A Normal Day at Work

I get to work. I'm a little bit late but it doesn't matter, it's Sunday and it's slow. I go over by the coffee bar with the tablet pc and start ordering stuff. Next thing I know, The Flower Lady shows up. Whoops... damn, I can usually hear her come in as she normally announces herself at full volume as soon as she's one step in the door. She must have snuck up on me intentionally, as usually I can evade her at least until she's ready to walk out the door. So, I'm there listening to her yap about some kind of disease she has that partially paralyzes the left half of her face. This gets my attention and I glance up and see that the right half of her face is sagging, just a little bit. Not much. It looks kind of like she has one eye partially closed. In fact, that's exactly what it is. I dunno if this disease is real, or some ploy to get sympathy so I'll 'pay-roll' some cigarettes for her, but she goes on about how she's just SO BROKE right now... hint hint. I quickly identify with that statement, agreeing that yeah, being broke sucks, I wish I had some money too, hint hint. Well, she drops that subject and moves onto her second favorite topic: The Texas Lottery.

Of course, she's going to win big soon, she just has to find the right ticket (she judges potential winners on the sequential numbering of the ticket in the roll). If the combination of numbers adds up to nine... say, a 63... then it's a winner. Of course, I have witnessed her purchasing several of these 'magic tickets' and haven't seen her win yet, but oh well. I tried to give her some advice once:

--Me behind the counter, The Flower Lady perusing the ticket selection--

Me: You know, if you would buy a bunch of the same tickets instead of one from each game, you'd have a much better chance of winning.

The Flower Lady: (continues to peruse the tickets, oblivious)

Me: You see, there are odds on each ticket (I pull one up and show her the back of a ticket, where the odds are printed). See, the odds on this ticket are 1:3.5. That means that one out of every three and a half tickets is a winner. So, instead of buying ten tickets, one from every game, you should buy ten tickets from a single game and you have a decent chance of winning 3 times.

The Flower Lady: I used to win a lot, I just gotta hit that streak again.

Me: The Texas Lottery is designed to make you lose, you know. There are ways to increase your chances though...

The Flower Lady: I just likes to scratch, thats all. (continues to peruse the tickets, oblivious)

Me: Well, if you'd take my advice, you would win more often, I guarantee it.

She seemed as though she were actively trying to ignore me when I was giving her that advice, as if it were a personal affront. Oh well, far be it from me to tell her how to manage her addiction. So, she comes back a few days later with this story:

The Flower Lady: I tried that, what you said. I spent 200 dollars the other day, all of em on scratch offs, and I didn't win nothin.

Me: You bought 200 tickets, all from the same game, and you didn't win anything?

The Flower Lady: Nothin. I didn't win nothin.

Well, I know she was flat out lying to me. So I advise her that maybe she should lay off the tickets for a while, being that she spent 200 dollars in one day and didn't win anything. She didn't take too kindly to that. I suggested that she should maybe go to an AA meeting, or a meeting for people with a gambling problem. She didn't take too kindly to that either. Maybe it wasn't my place to give such advice, but hell, I have to deal with her begging me for money and smokes on an almost daily basis so it has also become my problem, to a certain extent.

Anyway, back to Today. Eventually she's finished with the coffee bar and she moves to the lottery counter, all the while still yammering away. I hear her over there engaging Adela in the task of helping her find a winner, and I get back to my ordering. Eventually she leaves.

Later I'm pulling shit out from under the desk in the back room, and I find an apple under there. I suddenly have a wonderful idea. 'Watch my magic trick with this apple,' I say to Adela and Ryan as I step out the front door. The parking lot is empty, so I walk out into the middle of it and toss that apple up into the air as hard as I can. As it impacts the asphalt surface of the parking lot, it shatters into several dozen pieces. I whoop with triumph and see Adela and Ryan through the store window, laughing. A guy who was about to go inside stops and claps. I bow, and get to gathering up the apple pieces. This takes me a while, and as I'm finishing up, the guy finishes his transaction and comes back outside. He says to me, 'destruction is the ultimate form of creation'. I consider this for a few seconds, and respond with 'yeah, ain't it cool? Especially considering that all of the atoms which comprise our bodies were forged in the heart of a star long since destroyed in a violent supernova'. He stops and considers this thoughtfully for a few seconds, then smiles and nods and walks off.

Later I'm checking some customers. An attractive black girls comes in. She's not wearing any makeup and is dressed in a green t-shirt, blue jeans, and no shoes... just a pair of socks. Otherwise she is perfectly normal appearing. She stands there in front of the counter, looking at me, smiling and holding a 20 dollar bill. I smile back. She continues to stand there for a few seconds more and then hands me the 20. She smiles some more, so I figure that I should probably say something, so I ask her, 'what can I get for you?' 'Oh,' she says, surprised. 'I want 20 dollars in gas. Just look at me, I'm a drunken wreck. I don't even have any shoes on! I'm so sorry.' All the while she is just smiling the biggest, warmest smile. I laugh and say, 'ok. 20 in gas. Thanks a bunch.' So she pumps her gas and leaves. Weird.

So anyway, later I'm outside smoking a cigarette and another attractive black girl (this must be the day for good looking black chicks) is over by the air machine, wrestling with the hose. She walks towards the store, so I put out my cigarette and go inside and stand behind the counter, ready for whatever she wants. She comes inside and approaches me, laughing. She says 'I was going to ask you if you could help me air up my tire before you went inside, so... sorry, but can you come back outside and help me?' So, I accompany her to her car and inspect her tire for the required pressure. I tell her that it's 44 psi, and to just put 75 cents in the machine. She only has 50 cents, so I give her a quarter. She thanks me profusely. So, I grab the hose, which has to be pulled forcibly out from the machine (it really is kind of a pain in the ass) and instruct her as to it's use. 'Just put the nozzle up to the thing on the tire, yeah that thing there, take the cap off first... ok, just push it up against it hard unti it stops hissing. And then press this handle here and it'll start to air it up. And just let go of the handle now and then (I demonstrate) and an air guage will pop out (it pops out and her pressure is 20 psi) telling you the pressure. Keep filling it until it hits 44 psi'. So, as I'm doing this for her, I'm kneeling down next to her tire and she is kneeling next to me, very close. She is almost leaning against me, as a matter of fact, and her tits are about... 10 inches away from my face. They are big ones and she is wearing a low cut top. She is also kneeling forward, so I have a REALLY good view right down her shirt. I have a hat on with a bill that is covering my face so she can't see my eyes, so I get a nice, long eyefull. Eventually I finish airing up the tire and again, she thanks me profusely. I tell her 'no problemo', and she leaves. All in all a worthy experience.

So, it's the same day, and this guy comes in wearing a shirt that reads 'Sorry girls, I only date supermodels' across the front. He is young and I guess chicks would consider him reasonably attractive, and he has a new Scion parked outside. My first impression is 'spoiled rich college brat'. Adela is checking him, so he gives her money for his gas and he leaves. After he's out the door, Adela turns to me and says 'his shirt should read "sorry girls, I only date boys".' I thought this was fucking hilarious and almost died laughing.

