True Story: The New Jesus

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

"I need 10,000 words on this new Jesus. Can you do it?"

I stared at him. He was overweight, unqualified and a total cunt.

"You want 10?" I asked. "I'll give you a million, you fat fuck."

"Perfect." He handed me an address and a time. "Go here, talk to the master, and write it up. They say he's the second coming of Christ. I say he's full of shit."

The address I was given was straight-up downtown, a shit-hole apartment building housing derelicts and Section 8s. The Lord Our God was three flights up. I climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

"Hey, Jesus! Open up."

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True Story: The Suit

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. His weekly column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

The suit fit. It was long enough in the arms and just right at the crotch. He was worried about it being too constricting, but when he put on the head it was pleasantly airy. He admired himself in the mirror.

"Oh my," he thought. "I'm a grand beast." He ruffled his cloth feathers and stuck out his chest. "Bawk, bawk, bawk," he called, "Cock-a-doodle-doo."

His suit was magnificent and he hoped Stella would love it as much he did. He strutted about the room knocking into the furniture and breaking a vase. He was reckless and wild, a real beast--he was also out eight-hundred dollars, the cost of the size-42 chicken suit. The phone rang.

"Harry?" It was Stella.

"Yes, dear?"

"Why does your voice sound muffled?"

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True Story: Mommy Porn

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

"Hey, Jack, could you write me an ad?"

"For what?"

"A personal ad--I'm looking for a new chick."

"What happened to the last one?"

"She was crazy."

"What are you talking about? I met her--she was great."

"Yeah, until she started getting weird."

"Weird? You're a fucking deviant. How was she getting weird?"


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True Story: Community, Okay?

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

I was driving down Olive when I saw him. He was on his knees. At first, he looked like something that had fallen off the back of a truck, but when I got closer, I could see it was an old man who'd tripped in the street.

I stopped my car and helped him to his feet. His pant leg was torn, and I could see blood--not much, but the cloth of his pants was wet. I got him to my car and had him lean against the hood. He'd been carrying groceries, but the brown paper bag had ripped, and his canned goods and some lettuce heads were scattered about. His milk was dusted--the carton torn and leaking.

"Your bag is trashed," I said. "I think I got one in the back."


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True Story: A Turn on 12th

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

Me: "We normally walk down Sixth, but today, we turned on 12th, and there she was, coming out of an apartment, looking haggard, carrying her shoes."

Brook: "Ouch, walk of shame--wearing last night's clothes."

Me: "Like you've never done it?"

Brook: "Of course I have; I still have a curb mark on my forehead from the last time I went out."

Me: "Anyway, this chick sees me, and instantly, the expression on her face morphs into this 'Oh my God, I have the stench of booze seeping out of every pore, and there's that dude that doesn't drink.'"

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True Story: Bang One Out

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

"You ever see her before?"

"Yeah, last week; she was here for playoffs."

"Do you know her?"

"No, but she was with Jodie, and Jodie's all right."

"I'm doing it, man. I'm in."

She had dark red hair straight out of a bottle--nobody is that red with that tan. He walked up to the bar and threw her a smile. He wasn't a douche. He was cool--a man's man. He had no problem pulling chicks.

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True Story: The Geek

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

Shawn turned toward the geek. The man was slumped in the corner--passed out or asleep. Shawn walked over and kicked him in the ribs. The geek had pissed himself. There was a fresh yellow puddle on the floor that was not beer. Fortunately, it wouldn't be noticed.
"Let's go, Boss," Shawn said. "You got 10 minutes."

The geek lifted his head and smiled with swollen lips at Shawn. He resembled a jack-o-lantern--a few broken teeth and a fake gold crown with a zirconia glistening back.
"I need another beer," the geek slurred. "We got a fucking tab. That Jewish fuck needs to get right."

"He'll get right," Shawn said. "Just get up. I'll get you one."


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True Story: The Believer, Part 2

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

The street was empty as Arlo made his way to the tavern on Fourth. He wasn't a drinking man, but the odd shot of whiskey on a cool night was more medicinal than pleasurable--the Lord loves a sober soldier. Arlo pulled his jacket collar up and put his hands in the pockets. He could feel the razor riding heavy in his pants, an unnatural weight diverting his attention from the street.

"You got a light, man?"

Arlo looked up and into the eyes of a young man. He was blond, with wavy, greased-back hair. He had a cigarette hanging from his lip and a single teardrop tattooed under his right eye.

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True Story: The Believer, Part 1

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

"God's will is a strange thing."

He walked down the row of shops, trying each door as he passed. "I've heard some say that if it's easy, then God has a hand in it. I think I agree."

He tried the door to McCluskey's Parlor, a men's shop--it was unlocked. He turned the knob and entered. "Hmmm, why would a ruler of the heavens help me?" he thought. "Maybe I'm meant for greater things." The cash register drawer was open, displaying to the city streets that there was nothing here to be had. Arlo bowed his head in prayer, "Oh, Heavenly Father," he began. "I come to you as a seeker. Please bless my hands. Deliver unto me that which I deserve."


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True Story: The Beat Down, Part 2

Categories: True Story

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Jack Grisham
[Editor's Note: Jack Grisham is an author, hypnotherapist, T.S.O.L. front man and all-around troublemaker. This column, True Story, may or may not be factual, with characters who may or may not be real.]

When he rolled onto the scene, the "perp" was out of his car, arguing with a female officer--Frank knew her, O'Connor. She was all right, good in a pinch, but in this case, the drunk had what looked to be a few hundred pounds on her, and he wasn't going quietly. Frank parked his cruiser in front of the man's vehicle--blocking him in, taking the automotive weapon away from him, and in a way disarming the suspect.

The drunk was loud, leaning forward, aggressive. Frank jumped from the cruiser and unholstered his baton. A few passersby had stopped to watch. Frank approached the man.
"I'm going to need you to lie down on the ground," Frank said. He was firm, no nonsense. The drunk swung his head around, his eyes rolling into focus a moment or two after the turn. He smiled at Frank.

"I'm gonna need you to FUCK OFF!" He spat as he yelled.

Officer O'Connor took a step toward the man.

"I said, go down," Frank repeated. "Palms flat on the ground."

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