Jack Scranton
Bio
Writer, image retoucher, musician/composer, 3D artist. Despite modest success in all those fields, Photoshop paid the bills.
Stories (6/0)
Take Two
When Karen, browsing through the magazine racks, realized the guy crowding her from the side was Graham, her first impulse was to kick him in the balls and run. That delicious fantasy lasted maybe five seconds. Then she considered just running. Again. Instead, she leaned in close: "Did you finally learn to read, or do you still just look at the pictures?"
By Jack Scrantonabout a year ago in Filthy
Why We Are Doomed
Note: these events are true. This was written in 2006, when it all took place, in Brooklyn, NYC. It was a time much further distant than numbers would suggest. Speakeasy, a wi-fi provider, is no more. The DSL connections they sold have likewise gone the way of 8-track tapes and SCSI connections. Sears is down for the count. Agencies and companies were still working out how to migrate their services to the internet. Customer service, such as it was, still entailed labrynthine sets of phone menus, and, occasionally, encounters with surly humans who resented your intrusion. But the underlying themes remain relevant, more so, if that's possible. Enjoy my tale of woe.
By Jack Scrantonabout a year ago in Psyche
Mother Nature Knows Best
"I want to try something new," she'd said. His idea: "Let's make you uncomfortable in public." Now she fumed, hesitated, felt a tingle wash over her cheeks. But then she picked up the shopping basket and began wandering the aisles. Timid housewives stole furtive glances her way. Horny stock boys stared slackjawed.
By Jack Scrantonabout a year ago in Filthy
End Times
The headlights first appered as a faint glowing blob in the distance, the only thing that competed with the moon against the Bible Black sky. Then, as they approached, they became piercing spotlights cutting through the night, blinding Cassidy. Finally, a large SUV slowed to a stop. The driver was scruffy, with a long, ratty beard and dusty work clothes. But his car seemed new and solid.
By Jack Scranton3 years ago in Filthy
