The Tale of Jack's Colon

By Randal J. Junior

You've already met Tyler Durden. Now it's time to meet his asshole. Say goodbye to his left testicle, wipe his sweat from your brow as he fights his way through a world of hardcore nihilism with nothing but his wits and a bar of creme-de-la-soap. Let narcolepsy be your guide as you navigate the uncertainties of interstellar pain-remedies that have yet to be imagined...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Randal J. Junior
• Release date: Aug 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370922154

Randal J. Junior

As a student of literature for the past eight years, the author has endeavoured to learn the art of compression; reducing the infinite into the barest minimum of words required to hook the reader’s interest, cast doubt within their mind and then dispel it with either an inconclusive twist or an enduring sense of finality. As a failed student of philosophy, Randal J. Junior has been beaten into the school of weary acceptance after finding that all human endeavour is fraught with either idealism or an opportunistic narcissism. But she/he still has faith in humanity and believes that we all learn something new every day.

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The Tale of Jack’s Colon

Copyright 2017 Randal J Junior

Published by Randal J. Junior at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Warning:

Some stories contain adult themes and/or sexually explicit material

including references to fictionalized incidences of sexual assault

- you must be 18+ to purchase this book

Jack and Jill went up the hill, but pale was the pilgrim’s daughter.

Chapter One

‘I am Jack’s asshole,’ said Tyler Durden.

In the world of white, middle-class America, one of the few remaining untaxed pleasures is that of experiencing a private and satisfactory bowel movement. But our friend Jack cannot go. His one desire is being repressed by an intractable lump of faecal-matter that symbolises the angst of an entire generation; the personal development of individuals such as Jack being hijacked by a culture of corporate convenience that has fed so voraciously on every imagined product that it is fast running out of places to take a dump.

Even as Jack squeezes into the tiny cubicle of a franchised restroom, he cannot rid himself of the blockage within his being. Lacking the heavy bass-note of the lowest yogic chakra, his discomfort is expressed in tiny pneumatic wheezes as the weight of Jack’s flatulence finds its way past the net worth of his weekly expenditure.

And that, my friend, is why we love, idolize and envy the enigmatic figure of Tyler Durden. Tyler Durden does not pay rent. Tyler Durden does not need laxatives. Tyler Durden does not have to be a sycophant to the corporate dollars that trickle down from the business-class section of the airplane. Tyler Durden smokes, drinks and fucks without any sense of care for the future. If only we could be that lucky, but civilization has denied us the fulfillment of our hopes and dreams, deprived us of the rightful place within our tribe; robbed us of the very bacteria that would free us from Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS).

The only affliction more constant than IBS is the IRS and with only a consonant separating them from being one and the same thing, perhaps Jack should be grateful for the DDT, glyphosate and other derivatives of the chemical age that have given him a reason