Remember the 'drunken mess'? Well, it's about 3 hours later and in she comes again. As she enters, she announces 'the drunken wreck is back!' I laugh. She asks how much a 24 pack of water is, and I tell her 4.99. I tell her that she doesn't seem drunk to me, and she just laughs again and says 'oops, I guess the drunken wreck should also get a gallon to go with this,' and she gets a gallon of spring water. I tell her that I've seen some drunken wrecks before, and sorry, she just doesn't qualify... but she just smiles really big again, pays, and leaves without offering any further explanation. I was hoping that she would come back a third time so I could really interrogate her on this 'drunken wreck' thing, but I guess 3rd time wasn't a charm. Maybe I'll see her again.

That's about it for today. I could have sworn there was something else from today... if I remember I'll post a new blog.

Trick or Treat

We had one trick-or-treater, but I didn't have any candy to give her. She was a little cutie, about 7 years old, dressed like a witch. I have the door wide open because it's nice outside, so they walked up and the mom raps on the door frame and says "your door's open, does that mean you're inviting trick-or-treaters?"

Dammit, and we didn't have a single one last year, so I didn't buy any candy. So I apologize profusely to the kid and her mother and scrounge around for something, but I can't find anything. The little kid see's my arcade cabinet in the other room and says "wow, you've got a real arcade cabinet back there!" I thought about offering to let her play it, then decided that her mom probably wouldn't want her 7 year old daughter coming into a strangers house to play his arcade cab, so I didn't. I wanted to give her something though, but I didn't have anything, so I just told her I was really sorry and that she was very cute. She smiled and said "Well, you probably need this more than I do, and I gave all the rest of it to other kids anyway. Here, have some candy." And she handed me a piece of candy, her ONLY piece. It was a little miniature bag of Whoppers with about 4 inside. Well, that just about made my night.

Working for a retard

My boss, Terry, is pretty much retarded. He signs me up for classes that I'm not ready for and then doesn't train me on the material that I'm supposed to know before I take the class. I went to Financial Management II the other day. I was supposed to know all kinds of stuff before I took that class, and he calls me on my day off, the day before the class and says 'Ash, where are you? We need to go over some stuff before the class'. No shit. I've been on him for the past two weeks to train me on that stuff. And he waits till the day before the class, on my day off, at 8:00 pm to arrange to get together. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

So, I just finished working 7 days straight, and of course, he doesn't train me on the stuff I've been telling him I need to know. 'We'll go over that stuff tomorrow', he says. And we don't. So I finally get two days off. On the second day off, the day before the class, he calls me, like I said, and wants to get together. I ignore the call until that evening, and he's like 'Ash, where have you been? I thought you had quit!' Terry, I've had the last two days off. 'Oh. Well, I wondered where you were, you weren't at work...' Yeah. I had the past two days off, Terry. 'Ah. Well you haven't been around in a while, and I was wondering what had happened to you.' Terry, I've been off for the past two days. 'Oh. Yeah... I must have forgotten. Are you sure?' Yes. I just worked 7 days straight and had two days off. 'Oh. Ok, well I was worried about you. We need to go over this stuff before your class!' Yeah, I know. I have been trying to get you to go over it with me for the past two weeks. 'Yeah, well... we need to go over it.' Yeah, I know Terry. But tomorrow is the class and it's like, 7:00 right now. 'Well, can you be at the store at 8:15?' Yeah, I guess, but I don't see what we'll be able to accomplish tonight. This is a lot of stuff I'm supposed to know. 'Yeah, well I don't remember having to do all of this when I was training.' Well, I have to do it. I told you two weeks ago. 'Ok, I'll see you at 8:15'.

I swear that's how the conversation went. So, I go up to the store at 8:15 and he tries to start teaching me a hundred different things about all kinds of complicated stuff. He makes no sense. This guy can NOT communicate. I'd go into it but it'd give me a headache trying to think like him so I could describe what it's like trying to get information that comes out of his mouth to make a damn bit of sense. So anyway, I cut him off halfway through his ramblings and tell him that I just need a few printouts of reports that I was supposed to do, and that I'll just forge them and tell the class instructor that I did them. He readily agrees to this. So, I'm going to have to bullshit my way through the class. I thought so.

He prints up the reports and I bundle them up and go home and go to sleep. The next day I get to class. The instructor asks us if we brought the reports we were all supposed to do. He got to me and I just blurted out 'I didn't do any of these, my boss just told me to forge them because he didn't train me, and he printed them up and gave them to me to take to work, and to tell you that I did them.' The instructor just stood there with his mouth half open for a few minutes and said 'Huh. Well, I like that you're honest.' And he came over and looked at the reports and went over them with me and explained a lot of it to me and that was that. This is how the entire class went... when he got to me, he would just explain the report to me and show me why it was done the way it was done. Apparently he wasn't going to kick me out of the class, which was his threat a couple of weeks before at the Financial Management I class if we didn't bring all of this stuff to this class, and done by US, not the manager.

So, I take the test at the end of the class. I still have only half a clue what's going on because Terry hasn't taken the time to train me on anything. The rest of the class seems pretty with it, and I resign myself to failing the test. And it was a bitch of a test, HARD, not easy, frikin confusing as hell and fucked up because I was just trying to wing it. I managed to slog through the entire thing and pass though, I guess because I'm not retarded and actually have half a brain. The instructor showed me my test after he had graded it and said I had gotten 38 out of 48 right, 38 being the lower limit to pass. I exhaled in relief. He said that he was really glad that I passed, and surprised that I did and congratulated me on having a brain.

So I get to work today, the day after the test, and Ryan (a guy I work with) said that Terry had actually thought that I had quit work because I was off for two days and didn't show up for work on those days. WTF?

The Flower Lady

I work at 7-11 and there is this lady who comes in every day to buy lottery tickets. I don't think anybody knows her name, but we call her 'the flower lady' because she stands outside and hocks plastic flower arrangements when the manager isn't there to shoo her away. I've seen her all over town hocking those plastic flowers, and woe to the person who runs into her when they're out and about because they'll be spending their next 15 minutes participating in a one sided conversation. That lady LOVES to talk. I'm sure she means well, but it is kind of hard to do 6 things at work with her carrying on, talking to me clear across the store, while I'm trying to 'interface' with the public and make coffee and shit. She's big, black, and although somewhat annoying at times, she's very friendly. She bought me a lottery ticket on my birthday, which I thought was very sweet. Every now and then I'll buy her one, and vice versa. She's got a good heart, but she definitely has a problem with those lottery tickets.

The other day, she came in the store and 'aksed' me if I would loan her enough money for a pack of cigarettes. "I done spent up all my money on them dang lottery tickets," she confides. Then she goes on to tell me how she has car repairs to pay for, and how her air conditioning went out and she had to pay for that, and how her phone bill was too much (she gotsta get hold of dat phone compny n straighten em out), etc. A long list of woes which, I'm sure, are all due to the Texas lottery. Anyway, I dig around in my pocket and come up with about $5.65, just enough for a pack of Kool filter kings. "Thanks baby, I'ma owe you one. I'ma pay you back, you see. When you work next? Friday? When you get paid? I'ma pay you back before den." So I buy her a pack of smokes and she's happy.

