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

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$.

1/18/19, 6:09 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 Barnes and Noble.


Part Four


(The ‘Fake’ Story) 

4- IV- 97%!ISSSHHHH-3 and 1/6th/4

“We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies.” –Martin Luther King Jr.

“One Nation Under a Groove.” –P-Funk/Funkadelic, George Clinton


April 29th, 2015

12 a.m. (ish) 


The ‘idea’ of which Al was so potently referring by the end of that one chapter–the seventh (chapter) in Part three (3) in numbered theory of this story (Part Three/3/III/75%!ish/3/4 (Chapter 7))–was so grandiose and all-encompassing: the idea so diligently clawing at his heart <3 =D /> to go out and find his friend (=): it was exactly what he’d set out to do that evening: the evening of the twenty-eighth (28th) day of the month of April in the year 2015 (time-lapse???(??? (((Dimensions???!!!)))) (-no (the time makes sense, I swear, you don’t need to look into it (;\) (seriously (!!) #Don’tGetOffended(Again:/) #Don’tOver-Think! #Don’tO-ver-Feel! ))). Al figured Herb was somewhere in the city; if he were in Bucks, the cops would have found him by ‘now’, as his parents were letting everyone in the country know of his disappearance. Herb always talked about moving into the city, and he was especially fond of the idea in the several months previous to Randall’s grisly murder, or so Herb would say every time he got drunk in Al’s garage, or, rather: Al’s mom’s garage and the place where–

This was the first place he’d start (Al) (the city #TheHea-rtOfTheCity #Jay-Z ).

After that practical fucking wedding ceremony at the playground with Candice #FuckingNewlyweds,Right? , Al went home to take a dump, left his mom’s by 3:35 to catch the 4:03 train into Philly, and arrived at Market East (or whatever the fuck the most recent corporation to buy it out had renamed it (Jefferson ($))) precisely at 5 o’ clock. He stopped only once in his search, for lunch /> at Steve’s (Steaks) because, given the circumstances, he wasn’t going to be thinking about eating healthily, and, partly because of his former feud with Herb and the fact that he’d rather not be reminded of it if he could help it, he wasn’t going to Geno’s (Steaks) either, even though he’d passed right by there right at 8 o’ clock (p.m.) /> perfect lunch-time time :D (Herb was a major Pat’s (Steaks) guy over Geno’s (Steaks) (they were right across the street from each other: the two most-famous most-famous Philly-food restaurants in the city (debatable)) although Al’s faith in that (Geno’s (Steaks)), his favorite cheesesteak establishment in that Italian part of the city (south of south street, and on the East (Jersey) side of Philly), had been rocked and shaken to the core a few weeks previous when they skimped out heavily on the meat (something Pat’s never did, though Geno’s usually won on the rolls–), and Herb had always been a big fan Jim’s (Steaks) /> though they’d both agreed that Steve’s (Steaks) up on Bustleton was tha’ shit, and that Tony Luke’s (Steaks) down on Oregon was a little over-rated (or: were just really sloppy that day, the day they went to try them out (even though it wasn’t really all that busy so I can’t imagine why))–)

Al and Candice kept in touch all day.


He didn’t tell her what his plans were, not exactly: he didn’t want to worry her. They left on good terms, he told her he’d keep her informed, but that this was just something he needed to do on his own. It wasn’t that he needed to keep her on the sidelines or anything, or even that he was still all-that pissed at her for being such a total crazy bitch and all #TotalCrazyBit- ch . Herb had been Al’s best friend since before either of them were ten, they even had BFF rings as a ‘joke’ that some of their other friends and ex-girlfriends (like Hershel, Randall, others named Sarah, Helen, Cindy Lou (Who?), Jenn, Barry) were wildly totally jealous of (like, totally). Candice had her own shit to deal with anyway…

“Al, I’m worried,” she said on the phone to him when he was just beginning his search, as he stepped off the train. “I don’t want you doing anything stupid–”

“Yea, well, who you talking to? Not my fault I was #BornThatWay –”

“Al, not everything has to be political. You’re being a shmuck–”

“No I’m not. You’re being a shmuck.”

“Just say something to make me feel better,” Candice said. “Talk to me about Slayer. I love it when you do that–”

He decided he was going to lie to her. They weren’t technically ‘together’ at the time anymore anyway, so: whatever, right? #WeWereOnABreak!!! #Friends #Season3 #RossNRach-el4Eva!! [2].

“I’m not looking for him, I’m taking the day off,” he said.

