A magazine for the supine

the deposition

Issue #1 January 2005

Montgomery Press, Little Kentucky, NJ

Issue # 1 January 2005

ContentsFiction>>

2 Untitled by J.L. Priest

3 Argument With Chicken

5 Groceries

Little Ozy by C. Jackson

6 The Jumperby C. Jackson

8 Burning Hills Billyby C. Jackson

10 Letter From Stench Ticklerby J. McButtchens

Lift my gutty and bustby J.L. Priest

11 Robanne by J.L Priest

Highway Boundby J. McButtchens

12 Winslow

by J. McButtchens

5

Non-Fiction>>

13 Defining Terms “Some people like olives, I like shotguns.”

- Rosemary Cotton

Contact us: thedeposition@gmail.com

1

Crotch Rot & Vapor Lock by Radley Small

Fool-Aid Merchant Trade

7 Matching

Cover art: “Perestroika, and the New

Age” by Jonsey McButtchens

TheDeposition

January Issue #1

Senior Editor

John L. Priest

Caesar Jackson

This Issue:This Issue:This Issue:This Issue:This Issue:Caesar Jackson

Jonsey McButtchens

Susy Portsmith

John Lambeau Priest

Radley Small

Count Stabalot

Thadeus Thinkowitz

Radley Small

Assistant Editor/Proofreader

Assistant Editor

Jennifer got a tattoo of

your face on her face. Now she

looks just like you but with tits.

That girl/guy can run like a deer

on coke.

When I got the job painting

bulldozers I thought it would

never last. Boy was I right.

I took a taxi to Max’s. We

smoked. Later we went to Pete’s

Pub and drank two glasses of

beer each. The band had a

trombone player, which is weird

enough, but also the piano player

looked exactly like Magnum.

Now I have to find a new fucking

job and all I want to do is drink

this beer and listen to the Korean

play the trombone. I’m tired of

Max and his fucking big teeth.

Sometimes when I’m in the tub I

pretend like I’m dead. I haven’t

received any letters from Delilah

in a long time. All my radios

broke. I remember when I was

twelve I fell asleep in the back of

the Pinto in the rain and then it

caught on fire. Those were the

days. ♦

JLittle Ozy burnt the preschool

to the ground. It was his finest

hour. “Lift the ashes with my

hands, I will,” he said as he wept.

He wept because his pet turtle

was in the preschool. As he

walked away from the ruins he

sang nursery rhymes out loud, but

when Little Ozy sang he always

used dirty words.

He went:

“Piss porridge hot, piss cold,

Piss porridge in the pot, nine

days old.”

He then was mad. Mad at the

world. Mad at everyone and thing

he had ever loved. Even mad at

Turd, his late turtle friend. There

was a bolt of lightening and then

silence. Little Ozy was now

inside a big pot over an open

flame. He cried and tried to claw

his way out but the water burned

his ass too bad. Just before Ozy

had given up all hope, he found a

plug at the bottom of the pot. He

pulled the plug and was sucked

into a world of such splendor and

magnificent

lighting that Little Ozy vowed

never to leave. ♦

Little Ozy by Caesar

Jackson

U n t i t l e dU n t i t l e dU n t i t l e dU n t i t l e dU n t i t l e dby John Lambeau Priest

2

A name by any other

chicken would have been less

insulting.  I often ask as I sit at

the airport, what’s in this name

for me?  What value does it

command, that I am to give it

credit?  It was such a question I

was asking when a small chicken,

I imagine it was most likely a

Cornish game hen, stood up

beside to set me straight.

“Sir,” it said, “Sir, you strike

me as a man with needs,”

     “I strike no one,” I replied, “I

am a pacifist.”

     “Let me finish,” the chicken

protested, “you are a man with a

dilemma, I can sense it.”  As it

turns out, he could.  “I believe

there are many types of men, in

fact many of them I have yet to

meet, but as luck would have it, I

have met your type, and it is one

I understand.”

     The chicken confided in me, it

was a chicken with limitless

understanding — a ten hen.

