Movies

Ed O’Neil (yes, Al Bundy) circa 1980.

Cruising

Dogs Of War

Admittance

My girlfriend is a nurse. I never ask her how her day is. I used to. Until one day she told me she had to stuff someone’s uterus back inside them. Not only do I not want to hear about that, there’s no way I can top it in the bad work day sweepstakes.

It’s not that I won’t listen. I’m just not volunteering.

“I admitted a guy today with no penis or asshole.”

I got excited and said,

“You admitted GI Joe?!?!”

Where’s The Funny?

One of the questions I’m most often asked, right behind,

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” (I don’t know if I should count that one due to my girlfriends unfair advantage of proximity)

is,

“How do you come up with your ideas?”

To that I answer,

“I dunno.”

And that’s pretty much true. It could be a person walking past or a full-formed thought that pops into my head just before I fall asleep (like the script idea that popped into my head a couple of weeks ago that, although a trifle, I knew it would be easy to write. So, 20-25 hours later, I get it done. No one’s read it – not that I’m embarrassed by it so if anyone would like to, let me know – because I’m not sure it has a market and I don’t think it’s funny enough).

The thing is you really just have to be on the lookout for it because ideas are everywhere. A snippet of conversation can lead to a joke, the way a row boat bobs in the water can lead to a sad story, the rhythm of the rain on a window can flip you into a horrendous situation. Then sometimes something hits you in the face and there’s nothing you can do but report it.

I was aimlessly flipping through the channels when I passed the local access channel. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything other than notices about pancake breakfasts and snow emergency parking rules and this time was only slightly different.

The difference was the sex offender registry. While these men are not wanted by the police (that information was the largest portion of the screen) their faces, names, work and home addresses blipped across the screen with the Marvin Gaye classic, “Let’s Get It On” serving as the soundtrack of their lives.

After I regained myself and started to go aimless again I thought,

“You know what would be cool? An Ex Offender Registry to list bad ex’s.”

Create Your Own!

How’s this for interactive? YOU get to do half (or more if truth be told) the work!

Here’s how we’re doing this. I’ll write the lyrics and YOU hum along or whatever it is you like to do musically!

Many years ago I did write lyrics for money. I haven’t in many years. I’ve written joke songs since but that’s been it. We were featured on an album – here’s the tune: http://tinyurl.com/c5nn2p – and were offered a contract but we imploded and I left the industry.

A week ago a guy I know came up to me whining (It’s Whine Week on the Pisscoveryou Channel!) because he hasn’t been able to write any new songs.

I understand it’s hard for some people and I do ‘try’ to be supportive. But there’s only so far I’ll go. After I’ve said sometimes you just have nothing to say; it happens to the best of ‘em; relax, you’re just recharging; just keep being; you know, all the stupid things I say that I really believe.

But after that if you’re still whining, I’m likely to turn on your ass like a syphilitic pitbull with ringworm.

I told him to sit down, think of something stupid, and write some shit down. It doesn’t have to be good, useful, all it has to do is kick start you.

“That’s easy to say.”

“Snot is easy to say. Sitting down is easier. I don’t care if you sit there for sixteen hours and all you do is watch infomercials, did you have a reaction to the shamwow? Jot that shit down!”

There are so many people who place too much emphasis on communicating when talking is easier. I talk every day but I’m sure I don’t communicate much at all. Communicating is too much pressure. I just talk.

Sometimes I write it down.

After about an hour, the last half with me not communicating, he’s totally frustrated. I’ve given the solution of writing about that but it didn’t get through.

Finally, I’m done. I’m patient but if you don’t want me to stop the bleeding I’ll take my staple gun and go home.

“I’d like to see you do it!”

“Do what?”

“Write a song!”

I remind him that I have, sometimes many in a day.

“Yeah, that was years ago.”

True.

“You couldn’t do it now.”

Now wait just a puss popping minute here. Let me get this straight, I can’t write words in a rhythmic pattern?

“It’s not as easy as it sounds. I’d like to see you do it.”

What was that? A challenge? Oh, I love a good challenge.

“Come back in a week and I’ll have an albums worth.”

“No way. There’s no way you can do it.”

“See ya in a week.”

I shuffle him off and my first thought is,

“Why the fuck do I do this shit to myself?”

I went home and grabbed a note pad and did nothing. I’m just sitting there blank as a fart.

Until.

A tune on TV not only gave me a full song (#10) but a topic, neighborhood bars and the people who inhabit those places.

I pounded out a lyric a day until Thursday which left me three to do. I knew I needed one about the bartender and I had an idea for another but that still left me one to fill an albums worth.

What to do, what to do.

Aha! Cheat.

A few years ago my girlfriend and I were out at a bar and saw someone who gave me the idea for a song (#7). Now I’d just have to find it.

Good thing I have people who save my shit, eh?

On Friday, a week after seeing him, I emailed him the twelve songs. A few hours later I get an email from him.

You’d expect something along the lines of, “Damn! I can’t believe you pulled it off.” or “Yeah, well, that’s you! I’m more of a communicator! A deep thinker. You know, not a dork.”

Instead I will paste his response right here:

“Fuck you, asshole!”

I’m so well understood.

So, because I have nothing else to do with them (I don’t write music) I figure I’ll let you hum your own tune to the non-existent CD I’m calling, “Neighborhood Bar” from the band, Naked At Fred’s House.

