Short Bursts Of Nothing In Particular

If it were within my power, I’d give us all wings…and machine guns.

He sits there and plays his piano and he’s beating me down.  Either he’s oblivious to his lack of talent or he knows he’s awful and is getting off on the fact that he’s plain unlistenable.  I like to think it’s a the latter, at least that would make me think surviving this torture is somehow worth the effort.

Mercifully, he’s done.  Ah yes, let’s all fake clap.  Let’s all fake clap our way right through the pearly gates, shall we? 

Surely Heaven gives you your choice of instruments?  I’d hate to think you’d just hand a harp to Jimi Hendrix.  Hopefully, they’ll hand Joe Cocker a harp.  If Joe gets his hands on a microphone, Heaven could twist off it’s axis and spiral into Hell just seconds into the opening of  ’You are so Beautiful’.

I found myself thinking of you yesterday.  You were such an evil bitch and you tried so hard to mindfuck me.  So stupid, really but sometimes I miss how shitty you treated me.  It gave me something to bitch about with my friends…you know, my friends you fucked on various drunken occasions?  Yeah, those guys.  Wow, you were such a slutty whore.  It was great. 

Anyone ever notice how complacent you become when you’re happy?  Just wondering if maybe it’s just me…

Cooking a traditional Nicaraguan meal tonight for some folks who are coming into town to visit and I’m not gonna lie to you, it’s gonna be great.

Vote For Me! A Turkey In Every Pot! A Whore On Every Pole!

So I’ve had a handful of folks tell me to get out and vote…

Call me apathetic but I just don’t care about any of this.  I don’t care about Republicans and Democrats and I don’t care about the war in Iraq and I don’t care about my unborn children’s future.  I know I should…at least that’s what I’ve been told.  But I don’t…sorry.  Start talking politics to me and you’ll see a person tune you out.  Mention something to me about the deficit, or healthcare, or welfare and watch my chin sink into my chest.  You want me to solve the deficit problem…stop giving away free aid to every piece of shit, useless country in the world and take care of home.  Want me to fix healthcare…make everyone take an I.Q. test.  If you can’t outsmart a banana, then you should get treated like one.  Welfare’s the easiest of them all…stop shitting out kids and go get a fucking job!  I love these people who are qualified to do jackshit but somehow find it beneath them to go work at McDonald’s.  They’ll take a free fuckin’ check from the govt. every chance they get but they won’t go get a job making me a Big Mac.  That’s swell.

This will probably piss some people off but I’m sorry, the Presidential elections are a joke.  I remember 4 years ago when everyone said if Bush got re-elected the world would be over.  Well…here we are.  And guess what?  I’ve got a hell of a lot more money in my pocket now than I did 4 years ago.  In the end, that’s all that I really care about.  Can I take care of myself and the people I love?  But people will read this and then they’ll crawl up on their soapbox and bitch and moan to the person standing next to them about how I’ve got it all wrong when the fact is, I’ve got it right.  Because these people who are going out of their way to tell you to get out and vote and “make a difference” only tell you that shit when it involves a Governor or a President.  99.9% of these people have never attended a single city council meeting and/or have never voted in a local election when these are the types of things which directly affect the normal citizen ad their day to day life.  The President doesn’t have any fuckin’ pull over fixing fuckin’ potholes or keeping the local park clean. 

Now for something I know will make people mad…the war.  Everyone is talking about how it’s unfair to send our troops over to fight in Iraq.  Well, last time I checked they signed up for the damn thing.  There is no draft, kids.  The fact that most of the people who signed up for duty did so thinking it was gonna be some free money in exchange for one weekend a month well, that’s just bad luck for them.  You signed up, you were trained, you were given a gun…bring me back some ears.  Is war a fucked up thing?  Of course it is.  It does some terrible mindfucking to the men and women who have to fight in these damn things and I hate that.  Would I love for the entire world to just wake up tomorrow and get along?  That’d be great.  But it ain’t gonna happen.  It’s just not.  If you’re a bibical person look at it as a positive thing.  It’s Revelations, baby.  Tear down the ark and put a fireproof bunker up in it’s place cuz maybe, just maybe the end is near. 

