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

Excerpts from r(E)volutionized contributor John Corry’s 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$.

12/28/18, 3:25 pm EST

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.


April 28th, 2015

4:32 p.m.

“I never cared much for Fucs,” he went on. “Real into training cops as if they were in World War III or some shit, and his answers to problems always came from aggressive and quick straight-from-the-hip judgment, which only ever winds up killing everyone involved /> but maybe that’s my bias. Through my experience, I just never thought that was a very productive way to progress society or address innocent people’s concerns­–through assuming that violence was inevitable, or by man-ipulating that naturally overwhelming, and inevitable, intellectual fear that it might be–but, then again, I guess with how violent and aggressive Individual People have always proven themselves to be throughout history, maybe he had a point.”

Former Officer Gähstŭr sighed, took another large sip of his rum and cola.


“I don’t care for the little bitch cocksucker motherfucker with a small penis and an even smaller sperm count either,” Saves encouraged.


The house had already been sold. Randall’s old room had been fully emptied and boarded up by the time Saves and Palmer got there. You couldn’t even get up the stairs, the case had so many wooden bars and metal poles all over it #HardWo-od*TheHardest . Throughout the meeting at the kitchen table, and without saying a word, Mrs. Gähstŭr would go frequently back and forth from the living room down the hall, though sometimes lightly mumbling something incoherent to herself (incoherent, it must have been). She had to have gone through like, five bottles of wine just in the thirty minutes Palmer and Saves were there /> it was crazy! It was a miracle she wasn’t on her knees searching for pennies (or vomiting XoP).

“Can I ask you a question, Officer Gähstŭr?” Palmer politely asked. Gähstŭr lit up his cigarette.

“Ts’ up, kid?”

“Why were you released from the force?”

“I was incompetent. Not a team player. Selfish.” He paused. “Or so they told me.”

“You can be honest with us, officer. I­–”

Former officer.”

Gähstŭr moved around in his seat in an attempt to familiarize himself with its cushion a little better.

“Randall was an interesting kid growing up” he started. “As an infant, I used to put him to sleep every night with Mozart playing softly next to his crib, and he used to sing along to James Brown as if on his last American Idol performance by the time he was a toddler. Back then, we lived in the city, 35th and Mt. Vernon Streets, and I was a detective at the 2nd and 3/9th’s precinct. Sergeant Fucs was my partner for about a year, before he got promoted and sent over to the 14th and 1/6th, and several years before I was let go of the 2nd and 3/9th’s. Randall was always good at staying away from the troublemakers when he was younger, but that changed around age twelve, almost overnight it felt like. He stopped practicing music, stopped reading. Instead of g to thinking, Randall got very into drugs and gangs[2], finally, ended up getting himself arrested for his alleged involvement in a rape around his fifteenth birthday. Randall denied any part in it, continued to do so until he…”

He sighed and took another large sip of his drink. It was obvious he was doing his best not to be too affected by what he was saying.


“My sergeant refused to give me any details about it.”

“You’d think for someone who worked there, they’d be a little more forgiving,” Palmer said.

“Nah, they didn’t like me, man,” Gähstŭr responded.

“Why was that?” –Saves.


Palmer figured it was because Officer Gähstŭr was a big and intimidating looking dude, and because he had one of those signature ‘angry faces’ that everyone associates with crazy people ;\ (even though it usually (always) meant quite the opposite (i.e. angry faces imply smart people ,|,)).

“You’d think it was economical or racism, but it wasn’t just that,” Gähstŭr said. “Not even mostly in fact, I think I’ve come to realize.”

“What else have you come to realize? Anything you think might be relatable?” –Saves.

Gähstŭr raised an eyebrow o.O. “Are you sure I can trust you guys?” he asked.

Palmer: “Of course.” Saves nodded in agreement.


