Got called down to the hotel to meet up with some old friends down at The Big Fancy Schmancy Hotel that I never heard of but probably should have in The Lower East Side of Manhattan. I couldn't find a ride but I noticed a big rig was going that way and the driver looked like a nice enough fella.
"Mind if I bum a ride doawntown? I can't see a town car anywhere." I said.
"Well, the inside is all filled up with mexicans so I don't think so... sorry dude."
"No prob, I'll just stand here on the side step, it's not like we're gonna be driving a billion miles an hour."
I hopped up onto the sidestep of the big rig and with a tug and a chug, he was off down the road. The wind blew in my hair and It felt like I was in some kind of parade or something because driving down Parke Avenue people were waving and yelling my name. Being the attention starved douchebag I am, I wasn't about to let this opportunity go wasted so I climbed up on the big fender and began doing some pretty modest stunts with a clowny, comical, Don Knotts, kinda stupid, fake fear, buffoonery type slant which everybody liked except the driver whose view I was obviously blocking.
"Look buddy, quit with the dog and pony show, I don't need no undue attention here with all the illegal beaners and what not. If ya wanna ride you'll have to climb in here with the Mexicans.
I climbed in through the window and got back in the back compartment. He wasn't joking, he had a whole slew of illegal Mexicans in there. These weren't just the average kind of illegal type, these were the type that had tons of missing teeth, like you just plucked them off a Mexican farm deep in the interior of Mexico, the super duper dark kind with yellow where the whites of their eyes should be. None of them spoke any english but all of them were smiling and laughing probably amused that there was now some crazy bearded white dude in a yellow suit sitting amongst them. Many of them were giving me the thumbs up sign and basically trying to be my friend just in case I had some job for them perhaps.
"Dude, you guys look just like all those bad guys in that movie "The Three Amigos" I love that movie."
"Amigos yes!" The nearly toothless dude replied as his one remaining tooth swung back and forth hanging by a pink thread of his black gums.
The truck came to a stop and a bunch of other dirty and disheveled dudes piled into the back. Things were getting fucking crowded.
"Holy shit, is that you Merkley? a voice to my left asked.
"Holy crap, what are you doing here? I haven't see you since high school." I replied.
I couldn't for the life of me remember the dude's name, but he and his friends were all guys I remember from high school hanging out smoking by the tennis courts, they were basically kinda geek stoners so it wasn't really that surprising seeing them in the immigrant workers scene.
"What the fuck have you been up to?" I asked.
"Oh you know, the daily grind, painting houses, doing plumbing, hauling shit out to the dump -- I should have paid more attention in school." He said as he and all his friends nodded in agreement. "What the sam hill are YOU doing?"
"Well, after high school, I went to college and graduated with a phd in Illegal immigration and so now I am officially an Illegal Mexican immigrant, I couldn't be happier."
My shitty joke was met with thunderous laughter from everybody but the driver.
"Hey comedian, we have arrived at your Fancy Schmancy hotel, now get the fuck out." he said once again launching another round of heavy laughter from all the workers and high school douchebag dudes.
I hopped out of the big dirty truck hoping beyond all hope that some of my fancy schmancy friends were looking. Nothing is cooler than getting dropped off at the fancy schmancy by a truckload of fucking 4 foot Inca farmers and a bunch of drop out stoners . It was sooo Cheech and Chong.
The hotel could have been made from a remodeled parking structure because in it, there were no stairs, just ramps going up to the various levels. It was pretty clear that the place was less a hotel and more a permanent residency for eccentric stars. Everywhere I went I saw interesting artists and people who succeeded in making themselves into heroes of the general population. I finally found Gwen's room and knocked on the door. When she came to the door, her hair was bright red, as if she was copying Lucille Ball when she'd get all gussied up for an awards show or something.
"Whoa dude, RED. You look like Lucy." I said.
"Whoa dude, FRIZZY, you need some product in your hair and fast." she replied.
"Tell that to Gene Wilder, he's my new hair stylist."
Holy shit I'm witty.
She showed me around her New york digs and I said hi to a bunch of people we both know. Her place was quite a maze, I could never figure out where I came from or where I was going. The place was fairly poorly decorated, too much traditional crap, not nearly enough humor and the glitz was too J-Lo bling-blingy, I have to admit I was a little disappointed with her choices and I blamed it on the fact that we haven't had any quality time to hang out since she got married. She needs me around or her style starts slipping. She listens to fags too much. Fags don't know how to not be faggy. Things were pretty faggy.
Speaking of faggy, she pointed me to Prince's Apartment:
"Dude, you should go over and say hi to Prince, He lives right over there." she said.
"He won't remember me, come with me."
"I can't I got some shit to do --- oh yeah, did I tell you how your brother was all weird when I met him?"
"No, what did he do?"
"Well we were standing there posing for a typical photo when he reaches over and dips me and FRENCH kisses me"
"Are you serious? That's either really rad or really gross."
"Mostly gross." she said.
"Not my fault," I said. "you shouldn't dress like such a slut."
"Ha Ha, go talk to Prince." she said.
Even though she pointed me in the right direction I soon became disoriented due to the twisty, parking lot type structure, the whole place was designed without doors instead opting for the types of hallway turns they put in public bathrooms to obscure view without having to need doors. Problem was, there was really no way of knowing where you were entering until you were already in the "private" space. It all seemed very new age to me and I was surprised that so many super famous people had signed up for such and "open door" way of living, then again, they were all living with each other, it wasn't like those immigrant workers were living here. Suddenly I wished I had invited some of them along. You know, because I'm a dick.
Lots of blue robots were milling about so I knew I was getting closer to Prince's place. Thing is, I could tell they weren't really even robots but instead just dudes wearing some really uncomfortable styrofoam suit type things.
"How may I help you" asked one of the weird robots in a surprisingly friendly tone.
I was standing in the middle of a large room that looked designed to be some kind of private entertaining area in Prince's home, I felt only a little odd that I hadn't entered through any traditional front door and didn't even really know where I was but I know not to act completely lost.
"Where is the little fucker? I have the birdseed he wanted.
"Umm, I don't know, but chances are he's in the kitchen one floor up."
I walked up the long ramp and came into a big room that looked like it was designed to resemble an old slave's kitchen only on a much larger, much much more expensive scale. The center was a giant brick barbeque type thing built up as the center hearth. There was a gigantic black dude scraping the blackened grease off the grill, I looked around, there were other employees milling about when suddenly about three feet to my left, a little dude in a yellow robe and pajamas popped his head out of the dish washer or oven and startled the fuck out of me.
"Whhell sweet Jesus -- hot damn -- lawd almighty -- weee hoooo."
It was Prince and he was holding pan with a bunch of bacon in it.
"Ain't you one stylish muthafucka!" He said to me doing a very nearly perfect Little richard impersonation, with his hair up in a doo rag.
He was giving himself a compliment by complimenting me as we were both wearing yellow jackets with pajamas, it was quite a coincidence indeed, but Prince was right, my pajamas were cooler and my yellow jacket was much more yellow.
"Everybody, we are taking pictures, get your asses down here. Paris! Paris, come down, we're doing pictures with --- what's your name again?"
"Merkley."
"We're taking pictures with Merkley."
I looked around for my camera and put my hand on it, I didn't know Prince knew I was a photographer, maybe Gwen told him or maybe he was reading my blog or something. I wasn't really in the mood to do a photo shoot because I like it when things are my idea instead of somebody else's because then suddenly it feels like work.
In no time flat, there were 25 people all around us, all jockeying for position to be next to Prince. It became obvious to me that he didn't mean that I was going to be taking the pictures but rather that he was taking pictures for his own purposes.
"Get a picture of me'n Merkles in our matching get ups" He said.
Paris Hilton was over yonder looking totally fake and stupid like she always does and I made sure to avoid any eye contact for fear that I'd have to talk to her. Three minutes of photos and everyone dispersed including Prince. I still had the bag of bird seed he wanted.
"Where should I put this bird seed?" I asked one of the blue robot dudes.
"Better go up and put it on his bed, that's the only place he'll be sure to find it."
It took me ten minutes wandering through the huge condo to finally find his bedroom. It was as retardedly over the top as you might imagine with waterfalls and a dance floor and a bed made out of all kinds of animal horns with a big fur bedspread. Not wanting to go in, I tossed the birdseed onto his bed, thought about taking a picture of his room, decided against it because it would be rude and trekked downstairs and all over his big place til I found a little comfortable yellow room witha bar and filled with old jazz musicians, where I sat down and took a nap.
I woke up with no shoes on, there were tons of shoes all over the place so I tried a bunch of them on and either they didn't fit just right or I couldn't find the matching pair, this always happens to me.
I left with two incredibly expensive mismatched shoes and no socks. I liked the mismatched thing.
Who took my shoes though? Probably Prince. He better not copy me.
In my head on my way home I designed a cool looking motorcycle with a perfectly round transparent gas tank.
February 27, 2006
February 23, 2006
Greasy Black Hands, The Most Functional Household Ever, and The Baby Who Turned Me Into a Baby
I was walking through a ruralish neighborhood with my friend Duane. The houses were all lower middle class one story homes with car ports instead of garages, many of the lawns were brown and filled with weeds. Most of the houses had junk and old cars piled on the front and side yards. It was the very type of neighborhood that made up most of the ruralish city where I grew up. It was the kind of neighborhood that made MY middle-class neighborhood seem totally UPPER-class even though half our neighborhood, including my family, were on some kind of Mormon Church welfare and the heads of the families had jobs as welders, janitors, truck drivers, avon ladies and such. This neighborhood was obviously filled with people who just missed the mark, the kind who just couldn't find success because they had no idea where to look.
The sun was low in the sky and the light was a gray green and there was a cool breeze blowing just hard enough to evaporate the sweat caused by our fast pace. It made the air feel like a cool drink of water.
In front of this one particular house there was a vintage Kushmann type police scooter probably used by some haggered traffic enforcement cop way back in the late sixties. I could tell that whoever owned it wasn't appreciating it like I would have appreciated it and I thought about approaching and making an offer. It looked as if the house was empty, no lights were on, the car port was empty revealing a rather large oil stain on the cracked cement where it would have been parked. I felt comfortable enough in their absence to approach this scooter thing for closer inspection. It was really a fascinating piece of machinery with lots of cool little details like chrome knobs and fancy levers and such. I got in it and attempted to start it with the key that was left in the ignition but there was nothing there. Completely dead. There were brown cob webs and gray spider webs all over it as if it had been parked in that same spot for many many years. This is the way my brain starts to think when I am about ready to rationalize my way into stealing something.
"I'll bet it would be years before these people even noticed this thing was gone if we took it" I said to my friend Duane who was on the other side of the yard snooping through a pile of other junk.
"No kidding, they don't deserve to have such a cool thing if all they are gonna do is let it sink in the mud."
"For all we know, nobody even lives here. The place looks all junky and abandoned to me. How would we get it back to my place?"
"Does it roll?"
I put the gear in neutral and with a little push I was rolling down the driveway and bumping out into the street. My adrenaline started pumping because at this point if someone noticed me they would obviously think that I was stealing it. I put on the brakes and pulled it back into the driveway. Although I was really trying to talk myself into the crime, I still felt pangs of guilt realizing inside that the person who would hold on to such a vehicle would probably be someone with whom I would get along, especially since a lot of the other junk scattered about was stuff that I would pile in my own yard waiting for the never coming day in which I'd hose it off and make it beautiful again.
I noticed a neighbor watching and I became nervous. If I left just now I'd surely be giving myself away as a thwarted thief, Instead I decided to take a wrench out of my pocket and I began to disassemble the scooter thinking that it would make me look like I was a mechanic friend of the owner or something. The thing came apart very easily and all the various inoperable parts were revealed. I thought to myself," well shit, it'd take me about an hour to fix this thing, I know how to put it back together and now that I have taken it apart surely it would be of less value to the owner."
"Do you think I should just box it up and take it?" I asked Duane.
"Totally dude -- totally, these people will never miss it and you'd be doing the neighbors a favor."
"Yeah, but -- maybe I should check to see if anyone is home first, I mean, the dude would probably take like 20 bucks for it now that its all taken apart like this."
I looked at my greasy hands and knowing that they would give me away as the culprit, I wiped them down on the dry grass and used dirt and sand to scrape off the remaining blackness.
I approached the carport and began clapping my hands to call attention to anyone who may have been in the deserted looking house:
"Hello! Anyone home? Hello?"
I heard some rustling from within -- someone was coming to the door. What was I thinking taking apart somebody's vintage traffic scooter in front of their own house while they were inside? I must have been an idiot. My body began to buzz with nervousness.
A small messy haired boy not more than 4 years old came to the screen door.
"Hi, is your dad or mom home?"
"Hey everybody, we have visitors in the front yard!" The boy yelled back into the house.
One after another, children of obviously the same blonde, blue eyed genetic stock piled out of the house with big smiles and grins across their dirty faces completely happy to see their new guests. The four year old, beaming with excitement began climbing me like he was a monkey and I was his favorite tree.
"Where are you guys from? Do you know my dad? Are you our cousins?" The questions came at a million miles an hour.
I didn't feel quite comfortable breaking the news that in fact, no, we were just a couple of dudes who were just about ready to steal some shit from you.
"Well we're certainly friends now." I said, much to the delight of the ten or so kids that had encircled us with smiles ten inches wide. "Where is that crazy dad of yours?"
"DAAAAAAAAAAAD COME OUT HERE YOUR FRIEND IS HEEEEEERE!!!" The pre-teen girl yelled back into the house as if to tell him he was missing out on all the fun.
"I'll be right there." A friendly voice yelled from way back in the house.
A few seconds later, a middle-aged, handsome gray haired man came to the door with the same smile that was permanently plastered across the faces of all his ten or so kids. His eyes were the kind that held no mistrust, agenda or pretense, the kind that completely engaged you and you knew you had his full attention. He was shortly thereafter joined by a cheery wife.
"Well how are ya neighbor?" The man said to me extending his hand for a handshake. "What brings you to our neck of the woods?
He sounded so friendly and familiar that I was suddenly scanning my brain for any indication that I had already met him some other place and some other time. I wasn't coming up with anything.
"I'm the dad, this is the beautiful mom and these are our great kids what are your names?"
"I'm Merkley and this is my friend Duane."
"Say hi to Merkley and Duane kids"
"Hi Merkley and Duane." They all said in one singular voice followed by laughter and a bit of jumping up and down by the younger ones. They certainly do like company.
"What can we do for you?" The dad asked.
"Well Duane and I were just strolling through your lovely neighborhood, checkin out how the better half lives and we couldn't help but notice the great collection of stuff you have collected here in your yard and we were both particularly interested in that old traffic scooter sitting over there in a pile and we thought we might ask you if you'd be interested in parting with it." I said as I began feeling very guilty for having taken it all apart.
"Boy oh boy, that scooter -- I should really put that thing back together again and get her runnin. I don't know what I was thinking taking it apart and just leaving it layin around like that, I oughtta be ashamed of myself. She's a beauty to ride. The kids love it. -- Say, you guys hungry? We're just about to eat dinner and we'd be honored if you'd join us and we can talk about the possibilities of that there scoot --- by the way, WE WON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!" He insisted as he smiled and pulled my arm towards the house.
"Well it looks as if we have no choice" I said to Duane as we both entered the house with our new friends.
Entering the house was quite surreal, even though the outside facade was nothing more than a common tract house, the inside was a gigantic maze of hallways and corridors all fashioned quite artistically, with every square inch adorned with the tiny details only an eccentric or team of eccentrics could muster. Although none of it was done in an aesthetic that really appealed to me immediately, the fact that I was in the presence of a person or people who gave a shit about having a unique environment in which to live and sleep was quite exciting for me. Plus -- holy shit were they ever nice.
Dinner was fabulous, lots of good old fashioned unpretentious food, the kids all told stories about what they did that day, the parents were completely attentive and not even the slightest bit condescending when talking to them. Any idea or opinion given by one of the children was treated with more respect and thoughtfulness than was given to any adult I had ever seen.
There is a small chance that I was sitting amongst the most functional family that ever existed.
Duane and I kept exchanging bewildered glances with each other and at one point it struck me that this family was actually a lot like Duane's family. It made me a little sad for a second when I remembered that just hours earlier I was yelling my fucking head off using every vulgarity and obscenity I could muster to drive into my mother's ultra-Mormon brain that I was in fact the Satan her church told her that I am. Oh how lovely it would have been to have a functional family like this.
Just then, I looked at my hands and I noticed that they were still black with grease, I thought I had washed it off. I obviously didn't do a good job. I quickly put them in my pockets. Worse though was that I looked at the dad's hands and I noticed that the one I had shaken earlier was smudged with black grease as well.
After dinner we were taken on a tour of the place. There was hallway after hallway with sculpted walls, interesting stairways, sliding poles and indoor hills to climb. No passage was treated as an ordinary passage, everywhere you stepped had a game to it, a way of traversing that was completely uncommon. Why have stairs when you could have rocks to climb or a slide or a basket on a pulley? Why have square walls when you could have tubes or twisting cave like dealies? It was like a giant fun-house with the operative word clearly being FUN. No wonder this family was smiling the whole time. It was also clear that the evolution of the house was a group effort as every room had a different theme and although it was never really mentioned, it was clear that the kids were involved with the ideas and it was also clear whose idea was whose because the guilty party would be standing there beaming with pride as the tour lead us through their particular "neck of the woods".
The whole thing was absolutely brilliant. In my mind I just kept thinking that I had finally found a family operating in a completely functional and ideallistic fashion. All voices were heard. All ideas were given credence and room to flourish. No ideas were rejected out of hand. When an idea was expressed in this house, there was an attitude to see it though, everyone acted as supporting cast for individual ideas. Sure, the place wasn't at all like an interior decorators prize winner, but it was much much more than that -- it was a place where ideas were respected not rejected.