A couple of days later, in comes the flower lady, yakking away at full volume. We exchange pleasantries and she disappears behind the coffee bar. After a few minutes, I make my way over there to check on the coffee, and she sidles up to me real close and kind of whispers to me: "You think you could buy me another pack of cigarettes? I pay you back, I promise. We friends, right?" I sigh. I don't have any money, but there's a little thing we employees can do at 7-11. It's called 'payrolling' and it's the scourge of my existence at the moment. If we want anything in the store and we don't want to pay for it right away, well hell. We can just payroll it and it comes out of our checks. Convenient. Easy. Fast. Friendly. Deadly. I really have to quit payrolling so goddamn much... last week a hundred dollars of my check was spent on my 'grocery bill', as it is referred to on the check stub. However, I'm not without sympathy for the flower lady, so I tell her that I'll payroll her a pack of cigarettes (I explain what this is to her) and all is right again in her world.

Fast forward a couple of days. In comes the flower lady. We exchange pleasantries at high volume and again she disappears behind the coffee bar. I'm reluctant to go over there, but eventually I have to check the coffee. She's hanging around back there, drinking her coffee (I give all of my favorite customers free coffee) and as I arrive, she kind of whispers to me "I gotsta talk to you about sumpin." Uh oh, thought I, and I hurriedly make fresh coffee so I can get out of there. She's obviously reluctant to broach the subject, as she is unusually silent. Finally, I'm finished with the coffee and I'm about to return to the register when she hits me with it. "Baby, you think you could pay roll (two separate words she uses) me another pack of cigarettes? Kook filter kings?" Ok, I've had it. I tell her, very sternly and seriously, that I can be a nice guy, but nice only goes so far. I don't appreciate it when people take advantage of my generous nature and that she is 'this far' from crossing the line with me. With this stern warning delivered, I agree to payroll her ONE MORE pack of smokes. ONE MORE, and that's it. She stammers out an apology with reassurances that she will pay me back in a couple of days. Fine, I say, and that's the end of it.

A few days later, I'm at the coffee bar making coffee, and the flower lady rushes up to me and presents me with a wad of cash. What's this? thought I. So I uncrumple the bills, and there in my hand was the money she owed me, plus 10 bucks extra! No, no, this simply will not do. This is placing my karma in debt. I don't want this extra 10 bucks! I try to give it back to her. She won't take it. I lay the 10 bucks on the coffee bar. She picks it up and hands it to me again. I tell her no! No no no! I try to put it back in her hand. She takes it and stuffs it into my front shirt pocket with finality and takes several steps back. I sigh. Thanks, I tell her, but you didn't owe me this much. It's too much. She smiles and says "I told you I'd pay you back." And that's the end of that.

So, a day or two later I'm at work, it's too frikin early, and in walks a couple of guys who want beer. It's not yet beer:30 (we have to keep the beer locked up until 7:00 am), so they hang around and count the seconds. Finally 7:00 am arrives and I dutifully unlock the cooler. The two guys grab their beer, pay for it, and leave. Soon after, the flower lady shows up per her normal circuit, and immediately espies a wallet on the counter, partially hidden behind the banana basket. "Whoo boy, somebody done left der wallet!" She hands it to me and I open it, and I immediately recognize one of the guys who just left with beer. There is about a hundred dollars in the wallet. I go through it and find several Jimmy Johns business cards (a local sandwich place) and I seem to remember that same guy being in the store before, wearing a Jimmy Johns shirt and hat. I quickly deduce that he must work at Jimmy Johns, so later that day I call them up and ask them to tell what's his face that he left his wallet at the 7-11 on Oak street. Ok, they say, and that's the end of the conversation. Meanwhile, the flower lady is ecstatic. "If he give you a reward, I wants some of it!" Sure, I agree. After all, she found the wallet.

The next day the flower lady asks if I got a reward yet. No, I say, the guy hasn't come back for his wallet. It's not like I'm actually expecting a reward... this kind of thing happens all the time. People leave their cell phones, wallets, credit cards, keys, sunglasses, gloves, work badges... just about anything you would normally carry on your person, we have it in our lost and found pile. I've never gotten a reward for holding onto something that was left at the store, and I really didn't expect one now. So, the flower lady, dejected and disappointed, leaves the store. Just about exactly 10 minutes later, the owner of the wallet shows up. Hey man!" he fairly shouts. "You have my wallet! Thanks man, I was here yesterday and they said you had put it in the office for safe keeping, so that nobody would steal the money. Thanks man!" He's smiling and shaking my hand and patting my back, and the next thing I know, he's putting 13 dollars in my hand. "I know it's not much man, but I gotta give you something. That was just fucking cool man, thanks for getting my back like that!" Well. Isn't this the coolest thing. Wow. A reward! Fuckin-A! I go back to the office and retrieve the guys wallet and give it to him. After a few more 'thanks again, man!'s' thrown in for good measure, he departs and the good karma is palpable.

Next day. "Did you get a reward yet?" Inquires the flower lady. I really would like to just lie to her and say no, but I'm too damn nice. It really is one of my character flaws. So, after a few seconds of mental anguish, I tell her that I got ten bucks (ok, so I did lie a little) and that she should have stuck around for another ten minutes, because the guy showed up right after she left. If she'd have been there, I tell her, I'd have given her her share. She's disappointed, and I'm sure she's wondering whether or not I really have that five bucks on me. I really don't have it though. That money is long gone. Thirteen dollars lasts about 13 minutes with me, so we come to an agreement that she has five bucks coming her way.

"Or you could just pay roll me a pack of cigarettes!" Sigh.

I Hate You And Wish You Wear Dead

"I Hate You And Wish You Wear Dead"

A talk show for the chronically depressed and criminally deranged

Copyright 1994. Four Grungie People and Amy

Hosted by: Amy Holt

Special Guest: John Malone

Season 1, Episode 2

- Transcript follows -

Title shot: "I Hate You And Wish You Wear Dead" title and logo

Intro music: "I Still Do" by The Cranberries (five seconds then the camera switches to Amy sitting on a couch indian style)

Amy: Hello, it's me again, yes. Anyway, you know the name of the show or you wouldn't be here, obviously. And for those of you who are watching at home on TV and it's the first time you've ever seen it, it's called... well anyway, I'm not going to tell you the name because the credits tell you that at the beginning and the end. So, on with it. Today we've got another depressing guest, as usual, and I'm going to sit here and counsel him in my morbid way. And you all know I probably need therapy as much as him. But... (looks off camera) I don't know, what are we talking about today anyway? Oh, some... some guy I don't know. Just some depressed guy, so what's new? (motions in the direction of the camera) Why don't we introduce him. Come on... what's his name? What's your name anyway?

John: (off camera) John.

Amy: (waves off camera) Hi, John.

John: (off camera) Oh, hi.

Amy: Why don't you come on out, John?

John: Hey. (walks into camera view looking criminally deranged)

Amy: (reacts placatingly to a sudden movement in the audience) No, no need to stand everyone, it's just a... he's just a guest. (motions for the audience to sit back down)

Amy: Hello.

