I've noticed there is little talk lately of global warming. Either we have accepted what is happening and plan on doing nothing about it or we plan to do something when it's more convenient to do so, like curb energy use.
We seem to believe that growth is sustainable, that more and more is still better. Now India and China want more and the people in the world want more but just how much more can the earth give? That question we really don't know as yet. We can see it failing here and there but we have no connection as yet to species in danger or gone and us at top of the food chain. The supermarkets are full of food, even though many go hungry. There is good shelter for those who can still afford it and clothes too but many go in need for basics like clean water and sanitation.
Yet the rich want more and the church wants more people and the governments want more taxes for more wars and more commerce so that we can all have more.
It's as if the earth were a terrorist's ticking time bomb. Only instead of an explosion there will be an implosion.
Stories from living in Los Angeles
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
In Search Of Prey
Me and Mexican Monkey went on a mountain bike ride yesterday. It was in Sycamore Canyon and we dropped into the bottom of the forested canyon from a steep ridge. The canyon is oak and sycamore full of wildlife, green meadows and streams. It was a great day and some real hot guys were out both on bikes and foot. Though Mexican Monkey was ahead of me, I could count on him stopped near any hot guys. Works for me that's for sure and it seemed to take the sore from my legs looking at them.
We had done a short steep climb early and then came down through an area of streams, going through water or mud at the bottom of each gully. It was fun, cool fun though because the day was beginning to cloud and turn chilly. But it didn't matter then, we headed for the ocean and one long climb to the mountain ridge on one side of the canyon. The climb never ends. It goes up for miles until you overlook the ocean, the canyon and finally, the farmlands of Ventura coast. Before we started our single track decent, Juan had pulled up to hot hikers in admiration of how much we climbed and from where. We were admiring them more so, I think, and with that spurt of energy began a wicked, trail twisting decent. I did well until I went into a rut that held my bike while I went over the bars and, luckily, into some high green grass that softened the blow. Scratched, bleeding and sore, I got back on and did what I could to catch up with Mexican Monkey. He was waiting at the bottom and asked what in hell I hit that clawed me up. I joked about the coyotes being hungry.
We smoked a joint and with the cool weather and sore bodies decided to head back to the truck. It's a long slow climb until you get to the ridge where it gets very steep. Even in the chill of late afternoon and a stiff breeze blowing in today's storm, I was sweating on the climb. When I finally got to the top of the ridge where everyone waits, I noticed that they weren't looking at those still climbing up, but at the meadow across from the road. There was a pack of coyotes spread out searching the meadow. About eight very healthy, well fed and large coyotes. They were looking at me. The crowd turned to me who the coyotes were looking at and back to the coyotes. I had no legs left, out of breath and as Mexican Monkey said, "Adios Amigo," the group got on their bikes and fled from the coyote pack leaving me there as the weak, forgotten prey that would satisfy the bikers safe retreat.
I was hungry, very hungry, probably as hungry as the pack of coyotes and they looked like I was a good meal for a week. But I didn't get this big by turning down meals, so I looked at them too. They say dog is good tasting, I wouldn't know but I have run across road kill when doing two hundred mile rides and thought about taking one of the animal crackers from the pavement for a chew.
I started off toward the main road in the late afternoon. Slow, watching the pack watch me. They followed and I saw that they were going to flank me on both sides. I would have to go for the lead coyote if I was to have a chance.
He came up close to my side, to test me, but I had different plans. My mouth drooling, I spun around quick and shot off my bike with my mouth wide open, my teeth exposed and snapped at him when I made a quick shot toward the animal.
I never saw a coyote run so fast and along with his pack until they were well over the ridge. After that, I took my time getting back to the car where Mexican Monkey was looking through my wallet to see if there was any cash worth taking.
He asked how I survived. I told him I was hungry and looked at his arm that held a fist full of dollars. Mexican Monkey knows not to get between me a loaded table. He began to sweat yet still smile.
We had done a short steep climb early and then came down through an area of streams, going through water or mud at the bottom of each gully. It was fun, cool fun though because the day was beginning to cloud and turn chilly. But it didn't matter then, we headed for the ocean and one long climb to the mountain ridge on one side of the canyon. The climb never ends. It goes up for miles until you overlook the ocean, the canyon and finally, the farmlands of Ventura coast. Before we started our single track decent, Juan had pulled up to hot hikers in admiration of how much we climbed and from where. We were admiring them more so, I think, and with that spurt of energy began a wicked, trail twisting decent. I did well until I went into a rut that held my bike while I went over the bars and, luckily, into some high green grass that softened the blow. Scratched, bleeding and sore, I got back on and did what I could to catch up with Mexican Monkey. He was waiting at the bottom and asked what in hell I hit that clawed me up. I joked about the coyotes being hungry.