“You’re taking the day off?!–”

“Yea, it’s been a tough fuckin’ week! And I need Dillinger[3] tickets. Mutoid Man is opening–”

Al, that is obviously a lie! You specifically told me earlier today that you were going there to look for him! />”

After snatching the Dillinger and Mutoid Man (with Primitive Weapons and Rosetta <3) tickets, around 9:30 p.m., Al’s search was starting to get tired. He’d been harassed on eight separate occasions already. With all of the protests going on in Baltimore, Philly had developed its own way of showing support. As Al continued his relentless search, almost every person, it seemed, would mean mug him as if in a contest for who could give him the most intimidating one. He got spit on three times (once by a cop, once by a kid, and once by a /> hobo (‘hobo’: like, synonymous with, like: veteran #AskTheVA #IHOPEITFU-CKINGHURTS ??)). Each time, he almost turned around to fight the dude, but then he remembered Herb, and his ‘nonviolent’ ways, and he re-thought. Al didn’t want to fight. He wanted to find his friend. And forget about ‘FOIGHTEN!’ #SouthPark #SouthParkSeason06Episode04 #RussellCrowe #NewTerrance-AndPhillipTrailer #Foitin’RAAAAAOOOOOONNNDDDTHEW-OOOOORRLLLDDD #GetEm’Tugga! [4]


By 10:00 p.m., Al was done.


He’d spent all evening searching for Herb–all fucking evening (XH)–looking in stores, at parks, in adult film theaters, asking random people on the street if they’d ‘seen this boy?’ #Terminator2 #WatchOutForJudgmentDay [6], with a picture on his phone of him and Herb dressed up as pirates at a random Flyers game for no reason (:/). Al must have asked over fifty people, and that was just on the street over the course of the last hour (from around 9 to 10 (p.m.)). As expected (so expected…), he got not one good answer or response not blatantly rude. Everyone treated him exactly the same, everyone: like shit™–

He was standing outside the entrance to the train station, waiting for the train home after he’d given up like a quitter™, smoking a cigarette™ with under ten minutes to spare before the train was scheduled to get there, when some random guy walked up and asked Al if he could bum one.

“Yea, dude,” and he held out the death stick of awesomeness.


“Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

Al pondered…


He pulled out his phone, showed the guy the picture of Haaaeeerrrbbb tha’ sexy pirate.


“Oh yea…” the guy responded. “Yea, I seen him,” gravely. “He was stumbling around up near Trenton and Hazzard in Kensington, real glossy eyed. Didn’t look so good.”

He took a puff of his cigarette as Al was blowing his last one out, didn’t realize the man’s tone–

“Really?!” Al exclaimed. “Trenton and Hazzard?! OMG like OH EM fucking GEE!!!”

“Yea, man.”

The guy let the smoke out of his mouth all slowly-like.

“Saw him walking into that blue building on the corner up there, the one where that shootout was some time back.”

“You mean that old abandoned apartment building?”


“I heard there was a terrible massacre up there a few decades ago. Real shitty, cops involved, uncalled for /> like, cops totally in the wrong, subconsciously ALWAYS STRIVING for martial law like they always FUCKING are. Happened around 1992 or some shit, right???


The dude took another drag off his cigarette and pondered off into space for a few seconds.

“Kinda like that MOVE bombing in the 70s?”

“Nah, man,” the dude finally responded with a shake of his head. “MOVE was tryna do something. Mighta gone about it in the wrong way, but at least they had heart, or at least they wanted to. The people who hang out up around there, up by Trenton and Hazzard,” and he shook his head gently back and forth, faced it down. “They ain’t good people, man. Most of em’ anyways.”

He flicked his cigarette out and began walking away, tightened his back’s grip on his backpack, gripped his hands on its ropes near his waist.

“Thanks for the cancer, homie.”


“You be careful up there,” he called back like deja vu or some shit™, just as Al started to move along on his way as well. “Whole world’s about to blow up, and ain’t nobody nowhere knows it. Not now, not then, not ever.”

‘Pack a 4-matic to crack your whole cabbage…’[8]




Al took an Uber™ (Legal) up to his destination because he didn’t want to have to hail down a taxi and then pay more for it anyway #Shit’sTough #Seriously,Shit’sTough #SeriouslyTho-ugh,FindANewJob #FindANewJob #SorryNotSorry,FindANew-Job . The #BigBlueBuildingOnTheCorner wasn’t too far a walk from the train station, but AL believed his new friend to be right: this wasn’t the best area for anyone to be hanging out at alone, but especially if you were from the burbs, and especially at that time (of night? Of year? Of human history??? #Omg ). Al’s liberal side didn’t like to admit it, but there were some areas in the city where the people there just didn’t like anyone they didn’t already know, no matter who the person was, how cool she/he was, or even what she/he looked like, save for, of course, the all-important ‘color of her/his skin’ (like, for example, if she were wearing a Malcolm X t-shirt and had a big headphone set around her pissed-off-looking head blastin’ NWA’s ‘Fuck tha’ Police’ #CHECKYOURFUCKINGPRIVILEGE!!! ).