“When I first joined the force, my sole interest was in protecting people and upholding the law. Obviously, I had a pretty good idea of what I was in for before getting involved, given my situation ($), but, after several months, it exceeded my expectations. Fucs, as well as a number of other officers, gradually got worse with the hazing. Eventually, they threatened my family if I didn’t comply with certain aspects of how they went about their work: aspects of detail quite opposed to my own ‘moral codes’, if I had to call them something. I acquiesced to this for reasons I can only say felt reasonable at the time. As a type of psychological retaliation, however, or maybe just to make myself feel a little better about ‘selling out’, I decided to look into how the precinct went about this ‘work’, on a deeper level and in areas that they may not have wanted me to go searching in, and, eventually, what may have gone into any bigger ‘machine’ potentially making money off poor or sick people, just… I dunno why.

“At first, it was mostly bullshit: petty little crimes like parking tickets and homeless veterans begging for change outside the VA building, those sons of bitches[3], but as time went on, my unpaid work load got heavier, most notably after I was assigned to investigate a claim made by Clinton Male Enhancements, a sub-company of Clinton & Lewinski Pharm-aceuticals. That’s the Swindles’ Company, you know? As in Barry Swindle?”

“We know,” Palmer answered. He and Saves had gotten to know very well of Clinton Male Enhancements, through their police work, as did most married couples ;).


“What was the claim?”

“Nothing much, just a few kids stealing drugs to sell on the street. What really got me was how both the Swindles and the police reacted to it. They didn’t give a fuck, nothing. Just filed the insurance claim, which came out no questions asked. I wasn’t able to get much, but what I did find was quite disturbing. Both prior to when I was assigned to their case, and ever since or until I was able to research the information, they’ve been consistently sued for everything from embezzlement to fraud to even conspiracy, but these cases are always settled out of court. I was never able to find out why this may have been, nor was I able to get into any kind of contact with the any of the prosecutors.

“Since the inception of Clinton & Lewinski Pharma-ceuticals, they’ve steadily been raising the prices of their drugs, particularly the powerful life-saving ones for things like cancer and AIDS, on the basis, of course, that if someone needs it to live, that person is going to be willing to pay more for that drug. That’s Capitalism for you, if you ask me: anything for profit, including death and murder. I call it ‘Inevitable “Capitalistic” Douchery™’ because, in a capitalistic system, which places money in the idol spot the same way communism accidentally places a dictator there, there is implied an inevitable and almost unavoidable decline of personal morals, empathy, and objective human decency /> for the sake of economic prosperity.



“Anyway, when I looked deeper, I was surprised to find how much their youngest son, Barry, was actually against their cause and company. By what I saw through his social media accounts and wire-tapped text messages–as is standard protocol, anyone who listens to black metal is automatically considered a danger to the state[5]–it was obvious that he was against all causes, but he had a very special kind of hatred for pharma-ceuticals and crony capitalism[6]. Can’t say I blame him…”

Saves asked: “Is that why you got fired from the force?”

“I wasn’t fired from the force,” and he bit his lip ><, gulped his drink again. “Soon after I began looking into Clinton & Lewinski, I got involved in a conspiracy to send a high profile activist to jail on a false murder charge. The man was framed for the murder, specifically targeted, I know that much just based on the information I was specifically not told. I found out a little bit about what the situation was, and Fucs, keeping an eye on me at his new job at the 14th and 1/6th, knew I found out. I left before they could tarnish my reputation, and at some heavy ‘persuading’ on the part of the police commissioner.”

“So you weren’t technically fired?”

“Hell no.”

–Fuckin’ Fucs />

“Who was the man framed?”


“Just after I resigned was when Randall was found in an alleyway, unconscious from a heroin overdose.”

“Was there any reason to suspect foul play?” –Saves.

