Dear God say it isn’t so. It appears that the apocalypse is upon us here in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. I’ve packed my Prius with all the belongings I could stuff in it and am leaving in the morning. This included the antique gun collection my grandfather bequeathed to me when he was locked in a nursing home. Yes, I oiled and cleaned them and got myself a forty-gallon drum of black powder at Walmart. The hope is that I won’t have to fight my way out but you never know these situations often turn hostile. The people of Harrisburg have elected a complete fool as their mayor. The city ship won’t sale long with her at the helm. I’m sure it will sink deeper into the Susquehanna and rest on the bottom with the mercury and other pollutants.
I’ve also stocked up on girlie magazines…I’m sure you are asking why I didn’t just buy porn DVD’s or just plan to get on the Internet and look at free porn sites. The reason is this situation will most likely worsen quickly and we will be left without electricity or your precious Internet. Yes, that’s why I’ve stockpiled the girlie magazines and about 1200 long lasting batteries for various flashlights and lamps I plan to use when I drive up north to my secret bunker. I hope you all make it through this if you decide to stay. Oh, and I have room for three or four hot women in my bunker if anyone else wants to split. If I were religious I’d pray for your souls but since I’m not I’ve left several cyanide tablets in a pill bottle and dropped them in my downstairs toilet tank. Use them if you need them and remember that dying is only cowardly if you have a choice.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
-I drive a Prius and its not because I think its cool or because I can’t afford something else. Sure, I could drive a giant SUV with 40 inch tires that gets three miles per gallon but I don’t because I’m not concerned with what anyone thinks about what I drive. I drive what I drive to get from point A to point B. I drive what I drive for your kids’ future and the future of the planet. Do I want a woman to like me because I drive a Lexus? Fuck no, that’s not my kind of woman. So, you can make your jokes and I’ll laugh along because inside I’m all right with myself. I don’t need to compensate for inadequacies like a small mind and smaller viewpoints. I’m cool with who I am.
She asked me if I could get any fatter and I didn’t reply. Sure it hurt but I used it as motivation to transform body. Two years later at a party she wanted the new me—kept running her hand over my abs. I slept with her and never talked to her again. I want to thank her because she changed my life. No, really. Thank-you bitch you changed my life…
Living in a slow Hell
You will find yourself with a mouthful of tongue, her hips grinding against your crotch and the de ja vu will hit you like a steel plated backhand. Same theme club a few months earlier, ditto on the tall and blond, minus the tattoos and you--much more passionately--mugging down this time. You will notice two of the same tube top bartenders and they will gaze at you with tabloid eyes. Snap. In the moment you will be THAT GUY. You will always be THAT GUY.
No one will want to get to know you. One drunken fuck up and you’re out.
I thought you were funnier she will say and you will reply that you can’t always be ON all the time, that you’re not Robin Williams except on paper and then only sometimes. So you drink more to be ON more and soon you are ON less and less.
You will call and the phone will grow cold; icicles on the antenna. Reality will mesh with fantasy. They will confuse you for who they want you to be, the guy in the words, your words, the persons you create. The God you always wanted to be. You really will start wearing Burmese Jungle boots and you will brawl and you will drink so that you can live up to a someone that was never even born, their someone, the one with words for eyes.
You will come to find yourself wandering amongst these words; lost. You will reach out and they will stomp your fingers and watch you slide off the edge of a paragraph down into the open pages of a dictionary. More and more you will identify with the words-- flesh melding with ink. Soon you will be nothing but words and a sneer.
You will most definitely come to know that you will die but it’s something you’ve been putting off because you’re not sure if you’re alive anymore. You pinch yourself to make sure you’re still there and what you grab will feel like the pages of a book and you will get your first tattoo and it will be your name, just like you would sign on a dust jacket at a book signing…
No one will want to get to know you. One drunken fuck up and you’re out.
I thought you were funnier she will say and you will reply that you can’t always be ON all the time, that you’re not Robin Williams except on paper and then only sometimes. So you drink more to be ON more and soon you are ON less and less.
