Plan B

It’s time to implement Plan B….what is Plan B you ask? Good question. I haven’t quite figured it out yet but I know it contains plenty of mayhem and lots of women in those low hip riding jeans wearing thongs. Oh, and lets not forget the bottles of tequila. It is time to head to my laboratory and start mixing up something that resembles a new life. This one is getting old and I’m losing patience with your inability to entertain me at all hours of the day and night. So what shall it be? Are you going help me or are you going to stand there for eternity sipping on that Goddamn Diet Coke? Excuse me while I put on my lab coat and rubber gloves.

At lunch today I saw a hoof print in my salad. I told the waitress and she looked at me like I was crazy. I laughed to myself because I'm a good tracker and I know that the irradiated mutant animal that left that hoof print in my salad will be waiting for her when she goes to leave tonight.

Vice This Cocksucker

You must have come out of your mother’s womb spitting and cussing, grabbing onto the pubic hair and swinging like a mini meth crazed Tarzan. But you didn’t even wear a loin cloth only that sneer, the one that sets you apart from rational and compassionate human beings. You’re heart is a mechanical wonder, a cold steely machine comprised of used V-6 engine parts and the bones of the unborn. You bow at the altar of the only god you know and you call him profit and he bleeds crudely, like a stuck oil tanker. Please smoke another cigarette because as you’re arteries tighten your grasp on the world loosens. Have fun in Hell I hear the weather down there is unseasonably warm…

Reporters Can Be Prosecuted Over Leaks, Gonzales Says

The Article:

Does anyone actually believe this guy? Give me a break. They want to prosecute journalists in the name of National Security? Bullshit. They want to control what the media says and they do it under the guise of protecting us.

Designer Trash Bags

I often see a homeless man on my way to work wearing a trash bag. It’s a nice trash bag but not a high end designer trash bag. It is a sensible trash bag and the type of trash bag I would wear if I wore trash bags.

His hair and beard are tangled together with the muddy glue of time and perspiration and in the strong summer heat flies orbit his head like tiny satellites. When I sit at a stoplight near the railroad station he is often there pacing back and forth with ten or fifteen newspapers in his arms—obviously lifted from sidewalks and doorways of regular subscribers. “God likes bacon,” he repeats over and over again.

Today I took the highway to work because I had to stop at the shoe repair store. As I slowed to take my exit down Second Street I saw him. He was walking on the cement divider in the middle of the highway, newspapers in hand. His balance was exquisite, his concentration unbreakable. The cars and trucks rushing by him did nothing to impede his progress. Suddenly he stopped and balancing on one leg he set the newspapers down on the divider one on top of the other. If I weren’t driving and needing both hands to steer my car I would have applauded him.

Traffic was horrible and my car slowed to a stop next to him. I fought the impulse to quickly roll up my window.

“Good morning,” I said.

He nodded, picked up one of his newspapers and handed it to me. I took it. “Thanks?”

His hand was still outstretched and it was then that I realized how he paid for such fine trash bags…

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Now Damn it...

There’s a buzzing in my head. Not a crazy buzzing but a little tiny drilling sound that can only be my subconscious trying to bore a hole in my conscience, trying to let all the anger leak out. A bout of flashing fists and blood alcohol swirling around my head…someone please get that man a beer STAT…

I knew that dude

The correct approach would be to offer the officer in charge monetary compensation and if no money is available the five pounds of crank in your backpack will do. After all it will require years of therapy to undo the damage you’ve done in just ten seconds. He did catch you with your proverbial pants down around your ankles, your withered nether region flapping in the wind. Oh, yes and please shut your trench coat before passing off the bribe, it is a matter of good taste...

Do I remember you? Sure, I remember you. You were the third string quarterback…actually the fourth string quarterback on our high school football team. I remember walking into the locker room and finding you in a very compromising position. It was embarrassing for everyone involved. Really, scratching your football helmet with a screwdriver so people would think you were a hard hitter, that the marks on your helmet were battle scars. Tssk. Tssk.

A friend of a friend in high school told us of your immense cologne collection; by some accounts over 75 bottles. What in the Hell were you thinking? Or weren’t you? Were your senses all clouded by the vapors from the cologne from the little glass antique car? Were you high on cologne when you exposed yourself in front of the Justice Building? Did you have a screwdriver in your pocket, ready to put battle scars on whoever got in your way?