John: (walks sullenly over to the couch and plops down with a theatrical sigh) Hi.

Amy: My name's Amy. (holds out her hand for John to shake)

John: (looks at it for a couple of seconds then brushes it off)

Amy: Yeah. Well. (contemplates this for a second then starts laughing) Oh, I love to see people who are as miserable as me! (laughs out loud) So...

John: (looks at Amy with a hurt expression) You're such a... (mumbles something inaudible)

Amy: I'm such a what? Come on, it's good for you to express that anger, you know.

John: (sighs)

Amy: Call me a bitch. Call me a bitch.

John: No... I'm, I'm just... here I am, a depressed person, you know, and I've gone through this major trauma in my life...

Amy: And I'm laughing, is that it?

John: ...and you treat it as if it's nothing, like you hate me or something.

Amy: (cracks up again while trying to light a cigarette)

John: It's not funny. I quit drinking weeks ago and now I'm back on the bottle more than ever... (notices a beer on the coffee table, picks it up and takes a swig)

Amy: (between guffaws) You have me so cracked up I was about to light the filter end of the cigarette!

John: (ignores her and continues) ...my wife left me. I lost my job! My car broke down on me and I can't go anywhere in it, and I'm stuck at the house. Bills are coming in... God knows now the wife's wanting child support, and all just because...

Amy: The Violins, yes. Bring out the violins.

John: And all because of my poor little bird.

Amy: (surprised) Oh. What? (snickers)

John: (lights a cigarette) It's not funny! I had that parakeet for years.

Amy: (in a consoling tone) Here, have an ash tray. (passes an ash tray to John)

John: Thank you.

Amy: I know it's no replacement for the bird.

John: (looks hurt) Well, I'm trying my best... (mumbles something)

Amy: (calms down and composes herself) Well, do you want to talk about this then? I guess that's why you're here, isn't it?

John: Yeah. Well, you know, I had this parakeet for like... eight years, and his name was Odie. I named him after...

Amy: (laughs at this)

John: ...I named him after Odin.

Amy: (stops and looks at John with a puzzled expression) Huh?

John: (shouts) The God, Odin!

Amy: (sarcastically) Oh, oh... excuse moi, sivous plait!

John: (sniffs) And he was just a helluva bird. I've... I've got a picture of him, do you want to see it?

Amy: He's got a picture, ladies and gentlemen. Yes, please.

John: I carry it with me everywhere I go. (produces a photograph and holds it up)

Amy: (rolls eyes) He carries it with him.

John: Isn't he beautiful?

Amy: (takes sudden notice and reaches for the picture) Let me see that. (looks at it closely)

John: Isn't that adorable?

Amy: (regards the picture with exaggerated awe) When you... when you guys see this picture, you will understand my look...

John: He's so rare! (reaches for the picture)

Amy: (yanks it out of his reach) ... of enchantment. This is such a rare bird. I've never, ever seen a parakeet...

John: No, he's one of a kind. There's not another one in the world that's just like him.

Amy: ...that looks like this. Oh my gosh, let me gaze for a minute. (regards the picture solemnly)

John: Sure.

Amy: Beautiful. Ladies and gentlemen, you are about to see a parakeet that's astounding. I've never seen anything like it, John. No wonder you're so hurt. (rolls eyes and hands the photograph back)

John: (sniffs, oblivious to the sarcasm) Thank you. (gets up and approaches the camera)

Amy: Now we're going to show his picture.

John: (holds a picture of a perfectly unremarkable, normal looking parakeet up to the camera) This is my parakeet. Want to see my parakeet? Isn't he adorable? Now, have you ever seen a parakeet as beautiful as that? Here, let's get real close... (moves the picture even closer) ...look at that gorgeous bird. I mean... I mean, this is like... and this picture is on his birthday. We had ice cream and cake and everything like that...

Amy: (laughs and shakes her head) Oh, I thought I had problems...

John: ...and like, I invited all the neighbor birds over, you know, and I put a bunch of seeds out there in the yard for them and everything. They all flew in and ate the seeds, and none of them brought any presents. They ate the damn seeds and... I don't know. (sigh) Uh, I brought...

Amy: Oh, dear dear... (shakes head)

John: ...some more souvenirs.

Amy: Well, I don't know if I can handle any more of this.

John: (reaches into a pocket and extracts a handful of lint and feathers) I've got some feathers, and uh...

Amy: (examines the ball of disheveled feathers critically) Oh... and the feathers are as unique as the bird itself.

John: ...happy birthday... (gets up and approaches the camera and holds the feathers in front of it) Here. See the feathers? These are like... these were my parakeets favorite feathers. I cut them off of him right when he died.

Amy: (with authority) Okay. John, put the feathers away and sit down. It's time we talked. So, why don't you tell me how this bird died?

John: (sits back down on the couch) Well, I came home from work and I was really tired, and you know, it had been a rough day, and I had quit drinking and everything was going fine, and I was like... just trying to stay good, and... I was tired, and I (gasp) sat... (voice cracks as he wipes a tear) ... I sat down on the couch. (chokes on a sob) And... (sniffs, pauses, then raises his voice in anger) ...how the hell was I supposed to know that my (yelling) STUPID BITCH OF A WIFE left the cage open, and the parakeet had somehow ended up on my favorite spot on the couch... that dumb bitch! And my little kids ran on it too, the little crumb snatching little bastards! Argh! And I sat...

Amy: Where is your wife now?

John: Who gives a damn.

Amy: Oh...

John: I hate her and I wish she was fucking dead.

Amy: Well, you're on the right show then. You're at the right place, John. (pats his knee)

John: (rambling) I had that bird way before I met that little bimbo. All she wanted was a free ride and this that and the other. So what if her dad is rich and bought her a house. I don't care! (gesticulates wildly) I know, so she had a better job than I did. That doesn't matter! I try to compensate... (in a falsetto voice) I'll quit my job honey, and I'll take care of the... (pauses, then punches his palm with his fist) yeah, that's a bunch of bullshit. (quits rambling and takes a breath) I don't know...

Amy: (short silence) Well. So, how long now... would you please refresh... tell me again, how long has this been?

John: Oh, this is, let's see... uh, five days, three hours, twenty-seven minutes and twenty-four seconds. Total. Twenty five seconds.

Amy: Okay...

John: Twenty-six seconds.

Amy: ...so the pain is still...

John: Twenty-seven seconds.

Amy: ...the pain is still very new?

John: Twenty-eight seconds. Twenty-nine seconds.

Amy: (sighs) Do you think maybe...

John: Thirty seconds... (lapses into contemplative silence)

Amy: (speaking quickly) Have you come to a full realization of what has happened yet, or do you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night calling Odie's name?

John: Uh, I don't have that problem, waking up in the middle of the night. I haven't been able to sleep. I just go out and...

Amy: Are you hearing chirping noises and stuff?

John: Yeah... (sighs) ...all kinds of things.

Amy: Maybe I can share a few stories with you that might help you...

John: (interrupts) The worst part about it was, even after he died and we cooked him up, there wasn't even enough to have a meal. (sniffs) It was just... kind of like a little tidbit taste. I figured he'd appreciate it though.