You will call and the phone will grow cold; icicles on the antenna. Reality will mesh with fantasy. They will confuse you for who they want you to be, the guy in the words, your words, the persons you create. The God you always wanted to be. You really will start wearing Burmese Jungle boots and you will brawl and you will drink so that you can live up to a someone that was never even born, their someone, the one with words for eyes.
You will come to find yourself wandering amongst these words; lost. You will reach out and they will stomp your fingers and watch you slide off the edge of a paragraph down into the open pages of a dictionary. More and more you will identify with the words-- flesh melding with ink. Soon you will be nothing but words and a sneer.
You will most definitely come to know that you will die but it’s something you’ve been putting off because you’re not sure if you’re alive anymore. You pinch yourself to make sure you’re still there and what you grab will feel like the pages of a book and you will get your first tattoo and it will be your name, just like you would sign on a dust jacket at a book signing…
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
-You may find yourself driving continuously, your eyes open but not seeing anything until you notice a sign that says French Quarter 5 miles. You will have drunk yourself silly with coffee and be damn near insane with talk radio but still you drive on. You say out loud, “Twenty-two hours straight,” and then you remember your mom telling you she was in labor with you for 48 hours and suddenly another mile stone loses its significance.
As soon as your feet hit the ground you start with the booze and you soon forget what it was you wanted to forget. Your sister’s boyfriend will know all the bartenders and in every bar in the Quarter and they will force free alcohol down your throat. You are a willing victim and wait for last call to save you but it never comes.
Dawn now and you will realize that nothing ever closes down here especially your brain and then you remember what is was you were trying not to remember. Her. You will stumble upon a pay phone and there will be a piss stain on the wall underneath it. You will ignore the pungent aroma and dial anyway. The phone will ring and ring and ring and finally she will answer in a sleepy voice. You will tell her how drunk you are and she will be unimpressed. So you will try not to slur your words but shit faced still sounds like thit thaced. Still you press on because you don’t know what else to do. You will say you’re sorry and that you will never do IT again but before you can say I love you she will slam down the phone. Now you can’t ignore the smell of the piss and the sinking feeling in your gut and you puke up everything just as a cop walks by.
You will wake up on the floor of your sister’s apartment to the sound of giant cockroaches clicking their nasty feet against the wood floor. You get up and go out back to the slave quarters that are abandoned and rotting. Inside one of the tiny rooms you will find an ancient steel bed frame and lie down on it. You hear things scurry across the rotting floor and you smile because you’re not alone…
As soon as your feet hit the ground you start with the booze and you soon forget what it was you wanted to forget. Your sister’s boyfriend will know all the bartenders and in every bar in the Quarter and they will force free alcohol down your throat. You are a willing victim and wait for last call to save you but it never comes.
Dawn now and you will realize that nothing ever closes down here especially your brain and then you remember what is was you were trying not to remember. Her. You will stumble upon a pay phone and there will be a piss stain on the wall underneath it. You will ignore the pungent aroma and dial anyway. The phone will ring and ring and ring and finally she will answer in a sleepy voice. You will tell her how drunk you are and she will be unimpressed. So you will try not to slur your words but shit faced still sounds like thit thaced. Still you press on because you don’t know what else to do. You will say you’re sorry and that you will never do IT again but before you can say I love you she will slam down the phone. Now you can’t ignore the smell of the piss and the sinking feeling in your gut and you puke up everything just as a cop walks by.
You will wake up on the floor of your sister’s apartment to the sound of giant cockroaches clicking their nasty feet against the wood floor. You get up and go out back to the slave quarters that are abandoned and rotting. Inside one of the tiny rooms you will find an ancient steel bed frame and lie down on it. You hear things scurry across the rotting floor and you smile because you’re not alone…
-Muggsy and I had a meeting with Ed Rendell yesterday and he assured us that he will try to tack on an amendment to the bill to legalize table games in Pennsylvania that will allow us to open a Bunny Ranch type establishment in Harrisburg. Of course we had to make a substantial political contribution, promised not to show up drunk to any more fundraisers and offered him use of the Leer jet when we aren’t flying around the world. He drives a hard bargain. Oh, and we must have the Leer Jet stocked with cheese steaks and Pabst Blue Ribbon when he takes it out. I think he would have agreed to our terms if we had just promised not to show up drunk to fundraisers but we were good sports and sweetened the deal so he couldn’t say no.
