Typewriter Meat: Disgruntled Employee Smashes in Manager in Broad Daylight

Mistrop, Illinois. 7/28/2025.

Solomon Canterbury, 36, faces homicide charges for alleged murder today when reports broke out regarding a mishandled argument at Cultural Blabber Inc. in downtown Mistrop.

Michelangelo Niyami, 63, served as Communications Manager and Editor at Cultural Blabber for over a decade, with Canterbury working under his leadership. A disagreement on Mistrop city finance shares led Canterbury, according to witnesses, to verbally abuse Niyami in front of co-workers and certain superiors. Niyami fired Canterbury on the spot, though the latter returned two days later with an eerie agenda.

At 10:42 AM this morning, Canterbury stormed the front doors of Cultural Blabber Inc. on Country Street and and River Avenue with a typewriter. Security didn't register his identification due to the recent termination, which prompted Canterbury to enter the main editing floor where Niyami assisted weekday writers and image specialists with no halts. 

Without a beat to acknowledge Canterbury's presence, the former employee lifted the 1888 Scotsman Jr. Typewriter II and pushed its weight onto the back of the manager's head. With one blow, blood splattered on an employee's workstation (and the employee themselves), yet Niyami remained his stance with a slight bow. Red streaks ran down his ears.

Canterbury, enraged, swung down two more bangs, with the second sending Niyami down onto the desk. Each blow registered pieces of brain matter and skull into the vibrant vicinity; three employees yelled in fear while one fainted. Another called for police.

"You're an Editor, right? So, edit!" Canterbury shouted while driving the fourth and final contact onto Niyami's exposed head. Blood appeared on Canterbury's face when the authorities arrived, who reported that Canterbury walked without resistance.

"I don't understand, maybe he was just done with the guy and had to send a message. Sadly, this message is a one-and-done deal. [expletive] shame, it's a shame," an officer commented.

An eyewitness account touches on the cruel event. "Mon's always had a temper, we all knew that. But Canterbury was tough, too, you know? He'd send Mon a sheet of notes and expect fixes within a day. Maybe the pay was getting to him? Sure, but, I don't know. I never saw a typewriter bend before," she claimed. The witnesses wishes to remain anonymous.

As for Canterbury, he's seeing a judge next week for his actions. Stay tuned for more information.

- Marco Jimenez, Contributor

Bicker @marcojemenvc

VOCAL CONCERNS, ISSUE 710

----------

Image Credit: Annie Spratt (@anniespratt)

Self-Driving Madness: Independent Cab Kills Man in Robbery Attempt

 Mistrop, Illinois. 5/22/2025.

When Socrates Taxi Services announced that self-driving cabs would start roaming the streets, the metals in my fingertips began to tingle, startled once again at the sight of self-controlled vehicles let loose to the public. It's as if folks begin to disassociate themselves a week after a crime is committed, only to breathe some new air like a zen master ignoring the bleak corners of life.

But did everyone believe that Socrates Taxi Services (STS for short; not officially but because I don't want to type it out every single time) would present itself as a "safe and reliable service for the people and the future" for whatever it's worth? The answer doesn't matter much to me, time is short on my hands, but I will say that Jack character had it coming.

50, divorced, and desperate for some extra cash, Jack "Macca" Bechtel approached a Socrates cab on Roland Ave. with a loaded pistol in his left pocket. He stomped toward the driver seat, tapped the glass, and spoke aloud, "Shut down! Shut down now, you hunk of junk!" Witnesses watched as Bechtel tapped on the driver's window a few times before he pulled out the weapon. With no door handles to pull the Socrates vehicle open, Bechtel knocked on the window with the pistol's butt.

"Sir/Madam/They, please step away from the vehicle," the cab said aloud, according to witness. Look, I wasn't there, so I pulled all eyewitness claims to formulate this. Sadly, those preppy Maters and O'Briens over at PMH were quick to arrive on scene to report this all. So, yeah, I'm a little late to the party, but I digress, because the Socrates Taxi shifted its door handle into a pistol and fired three rounds into Jack's head.

He fell to the ground. Surrounding bystanders either fled or stared in awe, though screams uttered and terror filled the air. A blood puddle began to form, catching the attention of PMH, and some cheeky cop who gasped like a schoolboy who said "assface" for the first time.

"We apologize for any inconvenience," the Taxi said, withholding the weapon.

The Toys of Richman Gomez

As I'm reminded of today's idiocracies with an overindulgence of ads, cheap marketing techniques by influencers, and videos of a hippo and a cherub kissing one another (Baldur's Gate 3?), the memory of a CTA ride comes flooding back.

