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A young man walks over to a free weekly newspaper honor box. He notices a middle-aged woman coming toward the box. He grabs a paper. He decides to grab another an gives it to the woman.
"Thank you," she says , mouth agape. "I'm not used to that kind of courtesy.
"Don't mention it," he smiles. "That was my good deed for the day."
"Awww, that's so nice."
"Yeah, now that I got that out the way, I can go back to being a heartless prick for the rest of the day."
He proceeds to punch her in the temple.
Don't ask me, bub, I just work here.
On your left!
I'm not sure what the proper procedure is. Let me ask Tracey.
Excuse me man, can I bum a smoke?
On your right!
I've got to see about that one. Let me ask Kim.
I'm trying to catch train. Gotta quarter?
I said, on your fucking left!
You'll have to talk to Mike.
All right man, god bless.
One side! Out of my way!
You need a engine flush, radiator flush and an oil change.
All told, $300.
fucking selfish bastard.
Don't ask me, bub, I just work here.
It's not as if I had any choice in the matter. I didn't think it would turn out as it did. Every time I try to tell my side of the story, they remind me. How it started, how badly it was it was handled, the resonating effects. It just gets goddamned tiresome. I was doing what I thought was right. True, I was warned as to the cons, but it wasn't as if there weren't any pros. I tried to make the best of it, but no one wanted to hear that. Next time, fix your own damned breakfast.
"Are you serious?"
"Leave it on, dude."
"This is the gayest song ever."
"What's so special about it?"
"It was our song. We had this dance to it. We would look at the ground and do the meringue, kind of the shoe-gazer salsa, you know? And then, during the verse, we would get close, I'd spin her around, do the dip thing, you know ,"catch" her when the words dictated it. The we'd do the same thing as the verse during the breakdown, but look at each other intently. What?"
"Time After Time?"
"It was really very sweet."
We wound up going to the supermarket anyway. I could have made a fine marinara with what we had, but she talked me into how I needed fresh stuff to make it even better. Red onion, mushrooms, peppers, garlic, basil. She talked me into a box of Krispy Kremes too. She was right, the sauce was incredible. Imagine my surprise when I plated up the pasta and found the doughnuts gone with her asleep on the couch. This red mark here is a reminder of the time she conned me in to snacks by arguing for a fresh pasta dinner.
Is this why I went to college? I work, come home, eat and sleep. Maybe I go out on the weekends and waste money on feeling a little better about myself. Then I wake up and my car's fucked up again. I can't win. I know the dentist is going to hit me for some cash. That's what you get for not getting cavities filled. I'll never own a house. I'll never have a new car. Stocks, forget it. These days, life is just trying to survive on trivial financial tragedy after another. I just hope not to be overdrawn.
Born in the Scottish town of Inverness in 1934, Charles left home at the age of fifteen months because who the hell wants to live in Northern Scotland. Even infants know that. It rains, it's cold, the sun is only out for few hours a day in December. Anyway, he packed what little he had in a lunch pail and wished his family adieu. Being fluent in French and English since about the second trimester of his mother's pregnancy, he decided to relocate to Zurich. He got off the boat, saw the Swiss were fuckers and hightailed it to Montreal.
Being only a toddler, he found the nearest orphanage and prepared for a fulfilling career in vagrancy. During his formative years, he spent his days reading, writing and washing the other boys' socks. He liked the smell of feet, what can he say? Charles stayed at the orphanage until the age of 18. On his first day of adulthood, he stopped to tie his shoe on the campus of McGill University. Someone came behind him and whispered, "Hey buddy, wanna go to college?" So he did. There's really nothing more to that part of the story. Really wish there was.
I was on web page and saw a banner that read "Wanna fuck someone tonight." I said, "Sure, but what do I have to do?" My computer did not answer. We usually have a pretty relationship. I'm not sure why she just sat there. The I realized she wanted me to click on a link. Silly monkey. So I did. I found myself on a site that started asking me to download programs. Pop-ups kept, well, popping up. My system was paralyzed. Then my fucking hard drive crashed. And I didn‘t even get any pussy. I really need a Mac.
Who cares about politics? We're all just searching for love. Be you gay, straight, black, white, left, right; we all just want a hug. So lets all relax and put stock in one another, not actual stocks. Maybe we should save the Earth, maybe we shouldn't. But one thing is true; pretty soon we are all going to run out of places to boogie. That's not an America I want to live in. That does not make me happy and gets in the way of looking for that love that makes life so good. Now, let's have some chocolate cake.