“No, or I have no evidence to. We found him with the needle still in his arm, and he admitted to shooting up by himself in that alleyway an hour before we found him, which checked out with witnesses. My department refused to pay the hospital bills, despite the terms of my severance package, so we had to sell our home, and we were almost forced to live out on the street, but, thankfully, my son-in-law bailed us out–”

“Yes, your son-in-law,” Palmer said. “He disappeared a little while back, correct?”

Gähstŭr looked at him very seriously. There were rumors about where Gähstŭr’s son-in-law went after he’d disappeared. It was well known he had a tough childhood growing up: terrible poverty, his father in jail for life for a gram of pot, a slew of terrible lawyers, and even worse law advice. He’d credited Gähstŭr’s daughter, Lisa, with saving his life, but when Lisa was mistaken for a gang member in ‘05 and killed by police while walking down a side street one random Sunday, with the guilty officer getting off Scott-free to go end up killing another two unarmed people over the ensuing two and a half months, some may have said her poor widow had lost his poor mind, others­–

Something worse…


“After Randall awoke from his coma, he vowed never to do drugs again, or to hang out with people who did. We sent him to a rehab center up here, very nice place. We’re lucky that my eldest son, Britt, was able to pay for it, especially after all the money we had to spend sending him to rehab while he was growing up. After Randall got out was when we moved here, and we haven’t had any problems since.”

“Until now?”

Gähstŭr sighed to tha-tha-tha–


Fuckin’ marijuana.”

Palmer knew he was in no position to express his political views (why were they there so prevalent at that moment anyway?) =//.

;\ ;\ ;\ ;\ ;\

The steps and voice of Mrs. Gähstŭr coming back through the hallway overtook the earned silence. She was on the phone with Gabby talking about the latest episode of ‘Dancing with the Stars’, but she wasn’t sure if Raoul really deserved the partner he got, but Gabby disagreed, and–

 “Is there any reason you can think of to assume that a gang had anything to do with what ended up happening to Randall? Any gang. Bloods™, Crips™, white supremacists™, Los Zeta™, PC Liberals™, self-righteous pretentious upholders-of-‘the law’™, anything at all.”

Gähstŭr thought about it for a moment, answered: “I don’t think so. Since we’ve moved here, I haven’t seen or heard anything I’ve noticed. There was one exception, actually, of one man, whom I saw here twice, the last time being about two weeks ago. I didn’t think much of it at the time because I thought I recognized him as a known civil rights advocate, ‘known’ more so in the underground, amongst the poor in Philly. Big community organizer, speaker, that type of cat.”

“Do you know the name of the man?” Saves asked, eyes on her ‘jotter’ on her lap (o.O).

Gähstŭr thought it out for another moment. “Johnson? I think?” he finally said. “I’m not sure anymore, it seems I’ve forgotten. Johnson’s such a common name, I feel like I might just be categorizing[7].”

“Were you close with Randall?” Palmer asked

“We talked every night, every morning. We’d gotten pretty tight in the months before he died. He was just beginning to grow up when it happened, heh,” and he gave a light chuckle, shook his head.

“You know, ever since the end of this past summer, there was something new about him, something fresh. Like he’d finally understood what it meant to be an adult, but, that, for some reason, didn’t bother him like it does so many kids that age, or adults as well for that matter, probably even more so adults, now that I think about it. He accepted who he was, what the world was, and he set out to do something about it, rather than just get drunk and laid every night, and eventually married and numbed out on anti-depressants or some other synthetic pill that he didn’t need.”

“Did you have any reason to suspect a relapse?” Palmer asked.

“Not at all. I would have known if he was high on something serious. Randall fucked up on anything other than marijuana was painfully obvious. A few times, not long ago in fact, he’d told me how glad he was to be done with that life, his old life, the one he missed out on because he was too whacked out on crack or heroin throughout to remember it. Just… in passing, he’d mention it–like if one of those shows was on TV, or I’d say something about it or something.”

“What shows?”