And here I was as an insincere guest invited in on false pretense having nearly stolen from this wonderful family. My shame was only overshadowed by the fact that if anyone would be capable of forgiveness it would be this family.
After the 2 hour tour, (I'm telling you, this place went on and on and on, never once boring and always completely interesting) Duane and I were ready to say our goodbyes and leave them be.
"OH LOOK AT THE CLOCK!" The dad yelled with a great sense of excitement in his voice "What time is it?"
"It's SLEEP OVER TIME!!" The kids all yelled in one voice.
"It's too late for you guys to walk home, besides it's raining and we ordered too much food for breakfast in the morning so it looks like you two are gonna have to sleep over." The mom said.
The room got really quiet as everyone awaited our response. I looked at Duane, he looked at me.
"Well twist our arms, we can't ignore the clock, I mean RULES ARE RULES!" I said.
The kids all erupted in applause and the dad showed Duane and me to our respective rooms. Duane's was right by the kitchen. I got taken down a series of hallways way to the back of the house to probably the most normal looking of all the rooms, as if it was a room that had yet to be decorated or transformed by any of the family members crazy ideas.
Suddenly I got a little paranoid, maybe I got this room because they had seen me taking apart the scooter. Maybe this was his way of telling me.
I got in bed, the blankets were warm and the mattress was very comfortable and I quickly drifted off to sleep. I had lots of pleasant dreams about comfortable stuff like big huge chairs and giant fluffy birds, everything was soft and warm. Despite my guilt about the butchering of the scooter outside, it was one of the nicest nights sleep I can recall ever having.
I was awakened by the morning light in my eyes. As I opened them, right there one foot in front of my face was the smiliest morning face I had ever seen. It was their two year old daughter and she was laying down beside me smiling the biggest morning smile ever, an absolute angelic sight for sure. She had that baby head smell mixed with that baby food smell of sweet oatmeal. It was one of the nicest ways to wake up that I could Imagine.
But then I had a thought that I wish I never had to have. I thought, "why the fuck are these people thinking putting their little baby in a bed with a full grown man who is basically a stranger? Are these people crazy? Have they never heard of Michael Jackson?" And then my thoughts got worse, I started thinking, "What if they are trying to set me up? I mean, this just doesn't look good, who would look at a photograph of this situation and not have gutterish thoughts? Why do we even have to think of things like this?"
Right then the baby reached out and grabbed my beard, still grinning her huge grin. Although completely cute and endearing, I pulled back, but feeling really stupid about it.
"There is nothing wrong with a baby grabbing your beard Merkley -- It's the world that's fucked up, not this baby grinning at you in the morning light. This is the way life should be Merkley, happy people, waking up smiling, not worried people waking up fearful about how things appear, this is what this house is teaching you Merkley, relax." I thought as I tried to expel the outside world's negative, moment destroying influence.
Just then the door knob jiggled and again I thought, "maybe I should act like I was asleep, I don't want things to look weird" -- but then I thought, "Fuck that -- fuck that, there is a baby playing with my beard, that's an awesome thing." Then for one second I had complete and utter rage at the world for stealing a beautiful moment from me and the face that came into my head was Montell Williams, he was the face of the world that turned every beautiful moment into something salacious and disgusting. Fuck Montell Williams.
"Hey lil' pumpkin bumps" the mom said as she picked up her beaming child, "did you guys sleep well?"
"Wow, I had the best sleep of my life and to wake up to that face smiling at me, well I just can't say how lovely that was." I said.
"Sorry if it was an inconvenience to sleep the baby's room"
"No no, not at all, I didn't even notice til I woke up to her smiling face..."
"It's just that we feel like sleeping is a really important time to feel good and that a lot of our good feelings and attitudes come from our sleeping experiences and we just think you are such a nice guy we thought maybe some of your personality and creativity would float in the air and keep our baby feeling happy, we wanted your energy to permeate her new room."
This sounded so hippy to me, but I'll be honest, I could feel myself beginning to cry, my eyes were all watery, my throat was all choked up, my chest felt all tight and weepy, I didn't want her to see me cry. But I couldn't help it, it was one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me and the person saying it to me was one of the most angelic creatures I had ever seen. My lip was quivering and I just couldn't hold back.
"Awe honey, you're so sweet, and this is exactly why we put you back here with our baby." she said as she sat down beside me and hugged me."
Look , call me a faggot, I don't care, I let loose and bawled like a fucking baby for a minute or more. I pulled myself together, and we both began laughing at what a baby I was. The actual baby laughed hardest.
We went into the kitchen and ate breakfast. It was just as lovely as the dinner the night before. Duane and I knew it was time to leave, although I could have just as easily moved in there, I looked at my watch and said:
"Well, this was easily some of the most edifying and enlightening 15 hours of my life and I really thank you for everything, but we better be going."
We exchanged numbers and pleasantries as we slowly made our 10 minute journey to the front door. Nobody wanted it to end.
"About that scooter" the dad said.
"I was thinking about that, I think I could get that thing running in no time flat" I said.
"No, you don't need...."
"I insist."
I went outside, Put the scooter together, fixed it, started it up and gave him the helmet.
"Why don't you take the scooter." he said. "You'll enjoy it more than we will."
"Absolutely NOT, these kids should be riding this thing." I said as I looked into his eyes. "It stays here. I'll ride it when I come back."
I could see in his eyes that he knew I was the one who took it apart and tried to steal it. I looked at him right back as if to confess. Nothing else was said, we gave each other a strong gentleman's handshake and I got his hand all black with grease.
"Oops" I said.
He just laughed and slapped me on the back leaving a big black print of his hand in my grease on my bright yellow suit.
As I walked home I felt like I had finally found the secret to the success I had been looking for for all these years. Turns out, *I* just didn't know where to look.
The sun was low in the sky and the light was a gray green and there was a cool breeze blowing just hard enough to evaporate the sweat caused by our fast pace. It made the air feel like a cool drink of water.
In front of this one particular house there was a vintage Kushmann type police scooter probably used by some haggered traffic enforcement cop way back in the late sixties. I could tell that whoever owned it wasn't appreciating it like I would have appreciated it and I thought about approaching and making an offer. It looked as if the house was empty, no lights were on, the car port was empty revealing a rather large oil stain on the cracked cement where it would have been parked. I felt comfortable enough in their absence to approach this scooter thing for closer inspection. It was really a fascinating piece of machinery with lots of cool little details like chrome knobs and fancy levers and such. I got in it and attempted to start it with the key that was left in the ignition but there was nothing there. Completely dead. There were brown cob webs and gray spider webs all over it as if it had been parked in that same spot for many many years. This is the way my brain starts to think when I am about ready to rationalize my way into stealing something.
"I'll bet it would be years before these people even noticed this thing was gone if we took it" I said to my friend Duane who was on the other side of the yard snooping through a pile of other junk.
"No kidding, they don't deserve to have such a cool thing if all they are gonna do is let it sink in the mud."
"For all we know, nobody even lives here. The place looks all junky and abandoned to me. How would we get it back to my place?"
"Does it roll?"
I put the gear in neutral and with a little push I was rolling down the driveway and bumping out into the street. My adrenaline started pumping because at this point if someone noticed me they would obviously think that I was stealing it. I put on the brakes and pulled it back into the driveway. Although I was really trying to talk myself into the crime, I still felt pangs of guilt realizing inside that the person who would hold on to such a vehicle would probably be someone with whom I would get along, especially since a lot of the other junk scattered about was stuff that I would pile in my own yard waiting for the never coming day in which I'd hose it off and make it beautiful again.
I noticed a neighbor watching and I became nervous. If I left just now I'd surely be giving myself away as a thwarted thief, Instead I decided to take a wrench out of my pocket and I began to disassemble the scooter thinking that it would make me look like I was a mechanic friend of the owner or something. The thing came apart very easily and all the various inoperable parts were revealed. I thought to myself," well shit, it'd take me about an hour to fix this thing, I know how to put it back together and now that I have taken it apart surely it would be of less value to the owner."
"Do you think I should just box it up and take it?" I asked Duane.
"Totally dude -- totally, these people will never miss it and you'd be doing the neighbors a favor."
"Yeah, but -- maybe I should check to see if anyone is home first, I mean, the dude would probably take like 20 bucks for it now that its all taken apart like this."
I looked at my greasy hands and knowing that they would give me away as the culprit, I wiped them down on the dry grass and used dirt and sand to scrape off the remaining blackness.
I approached the carport and began clapping my hands to call attention to anyone who may have been in the deserted looking house:
"Hello! Anyone home? Hello?"
I heard some rustling from within -- someone was coming to the door. What was I thinking taking apart somebody's vintage traffic scooter in front of their own house while they were inside? I must have been an idiot. My body began to buzz with nervousness.
A small messy haired boy not more than 4 years old came to the screen door.
"Hi, is your dad or mom home?"
"Hey everybody, we have visitors in the front yard!" The boy yelled back into the house.
One after another, children of obviously the same blonde, blue eyed genetic stock piled out of the house with big smiles and grins across their dirty faces completely happy to see their new guests. The four year old, beaming with excitement began climbing me like he was a monkey and I was his favorite tree.
"Where are you guys from? Do you know my dad? Are you our cousins?" The questions came at a million miles an hour.
I didn't feel quite comfortable breaking the news that in fact, no, we were just a couple of dudes who were just about ready to steal some shit from you.
"Well we're certainly friends now." I said, much to the delight of the ten or so kids that had encircled us with smiles ten inches wide. "Where is that crazy dad of yours?"
"DAAAAAAAAAAAD COME OUT HERE YOUR FRIEND IS HEEEEEERE!!!" The pre-teen girl yelled back into the house as if to tell him he was missing out on all the fun.
"I'll be right there." A friendly voice yelled from way back in the house.
A few seconds later, a middle-aged, handsome gray haired man came to the door with the same smile that was permanently plastered across the faces of all his ten or so kids. His eyes were the kind that held no mistrust, agenda or pretense, the kind that completely engaged you and you knew you had his full attention. He was shortly thereafter joined by a cheery wife.
"Well how are ya neighbor?" The man said to me extending his hand for a handshake. "What brings you to our neck of the woods?
He sounded so friendly and familiar that I was suddenly scanning my brain for any indication that I had already met him some other place and some other time. I wasn't coming up with anything.
"I'm the dad, this is the beautiful mom and these are our great kids what are your names?"
"I'm Merkley and this is my friend Duane."
"Say hi to Merkley and Duane kids"
"Hi Merkley and Duane." They all said in one singular voice followed by laughter and a bit of jumping up and down by the younger ones. They certainly do like company.
"What can we do for you?" The dad asked.
"Well Duane and I were just strolling through your lovely neighborhood, checkin out how the better half lives and we couldn't help but notice the great collection of stuff you have collected here in your yard and we were both particularly interested in that old traffic scooter sitting over there in a pile and we thought we might ask you if you'd be interested in parting with it." I said as I began feeling very guilty for having taken it all apart.
"Boy oh boy, that scooter -- I should really put that thing back together again and get her runnin. I don't know what I was thinking taking it apart and just leaving it layin around like that, I oughtta be ashamed of myself. She's a beauty to ride. The kids love it. -- Say, you guys hungry? We're just about to eat dinner and we'd be honored if you'd join us and we can talk about the possibilities of that there scoot --- by the way, WE WON'T TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER!" He insisted as he smiled and pulled my arm towards the house.
"Well it looks as if we have no choice" I said to Duane as we both entered the house with our new friends.
Entering the house was quite surreal, even though the outside facade was nothing more than a common tract house, the inside was a gigantic maze of hallways and corridors all fashioned quite artistically, with every square inch adorned with the tiny details only an eccentric or team of eccentrics could muster. Although none of it was done in an aesthetic that really appealed to me immediately, the fact that I was in the presence of a person or people who gave a shit about having a unique environment in which to live and sleep was quite exciting for me. Plus -- holy shit were they ever nice.
Dinner was fabulous, lots of good old fashioned unpretentious food, the kids all told stories about what they did that day, the parents were completely attentive and not even the slightest bit condescending when talking to them. Any idea or opinion given by one of the children was treated with more respect and thoughtfulness than was given to any adult I had ever seen.
There is a small chance that I was sitting amongst the most functional family that ever existed.
Duane and I kept exchanging bewildered glances with each other and at one point it struck me that this family was actually a lot like Duane's family. It made me a little sad for a second when I remembered that just hours earlier I was yelling my fucking head off using every vulgarity and obscenity I could muster to drive into my mother's ultra-Mormon brain that I was in fact the Satan her church told her that I am. Oh how lovely it would have been to have a functional family like this.
Just then, I looked at my hands and I noticed that they were still black with grease, I thought I had washed it off. I obviously didn't do a good job. I quickly put them in my pockets. Worse though was that I looked at the dad's hands and I noticed that the one I had shaken earlier was smudged with black grease as well.
After dinner we were taken on a tour of the place. There was hallway after hallway with sculpted walls, interesting stairways, sliding poles and indoor hills to climb. No passage was treated as an ordinary passage, everywhere you stepped had a game to it, a way of traversing that was completely uncommon. Why have stairs when you could have rocks to climb or a slide or a basket on a pulley? Why have square walls when you could have tubes or twisting cave like dealies? It was like a giant fun-house with the operative word clearly being FUN. No wonder this family was smiling the whole time. It was also clear that the evolution of the house was a group effort as every room had a different theme and although it was never really mentioned, it was clear that the kids were involved with the ideas and it was also clear whose idea was whose because the guilty party would be standing there beaming with pride as the tour lead us through their particular "neck of the woods".
The whole thing was absolutely brilliant. In my mind I just kept thinking that I had finally found a family operating in a completely functional and ideallistic fashion. All voices were heard. All ideas were given credence and room to flourish. No ideas were rejected out of hand. When an idea was expressed in this house, there was an attitude to see it though, everyone acted as supporting cast for individual ideas. Sure, the place wasn't at all like an interior decorators prize winner, but it was much much more than that -- it was a place where ideas were respected not rejected.
And here I was as an insincere guest invited in on false pretense having nearly stolen from this wonderful family. My shame was only overshadowed by the fact that if anyone would be capable of forgiveness it would be this family.
After the 2 hour tour, (I'm telling you, this place went on and on and on, never once boring and always completely interesting) Duane and I were ready to say our goodbyes and leave them be.
"OH LOOK AT THE CLOCK!" The dad yelled with a great sense of excitement in his voice "What time is it?"
"It's SLEEP OVER TIME!!" The kids all yelled in one voice.
"It's too late for you guys to walk home, besides it's raining and we ordered too much food for breakfast in the morning so it looks like you two are gonna have to sleep over." The mom said.
The room got really quiet as everyone awaited our response. I looked at Duane, he looked at me.
"Well twist our arms, we can't ignore the clock, I mean RULES ARE RULES!" I said.
The kids all erupted in applause and the dad showed Duane and me to our respective rooms. Duane's was right by the kitchen. I got taken down a series of hallways way to the back of the house to probably the most normal looking of all the rooms, as if it was a room that had yet to be decorated or transformed by any of the family members crazy ideas.
Suddenly I got a little paranoid, maybe I got this room because they had seen me taking apart the scooter. Maybe this was his way of telling me.
I got in bed, the blankets were warm and the mattress was very comfortable and I quickly drifted off to sleep. I had lots of pleasant dreams about comfortable stuff like big huge chairs and giant fluffy birds, everything was soft and warm. Despite my guilt about the butchering of the scooter outside, it was one of the nicest nights sleep I can recall ever having.
I was awakened by the morning light in my eyes. As I opened them, right there one foot in front of my face was the smiliest morning face I had ever seen. It was their two year old daughter and she was laying down beside me smiling the biggest morning smile ever, an absolute angelic sight for sure. She had that baby head smell mixed with that baby food smell of sweet oatmeal. It was one of the nicest ways to wake up that I could Imagine.
But then I had a thought that I wish I never had to have. I thought, "why the fuck are these people thinking putting their little baby in a bed with a full grown man who is basically a stranger? Are these people crazy? Have they never heard of Michael Jackson?" And then my thoughts got worse, I started thinking, "What if they are trying to set me up? I mean, this just doesn't look good, who would look at a photograph of this situation and not have gutterish thoughts? Why do we even have to think of things like this?"
Right then the baby reached out and grabbed my beard, still grinning her huge grin. Although completely cute and endearing, I pulled back, but feeling really stupid about it.
"There is nothing wrong with a baby grabbing your beard Merkley -- It's the world that's fucked up, not this baby grinning at you in the morning light. This is the way life should be Merkley, happy people, waking up smiling, not worried people waking up fearful about how things appear, this is what this house is teaching you Merkley, relax." I thought as I tried to expel the outside world's negative, moment destroying influence.
Just then the door knob jiggled and again I thought, "maybe I should act like I was asleep, I don't want things to look weird" -- but then I thought, "Fuck that -- fuck that, there is a baby playing with my beard, that's an awesome thing." Then for one second I had complete and utter rage at the world for stealing a beautiful moment from me and the face that came into my head was Montell Williams, he was the face of the world that turned every beautiful moment into something salacious and disgusting. Fuck Montell Williams.
"Hey lil' pumpkin bumps" the mom said as she picked up her beaming child, "did you guys sleep well?"
"Wow, I had the best sleep of my life and to wake up to that face smiling at me, well I just can't say how lovely that was." I said.
"Sorry if it was an inconvenience to sleep the baby's room"
"No no, not at all, I didn't even notice til I woke up to her smiling face..."
"It's just that we feel like sleeping is a really important time to feel good and that a lot of our good feelings and attitudes come from our sleeping experiences and we just think you are such a nice guy we thought maybe some of your personality and creativity would float in the air and keep our baby feeling happy, we wanted your energy to permeate her new room."