The Uber™ (Legal) driver made one last revelatory comment as Al stepped out the door–

“You sure this is where you tryna go?!–”

The street was quiet and dark. There were almost no streetlights working, and the ones that were would blink and spark out like lightning. When he reached #TheBlueBuilding-OnTheCorner , he knocked at the door three times. No one came. The fourth time he knocked, the door opened a tiny slit, but no one was there, in the dark, behind it. Because of the mood Al was in, as well as, of course, the nature of his quest #Saving-LivezIzToughBusinezz , after taking a quick peek inside to find the place not initially too threatening, he gently grabbed the gun around his waist (rather than, like, taking it out and holding it forthright, #OpenCarryIsAnOpenInviteToViolence ), and walked in.


There were people in there, but there was no one in there #TheModernShakespeare (<#Sad:( ). They littered the ground like trash–blatantly fucked up–almost all passed out, some possibly not even alive (or: breathing (they were all ‘not-alive’ ><)). Some had needles dangling from their arms, others were actively, slowly, putting needles into other people’s arms, or tightening a tourniquet, lighting pipes for people, etc. Literally every corner of every room was occupied, yet no one noticed Al, nor even looked up, or moved at all when he passed. There must have been at least a hundred people scattered throughout just that first floor–

He looked carefully at the faces. They looked worn, beaten, hopeless, like they were dead already, or, worse than death, they were zombies who’d relatively chosen this lifestyle (as opposed to zombies like, infected or something? (<#Ques-tionThere(#Addiction?)? [9] )). Al felt angry, instantaneously infinitely frustrated and pissed at everything everywhere #EverythingEverywhere /> thinking these shits as the scum everyone knew them to be, stealing his taxes in the form of welfare, having nothing but fun all day, EVERY day, while he had to go to work and slave for the pockets of some rich billionaire in his twelfth marriage, just to make ends meet. ‘Fuckers,’ he thought all of them with a wince.

He paused to take a short look around the room. ‘Dead even before alive…’

He started walking again, but he couldn’t get that ‘political sense’ out of his brain, it would seem as though Candice was right! He thought about all those people out there who’d purposefully denied people healthcare and life-saving medication over the years, who got mad when someone said the ‘Fuck’ word, but when a head gets chopped off in Braveheart on TNT is just like, ‘YEA, FUCK THOSE BRITS!’, people who would find a house like this, full of people like these, and immediately pull out their guns and start SCREAMING!, BARKING! at people to GET ON THE GROUND! (as if they weren’t there already) so they could be sent to jail to rot for as long as divinely possible as the only necessary ‘punishment’ for being such a terrible human being in a world where it should have been so easy to be so good, so righteous

He reached the last room, and could still not find Herb. He tinkered up the stairs. There were four floors in all, so he hoped desperately that Herb was somewhere on this next one, because, if not, he was shit outta luck–

Al wasn’t so lucky (:( ). He went up to the third floor, but to still no avail. Herb must have been on that last floor #HeMUSTHave because, as Al figured, this was way too shitty of a situation to not have an at least halfway-decent narratively satisfying ending (;). Heading up the stairs that last time, he felt himself gripping harder on the gun, still concealed in his waistband because he wasn’t one of those open-carry enthusiasts who needed to flaunt it like a large, Mexican gangster penis on the reg #LongLiveKennyPowers , but then he ironically thought that this might actually be a situation where open-carry was indeed quite appropriate #IronicMuch? , so he pulled it out and aimed in front of him, safety off.


This last floor was pretty bad (><). It was probably the worst of them all, both light-and-sanity-wise, with the ground fully covered by paraphernalia, ‘people’, and other dirty things. Some dude was raping some chick unconscious on a couch that looked like just sitting on it would give one syphilis. There was at least double the amount of people up there than on all three of the other floors combined. They were piled on top of each other, amassed to produce no spots of visible floor at all. Al toppled over them, moved certain bodies to check and see if he could recognize the face. He didn’t. A guy spit on him (all the spitting!), and Al recoiled in agony before he saw the dude go back to eating a girl out /> but it wasn’t a girl X(–

#ThePleasured was packing the crack pipe, saying: “Tha’ss right gurl, tha’ss right,” and yet some people say that people–people–choose to live this way?–