Amy: But now you have this... (giggles) ...so now you carry a part of him with you forever.

John: I wanted to be a part of him. I was reading that book about Indians and stuff, how they would capture their enemy, and eat parts of them so they'd gain their things... and like, I got that...

Amy: Do you think that would work with my ex-fiance?

John: I don't know, but I've been trying to fly for these past few days and I keep falling off the roof and hurting myself.

Amy: (sigh)

John: I've got faith that the food will go up in there... but anyway, the bones and the remains. You know, I have a little grave out there for him. And uh, a sepulcher, I had a sepulcher made for him. It wasn't that much. I got it done, I contracted it. It was like forty-five thousand dollars. It's ok, I just sold my wife's car. And um... it's pretty good. You know, and then I...

Amy: (rolls eyes tiredly and shakes head) I'm all choked up, I'm sorry....

John: I had his name engraved in fourteen carat gold and everything like that, with his little name in sterling silver. It's so pretty. And I have like, you know... like, for the soldier, the eternal flame thing? I've got a big torch, it's an eternal torch. You know, the gas bill is kind of high though...

Amy: This is more serious than most people realize, isn't it?

John: Yeah...

Amy: Do you find that most of your supporters, or used to be supporters, are very unsympathetic now?

John: Well, I find that everybody thinks I'm a fruitcake and nobody talks to me anymore and they avoid me. I call my friends up and they won't come over. I offer all kinds of incentives... you know. Uh... hookers, beer, anything just so that they'd come to visit me. Money...

Amy: And they won't?

John: No, but... you know, not to just to visit me, but I want them to visit the shrine and see my poor dead bird.

Amy: Well let me ask you a little question because I read this in the paper and I'd like to hear your version of it.

John: Hmm.

Amy: I did read that one of the reasons that your friends were so...

John: You're not going to bring up the mass murder I did... I mean uh, that they... I allegedly did?

Amy: No, I wasn't...

John: Okay.

Amy: ...I was going to leave that one alone.

John: Okay.

Amy: I...

John: Because that was not true. I wasn't even inside that store on that day.

Amy: I really...

John: Well, I was there...

Amy: ...I really think...

John: ...well, not really. But I wasn't there...

Amy: ...that it was somebody wearing a mask.

John: Yes. Somebody wearing a mask who happened to look just like me. That's what I keep telling them...

Amy: (loudly) Anyway, I read that some of the reasons...

John: ...and they can't prove a thing...

Amy: ...that they don't want to come over is because of the things that are happening there... like the pictures flying off the walls, and that the ghost of the dead parakeet is haunting...

John: Yeah.

Amy: ...and it doesn't seem to want them there.

John: Odies ghost is alive and well and living in my household, and I think he's... like... trying to pay me back for sitting on him.

Amy: Oh, I'm all choked up. (laughs)

John: I can't even sit on the couch anymore.

Amy: Tragic, tragic.

John: I don't know. It's like... I've put bird seed in his cage before I go to sleep, and in the morning...

Amy: (gasps theatrically) It's gone?

John: No, it'll be there, but in the form of poop.

Amy: Now that's spooky. You know, that parakeet is making you suffer. Oh, how the ones we love make us suffer...

John: Yeah, but it's kind of consoling too, even though he is in ghost form and he torments me constantly at night...

Amy: At least you know he's still there.

John: ...and plays mean tricks like putting razor blades in my toothbrush and stuff like that. But you know... I get along with his ghost because deep down I know he really doesn't mean it. He was such a caring bird. I mean, how can you hold something against someone. I mean, how could he... just because I squished him and... you know. With my butt.

Amy: (tiredly with head in hand) Ohhh, man oh man...

John: (musing) I guess I probably should have taken a bath better... (mumbles something inaudible) ...and of course those beans I had the night before probably weren't... whatever... (mumbles again)

Amy: Oh, lord.

John: ...he was a helluva good bird.

Amy: (quickly) Tell us about him. Was he? Was he a helluva bird?

John: Gosh darn right. He was like... he was like, my bird. When I came into a room, you know, he immediately came too me after I grabbed him and buckled him into his harness and strapped him to my shoulder. And he would like, follow me around... well, I had a leash that I tied to him and he'd follow me around... anyway, it was kind of fun because I'd let him fly while I held on to the leash, and right when he got to the end of it, I'd pop it and jerk it back and we'd play that game all the time. Damn. (wipes his eyes)

Amy: Oh dear. Uh, John?

John: Huh?

Amy: Let me offer a little suggestion. I think... let's have a little prayer for Odie. I think that with this prayer...

John: Well see, if you'd just wait until Sunday, I'm renting um... uh, what's that damn big Catholic place...

Amy: The Vatican?

John: Yeah, that thing. I'm renting that and we're going to have a big um... thing for him...

Amy: Requiem mass?

John: Yeah. A big mass for him. A massive mass...

Amy: If you will.

John: ...as they say. And like, I hired the Pope to come in and say a few words.

Amy: You hired the Pope, huh. (claps hands and laughs) You mean Catholics can be bought?

John: Well, at first he wasn't going to do it until I cashed in my wife's life insurance policy. I mean, I didn't kill her. She died of uh, natural causes.

Amy: Oh...

John: She was playing with... cleaning her gun, and it went off accidentally nine times. And you know, those damn single shots are like that.

Amy: So, there's no truth to the claim that you murdered her?

John: No. Absolutely not. Just because I took out a large life insurance policy on her...

Amy: (addressing the audience) He didn't kill his wife, despite the fact that he took out a million dollar policy on her the same day.

John: I loved the bitch. I loved that cum sucking whore. I'm sorry. That fucking...

Amy: (grimaces) Can we bleep that word out? You can still say it all you want...

John: Well, this is cable...

Amy: True. Ok, it's time for a commercial break. When we come back, John's going to be with us again, but we promise we're going to have an even more depressing topic when we return. And also...

John: Well I'm going to go to take a piss then. (gets up and trots off camera)

Amy: All right, we'll see you in a minute then. And now a word from our sponsors.

(close up of a Budweiser beer bottle with voiceover)

Budweiser beer. Drink it. It's good. Yum yum. Thank you.

(shot of Amy sitting on the couch)

Amy: (waves to camera) Hello! Where's our guest? I hope he didn't get locked in the john again.

John: (walks into camera view and sits on the couch) Hey, I resent that. My name's John and I take offense to that. You know, my ex-wife used to call me John. (laughs nervously)

Amy: (joins in with nervous laughter)

John: And uh, just before I took that life insurance policy out on her, she uh... called me that. And made fun of that sport. (face assumes a faraway, confused look)

Amy: Look... (puts a comforting hand on John's shoulder)

John: (startled) Huh?

Amy: Be silent. We have medication that will make that go away.

John: Do you want to get married?

Amy: Uh...

John: Do you have a lot of money? We could be so perfect together. Oh sweet baby. (puts his hand on her knee) Do you like birds?

Amy: (looks away nervously)

John: (shouting) Hey! Do you like birds? I'm talking to you!