This sounded so hippy to me, but I'll be honest, I could feel myself beginning to cry, my eyes were all watery, my throat was all choked up, my chest felt all tight and weepy, I didn't want her to see me cry. But I couldn't help it, it was one of the nicest things anyone ever said to me and the person saying it to me was one of the most angelic creatures I had ever seen. My lip was quivering and I just couldn't hold back.
"Awe honey, you're so sweet, and this is exactly why we put you back here with our baby." she said as she sat down beside me and hugged me."
Look , call me a faggot, I don't care, I let loose and bawled like a fucking baby for a minute or more. I pulled myself together, and we both began laughing at what a baby I was. The actual baby laughed hardest.
We went into the kitchen and ate breakfast. It was just as lovely as the dinner the night before. Duane and I knew it was time to leave, although I could have just as easily moved in there, I looked at my watch and said:
"Well, this was easily some of the most edifying and enlightening 15 hours of my life and I really thank you for everything, but we better be going."
We exchanged numbers and pleasantries as we slowly made our 10 minute journey to the front door. Nobody wanted it to end.
"About that scooter" the dad said.
"I was thinking about that, I think I could get that thing running in no time flat" I said.
"No, you don't need...."
"I insist."
I went outside, Put the scooter together, fixed it, started it up and gave him the helmet.
"Why don't you take the scooter." he said. "You'll enjoy it more than we will."
"Absolutely NOT, these kids should be riding this thing." I said as I looked into his eyes. "It stays here. I'll ride it when I come back."
I could see in his eyes that he knew I was the one who took it apart and tried to steal it. I looked at him right back as if to confess. Nothing else was said, we gave each other a strong gentleman's handshake and I got his hand all black with grease.
"Oops" I said.
He just laughed and slapped me on the back leaving a big black print of his hand in my grease on my bright yellow suit.
As I walked home I felt like I had finally found the secret to the success I had been looking for for all these years. Turns out, *I* just didn't know where to look.
February 22, 2006
A Brand New Nite Spot, The Curious Wandering PenisNipples, and The Reality Of My Sticky Wang
A new little nightspot opened up around the corner and I assembled a few women to come with me to check it out. It was your basic coffee shop type deal with old mismatched sofas placed randomly throughout the place. I arrived with the women already a bit drunk. I was friends with all of them but I had yet to put the moves on any if them which is completely typical of me since I can never decide who I like most and I never want to burn any bridges by having sex with one girl when it very well may be that I like her friend better in the long run. This usually results in me losing any interest in any of them so I guess it's a good thing that one of these girls just really put the moves on me. Persistence in make-out maneuvers has been known to work on me and the tallest most buxom of these three friends was not about to let me go without giving her the special attention she wanted.
She started of course by hanging on me the whole time which at first kinda bugged me because she was super cock-blocking her friend and me in the process because I really knew her friend better and was already kinda starting things with her. But hey, keep hanging on me and keep putting your breasts on my chest, keep whispering in my ear with your shiny lips and you may just eventually get what you want.
I'm not typically interested in big huge boobs. They can be a little weird and overwhelming squashing out all over the place. There is a point when a boob becomes less a sexually charged human body part and more some fascinating object that seems to be completely separated from its owner. That was never so true as last night after it got really late and my big boobed pursuer laid on top of me as I reclined on one of the old sofas way back in the corner. At first I was unaware that my blonde friend had released her boobs out onto my chest. There were other people around and I'm not really in to public sex or anything because I'm really rather inhibited, but as I looked down at her boobs I could see them slowly creeping up my chest and reaching for my mouth. Her nipples almost took on a life of their own as if they were a snails antennae searching for my mouth. I had never witnessed anything like this before. I had no idea that nipples could even manipulate themselves let alone strike out on there own looking for sucking action. For a minute I got a little creeped out because I saw a definite similarity between her nipples and my very own penis which was now peeking up between her ass cheeks. the skin tones were identical and her nipples had strangely taken on the same shape as the head of my own penis. I got stuck for a couple seconds questioning what this meant. Was this some kind of gay thing where I want to suck my own dick? Maybe she was a dude. That's silly I thought, dudes don't have penis boobs, just fucking relax mann. Anyway, when I looked back down her nipples were back to normal. I was probably imagining the whole thing anyway. Afterall, I was drunk.
I really was tired from drinking and I had absolutely no interest in fucking right there on the couch on front of everyone so I just played it off like I was asleep as she created a little tent with her long blonde hair as she gently dragged her soft boobs all over my face. Life could be worse.
I closed my eyes for a second to just really enjoy it and I must've fallen asleep for a second because I had this dream where I was some other place with some other woman and in that dream I was going full bore fucking like a total idiot, but when I woke up, the girl that had been giving me a boob car wash was also sleeping on top of me right where she was when I dozed off.
I looked at my watch, It was three o'clock. I looked towards the front of the place and I noticed that it was light outside.
"Wake up -- what the fuck? We fell asleep" I said to my boob friend. "Why didn't they wake us up or kick us out?"
"We have a policy to not wake up passed out drunks if they live in the neighborhood" said a voice that came from behind me belonging to the daytime manager who was going through the daily routine of opening up for another night of business. "Did you sleep well?"
"Um yeah, I suppose" I said
"Did you two end up fucking?"
"Ummm ... I don't think....."
"Of course we did", said my woman friend"
Sure enough, my penis was sticky, I guess that little dream I had was less of a dream than some drunken vision of that girl being some brunette chick.
I hope this doesn't mean I can't get with her friend.
I like that new nite spot.
She started of course by hanging on me the whole time which at first kinda bugged me because she was super cock-blocking her friend and me in the process because I really knew her friend better and was already kinda starting things with her. But hey, keep hanging on me and keep putting your breasts on my chest, keep whispering in my ear with your shiny lips and you may just eventually get what you want.
I'm not typically interested in big huge boobs. They can be a little weird and overwhelming squashing out all over the place. There is a point when a boob becomes less a sexually charged human body part and more some fascinating object that seems to be completely separated from its owner. That was never so true as last night after it got really late and my big boobed pursuer laid on top of me as I reclined on one of the old sofas way back in the corner. At first I was unaware that my blonde friend had released her boobs out onto my chest. There were other people around and I'm not really in to public sex or anything because I'm really rather inhibited, but as I looked down at her boobs I could see them slowly creeping up my chest and reaching for my mouth. Her nipples almost took on a life of their own as if they were a snails antennae searching for my mouth. I had never witnessed anything like this before. I had no idea that nipples could even manipulate themselves let alone strike out on there own looking for sucking action. For a minute I got a little creeped out because I saw a definite similarity between her nipples and my very own penis which was now peeking up between her ass cheeks. the skin tones were identical and her nipples had strangely taken on the same shape as the head of my own penis. I got stuck for a couple seconds questioning what this meant. Was this some kind of gay thing where I want to suck my own dick? Maybe she was a dude. That's silly I thought, dudes don't have penis boobs, just fucking relax mann. Anyway, when I looked back down her nipples were back to normal. I was probably imagining the whole thing anyway. Afterall, I was drunk.
I really was tired from drinking and I had absolutely no interest in fucking right there on the couch on front of everyone so I just played it off like I was asleep as she created a little tent with her long blonde hair as she gently dragged her soft boobs all over my face. Life could be worse.
I closed my eyes for a second to just really enjoy it and I must've fallen asleep for a second because I had this dream where I was some other place with some other woman and in that dream I was going full bore fucking like a total idiot, but when I woke up, the girl that had been giving me a boob car wash was also sleeping on top of me right where she was when I dozed off.
I looked at my watch, It was three o'clock. I looked towards the front of the place and I noticed that it was light outside.
"Wake up -- what the fuck? We fell asleep" I said to my boob friend. "Why didn't they wake us up or kick us out?"
"We have a policy to not wake up passed out drunks if they live in the neighborhood" said a voice that came from behind me belonging to the daytime manager who was going through the daily routine of opening up for another night of business. "Did you sleep well?"
"Um yeah, I suppose" I said
"Did you two end up fucking?"
"Ummm ... I don't think....."
"Of course we did", said my woman friend"
Sure enough, my penis was sticky, I guess that little dream I had was less of a dream than some drunken vision of that girl being some brunette chick.
I hope this doesn't mean I can't get with her friend.
I like that new nite spot.
February 20, 2006
Procrastination, George Bush Comes Over For Lunch and I Fuck His Main Operations Chick With My Orange Shoes On
Nothing new about me procrastinating, I mean I look at duties, chores and otherwise as fucking asshole motherfuckers that are lucky I don't punch them in the face, let alone welcome them and tend to all their stupid faggy needs. So when I went to my front window and saw the Presidential motorcade pulling up in front of the house it was no surprise that I hadn't lifted one finger to clean the place up. Trouble at that point was that since there was so little time remaining before the President and his entourage and all the news people would be entering my house that I needed to decide if it was more important to change out of my pajamas or clean all the half empty (or half full if you're a faggot) cocktail glasses scattered around the house.
I took too long trying to decide because mere seconds later the first wave of the presidential entourage was coming through the front door scoping out the place for good backdrops for the photo opps and trying to figure out the best place to put the catering and banquet tables where I would sit as a representative of the type of awesome common folk who sympathize with the office of the president. I was surprised that rather than being mortified when they started moving my furniture and piles of dirty laundry out of the way to make room for the moving vans full of presidential luncheon furniture, I was relieved and even taken aback with the efficiency in their operation. The woman in charge was someone I know I had met some other time and she kept giving me glances as if to say "See, I told you I could hook this up". How lame am I that I couldn't remember the name of the woman who brought the President of The United States to my house for lunch? At any rate she was turning me on like nothing else. Every time she would pass me, she'd brush her breasts across the back of my arm or whisper something into my ear making sure that I felf the wetness of the inside of her lip on my earlobe. She didn't seem to mind that I kept referring to her as "fancypants" and she even seemed slightly turned on by the fact that I showed no respect for her obvious authority in the situation. Mostly it was because I had no idea what her name was.
Still, there I was still in my pajamas.
With everyone milling about my house, there was really nowhere I could go for privacy to change into something more appropriate for the occasion. The Secret Service dudes had pretty much taken over my gigantic underground parking lot, they moved all of my cars out of the way, they didn't even ask me permission. Normally that kind of thing would piss me off but holy fuck, they were so precise and decisive with their plans, I couldn't help but sit back and admire the entire operation.
I remembered that I had a new suit stashed in the trunk of my Cadillac but when I went to change into it, it occurred to me that maybe the biggest balls move would be to stay in my fucking pajamas -- I mean, the President was coming in as the most powerful man on earth, what better way to show that I was the most powerful man in my own home than to remain just as I am -- in my fucking pajamas? I was proud for making that decision fairly quickly. It took significantly longer for me to decide whether I was going to wear the bright orange SUEDE house shoes or the bright orange PATENT LEATHER house shoes. I ended up going for the shiny ones, they are some awesome fucking shoes. They'd make George Bush cooler just for knowing someone who would wear them. I could do him that favor.
When I went back upstairs they had the whole place transformed. My bedroom and adjoining workroom were now where the long dining table was set up. I could see that they set it up so that George would be sitting right at the head of the table and I could only assume that they were planning on seating me to his right because they placed my special chair there. I pulled the sexy woman organizer aside and suggested that it would be more appropriate to give me the head of the table seat and once cameras were rolling I would of course, as a measure of respect, offer my seat to the President. She agreed with me and the changes happened in an instant. Her nipples were erect and they brushed across the back of my hands as I stroked my beard pretending to be in deep thought -- jokingly so, I was really looking down her shirt. She knew it. She lingered.
When the President did finally make his appearance, it all went as smooth as could have possibly gone. I was witty and charming, he was witty and charming. He did nothing to belittle or embarrass me and I did the same for him even though for a minute or two I was sitting there thinking about all the zingers I could zing him with to land me on every talkshow on earth. Truthfully I wasn't paying any attention to all the press conferency shit he was saying about foreign or domestic policy because I couldn't keep my eyes off the sexy organizer chick. I really wanted to see her naked and I knew I could make it happen. She kept drawing attention to her crotch. We made eye contact 5 billion times. She kept her lips moist.
Later, after almost everyone left -- we fucked all over the house. She was awesome. I hope I don't forget about her and lose interest like I do with everyone else.
I took too long trying to decide because mere seconds later the first wave of the presidential entourage was coming through the front door scoping out the place for good backdrops for the photo opps and trying to figure out the best place to put the catering and banquet tables where I would sit as a representative of the type of awesome common folk who sympathize with the office of the president. I was surprised that rather than being mortified when they started moving my furniture and piles of dirty laundry out of the way to make room for the moving vans full of presidential luncheon furniture, I was relieved and even taken aback with the efficiency in their operation. The woman in charge was someone I know I had met some other time and she kept giving me glances as if to say "See, I told you I could hook this up". How lame am I that I couldn't remember the name of the woman who brought the President of The United States to my house for lunch? At any rate she was turning me on like nothing else. Every time she would pass me, she'd brush her breasts across the back of my arm or whisper something into my ear making sure that I felf the wetness of the inside of her lip on my earlobe. She didn't seem to mind that I kept referring to her as "fancypants" and she even seemed slightly turned on by the fact that I showed no respect for her obvious authority in the situation. Mostly it was because I had no idea what her name was.
Still, there I was still in my pajamas.
With everyone milling about my house, there was really nowhere I could go for privacy to change into something more appropriate for the occasion. The Secret Service dudes had pretty much taken over my gigantic underground parking lot, they moved all of my cars out of the way, they didn't even ask me permission. Normally that kind of thing would piss me off but holy fuck, they were so precise and decisive with their plans, I couldn't help but sit back and admire the entire operation.
I remembered that I had a new suit stashed in the trunk of my Cadillac but when I went to change into it, it occurred to me that maybe the biggest balls move would be to stay in my fucking pajamas -- I mean, the President was coming in as the most powerful man on earth, what better way to show that I was the most powerful man in my own home than to remain just as I am -- in my fucking pajamas? I was proud for making that decision fairly quickly. It took significantly longer for me to decide whether I was going to wear the bright orange SUEDE house shoes or the bright orange PATENT LEATHER house shoes. I ended up going for the shiny ones, they are some awesome fucking shoes. They'd make George Bush cooler just for knowing someone who would wear them. I could do him that favor.
When I went back upstairs they had the whole place transformed. My bedroom and adjoining workroom were now where the long dining table was set up. I could see that they set it up so that George would be sitting right at the head of the table and I could only assume that they were planning on seating me to his right because they placed my special chair there. I pulled the sexy woman organizer aside and suggested that it would be more appropriate to give me the head of the table seat and once cameras were rolling I would of course, as a measure of respect, offer my seat to the President. She agreed with me and the changes happened in an instant. Her nipples were erect and they brushed across the back of my hands as I stroked my beard pretending to be in deep thought -- jokingly so, I was really looking down her shirt. She knew it. She lingered.
When the President did finally make his appearance, it all went as smooth as could have possibly gone. I was witty and charming, he was witty and charming. He did nothing to belittle or embarrass me and I did the same for him even though for a minute or two I was sitting there thinking about all the zingers I could zing him with to land me on every talkshow on earth. Truthfully I wasn't paying any attention to all the press conferency shit he was saying about foreign or domestic policy because I couldn't keep my eyes off the sexy organizer chick. I really wanted to see her naked and I knew I could make it happen. She kept drawing attention to her crotch. We made eye contact 5 billion times. She kept her lips moist.
Later, after almost everyone left -- we fucked all over the house. She was awesome. I hope I don't forget about her and lose interest like I do with everyone else.
February 14, 2006
Fuckers'r Fucking Fucked Up Motherfuckers, The Heavy Black Avalanche and Tunnel Champ 2006 a.k.a. ME
My home was invaded by random strangers again last night. They came in and drank all my booze, got on their cell phones and invited their other friends. They hooted and hollered looking through all my stuff and picking up my things. Most of them didn't even know that I was the host or that it was my home. There weren't only two or three degrees of separation there were more like twenty. There wasn't one person around to whom I wanted to talk. None of my friends were there, just a bunch of random yuppies and nerds with mustaches and glasses, not the ironic kind either, the kind that grow because that's what dad did. Total strangers -- all of them. Fuck strangers.
At a certain point I climbed upon a soap box and began preaching about host and guest etiquette but nobody was interested, they just went carrying on rummaging and laughing and partying. As my frustration grew to a point that I wanted to begin yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs I instead realized that it was pointless and that people would never learn how to be even the most basic of decent human beings. Fuckers are fucking fucked up motherfuckers.
I took a walk down the road to an old rail yard where giant hills of black rock type smelter slag were made. I remember going there as a kid and trying to ride bikes on it. It's mushy gravel type consistency always made for a grueling ride. The slag is the left over charred metal remnants from the local copper mine, or at least that's what I was told. It seemed more like volcanic rock to me.
I walked up one of these gigantic mounds about ten feet and sat down to think, I laid back and felt the cold rock on my back and I really liked it. It occurred to me that someone had been chasing me earlier and I remembered that they had a gun. I used my feet to dig a hole down below my knees and I kept moving my body from side to side in a fashion that allowed me to slowly sink into the black hillside. Due to the fact that these hills were created from rock being dumped on them from above, they were at the perfect balanced incline to begin with, any removal of material from below would cause an avalanche from above -- and this is exactly what my burrowing did. Suddenly tons and tons of rock was sliding down upon me completely burying me. The heavy feeling of the cold pieces of rock sliding over my body was not surprisingly very very comforting. The weight and the smell of my new pitch black environment was wonderful. My whole body was compressed ten times as much as even the heaviest of my former girlfriends smashing me by laying on top of me. Cool firm even pressure, even better than that few months when I decided to put every one of the dozens and dozens of fancy blankets I owned on my bed and sleeping under their movement restricting weight.
