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I never had a problem with cats. thought they made excellent foot rests and were delicious in soups. for the record, I am allergic. didn't stop me from moving in to house where there were three. once daily allegra helped me cope. cheap rent didn‘t hurt either. there are now four living here now and the new addition seems to have really upset the others. hissing, scratching, pissing on furniture--just the kind of mess that makes a muggy august day all the more glorious. a wiseman one said, "every time you masturbate, god kills a kitten." that's really effing nasty.
one, two step-ah three, slide. slide.
she used to practice her steps in the kitchen was I was trying to eat my cocoa puffs.
one, two-ee and uh, left foot, right foot
she had a thousand different ones, with little variation between them
one and two and kick three four
I hated each and every one of them, with no variation at all
step and kick and three and slide
but she didn't care
that's how I knew I loved her. I didn't have to be into her bullshit; she didn't have to be into mine.
just into each other
my brother and I ran into colin winterly on our way to Frankford terminal back in ‘95. just a friend of friend of friend of our older brother, we were kind of shocked by, "Dugan boys, how are you?" he smelled of mid July garbage. it was late November. he had just released from county on rape charge. dna set him free. no one was really shocked he was arrested. this was the kid who used to put boy hairs on the unattended sandwiches of his friends. he was murdered in jail six months later. meth distribution. that he did.
let's say I talk to her. let's say she gives me her number. let's say I call her. let's say I ask her out. let's say she says yes. let's say we go to the movies. let's say I buy her goobers. let's say we have drink after. let's say she plays footsie with me. let's say I take her home. let's say we make out while watching conan. let's say I break something while writhing around with her on the floor. let's say it's lamp she inherited from her grandmother. let's say I talk to her. not worth it.
I have this zip-up nike sweater. got it at a thrift store for three bucks. didn't notice until I got home that it had a swoosh on the neck. didn't feel guilty --the sap who bought it retail can have blood of Indonesian children on his soul. my three bucks went to job training in the community. I couldn't possibly be seen with it on. full disclosure; I have red star tattoos and vote green. in the closet it went. few weeks later, I'm at another thrift shop. a hipster thrift store. so basically, I'm looking for something to steal.
nothing big, maybe a knick-knack, some accessories for the girlfriend I currently haven't met. I'm not a thief, but this store really angered me. they go to the good wills, buy all the good stuff and sell it back to art students for anywhere from $20 to $150. bunch of fucking scumbags. regardless, I'm looking through the jackets; possibly something to replace the sweater. but it was may and I couldn't get away with wearing something under the hoodie I had on. then I saw it. at once something to steal and to solve my swoosh ordeal. motherfucking officer's pips.
if you know what I mean already, you're already okay with me. but I'll get into that later. for those out of the loop, hanging on the rack was a uniform from star trek: the next generation with a communicator pin and those little rank dots on the collar (otherwise known as pips). my inner dork said "try this on now!" I listened. little snug; I had a little commander rikeresque belly. after imagining defeating a fleet of borg cubes, I realized I could just take the pips, pop ‘em in my pocket, obscure the swoosh and fuck the system.
I bring this up because while wearing the lieutenant commander rank pips (anything higher would have been pushing it) I was asked if I was a trekkie.
"no," I quickly replied. Not totally anyway; I don't dress as klingon for weddings and court dates, but I can tell you cardassia joined the dominion 2374. and it was awesome.
"Then why do you have those things on your collar," she asked.
I told her I found them, showed her the swoosh, tried to get her number, was told, "I have a boyfriend." as I hailed a cab home (alone) I thought,
"she thought I was uncool because I watch star trek." she's wrong. not that star trek is cool; I agree it to be terribly dorky. but I think people have lost sight of what's cool.
I see people all the time looking cool. but are they? cool used to be something unique; that quality one person had everyone tried to copy but couldn't pull off. now, cool seems to be the clothes you got at urban outfitters or the music you're into.
cool is not giving a fuck.
cool is confidence in yourself.
cool is captain kirk.
dear comcast cablevision,
I am not very happy with you right now. this is not the first time either. for the past ten months, my roommates and I received basic cable free of charge. we did not ask for this. when we plugged out tv in the existing cable outlet, it was just there. since that time, I have become hooked on certain programs I cannot now watch. examples are the daily show, star trek voyager, I love the 70s/80s/90s and c-span. now? nothing but snow. do you expect us to begin paying? do you expect me to start reading?
