Many and profuse the greetings I languish upon thee and thine, but the effusive greeting is now over, it's done been typed, it's in the past and no longer of concern. You may now leave or continue on to the reason I've written: namely, Ta-dah! ME! Isn't that fun?
Ooo, I know what your thinkin'. Thought I'd vegetabalized, huh? Sat too long without changin' my underwear; grew some well-nourished roots, huh? Finally, and I do mean fuckin' FINALLY, did so many drugs I can tie and untie my shoes for days, hmm? Just be completely entertained, satisfied, and otherwise spiritually fulfilled, hmm?
I can only reply: NYAAAHAHAHAHA!
And that's the way it is. That's the way it's been. This is the way it will continue to be. Do not adjust your focus. Do not adjust your mindset. Leave that paradigm (Perry Dime) alone.
Soon, men will arrive to bind, tape, and otherwise restrain you. And you'll see. Really. You will. It's not so bad.
Oh Doctor? I do so prefer those purple pills to the orange ones. Yes, that's right, they do go better with the oatmeal. And I promise-won't try to bathe the nurses anymore.
What!? Well, tell her not to leave the damn sponge in plain view! Furthechrissake, Doctor, I'm not a strong man…
Thought I would have gotten this out sooner, but as you may have guessed, I've moved, moved into this apartment with this chick. I have to say it's a nice place. Skylight, fireplace, deck, pool-pool within view of the deck no less-my father would be proud. A cool party house place (with a 911 phone outside by the front door-definite party+ in my book), a parking space and a garage too. A pretty cool place really. But, of course, there is something of a catch, that catch being me roommate…Told me the second day we was here: NO SMOKING except in me bedroom…Well, fuck me…That wasn't part of our negotiations…So hereforth forthwith the party of the Done Been Fucked part does withdraw to the Done Been Fucked Over parties given line of demarcation…Namely my bedroom…It's 8x10 and if you squint real hard it resembles a color glossy photograph with circles and arrows explaining the northwest corner, the southwest corner, the getaway, the get up everyday, the lack of bed, the lack of book (what I call life)… and I will swear to anyone's god…Fuck this Better Home and Apartment decoratin' bitch…I NEED NOT STERILE BRIC-A-BRAC KNICK-KNACK PADDY-WACK PLEASE LOOK AT MY 4 DOZEN IDEALY SITUATED INDIVIDUALLY FRAMED FAMILY PHOTOGRAPHS! Want a Kodak moment?…I'll give ya a Kodak moment…ZZZIIPP!… Goddamn guar-anteed Kodak moment…Now stand back, let it breathe, tends to spit if ya frighten it…
Did I just go through 32 years of miscellaneous shit to have my mighty pro-jets cooled in someone else's entire lack of anything remotely interesting? I think fucking not. I got wimmens to meet and stain couches with, DUI's to dodge, foaming beers and rising insurance tides to stem, more Schedule II drugs to do, further sunrises to collapse upon in silhouette, I MEAN I GOT FUCK-AN-A LIFE, MAN!
Oh wait. That isn't to say I don't have responsibility, that I don't perform a useful function in the economic dartboard that is gainful employment. Truly, I do. Ya just never know when the fruits of your labor are going to turn to shit though. In fact, approximately 40 ton a' impending bowel movement a night. "Oh, surely he do jest," ya'all be thinkin'. And those whose inclination is to take things more seriously are surely calling over their shoulders with, "Dude's got some new job…Geez, man…'Taint a pretty one. Some kinda' king-sized rootarounder, he says he is." Whoa anal fans, allow me to explain before any unforgivable images kick in. I'm gonna do that now…explain that is.
Kinda' like to call my first day of explanation…
Fifty Acres of Slit Skirts
Started this new job, what is it now, about two years ago? The guy said: "Can you lift 50-100 lbs.?"
"Sure," I said, "several times," letting my cute shine through. He laughed, I laughed, his secretary smiled over her shoulder and wiggled her pantyless ass another inch into her imitation leather seat. Outside that office it was October 30th 1997. It was getting cold, the year was moving on to other things. I needed to move on too. No job, no money, little prospect of discovering a hoard of gold coins in my backyard. It was almost 2000 years after Christ died and I still couldn't pay the rent with good karma and a beautiful soul.
