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

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$.

11/16/18, 12:21 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.

III

Letter dated: April 19th, 2015

From: Randall Gähstŭr

To: World

Fellow homies of Planet Earth, I speak unto you in the form of the longhand written word, for reasons I will not attempt to explain (my laptop is in the shop :’( ) here in this journal I call my pussy diary for the pussy deep down in me whom I truly am *SuchAPussy , in an attempt to acquiesce an answer to this most important question, the most important of questions, of all questions, one I know many do not ask, many do not care to ask, and one that many likely do not even know exists (including, to a certain extent: myself): am I the Final Looter of hum-anity???[1]

Shit, I am high right now; like, yea quite high haha (or: lol). I fuckin’ love weed. My #Brand™ is feeling interesting today, but that could be because I’m high, though I doubt it. It doesn’t usually feel like this, even when I get super-duper high, like when I chill with Hershel and his oil pen (so: most days now). Even so, #TheBrand™ on my leg is far better than this stump of a hand I have now. Fuckin’ Barry Swindle, stupid-ass shit /> ain’t hardcore, ain’t hardcore for shit! Fuckin’ bitch should grow the fuck up, and learn to take a joke–or: better yet!–understand a drunk person trying to make him into a joke (religious extremists, political extre-mists, #TheOffended (only the most hardcore ;) etc. #Metaphors #ThinkALittleDeeper =P). Actually, #TheBrand™ never did fully heal. I still find myself scratching at it with my good hand when I wake up at night…

I’ve been sleeping weird lately, thinking about some other things in my past’s got me considering that maybe the world just ain’t worth fighting for anymore, what with all the terrible shit going on, and all that jazz. I mean I used to think all that kinda shit, only a bit more numbed out back then, back in my gang days when all we would do was chill, smoke crack, huff glue behind dumpsters, and talk about the world and how fucked we all were–or how fucked we all thought-we-all-were™ ($). That was great. Man, crack was awesome, I’m glad I’m off it though, if I have to address that here, which I don’t, but I will anyway (like I just fuckin’ did) because I fuckin’ feel like it #FuckYou :-(.

It’s not like I have to be writing any of this anymore anyway. My dad stopped checking this notebook every week like he used to. Whack-ass motherfucker, always telling me to do shit, that guy. Thought writing down my thoughts would help me get off crack /> actually I guess it kinda did, haha (lol). Shit. If I were still on crack, I never woulda remembered that #Branding™ story. In fact, I’d probably be dead as a result of it. Goddamned Barry Swindle and his illicit male enhancement business–

Ever since my dad got let go a few years back, just after he and my mom forced me to go to rehab, things have been real different, they’ve been tough. He won’t tell my why, but he’s gotten so quiet. He barely even talks to my mom anymore, and every time I ask him what he found out about his bosses or his co-workers or whatever at the esteemed 2nd and 3/9th’s precinct of the even more esteemed Philadelphia Policeé Departmentè, his face just goes so solemn. It’s so depressing. I feel bad for the guy, that is, until he starts being a dick to me, and forcing me to do shit I don’t wanna do (which is, like, ALL THE FUCKING TIME >=( ). Whatever he found out in those last days on the job spent researching the force must have been real shitty, but it’s his own fault. He knew what he was getting into, right? I guess life just isn’t meant for people with hearts–

You know what? FUCK that. I was just about to say: ‘eh, whatever, that’s just the way things are’, go get a Brandy™ then sing myself to sleep John Legend style in the closed garage with the car running, but I don’t think I will anymore #PacFUCKINGLives . I don’t think I ever will think about that ever again, so long as people are willing to learn and understand #TheWillOfFreed-om . Fuck the ‘World’ and fuck my ‘dad’, insofar as he’s a dad and not ‘my dad’, they don’t get it. Nobody gets it, and that’s fuckin’ fine–