As with all the other times I had tunneled and burrowed through the ground like a gopher or prairie dog, I kicked my legs and wiggled myself and began moving to an unknown destination. I'd pop my head out now and then to see where my efforts had taken me. Each time I was miles from where I began. Each time the world looked wonderful and new.
I am easily the best tunneler I know. The fact that I don't know anyone else who tunnels doesn't take away from the fact that I'm the fucking best. I am. Suck it faggots.
At a certain point I climbed upon a soap box and began preaching about host and guest etiquette but nobody was interested, they just went carrying on rummaging and laughing and partying. As my frustration grew to a point that I wanted to begin yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs I instead realized that it was pointless and that people would never learn how to be even the most basic of decent human beings. Fuckers are fucking fucked up motherfuckers.
I took a walk down the road to an old rail yard where giant hills of black rock type smelter slag were made. I remember going there as a kid and trying to ride bikes on it. It's mushy gravel type consistency always made for a grueling ride. The slag is the left over charred metal remnants from the local copper mine, or at least that's what I was told. It seemed more like volcanic rock to me.
I walked up one of these gigantic mounds about ten feet and sat down to think, I laid back and felt the cold rock on my back and I really liked it. It occurred to me that someone had been chasing me earlier and I remembered that they had a gun. I used my feet to dig a hole down below my knees and I kept moving my body from side to side in a fashion that allowed me to slowly sink into the black hillside. Due to the fact that these hills were created from rock being dumped on them from above, they were at the perfect balanced incline to begin with, any removal of material from below would cause an avalanche from above -- and this is exactly what my burrowing did. Suddenly tons and tons of rock was sliding down upon me completely burying me. The heavy feeling of the cold pieces of rock sliding over my body was not surprisingly very very comforting. The weight and the smell of my new pitch black environment was wonderful. My whole body was compressed ten times as much as even the heaviest of my former girlfriends smashing me by laying on top of me. Cool firm even pressure, even better than that few months when I decided to put every one of the dozens and dozens of fancy blankets I owned on my bed and sleeping under their movement restricting weight.
As with all the other times I had tunneled and burrowed through the ground like a gopher or prairie dog, I kicked my legs and wiggled myself and began moving to an unknown destination. I'd pop my head out now and then to see where my efforts had taken me. Each time I was miles from where I began. Each time the world looked wonderful and new.
I am easily the best tunneler I know. The fact that I don't know anyone else who tunnels doesn't take away from the fact that I'm the fucking best. I am. Suck it faggots.
February 13, 2006
The Water Column Of Death From Above, The Attempted Murder of Jogging Strippers and Playful Sex With an Absolute Angel
Airport hotels are just crazy places. I'm not talking about hotels located near the airport, I'm talking about hotels that **are** also gigantic super busy airports. I'm not sure I can recommend that you stay in one either. Last night all hell broke loose in the hotel where I was staying. The weather outside was motherfucking frightful. Every time a plane came in for a landing everybody was on pins and needles waiting for the inevitable crash. I was peering out the huge glass windows at the front of the lobby and I could see the darkest clouds I had ever seen gathering off in the distance. Just as I began realize the size of the approaching storm I saw the cloud open and dump a dense waterfall column of billions of gallons of dark water out onto the elevated freeways that stretched in and out and to and from the airport. So great was the weight of this concentrated column of water that it obliterated anything in its path as if everything were made of sand. The freeways crumbled under the storm, buildings fell like poorly stacked pennies and it was headed our way.
My adrenaline kicked in full force as I ran around trying to find the best way out before the storm came and crushed the whole hotel. Just outside the doors I came across an empty airport shuttle bus parked with the doors open. The elevated runways were collapsing and big jet airliners coming in on the runway were disappearing into the big gaping voids left by the shifting earth caused by this enormous column of water falling from the sky. The ground was rumbling so much it began to fatigue my vibrating feet.
The keys to the bus were not in the ignition but the bus was parked on a hill so I flipped the bus in neutral and I used all of my strength to give the bus an initial heave to get it rolling. I ran along side the bus for two or three hundred feet attempting to steer it just by placing my free foot on the ground using it as a make shift rudder. As you could probably guess, the bus was much to heavy and was moving too quickly for this kind of crap. Since the engine wasn't on, the power steering wasn't working and the whole ride was near miss after near miss just narrowly escaping terrible collisions with the gigantic pillars holding up the tangled web of freeways passing over head. Cars and busses and trains were falling off these elevated freeways and runways crashing to the ground all around me and the big column of water which would mean certain destruction and death was right on my tail. All I wanted was to get out from underneath this huge network of concrete freeways. Enormous chunks of falling concrete would certainly kill me -- my only chance of survival was to get out into the open where I could at least attempt to swim up the column and negate its downward forces on my body.
But then the storm just stopped.
Of course that's when I found the ignition switch in the big bus. I turned it over and took off down the freeway to survey the damage. There was a lot less than I thought there would be. People were out jogging down the freeway intermixed with the traffic. I rolled up upon some strippers running down the street behind a big truck. They were right tight up against the back of the truck and they were keeping up with it in tremendous fashion. But then suddenly some asshole in a giant greyhound bus drove right up on the heels of the jogging women sending them running for the side of the elevated freeway. The bus driver stayed with them and essentially forced them off and over the side railing falling what may have been 100 feet or more. I thought I recognized one of the women and I was completely horrified having witness this brazen crime regardless so again I sprung into action.
I took the very next exit and doubled around to try to find the spot where these women might have fallen. I found some pale white human arms sticking up out of the soil and was astonished to see that one of the women had fallen so hard that she had buried herself in the soft gray soil underneath the freeway. I was also amazed to see that she was still alive. As I approached her, a giant tractor came out of nowhere and ran her over for what appeared to be the third or fourth time judging by the tire tracks on her exposed forearms -- sure was a lucky thing how soft the gray soil was because it absorbed the weight of the tractors and I was able to pull the woman to safety.
Later I had some of the best sex of my entire life with one of the prettiest, smileiest women I have ever seen. The sex was incredibly playful but also extremely passionate. I was delighted to wake up and find her still next to me sleeping like an angel. An ANGEL I tell you.
My adrenaline kicked in full force as I ran around trying to find the best way out before the storm came and crushed the whole hotel. Just outside the doors I came across an empty airport shuttle bus parked with the doors open. The elevated runways were collapsing and big jet airliners coming in on the runway were disappearing into the big gaping voids left by the shifting earth caused by this enormous column of water falling from the sky. The ground was rumbling so much it began to fatigue my vibrating feet.
The keys to the bus were not in the ignition but the bus was parked on a hill so I flipped the bus in neutral and I used all of my strength to give the bus an initial heave to get it rolling. I ran along side the bus for two or three hundred feet attempting to steer it just by placing my free foot on the ground using it as a make shift rudder. As you could probably guess, the bus was much to heavy and was moving too quickly for this kind of crap. Since the engine wasn't on, the power steering wasn't working and the whole ride was near miss after near miss just narrowly escaping terrible collisions with the gigantic pillars holding up the tangled web of freeways passing over head. Cars and busses and trains were falling off these elevated freeways and runways crashing to the ground all around me and the big column of water which would mean certain destruction and death was right on my tail. All I wanted was to get out from underneath this huge network of concrete freeways. Enormous chunks of falling concrete would certainly kill me -- my only chance of survival was to get out into the open where I could at least attempt to swim up the column and negate its downward forces on my body.
But then the storm just stopped.
Of course that's when I found the ignition switch in the big bus. I turned it over and took off down the freeway to survey the damage. There was a lot less than I thought there would be. People were out jogging down the freeway intermixed with the traffic. I rolled up upon some strippers running down the street behind a big truck. They were right tight up against the back of the truck and they were keeping up with it in tremendous fashion. But then suddenly some asshole in a giant greyhound bus drove right up on the heels of the jogging women sending them running for the side of the elevated freeway. The bus driver stayed with them and essentially forced them off and over the side railing falling what may have been 100 feet or more. I thought I recognized one of the women and I was completely horrified having witness this brazen crime regardless so again I sprung into action.
I took the very next exit and doubled around to try to find the spot where these women might have fallen. I found some pale white human arms sticking up out of the soil and was astonished to see that one of the women had fallen so hard that she had buried herself in the soft gray soil underneath the freeway. I was also amazed to see that she was still alive. As I approached her, a giant tractor came out of nowhere and ran her over for what appeared to be the third or fourth time judging by the tire tracks on her exposed forearms -- sure was a lucky thing how soft the gray soil was because it absorbed the weight of the tractors and I was able to pull the woman to safety.
Later I had some of the best sex of my entire life with one of the prettiest, smileiest women I have ever seen. The sex was incredibly playful but also extremely passionate. I was delighted to wake up and find her still next to me sleeping like an angel. An ANGEL I tell you.
February 09, 2006
The Douchebag Roommate Who Is STILL a Douchebag, Where The Fuck Are My Shoes and The Fat Rapping McDonalds Drive Thru Cop
I went back to my old house in Provo Utah and I got a sinking feeling in my gut. I always get that feeling when I go back anywhere, something about the past just makes me feel sick and uneasy. I like now and the future best.
Anyway, my old roommate still lived there and I thought it was pretty pathetic. We were fast friends when he first moved in but every time his rich father bailed him out of his failing ventures I lost more and more respect for him and the way he would admire himself as he sucked in his cheeks and shadow boxed with himself in the mirror was down right nauseating. So I guess it was no surprise that he was still living in the same place in the same town with the same car and same style. I thought it was pretty pathetic but I was trying to be as pleasant as possible considering the fact that in my mind all I could think was "This douchebag still goes to the tanning salon"
"Things have changed around here have they not?" he said acting as if he'd really made something of himself.
I looked around and saw that some feeble attempts at construction work were in progress, there was sheetrock and mud everywhere, he had amassed a large collection of vintage gasoline signs and what not, the kind of stuff that was cool on Melrose Avenue in the early nineties, his style had not advanced or changed one bit since I was there. He moved into the adjacent apartments which were cool and everything but considering he was the primary inhabitant that just meant more room for more lame crap that everyone has already seen before. Nice job PETE. I made out with your girlfriend.
"How much you pay rent here now dude?" I asked.
"2500 bucks"
"What the fuck? It was only 200 bucks when I lived here. You could rent a fucking awesome flat in SF for that"
The dude was obviously still making really stupid financial decisions because you just know his dad is still sending him checks like the little girl he is. Spending dads money on stupid shit is just plain pathetic. I can't stop saying pathetic. it's pathetic.
I looked around a bit more, there was tons of my shit still lying around, stuff that I left behind because I thought it was stupid. I took off my shoes to let my feet breathe for a minute and quickly misplaced them amongst all the crap strewn about. I looked for them for what seemed like forever -- I looked everywhere and couldn't figure out how it was possible that I'd taken them off not 2 minutes earlier and now they had apparently vanished into thin air. I tried on other random shoes out of frustration but none of them were fitting my foot and I wasn't into the idea of mismatched shoes. As I was putting on a random penny loafer Pete's new roommate walked in. It was his shoe. The moment was rather awkward, especially when I realized that it was a dude who I almost got in a fight with long ago somewhere for some reason. The tension mounted in the room. Nobody said anything. I grabbed the nearest pair of shoes and shot him a look that said: I'M TAKING THESE SHOES DUDE DON'T FUCK WITH ME MANNN. and then I exited the building. The screen door dropped of it's hinges. I didn't care.
I walked out to the street to hail a cab. People were driving like maniacs. As I walked down the street cars were swerving all over the god damn place. One noticed me trying to hail a cab so they slammed on the brakes nearly doing a skid donut but they missed the edge of the street and went speeding into the McDonalds drive thru which was crowded with three long parallel lines of cars -- like at a bank drive thru window. I could see that the driver and the passengers were in a reckless state as they slammed on the gas and began shoving other cars forward out into the street. I would have been smashed by one of these cars had I not seen the whole thing happening from the beginning. Once the car shoving started it wouldn't stop. Suddenly all the cars were shoving each other back and forth like a bunch of lousy kids in a mosh pit. No metal was crunching, it was just bumper to bumper shoving. I took refuge high up out on the median in the middle of the boulevard where a big fat black woman cop began to take control of the situation.
She tooted her whistle and began to do a safe driving rap that looked as if it was stolen from a crappy McDonalds commercial. I looked around for the cameras certain in my knowledge that there really is no such thing as actual dancing rapping fat black woman cops.
Anyway, she solved the traffic troubles with all her rapping and dancing. Yay Fat Dancing Rap Cop!
Anyway, my old roommate still lived there and I thought it was pretty pathetic. We were fast friends when he first moved in but every time his rich father bailed him out of his failing ventures I lost more and more respect for him and the way he would admire himself as he sucked in his cheeks and shadow boxed with himself in the mirror was down right nauseating. So I guess it was no surprise that he was still living in the same place in the same town with the same car and same style. I thought it was pretty pathetic but I was trying to be as pleasant as possible considering the fact that in my mind all I could think was "This douchebag still goes to the tanning salon"
"Things have changed around here have they not?" he said acting as if he'd really made something of himself.
I looked around and saw that some feeble attempts at construction work were in progress, there was sheetrock and mud everywhere, he had amassed a large collection of vintage gasoline signs and what not, the kind of stuff that was cool on Melrose Avenue in the early nineties, his style had not advanced or changed one bit since I was there. He moved into the adjacent apartments which were cool and everything but considering he was the primary inhabitant that just meant more room for more lame crap that everyone has already seen before. Nice job PETE. I made out with your girlfriend.
"How much you pay rent here now dude?" I asked.
"2500 bucks"
"What the fuck? It was only 200 bucks when I lived here. You could rent a fucking awesome flat in SF for that"
The dude was obviously still making really stupid financial decisions because you just know his dad is still sending him checks like the little girl he is. Spending dads money on stupid shit is just plain pathetic. I can't stop saying pathetic. it's pathetic.
I looked around a bit more, there was tons of my shit still lying around, stuff that I left behind because I thought it was stupid. I took off my shoes to let my feet breathe for a minute and quickly misplaced them amongst all the crap strewn about. I looked for them for what seemed like forever -- I looked everywhere and couldn't figure out how it was possible that I'd taken them off not 2 minutes earlier and now they had apparently vanished into thin air. I tried on other random shoes out of frustration but none of them were fitting my foot and I wasn't into the idea of mismatched shoes. As I was putting on a random penny loafer Pete's new roommate walked in. It was his shoe. The moment was rather awkward, especially when I realized that it was a dude who I almost got in a fight with long ago somewhere for some reason. The tension mounted in the room. Nobody said anything. I grabbed the nearest pair of shoes and shot him a look that said: I'M TAKING THESE SHOES DUDE DON'T FUCK WITH ME MANNN. and then I exited the building. The screen door dropped of it's hinges. I didn't care.
I walked out to the street to hail a cab. People were driving like maniacs. As I walked down the street cars were swerving all over the god damn place. One noticed me trying to hail a cab so they slammed on the brakes nearly doing a skid donut but they missed the edge of the street and went speeding into the McDonalds drive thru which was crowded with three long parallel lines of cars -- like at a bank drive thru window. I could see that the driver and the passengers were in a reckless state as they slammed on the gas and began shoving other cars forward out into the street. I would have been smashed by one of these cars had I not seen the whole thing happening from the beginning. Once the car shoving started it wouldn't stop. Suddenly all the cars were shoving each other back and forth like a bunch of lousy kids in a mosh pit. No metal was crunching, it was just bumper to bumper shoving. I took refuge high up out on the median in the middle of the boulevard where a big fat black woman cop began to take control of the situation.
She tooted her whistle and began to do a safe driving rap that looked as if it was stolen from a crappy McDonalds commercial. I looked around for the cameras certain in my knowledge that there really is no such thing as actual dancing rapping fat black woman cops.
Anyway, she solved the traffic troubles with all her rapping and dancing. Yay Fat Dancing Rap Cop!
February 07, 2006
The Passive Agressive Squash Blossom Dinner, Showin' The Afro Negroes Where It's At and Thank God I Didn't Have to Sit With Moby
I went to an awkward dinner with my friends from No Doubt. I don't have any idea who set it up but it was obviously a joke because the other guests were No Doubt's most vocal critics. Most of the dinner was spent with everyone being pleasant but mostly silent. KD lang just fiddled with the food on her plate. Some of the other critics were attempting to snuggle up to Gwen even though they were known for talking shit about her. Tom, Adrian and Tony and I just spent the time exchanging "What The Fuck?" glances with each other while laughing under our breath. Stephen bradley spent his time doing a comedy routine criticizing the gigantic abstract paintings hanging all over the restaurant, nothing new there. I had no idea KD lang was a critic of No Doubt but it wasn't really a big surprise and by the way she was getting really close to Gwen, it was obviously something to to with her Dykeyness.
The food was fucking awesome but I think I was the only person who thought so and to be honest I was even doubting my own judgment because I typically don't like the fancy schmancy rock and roll dinners at over priced, over hyped, over done fancy schmancy restaurants and the particular item which was making me loopy with joy was Marinated Braised Squash Blossoms. They were so fucking good I was stealing them off of everyone's plates.
"You gonna eat your squash blossoms Tom?"
I only needed to ask him when everybody began flicking their squash blossoms on my plate. It's good to love that which everyone else discards. It's perhaps the key to my success in life.
20 minutes into the awkward vibe of the dinner, a passive aggressive battle broke out of epic proportions.
"Nice glasses" Tony said to a nerdy criitc.
"Nice pen protector" Adrian said to another.
