Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$: Part One, Chapters Two and Three

Excerpts from r(E)volutionized contributor John Corry’s historical satire Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$

Physical front, back and spine of Corry’s Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$.

Physical front, back and spine of Corry’s Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$.

10/26/18, 4:28 pm EDT

By John Corry

From the flap:

“Imagine if Tom Wolfe had been born in 1975 and instead of writing 'Radical Chic and Mau-Mauing the Flak Catchers' in 1970, he'd have written a book about the state of society and it's obsession with social media, internet fame and all of the intricacies that go along with it. On shrooms. Using Chuck Palahniuk's 'Pygmy' as his sole piece of inspiration.... you'd have John Corry's 'Phi11y's P-Hines[T] /> #Hardcore Phant-[O]m$'.” -Travis Besecker (author and comedy writer)

After 19-year-old reformed gang member Randall Gähstŭr is brutally murdered at the start of the Baltimore riots of 2015, the subsequent investigation leads both his former closest friends and the two very different special agents assigned to investigating the case into a web of conspiracy involving everything from police corruption, to global world domination, to manipulated/unnecessarily clung-to gang violence (relatively defined), war, and, eventually /> r(E)volution.

Every Monday and Friday, we’ll be releasing 1-2 chapters of r(E)volutionized contributor John Corry’s Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$. You check it out here, get a free PDF here, or check it out on Amazon, or on Barnes and Noble.

Parental discretion is advised.


Date: The thirtieth of the month of August, in the year 2014

Time: Around 11:30 p.m., (or: as close as you can get :/)

Place: Mitch’s ‘house’ in Tinkertown: A, roughly, >forty-five minute drive from Center City Philadelphia, U-S-And-A #Borat #TheSuitIsNOTBlackxD [1]

Event: Forgettable teenage house party

The real event:


        It was the day before…

   ……The day before it happened……

         ……The day preceding, aforetime to and generally amidst of……







There may have been a crowded city not-too-far-away (Philly), and a hopping business district even closer (complete with a Hooters, a record store, and a hospital #EquallyImporta- nt ), but Mitch and his dad lived alone in a small townhouse on the outskirts of rich-ass Tinkertown, formerly Addisville, formerly known as Bear Country after it wasn’t known as anything because who the hell wants to learn what fucking language the fucking Native Americans spoke, let alone how to actually speak it, those fucking whack-jobs, am I right??? XXXDDD. Money and legacy are way more important than life or family, fuckin’ retards–

In fact, it was only half a townhouse, Mitch’s dad’s house (or: Mitch’s house, either way, it doesn’t really matter :D), attached to another townhouse straight down the middle, and the neighborhood was so acutely dense that it was a downright miracle nobody had ever called the cops on them after all the times Mitch would throw giant-crazy-teenage-ragers when his dad wasn’t home. These were loud parties he had there; mad question askin’, blunt passin’, music blastin’[3] #BigPoppa #Not-oriousB.I.G. , and every time Mitch had one, someone either hurt #HerOrHimSelf very badly of #HerOrHis (XD) own accord /> or a fight would break out–

In fact (xD): one time, around 2012, and when the whole main crew was there (like Al, House, Herb, Hershel, Candice, Barry, Randall and Eliza (among more… :o)), a group from their rival high school was over at the behest of a girl Mitch was dating at the time. She was kind of a bitch, but Mitch was a total piece of shit, so it worked out nicely–

Herb and Al knew a few of these ‘newly arrived’ peeps, as they went to middle school with them ‘back in the day’. They were friendly at first, until Herb finished the boot and passed out on the ground, blocking the small entrance to the kitchen and forcing everyone who wanted to cook something to eat to cook over him #NotCookingWhenYou’reDruckIsForPrudes :D ><, or so Herb remembered when he would tell people this story (:/). Al and Candice were hooking up only twenty minutes in, com-pletely ignoring everything else going on, even the: “Al, we need your help over here!!!” and the: “He’s got a gun, that he must have bought illegally because all legal gun-owners are always responsible and never liable as gun-owners when something goes wrong with their guns!!!!!!” yelps from just a few feet away (Al nor Candice would even flinch (<3 X3 #GunJoke?(#ButFavora-bleToWhichSide???) )). Herb was a manipulative, lost, hipster/ wannabe, looking–for (??) Douchebag™ ($), real piece of work–

Al, on the other hand, was a metalhead, I-hate-everything-but-Slayer dick/clogged-pee-hole fucker ($) with a mouth to talk shit, but a mind to listen, albeit most times vaguely. He liked Slayer a lot. Even more than Pantera. He was a total /> fuckin’ idiot[4]

Anyway, in case one hadn’t picked up on this already, the other high school crew and Mitch’s got into a fight, so there’s that.