We smoked a joint and with the cool weather and sore bodies decided to head back to the truck. It's a long slow climb until you get to the ridge where it gets very steep. Even in the chill of late afternoon and a stiff breeze blowing in today's storm, I was sweating on the climb. When I finally got to the top of the ridge where everyone waits, I noticed that they weren't looking at those still climbing up, but at the meadow across from the road. There was a pack of coyotes spread out searching the meadow. About eight very healthy, well fed and large coyotes. They were looking at me. The crowd turned to me who the coyotes were looking at and back to the coyotes. I had no legs left, out of breath and as Mexican Monkey said, "Adios Amigo," the group got on their bikes and fled from the coyote pack leaving me there as the weak, forgotten prey that would satisfy the bikers safe retreat.
I was hungry, very hungry, probably as hungry as the pack of coyotes and they looked like I was a good meal for a week. But I didn't get this big by turning down meals, so I looked at them too. They say dog is good tasting, I wouldn't know but I have run across road kill when doing two hundred mile rides and thought about taking one of the animal crackers from the pavement for a chew.
I started off toward the main road in the late afternoon. Slow, watching the pack watch me. They followed and I saw that they were going to flank me on both sides. I would have to go for the lead coyote if I was to have a chance.
He came up close to my side, to test me, but I had different plans. My mouth drooling, I spun around quick and shot off my bike with my mouth wide open, my teeth exposed and snapped at him when I made a quick shot toward the animal.
I never saw a coyote run so fast and along with his pack until they were well over the ridge. After that, I took my time getting back to the car where Mexican Monkey was looking through my wallet to see if there was any cash worth taking.
He asked how I survived. I told him I was hungry and looked at his arm that held a fist full of dollars. Mexican Monkey knows not to get between me a loaded table. He began to sweat yet still smile.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
A Black Cloud Over The Hood
The other day I received a letter of rejection from Tom Doherty Associates. I had submitted Jawbone almost six months ago for publication and with the amount of time that lapse, thought it had a good chance.
And maybe it did, maybe they did consider it but in the end rejected the book. I have no idea, only that unlike most rejections, it was a form letter rather than a short sentence written on the first page of the work and sent back to me.
Who takes rejection well? It's not like it was the first time, but still, with the length of time they took to get back, it did hurt. So much for dreams built on sand.
The East bunker has Trans. She does not keep trash well. Not near as well as Drag Queen in the West bunker and you can see the difference right off because they both have an unusual amount of trash, yet Drag Queen is careful to stack the trash very well, she does know trash. Trans however doesn't give a shit and I think it is the influence of the Ultra Jihad Party Boys that have settled in the East bunker. They are far more interested in fast cars and loose women. Trans is very loose. A slut actually because she has a hole where Drag Queen has a pole. And actually Drag feels a tinsy bit superior to Trans. After all, she has given the Jihad Party Boys the impression she has a hole. You have to have some acting skills to do that where Trans just spreads her legs and exposes her twat to the delight of the Ultra Jihad Party Boys. With Drag Queen's big ass, she has built up a belief that there is a cunt in there somewhere, whereas Trans had one put in. And Trans feels a bit superior to Drag because she spent a whole lot of money on her quim. It seems the Ultra Jihad Party Boys like Trans, even though all the parts were added on later, just like their souped up racers.
Still though, you would think the bitch would at least stack the damn trash so that it didn't fall over and scatter about the alley. Now Drag Queen has one more uppity on Trans, Obviously Trans knows nothing of trash.
And maybe it did, maybe they did consider it but in the end rejected the book. I have no idea, only that unlike most rejections, it was a form letter rather than a short sentence written on the first page of the work and sent back to me.
Who takes rejection well? It's not like it was the first time, but still, with the length of time they took to get back, it did hurt. So much for dreams built on sand.