I gotta say, in addition to Immortal Technique, I love KRS-One too /> and Big L and Bad Religion and Nas and Rakim and DECAP-ITATED and Biggie and Lucinda Williams: anything that can stop me from over-complicating something while not simultaneously over-simplifying it. Meshuggah and/or the flow/ rhyme-scheme/satiric or tongue-in-cheek under-tones Eminem has at times, like on The Marshall Mathers LP, for example, are both so com-plicated, but I don’t feel an attachment to that (complication itself, music itself, crack itself). Maybe to weed as a mind-enhancer, and to hip-hop with something to say (#Joke(Haha(NotRea-lly)(#LOL)) ) , but not to that. That’s too in-grained in my memory, whatever that is (music? Natural, instinctual emotion as a just escape until it’s subconsciously no longer appropriate? Something I’ve known but never realized #OMG ?). There’s something else I feel I’m having that attachment to, not the thing itself, or at least mentally…

Maybe that’s my dad’s fault? Fuckin’ jerk-off, always telling me what to do and shit, but whatever. Maybe, without him, I really would be lost? But that would be assuming that everyone in the world were a piece of shit, but they are! They’re all pieces of shit, and they’re all telling me how to live my life, and then saying that I have no right to be upset about that–or to emotionally question the way they go about it for themselves–when they then go and turn around and do the exact same thing afterwards (get emotionally offended)!

Not me though. Not anymore. Not in a world where I’m considered a lazy ass/idiot/ probable terrorist by simple name, merit or race, and #ChristianTerrorist Sarah Palin is a millionaire.

- I am R-MAN -

They can say what they wish and call ‘nay!’ when they ‘must’, but no one can kill the R-MAN! I love weed. I am the R-MAN! Indeed, I am the R-MAN who knows true love! Weed is so awesome /> I am the R-MAN who prefers weed and bitches to alcohol and women! Real bitches, that is–not those fake-ass motherfuckers. R-MAN is Pseudo-Absolute (that is: beyond time)! R-MAN is universal and multi-dimensional /> she sees time as just another dimension, simply one in the infinite!!! As equally needed or irrelevant as them all, at any point!!! R-MAN is all-knowing and all-encompassing! But I’ll let you do whatever you want: alcohol, heroin, bad hip-hop, weed, EDM, religion–just don’t kill me or anything like that (like steal my shit (or fuck with a kid)).

Fucking up a kid with drugs or perverted priests or demonic shouts of an unnamed, all-powerful judging source, inconsiderable of the world we can see around us, sounds pretty hardcore. So does trying to annihilate an entire group of people through a masked, simultaneous, Consecutive Trial Manipulation ($$$), around for the entire length of man’s intellectual mind, whose completely overwhelming existence, affecting every human being throughout the history of the planet, is ignored on the underlying basis that what hasn’t been known in the past can certainly not be good for the future, as if to even consider the unknown is necessarily a negative, and as if the fact that evolution merely exists is a bad thing, that evolution itself, nature itself (God itself ($)), the ability to rationally question things–anything–anyhow–is somehow morally wrong…

I may be hardcore, one tough-ass mother-fucker, but I’m glad I’m not that hardcore.

#FuckTheWorld #2Pac

#FuckTheWord(God)

IV

April 27th, 2015

7:30 a.m.

It was the Monday after the weekend, and the sun was just rising, brightening the sky like the birth of a child to a perfectly healthy mother who would have otherwise died if not for the help of Planned Parenthood #FuckingMurderers,ThoseBitchesAreXHH-HH –

Unfortunately, or: depending on how one looked at it /> it was the Monday after the weekend.

=’(

After two glorious days off, 48 hours of contemplation time and over-analysis, and some weird ass dreams now officially in the books, for the first time in a while, Special Agent Palmer of the Philadelphia Policeé Departmentè’s 14th and 1/6th precinct found himself unwilling and mis-alarmed when his #Alarm went off at 7:30 a.m. on Monday, April 27th, 2015. Usually, after two days off, like any normal person (right???), Palmer would feel refreshed, ready to take on a whole new day, especially in a position of employment he’d been fantasizing about holding since he was a young child.

