This is my attempt at literature that the common man can relate to. All startling parallels to current people and events are coincidental and proof of this book’s majesty. Read on, stalwart peasant!

Chapter 1: A Rude Awakening

I was laying awake in bed, thinking, wishing, wondering. Through the hole in the wall I could see Ra, the Orb God, rising above the horizon like an egg yolk on an unlevel stovetop, bathing me in his glorious rays. I got up and brushed off the straw stuck to my back. Looking around the room, I realized that my straw pile was strewn across the room, and much of it had fallen off the edge to the lower level of the barn. Dammit, I thought, Tin Can Timmy isn’t going to give that back. Fuuuuuck.

Tin Can Timmy was my neighbour, kind of. He was a neighbour in the same way that the Ninja Turtles are New York’s neighbours. What I mean to say is that he lived below me, and anything I dropped he considered to be his. I discovered this a year or two ago when I "accidentally" dropkicked my good bucket off the edge and it somehow landed on his head. "A helmet! Fucking yes!" he proclaimed, not realizing the bucket contained about 2 litres of urine and my collection of dead rats. I was sad for him, but I was sadder for me, knowing full well it would be decades before I could amass such a great collection of vermin again.

This was nothing new though. For weeks, nightmares had been causing me to thrash about in my sleep, resulting in the loss of almost half a year’s salary worth of straw to fall upon the lucky bastard down below. And these were no normal nightmares, these things were fucked up. Atleast, I think they were. I could never remember them, no matter how hard I tried to. I even used this "power of suggestion" voodoo bullshit that Kinda Psychic Mary taught me, but it didn’t work. I picked up a piece of charcoal and wrote on my arm. Note to self: Punch Kinda Psychic Mary in the Face. Also, Milk.

I bowed to the east and prayed to Ra for forgiveness, serenity, and the power to get to the corner store before all of the TV bingo cards were sold out. Spiritually fulfilled, I descended down the ladder and stepped out of my humble, embarassingly barn-like abode. My landlord was on his porch like usual, rocking in his chair with his shotgun. I made a casual wave at him like I always do, and predictably he jumped up and tried to shoot me. "DAMN YOU FUCKHAT! STAY OUT OF MY BARN OR I WILL RIP OUT YOUR EYES WITH MY PENIS!" I shrugged off his threats; he had been telling me that twice a day for three years and I still have yet to see a single act of horrific genitals-aided eye removal.

I made it into town with barely any wild turkeys following me; today was looking up all ready.

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