The East bunker has Trans. She does not keep trash well. Not near as well as Drag Queen in the West bunker and you can see the difference right off because they both have an unusual amount of trash, yet Drag Queen is careful to stack the trash very well, she does know trash. Trans however doesn't give a shit and I think it is the influence of the Ultra Jihad Party Boys that have settled in the East bunker. They are far more interested in fast cars and loose women. Trans is very loose. A slut actually because she has a hole where Drag Queen has a pole. And actually Drag feels a tinsy bit superior to Trans. After all, she has given the Jihad Party Boys the impression she has a hole. You have to have some acting skills to do that where Trans just spreads her legs and exposes her twat to the delight of the Ultra Jihad Party Boys. With Drag Queen's big ass, she has built up a belief that there is a cunt in there somewhere, whereas Trans had one put in. And Trans feels a bit superior to Drag because she spent a whole lot of money on her quim. It seems the Ultra Jihad Party Boys like Trans, even though all the parts were added on later, just like their souped up racers.
Still though, you would think the bitch would at least stack the damn trash so that it didn't fall over and scatter about the alley. Now Drag Queen has one more uppity on Trans, Obviously Trans knows nothing of trash.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Pigs In The Pantry
When in the mood for Chinese, we go to a place not far from us. The food is not greasy like some Chinese restaurants, very fresh vegetables and the Wor-Wonton soup is the best. The price is good, in fact we had our Christmas dinner at the place, Healthy Wok.
Most of the customers are from the Middle East a mix as is the neighborhood surrounding the restaurant. Usually, not always, but usually the customers are civil. That was not the case tonight for a true pig in all its ugly grunting ways was at the table next to us.
A large, fat and ugly man with, I'm not sure a girlfriend or a wife or an employee, he treated her in the worse manner I have seen in a long time in a public place. Rude, dismissive, raising his voice and using his cell phone, rather her cellphone, to make a personal call.
Later, a young couple, they could have been brother and sister, they didn't look old enough to be married to each other, joined them. It wasn't until they joined the adults that the conversation changed suddenly to something tasteful. Before that it was dirty laundry a-plenty. Basically terrible accusations toward the female, to the point that if it was me, I would have told him to fuck himself. What women will put up with is amazing. And if these were the parents of the two younger people, god help them but I doubt it. For one, the boy was red haired and quite attractive. The girl wasn't bad looking either but the young man was stunning, tall, lean and dressed well. Not at all like the sloth with the head of a Gila monster that couldn't say one decent thing until the youngsters showed up. So I doubt they are related. How the two younger ones could have an appetite while in his company is beyond me.
It reminded me of the typical family, when the kids are around there is one face, when they are away the mask is taken off and the ugly truth is revealed. No wonder there are so many dysfunctional families.
Most of the customers are from the Middle East a mix as is the neighborhood surrounding the restaurant. Usually, not always, but usually the customers are civil. That was not the case tonight for a true pig in all its ugly grunting ways was at the table next to us.
A large, fat and ugly man with, I'm not sure a girlfriend or a wife or an employee, he treated her in the worse manner I have seen in a long time in a public place. Rude, dismissive, raising his voice and using his cell phone, rather her cellphone, to make a personal call.
Later, a young couple, they could have been brother and sister, they didn't look old enough to be married to each other, joined them. It wasn't until they joined the adults that the conversation changed suddenly to something tasteful. Before that it was dirty laundry a-plenty. Basically terrible accusations toward the female, to the point that if it was me, I would have told him to fuck himself. What women will put up with is amazing. And if these were the parents of the two younger people, god help them but I doubt it. For one, the boy was red haired and quite attractive. The girl wasn't bad looking either but the young man was stunning, tall, lean and dressed well. Not at all like the sloth with the head of a Gila monster that couldn't say one decent thing until the youngsters showed up. So I doubt they are related. How the two younger ones could have an appetite while in his company is beyond me.
It reminded me of the typical family, when the kids are around there is one face, when they are away the mask is taken off and the ugly truth is revealed. No wonder there are so many dysfunctional families.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Militant Ultra Jihads
There was the smell of burning rubber from the spinning tires. The Ultra Militant Jihads were in the alley with their fast cars and big titted babes. They gunned the engines of their fast cars and spun the wheels to bring up clouds of burnt rubber that titted babes like to smell.
Yeah, Big Tits smell that rubber. Smell it, huh-huh, makes you squirm in your seat makes your pussy wet and hot as the burnt black pavement under the wheels of your Ultra Militant Jihad man.
The Ultra Militants revved their engines, makes their dicks swell, makes them hard, makes them want to squirt on Big Tits. Cream the tits, jizz those tits Ultra Militant Jihad.