“Like, ‘Cops’ or ‘Gangland’ or some shit. It’s terrible the way certain cops act like they’re God’s gift to the universe. Same thing with all of those assholes on the streets taking advantage of others under that same guise that they somehow have a right to because of the situation they’re in, by the way, only difference is the ‘street thugs’ aren’t being paid to act that way, at least not legally. Really just anybody being a dick though, I don’t give a fuck what your bank or your skin color is supposed to say about you.”

He gave a nice look to Saves and Palmer, momentarily erasing that quickly begotten anger just surfaced onto his face. Both Saves and Palmer, very much so, appreciated it.


Then he went back–

“Because anyone can be such a dick sometimes, in regards to the cop side of it–which is a little more complicated because, again, they are legally paid by these people to protect these people–it has something to do with the way the system works more than anything, how ‘the system’[8] creates the environments in which these shit-stained people–including gang-members just as much as bad cops[9]–are allowed to flourish in the way in which they do.

“I would say that it obviously has a lot to do with all of that. But what I think a lot of people don’t understand is, putting aside the violence of our inner cities on their own–although that has far more to do with our failed ‘drug war’ and certain aspects of our economic system than anything anyway–that, for it to be as ingrained in our culture, for this submerged hate to have survived so long in the way in which it has, in the background, it has to go deeper than that, to somewhere deep and mixed in within the human psyche itself.”

Palmer: “And what do you think that is?”

Shame? Blame, assumption, Crime and Punishment™? I dunno…” and he trailed off. “We’re all so concerned about figuring out ‘who done it’–and with what to do with them afterwards, using that as our only attempt to say to our peers that we’re doing something to prevent people from turning into that: a monster, something who thinks it’s okay to kill even though she or he knows damn well what it feels like to have something she or he loves taken forever away, someone who wouldn’t feel bad or ‘off’ for killing someone, even if that were the only way she or he could survive–that we forget there are many ways to go about fixing that problem. There’s no question of how or why people are a certain (negative) way, or how they get to be that way, no analysis attempted to figure out how to stop it, or how it’s created or sustained /> only on how to punish it, while we keep all of the other aspects, like schooling and criminal justice and media–three things that teach and raise our children more than almost anything ($)–exactly the same. The only recourse in which we actually attempt to imbue ourselves is in what to do with those evil after they commit, and, in many cases, it still isn’t the best way to go: too many people with a hand in something on the side of the ‘product’, or in that ‘process of defamation’, or in the endgame /> too many people who don’t care about strangers /> too many people inherently distrustful of the thing which gave them life[10]

“Randall, and I’m sure many others as well–because, without that, Randall surely would have gone insane–Randall knew about all this, and he wanted to do something, something beyond ego or a strictly human or divine interpretation of love or blame, something beyond that personal analysis we all need so badly when we talk about personal exploitations like God or love or politics or philosophy, something into the territory of an undefined, inexorable unity between ‘self’ and ‘other’ /> perhaps only possible in another dimension, ha!” and he laughed, continued: “Is what Randall used to say… but I am no scientist, nor do I pretend to be.”

Palmer, aka Mr. Science Nerd #HeKnewEverythingAnd-WasNeverWrong(!!!) , raised an eyebrow.


“I’ve seen too many people die by pretending to be something they’re not, by running away from the ‘negative’ things which make them who they are–now­–and, therefore, by subconsciously running from the better person they could be, in the future, if given the ‘opportunity’. At that critical age so allusive to the Intellectual, and so real to the Doer, Randall was finally coming around to who he was, and who he could be as an adult /> if only he had something to do with reality at its most basic fault–in it–as that person could only become someone real if time were recognized as equally ‘now’ as ‘then’.”

He shot a dark look in Palmer’s direction…

“He was a hardcore Revolutionary, that Randall-Man, that’s for sure.”


April 28th, 2015

5:57 p.m.