"Hey look everybody, I'm Halley Barry's vagina" I said as spread out my lips on my face and leaned into KD Lang for a kiss (She is dating Halley in case you didn't know) ok, that one wasn't so much passive as blatantly aggressive -- I'm a rebel you know.
Many other awesome passive aggressive things were said that made everyone uncomfortable. Nobody acknowledged the discomfort, everyone just kept exchanging knowing glances and invisible high fives.
After dinner I went outside and reclined on the big yellow vinyl chair that looked just like the couch I pulled off the street on thursday last week. There was a flood going on so I took off my shoes which the current quickly swept away. Luckily the flood was also bringing in lots of replacement shoes so whenever I needed them I could just fish some out. I wondered for a minute where they must all be coming from because they were all my white velcro style and they were all my size. Whatever -- no sense in looking a gift horse up the ass. Butterface was not enjoying the water. The rescuers were all making out with each other, It was lovely.
Later down at the ghetto college, a race war was on the cusp of breaking out, my natural tendency to fan the flames came out as a few friends and I stood outside the gates talking loudly about how stupid the afros only policy was.
Listen you can't let negroes get away with racism just because they are negroes right? I mean racism is racism. I was happy to be with my white friends who aren't duped by the retarded arguments that black people put forth about forty acres and a mule this and 400 years of oppression that, point was, I was not about to allow them to prevent me from walking across campus and even though they circled around me in some attempt to intimidate me I knew that my non hateful confidence would win out and even if it didn't I was prepared to crack some skulls.
I made it obvious that I was gonna walk straight across campus, escorted or not, but the little black cop that was nearest to me stepped up to his duty and escorted me to the convention hall, hand on my shoulder, grin on his face. He was smart. He liked what I was all about. Either that or it was just an opportunity to be in the spotlight. i can understand that.
Sitting in the convention hall I discussed with a pal how cheesy and awesome it would be to sculpt a bunch of little human figures out of ebony and ivory and lay them down side by side like a piano keyboard and how the fact that they would probably have to be laid down feet to head with heads at opposite ends to get the best keyboard effect might be the ultimate commentary. Maybe I'd include a dart board with Paul McCartney's and Stevie Wonder's faces on it. Holy fuck I am sick of the stupid race argument.
One of my mexicanish middle easternish friends was aruging with a bird looking black dude with the weirdest looking afro floating on top of his head. The afro dude was trying to explain to my friend that 99% of the public would assume he was black and that was reason enough for him to take their rhetoric hook line and sinker, but my friend was prepared with a powerpoint presentation that demonstrated the different beard types of the various races. The animation showed Charlie Brown growing a beard which turned him into a dead ringer for Yosemite Sam -- a bunch of other animations came and went showing other weird growth patterns, but the one that really mattered was the one that clearly showed that my friends genes provided that his beard would grow only in sync with the four seasons and that in the fall his certainly did turn yellow then red and then brown only to fall of his face not growing again until spring. Boy did he ever prove that he wasn't black. I learned a lot about beards in his presentation.
The best part of his presentation though is that I was able to bad vibe my way out of having to sit next to Moby. Holy shit that guy is a nerd. I hate that idiot. He's always trying to be my friend too -- bummer.
The food was fucking awesome but I think I was the only person who thought so and to be honest I was even doubting my own judgment because I typically don't like the fancy schmancy rock and roll dinners at over priced, over hyped, over done fancy schmancy restaurants and the particular item which was making me loopy with joy was Marinated Braised Squash Blossoms. They were so fucking good I was stealing them off of everyone's plates.
"You gonna eat your squash blossoms Tom?"
I only needed to ask him when everybody began flicking their squash blossoms on my plate. It's good to love that which everyone else discards. It's perhaps the key to my success in life.
20 minutes into the awkward vibe of the dinner, a passive aggressive battle broke out of epic proportions.
"Nice glasses" Tony said to a nerdy criitc.
"Nice pen protector" Adrian said to another.
"Hey look everybody, I'm Halley Barry's vagina" I said as spread out my lips on my face and leaned into KD Lang for a kiss (She is dating Halley in case you didn't know) ok, that one wasn't so much passive as blatantly aggressive -- I'm a rebel you know.
Many other awesome passive aggressive things were said that made everyone uncomfortable. Nobody acknowledged the discomfort, everyone just kept exchanging knowing glances and invisible high fives.
After dinner I went outside and reclined on the big yellow vinyl chair that looked just like the couch I pulled off the street on thursday last week. There was a flood going on so I took off my shoes which the current quickly swept away. Luckily the flood was also bringing in lots of replacement shoes so whenever I needed them I could just fish some out. I wondered for a minute where they must all be coming from because they were all my white velcro style and they were all my size. Whatever -- no sense in looking a gift horse up the ass. Butterface was not enjoying the water. The rescuers were all making out with each other, It was lovely.
Later down at the ghetto college, a race war was on the cusp of breaking out, my natural tendency to fan the flames came out as a few friends and I stood outside the gates talking loudly about how stupid the afros only policy was.
Listen you can't let negroes get away with racism just because they are negroes right? I mean racism is racism. I was happy to be with my white friends who aren't duped by the retarded arguments that black people put forth about forty acres and a mule this and 400 years of oppression that, point was, I was not about to allow them to prevent me from walking across campus and even though they circled around me in some attempt to intimidate me I knew that my non hateful confidence would win out and even if it didn't I was prepared to crack some skulls.
I made it obvious that I was gonna walk straight across campus, escorted or not, but the little black cop that was nearest to me stepped up to his duty and escorted me to the convention hall, hand on my shoulder, grin on his face. He was smart. He liked what I was all about. Either that or it was just an opportunity to be in the spotlight. i can understand that.
Sitting in the convention hall I discussed with a pal how cheesy and awesome it would be to sculpt a bunch of little human figures out of ebony and ivory and lay them down side by side like a piano keyboard and how the fact that they would probably have to be laid down feet to head with heads at opposite ends to get the best keyboard effect might be the ultimate commentary. Maybe I'd include a dart board with Paul McCartney's and Stevie Wonder's faces on it. Holy fuck I am sick of the stupid race argument.
One of my mexicanish middle easternish friends was aruging with a bird looking black dude with the weirdest looking afro floating on top of his head. The afro dude was trying to explain to my friend that 99% of the public would assume he was black and that was reason enough for him to take their rhetoric hook line and sinker, but my friend was prepared with a powerpoint presentation that demonstrated the different beard types of the various races. The animation showed Charlie Brown growing a beard which turned him into a dead ringer for Yosemite Sam -- a bunch of other animations came and went showing other weird growth patterns, but the one that really mattered was the one that clearly showed that my friends genes provided that his beard would grow only in sync with the four seasons and that in the fall his certainly did turn yellow then red and then brown only to fall of his face not growing again until spring. Boy did he ever prove that he wasn't black. I learned a lot about beards in his presentation.
The best part of his presentation though is that I was able to bad vibe my way out of having to sit next to Moby. Holy shit that guy is a nerd. I hate that idiot. He's always trying to be my friend too -- bummer.
February 06, 2006
Discount Alcoholism at Costco, The Slow Slicing Of a Faggot's Skull and The Sexy TV Ad Reciting Asian Chicks
I try not to spend too much time planning anything because lord knows I hate to have plans. So when deciding what to do on a Friday or Saturday night, sometimes the best thing to do is find out what Richie and Jefro are doing because their whole life revolves around making sure parties are the way they should be.
"Dood, we're totally going to the Costco bar" said Richie.
"The Costco bar is where it's at" said Jefro.
"Really? You mean the warehouse discount chain store where everything comes in bulk?" I asked.
"Discount --- Bulk, those are the key words" they said.
I couldn't argue with that.
The drinks certainly were cheap and the crowd was pretty cool, although it was pretty retarded hanging out getting drunk while people shopped for bulk toilet paper and hot wings. But hey, alcohol is alcohol and there were plenty of pretty girls around so who am I to complain?
Costco had a new system installed wherein the customers board little cars attached to a cable that would take you up and down every isle like an amusement park ride. I decided to take a break from drinking to see what all the hype was about. The cars could go up and down the walls to whatever item you wanted to see but it didn't seem like you could speed up and pass the people in front of you if you wanted. I thought this was a critical design flaw, especially because the two unfashionable homos from the suburbs who were right in front of me were having a very boring conversation and the items they were checking were totally stupid choices. Fags don't make the best decisions shopping at Costco lemme tell ya. The older homo dude kept opening all the bulk bottles and touching the contents perhaps just to feel what they felt like. I didn't see why it was necessary for him to sift corn flakes and raisin bran through his fingers especially when it seemed like he wasn't really interested in buying anything anyway. His hands were dirty.
As our cars rounded the corner into the bathroom fixtures and plumbing department, I could see that there was an opportunity to pass them so I tried to take it, but as I made my move, the younger mustached homo just stepped right out in front of me blocking my path. He didn't even acknowledge the collision and he didn't even say excuse me or anything. I tried pass one more time but he stepped in front of me again. This time I could see that he saw me out of the corner of his eye. Motherfucker fag was blocking me on purpose. What the fuck?
"Excuse me" I said in a somewhat friendly tone while attempting to just get past.
"Excuse you is right" he said as he and his boyfriend did that disgusted homo look that only homos make to each other.
"What is your problem? I'm just trying to get past you because I'm not really even shopping and I want to get out of here."
"Yeah well you should have thought of that before you got on the ride."
"What are you talking about? This section is obviously made for passing."
"The only thing that is obvious here is that you need to get a grip and be patient."
His older boyfriend went on ahead of him kinda chuckling and self satisfied that his little boyfriend was putting me in my place.
"Listen dickhead, just because you're a fucking faggot doesn't mean I wont kick your ass like a straight man -- your faggotry is not a free bitchery card. Step out of my way or I'll kick your fucking ass."
"I'd like to see you try" he said.
"Try" is what I did next.
I tried to throw a punch but suddenly the air felt like thick molasses, my arms were going in slow motion and they were too short to make connection with his stupid faggy face. As each slow motion punch would fall helplessly short he would laugh as if he knew that this scenario was gonna happen. I didn't know why I felt so weak and unable to punch. I mean I have had dreams like this before but this was real life in the bathroom department at Costco and I desperately wanted to punch the crap out of this asshole but my fists and arms were the size of the fists and arms of a two year old.
I looked down and noticed that my life vest had inflated to an uncomfortable level and perhaps that was why all my movements felt so weak and restricted. Even my walking was slowed down, it was nearly like being buried in gooey sand. I wasn't about to let this dickhead get away with his dickheadedness so I thought about ways that I could injure him even if my movements were limited to slow motion. I spied a sharp corner on a bathroom sink display and I decided that I would tackle him and jab the corner into his skull. Since he was mocking my inability to land a punch and also probably because he was gay and I am fucking handsome as hell, he let me tackle him to the ground. Moving his head into position to jab the corner in his skull was no small task but he seemed to be agreeable to the workout because he had no idea what I had planned. when I finally got the top of his skull in place, I tried to lift it and thrust it onto the corner jabbing it right into his brain and hopefully killing him. Trouble was, his head was too hard and I'd need some speed and I didn't have it due to the thick molasses air.
Option two was what I ended up going with. Even though my movements felt very weak and slow motioney, I did have two handfuls of hair in a death grip that wasn't getting any looser. I put the corner of the cabinetry onto the top of his skull and I began sawing it back and forth grinding through his scalp and into his skull. He was trying to play it off like it didn't hurt but as the blood began to fill his hair and as the corner of the cabinet slowly ground through his brittle skull and into his brain an honest look of terror creeped across his ugly face.
I kept going on like that for two minutes and then it occurred to me that I had absolutely zero interest in becoming a fugitive having just murdered some faggot in Costco so I let go.
As I stood up, the air became even thicker. The fag had thick gloops of gooey blood glopping down his face. His teeth were all bloody and pinkish yellow but he was still a fucking smart ass.
"You made a big mistake bub. You don't have a partner, I do. You are dead meat when he gets back, you just wait."
Since i didn't want to finish him off and kill him and because suddenly I was nearly paralyzed with fear thinking that the thick blood all over my hands might be tainted with AIDS, I decided to beat it.
My walking was weak, I was unable to run. The air was soooooo thick, I thought I must be underwater because I even felt as if I might be drowning. My life vest was way too over inflated but I couldn't find the pressure release valve. It was inflating up around my neck now and making it hard for me to find the floor. Not only that but I was afraid that someone had seen me nearly kill that faggot and surely, because I don't mind saying the word faggot all the time, I'd get pegged with a hate crime even though it had zero to do with where he sticks his dick and everything to do with the fact that he was acting like a dick.
I finally made my way to the luggage conveyer belt and decided to hop on that instead of venturing out into the parking lot because I couldn't for the life of me slow my brain down enough to remember where I parked my car or remember if I even drove in the first place.
I laid down on one of the luggage carts on the conveyer belt right between to a couple of asian girls who kept lip syncing and vocalizing the TV commercials playing over the Costco PA system. At first it was annoying but then it became the perfect distraction to slow my brain down enough to relax and regain my movements. The way they pronounced their words was very amusing and the fact that we were laying down was completely comforting to me. Lord knows I love laying down.
One of the asian girls leaned over me, her cool hair brushed against my face and I became transfixed with her lips, teeth and cool breath as she recited popular American TV commercials with a completely terrible but awesomely adorable Asian accent.
Then we made out for a long time. Then there was jizz everywhere. What else is new.
"Dood, we're totally going to the Costco bar" said Richie.
"The Costco bar is where it's at" said Jefro.
"Really? You mean the warehouse discount chain store where everything comes in bulk?" I asked.
"Discount --- Bulk, those are the key words" they said.
I couldn't argue with that.
The drinks certainly were cheap and the crowd was pretty cool, although it was pretty retarded hanging out getting drunk while people shopped for bulk toilet paper and hot wings. But hey, alcohol is alcohol and there were plenty of pretty girls around so who am I to complain?
Costco had a new system installed wherein the customers board little cars attached to a cable that would take you up and down every isle like an amusement park ride. I decided to take a break from drinking to see what all the hype was about. The cars could go up and down the walls to whatever item you wanted to see but it didn't seem like you could speed up and pass the people in front of you if you wanted. I thought this was a critical design flaw, especially because the two unfashionable homos from the suburbs who were right in front of me were having a very boring conversation and the items they were checking were totally stupid choices. Fags don't make the best decisions shopping at Costco lemme tell ya. The older homo dude kept opening all the bulk bottles and touching the contents perhaps just to feel what they felt like. I didn't see why it was necessary for him to sift corn flakes and raisin bran through his fingers especially when it seemed like he wasn't really interested in buying anything anyway. His hands were dirty.
As our cars rounded the corner into the bathroom fixtures and plumbing department, I could see that there was an opportunity to pass them so I tried to take it, but as I made my move, the younger mustached homo just stepped right out in front of me blocking my path. He didn't even acknowledge the collision and he didn't even say excuse me or anything. I tried pass one more time but he stepped in front of me again. This time I could see that he saw me out of the corner of his eye. Motherfucker fag was blocking me on purpose. What the fuck?
"Excuse me" I said in a somewhat friendly tone while attempting to just get past.
"Excuse you is right" he said as he and his boyfriend did that disgusted homo look that only homos make to each other.
"What is your problem? I'm just trying to get past you because I'm not really even shopping and I want to get out of here."
"Yeah well you should have thought of that before you got on the ride."
"What are you talking about? This section is obviously made for passing."
"The only thing that is obvious here is that you need to get a grip and be patient."
His older boyfriend went on ahead of him kinda chuckling and self satisfied that his little boyfriend was putting me in my place.
"Listen dickhead, just because you're a fucking faggot doesn't mean I wont kick your ass like a straight man -- your faggotry is not a free bitchery card. Step out of my way or I'll kick your fucking ass."
"I'd like to see you try" he said.
"Try" is what I did next.
I tried to throw a punch but suddenly the air felt like thick molasses, my arms were going in slow motion and they were too short to make connection with his stupid faggy face. As each slow motion punch would fall helplessly short he would laugh as if he knew that this scenario was gonna happen. I didn't know why I felt so weak and unable to punch. I mean I have had dreams like this before but this was real life in the bathroom department at Costco and I desperately wanted to punch the crap out of this asshole but my fists and arms were the size of the fists and arms of a two year old.
I looked down and noticed that my life vest had inflated to an uncomfortable level and perhaps that was why all my movements felt so weak and restricted. Even my walking was slowed down, it was nearly like being buried in gooey sand. I wasn't about to let this dickhead get away with his dickheadedness so I thought about ways that I could injure him even if my movements were limited to slow motion. I spied a sharp corner on a bathroom sink display and I decided that I would tackle him and jab the corner into his skull. Since he was mocking my inability to land a punch and also probably because he was gay and I am fucking handsome as hell, he let me tackle him to the ground. Moving his head into position to jab the corner in his skull was no small task but he seemed to be agreeable to the workout because he had no idea what I had planned. when I finally got the top of his skull in place, I tried to lift it and thrust it onto the corner jabbing it right into his brain and hopefully killing him. Trouble was, his head was too hard and I'd need some speed and I didn't have it due to the thick molasses air.
Option two was what I ended up going with. Even though my movements felt very weak and slow motioney, I did have two handfuls of hair in a death grip that wasn't getting any looser. I put the corner of the cabinetry onto the top of his skull and I began sawing it back and forth grinding through his scalp and into his skull. He was trying to play it off like it didn't hurt but as the blood began to fill his hair and as the corner of the cabinet slowly ground through his brittle skull and into his brain an honest look of terror creeped across his ugly face.
I kept going on like that for two minutes and then it occurred to me that I had absolutely zero interest in becoming a fugitive having just murdered some faggot in Costco so I let go.
As I stood up, the air became even thicker. The fag had thick gloops of gooey blood glopping down his face. His teeth were all bloody and pinkish yellow but he was still a fucking smart ass.
