Poetic Imagination
Two inches wide by three inches deep


The Pot Smokers Guide to the Planet Varpeth
The Rejection
Wanna Feel Your
Legacy of Whatever Felt Fine
I Think Her Name was Cally
Schools darkest moments relived in a daydream
Two inches wide by three inches deep
Who is Jaystone?
Beautiful Suicide
How to Get Happy
56 Chevy and Thoughts of dad
Pictures of my sexy motherfucking ass!
The Grand Design of Morbidity
Untitled One
Who I am
Links and other abnormalies
Contact Me
Order Page for New Book Poetic Imagination
Trials of an Infant Drifter
Alien English
Catching Falling Angels
She Sleeps
Lonely Dog

Short story which may or may not be true!

Two Inches Wide by Three Inches Deep

By Jaystone


The old man pissed me off. I had been working for him for three years now doing odd jobs like mowing the lawn, weedeating, cleaning the house, you know odd jobs.

I met the old man at Sally's bar and grill where I worked as a part time short order cook. It didn't pay much, but it gave me beer and weed money. I was going from house to house, basically anywhere, or anyone who would have me stay with them I would. I did a lot of crystal meth then, and my perceptions on life were kind of distorted. I enjoyed the high, but it was costing way more than I wanted to pay.

The old man drunk as usual heard that I did odd jobs. I told him that I could do anything. Which was a lie of course I've never done much work of any kind my entire fucking life, but I took him up on his offer. He offered to let me stay in his guest house if I would do the shit around the house. Hell yeah I thought, this is the perfect situation for a stoner like me.

I began to do the work, which was pretty easy except that the old man wanted me to clean his fucking toilet daily. The old man had something wrong with him. He thought that there were diseaeses in his toilet which would kill him, if not cleaned everyday. Sometimes I would try and miss a day, and the old bastard would scream at me to clean the fucking toilet. He once pulled out his 38 and shot a hole in the ceiling. telling me to clean the fucking toilet, or die. Now this is a little more than i could handle, but being a fucking druggy, I kept the job, and cleaned his toliet.

Our days usually were casual. I would sit at his bedside and we would talk. Hell, the old man even liked to toke a bowl or two with me. Which was cool if you ask me. The old man told me the stories of his first wife Beth, which he still was convinced lived beside him all the time. We talked about him serving as a Army Corporal in WW11. He told me his life story, and I told him mine.

My life I told him was fucked up. I was cast away as child left to live on my own since I was 13. I started smoking pot, and it opened up a whole new world to me. I met up with a guy name Mike who showed me how to run Cocaine for some Mexicans. Man I was living the life 17 years old, and a motherfucking pimp. Who would of thought. Then I started using the coke and crystal. Mike got busted for trafficing 2 kilos of coke, and I have been drifting ever since. The old man shook his head and said, 'Sure lived a hell of a life son.'

Monday started out the same as it had for the last three years. The old man always wanted me to clean the spider webs from the ceiling. Somehow there were millions of spiders in his house, and of course he wanted me to clean his toilet. This Monday, I decided to go to Sally's and have a few drinks. Fuck the toilet. The old man wouldn't notice anyways.

I went to Sally's met up with a woman named Mariah and we spent the night fucking and sucking and getting stoned. This chick was able to score some acid, and man did we trip. Then we fucked and sucked some more. I went home about six in the morning.

The old man with his cain was standing at the door pissed off. I still tripping asked what the problem was. He started bitching about his toilet. He swore that since i didn't clean the toilet he had contacted a rare disease. I told the old fool, man your fucked in the head, I cleaned the toilet. No you didn't he scream as he hit me in the head with his fucking cain. I fell down the front porch stairs and cut my head open pretty good. He said if you ever don't clean my toilet again I'll kill you. Pretty strong words for an 76 year old fuck.

The next few day at the house where kind of strange. The old man and I hardly talked. I did the usual chores, but deep inside my mind I wanted to kill the motherfucker. I thought of pushing him down the steps, but that would be to easy. I wanted this fucker to pay for hitting me in the head. I wanted to stab him repeatedly.

I waited until I felt the time was right, cause I knew I was going to kill the bastard. Three days had passed, and I was getting more and more pissed as I scrubbed his fucking toilet.

Then the perfect time arose. He was standing on the stairs bitching at me for not cleaning the shower stall, and I lost it. I said you stupid motherfucker, and I pushed him down the stairs. He fell. His head bloody, arms and legs broken he was trying to mutter for help, but I couldn't let him. I knew I had to kill him and dispose of his body. I went to the kitchen and grabbed the biggest butcher knife in the drawer. I went to his body laying there I seen the pain in his eyes, but I knew i had to kill him. I could just say he fell down the steps, but... fuck it that wouldn't be good enough for me. The old bastard must die. I took the butcher knife in my right hand. Looked him in his eyes and plunged the knife into his chest two inches wide by three inches deep. The old man gasped for his last breath as I stood there and lit up a joint and watched him die.

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