At one point within the last year or so, I steadily and carefully avoided taking the CTA buses to prevent any futile encounters (public transit is filled with them). A day arrived when I was forced to take it due to some weather conditions. For whatever reason that compelled me, I hopped on a public vehicle and sat in the back. I surpassed quiet folks, with only a few minding their own business in the same section. All seemed well for the time being as I distracted myself with some reading, until a particular man approaches the final row of seats, the same section where I am at.

Enter Richman Gomez, an amateur crackhead failing in his late 20s-early 30s. The image (above) was taken in secret, with Gomez lighting up a small crack pipe while shielding himself from public view. The young man takes a few hits while occasionally looking over his seat for any witnesses. It's a shame that this embarrassment failed to take note of his hidden photographer, sitting just a seat away from him.

Admittedly, some panic was ravaging through my body as I took this shot. The man was in to smoke and out within a couple of stops, eventually getting off around the Portage Park area. A million possibilities started to fly by regarding his next steps, but then I halted the thinking process.

Perhaps it was because it would lead to a dead road, a journey with no reward, from the start through the middle and until the end. With how Chicago treats its broken and lost souls, hope is not on the table. In truth, I don't believe it ever was.

I recall once when someone mistakenly said, "The Shitty of Chicago," in the middle of an improv show. Despite the setting, the idiom fits, especially with how the city's current mayor is handling the migrant crisis, crime rates, racism claims, and other political fiascos. It's hard to refer to Chicago as a city now without reminding myself of the hilarious mistake that happened long before the mayor's obligatory inauguration.

Verily, I cannot give a solid reason as to why I called this individual Richman Gomez. I once ran into someone who shared some similarities, though the connection is incredibly hallow. There's some reliability behind his toys as we can see in the image, and that dependency can only go so far until he's inhaling a different kind of dirt.

P.S. Reminder to bring Febreze onto the CTA for future rides.

Note: Photo has been edited for obvious reasons, though it does appear to be rather suggestive after looking at it from a different angle. Therefore, the original copy belongs only to me. Smiley face.

Apologies to My Blog

06/29/21

A lot has shifted in the past few months, that I tend to forget that I have this blog. It's a shameful thing to think, too. For so long I used this blog to stretch my skills and build a portfolio. Back then I didn't have any credentials, and almost no freelancing gig is going to provide a position to a kid who just writes here and there. So, I kept writing short stories and applying like mad hell until I landed something.

It wouldn't be until just last year when I applied for The Nerd Stash. I had enough SEO experience to feel confident about this one, and it was a worthwhile effort. Within a week, I had published a few articles as a test run before Jeremy, the editor-in-chief, decided to officially bring me on board.

Before I knew it, I was reviewing games and composing news articles that would get published on the same day that I submitted them. Now I almost do it daily, with an additional position at Guide Fall to keep myself busy. I write everyday about video games, and that certainly does put a smile on my face.

I somehow managed to blend my hobbies with my growing career - I never thought that'd be possible. I always wanted to design video games, but I don't possess the artistic sleight of hand to make a creature spring to life. Once, I dreamt of becoming an astronaut, but the idea of being in the vast vacuum of space is a terrifying concept to me; I see myself shitting my suit...and you only get one suit while you float amid planet Earth. Of course, when I was young, I really wanted to be a Jedi. It is possible, but I'll save myself the embarrassment. At least lightsabers are becoming a reality.

As aforesaid, I do write everyday, and it's almost always pertaining to video gaming. They're news pieces, listicles, guides, reviews, anything you can think of when it comes to the industry.

09/02/2022

More than a year after I updated this post, a lot has developed. I won't get into too many details but essentially: I still write for TNS and GF - so I'm technically a full-time writer during the week; couple of hospital visits conflict with my nonsense (as I currently type with an itchy splint); starting to collect some vinyl records, etc. 

However, that being said, I miss committing my time to just composing onto this blog. I've encountered so many intriguing folks that I'm proud to have had made into characters who walk along Desolation Row. I'll never forget about the moment I wanted to start this blog like it was yesterday...some guy on the Blue Line looks to me while I'm listening to music via ear buds, tells me to take them off, then says:

"I gotta lay this on someone, and I can’t keep this bottled up. I’m headed to the casino right now to do something illegal, but it kind of isn’t really illegal; I’ve done it before and nothing has happened. I just needed to tell someone that, because I’m gonna kill myself if I don’t tell anyone. Okay? Thank you. Don’t tell anyone. Thank you.”