Instead, he found himself, peculiarly, surprisingly, politically, and incontestably, in a strange mood in that fine Monday A.M. Maybe it was the whiskey from the night before (he drank a lot of whiskey that weekend :/), maybe it was the fourth girl in ten days to look at him like he was crazy after he just told her his true thoughts on Racial and Wealth Inequality in the American Justice System (where she would also end the night with a ‘yea sure, I’ll call you’ (she’d never called him :’( )) /> or maybe it had something to do with the riots happening in Baltimore that were only getting worse by the day (#WhoIs-WrongAndWhoIsRight???!!! #ViolenceIsPartisanship )… there was no way to be sure. It was a tough time to be a cop, even tougher to be a good cop (or: human being???), but Palmer didn’t think that way /> he tried not to think that way. He knew what his job was, and it was only becoming more and more evanescent what that actually implied /> and that not everybody else was in that same such honorable predicament.

:^{|}

For the first several hours of the day, Special Agent Palmer and his ‘mentor’, Special Agent Gestarrè, drove around, gave out tickets, and yelled at homeless veterans to get a fucking move on (of course): normal shit. Palmer wanted to talk to Gestarrè about the other day, that day they investigated the murder of a one: Mr. Randall Gähstŭr, and the day Gestarrè murdered a few dudes doing ‘nothing wrong’ and just trying to ‘Live in Color’ (XDDD), but Palmer knew that wouldn’t go very well. Gestarrè was a private guy, and, clearly, the incident at the apartment on Oregon Street wasn’t something he would be willing to address (ever Xp). Palmer didn’t think much of it beyond a quick reminiscence of back when he lived in the projects of Camden (he’d been mugged four times, and even stabbed once for only having five bucks on him (“only five bucks?!” the guy yelped /> STAB!)).

‘People can be real pieces of shit, all kinds of people,’ Palmer thought. ‘Douchebaggery doesn’t understand differences in color, class or gender. Like the vagina it is indeed trying to clean, it is an end unto itself.’

XXXD

That wasn’t the only thing eating at him. As mentioned, Palmer was still infatuated with #TheBranding™ case, as well as the reasons why Gestarrè might not have been too adamant on solving it. He didn’t think that Gestarrè had anything physical to do with it–Randall’s murder itself–nor that Gestarrè had any legit reason beyond ‘normal cop reasons’ in this type of situation (racist, bigoted, pieces-of-shit absolutely horrible judgmental pricks XD (*ALLCOPS*ALLCOPS ) to want to get rid of it so fast, but it did cross Palmer’s mind that maybe Gestarrè could have had something to gain from the whole situation, some kind of endgame /> or, much less likely with human dignity still in mind: something Gestarrè may have been hiding.

:o

On the way out of the station at the start of the day, he asked Gestarrè if anything happened with the Randall case over the weekend, to which Gestarrè replied: “No, of course not. Fucs has it now, and besides, it was a gang, simple, we’ve been over this,” without looking at Palmer, and walking like he was in a rush even though they were both going to the same place (their patrol car to aimlessly patrol the streets around Rittenhouse (nice area)).

“Nobody gives a shit about people who shoot their own people for testicular superiority.”

[1] This is a reference to Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged (Signet, 1957) (‘looters’ are the talentless (loveless?) people who rape the talent from the talent-ful (loving?) for survival purposes (you can take this however you wish)). While I don’t nearly agree with all of her views #I’mAnIndividual , her contributions to human thought and the understanding of how humans interact with each other in the ages beyond tribalism (so: smart, intellectual ages (‘the future’ xp)) I would argue is an essential part of any education with a focus on progressing humans forward in-time, even if you DO disagree with her completely 100%. Atlas Shrugged is admittedly long, if you’re interested, I’d start with The Fountainhead (Bobbs Merill, 1943) or Anthem (Signet, 1938). Again, I cannot stress how important it would be to take care to go into it unbiased (again, I do not completely agree with her on many subjects, but she did open me up to some new ways of thinking about things (as have many others (like, for example, MARX #FUCKYou,Haters xP))), and with the knowledge that nobody ever agrees FULLY with anyone /> and that that’s a good thing