Amy: (laughs nervously) I love them. Actually, I don't own... I don't like animals very much at all. I don't like them in the house.

John: (long silence) You bitch.

Amy: Yes, many men have called me that. Do you think it upsets me now that you would?

John: I don't really know if I care to be on your fucking show anymore.

Amy: You know, I don't really give a fucking shit if you care to be...

John: (interrupts) What time do you get off work anyway?

Amy: Ha. If you think, for one minute, that I haven't put up with psycho's like you before...

John: Well, I'm not going to wait in the parking lot with a damn rifle and shoot you all into little pieces. Why would I do something like that?

Amy: Well, if you'd like to try, honey, be my guest.

John: I don't do that anymore... I mean, I don't kill and I haven't ever killed anyone and they can't prove a thing.

Amy: Ha. There are little known things about me. Everyone at the station knows that they don't mess with me, you got it? I'm a witch. Certifiable, real life...

John: ...bitch...

Amy ...thunder will roll witch! Mess with me and you'll be eating your heart for lunch.

John: My parakeet makes house calls, you know.

Amy: Well, let me tell you, I have a few friends of my own...

John: Yeah...

Amy: ...and they're the kind...

John: Yeah. I'm not putting up with this. I'm out of here. (gets up and walks off camera)

Amy: Okay.

John: (off camera) Fucking bitch.

Amy: We just got rid of that asshole. (laughs) We'll be back in a minute... and now another word from our sponsor.

(close up of a pack of Marlboro cigarettes with voiceover)

Marlboro cigarettes. Yum yum. Smoke em, they're good for you.

(shot of Amy sitting on the couch)

Amy: No doctor, I asked for a xanax, not a zantac. I don't have heartburn. (glances at camera) Oh. I'm on the air. (laughs nervously) Why didn't somebody TELL me that? (rolls eyes at somebody off camera) Well, I think our guest has calmed down a little bit. He's been sedated. I think he'll be much more of a pleasant... conversation piece... now. Especially since, you know, we're about to discuss one of the other aberrations that seem to have appeared since the demise of his parakeet, and that's multiple personality disorder. Now I think he's transformed into one of his other personalities, and I think they're a little bit more friendly. Let's welcome him again... um, okay. And what did you say your name was?

John: (off camera) My name's John. (approaches couch holding a sheathed sword)

Amy: (long silence) Oh. John. (another long silence) Welcome back.

John: (sits down) Thank you. Wow.

Amy: Well, John, what do we have with us today?

John: (plays with sword distractedly) I knew what it was a minute ago.

Amy: You don't know what it is now?

John: Some guy poked me in the arm with something and... I don't know. (bites sword handle) I had a reason for getting this... (gazes at Amy with glazed eyes)

Amy: (almost whispering) And what was that reason?

John: I was tired. (unsheathes sword and stares at it) What is this? I was hungry. No...

Amy: No, that wasn't it. John, do you know what?

John: Huh?

Amy: It's time to put those ghosts to rest and put the weapons away. Because do you know what?

John: Ghosts and what?

Amy: Your parakeet, your wife...

John: My parakeet!

Amy: Your parakeet is the only one you should remember, because your parakeet loves you, John. (puts a comforting hand on his shoulder) Let me tell you something. You're better off without that wife of yours.

John: I know! I walked up to her and said honey, it's like this... (emphasizing his point with downward thrusts of the sword)

Amy: And let me tell you something else... listen!

John: ...I love you, but... oh.

Amy: You did yourself a favor by ridding the world of her.

John: I didn't kill her. Well, ok...

Amy: I know. I know.

John: Can I tell you something? (sidles up closer in confidence)

Amy: Yeah:

John: (whispers) I might have killed her, but... you know, she was...

Amy: (whispers) She deserved it.

John: Yeah, she did...

Amy: (shouting) She put your parakeet on the damn couch! She didn't have the nerve to tell you. You know, she could have thought... she could have thought that when you came home from work that you'd be tired, and irritable, because you'd had a bad day and the goddamn - (stops and hurriedly crosses herself) - sorry, I'm catholic. (waves at camera) Hi mom! Hi father Mike! Yeah, that's me. Uh huh, see you at mass. Okay. She should have known that you'd be tired, and to put that parakeet there... to be so irresponsible. She deserved it. So don't worry about that. You know what I think? I think your guilt is eating you up, and you need to lay that to rest. Your parakeet doesn't hate you... that's not the reason he sits around the house. He sits around the house because he loves you and he doesn't want to let you go either. And the next time something happens around the house with the parakeet that you might think is frightening, you stop and you say, Odie, I know thats you, and I want you to know that I know why you're doing it. So stop. I know you're here and I'm happy you're here, so you don't need to make a disturbance to let me know you care. (to John) And I think you're going to be okay. You're going to be more than ok. And I'm glad that you came on my show.

John: Thank you, I had a good time.

Amy: (lighting a cigarette) Well, you seem a little more subdued than when you first got here.

John: (staring at the ceiling) Do you have a light for my smoke? (offers her the sword scabbard distractedly)

Amy: (off camera) Doctor, I told you no more than 10 cc's!

John: Hi C? I like that drink. It's nice. I gotta go. Somewhere.

Amy: You know what? We all have to go somewhere. What do you think happens to you when you die?

John: You rot. Or you eat birdseed and shit ghost turds.

Amy: Have you ever seen a ghost?

John: I saw my parakeet.

Amy: No, I mean a ghost of a living person.

John: Only after they were dead. I'm still waiting on my wife to come back. (long silence) And the kids.

Amy: Kids? Where are the kids, at grandma's?

John: (suddenly more alert) Yeah... they're at grandma's house! That's where they are.

Amy: (under her breath) That's probably where they need to be...

John: My grandma lives out of state, far away. Not here. Not in my backyard. Under the big oak tree. Next to the grave.

Amy: That's a good place to plant things.

John: Yeah, that's my favorite...

Amy: The ground is very fertile.

John: It is now. I mean, yes it is.

Amy: You know, you'll have a helluva crop come next spring.

John: Yeah. I'm planting the birdseed.

Amy: You know, John, me just talking to you... I feel better already, because I thought I had problems an hour ago. And you know what? I don't think I could have been as strong as you were going through this. I probably would have killed my wife and kids and my parakeet.

John: Yeah, luckily I'm not that kind of...

Amy: Just the other day, I was wanting to throw knives at someone I love. And I told him so.

John: Watch this, it's magically floating up. (raises the sword) Oh. That's not my hand.

Amy: Well, we're just about out of time...

John: I got a new pet too.

Amy: What kind?

John: A dog.

Amy: I hope...

John: He's not allowed on the couch. He likes to hang around the mulcher though, and I'm kind of worried about that. I remember when my kid was by the mulcher, and I almost... he didn't actually fall into the mulcher, that didn't happen. And the time my neighbor came over and didn't play with my chain saw and cut his head off... that didn't happen. And then the time... the time... well, I'm not supposed to talk about this because my lawyer...

Amy: Bye!