They locked you up and threw away the screwdriver and now you can’t even get your hands on all those bottles or cologne…

The 2006 Indulgence Festival

The Guild of Indulgence will meet three weeks from today on the twelfth hour of the 5^th of June in the year of our Lord 2006 for the 5^th annual Indulgence Festival. This day will be celebrated with every conceivable form of confection and a bodyweight of no less than 21.42 stones (300 pounds) is required for entrance to the event which will be held on a small, cement and steel reinforced mountain on the outskirts of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Please bring XXXXX Depends so that you don’t have to get up from the table to use the bathroom. We wouldn’t want you to miss a single moment of what critics in recent years have called the world’s most disgusting display of overindulgence ever recorded in modern history. And don’t start in on about all the starving children in the world. If you go to church GOD will forgive you for all your sins. So what do you have to worry about? Eat like there is no tomorrow. Heck, throw some hot sauce on a starving kid and scarf him down if he gets too close to the table during the Indulgence festival. Remember you are a king let them watch you EAT!

Rabid Raccoon Imitation

May 2006

Free yourself of hope--quit (not really)

Nothing will get better (snicker). Uhm, what I can suggest is a medium pause in-between every word to help facilitate the back hand response. Ooh, ooh, also, you will want to pepper your response with as many oily swear words as possible (seriously this is no laughing matter). Remember you’re never going back (back is for cowards). You’re burning bridges and your words are gasoline soaked, lead lined and they will fall heavily (in a word - toxic). You are not the boss of me, you will scream (really he is your boss but not for long). You will poke fun at his stomach hanging over his pleather belt and his clip on tie (remember nice guys never win and you my friend are a winner). That’s the spirit; bite that name tag in half (tastes like victory doesn’t it?).

I'll never leave this place bit by bit

-She was into you when she thought you were famous but you explain that you’re still working on getting your first book published and suddenly she has to get to bed for work the next day. Welcome to the life…

-Not everyone will like you and this is due to many things but the main reason will be _______ (fill in the blank).

-Chin perched on the rounded edge and all thoughts draining down down down. This could be it you say to yourself, the day I’ve been waiting for. You can almost feel the dew forming on your forehead and the phone rings. The voice is all at once familiar and all at once you are reconnected, pulled out of place with slick black walls and no bottom. The voice tells you that it just bought a new Corvette and has been racing teenagers. You laugh hard for the first time in a long time and you remember…

-You will have a choice in the beginning, way before memories form. It is risky, nothing sure. You are a gambler so you shoot the dice. It’s all or nothing baby. The dice are still rolling and you can’t stop them…

-Old pictures scare me. Some old songs remind me of death. Some old people that sang these songs and were in these pictures are still alive…kind of…

Yellow Bile

So, do you come here often? The reason I ask is because I don’t remember seeing you here before. It is possible that you’ve been here all along hiding in the shadows, taking it all in, wondering why in the Hell I do what I do? I guess it is. I would guess I’m not your first that you’ve been lurking in the shadows for some time, way before anything walked upright, long before combustible engines and waffle irons. I bet you still wear a chastity belt and that you still believe in the medieval theories of physiology that we are filled with the four humours: black bile, yellow bile, blood and phlegm. You would say I’m mostly filled with yellow bile, the humour associated with fire. That when I walked into the shadows to find you I lit the place up and that for once you could see. No, not because I hold any special powers but because I burned the curtains when I was lighting a joint with my Zippo…

One Hell of a Fight...

The words lie just below the surface but I can’t get to them today. This living thing has got me down. I’m so tired of people in general; the fakes, the liars, the cheats, the scum. I want to buy a house way up in the wilderness, round up my dogs, pack up all my books, and a telescope and watch from a distance as they all tear themselves apart. It will be good sport and I will be an impartial referee as they all race to see who can dismantle who with the ultimate goal of having the biggest pile at the end when their too organic flesh rots off their crooked bones. I will wonder what it was like to compete so savagely for things that ultimately mean nothing. You’re right, I’m out of touch and I don’t understand. I don’t want to understand. I’m not so highly evolved I suppose but that’s okay with me. My fists are balled and I’m dodging and weaving but the world is coming at me hard. Wish me luck this is going to be one Hell of a fight…

The Race

I was standing on some god forsaken macadem trail built with the misguided intention of providing inner city dwellers with a place to stroll and ride their nonexistent bikes after they got off the night shift of their second jobs. It was a gauntlet of stray pit bills and crack heads, the latter of which would knuckle down on you in an instant if you dared to jog by in a sparkling pair of New Balances. What was I doing there? Well, I hate to disappoint you but I wasn’t in the throes of a cocaine binge and trying to sell off the last of my CD’s for an eight ball. The real reason was much more mundane. You see I work at a gym, as you may well know, and the head trainer had organized a 5K run. He’d asked me to stand at the midpoint and point people in the right direction so they wouldn’t end up in the housing projects and possibly end up as lost a Jimmy Hoffa. I reluctantly agreed and when I did so I didn’t realized I’d be thrust into the most volatile depths of the urban jungle.