“Shouldnta’ come here talkin’ shit if they weren’t looking for a fight, nah mean?”

“True dat–”

>Fist bump<


“You’d better not be slobbering all over that thing over there!”

House was yelling satirically over the immature crowd, wearing a BIG smile (as he always was (ugh! #Asshole ) :!), and sipping on his fifth drink in twenty minutes. Hershel was sitting at a desk facing the wall (so: facing opposite House and all them) putting the finishing touches on the blunt as he talked to Mitch about how horrible ALL drugs were (like alcohol?) and how Mitch would BEAT THE LIVING SHIT outta anybody who dared violate his strict no-drug policy at his parties (‘a little’ drunk, Mitch did not notice what it was which Hershel was, so unapologetically, making, (i.e. a blunt (like, a marijuana blunt #Drug #TheWorstKindOfDrug #ALCOHOLISNOTADRUG )).

Hershel’s response: “Nah, we’re good, House.”

“Aight, just makin’ sure.”



“I mean: I’m all for free speech, but deliberately insulting one’s religion? Religion is so personal and indefinable, I mean, come on–”

“Fuck off, Eliza, deliberately insulting something ‘meaningful’ isn’t the only thing we’re talking about when we talk about those shit-eaters as it becomes a whole ‘nother issue when the thing being,” and Al took a ‘quotable’ tone here for this next word: “…‘Insulted’ is something that so desperately needs to be made fun of–which is fucking everything at some point. To make fun of something is pretty much equivalent to stopping something from being made too serious, as anything taken in unopposed excess is not a good thing. However, at the same time, this act of ‘joking’ or ‘satirizing’ is still not ignoring that, at times, seriousness is indeed involved. It’s just not all about that serious aspect of it is all, and it’s making a point not to focus only on that, throughout all-time. Life isn’t about being serious and subjectively focus-minded at every moment, constantly thinking about death, judgment or prosecution like those are the only things worth living for or dying for in life />

“And anything says it is, is fucking up–”

“He’s right,” Herb helped his friend with, taking a sip of his ‘beer’ #ShitBeerIsNotBeer($) #CallItWhatItIs(#Shit($))xDD . “It’s one thing to be justifiably pissed off about something, or even rightfully insulted by it,” he went on. “But it’s something else entirely to take someone’s life, or her opportunity to one, for that strictly personal and emotional point of motivation, ignorant of both everyone else’s existential right to that same thing (a journey to/a point of: motivation?), and the fact that everyone already has it.”

They were talking about the attacks on Charlie Hebdo in Paris in January 2015, and the ‘militant group’ (or: cocksuckers #CallThemWhatTheyAre [5]) from the Middle East famous for being God-fuckers (whose name I will not give legitimacy to by mentioning here #FUCKYou(MiddleFinger,|,) ). To reiterate: these were people very sure of their opinions, yet not the best informed, and, in most cases at these parties anyway (‘extreme religious’ and/or friendly incestuous circles? ;), it was either that or vice-versa.


To Herb, Candice tried to reassure: “That was very deep of you, Herb. Good for you–”

“Kanye sucks–”

“Al?!” Herb exclaimed. “Really? Now? Maybe you just don’t get it; too closed-minded to understand other people’s points of view, ever think of that?!–”

“Beyoncé is better.”

“No shit, but that’s not the point–”


Mitch, after being immediately, way-too-exuberantly (!) excited upon first seeing his friend, Nick, walk down the stairs, (in a frenzy) interrupted his ‘conversation’ with Hershel and went to high-five the dude–NOT-A-GOOD-IDEA-FOR-A-REALLY-DRUNK-TEENAGER[6]–and, as a result, he hit his head so hard on the support bar splitting through the middle of the basement’s ceiling that his body fully swiped the opposite way of his abruptly stopped head on the bar, sending it (his head), and him (his body), hastily to the ground where he lay for a good few seconds before he woke back up.

“Holy shit! AHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!” Barry Swindle laughed and pointed his finger a few feet away. “You stupid-ass motherfucker!–”

“Yo, FUCK you, Barry!!!!”

Mitch got up from the floor, tackled Barry to the ground–

“Dude, get off me!”

Mitch put him in a headlock–

“I’m only joking, dawg!!–”


“Yes! What the hell’s the matter with you, bro?–”

“Yea, you-right.”

Mitch let Barry go. They both stood up from the ground.

Mitch: “I love you, man.”

Barry: “You too, homie. I’m just an asshole–”

House, anonymously, smiling (:): “Yuuuuuge asshole!–”

“Alright guys, I think we’re good.”

Hershel stood up from the desk, still putting the final licking touches on his master creation (the blunt), spoke in between two of them.