Finally, if all you know about the presidential race is what CNN and Fox News spoon feeds you…then you don’t know anything.  Stop preaching.  Sorry, but I can’t get behind you on that…unless it’s to kick you in the ass.

People, I love you all.  If you swing politically, good for you.  But don’t bother me with it.  I don’t try and make you listen to hair metal even though I think it’s important, do I?

Nice Day To Be Alive, Nice Day To Munch On Some Barbeque.

What a beautiful fuckin’ day.  On days like today I thank the sweet, clean Lord above that I paid the 15$ extra each month to live on the golf course side of my apt. complex.  Balcony’s rule, boys and girls.  Even if we only get 50 pretty days a year.  But let’s not allow that to bog us down…today is not the day to ponder such awful truths.  Rather, it’s a day to ponder that nice, long walk I took in the park w/ the mrs. a few hours ago.  It’s a day to ponder that massive plate of barbeque chicken, green beans and carrots I had not 30 minutes ago.  It’s a day to ponder ones place in the world, to realize how tiny you truly are in the grand scheme of things…to then rise from your comfortable deck chair and kill a wasp that keeps dive-bombing your head, tilting nature’s pendulum ever so slightly back in your favor. 

Wasps – 0.  Us – Infinity.

I love you all. 

Evil Bitch, The Walking Dead, Banana Yellow Muscle Relaxers

Stood at the register today, my head a muscle relaxer induced haze.  Went into puppet mode with a nice round of “Hi, how are you today?” and “How’s it going?” with just a dash of “Have a nice evening.”  Rinse.  Repeat.  Rinse.  Repeat.  Rinse.  Repeat.  There was one couple who managed to break out of my walking, talking coma.  Really old white guy w/ haggard skin and defeat written all over him.  Really old (but not as old) black lady w/ gray hair and thick coke bottle glasses.  I can’t stand the lady.  She’s a bitch every single time she walks into the store.  I don’t recall a single time she’s ever come into the place where she hasn’t just started screaming at some point.  She never has a reason.  Best I can figure, bitch just likes to scream.  The old guy usually doesn’t tag along but he doesn’t seem to be doing very well.  Guy is all slumped over, rolled over at the shoulders.  Just looks beaten down.  His hands shake non-stop and his voice is almost not even there.  I guess living w/ a woman like that will put some age on you.  With that said, she probably fucked like a psycho 40 years ago.  Guy probably figured he’d never make to 80-something anyway.  He gambled and it looks to me like he lost cuz honestly, I don’t care how well that old bitch sucked on his balls way back when…he’s taking it in the shorts now for all his fun then.  Just listening to her for 30 seconds once every 2 weeks is enough for me to wanna murder her.  Can’t imagine what he must go through on a daily basis.  No wonder the poor bastard shakes.  I’d shake too.  If I were him I’d try to get those hands shaking real good one of these days, pay off some grandchild to tie a knife to the palm of my hand, get up behind that old whore, and put that knife in her neck 8 or 12 times. Pain pills are fun.  Mean, old bitches…not so much.

Bowling For Dollars…Apparently

Just got back from the bowling…

Walking out of the alley tonight two guys in a car pulled up in front of me and asked me for a dollar.  A dollar.  “Just one dollar, man.”  While I’m quite sure I can match Sally Struthers pork rib for pork rib I was, up until now, unaware that I was doing charity for the weak minded youth of Plano, Tx. 

(Insert teary dialogue, a violin heavy backing track and a still of a gaunt, pale, shirtless teenager w/ a single fly stuck to his dry, cracked lip.)

“For just one dollar a day, you too can sponser a worthless, jobless overprivileged Plano teenage bastard.  Won’t you help us?”

(Insert grainy black and white footage of me, snapping the teenager in half over my knee and bathing in his std-filled blood.)

(Insert footage of me doing this a million times.)

(Insert Charles Darwin clawing up from his grave, standing at attention, and golf clapping in my general direction.)