No, this wasn’t a place for a half asleep individual that had just rolled out of bed and had pillow lines indented on their cheeks. It was a battleground and I needed every advantage allowed me to emerge with my wallet intact. The runners were on their own, if they didn’t make it back well then I figured it was just the price some might have to pay in the quest to be healthy.

While the runners might have prepared for that morning with bagels and fruit my preparation for the race started that morning with the brewing of pot of black tar coffee, a near lethal beverage boiled down from the finest Arabica beans into a syrupy liquid that had to be consumed from a metal coffee cup for it would eat right through plastic. The Japanese and Nazis used crank to get up and go but they would have had nothing on me and my specially devised morning jolt. When one plunges himself into the depths of the urban jungle all bets are off and manipulation of the central nervous system is a must. One must simply be faster than the whackos that come at you from the trees with shards of broken windshield glass clenched between their teeth. I was ready for war and if I didn’t have a coronary from all the caffeine I’d ingested well, then I would live to write about this day…so obviously I lived.

I set myself up at the midpoint of the 5K race amongst the old tires, liquor bottles and fast food wrappers. There was an old rusting gate that the runners would have to pass through and it would be the perfect shield in which to position myself behind for it protected my back. Armed with my notebook and travel mug I set up behind the fence and began jotting down notes and drawing pictures of nude women.

About fifteen minutes later the first two runners approached the midpoint. They were trotting along like two drugged antelope, their faces reminiscent of the face in Munch’s Scream. If this was supposed to be fun then I was really not in tune with people. To me it looked as if these two were suffering from some sort of malnourishment. Rickets? And if I wasn’t mistaken they were being tortured with some sort of torture device that might have been hidden in their running shorts. Thumb tacks? A rabid weasel?

I watched as these two galloped out of sight. A few moments later more runners began to filter past me.

“Go straight through the fence,” I said. “Keep up the good work.”

I’ve never been much for cheering. If a person doesn’t have the self motivation to do whatever it is they are doing then I figure they might as well be doing something else. In fact the concept of cheering was so foreign to me that I had to write down several motivational sentiments on my notebook so that I might yell them out when the right time came.

“Only 1.5 miles to go,” I said. “Looking good…uh, go.”

No one seemed to notice that my encouraging words were not very heart felt. They were too busy trying to find the oxygen to finish the race so I stopped and focused on several of the attractive women in very short shorts that had just approached me. I smiled and they all nodded and smiled back. I might have joined the race at that time, going just fast enough to stay behind these women and enjoy the view, if someone hadn’t caught my attention.

“Yo where’s the free food and drinks?” he said.

I turned to see a scraggily looking man with a dreaded beard running behind two women who kept nervously looking back at him. His army jacket billowed out behind him and his breathing sounded as if he were on the verge of an asthma attack. Although he’d somehow managed to get a racing number fixed to the front of his jacket I was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be in the race.

“The food and drink is for the people in the race only,” I said.

“I’m in the race,” the guy said and slowed to a stop.

“No, you’re not I didn’t see you at registration. You don’t even have running shoes. Are those cowboy boots?”

“These cowboy boots are better than any damn Nike shoe,” he said.

“Maybe if you’re running across the Outback but not here.”

He took a step towards me. “Are you threatening me?”

His breath smelled like the remains of a rotting horse and nearly made me gag but I couldn’t show any sign of weakness or he would pounce on me and that would be the end of that. So, I looked him in the eyes and took a step towards him, the caffeine ripping through my veins.

“Where did you get that racing number?” I said.

“At the race headquaters.”

He tugged nervously at his army jacket and it was then that I noticed bagels and bananas filling his pockets. At the starting line there had been a bunch of bagels, bananas and sports drinks for the runners and evidently this guy had cleaned the place out.

“Unhand those bagels,” I said.