"You made a big mistake bub. You don't have a partner, I do. You are dead meat when he gets back, you just wait."
Since i didn't want to finish him off and kill him and because suddenly I was nearly paralyzed with fear thinking that the thick blood all over my hands might be tainted with AIDS, I decided to beat it.
My walking was weak, I was unable to run. The air was soooooo thick, I thought I must be underwater because I even felt as if I might be drowning. My life vest was way too over inflated but I couldn't find the pressure release valve. It was inflating up around my neck now and making it hard for me to find the floor. Not only that but I was afraid that someone had seen me nearly kill that faggot and surely, because I don't mind saying the word faggot all the time, I'd get pegged with a hate crime even though it had zero to do with where he sticks his dick and everything to do with the fact that he was acting like a dick.
I finally made my way to the luggage conveyer belt and decided to hop on that instead of venturing out into the parking lot because I couldn't for the life of me slow my brain down enough to remember where I parked my car or remember if I even drove in the first place.
I laid down on one of the luggage carts on the conveyer belt right between to a couple of asian girls who kept lip syncing and vocalizing the TV commercials playing over the Costco PA system. At first it was annoying but then it became the perfect distraction to slow my brain down enough to relax and regain my movements. The way they pronounced their words was very amusing and the fact that we were laying down was completely comforting to me. Lord knows I love laying down.
One of the asian girls leaned over me, her cool hair brushed against my face and I became transfixed with her lips, teeth and cool breath as she recited popular American TV commercials with a completely terrible but awesomely adorable Asian accent.
Then we made out for a long time. Then there was jizz everywhere. What else is new.
February 02, 2006
The Unnecessary Flood Goggles, Gwen's Plastic Surgeon "Friend" and Turkey Comas With Wacky George Bush's Inner Circle
It wouldn't stop raining and I knew I had that leak that went to the basement but it's just so much easier living in denial so I just went about my business making the goat sculptures up stairs. The rain was really pouring outside an I just couldn't get the leak out of my mind. I went and Checked on the basement but there was only like three feet of water which was no big deal. Just as long as it doesn't reach the top of the stairs everything will be fine.
Twenty minutes later I was in panic mode because the water in the basement was lapping right up to the top stair. Now I was going to have to make a mad dash around the house looking for the goggles Boyd gave me. I looked everywhere but I couldn't find them. It's not like they were gonna do me any good anyway, the water was all rust colored. What was I gonna do anyway? look around for the drain? Duh -- Of course that's what I was gonna do but since I couldn't find the goggles and that rusty water would certainly hurt my eyes, I thought it better to look for a drill or jackhammer and then just go outside an drill or jackhammer a hole in the side of the garage and it would all just drain out into the street. then it occurred to me -- duh, why don't I just open the garage door and then a wave of water would come out onto the street. I'll tell you why, because I couldn't find the fucking garage remote and besides, that'd be a dumb idea anyway because all the shit in my garage would go flooding out onto the street with it.
Fuck it. I'm gonna do it anyway, I unlocked the garage door and lifted it up and waited for a big wall of water to knock me back into the street, but -- it didn't, somehow the water all drained out before I got there. Maybe I drilled a hole in the wall and forgot about it. At any rate, the goggles were right there hanging on a nail on the wall but I didn't need them any more.
Gwen was hanging out with this douchebaggy tan dude. Somebody introduced him as a plastic surgeon and I looked at Gwen and she said;
"What? NOT MINE, this is Hollywoood Merkles, everybody has friends that are plastic surgeons." as she gave me an evil eye not to press the issue.
I didn't.
It was nice to see her but I don't think there is anything wrong with just growing older but hey, I dye the gray out of my beard so who am I to point fingers right?
President Bush was in town and I saw it as a challenge to see if I could get in to all the special events and parties. I mean rock star stuff is one thing, I look like I belong in the rock star environment, people don't question me, I got that all situated -- but I've never done the political thing besides the functions where the mayor is hitting on the same girls.
The first one was pretty fucking easy, same method, just belong and you belong, It took very little nerve and finesse to get into the front row and listen to him speak at the big picnic. He kept making eye contact with me giving me looks of approval and acknowledging my awesomeness. My friend was amazed at how easy it was.
"Dude," I said "you just gotta own the room, doesn't matter what room, just own it, fuck it, do what I do, act like you own the room and are trying to sell it, like you have too many rooms. Own the room to a point that you feel completely comfortable just giving the whole room away like you're done with it."
Later on at the second event everyone was giving me the look like they had already seen me. George bush gave me that familiar nod but there were really no opportunities to get chummy with him. He was very relaxed and working the room like a total pro. I couldn't help but notice how many people were there that seemed to feel comfortable and unaffected by his authority. His staff seemed super at ease and he was doing a fantastic job making everyone laugh and feel comfortable with his class president charm and goofball wit.
My friend and I took off for a walk through some back streets that went over streams and ponds, back country that was unruly and not cared for. The whole hanging out with the president thing came and went and now we were just looking for a party to end the evening. We headed up to the avenues above SLC looking for a party, there wasn't much going on. There was one particular driveway with tons and tons of security guards holding back hoards of people trying to get in. I figured what the hell, I could show my friend once and for all that the only credential I needed was my confidence to get in anywhere.
We marched right up and I put my hand on the shoulder of one of the security guards and gently moved him to the side.
"Excuse me bud, Keep up the good work" I said in a low voice as I slid on past. "He's with me"
I entered the old a frame house that smelled of dinner having been just put away. On my way in, Dick Cheney scooted past me.
"Hey there's that dude with the unmistakable puss" He said as he pointed at me smiling. "Don't he remind you of a young Walter Cronkite or something?" He said to his Secret Service dude as he made his way down the stairs.
"Dude, these people think they know you" My friend said to me.
"That because I act like they SHOULD know me dude. It's so easy."
As we made our way in I could see that it was totally family and friends only. Secret Service dudes were napping, belts loosened, on the couch. George Bush's mom was in a mouth open turkey coma between them. Nobody was really talking, they were just acting like family after a big thanksgiving day meal. One of the secret service guys, without so much as opening his eyes or sitting up straight said:
"When you wanna take off George?"
"Whenever, let me just finish this show."
George was sitting in a recliner watching a small skewed projection of The History Channel on the wall right next to him, I figured it was because he liked to sit really close to the TV but he didn't want to go cross eyed or anything. The show was about Nazi Germany and as George swiveled back and forth in his Lazy Boy he kept grinning and making shadow puppets of his hand flipping the bird on Hitler's face. A few other people giggled in the room as did I. I could see why people liked him. He was so juvenile, secure, and silly. Hitler was giving some big angry speech and his hair was flipping all over the place and looking all retarded as usual.
"Hilter..." George Bush said as he made the shadow puppet of his middle finger look as if it was picking Hitler's nose , "What a douche"
Everybody giggled a delirious late night giggle.
George Bush was totally in charge.
Because he was funny.
Twenty minutes later I was in panic mode because the water in the basement was lapping right up to the top stair. Now I was going to have to make a mad dash around the house looking for the goggles Boyd gave me. I looked everywhere but I couldn't find them. It's not like they were gonna do me any good anyway, the water was all rust colored. What was I gonna do anyway? look around for the drain? Duh -- Of course that's what I was gonna do but since I couldn't find the goggles and that rusty water would certainly hurt my eyes, I thought it better to look for a drill or jackhammer and then just go outside an drill or jackhammer a hole in the side of the garage and it would all just drain out into the street. then it occurred to me -- duh, why don't I just open the garage door and then a wave of water would come out onto the street. I'll tell you why, because I couldn't find the fucking garage remote and besides, that'd be a dumb idea anyway because all the shit in my garage would go flooding out onto the street with it.
Fuck it. I'm gonna do it anyway, I unlocked the garage door and lifted it up and waited for a big wall of water to knock me back into the street, but -- it didn't, somehow the water all drained out before I got there. Maybe I drilled a hole in the wall and forgot about it. At any rate, the goggles were right there hanging on a nail on the wall but I didn't need them any more.
Gwen was hanging out with this douchebaggy tan dude. Somebody introduced him as a plastic surgeon and I looked at Gwen and she said;
"What? NOT MINE, this is Hollywoood Merkles, everybody has friends that are plastic surgeons." as she gave me an evil eye not to press the issue.
I didn't.
It was nice to see her but I don't think there is anything wrong with just growing older but hey, I dye the gray out of my beard so who am I to point fingers right?
President Bush was in town and I saw it as a challenge to see if I could get in to all the special events and parties. I mean rock star stuff is one thing, I look like I belong in the rock star environment, people don't question me, I got that all situated -- but I've never done the political thing besides the functions where the mayor is hitting on the same girls.
The first one was pretty fucking easy, same method, just belong and you belong, It took very little nerve and finesse to get into the front row and listen to him speak at the big picnic. He kept making eye contact with me giving me looks of approval and acknowledging my awesomeness. My friend was amazed at how easy it was.
"Dude," I said "you just gotta own the room, doesn't matter what room, just own it, fuck it, do what I do, act like you own the room and are trying to sell it, like you have too many rooms. Own the room to a point that you feel completely comfortable just giving the whole room away like you're done with it."
Later on at the second event everyone was giving me the look like they had already seen me. George bush gave me that familiar nod but there were really no opportunities to get chummy with him. He was very relaxed and working the room like a total pro. I couldn't help but notice how many people were there that seemed to feel comfortable and unaffected by his authority. His staff seemed super at ease and he was doing a fantastic job making everyone laugh and feel comfortable with his class president charm and goofball wit.
My friend and I took off for a walk through some back streets that went over streams and ponds, back country that was unruly and not cared for. The whole hanging out with the president thing came and went and now we were just looking for a party to end the evening. We headed up to the avenues above SLC looking for a party, there wasn't much going on. There was one particular driveway with tons and tons of security guards holding back hoards of people trying to get in. I figured what the hell, I could show my friend once and for all that the only credential I needed was my confidence to get in anywhere.
We marched right up and I put my hand on the shoulder of one of the security guards and gently moved him to the side.
"Excuse me bud, Keep up the good work" I said in a low voice as I slid on past. "He's with me"
I entered the old a frame house that smelled of dinner having been just put away. On my way in, Dick Cheney scooted past me.
"Hey there's that dude with the unmistakable puss" He said as he pointed at me smiling. "Don't he remind you of a young Walter Cronkite or something?" He said to his Secret Service dude as he made his way down the stairs.
"Dude, these people think they know you" My friend said to me.
"That because I act like they SHOULD know me dude. It's so easy."
As we made our way in I could see that it was totally family and friends only. Secret Service dudes were napping, belts loosened, on the couch. George Bush's mom was in a mouth open turkey coma between them. Nobody was really talking, they were just acting like family after a big thanksgiving day meal. One of the secret service guys, without so much as opening his eyes or sitting up straight said:
"When you wanna take off George?"
"Whenever, let me just finish this show."
George was sitting in a recliner watching a small skewed projection of The History Channel on the wall right next to him, I figured it was because he liked to sit really close to the TV but he didn't want to go cross eyed or anything. The show was about Nazi Germany and as George swiveled back and forth in his Lazy Boy he kept grinning and making shadow puppets of his hand flipping the bird on Hitler's face. A few other people giggled in the room as did I. I could see why people liked him. He was so juvenile, secure, and silly. Hitler was giving some big angry speech and his hair was flipping all over the place and looking all retarded as usual.
"Hilter..." George Bush said as he made the shadow puppet of his middle finger look as if it was picking Hitler's nose , "What a douche"
Everybody giggled a delirious late night giggle.
George Bush was totally in charge.
Because he was funny.
January 27, 2006
The Vacuum Suction HooDeeHoo, The Pathetic Beta Male Convention and The Jews Be Fuckin With My Cameras Yo.
A random skinny model girl walks up to me and is all up on my shit in like two seconds flat and in no time at all we're giving each other head all over the place doin handstands and all kinds of stuff I don't normally do. Her boobs barely move because they are so small. Her labia were abnormally long, so long I could feel them sliding underneath my tongue. I didn't say anything about it, who needs to feel self conscious right?. Her vagina had vacuum suction so even before I decided to go for it I was being sucked in from like six inches away. All in all it was an enjoyable situation made better by the fact that I had no idea who the woman was. I think sometimes its best that way. At least if you wanna try out hand stands and serious labia sucking.
I happened upon all my former band mates staging a really super hooptie reunion thing. I've seen things like this before, they all try to get their shit together without me but it never works out. When I show up, they play it off like they don't care that nobody showed up and the sound system sucks and they look like a bunch of morons up there on stage desperately trying to be rock stars. I'm always the perfect gentleman, I feign support and interest when really I'm am laughing my head off inside. There is always some douchebag reporter there from the least popular neighborhood crap zine conducting an interview in which they totally play down my role, not even mentioning me or anything and when the reporter asks them about me they get all defensive as if I was merely incidental to their popularity but then the reporter looks around at the miserable failure of a gig and shoots back a few passive aggressive remarks about how they maybe should think about including me a little more and also asking if they heard about this or that anecdote wherein I am totally awesome and rad while they all look at the ground and fiddle with their shoelaces. Meanwhile I'm standing by feeling half sorry for them and half fuck you idiots. Rod is running around looking like a total moron with his fake hairsprayed mohawk acting like he is funny but the only person who ever laughed a sincere laugh at a Rod joke was Rod. Poor dude, if i didn't think he was a total cunty runt of a douchebag momma's boy, I'd feel sorry for him. We reap what we sow. John seemed to be with me in spirit if not in physical location. Jon is more patient and forgiving than I am. Or at least he wants people to think he is. He isn't confident enough to allow people to think he's the dick we all ultimately are. I think he'd rather be the top beta male than the weakest alpha and lord knows he'd be against the whole definition of alpha male anyway. Where's the sensitivity in that? That's not emo.
I took a trip to Israel but the whole thing was nothing but a big camera debacle. It seemed like every camera I brought malfunctioned, broke or was just too hard to figure out. With one of them, the lens just popped off and I made a makeshift camera obsura and was entertaining every one with big projections from the outside world onto the motel wall. It was amazing how bright the images were, almost like a projector. I actually might like this camera better broken than I did when it worked. I did get sick of explaining what a camera obscura was. You'd think people would already know. It's true what they say about the Jews, they will try to part you from your money at every turn -- I blame my camera problems on them. I never had these types of troubles stateside. fuckin jews. Stupid haircuts and hats too.
I happened upon all my former band mates staging a really super hooptie reunion thing. I've seen things like this before, they all try to get their shit together without me but it never works out. When I show up, they play it off like they don't care that nobody showed up and the sound system sucks and they look like a bunch of morons up there on stage desperately trying to be rock stars. I'm always the perfect gentleman, I feign support and interest when really I'm am laughing my head off inside. There is always some douchebag reporter there from the least popular neighborhood crap zine conducting an interview in which they totally play down my role, not even mentioning me or anything and when the reporter asks them about me they get all defensive as if I was merely incidental to their popularity but then the reporter looks around at the miserable failure of a gig and shoots back a few passive aggressive remarks about how they maybe should think about including me a little more and also asking if they heard about this or that anecdote wherein I am totally awesome and rad while they all look at the ground and fiddle with their shoelaces. Meanwhile I'm standing by feeling half sorry for them and half fuck you idiots. Rod is running around looking like a total moron with his fake hairsprayed mohawk acting like he is funny but the only person who ever laughed a sincere laugh at a Rod joke was Rod. Poor dude, if i didn't think he was a total cunty runt of a douchebag momma's boy, I'd feel sorry for him. We reap what we sow. John seemed to be with me in spirit if not in physical location. Jon is more patient and forgiving than I am. Or at least he wants people to think he is. He isn't confident enough to allow people to think he's the dick we all ultimately are. I think he'd rather be the top beta male than the weakest alpha and lord knows he'd be against the whole definition of alpha male anyway. Where's the sensitivity in that? That's not emo.
I took a trip to Israel but the whole thing was nothing but a big camera debacle. It seemed like every camera I brought malfunctioned, broke or was just too hard to figure out. With one of them, the lens just popped off and I made a makeshift camera obsura and was entertaining every one with big projections from the outside world onto the motel wall. It was amazing how bright the images were, almost like a projector. I actually might like this camera better broken than I did when it worked. I did get sick of explaining what a camera obscura was. You'd think people would already know. It's true what they say about the Jews, they will try to part you from your money at every turn -- I blame my camera problems on them. I never had these types of troubles stateside. fuckin jews. Stupid haircuts and hats too.
January 23, 2006
Bedtime Adventures in a Dirt Lot in The Deep Ghetto, Gene Simmons Boots for Chico-n-TigerDog and Maury Povich's War on Terror
I decided to move my bed out into the middle of a big garbage filled dirt lot in the deep ghetto of Oakland. The air was damp and it made my blankets all moist, cold and sticky but there was a strong wireless internet signal coming thorough to my powerbook and it was free. Besides, who ever said experiments had to be comfortable? The ghetto residents thought my setup was quite amusing. Most of the crackheads would just walk by on their way to buy crack and look at me as if *I* was out of MY mind. I could hear some of their conversations and I transcribed them as they went.
"Watch yoseff, dat thurr white boy is a set up, if you go nurr'm yo gunna git yoseff busted."
"I hurrd it's some kind of art school bowshit"
"Nah g, dat dood was put thurr to be a target knowwhuddamsayin? You go nurr dat dude and shit gonna FLY!"
It was hard to sleep but I wasn't really there to sleep anyway, I was mostly there to prove to myself that I could sleep amongst the garbage and filth. Also, everybody likes fresh air.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see a real gangster looking dude working up the nerve to approach me. I started getting nervous because he was obviously casing me out waiting to make a move.