St. Patrick’s Day High Speed Chase

March 17th, 1994

I, along w/ some very good friends (Emmett, Niall, Oliver, Alan) dropped by a supermarket for some eggs, then a hardware store to pick up some spray paint for a St. Patrick’s Day tagging run.  After making our purchases we all headed over to my apartment, played some fuckin’ NBA Jam.  We all passed around vials of some shit we call ’pollytoenail’, which was the name we gave Oliver’s mono medicine.  The shit was like liquid energy and I remember it giving you quite a kick in the ass. 

 After the sun went down we all piled into my dad’s minivan and drove around town, egging kids, running our mouths and looking for the perfect spot to do some tagging.  After driving alongside another minivan, egging it, then racing away from them, I turned down a street in the Rohrmoser area and came across a beautiful, new, white wall right next to a small playground.  We parked, grabbed our spraypaint and started our tagging.  Each of us had a specific tag.  Emmett’s tag was “I.R.A.” with a big green shamrock under it.  Niall’s was “MAC” with a tiny scottish flag under it.  I believe Oliver’s was “Smunt”.  I don’t recall Alan’s tag but mine was “Redneck”. 

As we started tagging I noticed a van had pulled up next to the minivan, going the opposite direction.  I told everyone to drop the cans and get back to the van.  The guy had pulled up really close to the driver’s side so I had to squeeze by just to get in the van.  The guy asked me what we were doing and I told him we were taking a piss.  Figured with it being dark, maybe he didn’t spot us tagging the wall.  He had, and told me he’d called other police officers.  It was at this point I noticed some sort of official police sticker on the guy’s windshield.  He told me to take my keys out of the ignition and for all of us to get out of the van.  I heard someone in the van say “Just go”, so I cranked the van and peeled out of there (well, as much as a fuckin’ minivan can ’peel’) trying to lose the guy who’d first stopped us and had now turned around to try and run us down.  I managed to create a little distance between us and the dude on our asses, hoping on the freeway (blowing right past a cop car heading the opposite direction) before finally ending up in Escazu, a town where we used to spend a lot of time hanging out.  I parked the van underneath a large tree in a parking area and we all walked around town before finally ending up in a shopping mall where we decided to let things blow over by catching a movie.  Pulp Fiction was playing so Niall, Oliver and I went in to check it out.  For some reason, Emmett and Alan went and saw Disclosure…I still have no clue as to why but my guess would be it had something to do with some chicks because after the movie they wanted to stay behind.  Ollie, Niall and I headed back over to my place, tagged the basketball court behind the apartments, had a few drinks and called it a night.

A few months later, I was over at a girl’s house, watching Shawshank Redemption when my dad called for me.  I couldn’t figur eout how he got the phone number or even why he’d need to call me but he wanted to know when I would be coming home.  I told him a few hours and we hung up.  He called back a few minutes later and told me to bag the movie and get home immediately.  I walked through the door and asked him what was up and was greeted with “Do you have anything you wanna tell me?”  Months had passed since St. Patrick’s Day and I had long since forgotten about that night so Itolh him I couldn’t think of anything.  He then asked, “What about something you might have done a few months ago when I was in Texas?”  At that moment I knew what he was talking about and my heart fuckin’ sank.  He proceeded to tell me the police had called (the guy had gotten my plate number), they had my description and were threatening to deport me.  My dad told them the van had been stolen and taken on ajoyride and that obviously that was when the tagging took place.  If I remember right, a bribe was paid to make the police report go away (gotta love 3rd world countries) but I was banned from seeing any of my friends for months.  

After a bit things blew over and the old man and I got back to being cool with each other.  Funny thing is, now I despise graffiti.  Crazy what age will do to your perspective on shit.  Happy St. Patrick’s Day kiddies. 