I paid $200 to get my engine flushed but I didn't think I really needed it but the guy at the jiffy lube said you gotta do it and I said why and he said if I didn't my car will blow up or something really bad that you don't want to happen to your car and you can't say things like, "pick you up at eight" cause you can't really pick anybody up on ten-speed unless the agree to sit on the handle bars and weigh less than 100 pounds which doesn't fit the description of anyone I know
except maybe that anorexic girl that looks like Shirley Manson who I think is named Clara and I think is kind of a bitch cause but it doesn't really matter cause I really want to sleep with her due to the fact that when I saw her at McLinchey's she walked by my table and smelled really nice but also smelled like cigarettes and I remember thinking my sole purpose that evening was to follow her into the bathroom and make love to her on the dirty floor but I never got up and she left like five minutes later
I thought I should follow her out and give her a line like "hey remember me we met at that party when you were making out with that girl but I realize you were probably drunk and the two of you probably went to grade school together and you were both like let's make out so dudes will notice us cause that's why girls do the whole bi-sexual thing anyway cause you're way too sexy to be gay but you may just be too hot for a guy like me but I want to do dirty things to you anyway."
How I long for a clean bathroom. We haven't cleaned it in over two weeks. I would have done it, but a monsoon came through Philadelphia yesterday, quite unannounced and uninvited, and made our roof do bad things. Mainly, leak and collapse. So my landlord had the ceiling ripped out but couldn't have it finished cause he also needed to redo the wiring and that took up most of the day so the roof will have to wait. Really, you should see the shower curtain. Covered in filth. However, it doesn't seem that dirty to me. Maybe I'm a dirtbag.
If I could do it all over again I would've played soccer and be endowed instant popularity
If I could do it all over again I would've joined the drama club to hang out with rich kids
If I could do it all over again I would've majored in art and fucked only dancers
If I could do it all over again I would've not eaten that sandwich
If I could do it all over again I would've joined the Air Force during the Clinton years
If I could do it all over again I would've written something better today
Once when I was small I had an unusual run-in with a security guard at a suburban mall. I think he was tailing me from the second I emerged from the Sam Goody with "Appetite for Destruction" in tow, but he didn't catch up to me until I was flipping through the nudie posters at Spencer's gifts. "Can you come with me?" I heard as I was ogling Elle McPherson. My parents were probably still at the Sears at the far end of the mall, so I had no one to run to. So I kicked him in the balls.
stayed in last night. friends either away or doing the same. ate shrimp ettoufee. at least my approximation of it. had to clean my bathroom. too much mold and dust. took two hours. every nook was swept, scrubbed and deodorized. took over two hours. watched ds9 while cleaning, or rather listened to it. the one where the federation takes the station back from the dominion/cardassians. like the one where cardassia joins the dominion more. written and directed better. got bleach all down the front of a tight fitting, but otherwise perfectly good black shirt. gonna keep it as an undershirt.
came back from new york awhile ago. went to coney islands. indie rock girls in bikinis aplenty. tell me am I right that could be nothing better, than looking left and right and slyly staring at their boobies. went to bar in Brooklyn with francis. francis park-slope, so it seemed. bartender was cute. francis makes out with her when he can. girl in the corner was cuter. francis slept there. would've again if she hadn't left well before close. allowed to stay 'til five and smoke inside. shot of maker's on the make-out partner. had to vomit five minutes after.
she gotta be the one
you seen her?
damn, she's got blue eyes peeking outta black locks
short, thin, breasted
hips lead the rest of her when she sways
shows enough of that tattoo on her arm
make you wanna see if there's more
she gotta be the one
you met her?
damn, she got that good wit you need to be sober with
dry, acerbic, literate
poetry and shit talk dance out her mouth
through gentle plumes of soft smoke
she gotta be the one
she gotta boyfriend?
you see her?
the redhead with the nose ring?
a man walks slowly down the street. no wait, a man walks into a bar. no, no, no a priest, rabbi and a duck walk into a bar. oh, right, no, it's a duck behind the bar serving drinks and he … hold on. okay, a rabbi, a priest and donald rumsfeld walk into a sports bar in Anaheim where a bunch of dudes are watching a mighty ducks game and then rumsfeld shoots the priest in the face with a sawed-off shotgun because he the last of the chex mix and … no, it was colin powell, I think.
"Good day to you sir. The reason for my call is I have the privilege to present you with the opportunity to give you to a great cause. What cause you ask? Well, the best cause of all. By giving $300, which I understand sir is a great deal of money, but by doing you get the satisfaction knowing your gift will give the recipient so much joy. Now, your donation will buy stock in a hungry, beer and cigarette deprived young writer with a penchant for tittie bars …"
"I know it's you, shithead."
