Klondike Bar in a thought-cloud starts it all

CVS is one of these mid-sized affairs halfway between a real supermarket and a convenience store. I pull in to a parking space with 4 empty spaces on either side. The idiot girl driving a mega-sized truck (no doubt belonging to the absent borefriend) behind me then parks right next to me, so close I have to squeeze out.

But I don’t. I fire up the converters and drive to another space around the corner. Tonight is the second night all year it’s actually cold enough to wear two shirts in lieu of a jacket.

Truck Girl is already in the checkout line when I make it inside. She looks at me. I jam my fist in my pocket so I won’t punch her in the face. I would never do it but the urge is there. Further down, a short blonde Weeble with a scraggly ponytail labors to push a midget-sized shopping cart filled to the brim with stuff; the cart’s so full she really has to lean into it to beat intertia. Christ.

CVS is out of Klondike Bars as well as Drumsticks. Some fatty must’ve ravaged the freezer case earlier. I grab two other frozen things and head for the register. The line is gone, it’s only the Weeble at the counter, now unloading the cart (this is why the poor stay poor, doing weekly shopping here instead of a real supermarket). There’s only one hapless checkout guy. I throw the two frozen things in the beer case and storm out.

I decide on another place. As I pull in, facing the blank-walled side of the gas station convenience store, I see a cop car parked, unoccupied, with its running lights on. That’s all right, the jail’s nearby and the many cops use the convenience stores on this road as watering/donut holes.

I round the corner and find the missing cop. He’s standing right in front of the glass double doors, calmly listening to a fat, loudmouthed woman explain her side of the story about The Accident. I turn around, get back in my car. I figure I really needed something to write about, the gods heard me, and this night is the result.

I drive down to the next store, a Walgreens: half pharmacy/half photos/half food. On the outside wall a strobe light, placed right above a security camera, is strobing. What does this mean? Silent alarm? Wait, a siren!–but it’s only an ambulance whizzing by.

Inside is a display of sassy T-shirts for babies.

I cry when ugly people hold me.

I may be tiny but I’m the Boss.

Society is now so obnoxious even babies must make declarative statements of Asshole.

Walgreens has Drumsticks and Klondike Bars! After my long journey through a chilly hell I appreciate them more. I take one of each plus a third treat, one of those chocolate-covered ice cream bars that looks like it’s covered in venereal warts.

The kid at the register has moved on but has called Kristen to help me.

Kristen is blonde, cute, with a husky voice. Fondling the ice cream, she approves of the purchase. “I need some of these, only I’d buy a carton.”

Does this mean she approves of me?

Her nametag reads Beauty Advisor. The Right Thing to say pops into my head: “You’re a ‘beauty advisor’. They picked the right person.”

I can’t say it. I don’t.

I eat one of the ice creams at the stoplight. The warts one. I am rewarded and it’s good to be alive, but only for now.

Fuck off, Pickle, I don’t like talking to machines!*

No one reads these non-porn posts, but I have to keep my typing skillz up, which means nothing because I don’t type the “correct” way, never have. I’m not fast, but with spell-check and no deadlines, speed has never been an issue.

Like so many who don’t know it, I’m waiting for the perfection of the Orwellian “speak-write” so I can just talk (in)to the damned machine.

I tried Dragon NaturallySpeaking 9 but my comp proved too old and slow and I felt like a fool adding the punctuation: “Quote…I went to the sex market…period.” Also no matter how many times I tried, I could never get the damed program to print the word “sing” on the screen. I must’ve looked like a madman furiously growling, “SING! SING! SING!” into the headset (“Sing” by Travis was jammed sideways into my brain the whole time).

My 13-yr-old car had some work done today and looks better. I feel better about it and myself because of this. More on that later.

I should get back into blogging regularly even if I have nothing to write, like now.

Hatred never dies so they’ll always be something new to write about.

Period.

* Quote from Hamburger: the Motion Picture.