“I bought these bagels,” he said and shoved me.

“You cocksucker,” I cried and shoved him back. Doing so caused four bananas and two bagels to fall out of his jacket.

“Die,” he cried, rearing back as if to attack me.

I was quicker than he thanks to my superior conditioning and black tar coffee and reacted before he could. I hit him in the chest and he stumbled backwards towards the railing. I knew what was going to happen next but was helpless to stop it. He hit the railing and tumbled over backwards. A heavily polluted creek sat about fifteen feet down on the other side of the railing and cement wall.

SPLASH!

I ran over and peered down into the creek. The guy was sitting up to his waist in water, bagels and bananas floated around him.

“I’m going to kill you,” he cried.

I picked a banana up off the ground and threw it at him. “Nice race, cocksucker,
” I said.

I thought it was as good a time as any to get back to the gym and it would save me the rather unpleasant job of having to fight the bagel and banana thief so I got in my Cherokee and took off feeling pretty good for I'd survived another day...

You are a hamburger

Yes, I’m quite sure that I am correct. The other side of reality is a dark grim hole with the shrapnel of many bad 45’s (B sides facing out) glued to the walls. When you fall you will get cut and you will bleed dimes and nickels like a bloated parking meter. I will be standing below looking up your skirt and catching the falling change in a butterfly net. I will use this change to buy and build a giant hamburger in your likeness which I will grill over an open pit using your clothing and your cedar dresser as fuel. I will then embalm this hamburger and put it on display like Lenin in a glass topped box and millions and millions of people will come and leave tiny packets of ketchup and mustard at your feet. You will be a star…well, your hamburger will be anyway and I will live happily ever after…

These worlds they may burn

I’m undercover when I work at the gym at night after my day job. You see no one knows that I am a writer…well, a few people do but they don’t know that I go home at night and sharpen my mind in to a point. That I spend hours obsessing over one word in one paragraph and that all words are not just words but tiny individuals in worlds constructed entirely of paraffin wax, shoe strings, colored tissue paper and milk cartons. With the single strike of a match these worlds burn burn burn but it is not the end of a civilization for you hold them in that gray place that made Einstein so famous. Thank-you and good-bye…

People are Rude

What is it with people getting cocky with me? A week or so ago I was driving through a nearby town. There was a lot of traffic and so I was going about five miles per hour under the speed limit. The light changed to red and I stopped. As I sat at an intersection I saw the coffin sized door of some prehistoric automobile swing open. The car door took up almost the entire right lane and the driver was damn lucky that someone hadn’t run into it. I watched as an elderly man exited this giant auto with the help of a gnarled cane. The light changed and I began to move ahead. By the time I reached the point where this guy’s car sat I was still ten miles per hour under the speed limit but this guy didn’t think so. He lifted his cane in the air and shook it at me, “Slow down you goddamn mother fucker,” he yelled, spit flying from his mouth. This really pissed me off. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I felt like breaking that fucking cane over that cocksucker’s head.

Another incident…

I’m driving to work. Way up ahead I can see a crossing guard. He’s some wanna be cop dressed in blue army fatigues. I shit you not. He must have done his shopping at the SWAT surplus store. Anyway, the intersection is clear. There are kids making their way onto the curb. As I get closer I notice that the crossing guard is still standing in the intersection although there are no kids about to cross the road. A little girl on the sidewalk slips and falls. The crossing guard is still standing in the road. He looks at the girl. I slow to a stop because the idiot is still standing in the middle of the road. He looks over at me and gives me this dirty fucking look like it was my fault the girl fell. Again, I wanted to get out and thump this mother fucker but of course I just drove on.

What I want to know is who the fuck do these people think they are? What is all the tough guy bullshit? I could go on about the guy that couldn’t make a turn because traffic was slow and I was blocking him from turning at an intersection. He had kids in his car and he started swearing at me. Unbelievable…Has anyone else experienced this aggressiveness? I’m really fucking sick of it…

Property of Kerouaced

Ain't It?

I must write even if it is about nothing at all. Even if the walls fall down and the clouds land on my head like lead filled zeppelins I will continue to write. Even if the sun moves to another cleaner galaxy for cheaper rent and there is no light I will continue to pound out words. Even when you all are gone-- picked apart by vultures, run over by trucks, overdosed on pills—I will continue to write. I will write for all time because words are the only thing that will last forever. Romantic ain’t it?

Slugs

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