Eliza: “Alright good, cause I’m ready to get the hell outta here. Are you guys getting hot?”

“Yea, I am.” –Al.

They passed a bored and too-sober looking Randall Gähstŭr on the couch against the other wall adjacent to the staircase on a ninety-degree angle (the one Mitch’s friend, Nick, had just walked down on).

Hershel: “Yo Randall, you coming?”

“/> Yup!”


>In the back<

“Yea, I’m down.”


>House-and-Hershel style laughs<

Randall: “I don’t get why it’s such a big deal, it’s just my name.”


They were in the middle of a field far behind the looms of the apartment buildings (a large field over 200 yards long (and over three times that across)), and just next to one of the several random areas of forest (needed cover) scattered throughout it.

“It’s not your name, it’s your Warcraft® gamer tag.”      –House.

“Yeah. R-Man. I’m R-Man.”

“Dawg, nah, ha-ha,” Hershel blurted out, “I think that’s a great idea,” as he came down from his laughter before completely losing it again after saying: “Like, seriously /> ahahahahaha!!!!!”

He turned away, tried to contain himself, ended up bending over in an attempt to let it all out easier.

“I don’t get why it’s such a big deal either,” he finally said after he’d calmed down.

“I fully agree.” –House, also holding in laughter.

“I mean: I’d have to be really drunk,” Randall said. “But if you guys provide the booze, I’m down

“Man, you got it,” Hershel responded. “I’ll provide all the booze, the pot, and I’ll make the thing myself tomorrow. House, your house cool?”

“Yea, man,” House responded. House was a pretentious, too-cool-for-school-but-totally-fucking-#GeekDeepDown-douc-hebag type-Douchebag/Douchebag™ ($) with a knack for engi-neering work, but a bad taste for shitty hip-hop. If enough people like something, can it really be that shitty?

–Yes (no?) #Contradictions,DoTheyHaveAPlace? –

“Alright. Then I’m down.” –Randall.

Hershel: “Dude, I’m so excited for this now–”

House to Hershel: “If you wanna come over earlier, work on #TheBrand™ for a while, that works.”

“Man, I’ll be there all day if that’s cool /> Ahahahah!!!”

“Hell yea!”

>Nineteen-year-old Randall Gähstŭr was agreeing to getting #Branded™ with his World of Warcraft® (ONLINE MMO, RPG COMPUTER GAME) gamer tag the next day, so long as, of course, he was really, really, really drunk™<

“I mean I have faith in you guys that you’re not gonna fuck it up or get me killed or anything,” Randall added. “I think I just need to be really, really drunk, you know? Otherwise, I’ll feel it, and I don’t want to do it if I’m going to feel anything, because then it’s just stupid, you know? Like, actually stupid–”

“Don’t worry, dude, it’s gonna be awesome,” Hershel assured everyone (paying attention (so: no one other than House, Hershel and Randall at that time)). “We’ll take care of every-thing. Unlike Mitch’s butterfly tattoo that he got for that one girl that one time /> what was her name?–”

“I have no idea–”

“You definitely won’t regret your #Branding™,” Hershel concluded.

“No worries.”



August 31st, 2014

7:56 p.m.

Herb had arrived at House’s house only a few minutes after Randall did. He was reluctant to go over; only because House insisted ‘twas to be ‘a-night-to-remember’ dideth Herb succumb-beth #MemorableEventsRequireMemorablePhrases , but also because Herb felt it rude to tell people ‘no’ when the request was simply to chill out and have a good tyme /> and especially when it involved only a short 2-3 minute drive from his parent’s house over to House’s (parent’s (house?) :/) (2-3 minutes? That’s all? #WhatABitch#StillTakingItBack(Bitch,|,)… ).

Herb went down the stairs leading from the driveway to the back under-deck-hangout area, found House controlling the outdoor TV with the remote control sitting comfortably at the marble-topped bar on Herb’s left, with the fire-pit/hang-out-area itself to Herb’s right. The fire-pit was really awesome: propane fueled, and there was some awesome-cool design on the table attached to, and surrounding, the part where the fire came searing out of a pile of shiny and trippy-ass looking (in a certain state of mind =H #HORRIBLEPeople,Potheads ) marbles. Bunch of nice chairs and couches surrounding it /> House’s house was a very, very, very fine house[7]

“Yo, what-up, dude?” House asked as Herb walked up.

“Not much, man.”


“Yea, you definitely sound hungover.”

“Meh,” Herb said. “Maybe a little bit.”

“Just a little bit?” –Hershel, pouring a shot of vodka for Randall. “That’s not what I heard while you were in the bathroom last night–”

“Hey at least I made it to the toilet–”

Randall shot the shot Hershel’d just put down for him, and Hershel quickly poured him another. Within five minutes of Herb’s being there, Hershel poured, and Randall drank, maybe eight shots, but it wasn’t that big a deal. Randall went to Bloomsburg /> Bloomsburg was a party school =O.