They came down the alley strutting, riding low, playing electronic jihad songs on boom box maxed out hi-fi systems. The chrome shined, the red and black paint of their fast cars glittered in the late sun and when they revved their engines and spun their wheels the Big Tits screamed and squirmed. It made them spunk and squirt over and over.
The Ultra Jihads will take dominion over the Jihad Party Boys. They will survive while the lesser will die off. It is the way of evolution. The way of the Jihad Party Boys.
Yeah, Big Tits smell that rubber. Smell it, huh-huh, makes you squirm in your seat makes your pussy wet and hot as the burnt black pavement under the wheels of your Ultra Militant Jihad man.
The Ultra Militants revved their engines, makes their dicks swell, makes them hard, makes them want to squirt on Big Tits. Cream the tits, jizz those tits Ultra Militant Jihad.
They came down the alley strutting, riding low, playing electronic jihad songs on boom box maxed out hi-fi systems. The chrome shined, the red and black paint of their fast cars glittered in the late sun and when they revved their engines and spun their wheels the Big Tits screamed and squirmed. It made them spunk and squirt over and over.
The Ultra Jihads will take dominion over the Jihad Party Boys. They will survive while the lesser will die off. It is the way of evolution. The way of the Jihad Party Boys.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
The Palace
Something has changed next door at the Palace. Subtle changes, like the lawn is being mowed although at very strange hours, in the dark. Why dark and how do you use a leaf blower with no light to see where the hell the leaves are blowing? And how do you mow in the dark?
But they did and I'm not sure if it was hired help that did it. It could have been someone at the Palace. It wasn't Daddy or Mean Queen that's for sure. Millie tried to tell me something was strange, she walked over and kept sniffing the air and being curious about the noises. I should have been more observant but I did look in the front and saw no truck with gardening equipment. It could have been in the alley, the work, perhaps of the Jihad Party Boys for eating every last egg that Mean Queen had laid and stored in the vast tunnels under the Palace.
She is laying now. Mean Queen has been home at noon. Her great Earth- Mother hips sway toward the Palace ready to birth eggs for the year in hopes that next year will be better. Next year, the rains might let up and not send the Jihad Party Boys into such a craven regression back to the days when Jihad Party Boys had to forage and found their own eggs better than others.
It is why they are a dying breed. With global warming and the intensified rains, they now have a longer time to hunt the eggs of their queen. The Republicans are to blame. They refused to accept this global disaster, deliberately depleting the stock of Jihad Party Boys.
Why won't anyone listen to the cries of Mean Queen and the demise of her species?
But they did and I'm not sure if it was hired help that did it. It could have been someone at the Palace. It wasn't Daddy or Mean Queen that's for sure. Millie tried to tell me something was strange, she walked over and kept sniffing the air and being curious about the noises. I should have been more observant but I did look in the front and saw no truck with gardening equipment. It could have been in the alley, the work, perhaps of the Jihad Party Boys for eating every last egg that Mean Queen had laid and stored in the vast tunnels under the Palace.
She is laying now. Mean Queen has been home at noon. Her great Earth- Mother hips sway toward the Palace ready to birth eggs for the year in hopes that next year will be better. Next year, the rains might let up and not send the Jihad Party Boys into such a craven regression back to the days when Jihad Party Boys had to forage and found their own eggs better than others.
It is why they are a dying breed. With global warming and the intensified rains, they now have a longer time to hunt the eggs of their queen. The Republicans are to blame. They refused to accept this global disaster, deliberately depleting the stock of Jihad Party Boys.
Why won't anyone listen to the cries of Mean Queen and the demise of her species?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
What the Fuck
I wanted to see a movie tonight, Agora. We had dinner, got the chickens bedded, the dogs fed, Wally's pills and the movie sat up. Millie did her little number jumping up in front of the TV when she felt ignored. Wally wanted another explanation of the pills he takes, and I stopped the movie to take care of these pressing needs. Then, once they quieted down, started the movie up again. It is good movie too, I think, at least I like the sets and the showing of what assholes Christians were and still are. But there was a knock on the door. Marty, who wants more eggs was over. That set the dogs off and once Marty was settled and the dogs quieted I started the movie again. But Marty wanted to play with the Buster and of course that caused more barking so I just turned the damn thing off. I'll try later to see it again, once I calm down and once I'm sure no one will be knocking or interrupting or whatever the fuck they do. Yet all fucking day, nothing until now. What the fuck is that?
Monday, January 17, 2011
Cowboys and Indians Oh My!
