The P*t Stories

The P*t Stories – By Albert Jones

Trey didn’t know better.

No did you.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.

Alfred and Ted Molina on whether it was he or the other one who got the other hooked on pot.

These are the pot stories, as dreamed by me in years past and the present. I don’t know what to say. There are no words to describe the pot stories. These are the times that I was really very high on…pot.

The Pot Stories By Joey Kantor

In the beginning, of course, there was light…

300 for the responsibility

(no word sounds better)

So fast usually they are, faster than the speed of light. Faster than the guitar player for Molly Hatchett, faster than that…


Yes Yes, yes, I’m mike taylor. So Yeas, I think that you should know sir that I have something you need.

Did you get me from the phone book?


Then how do you know me.

I don’t sir, its just that…

Then why you calling me?


Why you calling me?


Why you calling me?

I, I, because I want to sell you something.

What do you want to sell me?

Life insurance.

Life insurance!

Yes, sir, life insurance.

(Jesus Mabel motherfuckin gollee…)



Calm down.

I’m calmed down.

No, sir, you’re not calmed down. Now, I have my limits.

You’re limits?

Yes, my limits.

Well, what are your limits?

I think you should know sir that I am a jiujitzu on t.v.


I am a juijitzu on tv.




Yes. On Tv.

Great. Well, that changes everything.

What do you mean, sir.

I Needed! Life insurance !

Always that end. A friend of mine used to call this “a ZiNGeR!!!&*(&*(%

Status: Petals.

This devious plan of “Petals: A Rock Scenario or The American Tribute to Princess Diana” has been unleashed. My dastardly plot to get published is in play. Who’d a thought, me, a poor shlep from Tennessee could get published. But things are in the works. Things Are going on. I can feel it.

Albert Jones unconscious stream of thought at 4:30 p.m. right after his get off work nap and watched the shadows on his walls and the light in the window and the trees and in the cage on the table, sometimes, the hamster spinning in his cage. No, these were the netherworlds for Albert, Albert didn’t know any better, but to write his life down while sitting in his room all of a dreamer only, really, no Hemingway, no Fitzgerald, no Steinbeck, no, not even any Steinbeck. Sad really. Pathetic to some, he knew. While the others are out spinning in the adventure of truly adventurous places like Paris and Barcelona, Albert sat in his room and read and wrote and grew a long face and thought too much and sometimes smoked the weed just like a lot of people these days.,..but, anyway…

The birth of the Fargo Kantrowitz’z Literary Campsite

I, Albert Jones, do solemnly swear that I started The Fargo Kantrowitz’z Literary Campsite on April 13, 1997 in the hereby town of Millsville, TN under the…

I, Albert Jones, do solemnly swear that I began the fklc in Millsville, Tennessee on the 13th of April, 1997.

Dick Nixon on why he thinks the fargo knwtoritz’z literary campsite somehow made a difference.

I didn’t say that! I didn’t say that! I didn’t say that!

Honey, can we turn this off.

Sure, dear.

Great.I get sick of watching Nixon.

Me too. Turn it off.

Why? This is the question that has plagued me since the beginning of my inquiries into the factual statements having been made about the…

(shutup, shutup…

hey look lady this isn’t none of your business just watch the show, the fklc or whatever the fuck it is and turn around.


How many titles do you have, Mr. Kantrowitz?

Oh, eight, nine, hundred. Oh, that many? Yes, there was Thy Soul’s Immensity, Babybirds, The Fear, no I never finished The Fear, The P*t Stories, the Fargo Kantrowitz’z literary campsite, The Myth of Nancy, Lullaby Lovers, you know, others…

Dwayne, before you go, could you make sure that Esther gets me that latte the way I ordered it?

Sure, Nancy.

Thanks, and Steve… Uh huh. Have a nice day.

You too. You too. See ya later.

Toodloo. Now where were we.

We were talking about how many books I wrote.

Oh, and you are…

Steve! How much?

Ten minutes.

Okay, gotcha.

You were saying, better, lets save it for the interview.

They sit there in silence. An aid brings Kantrowitz a soda which he gladly accepts. They sit there in silence together, when, eventually, she looks over to him.





Dan, their chemistry is remarkable. Look at them. C’mere, c’mere. Do you see it?

What, it’s the talent.

No, look, look at that. Look at the way she’s sitting. Look how he’s reacting. They don’t need to say a word. Can you imagine if you had them together in a movie or something, maybe they’d make a great band, if they’re musicians but they’re probably not or…

Cindy, I gotta go.

From The Myth of Nancy And hence the temporary ending of The P*t Stories by me Albert Jones on this, the third day of August of the year of the our Lord, 2003.

Published in: on October 10, 2009 at 3:25 am  Leave a Comment  

Fargo’s impromptu allowing of a short short story (to appear)

101_0071.jpgOnce there was a a story. A story you say? Yes, a story. It lived on it’s own in a world of “nether.” Netherworlds? This story? Yes. A netherworld story. Was there popcorn at this story?abstract12.jpg No. Fun? No. Story? Let me finish. Okay. This story was to hold all story and it was to be quick, short, fun…You said that. Yes. Fun. Fun? Of course, a short short story is fun. It is? Always? No. Back to Paris with you. Let me continue….the butler did it.

Published in: on January 28, 2008 at 6:20 pm  Leave a Comment  
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