Hershel had #TheBrand™ spelled ‘R-Man’® resting peacefully in the fire, the rubber handle at its end stuck noticeably out, which he would periodically pick up when he had to adjust it, if it needed adjusting, for safety reasons…


Randall reacted with a cough, said: “Man, you’re really pouring those drinks up. Are you trying to get me drunk? Haha.”

“Yeah, that’s what you told us to do–”

“I’m an easy lay, you don’t have to worry–”

“After all this, you kinda have to get #Branded™ now.”  –House from the bar, still entranced by the spinning of the channels.

“I agreed last night, I’m not gonna puss out–”

“He’s fuckin’ right, dawg,” Hershel said. “I’ve been making this fuckin’ thing since fucking eleven this morning. You definitely have to get it now–”

“That’s eight hours,” Herb mumbled out loud, a little dumbfounded, and momentarily forgetting how hung-over he was.

“Yea, homie.” –Hershel, whilst moving #TheBrand™ more into the fire. “Gotta make it perfect–”

“This stuff tastes like shit.” –Randall, having just downed another one.

“Well, that’s what you get for not buying the shit yourself.” –Hershel.

You’re not drinking anything–”

“I got this beer, holmes–”

“Well, why don’t you give me some of that?–”

“Randall, getting #Branded™ is no spicy Mexican matter,” Hershel re-interrupted #ReInterruptionsAreEvenWorse-ThanNormalInterruptions =H. “Trust me, you’re gonna want that stronger shit–”

“That was totally racist!–”

“Perspective is life, broand society–get used to it–”

“And untrue.” –Herb. “Aren’t Mexicans stereotyped as being good drinkers?[8]–”

“Beer is twelve percent,” House whispered to Herb as Herb pulled out his phone from his pocket. “Don’t tell Randall, very good shit, this Spicy Mexican, great bang for your buck. Not enough people realize it yet, but they will. They will. You sure you don’t want any?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.”

Herb looked down at the text he’d just gotten from Al:


/> Dude Candice is bein a total gangsta-wannabe bitch right now are u really gona screw me over like this??? House owes me beer lol


Candice was a crazy (so: not-normal/normal-awesome-#InTheNormalWay ), beautiful-and-knew-it-but-wasn’t-a-BITC-H-about-it (if not sufficiently shown earlier >< :DD ;\) kinda chick™ ($) (and apparently occasionally total-gangsta-wannabe bitch) /> hot, pretty and smart, whom one would guess was only dating Al for his money in Slayer merch ($$$). Herb really didn’t want to have to go and pick Al up, even though Al lived only a mere >4 minute drive away.

Herb got another text:


/> I live a mere >6 minute drive away dude and that’s WITH traffic


“Yo, Al’s being a total meat-flapping cockholster right now, I think Im’a go pick him up.”

“Alright, well don’t take too long,” Hershel said. “This #Branding™ is happening sooooon, maaanngg.”

“I’ll be back in ten minutes, no more–”

“Ten minutes?” House inquired. “It’s no more than seven to get over there and back–”

“Whatever. We’ll see–”

“Dude, it’s like, two turns and through an intersection cutting halfway through your trip in like, a minute–”

“Whatever, man! Fuck you–”

Hershel was nourishing Randall’s twelfth shot in less than ten minutes #TwelveShots #Diabolic #LiarAndAThief [9]

“I really don’t feel that drunk yet,” said Randall sincerely. “I’ve had like, ten shots of ‘dis shit /> What ABV. is this anyway–”

“ABV.? You can say ‘percentage’, you know? It’s, like, way easier…”

[1] Charles, Larry. Director. Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. Written by Sacha Baron Cohen, Anthony Hines, Peter Baynham, Dan Mazer, Todd Philips. Starring Sacha Baron Cohen. 20th Century Fox. 2006


[3] The Notorious B.I.G. ‘Big Poppa’. Ready to Die. Bad Boy Records. 1994

[4] Everyone knows Pantera is better…

[5] Like, if ‘Allah’ were a ‘man’, and he asked a terrorist to suck his dick, would the terrorist do it?

[6] Fuckin’ idiots, those people (teenagers); irreparable idiots! x!

[7] Crosby, Stills, and Nash. ‘Our House’. Deja-Vu. Atlantic Records. 1970

[8] I am admittedly unsure if people of Mexican decent are specifically stereotyped as being good drinkers (isn’t everyone???)

[9] Diabolic. ‘Twelve Shots’. Liar and a Thief. Viper Records. 2010