Mexican Monkey was over the other day. We went mountain biking even though every muscle and tendon in my body cried, "Enough!" I had not been on a bike in over a month until last Wednesday and did thirty-five miles with friends. Still sore from that I went out with Mom and the Boyfriend on Saturday, telling Mexican Monkey that I would ride mountain bikes with him on Sunday.
It was easy to tell him that because he said he was off to Palm Springs for a wedding involving military personnel. I was going to bank that Mexican Monkey would be too hungover to leave Palm Springs but he didn't get drunk.
The little fucker somehow stayed sober. I don't know how, but he did and showed up bright and sassy on Sunday Morning and it was I who had a hangover, rubbing every sore limb on my body and feeling confident that Mexican Monkey was happy, somewhere, in Palm Springs. If it wasn't for such a beautiful day, I would have enticed him with tequila sunrises but instead, mounted my steed and rode with the outlaw.
We had fun, great weather and all these runners were out, running up and down the hills. One more handsome and buff than the other. Two were definitly gay. Most assuredly for straight boys don't run downhill like a girl. The one in lead almost took off with his hands flying every which way like a coochie-coo dancer, the boyfriend followed with an eye on Birdman's tight little butt.
We were watching them from the platform. A base of some building that once stood there, probably a fire tower when they were in use. They use helicopters now for everything, including watching for fires, That chop-chop noise in the sky is unavoidable anywhere near Los Angeles. The sea was like glass from our perch. A mist rose from the ocean and covered just a small lower portion, making Catalina stand out like a mystic island. The sun warm and comforting along with the joint I smoked watching like an eagle from our high-point.
One runner, that tried to keep up with us earlier on the trail, ran up to the platform while we were sitting there. It was like an Olympic god dropped in. Just the taste of his sweat would send a mortal to the River Styx. He caught his breath and we caught ours. Mexican Monkey was thinking we could take him, possibly entice him with something, but I couldn't see anything we had that would. "Say, fella, wanna drink from my plastic water bag?"
Nope, don't think so.
Just being near to one so beautiful had made my day. Mexican Monkey was thinking of capture, I'm sure of it but the bandit made no move toward the Great Beauty. I know why too. The beauty of something free to be what it is. Now, Mexican Monkey lets his boyfriends be free as well. Even though they do bad things, he lets them. Funny too because he takes them to a bar that is within walking distance of a friends crash-pad, gets them drunk and tells them, "Let's crash at Mark's." But on the way, with Mexican Monkey grabbing every part of their body and squeezing and telling them what he has planned, they somehow find their car instead of Mark's.
The latest boyfriend was arrested for drunk driving last weekend, passed out at a light. The one before was arrested for drunk driving while trying to get away from Mexican Monkey's tail. Twice. And Mexican Monkey spent a Christmas weekend in jail for getting into a fight at the same bar he intoxicates his prey.
He is such a bad monkey. A bandit. A desparado and that's why we were attacked by Indians later that night.
Such a wonderful night. A warm winter night with the barbie cooking burgers and the two of us getting high on gin. Oh what a delightful night, until the Indians attacked. Mexican Monkey had sobered enough to drive and left for home. In a fret and a bother he stampeded back to the patio where Wally and I were enjoying the quiet of having Mexican Monkey gone but there he was, fighting mad.
"Mike! Mike, come look. Come look at what your neighborhood brats did."
I reluctantly got up and walked out with him screaming he was going to the neighbors and demand the blood of children. We walked to the street side of his truck. The front tire had an arrow sticking out of the side. A god-damn, arrow with feathers and when the monkey pulled it, out came the hiss of air.
He wants blood, and as I looked at the arrow and how it stuck into the tire, I noticed two things, one the arrow was not cheap, it was a quality made weapon and the angle was almost straight on, as if someone driving down the street was shooting the arrow.
This hood, if any brat did have a bow and arrow in it, was from Wal-mart not Sports Chalet. I suspected the rich-kids from the crusty side of Encino were at play. But then another thought came to me--why just the monkey's truck. No other truck or car on the street had an arrow sticking out of it. Could it be a pissed off boyfriend?
"Indians" I said.
"Huh?"
"Indians. It's obvious. You probably rode over one of their sacred spots up in the hills and this is payback."
"Those fuckers." Mexican Monkey snorted and called a tow truck.
It was easy to tell him that because he said he was off to Palm Springs for a wedding involving military personnel. I was going to bank that Mexican Monkey would be too hungover to leave Palm Springs but he didn't get drunk.