John: (gets up and slouches away, mumbling)

Amy: This concludes another episode of "I Hate You And Wish You Wear Dead". Hey, don't turn me off just yet because I'm not ready. This is my show, yes, I'M the star of the show. Do you want me to have an anxiety attack? I don't think so. Now, I say when we quit rolling the cameras. Got it? Ok. (black screen)

The Science of Fart Eating

I have always been intrigued by the concept of fart eating, ever since reading Orson Scott Card’s novel, 'Enders Game', in which the term is used frequently amongst the adolescent populace of the near future. Based on this odd yet widely accepted vernacular, I can only assume that in the future the eating farts must be a commonplace occurrence; apparently the result of extreme technological advances. Which brings me to my thesis - how would one actually go about the eating of a fart, if one were inclined to do so? I do not refer to the simple process of inhalation. When breathing air which has been recently perforated by a fart, almost certainly some trace fumes do make their way into the stomach. However, simply breathing fart vapors can hardly be classified as bona-fide consumption, just as the regular, uncontaminated air we gormandize so regularly is not considered to be the actual gastrointestinal digestion of said noble and volatile gases. In essence, a fart could only be considered well and truly eaten if the majority of molecules which comprise the fart, via a process of voluntary muscular contraction, are passed into the stomach and are then verily digested. Thus, we have established parameters with which to describe the phenomenon of fart eating. So armed, we shall now explore the actual plausibility of fart eating.

First and foremost, one must pose the question of how one actually would go about the eating of a fart, as stated in my thesis. Is it possible to actually consume a gas as one does a solid? Generally, the consumption of solid matter is referred to as eating. However, the consumption of liquid matter is referred to as drinking. Should we then invent a brand new term for the consumption of a gas? Some may interject at this point... but we already have a term which describes the consumption of gas! It's called breathing, or inhaling! And then they would stand unabashed and prideful, bathing in their own self assurance that this dilemma has be well and truly quashed. However, I must now shatter that self assurance with the cold, hard hammer of logic, as I will now elucidate. It has already been determined that breathing or inhaling vapors does NOT constitute genuine consumption, as the majority of said vapors are bound for the lungs, NOT the stomach and intestinal system. So for now, we shall continue under the precept that farts are imminently edible, and no new terms must be invented to describe the process of consumption. However, we will leave this possibility open for later discussion.

Secondly, one might then determine that if we cannot immediately consume a fart in its natural gaseous state, couldn't we somehow compress the fart into a solid? After all, a fart is merely a collection of molecules, comprised of base atoms, which instead of standing immobile against one another are freely bouncing off of each other in a chaotic fashion. Should it not be possible then to organize these molecules into a coherent and solid structure? One must invoke some basic physical properties in order to pursue this line of thought. Let us consider the system of thermodynamics, which describes the movement of energy and how energy instills movement. Since a fart is comprised of relatively fast moving atoms (as are all gases), the friction caused by this movement naturally generates heat energy. After all, a fart is imminently warm upon immediate expulsion from the sphincter diaphragm, a fact which is easily demonstrable by anyone with a moderate case of digestive effluvium. Now... if we were to slow down this movement using some as yet undeveloped technological process and compress the actual fart atoms into a stable, solid structure (bypassing the liquid phase completely, a process known as reverse sublimation), we would thusly wind up with a superdense collection of frigid fart molecules. Hardly an edible sample, as a simple teaspoon of distilled solid fart would weigh several tons and would flash freeze your tongue upon contact. This is assuming that somehow an unstable mass of solidified fart molecules were able to retain a coherent structure without flying apart with the explosive force of several hundred tons of TNT. Besides, the point is moot because we currently lack the required technology. We must consider another avenue.

Thirdly. What about forcing a fart down the throat and immediately into the stomach via some pneumatic device? While this could, in theory, result in the deposition of the majority of fart molecules into the stomach, could one actually define this as eating? Consider. When an invalid is being force-fed with a tube, can it really be said that the invalid is engaging actively in the process of eating? Based on the parameters which we defined earlier, in order for a fart to be eaten, active swallowing (voluntary muscular contraction) must occur. When air is forced artificially into the stomach, the swallowing process is completely bypassed. Although it would be plausible to consider the pneumatically aided consumption of farts as 'fart force feeding', we could not use this process as a method for bona fide fart eating.

Finally, let us consider the origin of the fart. What is a fart? Effectively, it is fecal matter in gaseous form. Tiny little molecules of feces which are floating around, bouncing off of each other and other various air molecules. It may not be pleasant to contemplate, but the process of smelling a fart is the simple inhalation of pure, unrefined solid human waste. But wait, didn't we just describe the inherent difficulties of the conversion of a fart into a sold structure? And considering the futility of such an attempt, how is it then that a fart might at some point be solid? Simply. First, a fart is the result of the slow sublimation of feces (sublimation being the direct conversion of a solid, without a liquid interim, into a gas). Secondly, as we demonstrated earlier, because of the fundamental properties of thermal dynamics, a fast moving collection of fart molecules can only be rendered back into a solid form through the process of reverse sublimation. It takes far more energy to reverse the effects of entropy (the natural process through which an orderly collection of organic molecules matter loses it’s cohesion, resulting in a more chaotic state) than to invoke an artificial state of order (reorganizing chaotic particles into a cohesive whole). Thus, the reorganization of a fart back into its corporeal fecal form would require the harnessing of vast amounts of energy. Currently, these required energy levels can only be produced in the Large Hadron Collider by slamming atoms of gold together at 99.999 % of the speed of light. However, in order to accelerate actual fecal molecules to that speed, one would need a particle accelerator with a diameter equal to the orbit of Pluto.

In conclusion, we are left with what seems at first to be an extremely undesirable yet unavoidable denouement - that fart eating might only be possible by the direct consumption of solid feces. In this manner, as the pre-digested material passes once more through the intestinal tract, it may once again sublimate into gaseous form. Although somewhat of an indirect method, it will result in the eventual deposition of farts in the digestive system, which was the intended result. Luckily, such an extremely unpleasant and unpalatable method is completely unnecessary. By applying the simple logic which was just so unpleasantly demonstrated, we can now conclude that the consumption of any type of food, especially beans and broccoli, can be construed as fart eating, since the inevitable result is that such food will eventually, through the process of digestion, become a fart or farts. We can now safely refer to all edible material as farts, and the act of eating can now be referred to as farting.

Confusion

The other night, I woke up in the middle of the night. I was on my side, and there was a red light blinking off and on in the pitch black. A full minute must have passed during which I was completely oblivious as to who I was, where I was, what was going on, WHAT I was, why it was so dark, what that flashing red light was, and to top it off, I didn't seem to give two flying farts, either. All capacity for cogent thought seemed to have fled during that time. It was as if I had lost all higher brain functions and simply existed with the awareness of an animal. Saying that I didn't know 'why' all of this was going on is a gross overstatement. Why didn't matter, since I didn't seem to posses the ability to question anything anyway. There wasn't any fear, or concern, or anything. Kind of like a video camera set to record and being fed onto a blank tape.