The day was shaping up pretty well though, I had to say. It seemed I had the job-that put some kind of safety on the horizon-and a pretty girl with an amazing ass and a skirt slit to her waist thought I had amusing things to say.
I took the information the man gave me about the job, wrote down the directions he told me, smiled at the secretary, and 2 minutes later I was driving home with that warm kinda' feeling people must have when they been conned and have yet to find their 50 acres of dream land is under a million gallons of brine and alligators.
Mid-journey home I counted the change in the change tray of my van and came up with 4 dollars. I added the 6 I had in my pocket and that got me 4 forties and 2 packs of smokes. It wasn't much, but mixed with the prospect of work, it was as close as I could get to a real life.
Second Shift Meat
The next day I shit, showered, thought about shaving, was a half-hour early to the new job. Walked in with a contact name in my hand and the notes from my British novel class on a clipboard. I could hear the dull, boring roar of unseen machinery, feel it vibrating the floor, the scuffed walls. I loitered in a small circle around the dock door. I was meat; it was in the air. Seconds passed and then someone in a dusty white uniform strode up and said: "Follow me. Want to start early?"
What could I say? I followed that dusty uniform in, around, up, across the second floor. The uniform stopped, I stopped, the man turned and said: "Wait here. I'll get someone."
It was cold outside, it was October 31st , 1997. I had a hangover that would kill a lesser man, and I was clutching a clipboard full of British authors in a strange place I was thinking they, nor I, should ever be.
Joe's Wild Kingdom
I looked around for somewhere to put my clipboard. Before I could locate one an older man came striding toward me. The right breast of his white uniform read JOE. He had that kind of looseness to his smile that made me wonder if he still had his own teeth. Joe smelled like canceled cigarettes from three feet away. There wasn't any handshaking or "Hi, my name is…"
He turned his back to me and said, "This is how we sack bran." He began to pull levers and push buttons on the machine I'd been standing next to. It was made of old, shiny wood, steel, lengths of chain, and the type of belts you find under the hood of your car, but longer, five to a pulley. The machine grew from the floor and into the ceiling like an inverted pyramid; the tip of the pyramid being a carriage on chains holding the bag to be filled. There wasn't much to it at eye level, but looking up, I could see it squatting through the ceiling, impervious to straining backs and seized skeletons, ready to take completely a man's all and everything.
The bag began to fill, the carriage moving down on its twin chains. As it did, a large steel pipe grew up from the bag, or so it could seem. "Now ya gotta hold it," yelled Joe over his shoulder. He leaned into the carriage, some stray bran belching out from above him landing on his back. He circled the pipe with his arms, smashing the bag against it to prevent the bag from rotating, something it had begun to slowly do.
Once, a guy I knew was installing some iron gates at a local zoo. Over drinks that weekend he told me how he'd seen zoo techs, guys in lab coats, jerking off a rhino for a sperm sample. The method he described was similar to what I was seeing before me. I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. I had a job hugging steel rhinosaurus dick.
The humour to the ending of Mr. Story there depends on if you were in Leo's Bier Haus about 10+ years ago witnessing this guy Stepelton describe these guys in white coats all circled around this rhino givin' it the ol' mucho manual manipulations. Not all at one time like, like more they had to take turns on Mr. Rhino, he bein' literally two arms full and all or so I… err…uh…was told.
Now guys, come on, stop it. Stop thinkin' that at me that way, I can feel ya, yer thinkin' at me, dammit. Ever see the movie Clerks? "And that boys is why I manually masturbate caged animals for artificial insemination." What? Write without my pants on? Of course! I have to see what finally goes where don't I?
Whoa…it's probably right about here I should bid you adieu. If I had any kind of good taste I'd go away right now. After that last paragraph I should just say "Sincerely" or some-such-that-there GO AWAY type thingy, then sign my name. Yup, should do that. Yup, should dinklely-do that. Yup. Yupyupyup…