The little fucker somehow stayed sober. I don't know how, but he did and showed up bright and sassy on Sunday Morning and it was I who had a hangover, rubbing every sore limb on my body and feeling confident that Mexican Monkey was happy, somewhere, in Palm Springs. If it wasn't for such a beautiful day, I would have enticed him with tequila sunrises but instead, mounted my steed and rode with the outlaw.
We had fun, great weather and all these runners were out, running up and down the hills. One more handsome and buff than the other. Two were definitly gay. Most assuredly for straight boys don't run downhill like a girl. The one in lead almost took off with his hands flying every which way like a coochie-coo dancer, the boyfriend followed with an eye on Birdman's tight little butt.
We were watching them from the platform. A base of some building that once stood there, probably a fire tower when they were in use. They use helicopters now for everything, including watching for fires, That chop-chop noise in the sky is unavoidable anywhere near Los Angeles. The sea was like glass from our perch. A mist rose from the ocean and covered just a small lower portion, making Catalina stand out like a mystic island. The sun warm and comforting along with the joint I smoked watching like an eagle from our high-point.
One runner, that tried to keep up with us earlier on the trail, ran up to the platform while we were sitting there. It was like an Olympic god dropped in. Just the taste of his sweat would send a mortal to the River Styx. He caught his breath and we caught ours. Mexican Monkey was thinking we could take him, possibly entice him with something, but I couldn't see anything we had that would. "Say, fella, wanna drink from my plastic water bag?"
Nope, don't think so.
Just being near to one so beautiful had made my day. Mexican Monkey was thinking of capture, I'm sure of it but the bandit made no move toward the Great Beauty. I know why too. The beauty of something free to be what it is. Now, Mexican Monkey lets his boyfriends be free as well. Even though they do bad things, he lets them. Funny too because he takes them to a bar that is within walking distance of a friends crash-pad, gets them drunk and tells them, "Let's crash at Mark's." But on the way, with Mexican Monkey grabbing every part of their body and squeezing and telling them what he has planned, they somehow find their car instead of Mark's.
The latest boyfriend was arrested for drunk driving last weekend, passed out at a light. The one before was arrested for drunk driving while trying to get away from Mexican Monkey's tail. Twice. And Mexican Monkey spent a Christmas weekend in jail for getting into a fight at the same bar he intoxicates his prey.
He is such a bad monkey. A bandit. A desparado and that's why we were attacked by Indians later that night.
Such a wonderful night. A warm winter night with the barbie cooking burgers and the two of us getting high on gin. Oh what a delightful night, until the Indians attacked. Mexican Monkey had sobered enough to drive and left for home. In a fret and a bother he stampeded back to the patio where Wally and I were enjoying the quiet of having Mexican Monkey gone but there he was, fighting mad.
"Mike! Mike, come look. Come look at what your neighborhood brats did."
I reluctantly got up and walked out with him screaming he was going to the neighbors and demand the blood of children. We walked to the street side of his truck. The front tire had an arrow sticking out of the side. A god-damn, arrow with feathers and when the monkey pulled it, out came the hiss of air.
He wants blood, and as I looked at the arrow and how it stuck into the tire, I noticed two things, one the arrow was not cheap, it was a quality made weapon and the angle was almost straight on, as if someone driving down the street was shooting the arrow.
This hood, if any brat did have a bow and arrow in it, was from Wal-mart not Sports Chalet. I suspected the rich-kids from the crusty side of Encino were at play. But then another thought came to me--why just the monkey's truck. No other truck or car on the street had an arrow sticking out of it. Could it be a pissed off boyfriend?
"Indians" I said.
"Huh?"
"Indians. It's obvious. You probably rode over one of their sacred spots up in the hills and this is payback."
"Those fuckers." Mexican Monkey snorted and called a tow truck.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Holy Crap
Mom is hitting it off with the new boyfriend and that's what's wrong. the guy has a house with a backyard full of weeds. Mom likes nothing better than a weedy yard. Now I'll have to pull my own damn weeds cause she is over there pulling his.
And the relationship looks like it's going to last. He is a nice guy and they look happy with each other. Mom is even thinking of putting in a vegetable garden at his place. Tomatoes, turnips, all that shit, so all I've got is Mexican Monkey and ain't that the shits. I mean he is okay, once you get him to calm down enough to do anything, but that means you have to pull his tail until he does. Monkeys hate to have their tails pulled and he screams and screeches, putting up such a fuss when I do. But if I didn't, he would burn the place down. Already he has cut the electric cord twice trimming the hedges. The Christmas crap was thrown in the boxes so next year it will be hell to untangle it all and figure out where what goes with what.