Shack With A View, Call Me The Breeze

The wind is howling tonight…like a dog getting a half-cooked carrot pulled out of it’s ass.  Feels like the wind is a half notch from pulling the roof off my damn apartment.  Gotta love this cheap, ‘lowest bidder gets the gig’ construction.  In Costa Rica the super poor love when the wind goes nuts like it is tonight cuz that means there’s gonna be all kinds of tin sheets flying off of nice houses and into the open arms of some poor bastard who’s been trying, storm by storm, to build a new wing to the one bedroom shack he’s positioned underneath the ’Suicide Bridge’ that connects the Pavas/Rohrmoser area to Escazu.  I knew a guy who lost his life savings a few years ago and decided to throw himself off that bridge so…ya know, it’s earned the nickname. Wish I was back home tonight.  But home ain’t ‘home’ in 2008.  At least it sure doesn’t feel that way right now.  But then again, I’ve said that before.  And truly, that’s always been one of the great things about Costa Rica.  Each and every single time I’ve fallen out of an airplane and into the badass cool breeze that is ever-present at the Juan Santamaria International Airport, I’ve felt like I was home again.  That breeze has never failed me.  Not once.  It hits my face, I suck a little in through my nostrils and just like that, for that moment in time, I don’t have a single problem in the world. I’m running on empty.  Gonna go curl up next to the mrs. and get some rest.  I believe I’ve earned it.  Didn’t kill a single person all day.  Love you.

Assholes Wrapped In Tape, Saluting A Failed Concept, Hold The Mayo, On Wheat, Please.

The U.S. govt. should get some blue and white tape to go with allllll the fuckin’ red tape they have.  Then they could be full-blown, blind assholes with pretty, AMERICAN FLAG tape…instead of just some full-blown, blind assholes with boring red tape.  Huh?  I dunno.  I’m off tonight for sure.  But here’s what I’d like to convey this evening:  Your govt. doesn’t care about you.  Not any of you.  Not a single one.  Bush doesn’t care.  Hillary doesn’t care.  Obama doesn’t care (although he puts on quite the show…even I’m impressed w/ how well he cons)  Rick Perry doesn’t care but at least he doesn’t even pretend that he does.  Kay Bailey Hutchison doesn’t care.  So busy is she shilling for that jack-off John McCain she can’t even bother to return phonecalls these days.  Trust me on that last one…  Finally, no one in U.S. Immigration cares.  Trust me on that one too.

Found out today that my wife, the same wife who hasn’t seen her family in 3 years, will get to wait another 90 days before U.S. Immigration decides to get off their asses and print her out a pretty green card.  This is after waiting 150 days.  So, just to get it right in my head here…we went and had our final meeting…150 days ago…we were approved…told we’d have our green card in 90 days.  So, unless my math is wrong that’s 60 days ago…and now we get to wait another 90.  Yeah, that seems fair.  I know illegals who swam into this motherfucker after we came in legally who already have their green cards.  Mind explaining to me how that makes any fuckin’ sense at all? 

So, get behind the whole political thing if that’s your bag.  I wish you all the best.  Me, I’m thinking I’ll just go try and rub one out to a Cosby Show re-run.  Seems far more productive to stroke my own fuckin’ joint rather than stroke the egos of a bunch of overpaid, nonproductive assholes who only care about you long enough to get your vote.  It’s all smiles and ‘up with people’ and ‘we can do it together’ speeches until that final vote gets cast.  Then it’s a whole lot of nothing.  That’s how it’s always been and no one is gonna change it. 

That Claire Huxtable was a piece back in the day though, wasn’t she?

Me, You, A Balcony, Pancake Love-Making, Ahhhhh Yes.

It’s an awfully nice morning.  Perhaps I’ll find myself on my balcony here in a bit.  Nothing like a nice solo balcony run to clear the head and get you thinking about the things that are truly important, like life and love…and Green Lantern comic books…and murdering evildoers with claw hammers…and pancakes w/ blueberries.  Ahhhh, sweet, sweet pancakes w/ blueberries, I can always count on you, can’t I?  Yes, I can.  Hugh Hefner has it right…a lifetime in pj’s.  I’m currently sporting a plaid flannel pair and I wish you were inside of them with me, all cozy and warm and smothered in blueberry pancake batter.  I would lay you across my griddle oh so sexily and cook you w/ some turkey bacon and you would taste so awesome.  So, so awesome.  Rub your pancakey goodness all in my beard, then punch me in the mouth for maximum effect.  God bless breakfast foods and God bless you.