After a long day at the ‘office’ #WorkingOutsideOrOnTheRoadIsn’tWork($)#Sarcasm#FuckOff#Fu-ckOff#FuckOff , a pretty, ‘pretentious’ couple walked into Former Special Agent Henrik Palmer’s ‘super-fancy’ ‘two-bedroom’ apartment, and threw their coats to the floor. It was a long day–a long fucking day indeed (=o)–and Palmer and his new friend, Now-Also-Former Officer Natalie M. Saves, were amazed at how much they’d learned from their interview with Former Officer, and all around cool dude, Randall Gähstŭr Sr. Clearly, there was something going on within Philly’s law enforcement system #SoClearly-*TheMostClearly on a deep level, something HUGE and GRANDIOSE (!); if anything just because of the way it all seemed to so perfectly connect: Randall’s possible meeting with known TERRORIST Chris Johnson, Gestarrè’s and Fucs’s original interest in ignoring the Gähstŭr case given the situation of Gähstŭr Sr., the disappearance of Gähstŭr’s son-in-law also given Gähstŭr Sr.’s relation with the force, Barry’s hatred for crony capitalism and Clinton Male Enhancements (but how did he get it up???), the sudden spike in hateful rhetoric from all sides in Washington ($)… It was all very exciting, but, given Saves’ and Palmer’s recent designations as former special agents (XHHH), they knew that if they were going to pursue this path of rotten bread crumbs, they’d have to do so very carefully, and it was going to take some time. It was quite the pickle, but the cucumber was far from fresh :OOOOFenUff39ughuvneoigh9bei-ufh2348foiCH–


Saves dropped onto the couch–

“Ooooh my Goddd,” she whined and Palmer laughed at her.

“What are you laughing at?”

“Eh, it’s nothing,” and he started picking up the articles and case files that had fallen off the couch as a result of Saves’ delusion xP.

“It’s been a long fucking day, dude,” she said.

“I know.”

Palmer was bent on his knees, and eye level with the couch–

Saves got up, speed-walked her short way over to him–

She stopped him in his tracks, squatted down to eye/ couch level.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m picking up these articles.”

“You’re still working?”

Palmer was intrigued o.O. Gähstŭr’s reference to an unnamed civil-rights activist had his mind thinking circles, and his body tingling feeling.



“That is so hot.”

There was no pause /> not this time (xxxD). Palmer thought of nothing (<3), and the two love-birds so obviously and deeply wrong for each other got it on like in a terrible B-list movie at the end of the world like terrible porno actors all hawt and steamy and disgusting and SINFUL and *TheMostSinful and–

[1] So large …

[2] A little unrelated, but is alcohol a drug? Is being a part of gang? WHAT IS THE TRUE NATURE OF ADDICTION??? #We’reAllAddicts(OfLife(#WhatAboutSleep?Happiness?-#WhatIsLife?))

[3] This is a joke, is it hurting yet? #ItFUCKINGShouldBe

[4] *ALLMarriedCouples … *AllMarriedCouples…

[5] Wonder why… (like, really)

[6] ‘Crony Capitalism’ (closer to corporatism, or: capitalism intertwined with government, which goes against the most basic DNA of what capitalism is supposed to be), as opposed to any type of ‘free-market capitalism’

[7] Racist? (namist?)

[8] Societal-Mind? Collective Unconscious? A result of certain repressions in the Collective Unconscious? Certain ‘decisions’ of the Societal-Mind? A government apparently run by the people for the people but not with any trust in the people to keep its secrets? #DemocracyCannot-ExistInAWorldWhereGovernmentsMustKeepSecretsFromTheirCitizens…

[9] Gang-members? XDDD (this is a joke (or is it o.OOO))

- In all seriousness, the ratio of bad-to-good cops is extremely small (as far as I know, or have experienced), and the same goes for poor people, or anyone from any group for that matter

[10] The unknown

[11] So far… (423890ofn38hfoarghpqo8gpquhfpiaufhgpnqunhtpa98fygphq9uytp9a87gnyq79y)