What am I to do? I need Mom for the garden but the boyfriend is 'gifted', as Mom says, in the dick department, so it will hard to entice her to pull weeds here when she can pull the monkey at his place. I'll have to think this over, there must be some incentive for Mom to come back here for the weeding. Something to perk her interest, I'll just have to think about it some more.
And the relationship looks like it's going to last. He is a nice guy and they look happy with each other. Mom is even thinking of putting in a vegetable garden at his place. Tomatoes, turnips, all that shit, so all I've got is Mexican Monkey and ain't that the shits. I mean he is okay, once you get him to calm down enough to do anything, but that means you have to pull his tail until he does. Monkeys hate to have their tails pulled and he screams and screeches, putting up such a fuss when I do. But if I didn't, he would burn the place down. Already he has cut the electric cord twice trimming the hedges. The Christmas crap was thrown in the boxes so next year it will be hell to untangle it all and figure out where what goes with what.
What am I to do? I need Mom for the garden but the boyfriend is 'gifted', as Mom says, in the dick department, so it will hard to entice her to pull weeds here when she can pull the monkey at his place. I'll have to think this over, there must be some incentive for Mom to come back here for the weeding. Something to perk her interest, I'll just have to think about it some more.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Annoying people
Some people are very irritating. They seem to enjoy the role as an irritant. At last night's dinner party, we had one at the table and worse, near me. It makes sense though since she is the relative of another annoying person that was there, making two very annoying people at the event.
This person had nothing to add to a conversation other than, if she didn't know the subject matter, to bring it to everyone else's attention that we were talking above her. And it wasn't hard to do so since her world is limited in scope to church and family and those two subjects she is also limited in. Her brother, the other irritant, is a complete mess, an absolute loser on every count. The man has trouble finding his asshole to wipe. Someone gave him a computer but he has trouble turning it on, let alone using it. It's why I'm not worried that he'll read this. It would be impossible for him to do what a trained chimp can do.
I think I'll write to Sarah Palin and ask her to restore her website with gun-sight targeted areas and to add these two people to her list. It couldn't hurt--me that is.
This person had nothing to add to a conversation other than, if she didn't know the subject matter, to bring it to everyone else's attention that we were talking above her. And it wasn't hard to do so since her world is limited in scope to church and family and those two subjects she is also limited in. Her brother, the other irritant, is a complete mess, an absolute loser on every count. The man has trouble finding his asshole to wipe. Someone gave him a computer but he has trouble turning it on, let alone using it. It's why I'm not worried that he'll read this. It would be impossible for him to do what a trained chimp can do.
I think I'll write to Sarah Palin and ask her to restore her website with gun-sight targeted areas and to add these two people to her list. It couldn't hurt--me that is.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
A Chill in the Kingdom
It has been bone chilling cold. At least for Southern California it has been cold and dreary for a few days now. But that's okay, there is a party tonight for Wally's birthday. That will warm things up a bit and bring in some cheer. I sure hope so because right now I can sure use it.
Monday, January 3, 2011
The Chimes Of Time
It's official. The rapture will take place on May 21. If you miss the rapture that's okay. October 21 will be Judgement day. What is the importance of this?
Well, May 21 2011 falls on a Saturday and October 21 is a Friday. This turns out to be very significant. Notice how it doesn't fall on a Monday for either date?
I hate Mondays. Not as much as I use to but it is a bothersome day. Say for instance the rapture does occur on Saturday. You don't go to heaven but the plumber does. That makes calling the plumber on Monday when the rates are cheaper impossible. He won't be coming down being in rapture. High as a fucking kite and what good is a plumber then?
Then Judgement day on all days a Friday. That means long lines for the judge. You got your Jews taking Saturday off and the Christians on Sunday, so all us sinners are in line first. By the time Jesus, and I don't mean the gardener, but He who never sleeps or slumbers, and imagine what kind of judge that's going to make, will be dispensing justice to everyone in the world.
It's going to be busy and notice, just before Halloween. Now ain't that the shits. What the fuck is going on up there with these gods? We have a great party in West Hollywood that day and I have seen myself god, Jesus, Mary and those consorting apostles all there. What the fuck are they thinking of?
Have it in the summer at the beach. Most people won't have much clothes on anyway that day and it will be a lot easier on everyone.