Sure enough he started strolling his way through the dirt lot in my direction. I noticed all the other onlookers all start looking the other way the same way they did when I was pistol whipped and robbed in the same neighborhood on Emily's birthday a few years ago. He sped up his pace and I tried to play it cool. Seconds later he was gipping a pistol tucked in his low slung drawers.
"Aaiight, hurrs what's gonna go dan, you gonna hand over dat thurr computer and you won't get smoked."
I quickly closed my powerbook and tucked it under my arm.
"Listen negro, my whole life is on this computer. You're gonna have to kill me to take my life. But if you do kill me I will infest your brain for eternity. Trust me, you don't wanna kill me."
He was apparently not used to this response. He had a look of utter confusion on his face.
"Call fucking 911 you retards! What the fuck is wrong with you people?"
I fumbled for my cellphone completely stunned that once again the onlookers were completely apathetic.
"The fact you negroes won'lift a finger to HELP is WHY you live in the ghetto. ACT ghetto and you will BE ghetto! Don't you fucking get it?"
The dude who was trying to rob me quickly put on some thick black framed geek glasses and put in his iPod earbuds and took off running.
"Somebody call 911!!" I yelled as I took off running after him dialing 911 on my own phone.
"911 what's your emergency?"
"Some nigger wearin' horn rimmed glasses just tried to rob me and he's runnin' down lake forrest blvd."
"Did he actually rob you sir?"
"No because I wouldn't fucking let him"
"Well it sounds like you got things under control then."
"Fuck you bitch."
I hung up and began my man hunt.
I soon ran into a friend who was walking all three of my dogs plus a special mixed dog/tiger breed. We walked all over the place but soon we lost interest in finding the fucker who tried to steal my laptop. People would cower and get all nervous when they saw the tigerdog and it wasn't such a mystery why because the tiger dog had a really aggressive tiger gait and it would charge anything that came near. We walked so much I began to worry that our animals were getting blisters. Sure enough, Chico's feet were worn down to the bone. It was very sad and I felt terrible. I made him and the other dogs some shoes out of some tin foil and duct tape. When they were done they looked like Gene Simmons boots. Everyone thought they were awesome.
Maury Povich contacted me about helping him with his new "War Machine Radio Show."
"Merkley, as you know war has been privatized and I'm starting a new show called Missle Radio. Basically you aim missles at people and make them listen to you. It's gonna do wonders for the war on terror. I mean why not be entertaining about it all right?"
"Wow -- i see what you mean."
I took a look through Maury's binoculars and I could see cross hairs lined up on some kind of training camp.
"See we broadcast our show and anyone who is listening becomes available for being blown up -- now all we have to do is make a show that is interesting to the worst people. All we have to do is broadcast a show that appeals to Osama Bin Laden and boom, he's right there in our cross hairs."
I kept looking at all the things in the cross hairs of these amazing binoculars. I could see a couple of Mormon temples carved out in the side of a cliff. I thought that was unusual. Were they trying to copy the Pueblos?
On my way home I tried to take a short cut but every back alley I encountered had locked gates, presumably to lock up all the vintage motorcycles that seemed to be anywhere. I fiddled with the lock on one set of gates and this little round old man with no shoes or teeth approached me. He was holding a lit cutting torch.
"Have you ever heard the story of the thirty shoes?" he asked. One of his eyes was cloudy and probably blind.
"No" I replied as I sped up my pace and caught the next bus.
On the bus there were what may as well have been two different versions of that same dude and they both wanted to argue with me about SF politics. I wasn't interested.
"Get the fuck out of here you fucking speed freak hippies."
"Watch yoseff, dat thurr white boy is a set up, if you go nurr'm yo gunna git yoseff busted."
"I hurrd it's some kind of art school bowshit"
"Nah g, dat dood was put thurr to be a target knowwhuddamsayin? You go nurr dat dude and shit gonna FLY!"
It was hard to sleep but I wasn't really there to sleep anyway, I was mostly there to prove to myself that I could sleep amongst the garbage and filth. Also, everybody likes fresh air.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see a real gangster looking dude working up the nerve to approach me. I started getting nervous because he was obviously casing me out waiting to make a move.
Sure enough he started strolling his way through the dirt lot in my direction. I noticed all the other onlookers all start looking the other way the same way they did when I was pistol whipped and robbed in the same neighborhood on Emily's birthday a few years ago. He sped up his pace and I tried to play it cool. Seconds later he was gipping a pistol tucked in his low slung drawers.
"Aaiight, hurrs what's gonna go dan, you gonna hand over dat thurr computer and you won't get smoked."
I quickly closed my powerbook and tucked it under my arm.
"Listen negro, my whole life is on this computer. You're gonna have to kill me to take my life. But if you do kill me I will infest your brain for eternity. Trust me, you don't wanna kill me."
He was apparently not used to this response. He had a look of utter confusion on his face.
"Call fucking 911 you retards! What the fuck is wrong with you people?"
I fumbled for my cellphone completely stunned that once again the onlookers were completely apathetic.
"The fact you negroes won'lift a finger to HELP is WHY you live in the ghetto. ACT ghetto and you will BE ghetto! Don't you fucking get it?"
The dude who was trying to rob me quickly put on some thick black framed geek glasses and put in his iPod earbuds and took off running.
"Somebody call 911!!" I yelled as I took off running after him dialing 911 on my own phone.
"911 what's your emergency?"
"Some nigger wearin' horn rimmed glasses just tried to rob me and he's runnin' down lake forrest blvd."
"Did he actually rob you sir?"
"No because I wouldn't fucking let him"
"Well it sounds like you got things under control then."
"Fuck you bitch."
I hung up and began my man hunt.
I soon ran into a friend who was walking all three of my dogs plus a special mixed dog/tiger breed. We walked all over the place but soon we lost interest in finding the fucker who tried to steal my laptop. People would cower and get all nervous when they saw the tigerdog and it wasn't such a mystery why because the tiger dog had a really aggressive tiger gait and it would charge anything that came near. We walked so much I began to worry that our animals were getting blisters. Sure enough, Chico's feet were worn down to the bone. It was very sad and I felt terrible. I made him and the other dogs some shoes out of some tin foil and duct tape. When they were done they looked like Gene Simmons boots. Everyone thought they were awesome.
Maury Povich contacted me about helping him with his new "War Machine Radio Show."
"Merkley, as you know war has been privatized and I'm starting a new show called Missle Radio. Basically you aim missles at people and make them listen to you. It's gonna do wonders for the war on terror. I mean why not be entertaining about it all right?"
"Wow -- i see what you mean."
I took a look through Maury's binoculars and I could see cross hairs lined up on some kind of training camp.
"See we broadcast our show and anyone who is listening becomes available for being blown up -- now all we have to do is make a show that is interesting to the worst people. All we have to do is broadcast a show that appeals to Osama Bin Laden and boom, he's right there in our cross hairs."
I kept looking at all the things in the cross hairs of these amazing binoculars. I could see a couple of Mormon temples carved out in the side of a cliff. I thought that was unusual. Were they trying to copy the Pueblos?
On my way home I tried to take a short cut but every back alley I encountered had locked gates, presumably to lock up all the vintage motorcycles that seemed to be anywhere. I fiddled with the lock on one set of gates and this little round old man with no shoes or teeth approached me. He was holding a lit cutting torch.
"Have you ever heard the story of the thirty shoes?" he asked. One of his eyes was cloudy and probably blind.
"No" I replied as I sped up my pace and caught the next bus.
On the bus there were what may as well have been two different versions of that same dude and they both wanted to argue with me about SF politics. I wasn't interested.
"Get the fuck out of here you fucking speed freak hippies."
January 22, 2006
The Unwelcome Dance Party Drop-in, Jane "Liar" Fonda and Slam Dunking On Meryl Streep
I woke up to the sound of keys, the door opening and people entering my house.
"What the fuck? Who's there?"
"Hey Merks, it's Don Steele. I brought by some people for you to meet."
I was instantly filled with complete and utter rage because there is NOTHING I hate more than the unannounced "DROP IN".
I looked across the great big dimly lit basement expanse to see a bunch of random people filing into my home. I immediately ascertained that Don Steele was bringing by some out of town family members because these people certainly didn't look like his regular crowd nor did they look local. I hate it when people use my joint as a tourist attraction.
I wanted desperately to blow up at Don and let him know just how ENTIRELY rude it is to treat my home as another san francisco tourist attraction. The people just kept filing in and spreading out throughout my joint. They were picking through things, picking stuff up, looking really closely at anything they could find, my rage was completely overwhelming. I had absolutely NO warning, my house was a mess, I wasn't even dressed and here was Don Steele organizing a party at my house, pouring himself and everyone else my booze, leaving my refrigerator open, this was so unlike Don, he is usually the courteous one who doesn't bring just anyone over.
As people would come over to the edge of my bed to introduce themselves I would keep saying stuff like "WHAT A SURPRISE" sarcastically of course but people would just laugh thinking I was just being funny when really I was wanting to dump acid on everyone vaporizing them into a painful eternal mist of get-the-fuck-out.
Don Steele was crying in the bathroom. He sensed or overheard that I was pissed and he felt ashamed. Now I was even more pissed because I had to add pity and shame to my list of feelings.
At this point the DJ and sound equipment had arrived along with a group of movers and cleaners who began moving my furniture around and spraying everything down with a goopy cleaning solution applied with a big fire hose. The three inches of dust under my bed turned into a thick paste.
I had enough.
I was so filled with rage that I decided I better leave before I actually murdered someone.
As a made my way towards the stairs leading up and out of my dark basement apartment I could see that a huge dance was going on in the ballroom. It was a bunch of black women dancing to some serious booty bass two step. It looked fun enough but the main thing I was thinking was why I didn't use the ballroom more often. I practically forgot I even had it.
I caught a cab across town and as happens from time to time the cab driver remembered me and was very excited to see me.
"Our last conversation was so intriguing I am so glad to see you. I have been driving by your house for months hoping to give you a ride again."
He had a big mustache and reminded me of the nerdy birdlike manager of the all you can eat restaurant where I was employed as a 16 year old kid.
"Randall right?"
"Holy moly you remembered? Hey ya wanna go to the lighthouse or something?"
"No thanks Randall, I'm in a sour mood and I really just want some food."
"No problemo señor!"
Holy crap was this dude a dork.
We arrived at my destination but instead of dropping me off, Randall decided to walk in with me. I was not all too excited about my new puppy but I didn't have the energy to shake him. Besides, he looked like an assistant and was behaving as one as well. He might be useful.
The party was a swanky affair with all the rich people and artists in the area, everyone knew me but I wasn't feeling like stopping to chat with anyone. I finally figured out that Randall was just gonna be a pest because he kept saying;
"Hey I think that person knows you."
"Yeah, everybody knows me Randall, just keep walkin."
"Don't ya think you should stop and say hi?"
"Hey Randall thanks for the ride." I said as I slipped him a hundred bucks even though I already paid him outside.
My passive aggressive handshake sealed the deal. The sad look on Randall's face was quite hard on my heart. I hate hurting people's feelings.
I walked down into the vip bar and as I descended the stairs a very familiar face was looking at me. It was someone I had met once before but I don't think I really knew him. He pointed at me and gave me the thumbs up as if to say "lookin sharp pal" I did the same back but I was wracking my brain trying to figure out how I remembered him. The man sitting next to him was obviously his brother, they looked nearly like twins except the brother had black hair and a beard and my mystery pal had white hair.
Meryl Streep tugged at my jacket to say hi but I was so frustrated trying to remember the dude who was looking at me with that familiar look that I shrugged her off.
"Hey sweetie, you look dynamite." I said.
Demi Moore was sitting across the way, the old reporter Charles Kerault was there.
"Hey what's the name of that dude with the white hair over there? He keeps giving me the thumbs up and I think I'm supposed to remember him" I asked a friend standing next to me. But before my friend could answer a woman sitting at the table turned towards me and said:
"Merkley, you know him, that's my dad."
It was was Jane Fonda. Of course, Henry Fonda, I knew him. I finally had the confidence to wave back at him without getting into a mess. Just as I was doing so I REALLY figured out who it was and it WASN'T Henry Fonda, it was Paul Newman. Man he looked old. Why would Jane Fonda tell me Paul Newman was her dad? What a liar. She's always been weird.
I noticed that Paul Newman was standing up from his dinner so I went over to prove that remembered him. I reached out my had to shake his but he slid out and his brother grabbed my hand instead. I don't remember having ever met him so I played it safe:
"Nice seein ya" I said.
"Merks my man" he said.
Uncomfortable dude silence for 4 seconds.
"Well, I'm out, I'm gonna go shoot some hoops with Meryl, Demi and Jane and the girls."
"Ah -- as you should!" he said.
The girls and I had a weird game of basketball with a flat basketball that I was able to slam dunk with one hand. The girls were all laughing their heads off because -- well -- what can I say -- I'm fucking hilarious.
"What the fuck? Who's there?"
"Hey Merks, it's Don Steele. I brought by some people for you to meet."
I was instantly filled with complete and utter rage because there is NOTHING I hate more than the unannounced "DROP IN".
I looked across the great big dimly lit basement expanse to see a bunch of random people filing into my home. I immediately ascertained that Don Steele was bringing by some out of town family members because these people certainly didn't look like his regular crowd nor did they look local. I hate it when people use my joint as a tourist attraction.
I wanted desperately to blow up at Don and let him know just how ENTIRELY rude it is to treat my home as another san francisco tourist attraction. The people just kept filing in and spreading out throughout my joint. They were picking through things, picking stuff up, looking really closely at anything they could find, my rage was completely overwhelming. I had absolutely NO warning, my house was a mess, I wasn't even dressed and here was Don Steele organizing a party at my house, pouring himself and everyone else my booze, leaving my refrigerator open, this was so unlike Don, he is usually the courteous one who doesn't bring just anyone over.
As people would come over to the edge of my bed to introduce themselves I would keep saying stuff like "WHAT A SURPRISE" sarcastically of course but people would just laugh thinking I was just being funny when really I was wanting to dump acid on everyone vaporizing them into a painful eternal mist of get-the-fuck-out.
Don Steele was crying in the bathroom. He sensed or overheard that I was pissed and he felt ashamed. Now I was even more pissed because I had to add pity and shame to my list of feelings.
At this point the DJ and sound equipment had arrived along with a group of movers and cleaners who began moving my furniture around and spraying everything down with a goopy cleaning solution applied with a big fire hose. The three inches of dust under my bed turned into a thick paste.
I had enough.
I was so filled with rage that I decided I better leave before I actually murdered someone.
As a made my way towards the stairs leading up and out of my dark basement apartment I could see that a huge dance was going on in the ballroom. It was a bunch of black women dancing to some serious booty bass two step. It looked fun enough but the main thing I was thinking was why I didn't use the ballroom more often. I practically forgot I even had it.
I caught a cab across town and as happens from time to time the cab driver remembered me and was very excited to see me.
"Our last conversation was so intriguing I am so glad to see you. I have been driving by your house for months hoping to give you a ride again."
He had a big mustache and reminded me of the nerdy birdlike manager of the all you can eat restaurant where I was employed as a 16 year old kid.
"Randall right?"
"Holy moly you remembered? Hey ya wanna go to the lighthouse or something?"
"No thanks Randall, I'm in a sour mood and I really just want some food."
"No problemo señor!"
Holy crap was this dude a dork.
We arrived at my destination but instead of dropping me off, Randall decided to walk in with me. I was not all too excited about my new puppy but I didn't have the energy to shake him. Besides, he looked like an assistant and was behaving as one as well. He might be useful.
The party was a swanky affair with all the rich people and artists in the area, everyone knew me but I wasn't feeling like stopping to chat with anyone. I finally figured out that Randall was just gonna be a pest because he kept saying;
"Hey I think that person knows you."
"Yeah, everybody knows me Randall, just keep walkin."
"Don't ya think you should stop and say hi?"
"Hey Randall thanks for the ride." I said as I slipped him a hundred bucks even though I already paid him outside.
My passive aggressive handshake sealed the deal. The sad look on Randall's face was quite hard on my heart. I hate hurting people's feelings.
I walked down into the vip bar and as I descended the stairs a very familiar face was looking at me. It was someone I had met once before but I don't think I really knew him. He pointed at me and gave me the thumbs up as if to say "lookin sharp pal" I did the same back but I was wracking my brain trying to figure out how I remembered him. The man sitting next to him was obviously his brother, they looked nearly like twins except the brother had black hair and a beard and my mystery pal had white hair.
Meryl Streep tugged at my jacket to say hi but I was so frustrated trying to remember the dude who was looking at me with that familiar look that I shrugged her off.
"Hey sweetie, you look dynamite." I said.
Demi Moore was sitting across the way, the old reporter Charles Kerault was there.
"Hey what's the name of that dude with the white hair over there? He keeps giving me the thumbs up and I think I'm supposed to remember him" I asked a friend standing next to me. But before my friend could answer a woman sitting at the table turned towards me and said:
"Merkley, you know him, that's my dad."
It was was Jane Fonda. Of course, Henry Fonda, I knew him. I finally had the confidence to wave back at him without getting into a mess. Just as I was doing so I REALLY figured out who it was and it WASN'T Henry Fonda, it was Paul Newman. Man he looked old. Why would Jane Fonda tell me Paul Newman was her dad? What a liar. She's always been weird.
I noticed that Paul Newman was standing up from his dinner so I went over to prove that remembered him. I reached out my had to shake his but he slid out and his brother grabbed my hand instead. I don't remember having ever met him so I played it safe:
"Nice seein ya" I said.
"Merks my man" he said.
Uncomfortable dude silence for 4 seconds.
"Well, I'm out, I'm gonna go shoot some hoops with Meryl, Demi and Jane and the girls."
"Ah -- as you should!" he said.