     “Roger, may I call you Roger?”

     “No.”

“Roger, I have discovered that

men with your dilemma are

challenged in a way far beyond

that of many other types of men. 

It is with intellect and small

amounts of wisdom that you’ve

come to this dilemma — no

meager task.  I find this dilemma

the sexiest of all dilemmas.”

     At this point I challenged the

chicken to present some evidence

that he knew of my dilemma—

that he held such understanding

and wisdom, after all, my name

is not Roger.

“A fine challenge you put

forth to me, Roger, a fine

challenge indeed, but I ask, are

you sure you seek the answer to

this dilemma?  Or do you simply

seek the journey of the

unknown?”  This chicken began

to anger me—his clucking was far

worse than any I’d ever heard

before.

“Of course I’m sure, I’d never

embark on a dilemma’s solution

without proper determination! 

Let’s get down to brass tax here,

shall we?”

     “You are no schnitzel!  You

are a dainty captain!  And I

commend you for it!  All right,

my dear captain Roger, I see your

problem is one of identity.  From

the look in your eyes, the glide in

your strut, from the Ho in your

boken, I see where you are

coming from.”

“Yes?”

     “Yes.”

     “Where?”

     “London.”

     “London?”

     “Yes, London, London.”

     “That makes no sense,

A r g u m e n t W i t h C h i c k e nby Radley Small

3

4

chicken.”

     “Little does, my British friend,

little does.”

     “I’m not British!”

     “And yet? And yet?”

     I did not answer, but he

persisted.  “Roger?”

     “What?”

     “I have a solution for you.” 

The chicken then entered into a

long explanation of how I was to

capitally punish my mentally

murdering dilemma.

     “Chicken,” I interrupted, “I

simply do not know if my name

suites me.  Nothing more.”

     “Well you should surely have

the answer, Roger is a strong

English name.”

     “Chicken, my name is not

Roger, and I am not from

London.”  With such antagonism

in my voice the chicken, or game

hen, or whatever it was, began to

fear me.  He even took an

occasional step away from me, as

if I couldn’t extend my arm or leg

to give him a pelt a step away.

     “I’m weary, Roger, I’m weary

for you and your dilemma.  I

believe a tragedy is not far off.  I

curse myself for not seeing it

sooner...for not recognizing it as

soon as I saw you.  There may

be nothing you can do.”

     I was far beyond annoyance

at this point my emotions swayed

towards silliness.

location, one of lonely travels; as

you have no name, I have no

origin.”  This chicken bastard had

run his course, I’d had enough,

and I began to walk away.  As I

did, though, his silence was short

lived.

     “As it is for us, two dangerous

souls, lurking, but honest — who

knows our anger?  Our jealousy? 

We long, Roger, we long for what

others have — we long to be

others, don’t we?  I see it still in

your stagger!  In your strut!  That

dilemma, of names, of you!  Try

to tame it, you won’t, I couldn’t,

yours or mine!  Wherever you go

you’ll see me, as you look at your

own face, see me!  See me! 

Roger!  Roger!” ♦

“Oh, is that so?  Are my

problems so serious that I should

do something drastic?”  I was

now goading him, I clearly

shouldn’t have.

     “Problems?!  Problems you

say!?  My dear, poor friend, more

than one you speak of.  Til now

only your one dilemma I was

aware of, but now, your

admittance of others – oh, woe to

us – for where are we now?”

“You god damn chicken

bastard.”  My frustration had

taken over, “Where’d you come

from anyway?”

     “Like you, Roger, I hail from a

place of this realm, this Earth, but

like you, I also find myself in a

predicament, but mine is one of

Chicken cont...

Groceries

- zucchini- Fruit cup- turkey- ravioli(meat&cheese)- sauce- apples- razor blades

CrCrCrCrCroooootttttch Rch Rch Rch Rch Rooooot andt andt andt andt and

VVVVVapor Lockapor Lockapor Lockapor Lockapor Lock

A wise man sat beneath

a festering swamp—he

dreamed of his childhood

friend, Crotch Rot.