So, it seems that if the goddamn puritanical bastards in this state don’t vote down that bill we will have a Bunny Ranch type establishment in less than two years. It concerns me that there might be an uprising by religious zealots who could cause an uproar and possibly override our considerable political clout. Yes, they may try to sway those legislatures that would vote on the bill so I am asking you my friends to back our cause and send us cash contributions for the backlash that could come our way. Thank-you for your time. Have a wonderful day. Oh, and if anyone has any ideas for a name for our establishment please submit ideas to this blog…
So, it seems that if the goddamn puritanical bastards in this state don’t vote down that bill we will have a Bunny Ranch type establishment in less than two years. It concerns me that there might be an uprising by religious zealots who could cause an uproar and possibly override our considerable political clout. Yes, they may try to sway those legislatures that would vote on the bill so I am asking you my friends to back our cause and send us cash contributions for the backlash that could come our way. Thank-you for your time. Have a wonderful day. Oh, and if anyone has any ideas for a name for our establishment please submit ideas to this blog…
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
Monday, November 02, 2009
-You have forgotten in a month’s time? What a small mind you dwell in. What a small heart echoes in your chest. It is of course for the best. My world continues to grow--I spread myself out over the map thinner and further. The limits you impose are to me artificial means of corralling the spirit. So, sit and be blob like. For you it is right. For me it is death…
After some smooth talking Muggsy and I were allowed back at the Bunny Ranch. Not having been there for several weeks we left Friday and got back late Sunday night. We flew in Muggsy’s new Leer Jet. He sold off his coffee company to Starbucks and bought himself that little gift so we don’t have to fly commercial anymore. Very nice.
On our way back last night Muggsy suggested we open our own Bunny Ranch in Pennsylvania. He is personal friends with Ed Rendell and is trying to get him to talk to the right people about legalizing such an establishment in Pennsylvania. I hope this comes to fruition as jet fuel prices have been rising and I don’t want Muggsy to burn through his millions too quickly. We have a lot of adventures to fund…
On our way back last night Muggsy suggested we open our own Bunny Ranch in Pennsylvania. He is personal friends with Ed Rendell and is trying to get him to talk to the right people about legalizing such an establishment in Pennsylvania. I hope this comes to fruition as jet fuel prices have been rising and I don’t want Muggsy to burn through his millions too quickly. We have a lot of adventures to fund…
-Another early memory is of my Dad making pizza on the countertop in our apartment in Union Deposit. The counter top seemed to me a mile long but when I went back many years later it was barely big enough to lay two plates on side by side.
I remember looking up and watched him as he laid out the dough in the pan and then put sauce and cheese on it. I wanted to get closer to get a better view. Everything seemed so far away from down there. I moved towards the oven. Dad put his hand down in front of me. “No, don’t go over there its HOT.” He wasn’t being mean just warning me that I might get burned. The white oven would heat up almost as hot on that outside as it did on the inside. HOT was my first word.
I remember being in awe of my Dad making pizza. Why I remember this I don’t know. Maybe the pizza was really good?
I remember looking up and watched him as he laid out the dough in the pan and then put sauce and cheese on it. I wanted to get closer to get a better view. Everything seemed so far away from down there. I moved towards the oven. Dad put his hand down in front of me. “No, don’t go over there its HOT.” He wasn’t being mean just warning me that I might get burned. The white oven would heat up almost as hot on that outside as it did on the inside. HOT was my first word.
I remember being in awe of my Dad making pizza. Why I remember this I don’t know. Maybe the pizza was really good?
-My Dad is a whistler; at least he was when we were kids. You know how some people sing along to songs? My Dad would whistle tunes on the radio. Was he good? Well, I don’t know. Is any whistling good? Do you still whistle to the radio Dad? Sometimes when my brother and I get together and we’re in the car we start whistling. We can never make it even part way through a song because we start laughing. It reminds of us when we were young and Dad would be whistling as we drove to wherever it was we were going.
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