"Hey you with the red hair smoking weed. Get your fat ass downstairs." It's simple, with fewer clothes, people will have a harder time dressing for it. You know how those Christians love to dress up for a good judgement. The pope has all those robes and lace and those cute booties to put on. The Jews, hell their still waiting for the Messiah and it's no wonder, who the fuck would want to hang out with dudes who think a wood box tied to their head is sexy.
"Love to Jesus, but shit man, I gotta go back home and pack. Know what I mean? Say how much suntan lotion should I take?"
So mark your calenders for those dates. It's important because when they come and go just like every other day, you can at least count on getting the fucking plumber when it isn't time and a half.
Well, May 21 2011 falls on a Saturday and October 21 is a Friday. This turns out to be very significant. Notice how it doesn't fall on a Monday for either date?
I hate Mondays. Not as much as I use to but it is a bothersome day. Say for instance the rapture does occur on Saturday. You don't go to heaven but the plumber does. That makes calling the plumber on Monday when the rates are cheaper impossible. He won't be coming down being in rapture. High as a fucking kite and what good is a plumber then?
Then Judgement day on all days a Friday. That means long lines for the judge. You got your Jews taking Saturday off and the Christians on Sunday, so all us sinners are in line first. By the time Jesus, and I don't mean the gardener, but He who never sleeps or slumbers, and imagine what kind of judge that's going to make, will be dispensing justice to everyone in the world.
It's going to be busy and notice, just before Halloween. Now ain't that the shits. What the fuck is going on up there with these gods? We have a great party in West Hollywood that day and I have seen myself god, Jesus, Mary and those consorting apostles all there. What the fuck are they thinking of?
Have it in the summer at the beach. Most people won't have much clothes on anyway that day and it will be a lot easier on everyone.
"Hey you with the red hair smoking weed. Get your fat ass downstairs." It's simple, with fewer clothes, people will have a harder time dressing for it. You know how those Christians love to dress up for a good judgement. The pope has all those robes and lace and those cute booties to put on. The Jews, hell their still waiting for the Messiah and it's no wonder, who the fuck would want to hang out with dudes who think a wood box tied to their head is sexy.
"Love to Jesus, but shit man, I gotta go back home and pack. Know what I mean? Say how much suntan lotion should I take?"
So mark your calenders for those dates. It's important because when they come and go just like every other day, you can at least count on getting the fucking plumber when it isn't time and a half.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
All Night Long
The eunuch was high. It belted a beat for the Jihad Party Boys. It banged drums and blew whistles. It even wiggled its bodacious butt and shook the tambourine. Trans, in a sequined see- through, gyrated to disco, she threw her tits out, her ass out, she threw her hips out--driving the Jihads wild.
Oh their dancing feet shook the slick cement. Their cheap white shirts and cheaper black pants glistened and sparkled. And the dance floor showed like polished marble from the moves of their cheap black leather shoes that slipped and shoved to the disco beat. Their bellies jostled to the hypnotic rhythm as they watched Drag Queen shake that thing.
"Shake. Shake. Shake that thing, Drag Queen. Shake. Shake. Shake that junk stuffed in your trunk. Yeah, Yeah, Drag Queen shake," yelled the Jihad Party Boys all night long.
And that bitch did. She spread her legs and pushed that ass out. She made her butt lips quiver, her crack shiver and clapped to the bounce of her bodacious butt.
The Jihad Party Boys tossed their ragged black hats in the air, they pulled each other's beards. They wiggled and giggled and felt their bellies jiggle as they danced all night long.
Party. Party. Party on Jihad Party Boys.
Oh their dancing feet shook the slick cement. Their cheap white shirts and cheaper black pants glistened and sparkled. And the dance floor showed like polished marble from the moves of their cheap black leather shoes that slipped and shoved to the disco beat. Their bellies jostled to the hypnotic rhythm as they watched Drag Queen shake that thing.
"Shake. Shake. Shake that thing, Drag Queen. Shake. Shake. Shake that junk stuffed in your trunk. Yeah, Yeah, Drag Queen shake," yelled the Jihad Party Boys all night long.
And that bitch did. She spread her legs and pushed that ass out. She made her butt lips quiver, her crack shiver and clapped to the bounce of her bodacious butt.
The Jihad Party Boys tossed their ragged black hats in the air, they pulled each other's beards. They wiggled and giggled and felt their bellies jiggle as they danced all night long.
Party. Party. Party on Jihad Party Boys.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)