Crotch Rot was a stout

young man no older than

twelve, but no younger

than eleven, he baited his

hooks with rancid

salmon eggs.

“Helps catch the crabs!”

Crotch Rot would always

exclaim. The wise man, known

then only as Vapor Lock,

wondered what his best chum

had in mind – they lived in

Weehawken.

And so, as Vapor Lock

wondered, he wandered, off as

far off the unbeaten path would

take him—often to Wendy’s.

“Crotch Rot! Old Fashioned

Handburgers!” He would

often scream, but Rot was

distant, lost in his own diluted

reverie of salmon sex. As5

Vapor Lock, so dutifully

inclined, staggered back

towards his wayward friend, he

stopped to think, “Why we no

stop for handburgers? We

never stop, we always crab

catch—never stop.” Alas, poor

Vapor had no mind, no tower of

purity, no crotch full of vigor, as

his friend surely did.

“You don’t crab catch, you

don’t party, ain’t no 1999,” a

cryptic tongue had Crotch Rot,

wicked at times, but honest and

sincere, and at most times to a

fault. Nonetheless, inspiring

syllables to Vapor Lock’s

ears—though he had no idea of

it then, for this was the sixteenth

in a long line of thought passing

between Crotch Rot and his

Vapor Lock.♦ - Radley Small

Marlon eased down the knot in

his tie as he opened the door

that exposed the building's

roof. As he made his way to

the building's ledge he dodged

old chewing gum spots, some

black, some white. Last night's

rain had made the gum spots

soft in texture, and while only

half as tacky as freshly chewed

gum, they were still effective in

trapping those who did not

watch below. Marlon lit up and

cigarette and leaned against

the bottom of the ledge while

his elbows took to the top. He

would let out a small cough

every minute or so allowing

some smoke to escape his

lungs, much like a dragon

looking down from his moun-

tain to a dull village. Marlon

had always come up to the roof

during his break to regain his

senses from working on those

endless reports that were due

at the end of the week.

Part I

Next: Part II

Crotch Rot cont...

The Jumper

6

7

Captain Beefheart Fist Full of Dollars

Lawrence Taylor Jill’s Water Bucket

John Wilkes Booth Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story

Louvin Bros Safe as Milk

Yojimbo Joe Theisman

Mickey Rooney Satan is Real

Matching

8

Billy has a car that farts. His

car has a giant airbrushed image

of a penis on its hood. Because

Billy loves his car, he got matching

penis tattoos on both of his calf

muscles. But Billy is embarrassed

to show his tattoos to anyone

besides his car, so he wears a

snow suit everywhere he goes,

even in his bed. Yes that’s right, in

his bed where he sleeps and does

the fuck-fuck-dance with Clergy

Girl. At school Billy is the most

popular kid in his grade, and he

got that way by showing off. He

shows off his industrial size body

piercings to all the kids, and the

bigger the piercing, the more

friends he makes. One time Billy

actually pierced his left hamstring.

He described how he did it to the

faculty of the school, he said, “first

you gotta get real drunk. I mean

REALLY drunk. Like already pissed

your pants drunk. Then you gotta

wrap your hammy in wax paper

and use belts to cut the circulation

off just above the desired piercing

area. Then you jump into a vice

grip, tighten it till blood pours out

of your ass, and begin the

piercing. Most people use a large

needle, like the ones wildlife freaks

use to inoculate elephants and

manatees, but I use a more

traditional method. I use a

magnifying glass to slowly burn

the skin and tissue away, but

always have to remember not to

go through the bone. There’s no

sense in getting a piercing if you

can’t stand up to show it.”

Billy’s irrational remarks

drove many of the school’s bullies

insane, so Billy never had a

problem with bullies – plus he was

the coolest kid in his grade. Billy

and his class had been writing to

pen pals at a school in Washington

D.C., and next week they were

going to be able to meet their pen

pals at his school. Billy’s pal was

named Orson, and Orson claimed

to be the next messiah. Orson

also wrote that he was racist

against the moon and other

planets, and one day he was going

to challenge them to a fight. Billy

was so excited to meet Orson that

the week went by terribly slow.

