Once Upon a Black Kraken

  Is announced that the manager resigned. Lies. We know. I was there. In the office’s men’s restroom, the urinal demands a tribute. A coin. Our overwhelmed boss, always judgmental about our tradition, entered a toilet constricting his rectum as a snake devouring its prey. A howl from the stall. Violent sucking. Chill-inducing burble. Only blood and shit were left.

  Part 1 | Part 3 Fucking satellite internet my balls!

  | Part 2 A dead guy called me. That’s the only explanation. Okay, too abrupt, let me start at the beginning.

  Certain things do not change. As a child you endure recess alone with your thoughts, same when you become a teacher. Other educators glimpse at me with disgust. Elementary school children do not denominate as " cool " to dialogue with their history “ teach . ” Not even the Christmas spirit alters traditions. Solitary, I eat my reindeer cookie. Cannot recriminate them. The scar, dividing my right cheek like a hemorrhagic cauliflower not chosen from the store due to its aesthetic deficiencies, is tough to ignore. I hear what they are talking about at other tables. Football, the new superhero movie, VTS (what's that?). Despite the hustle and bustle of the place, irritating screams and embarrassing cries, to my left something hijacks my attention: Santa Claus. "I'm going to ask him for a Mimtendo Witch 2 ." A deceived child, Santa Claus is unable to give away something that is rented. "Do you really believe that? Santa does not exist.” Shit. An...

  Ciertas cosas no cambian. De niño toleras tus recreos con tus pensamientos, igualmente al transformarte en maestro. El profesorado me ve con repugnancia. Los niños de primaria no ven “ cool ” dialogar con su “profe” de historia. Ni el espíritu navideño altera las tradiciones, en soledad como mi galleta de reno. No puedo recriminarlos, la cicatriz, que divide mi mejilla derecha como una coliflor hemorrágica no elegida en la tienda por sus deficiencias estéticas, es trabajosa de ignorar. Oigo lo que platican en otras mesas. Futbol, la nueva película de superhéroes, VTS (¿qué es eso?). Pese al bullicio del lugar, gritos irritantes y llantos vergonzosos, a mi izquierda algo secuestra mi interés: Santa Claus. — Le voy a pedir un Mimtendo Witch 2 . Niño iluso, Santa Claus no puede regalar algo que se renta. — ¿En serio crees eso? Santa no existe. Puta madre. Otro niño castrosito y no deseado que sabotea la inocencia ajena. ¿Y yo soy el que come solo? — ¡No es cierto! Tie...