill suddenly stirs and raises his haid t'rap.



Bill, dig dis: We is but snails on an endless beach waitin' t'be captured by

de children uh summa' and placed in deir beginna'ish aquariums.



Chris wakes down and looks at Bill



Chris, dig dis: Yeah dude Gard!  Right on! Snails!  Right on!



Bill, dig dis: ah' wonda' sometimes whut doodads would be likes today if God had lit

de fire he should gots unda' our lazy customa' service asses. 



Chris, dig dis: Hmmm.  WORD! ah' am concerned about dat but whut uh my bitches? Who

cries fo' dem? Who saves deir virginal vaginas fum mah' evil and

twisted libido?



Bill, dig dis: Again wid de who'es!  Right on! I'm sick uh it!  Right on! Whut uh de future? Whut

of love?



Cady rolls ha' eyes



Chris, dig dis: Bill, mah' homey, we only live fo' today and gots'ta as Robin

Williams said so's aptly in de Liva' Lips Weir film 'Wasted Poet's Society',

Seize da damn day!  Right on!



Bill, dig dis: Carpe Diem!  Right on!



Chris, dig dis: Dis be not about fish Bill!  Right on! It's about meat.  Man! How we is but

meat in de grinda' of life waitin' t'be

eaten by de fuckin' MAN!  Right on!



Bill, dig dis: Yeah man, ah' agree. Soon dat joker shall arrive once mo'e in his Lexus

o' Volvo o' Buick o' whut gots ya' and in his brother suit and yellow

powa' tie stare at us in dis fish bowl likes...likes fish.  Lop some boogie...likes fish

Chris!  Right on!

Not meat ya' pseudo Isaac Bowie but FISH!  Right on! God damned fish!  Right on!



Chris hangs his haid in shame



Chris, dig dis: But den, if ah' am some fish.  Lop some boogie...where be my farm Bill? Where be my

farm?



Cady spins in ha' chair back and fo'd





De followin' wuz written durin' some baaaad week.  Ya' know? ah' likesd it enough dough

to post it.  Man! Duzn't eyeball it if youse in some baaaad mood.



JIM



Mah' life be an isolatin' 'espuh'ience. ah' wuz bo'n alone and I'll die

alone. Mah' acshuns is rhydmic and mah' rhydms is circular.  Ah be baaad... 

I endlessly revolve in de grayest uh spaces.



I'm unable t'bust free fum moshun. ah' choose t'go numb instead uh 

allowin' de inevitable insanity t'occur.  Ah be baaad... Everyday it lays do'mant and

is only kep' dat way by mah' constant self-abuse tactics. No solushun to

dis be eva' felt t'be necessary cuz' it be predestined dat da damn solushun

be dead. So's I wait fo' it daily.  Slap mah fro!



If dey found me now whut would dey say? Surrounded by jars uh urine

and garbage bags uh po'n o' de scattered, fo'gotsten artwo'k.  Ya' know? Whut would

dey tell de ones who claimed t'real know me? Would dey know den how

alone we all is in de wo'ld o' whut it means t'be nodin'? Would dey

finally catch me in some lie?



I always imagined mah' funeral t'be filled wid sucka's all fo'ced to

listen t'my beat fo' hours. One afta' anoder, beat by beat would play and 

everyone would be strugglin' plum to stay seated. Afterwards, dere

would be some dinna' and some boogeyin' into de mo'nin'. When it wuz upside dey would

fo'get why dey came but not dat dey dun did. ah' would be nodin',

finally.  Slap mah fro!



In de end it digs ya'. Yo' best homey becomes yo' enemy.  Slap mah fro! You's kin't

even taste whut it used t'taste likes cuz' it's burned yo' tongue away

and it's rotted yo' teed. You's've gots nodin' and ya' is nodin' but

strangely ya' likes it and still wants' mo'e. To deviate now would brin' tragic

results and in de end it's easia' plum to disintegrate.



Life be decisions made by choices. Breadin' be a decision we choose.

Wid doodads dat subtle, it's hard not t'make missnatch'd.

Jive version courtesy of the...Dialectizer...


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