So as I said, I just 'lie' there or 'lied' there or whatever for a while, about a minute, and then I started to 'come back' I guess. This was characterized by an immediate onset of extreme panic. I sat up and looked around in the pitch dark. Most people have probably experienced this, waking up and not knowing where they are for a second. It was kind of like that once I 'came to'. Eventually I finally figured out who I was and that I was in bed at my moms and that I was house sitting for her while she's in California. I reclined my body again and thought about how weird this was.

I wonder how often that happens to people. Its definitely never happened to me before. I've woken up confused before, but never like that, where I have forgotten everything about everything including myself. I told my mom about it and she said I was probably still asleep until I actually snapped out of it. I don't think so, it wasn't like being asleep, it was exactly how I described it.

That dog again

Last night I actually trained the dog a little. I learned it how to 'come ere' and 'stay' and 'don't piss on the damn rug!'. To a limited extent anyway. I have decided that the dog isn't retarded, its just a big fuckin fraidy cat. Excuse my language. Its so scared of everything that its behavior is easily mistaken for that of a common retard. Now, that isn't to say that the dog isn't defective. It definitely is. HE is, I mean. Rooney, that is. He's defective all right, a dog should not be scared shitless of a vacuum cleaner that isn't even turned on... and he's never even been around a turned on vacuum cleaner. Case in point:

Last night, I was taking the dog for his nightly drag. Somebody had left a vacuum cleaner on the side of the road... you know, 'free vacuum', kind of like ' free couch' or 'free ottoman' or any other myriad of free things that people don't want anymore so they just make it available to the general public by putting it on the side of the road. I've done it, you've done it, everybody has done it... anyway, I digress. I approach the vacuum to inspect it. Not that I'll actually be able to tell a damn thing about it, its not like there's a power outlet in the sidewalk. I'm curious anyway though, and as I approach the vacuum, Rooney proceeds to go apeshit. I have to use both hands to hold onto the leash and I can't inspect the vacuum, so I tie the leash around my waist so my hands are free. Walking towards the vacuum thus encumbered is like walking into a 100 mph gale. I can actually lean forward at almost a 45 degree angle without falling over because Rooney is pulling with all his might in the opposite direction, anything to keep himself away from that horrible terrifying life threatening vacuum cleaner. He's going more apeshit than I've ever seen him go. His head is thrashing around back and forth and in circles, trying to rid himself of the leash. He is jumping up and being stopped in midair by the leash attached to his collar of course, which results in his body being spun in crazy mid-air directions, with him landing heavily on his side, back, stomach, sometimes his feet if he's lucky. His legs are constantly moving at full speed like out of control pinwheels... it’s like watching a dog on an invisible treadmill, except the treadmill is constantly being moved up, down, left right, upside down, and sideways. His eyes are rolled up in his head and slobber is flying from his jowls in long stringy threads. He is making wheezing and gurgling sounds... I've never actually heard the gurgling sounds before. It’s like he's trying to whine, I think, but he's cutting off his own air supply by struggling and it comes out as this dry, gurgling rasping throaty sound. I would think that the possibility of choking to death just might supersede the terror, but no. He will happily choke to death if it means not getting any closer to that damn vacuum.

However, I am the master and he's the stupid dog so I'm not going to let his antics deter me. I take my time inspecting that vacuum cleaner inside out and upside down. I pull out the hoses, check for leaks, turn it over and check for tangled string on the rollers, pull out the bag, anything I can do to make this last for as long as possible. Some people might think this is cruel, but that dog is bringing all of this on himself. If he would just calm the hell down and walk up to the vacuum like a normal dog and sniff it, everything would be kosher. Finally I'm actually starting to get tired with Rooney pulling on me constantly and I've decided that the vacuum is pretty much tip top... except that it probably doesn't work. Thus ends Rooney's mortal terror.

Later on I tried to train him somewhat. He is actually starting to kind of learn how NOT to be a permanent fixture on the couch. I succeeded last night in getting him to come to me when I called. He actually jumped off of the couch and trotted over to me of his own free will. Then he pissed on the rug. I had to punish him, which pretty much negated all of the kudos I had been giving him for being a good dog.

That dog

I have a dog. It is retarded. It is a cat in a dogs body, I think. This dog will not come to you when you call it. If not moved physically, it will languish on the couch all day long. It will not approach its food or water until everyone is asleep and it is alone. I hear it lapping water and munching dog food late at night. When it is necessary to move the dog, that is... to take it outside so it can do its doodie, one must physically drag the dog to the door. Either that, or pick up the dog and carry it. When I say drag, I mean the dog is almost choking to death because I'm pulling on its collar and it is doing everything in its power to go in the opposite direction to the one I am going. When I put a leash on his collar, the dog shakes as if it is mortally terrified. I take the dog for a walk every night. I have to drag the dog during half of the walk. Even when the dog is actually walking and not being dragged, it is constantly trying to move in the direction of the house. He knows this direction even after we have made several turns on several streets. It is as if the dog is a compass needle, and the house is true north. Once my foot accidentally banged into a dumpster. The dog acted as if it were in imminent peril. It went completely ape shit (because of the noise of my foot hitting the side of the dumpster) and struggled mightily to get away. It ran between my legs. It ran the other way. It ran in circles. Finally its collar came off and off that dog shot, like a bat out of hell. I ran for about a hundred feet and then said F this, I'll just go home. And sure enough that's where the dog went (the dog's name is Rooney by the way). I tightened his collar and took him back out. I passed the same dumpster and kicked again lightly to see the dogs reaction. It was the same... mortal terror. At one point during the walk, I was on Hickory, right before Fry St. A guy was standing outside one of the shops, smoking a cigarette, and he saw me dragging this dog down the sidewalk. As we passed him, he remarked: "That dog won't hunt." I thought this was hilarious. No, that dog definitely won't hunt.

The other day

You guys remember how the other day started out so awesomely? Well it didn't stay that way. The rest of it sucked. Actually, none of that day was awesome. I was just thinking that maybe if I posted that it was, that possibly I would believe it. You know, the idea that all realities actually exist as 'reality dust' in a 'configuration space', that all moments actually exist as static shapes and that time is an illusion that is only viable when measuring the distances between any two particular particles of 'reality dust'. I thought that maybe if I invented a perfect day and 'willed' it to be true, that I just might find those elusive dust particles that constituted the perfect day based on mundane banality.

It didn't work.

Wow!

Wow, I simply cannot believe how awesome today has been so far. First I woke up. Then I got dressed and drank some peach tea or something. After that, I drove from Dallas to Denton. Then I cut up and boiled a chicken, which is now in the process of cooling. Then I fucked around the house for a bit.

I can't wait to see what the rest of the day has in store!

Work?

Can you believe this shit? I'm actually looking for a job. I don't go on the road again until November, and until then the rent is due or something. Plus I don't have any money for books. So here I am, all spiffed up and looking pretty damn awesome. Where to work, where to work... hmmm. I'll get back to me on that one.

I guess since I'm out of books I'll listen to some music.

Yay

Ok, I finished Heavens Reach. I found three dollars in an old ass spiral notebook
that I used to use for high school English class! Whoo fuckin hoo.

I need a new book. I don't have money for a new book. I am having to re-read old
books. This sucks.

Do things actually happen in other people's lives?