Al reached the last room on the top floor #TheFourthF-loor . It smelled abhorrently like shit in there, like it was literally made of shit (or like there was a very permanent leak from a nearby sewage plant that hadn’t been addressed in decades #MetephorFor:Flint,Michigan #ButPoliticiansNeedAtLeastFive-VacationsAYear,AreYouCrazy??? ). It was more torn apart than any other room in the house. I mean the whole house looked like a fucking pigsty shit-style-toilet romper hit by a bomb in the seventies and then forgotten about for ages, but this room felt like ground zero. There was blood smeared all over the walls /> shit, vomit all over the comfy chairs and couches. Many of the bodies were covered in blankets which certainly didn’t look very good either…

Al was just about to give up when he looked into the farthest dark corner and saw the ragged worn skin around the vintage Eric B. and Rakim Paid in Full sweatshirt–

He raced over. Herb had sunglasses on (B/), but Al knew he was ‘sleeping’ the second he saw him–

“Herb! Dude!”

He knelt down, shook Herb awake–

“Ah, AH!” Herb panicked immaturely–


“What tha’ FUCK?”

“Herb, it’s me, Al.”

Enlightened: “Al???”

For a moment, Herb was back into consciousness :DD–

/> But then he wasn’t–


Where’s my pipe?!”

He reached under himself, pulled a pipe out, started packing it with crack rock.

“Yea, tha’ss gooood–”

“Dude, are you smoking crack?!”

Al snatched the pipe from Herb’s hands before Herb was able to light it. As the only natural result available, Herb laid his head back and moaned–

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaah, I’m-so-high!–”

Some violent rustling could be heard downstairs–

“Shit, man; we gotta get outta here–”

“But why Al?” Herb cried distraught. “Why is all this shit the way it is?”

“What? Dude, we can talk about this later, we really need to leave–”


“It just is, fam, come on–”

He was trying as hard as he physically could to get Herb to his feet–

“I can’t take it anymore, home slice,” Herb went on, waving Al off. “People are such dicks, and yet people are so cool sometimes. How can people be so cool, and yet kill each other so gambrinously?!–”


“They all just wanna be so hardcore!!!!–”

“Because they see the people they know as the only forms of real people. If they don’t know the person, they’re just an abstraction, just a word. And in this one in a million circumstance, they choose not to care about that word–”

“But they care about Jesus! About God and religion and Muhammad and spirituality, none of which could possibly be okay, or in any way directly synonymous with what we do to each other!–”

“First off,” and Al got into it now. “It’s what they do. Don’t confuse our morality with their numbers, and don’t let that overwhelm you–”

Herb picked up the half-empty 40oz from next to him, but Al SNATCHED it from his hands just before Herb got it to his lips, and threw it across the room, breaking the glass against the heavily blood-stained wall on the other side–

“That’s how you waste your life away, dawg!” Al screamed.


“It’s malt liquor!–”

Al again tried to pry Herb up on his feet, but Herb wasn’t having it–

“You can’t force me to go back to them, friend!” Herb yelled.

“We gotta go, dude–”

“I want to help,” Herb cried like a baby now X’’OO. “All those people whose lives waste away! And I don’t care if it’s their fault!”

“You’re not doing anything by sitting here, getting   high–”

“I love so many people, and so many people love me–”

The rustling downstairs was getting louder; one wondered what exactly was going on down there…

“I feel like I could have been the one to save the world!!”

Al was looking around restlessly, trying to figure out another way, and trying to figure it out quickly–

“You’re being an idiot, Herb!–”


“Ok, I guess you’re right.”

“Now get up–”

“But why not???!!!” Herb said. “I could have done something! The world needs someone–”

“The world doesn’t need someone, we need some people, people who think differently but who come together because they realize and accept the contradiction that is the One Life that we all have, and the fact that we all have that life! And that it makes no logistical sense with Death!”


“We’re all in-time, and we’re all fighting, at the very least against ourselves, to stay happy–”


“We’re all alone, and we’re all here, so don’t think that you’re any more or less special!–”

Big gasp, then: “Why-are-you-being-so-mean?!–”

“Because you’re not Jesus, Herb, and we can’t need him right now anyway–”


There was a loud explosion outside, and it shook the building. Al flinched and squeezed his revealed gun tighter. Many footsteps now went running up the stairs, and throughout the floor just below them #TheThirdFloor . They were coming, they were shooting, and both Al and Herb knew it, only in infinitely different ways ∞.

