Free How to Piss in Public by Gavin McInnes

OK?”
    Then I heard, “Prepare to die!” Before I could worry about my safety I saw his silhouette, which proved he was definitely still in there. Then came, “No, no, please, I don’t want to die,” followed by thunderous guitar chords. He was acting out his opera. I might have been safe, but Snuggles was fucked. I went to sleep that night worried about John and even more worried for our safety.
    The next day, I avoided checking on John until the very end of the day. I knew his land was pretty peanut-buttery so it would be difficult for him to fuck it up. But when I got there, the mercurial John was nowhere to be seen. He had flagged off surprisingly large portions to show they were finished, which wasn’t his style, so I walked in and began investigating. Something wasn’t right. I’d see a tree here and then nothing for twenty feet and then tree, tree, tree, tree, tree. They were tight in the soil and the lateral branch was exposed but there appeared to be no rhyme or reason to where he stuck them. We weren’t going to get paid unless the entire clear-cut was replaced with a grid of trees exactly six feet by six feet, and this wasn’t even close. I marched over a few hills and saw John planting with unprecedented determination. “JOHN!” I yelled as I approached in case he was a Martian again. He could tell I was shocked, so he balanced his water jug on his head to cut the tension.
    “Hello,” he said, standing upright. His T-shirt was shredded and for some reason, he had covered himself in flagging tape (fluorescent ribbons we used to mark off segments of land). What really concerned me were his fucking eyes. They were swimming in pools of blood. The arms of his Coke-bottle glasses were long gone and had been replaced with strips of flagging tape. He had sort of mummified the top of his head by wrapping the colorful tape around his lenses and back around his head again and again until his glasses were pulled tightly against his eye sockets. He looked like an album cover. It gets worse. This bizarre design left small holes at the edge of each eye where blackflies could get in—and they did. Several dozen blackflies had snuck into the space between the glass and his eyes and they bit with impunity because they knew they could just come out the same way they came in. They bit the skin around his eyes so much, tiny pools of blood had formed at the bottom of the glasses where they were tightest against his skin. This collection of blood moved around when he talked the same way water does in your mask when you’ve been snorkeling for too long.

    Dr. John the morning of the collapse. Note glasses made of flagging tape. (1991)
    “Um, John,” I asked, “what’s going on with your trees?”
    He didn’t know what I meant. “I’m not done yet,” he said, “and you had better let me finish or it’s all a waste.” I asked him if he was going to go back and fill in the spaces, and he snapped “NO!” at me, which was the first time I’d seen him act aggressive outside of the insufferable carnage Snuggles was forced to endure. “It’s a message to God,” he said angrily.
    “What do you mean?” I asked. “What’s a message to God?”
    He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Didn’t you see? It says ‘John.’” I still didn’t get it. “The trees!” he yelled with gnats swarming around his eyes and blood splashing onto his eyeballs like a monster in a Japanese cartoon. “They spell J-O-H-N! In twenty years I might be dead, but God will look down upon us and he’ll see my name. His name. It’s all his.” I was kind of starting to grasp what was happening and trying to decide between being angry and petrified. Then he got closer to me and said into my face, “Read John One. It says, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God.’”
    His breath stank and his face was so filthy there was no real demarcation between his curly hair and his beard. He was a hairy caveman with a