A slave enjoys the sunshine

It took from the beginning of the year till now, but yesterday, finally, the weather got cool enough for windows.

Right now Florida weather is exactly like California weather, cool with no humidity. If you could bottle it you’d have something more narcotic and valuable than cocaine.

Normally, nature is something to drive a car through to get to a building, but one day a year to honor ideal weather is fair. The gym was closed for removation so, having chugged a phial of “6-hour energy” on this, my day off, I went to the park. I hadn’t been to the park in 20 years, I figured it was about time to see it again.

The park was loaded with humans, though not as many as there could’ve been.

The nature trail had been made ‘one-way’ (stupid rollerblades). Many years ago the winding trail was thin, easily-bullied asphalt made hilly by giant tree roots. Decades later it’s finally taken enough asphalt-steroids and the tree roots are tamed.

I walked the 2-mile trail in 40 minutes and, despite the coolness, left the park in a sweat.

If the weather was like this year-round, the influx of humans to the state would be double what it is. No good, no good.

So here’s your tribute, perfect Florida weather. Don’t let it go to your head.

Quoticle – at last, a real voice of reason

What the public criticizes in you, cultivate. It is you.

~Jean Cocteau

SHOULD OBAMA WIN/SHOULD McCAIN WIN

DISCLAIMER: I’m telling you straight up, I’m voting for John Sydney McCain III and Sarah Louise Heath Palin and this post reflects that POV. If you’re going to vote for Barack Hussein Obama, remember to vote on November 5th. Or be punished with a baby.

REGARDING BOTH MEN: I’m disappointed neither said much about freedom, optimism and America’s unique greatness during this election. I’m extremely disappointed neither man said anything about the Constitution and limiting government power. At least with McCain there’s an inkling of hope in regaining sanity, while Obama thinks, as all liberals must, the Constitution was written on an Etch-A-Sketch and is his to shake away the parts he doesn’t like (or add a RIGHT to everything from free cable to personal bodyguards to stop school bullies).

SHOULD OBAMA WIN it’s tempting to say that America as we know it will pass away. But don’t. There’s plenty to be positive about. We’re not quite there as far as a Second Civil War goes, if only because no one really knows what they’re fighting for or against. Confusion reigns and it’s preferable to anarchy.

SHOULD OBAMA WIN (not by a “landslide”, he’s not the other Hussein) there’s no reason for melodrama or pessimism. Democracy is self-correcting, and Barry’s Ascension might prove a real blessing, galvanizing the Right in a way not seen since ’94, when Congress after 40 years flipped to a Republican majority, keeping Billy Clinton in check, despite his lack of pants.

SHOULD OBAMA WIN how fast people caught in the middle wake up and realize they’ve re-elected Jimmy Carter with a better tan depends on how fast Obama’s economic schemes are unleashed. My guess is he’ll be low-key for “the first 100 daze”, drinking in the worship of the mainstream media, until even they will have quieted, waiting for the show to begin, SHOULD OBAMA WIN.

No matter how hard the media will try to conceal the ensuing flops and failures of what is essentially regurgitated marxism, the matured internets will be there as never before, documenting every misstep. I don’t mind the ignorance or foolhardiness of the American people, as long as it hurts. Stupid should hurt, and when you put your hand on a hot stove it’s your hand that should burn, no one else’s.

SHOULD McCAIN WIN it will be nothing less than a second chance for America. McCain isn’t a maverick so much as a 3-legged dark horse. He’s going to need a complete overhaul, including a visit from the ghost of Reagan. Republicans have been shitting the cot on their core values for so long that the lies of the left aren’t worth addressing, there’s too much to be done. There are bodies stacked to the rafters in the cellar: compromised, sissified Rightards still in office have no time to worry about a dead dog planted on the stoop by the New York Slimes.

SHOULD McCAIN WIN or even if he loses, these second-chance Republicans better get back to principles or they’ll find they have a very short shelf life; when it’s time to act they’ll either be fresh and ready or thrown away. That’s as it should be. Nothing less than their best will be acceptable, and should they keep on doing the same things they’ve been doing, they will deserve their crucifixions. SHOULD OBAMA WIN, true conservatives, already livid, will be trembling among stacks of wooden boards and nail guns.