“Don’t worry, Al, I can do it. I’ll do it for everyone–”

There was another loud explosion, even louder than the other one, to totally interrupt whatever the fuck Herb was trying to talk about there, and, this time, Al jumped, and looked around the room as some of the people on the ground yelped, screamed, and started moaning very loudly. Gunshots rang, the floor bounced, but just as his chance was allotted, Herb grabbed the packed crack pipe from Al’s side–

Before Al could notice, Herb hit it–

He hit it hard x(–

Al looked back to his friend…

His body shook and convulsed. White puss seeped from his mouth, out his ears. The sunglasses (;B\) slid off his face as his head vibrated furiously back and forth, revealing his contracted eyes rolling slowly into the back of it, to somewhere Al hoped he would never see, in death, or anywhere else in the universe. This aneurism then sent Herb’s head–along with the rest of him–down to the floor, his entire body shaking like a dying zombie (or: a person who’d just contracted the zombie virus? #KeepItInTheLab,Guys #Irony ), until it all finally stopped the longest twenty-nine seconds and 4/18th(ish) later…

Outside, another explosion went off. The footsteps/ gunshots approached hastily on #TheFourthFloor . There were more of them now. They’d be in that last room within two minutes, maybe less, whoever they were…

Al stared on in amazement–in utter confusion and shock (!!!)–and he let his heart sink /> sink down to the bottom of the Marianas Trench quicker than you can say ‘$$$hit, we should have made the rivets at the point of impact in the hull of a better quality metal #Titanic #QualityOverQuantity,ButNeverInThe-West [11]($)’. The violence yelled louder, prompting more people in that last room do the same (yell). Al checked his friends’ pulse. Nothing. As that first lone ‘tear’ #NotATear! streamed down Al’s face, he figured he had no other choice. Candice was waiting for him back in the burbs, and she’d be pouring up the #Brandy® by now. There was nothing Al could do for his friend anymore, no matter how badly he wanted there to be.


Al cocked his gun like a real man, stood up, turned his back (:!) and headed for the door leading to the emergency staircase heading downstairs leading to the door out the back.




Al burst outside in a frenzy. Streams of ‘sweat’ stroked his face like calm waterfalls in snow, but, strangely, only showed themselves right under his eyes #StillNoProofTheyWereTears ). He didn’t know what to do. He’d just finished reading Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut, but nothing could prepare him for what he’d just witnessed /> nor for what was then required of his conscious mind. Because of this fact, his subconscious had no choice but to temporarily lose itself, or else find life in that bottomless quarry that is that never-ending battle with death (!) =O #SONever-Ending . He pulled out his phone, saw three missed calls from Candice /> then he THREW his phone into the street, shattering it upon impact.


Another explosion went off, this one louder and closer than any other one yet. Al saw the light from it a few blocks down towards Center City. A group of six came from around the corner behind him, racing down the street in that direction.

“Come on! It’s already started!” one of them yelled to the others. “We’re late!!!!”

Al thought for about one millisecond (ish) /> but not really. Such a small, infantine (∞) amount of time in between 11:59 and 12, true midnight couldn’t possibly exist! There are too many fractions… which meant nothing could exist if not as anything more than just one of those numbers /> one in infinity. And who’s to say what happens strictly in your head actually happens anyway? When there’s no ‘proof’? When it invokes no ‘feeling’?…

Al rubbed the ‘sweat’ off of his face (because that was what it fucking was #I’mJustSaying,RealMenDon’tCry #RealM-enDon’tCry XD =’( x’) =x </3), and started running.

[1] So ‘in-touch’…

[2] Burrows, James. Director. ‘The One Where Ross and Rachel Take a Break’ Friends: The complete Third Season. Written by Crane, David; Kaufman, Marta; Borkow, Michael. Warner Brothers. 1997

[3] Short for: The Dillinger Escape Plan

[4] Parker, Trey. Director. ‘The New Terrance and Phillip Movie Trailer’ South Park: The Complete Sixth Season. Written by Parker, Trey and Stone, Matt. Comedy Central. 2002

[5] So Done…

[6] Cameron, James. Director, writer. Terminator II: Judgment Day. Tristar Pictures, Lightstorm Entertainment, StudioCanal, Canal+, Carolco Pictures Inc. 1991

[7] So sexy…

[8] Nas. ‘Life’s A Bitch.’ Illmatic. Sony Music Entertainment/Columbia. 1994

[9] Like, would you blame a cancer patient for getting cancer?

[10] This does not make the previous statement any less true (the one on pp. 244), open carry is an open-invite to violence, however, sometimes, the invitation is already there

[11] Burns, Christopher. Deadly Decisions: How False Knowledge Sank the Titanic, Blew Up the Shuttle, and Led America into War. Prometheus Books. 2008