Of course, I proceeded to return to my buds after he went back to his psychopathic world. But little did I know, that interaction would inspire me to write about people, but just change their name while rearranging their faces. 

I think I'm ready to publish this post now. I honestly don't know why I neglected the first half of this writing. I know writing elsewhere has something to do with it, but even now I still type, and I'm still having a blast experimenting with my wordplay.

Be excellent to each other.

-C.

The Electric Butterfly

I've thought over and over again about how to approach your death. There's always the promising lyrical ballad or a special character in a story, but I'm sincerely at a loss.
Losing a friend is, no doubt, a tough experience, but that certain trauma is elevated when the killer was herself. Her inner demons got the best of her. And now I can't see her anymore.
So I decided to throw on some tracks that we would listen to and began to reminisce on the good memories. This is a recollection of my late friend, Anita. 

Backyard by Mad Caddies

Probably the earliest track that I can recall, Backyard was one of the tracks on the Mad Caddies' album "Keep It Going" that we played whenever we hung out with the crew. I liked to mess around with you because you were usually the only girl in the group, and you understood my sense of humor. You fit right in with all of us, and I was getting excited about learning more about you. 
Now, whenever that song or album begins to play, I think of that cute smile and laughter you didn't shy away from showing. Especially when you pulled out the ukelele and started playing to our general annoyance. We didn't tell you to stop - perhaps because we all just adored you. The soft strums on that instrument echoed throughout the smoky room, trading lyrics and looks as we remained in a peaceful circle of friends and brothers.

Today by Jefferson Airplane

One day, you messaged me in regards to looking for new music to listen to. Knowing me, I went back to the 60s to look for an extraordinary song that went nicely with her tendency to be a hippie of sorts. It inspired her to draw something impressive, though I can't bring to mind what exactly it was. But the song represented her more peaceful and loving side. It's a slower song by her standards, but I remember her telling me that she enjoyed the tune. I don't know why but to me that was a big compliment. The mates would criticize my taste in music (mainly toward the synthwave playlists and anything from Bob Dylan), but she admitted that it was a great song, and I felt closer to her because of that. 
I couldn't show her much after that due to moronic drama among friends, but I like to think she'd listen to that song and find a place in her soul to be at peace. 
The sole image of you with your eyes closed as you listen to a song is stapled into my memory.

Redemption by Zacari & Babes Wodumo

One time, we all got super colorful and comfy that we threw on the Black Panther soundtrack and just relaxed on the couch, passing tea and passing time. I was thoroughly excited to listen to it since we were still on the big Marvel hype train to Infinity War, and everyone in that house was a big fan. The tracks were playing and we were vibing to it until I looked over at you and noticed that a dark cloud was overlooking you. I've dealt with the cloud before (still do) but it disturbs me to see it affecting others close to me. So I moved over to you on the couch and sat next to you, asking if everything was okay. You told me the truth, and I offered my shoulder. Easy breathing and easy being, we barely spoke and simply listened to the album, which was playing "Redemption" at this point in time. For a good chunk of the listening session, we remained in that position, and I didn't want to leave. It wasn't romantic or anything stupidly superficial - we were just in each other's presence at this moment. I felt pretty okay, and I hope you did, too. I know how it feels to be truly alone, but she didn't deserve half the muck that life struck her with. 

I still don't feel complete, no soulful satisfaction from composing away the grief. Then again, 2020 was a harsh year (and 2021 isn't looking any better), but I wish she spoke to me about what was bothering her. I last sent her a message on Instagram, asking to hang out. And now with nothing to show for a response, I'll never know what she was thinking about when she was taking the coward's way out. I didn't go to the wake but I don't do wakes well, and all of our "friends" were going to be there, so it wouldn't have ended well. I'm still talking to them, but I have no hope. They stopped talking to me, and only started to get my attention again because of your death. A death in the broken circle of friends shouldn't reunite them to make things right. How can we make things right when you're gone? What's the use? 
I hate that I spend my free time thinking about the past, but it gives me a chance to remember the good times that we had. 
I'm happy we reconciled at the end, though. I'll see ya again one day, hun. 

 

She sways and swirls
Swinging a light-up hula hoop
In the edge of nighttime.

Sitting and watching
We're all in amazement
As she dances to the beat.

I stare as her figure shifts
Emitting shapes and lines
Too bizarre for pure screening.

My eyes lose focus
And her movements form into
An electric butterfly.

The EDM tunes ring in-line with her routine
Creating electricity that mentally shocks me
I'm merely at a loss for words.

The tune concludes
And you sprung into final form
As we applaud the talented and lovely Anita:
The Electric Butterfly