I really wish the ticket was Palin-McCain. But you can’t have everything.

The most important thing you can take from this enjoyable babble is this: America was founded by people smarter than you and me. They split the government’s power into thirds so that no President could turn into a monarch, nor a mob of shits like Congress into the Central Comittee. We also have 200 million guns, and despite what politically-correct weenies may believe, we don’t run from a fight.

I Should’ve DM’ed

George loved D&D. I remember him wanting to be entertained, hungry for adventure, but the only guys he was able to summon for the campaign were two absolute social misfits, Pear and Crewcut.

Pear was shaped like a pear and Crewcut looked like a literal jackass with a crewcut. The two subnormals took turns being the Dungeonmaster (DM), who spins the story based on a guidebook and his own imagination. Both sucked at it. As we were all young adults, I expected the psychological complexity of young adults to enter the game, beyond slashing orcs.

But Pear and Crewcut were useless. They mostly argued with each other and swore like sailors in front of George’s kids (for that I wanted to kick their asses). I don’t know what I was doing there. It was the 90s. I didn’t want to step in and DM, though many years before I always ended up being the Dungeonmaster (I’ve been playing God ever since).

George had a lovely, devoted wife. I mention her only to lend cheer to this recollection: since she worked late at a video store she avoided being at the rented house for these unbearable D&D games. It got so bad I tried to kill off my character by not fighting back against pterodactyl-like creatures dive-bombing our party, but every time I was mortally wounded that idiot Crewcut, with a saving roll of the die, would revive my character. Finally I said, “I draw my knife and slit my own throat,” (something I’ve been doing ever since). Oops, failed the saving throw.! R.I.P. I then got to watch the Sci-Fi channel with George’s kids while George stuck it out.

I remember the look on George’s face more than anything. An accomplished family and military man and generous all-around good guy, he was nonetheless hungry for adventure. I’m sorry now that I couldn’t help him then, or didn’t try. I should’ve stepped in and been the DM.

Dear Stephanie Courtney (the exotic girl from the Progressive insurance commercials)

(I tried making this post “Private” because I felt like it. It didn’t work, people could still read it, [turdpress FTW!] so here it is, no different. Please worship Satan).

Dear Stephanie, (MAY I call you Stephanie)?

As your character “FLO” from the Progressive commercials gains notoriety, I’d like to say that I think you’re the spun sugar in cotton candy and remind you that all of your other male admirers are gay.

Only I see/saw through the FLO character’s heavy makeup, lipstick and stylish sex-hair to the ebullient soul that is You hiding within the role, swaying like a flower floating in ginger ale.

I just want you to know that if we ever meet really soon, and things went so great that we’re in my room playing strip chess, I’d never demand you dress as the FLO character as part of our bedroom role-playing, because that’s a little too forward right after getting your autograph. These things take time, like waiting for Mother to go out of town so we can have the house to ourselves, you and me, forever!

That said, I eagerly await the next Progressive commercial starring you as FLO, joyously hawking insurance, which everybody needs just like they need…love.

Love,

Meat

P.S. You’re so cute you shit kittens. Please find them a good home!

“Your new God is the absence of Light”

As the world burns green they tremble at their lost money, but it’s the end of their world, not mine. I’m already inside the Singularity where nothing matters. I’ve been here for years, numb. A handful of cake or a handful of shit, it’s all the same to me. I eat both. Stealing or giving, kissing or killing.

All the same.

Nothing surprises me for long. Death is nothing, a shift in fortunes and pale energy. A body dies, the maggots win the lottery.

You are getting exactly what you deserve. Should I rise while you fall, it’s meant to be. You believed this when you were on top and I was down.

Now we are both down.

I’m getting the last laugh and I stopped laughing years ago.

Ha.