I've forgiven you before, comcast. remember, not long after september 11th? when I and my old roommate had the hotbox and you replaced the spice channel with fox news? with the raised terror alerts and Jen just dumping me, I wanted nothing more than to come home and play with myself to some lite hardcore pornography. and what did end up masturbating to that night? that's right, ann coulter. not to mention I caught myself saying, "you know, john ashcroft isn't such a bad guy" just a few weeks later. that was no biggie. this, however, is the last straw.
just in case you were wondering
why I am bleeding from my mouth
I went to the dentist for a cleaning.
I left with one less tooth.
a wisdom tooth which never caused me any pain
bugged the shit out of my dentist.
"that little peanut right there will have to come out"
he said, jimmying the evil tooth out of my skull
with instrument closely resembling a screwdriver.
he bear huged my head, twisting it opposite of his prying.
as he held my head in his arms I realized,
"I cannot trust him as dentist for I smell halitosis."
let's pretend we're pirates
and we sail the seas
looking for booty
let's pretend we never went to college
and are stupid and unemployed
but completely content
let's pretend I am the king of your world
and I make you shave my body hair
because I am hot
let's pretend there is no one else for me but you
and you for me
except for maybe your sister
let's pretend we don't know each other
and introduce ourselves to each other
in the midst of some hot fucking
let's pretend I never said any of this
and just fall asleep
she wakes me as she turns onto her left side. the sun is starting to creep in through the drapes. the birds are mimicking car alarms. I'd like to fall back asleep but I know she'll jostle me again. I put my arm around her and smell her hair. it smells a little off. pantene and smoke waltz in my nostrils. there's nothing I'd rather smell. I sweep a lock gently behind her ear. she moans as I stroke it. she turns towards me, looks up and through a yawn says "you're the worst thing that ever happened to me."
when I was thirteen my girlfriend cheated on me with some dude at church retreat which I never got cause don't those things have chaperones and if you were a chaperone wouldn't you think teenagers making out doesn't fit christ's model of chastity and try to stop it specially since the girl in question has a boyfriend and though they aren't married it's probably against one of the commandments and really hurt the feelings of the boyfriend even if he never found out cause there would always be this air of mistrust which god doesn't like between men and women
I spent the first two hours of work navigating the official donnie darko website. the websites out there explaining the website are legion. none of them tell you much about the movie. I was listening to stern the whole time. artie has drinking problem. stern hates bush. robin laughs at everything. after that, I decided to do some work. I made some calls when my supervisor said, "I'm leaving for the afternoon." I spent the next five hours reading about string theory. at the end of the day I came to the conclusion that I'm either dead or really bored.
I live down the street from the center of the cheesesteak universe. pat's and geno's are two tourist trap sandwich stands. every douche bag celebrity who comes to Philadelphia (and just for the record, it's Philadelphia not Philly) goes to one, the other or both. they usually get their picture taken with the owners. don't expect to see any of them though. all I ever see is meatheads in flyers or eagles jerseys. after 2 am, add drunk girls to the equation. you can see the cracks their makeup eventually sinks into under the fluorescent lights. I never eat there.
"it's a freaking mess in here!"
on his therapist's advice, dad had been censoring himself for the past few weeks, sounding more and more like lethal weapon on tbs. a few weeks break from dad's normal blue streak was quite amusing. $250 an hour for that crock of shit? fucking sucker.
it was always a freaking mess. not that we were messy, but a towel constituted "shit, uh crap everywhere." but this time he was right. we had just blown up the living room. totally on purpose. with household cleaning products. and a can of raid. and his gold zippo.
the last time I ate at portugalia, randy, charlotte and I went to nito's graduation party there. we ate paella. we destroyed 12-28 bottles of casal garcia. pete gomes taught us how to say "little piece of shit that hang from your ass" in portugese. an angry porto drove his escalade through the front window just two weeks prior, so we had to wear coats because only plywood and plastic were between us and the cold january air. randy had just started seeing charlotte. by the party's end, randy was screaming, "my peepee is for me, nao es para ti."
I interviewed for a promotion. not exactly the one I wanted though. I interviewed for that last week. they told me they weren't going to give that job, but I should try for another. I wore a tie to work. I never do that. I also wore a poly/cotton blend shirt cause it went with the tie. it was exceptionally humid today so I didn't smell all too nice by day's end. I ate at a moroccan restaurant for my friend's birthday. they had a belly dancer who looked like she just a cesarean recently. like, that afternoon, recently. ewww.
oh for christ's sake. I can't seem to get up before one on weekends. I don't want to much of anything after that. rather not clean. don't want to get groceries. can't even shower until I know if I'm going out. can't watch tv. I can, but we get only the fox affiliate. and it's all fuzzy. usually I end up masturbating to the suicide girls, which always starts out a good idea but just leads to a bouquet of shame addressed to me. I'm starting to think that's why I don't have a girlfriend. I want a suicide girl.