"Dad, can I have $300"
I hope something bad happens to you not because I don't like you or anything in fact I happen to think you an okay person the problem is that nothing ever goes wrong with you so I don't wish cancer or that you die in a car crash but just something like your rent check bounces or your transmission fails in a really bad neighborhood with poor cell phone reception but knowing you you have overdraft protection or a tow truck will pass you right away and be like "need some help." god you're such an asshole, I hate you.
I passed the McDonald's on Walnut. I really had to go. But before I got to the restroom, a guy who worked there said if I had to order something if I wanted to use their toilet. "But I'm a vegetarain." Did you know they sold salads? so I ordered one of those and walked towards the john. he said "where you goin?" and I was like "I ordered something, now I'm going to use the loo." He said "First you gotta pay." I looked over, smiled and said, "onetwothreefour onetwothreefour rock rock rock rock!" He had nothing to say.
i'm 25. i avoided coffee through high school and college. i started this past january. cafe au lait. strong, but milky. keeps me from napping. that's the reason. alright, honestly, it was the 19 year old art student with the pierced tongue that worked the counter. it was january and was blown away by her wearing a belly shirt. naturally, she had a tattoo on the small of her back. it was a gnarled tree which root asunder. two of them crept round her front on both sides and rode along her hip bone. i will never talk to her.
There are days when I can't think of much to write. Today's one those. So today, I bring you my friend Kate's description of herself:
I'm into hotel parties
and songs based on hotel parties.
I like cartwheel parties
I like dance parties in small, cramped rooms
but I do not like dancing
I definitely don't have one particular
destinctive dance named after me
I'm a big fan of dropping it like it's hot,
dropping it like a deuce,
dropping it like my V,
dropping it 'cause it fell,
riding it like an escalator,
and drinking it like I'm sober.
she held court at the back of the 18 everyday, except Thursdays. she had a zero period for drama. we were friends, but I avoided her on the bus. she could be a real ass, broadcasting something you told her in the strictest of confidence to sophomores who laughed with/at her. she never cared which. still, she was my friend. she always told me when there was dried toothpaste on my lips. there always was. she let me know it was okay to be a fifteen-year-old virgin. she turned me on to tom waites when I thought fugazi was heady.
exhausted. around three, maybe four. coughing. no, I'm not sick, just kept coughing. and I had to pee a few times. tossing and turning most of the time. I felt like I was swimming. no, not drowning. more like trying to get up on a floatie. yeah, but I was able to sleep in. I usually get up 'round seven. I didn't have to be anywhere until ten. not really, about 15 minutes. I was really lazy. didn't return any phone calls. well, I was at my parent's and played Super Mario Brother's in the dark. I feel high. exhausted.
I passed a vegetarian sandwich shop called "starwishes" today. I'm tired of the fey image of vegetarianism. the exaltation of the health benefits, the objection to animal cruelty, the "more land=more food" argument. bit swishy, methinks. a new direction? due to rules drawn before I was born, you gotta be less touchy more toughie. it takes a real man to say no to a steak and enjoy tempeh. have you ever smelt a fart produced by a herbivore? goddamned chemical warfare. wonder why meat and penis are synonyms, nancyboy? real men live to be 105. enjoy the heart attack, pussy.
it think I may have given up. not sure how it feels to quit. never done it before. but something tells me I have. oh, don't be daft --not talking about that. I'm referring to girls. never going to find one in a bar. most are there to dance, drink or hang all over whomever they came with. in a word, worthless. none of girls I call friends desire me. none has even bothered to throw a hookup my way. so that's it. finished. done. I've half a mind to join a monastery. what'sat? know someone? thinks I'm cute? who?
I am going to start a campaign to fill all the newspaper honor boxes in the city with furry bunnies, maybe only one per box. at first glance they'll look cut and fuzzy, but they will be trained to bite anyone who invades their territory. they won't have rabies or harbor any illness. just a quick chomp on the hand. this will accomplish a few things. people will stop reading the newspapers and hopefully start thinking for themselves. also rabbits will no longer be used as household pets. I hate fuckers who have them. get a fucking dog, you pussies.
there's an old saying that my grand mom used to say about the people who ride the bus because their cars are in the shop and they have no other way to get to work and are really pissed off because they obviously have the economic means to drive a car to and from work everyday and hate sitting on the bus with "ugly" people so they just sit there all tense with this look of utter disgust and if anyone comes close to them or even so much as breathes on them they'll freak. grand mom says they're fuckers.
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