Finally, the week passed and Billy

saw the school bus arrive in his

school parking lot. Billy watched

from his car’s passenger seat,

because he did not feel

comfortable driving so close to the

steering wheel. Billy had never

seen a picture of Orson before, but

Billy knew whom he was the

second Orson stepped out of the

bus. And then a very peculiar

thing happened, Orson stopped at

the very bottom of the bus’s steps

and was caught on something. It

took a few moments but

by Caesar Jackson

Burning hills billy

9

eventually Orson freed himself,

stepped out of the bus and

revealed his enormous hamstring

piercing to Billy. Billy stood there

with his mouth open, so

flabbergasted that he nearly

fainted. Orson’s hamstring

piercing was just as big as the one

in Billy’s leg, and twice as shiny.

Billy screamed like a high-pitched,

pre-pubescent banshee and

lunged at Orson’s liver. Orson

fended Billy off, for Orson was just

as fast and smart as Billy was.

They fought for a full day and

realized that neither of them could

win, so they started a contest that

even the gods wouldn’t dare to

enter. The contest was one of

piercing excellence; whoever could

fit the bigger stud into their body,

and survive, would be crowned as

the victor. Orson went first and

ordered a dumpster from the

county dump. The dumpster

arrived the next day and Orson

attempted to pierce his torso with

the dumpster. As the dumpster

was lowered onto his body, some

of the most terrible screams in the

world were invented. When it was

all said and done, Orson had a

large dumpster protruding out of

his chest. “Beat that you bell-

shaped pussy,” proclaimed Orson,

fighting to stay alive. Now it was

Billy’s turn. Billy looked around

and panicked a little, for he had no

idea how he was going to top

Orson’s piercing. Then Billy

thought, eureka! I know! He

hustled down the street and ran

into the nearest phone booth and

ordered the largest redwood tree

in the world. He would have the

tree airlifted up to 35,000 ft above

sea level and dropped directly on

the spot where he was standing.

The tree fell at speeds close to 188

mph and was bearing close to its

mark. Right before the tree

impacted Billy, he screamed, “YOU

KNOW YOU LOVE IT!” And then

there was silence. The tree had

completely crushed Billy’s bones,

and body for that matter. The kids

from Billy’s school groaned in

protest and were very

disappointed with the outcome of

the contest. But then a Supreme

Court Justice crowd surfed over to

where Orson and his dumpster

piercing lay. The Justice had taken

notice from the back of the crowd

that Orson had died hours ago,

and that Billy was actually the

victor! The kids from Billy’s school

rejoiced and sang songs of victory

and relief. Billy was truly the

greatest hero to ever come out of

Burning Hills High School. ♦

Billy cont...

10

I ate 2 hockey pucks and a glass of

duck blood....ok im lying. I only ate

one hockey puck and half a glass of

duck blood. no wait. it was one

toenail clipping and a bottle of

dusty milk. wait. it was six legs that

I washed down with an arm. wait.

wait. wait. what am I talking about. I

cant stop putting periods down.

where I feel they are necessary. .

coma patient wakes up 3. years

later to find she has no arms, only a

large corn . stalk coming out of her

saliva glands, which are filled with

lever 2000 body soap, or was it

zest? anyway im rambling on about

absolutely nothing so Ill go. to sleep

now.

The. toaster fun coin chaser,

Stench tickler

wait I dont feel like going just yet. I

have to say one thing. forward the

pony to my office for first hand

nasal kicks. dot the check with my

mexican co partner, Waldo. please.

please. wait. nevermind im gonna

go.

wait. ♦

Letter From StenchLetter From StenchLetter From StenchLetter From StenchLetter From Stench

TicklerTicklerTicklerTicklerTickler by J. McButtchins

I was a vegetabledealer in Boston. Idealt in vegetables.It was not for me.The winter was toocold and I was oftenparalyzed with fear.Lahoma had family inCanada and suggestedwe go north. ThenLahoma left and theonly place I couldthink of to go wasAtlantic City.