you know who this is. hear that noise? all that thrashing and moaning? those are chicks. that's right, chicks, as in more than one. why multiple partners, you say? cause I wanted to. you can't even get a bitch and I've got bitches. and I'm not even touching them. they just looked at my junk and got all horny. so horny, they started making out and rubbing each other. I didn't have to get up to get them here. I just pressed this "On Demand" button on my remote. uh, I forget why I called. call me back.
my doctor stutters. this isn't as bad as a dentist with stank-breath. nonetheless, there is something unnerving about, "ttake these tttwice a dduhday and, augh, if there's any any any soreness, give me a cccall." he, like my dentist two weeks ago, deliberately caused me blinding, teeth-gnashing pain. this time, I requested it. a cyst on my neck done fucked up and got infected. this happened back in march. I tried to lance it with a burnt sewing needle. I needed an ER and percasets afterward. no percs this time. sensibility and sterility with skin infections come at a price.
there's something about dusk. in late august, early september, you can see the soul of wherever you are. in this light, you can appreciate the turn-of-the-last-century architecture in neighborhoods like this. the chipped paint and rust of the abandoned store fronts looks almost stately, like they belong there. a badge of honor. a reminder that this used to be somewhere. somewhere there was nothing wrong with. somewhere that's only drawbacks were no backyards and the ability to hear you neighbor's TV. somewhere that didn't fall apart until you severed your link to it. sun'll be down soon. sleep tight. fuckers.
come on down to the auto lot. we've got plenty of deals on wheels. no money down will put in this beautiful Cadillac el dorado. just follow the signs on the freeway. you'll find us right near the applebee's and old navy. look for the huge bull statue. I'll be here. waiting. so come on down. I'm not going anywhere. got some cool records we can listen to. some dvd's to watch. so what are you waiting for? these deals won't last forever. okay, they'll last until you're ready. are you coming over or not? don't you love me anymore?
happy birthday to the biggest son of bitch I know. now that you're another year older, wiser, uglier, less charming, less apt to find a woman that wants to be in the same room as you, a little chunkier, etc., maybe you can devote your time to a meaningful hobby. my dad took up wood working when he turned 52. you can try model ship building, or killing yourself. that's right up your alley, you dimwitted charlatan. I don't know how you fooled all those you call "friends" in to thinking you're anything but a douche bag. congratulations on that.
there was this time I took my grandmother to the library and I wondered off while she was in the new fiction section and wound up in the science fiction section where all the monster and mutant from planet x books were and noticed that they had star trek books and picked one up cause I was curious as to why anyone would read about star trek when it's obviously something meant for people to watch and then it occurred to me that the books were scripts that were never produced but still who would want to read those anyway
I was reading the back of one of the voyager books I heard a girl say "that one's really good cause seven rejoins the collective and tries to destroy the ship" or some nonsense like that and I pictured someone who looked like one of those belly dancers in old cartoons who looked all sexy but when they lifted up the veil in front of their face they had buck teeth warts and pimples but when I turned around she turned out to be cute and I could've started a conversation but choose not to cause she liked star trek.
I took this medication called acutane when I was in high school. it was designed for bad acne. I had to get monthly blood test for some reason or another. my dermatologist never really made that point clear. pregnant women weren't supposed to take it. if they did their kids would be born looking like those aliens of the x-files. they showed pictures in the brochure. I heard that some ex-users suffer bouts of depression. just because we wanted to get laid in high school, some of us can't even get out bed in the morning. stupid fucking pharmaceutical science.
I wish I had zero percent body fat. I'm not chunky by any stretch. I just want to look like iggy pop. all thin and sinewy, hip bones piercing his skin. an ex of mine commented on how sexy she thought iggy looked in his day, before the heroin (or was that during the heroin?), by saying "ummm, I could suck on those hips for a week" ever since I wanted to be desired like that. no woman lusts to bounce a quarter off of beer flab. ‘tis a shame my inner-rockstar is more bon scot that junkie speed freak.
While walking by the coffee shop today, I saw a picture of George W. Bush. At that time (5:12 pm) and that place (13th and Pine), it hit me. Our president is not who he says he is. We've all seen Fahrenheit 9-1. This is about more than his spin, distortions and outright lies. You see, the president is not even human. And I don't mean figuratively.
Ladies and gentlemen, the president is … a Romulan.
Yes, it's true. Walking among us, subverting our democracy. Yes, I know, sounds crazy. Like you, I thought he'd at least be a Klingon.
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