Phi11y’s P-Hines{T} /> #Hardcore PHant-[O]m$: Part Three, Chapter Fifteen

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$.

1/14/19, 5:13pm 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 Barnes and Noble.



April 28th 2015

10:02 p.m.

Finally… (:o)

The hour was getting late (so late), the minute /> settling down (=o) #OMGOMG . The time had come… XO (o.O): the time to let it all let itself all happen. The time-in, the moment-of (…) /> the ultimate scene of fashion they’d all been waiting for because it involved so many insanely attractive people and different types of fabric–



House was lounging in his upstairs house living room. He’d just sat down after pouring up his second Brandy® of the night, and he was wearing this very expensive–hawt–hot pink bathrobe (:D). He had that infamous giant grin on his face (X), and he was just putting his feet up on the footrest />

When he heard the door quietly open and close in the basement just underneath the exact spot where he was just then ‘sitting’.

__, =O ;\ >< xo ,;’___

The lights were dimmed. There were many candles going amidst the strong moonlight coming in through the windows littering the wall to House’s right, and he commented silently to himself how beautiful it all was. He sat in the corner of the big, luxurious room *TheMostLuxurious , it spread out widely straight before him, and to his left. He had Mozart’s Requiem playing on the stereo

He placed his Brandy® on the table, lit a cigar. He was having trouble holding in his excitement, he could barely contain himself! ‘Everything we’ve been waiting for is happening tonight,’ he thought. ‘Randall, you did not die in vain! Your contributions will be felt…

‘God, why did you have to go and do that?...’


The door to the basement creaked open. The tip of the gun came first, followed, ironically, by the hand which held it (guns need hands to be operated??? How strange o.O…). The owner of said hand, Barry G. Swindle, was finally revealed with the final slow swing of the door. ‘Those sunglasses reflect the candlelight beautifully’, House thought to himself, his smile coming back quicker than even he would have anticipated. ‘How symbolic (o.OO =D ==DDD). Maybe that’s why so many people wear them when there’s no legitimate reason to, like when it’s dark outside, or in a movie theater, or in a courtroom

#SmilingOfficially , he took another sip of his Brandy®.


Barry had the gun pointed straight between House’s eyes, his hand completely still–

“Been a while, my friend,” he said, keeping the gun aimed as he approached and then sat down on the couch a few feet from House’s house lounging chair.

“‘T’has,” House replied. “How you been?”

Barry didn’t respond. House didn’t mind.

“I assume you’ve heard?” Barry asked.

“I have.”

“So you know what now needs to happen?”

House looked away.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a Brandy®, Mr. Swindle?”

“Ahaa, the always classy and hospitable House.”

“Of course,” House responded. “Only the finest for America’s P-hinest.”

Barry assented, and before-they-knew-it they were talking about old times. Indeed, it’d been quite a while since either of them had seen each other, so it served nice to reminisce. As they conversed and laughed and chilled for those twenty-or-so minutes, Barry never once took the gun off House, and House never once showed that he noticed or in any way cared. Neither of them stopped smiling. You would think that they were telling jokes to one another (!), but they weren’t /> just talking about ‘normal’ shit that ‘normal’ people talked about, and pretending that it was something more, drinking Brandy® and smoking cigars as if at the end of time and not giving a flying-flying fuck-fuck-fuck–



“Well. The time is officially late, homie.”

Barry had his back slouched far into the chair, quite comfortably by this point. He raised the gun higher as he leaned forward, stretched his back–

House’s smiled widened.


“So do we get this over with, or what?” Barry asked.

House rustled in his chair, poured up another Brandy®. He thought about Barry’s proposal for a moment, yet not-at-all. He knew what Barry was really saying.


“I dunno, Barry. You tell me.”


“This is not the time to start playing games–”

“Oh, but I think it is–”

House put his Brandy® on the table, leaned forward.

“May I ask you a question?” House asked.


Barry’s smile widened.


He leaned in–

“Of course–”

Quickly: “Are you hardcore?–”

Barry laughed. He’d not heard such a preposterous question in so long!

“I dunno, House, but considering the situation, and the events taking place even at this precise moment, as if they’ve been planned for millions of years, germinating in the dividends of all dimensions combined to form ours here now />


“That’s not the question, here.. now, is it?”

House smiled, leaned back. That was the right answer.


“No, I guess it’s not,” and he picked up his Brandy®, sipped it, and enjoyed the fuck out of it, letting out his satisfaction with a nice-ass voiced air excretion–


… (10:33.32… 10:33.33.34… 10:33.34.456… 10:33.345.3579.111315171921232729133…)…

“What is the question, Barry?”

“The question is…”

Barry stood up, momentarily relaxed the gun at his side–

Only to lift it back up again to–

He pointed it at–

“Are you…”