Gertrude was myneighbor at the timeand I would haveloved her except shetold me not too.She was long and hadcat eyes and smokedcigarettes. Her fa-ther was a SeminoleIndian and hermother was a Jewwith raven likehair. I wishGertrude would havecome with me when Ileft, but she saidshe was built intoBoston like God wasbuilt into Bostonand besides, she hadnever left so why

start now. ♦

Lift my guttyand bust

by John Lambeau Priest

11

Robert-Anne was born with a

bone on his face. I was on the

outside, running just under his

left eye down to his chin, barely

missing the corner of his lips.

The early years were hardest on

Robert-Anne, or Robanne as he

was called by his Mummsy. The

children were cruel, as children

will be, and it made for long

days. But Robanne was strong of

mind and at an early age he

learned to entertain himself.

Robanne was a vegetarian,

because eating meat reminded

him of his face. He was very

agile, and in spite of their heck-

ling he could often be found

playing strumpet with the neigh-

borhood boys. Strumpet was a

cross between basketball and

pitchfork. Pitchfork was like full-

contact badminton. It was on

the strumpet field that Robanne

could shine.

The public school system,

however, had not organized a

strumpet team, choosing to

spend their athletic budget on

more conventional games. At

school, Robert-Anne was just old

bone face.

At school, Robanne's one

solace was watching Lynne-

Lynne. Lynne-Lynne, felt

Robanneby John Lambeau Priest

Robanne was beautiful. And not

just because she had a silver

antennae coming out of her neck.

It was the way she walked, the

way she chewed, the soft curve

of her lip, and the fact that she

always knew the next day's

weather. ♦

Hold back the doorway to kindledfences, and lack luster jewels.

They cannot be seen with deepdepressing oppression.

Call him by the name Whirl WindSammy.

He cannot hear, masterless obstaclesare driving his ears into meat loaf.

Refuse the mocking ores and call themgapers, they are the ones in need ofhorse raddish silhouettes and forcestoping clarinets.

Open past his loaves into themasterless airways, the mind numbingchariot.

I shall dream off past all compensationfor the train tickets to Seatle.

Highway Boundby Jonsey McButtchens

♣♦♥♠

Fool-Aid Merchant Trade

12

- Jonsey McButtchens

I often ask the wind, “WHERE ARE MY CHEST FLAPS”?It does not reply with words, but rathera series of loud unbearable hisses.After years of hearing these hissingreplies, a dark rage developed in mysmall intestine. I called it Winslow. Winslow was a slow learner. One time Winslow bit a man in two. “BAD WINSLOW!”I would scream, “NOW YOU FORCED ME TO BEATYOU!” “Do not beat me” Winslowreplied...”I don’t.....” But beforeWinslow could speak another word, Ibit his tongue off. “ENOUGH OF YOUR LIESWINSLOW!” Although Winslow was aslow learner, he could reattach asevered tongue with two hands behindhis back and one up his nose. Withsuch blazing skill, how could I showhim I was serious? So I did what anyreasonable person would do, I ate thetongue. “THIS HURTS ME MORE THAN ITHURTS YOU!” I said to Winslow, tryingmy best to silence his bloody scream.Low and behold, the wind whisperedthe location of my chest flaps.

And we lived happily ever after. ♦

Winslowby Jonsey McButtchens

A drink like apro at a danceparty. Please tastemy cream. Don’tshow up wanted,show your armpits.“Cooper where areyour parents?” Iasked. “In theblender,” hereplied.

“Where the Pain Lies” by Count Stabalot

Defining Terms :

imposthume: An abscess; a

collection of puss or

purulent matter in any

part of an animal body.

zoster: A girdle.

cockloft: The top loft; the upper

room in a house or other

building.

13

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