| 1~11~00 |
| When jumping up hurriedly to take an over due piss, but trying
to be casual about it so the plumber in the kitchen doesn't have to be
co-party to the knowledge of my full bladder, and I get in the bathroom,
fling the lid open, undo my pants and the button plunks into the water
delaying my piss because I want to extract the fallen button from the toilet
water before I pollute it, and popular opinion about toilet water forces
me to wash my hands first and then urinate, the thought occurred to me
that someday my life may never be better than it is right now and all my
beliefs about the work I do now being temporary employment to pay the bills
might be wrong and that in actuality I have no other talents (aside from
running on sentences) and will have to pay the bills by working jobs I
hate for the rest of my life. What I need right now is a lot of beer
with some friends to throw and crash ideas off of all night long in the
hopes that some brilliant nugget be salvaged from drunken all night haranguing
that might make me feel better about life for two to three days.
Coincidentally, Poopshovel's "Life You Played Me" currently runs as back
ground music. It's one of the songs off "We Came, We Saw..." that
was mixed by the wanker in NY named Scott Hull that ruined half the album
to my ears. The other half of the album was handled by the much more
capable Madisonian wanker, Butch Vig. Fuck, who cares.
I'm not sure how but the Scientologists are calling me again. This time I took an on line personality quiz that they had online. I didn't, as I is usual, write down my real phone number on the online form but they have it and are calling. They must want me for something. It's most likely money. Good thing I don't have any. Spent a hurried morning, running off to the bank where I was disappointed to find that they had cleaned the Christmas frost decor off their windows. Too bad because I wanted a picture of the snowman that looked more like a sock puppet to slip over cock and balls than a snowman. This snowman was tubular in shape, rising up from two white balls at his base. He had little arms to disguise the erect penis quality innate to his form. He would have been the perfect companion picture for the cunt faced santa on a glass door downtown that I took a pretend picture of. First, I forget my camera, then I forget to load it with film, next I should get it right. After the bank where I withdrew $100, I spun my wheels to the gas station and pissed in ten bucks to drive off to the grocery store and pick up various odds and ends including avocados and bologna. I asked an employee where the hell they hid their bread and she instructed that Satan had thrust it into the bowels of aisle six, 6 being his favorite number. I found my way to aisle six and the helpful employee came down the aisle to me asking if I needed any more help. A large caring grin showed me her straight white teeth. I can handle it on my own from here or something to the effect is what I said. Later she bagged my groceries and continued to smile, asking if I wanted paper or plastic and my enviro-destructive side demanded plastic. Even though I had a total of seven items, they were divided into three plastic bags. She smiled some more as if to indicate her excessive use of sacks was all for me, and inquiring as to whether or not I was satisfied with her bagging prowess. Then, outside again, she must move like a ninja, she was there, gathering stray carts run errant across the lot and wishing me a good day. "You too," I said in my typical barely audible fashion for obligatory polite returns. Anyway, I asked for the bread locale and felt thereafter stalked. Made it back to the house read some Slackjaw for two hours as the plumber replaced, and still is replacing, leaky pipes from the kitchen sink. The entire faucet broke off on me while washing dishes a few days back. I tend to break things. It might be innate clumsy destruction or latently intentional. A psychologist might make something of the difference but the end result is the same: busted off knives, broken door jams, carpet full of food coloring, shelves fallen to the floor, buttonless pants or a sink without a faucet. The new faucet looks a lot better than the old anyway. Soon the kitchen will also be receiving a full sized fridge. The last time I received a full sized fridge it was played up to be the most exciting event of the year that was 1998. When that new full sized refrigerator was loaded up with all the goodies from the old the space left over was amazing to behold. So much so that we apparently couldn't handle it and immediately had it jammed pack. More shit in the fridge, yes, but right back to the same problems of the small one. If there's some philosophical point about human nature you're finding in that full-sized refrigerator story, don't because you have more important things to do. That's your cue to go do them. |