The girls and I had a weird game of basketball with a flat basketball that I was able to slam dunk with one hand. The girls were all laughing their heads off because -- well -- what can I say -- I'm fucking hilarious.
January 21, 2006
Raymi's New Meat Dress, The Razorblade Waving Toothless Sandwich Eater and The PedalBrain Dead Chick
Raymi was wearing a raw t-bone steak meat dress she just got and she was really excited about it. At first I thought it was real meat but looking more closely it was just finely embroidered fabric that glistened like meat with sewn in ivory that looked like t-bones. The sewing was so precise you could see every strand of muscle tissue and it even had the iridescence meat tissue has when you look at it really closely. We were walking down an average looking street with Jamie who kept acting like his army jacket was a cape while standing on railings, cars, trash cans and what not. Nobody was laughing and I don't think he was trying to be funny I just think he likes standing on tall stuff.
As we approached an intersection, there was a stereotypical looking homeless type man with a long beard and scraggily partially dreaded hair and he was mumbling something at Raymi and me. As I often do when confronted by obnoxious homeless assholes I said something equally obnoxious back to him and Raymi started laughing and walking like a cripple.
"You think that's funny sonny boy -- you think you're funny you and yer little friend?"
The homeless dude had a razor blade and he was thrusting it at me with a little twisting motion in his wrist.
"Raymi, watch out he has a rusty razor blade"
"Oooooh scary" Raymi said as she leaned up against a wall right next to the dude and started pretending to read a book.
I couldn't tell if she was doing it to blend in and act like she wasn't there or if she was doing it as an act of courage and defiance, either way I think the homeless dude was equally baffled so he kinda calmed down. Still mumbling he walked over to the traffic box attached to the traffic light pole, he opened it up and took out a big submarine sandwich and after taking a big toothless bite shoved the rest into his ragged tweed jacket.
A minute or two later a crazy black woman got off the bus and started trying to walk with us. Raymi and I kept thowing and kicking things in her path to try to make her fall down and stop following us. eventually I kicked an old bicycle into her path and she fell on it and the pedal went straight into her brain and she was basically dead. Her brain had soap bubbles on it which was strange. Raymi and I laughed an uncomfortable completely unfunny "what the fuck?" kind of laugh. What else can you do?
I have no Idea where Jamie went. He was probably standing on something waving his "cape".
As we approached an intersection, there was a stereotypical looking homeless type man with a long beard and scraggily partially dreaded hair and he was mumbling something at Raymi and me. As I often do when confronted by obnoxious homeless assholes I said something equally obnoxious back to him and Raymi started laughing and walking like a cripple.
"You think that's funny sonny boy -- you think you're funny you and yer little friend?"
The homeless dude had a razor blade and he was thrusting it at me with a little twisting motion in his wrist.
"Raymi, watch out he has a rusty razor blade"
"Oooooh scary" Raymi said as she leaned up against a wall right next to the dude and started pretending to read a book.
I couldn't tell if she was doing it to blend in and act like she wasn't there or if she was doing it as an act of courage and defiance, either way I think the homeless dude was equally baffled so he kinda calmed down. Still mumbling he walked over to the traffic box attached to the traffic light pole, he opened it up and took out a big submarine sandwich and after taking a big toothless bite shoved the rest into his ragged tweed jacket.
A minute or two later a crazy black woman got off the bus and started trying to walk with us. Raymi and I kept thowing and kicking things in her path to try to make her fall down and stop following us. eventually I kicked an old bicycle into her path and she fell on it and the pedal went straight into her brain and she was basically dead. Her brain had soap bubbles on it which was strange. Raymi and I laughed an uncomfortable completely unfunny "what the fuck?" kind of laugh. What else can you do?
I have no Idea where Jamie went. He was probably standing on something waving his "cape".
Fun Tomato Goop Jelly, Butterface The Cock Blocker and Fake Fights With Mike
I suppose it's not completely impractical to have a tomato sauce table specifically designed for making tomato sauce. I mean, let's just say you were a professional tomato saucer, you'd want the big hole in the middle that sucked off all the peels and you'd probably appreciate the little grooves that separated the little seeds from the tomato jelly. Nobody ever uses just the tomato seeds. They should. the tomato jelly goop is fun to play with. I couldn't remember why my bucket had so many canned tomato sauce lids in it. I was probably cheating. I have a way of blocking out my own sins.
Another nifty gadget is the one that keeps an accurate count of every person on every bus or train in your area at any given time. Its a great little palm pilot add on. You can change the prefs so that you can see the exact number of passengers that have ever ridden any given train. My one complaint is that without commas, the number 988566782291 hardly makes any sense, there is no way that many people have ridden that one particular train anyway. I don't care if it IS the most popular downtown train either. That number can't be right.
Butterface is a great dog and everything but I'm not super thrilled when she wrestles her way between me and a beautifully naked woman. I like it even less when I try to move her out of the way to get a little boob to chest action and the beautiful girl goes "awwwe, don't kick her out". Butterface was salting my game. That girl sure did look great naked, I never expected her tall runway model body to look that good because I really prefer shorter slightly more curvy girls. She was also way more fun to fuck than to hang out with. She had a lot of sweetness in her eyes.
I decided to walk around with my white t-shirt pulled up over my head for a while. It shielded me from the heat. I walked on over to the hoopty 7-11 across the street to buy a slurpee but they didn't even have a slurpee machine. Isn't that like the anchor that every 7-11 needs? Yeah, well they didn't have one and when I asked, the dude pointed at the blender and told me he'd make me a slurpee with it. He poured in some sunkist orange soda, some crushed ice and turned it on. What do you know -- it worked. I had him add a scoop of vanilla ice cream and it ended up tasting just like a creamcicle. Of course everyone wanted on after that. Copy cats.
I went back over to my childhood best friends house to hang out. They still had all the dark fake wood paneling. There were many different family members there. Lots of kids I had never seen, black kids too -- since when? Since it was Saturday, the kids all organized a Saturday afternoon dance party in the kitchen. They sure were having a hell of a lot of fun.
My mom was there and I got into a somewhat civil conversation with her for once. I talked about how much I hated being a child with all the restrictions and what not and I asked her if she could tell that back then.
"You were a very intense child, you have always been an adult. You never really were a kid I don't think."
Yeah, well that makes a lot of sense. I never did like kids much, I always thought adults were cooler.
My brother Mike was there. He looked so much like he did when he was a kid. We did some fake fighting, I pretended to slap his face a billion times and we laughed at how stupid we were acting. I liked touching my brother's face. That side of my family was never a really huggy or touchy and I think we missed out on a lot because of it. I think it's a good idea to touch your brother's face every once in a while, even if you're just playing around fake fighting. He is a good brother. I was sad when I had to leave him.
Another nifty gadget is the one that keeps an accurate count of every person on every bus or train in your area at any given time. Its a great little palm pilot add on. You can change the prefs so that you can see the exact number of passengers that have ever ridden any given train. My one complaint is that without commas, the number 988566782291 hardly makes any sense, there is no way that many people have ridden that one particular train anyway. I don't care if it IS the most popular downtown train either. That number can't be right.
Butterface is a great dog and everything but I'm not super thrilled when she wrestles her way between me and a beautifully naked woman. I like it even less when I try to move her out of the way to get a little boob to chest action and the beautiful girl goes "awwwe, don't kick her out". Butterface was salting my game. That girl sure did look great naked, I never expected her tall runway model body to look that good because I really prefer shorter slightly more curvy girls. She was also way more fun to fuck than to hang out with. She had a lot of sweetness in her eyes.
I decided to walk around with my white t-shirt pulled up over my head for a while. It shielded me from the heat. I walked on over to the hoopty 7-11 across the street to buy a slurpee but they didn't even have a slurpee machine. Isn't that like the anchor that every 7-11 needs? Yeah, well they didn't have one and when I asked, the dude pointed at the blender and told me he'd make me a slurpee with it. He poured in some sunkist orange soda, some crushed ice and turned it on. What do you know -- it worked. I had him add a scoop of vanilla ice cream and it ended up tasting just like a creamcicle. Of course everyone wanted on after that. Copy cats.
I went back over to my childhood best friends house to hang out. They still had all the dark fake wood paneling. There were many different family members there. Lots of kids I had never seen, black kids too -- since when? Since it was Saturday, the kids all organized a Saturday afternoon dance party in the kitchen. They sure were having a hell of a lot of fun.
My mom was there and I got into a somewhat civil conversation with her for once. I talked about how much I hated being a child with all the restrictions and what not and I asked her if she could tell that back then.
"You were a very intense child, you have always been an adult. You never really were a kid I don't think."
Yeah, well that makes a lot of sense. I never did like kids much, I always thought adults were cooler.
My brother Mike was there. He looked so much like he did when he was a kid. We did some fake fighting, I pretended to slap his face a billion times and we laughed at how stupid we were acting. I liked touching my brother's face. That side of my family was never a really huggy or touchy and I think we missed out on a lot because of it. I think it's a good idea to touch your brother's face every once in a while, even if you're just playing around fake fighting. He is a good brother. I was sad when I had to leave him.
January 16, 2006
The Blood Spitting DRAGon Queen, The Mystery of The Burning Stroller and The Pathway of Sleeping Asian Heads
I never fight with my step-dad Boyd, he's always been super cool and funny, basically the best step-dad a person could ask for which made it really strange that he was totally jerkin me around telling me that I had to pay for the new stairway in the basement. I was at first willing to pay for a little but then when he started acting like it was my obligation I kinda got pissed. All the yelling was no fun, even though he's quite a bit older now and I am no longer a scrawny kid, it still seems like he could kick my ass if he had too.
Taking a walk through the concourse I found myself at the center of attention because I had wandered into the middle of some musical production that was going on in one of the banquet rooms. I spotted a flaming red headed drag queen that I thought was this friendly gay kid named Patrik from the local SF hipster scene but then I realized it wasn't him and thinking back, it very well may have been Eddie Izzard. Anyway, as he approached me I could see his costume was designed to look like he was spitting up blood all over on his golden sequined dress. It was a pretty good costume obviously designed to capitalize on the fear of AIDS. He was singing some lyrics about a blood spitting dragon which I thought was a pretty obvious but effective lyric for a rabid drag queen with AIDS. His song was sung to the familiar tune of "My Way" made famous by Elvis. As I passed him and it was apparent that the spotlight was on the two of us and I had become the audience participation audience member. One of his lyrics required a response from me and looking down into the lapel microphone attached to my shirt, I felt like I knew exactly the response his performance needed. I said something super poetic to the effect that blood spitting or not, he was a gorgeous MAN. My emphasis on MAN was apparently the surprise the audience was wanting because it got a very good response. The drag queen feigned some embarrassment and I quickly made my awesome exit as the drag queen stretched out his long arms as if to say "no don't go". It was all super gay and dramatic and cheesy, basically just what the queens seem to enjoy. Thinking back I wished I had more time to prepare for my one liner.
As I made my way out of the theater I noticed dozens of scantily clad, extremely gorgeous women hiding in the wings awaiting their cue. They all looked at me as if I had just completely stolen the show, like I was some kind of instant celebrity. Chicks love a man who can hang with drag queens without getting weird or uncomfortable and while maintaining a completely masculine comportment. Most men don't know this which is fine by me. It's never a bad thing to be the only available straight and masculine man in a room full of gays and hot straight women.
I had a brief conversation with some preachy fuck who was giving shit to his wife and kids about eating healthy. He was a fat ass and had bad skin. his family all looked completely fine and normal so his speech was retarded and I picked it apart to show just what an ass he was being.
Later there was an accident involving a badly burned stroller and I could see that there was a big opportunity for someone to fuck with the evidence so I took it upon myself to watch over it and not compromise the integrity. It occurred to me that the badly burned and twisted curved ends of a baby's stroller was a very disturbing image and that it might serve the interests of the relatives of the victim of this accident to cover them up or something. I used a dishtowel to obscure it from view. I turned my head for a minute and when I turned back someone had put brand new bicycle grips on the stroller's handlebars. Foul play was afoot and the person I suspected was the cigar smoking African cab driver with the red beret I had the previous evening. He was pretty shifty, when I asked what kind of tobacco he was smoking he held up a pack of Marlboro Reds. I'm no expert but I know the difference between cigar, pipe and cigarette smoke. Plus he was standing there with a guilty look on his face. I lifted up the stroller and took it into the other room where he couldn't fuck with it anymore.
Somebody gave me some famous woman's used purse on the condition that I didn't use it as it was intended to be used. The suede was very very soft but also gave off the appearance of a finely beaded or sequined surface. I tore off long strips of the soft covering and ate them and it was surprisingly tasty and had the texture of a fresh stick of Wrigley's chewing gum. Surely eating the purse was not it's intended use. I became so focused on the careful deconstruction that I nearly stepped on at least a dozen sleeping Asian's heads that were poking out of the make shift mattress tents in the impromptu village in the park. It just seems like a bad Idea to sleep with your head poked out from under the mattresses or furniture out onto the narrow pathways between the mattress tents.
When I finally arrived at breakfast I poured myself and the little black girl a couple of bowls of what looked to be delicious granola. The milk was thin and gray. Someone came by to tell me that the granola was all gone but I knew they were mistaken because I had just barely poured two bowls and I was halfway finished with mine. But then I looked down and realized he was right and what I was really eating was just ordinary uncooked hard white rice. Turns out I hadn't even poured it into the bowl, I had actually dumped a few measley grains into the puddle of thin gray milk on a dirty cookie sheet. The little black girl was not impressed. I need to pay more attention.
Later I was able to watch the replays by scratching the little squirrel's cheek for fast motion and scratching his little wet nose for slow motion. The Replay Squirrel, what a great idea.
Taking a walk through the concourse I found myself at the center of attention because I had wandered into the middle of some musical production that was going on in one of the banquet rooms. I spotted a flaming red headed drag queen that I thought was this friendly gay kid named Patrik from the local SF hipster scene but then I realized it wasn't him and thinking back, it very well may have been Eddie Izzard. Anyway, as he approached me I could see his costume was designed to look like he was spitting up blood all over on his golden sequined dress. It was a pretty good costume obviously designed to capitalize on the fear of AIDS. He was singing some lyrics about a blood spitting dragon which I thought was a pretty obvious but effective lyric for a rabid drag queen with AIDS. His song was sung to the familiar tune of "My Way" made famous by Elvis. As I passed him and it was apparent that the spotlight was on the two of us and I had become the audience participation audience member. One of his lyrics required a response from me and looking down into the lapel microphone attached to my shirt, I felt like I knew exactly the response his performance needed. I said something super poetic to the effect that blood spitting or not, he was a gorgeous MAN. My emphasis on MAN was apparently the surprise the audience was wanting because it got a very good response. The drag queen feigned some embarrassment and I quickly made my awesome exit as the drag queen stretched out his long arms as if to say "no don't go". It was all super gay and dramatic and cheesy, basically just what the queens seem to enjoy. Thinking back I wished I had more time to prepare for my one liner.
As I made my way out of the theater I noticed dozens of scantily clad, extremely gorgeous women hiding in the wings awaiting their cue. They all looked at me as if I had just completely stolen the show, like I was some kind of instant celebrity. Chicks love a man who can hang with drag queens without getting weird or uncomfortable and while maintaining a completely masculine comportment. Most men don't know this which is fine by me. It's never a bad thing to be the only available straight and masculine man in a room full of gays and hot straight women.
I had a brief conversation with some preachy fuck who was giving shit to his wife and kids about eating healthy. He was a fat ass and had bad skin. his family all looked completely fine and normal so his speech was retarded and I picked it apart to show just what an ass he was being.
Later there was an accident involving a badly burned stroller and I could see that there was a big opportunity for someone to fuck with the evidence so I took it upon myself to watch over it and not compromise the integrity. It occurred to me that the badly burned and twisted curved ends of a baby's stroller was a very disturbing image and that it might serve the interests of the relatives of the victim of this accident to cover them up or something. I used a dishtowel to obscure it from view. I turned my head for a minute and when I turned back someone had put brand new bicycle grips on the stroller's handlebars. Foul play was afoot and the person I suspected was the cigar smoking African cab driver with the red beret I had the previous evening. He was pretty shifty, when I asked what kind of tobacco he was smoking he held up a pack of Marlboro Reds. I'm no expert but I know the difference between cigar, pipe and cigarette smoke. Plus he was standing there with a guilty look on his face. I lifted up the stroller and took it into the other room where he couldn't fuck with it anymore.
Somebody gave me some famous woman's used purse on the condition that I didn't use it as it was intended to be used. The suede was very very soft but also gave off the appearance of a finely beaded or sequined surface. I tore off long strips of the soft covering and ate them and it was surprisingly tasty and had the texture of a fresh stick of Wrigley's chewing gum. Surely eating the purse was not it's intended use. I became so focused on the careful deconstruction that I nearly stepped on at least a dozen sleeping Asian's heads that were poking out of the make shift mattress tents in the impromptu village in the park. It just seems like a bad Idea to sleep with your head poked out from under the mattresses or furniture out onto the narrow pathways between the mattress tents.
When I finally arrived at breakfast I poured myself and the little black girl a couple of bowls of what looked to be delicious granola. The milk was thin and gray. Someone came by to tell me that the granola was all gone but I knew they were mistaken because I had just barely poured two bowls and I was halfway finished with mine. But then I looked down and realized he was right and what I was really eating was just ordinary uncooked hard white rice. Turns out I hadn't even poured it into the bowl, I had actually dumped a few measley grains into the puddle of thin gray milk on a dirty cookie sheet. The little black girl was not impressed. I need to pay more attention.
Later I was able to watch the replays by scratching the little squirrel's cheek for fast motion and scratching his little wet nose for slow motion. The Replay Squirrel, what a great idea.
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