Remember, I never said they had to communicate (be good) I just said I could write them (talk).

1. Neighborhood Bar

Wherever you go in this universe
There’s one thing that’s sure
No matter what type of neighborhood
You’ll find a place with a hefty pour

No matter what the dress code
Or the conversation matter
Whether Ave. or street or access road
There’ll be a spot to pour some down

Your neighborhood bar
Whether teak or tweak
So refine or knotty pine
It’s your neighborhood bar

So many similarities
in every single difference
Everywhere you are
There’ll be a place to swear allegiance

I’ve been way deep in Texas
And Berkeley Springs West Virginia
And as far as this old sot can tell
It’s all wrapped up in a nexus

Your neighborhood bar
Whether past it’s peak
Or owned by a sheik
It’s your neighborhood bar

I’ve been in the thorn of the bible belt
Where Sir Mix-A-Lot ruled the roost
And heard songs of the Southland
In Manhattan over Proust

There’s only one thing that makes it home
It’s not just that you’re never alone
You’ll get one more cause you don’t have to roam
It may not be perfect, it’s just a joint of your own

Your neighborhood bar
Whether bleak or chic
There any day of the week
It’s your neighborhood bar

Last call for the high life
Get of your throne you kings of beer
Time to get home to your suffering wives
I’ll see you tomorrow, no you can’t stay here

2. People Who Drink (To People Who Died)

Ellen drinking scotch it was twelve years old
Felt no remorse though it was mine
Marzee was in heaven when she pulled the plug
On twenty six buds and a bottle of wine
Freddy likes Stolichnaya, if truth be told
Acted like he was five when he drank
He’s a friend of mine

Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
They are all my friends, and they drink

E-Wong and Meri felt their gimlets were boring
So they came up with a plan and they changed to Manhattans
Mike and cutty sark and a snifter before bed
Bobby drinks his neat cuervo every night just like he said
They are two more friends of mine
Two more friends that drink

Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
They are all my friends, and they drink

Mimi sipped her brandy from a crystal shoe
Marie was hung up on that tullamore dew
Laura spent her evenings sipping night train
Richie drink so much he came around sane
And Richie, you drink more than all the others,
I salute you my brother

Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
They are all my friends, and they drink

Scooter gave Davy some coors for a goof
Davy poured this swill from the schoolyard roof
Then Scooter gave Davy something with more proof
“Hey,” Scooter said, “Davy, you like rye?”
But Davy hated rye . . . Davy sank

Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
They are all my friends, and they drink

Robin got wasted on a case of Pabst
He took that crap ’cause it was left all alone
He said, hey, I know it’s putrid swill,
but it sure beats Keystone
But the next day when I called
The best he could do was groan

Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
They are all my friends, and they drink

Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
Those are people who drink, drink
They are all my friends, and they drink

3. Dead Guy On The Toilet

In a scummy little bar
On a crummy Friday night
But the beer is going down
So time was near to go

Walking past a pool game
The cue ball blasts the rack.
I slip on by unnoticed
Until my cry hit the air.

I just gotta take a piss
But there ain’t no way to miss
The guy on his way to rigor
How in the world could I figure

There’d be a dead guy, dead guy
Dead guy on the toilet.
Hard to expect a dead guy, dead guy
Dead guy on the seat.

He’s already gone
I still gotta go.
Can someone please get
This stinking ass dead git?

Pool guys came to see.
Their eyes bugging wide.
Huddling at the men’s room door
Not caring a whit when it’ll be free.

There’s a dead guy on the toilet
And I really have to go.
There’s a dead guy on the toilet
And my piss has gotta flow.

The ladies rooms occupado
Some chick is birthing twins
Can someone please just ask her
If there’s a sink I can go in?

There’s a dead guy on the toilet
and he’s getting in my way
There’s a dead guy on the toilet
What a shitty end to the day.

Call the paramedics.
Call the damn police.
Call the undertaker.
Haul this guy away.

Yeah, the dead guy, dead guy
Dead guy on the toilet.
Move the dead guy, dead guy
Dead guy from the seat.

He should be long gone
But I still gotta go.
Can someone please get
This stinking ass dead git?

Motorcycles rev up.
A couple people toss up.
I had to ask someone what’s up?
Am I gonna have to piss in a cup?

The bartender dialed nine one one.
I smiled when her task was done.
She told me she wasn’t having fun
She couldn’t believe what he’d done.

She asked me for a favor
Something little she couldn’t do.
Could I go through the dead guy’s pockets
He’s stiffed her on a tip or two.

I said there’s a dead guy on the toilet
And I gotta take a piss
But there’s a dead guy on the toilet
Who’s cock blocking me on this.

He’s a dead guy, dead guy
Dead guy on the toilet.
He’s lucky he’s a dead guy,
Dead guy dead guy on the toilet
And not a live pissy pant guy like me.

4. Shit Happens Cafe

Just another wonder day in the shit happens cafe
Where the vomit cleaned up wasn’t bloody. . .much
Just another work-a-day life, another whirl around the fucked up world
Where you slam it through to get to that liquid highlight avenue

The hole around the corner is a dive of some magnitude
Where no one knows my name that’s the way I like it too
I don’t wanna get too friendly but don’t wanna be too cross
I smile at the regular faces the haggard features of the creatures

I was glad this day it was empty which is my dream if truth be told
Ain’t it sad when lofty dreams are boxed up and growing mold?
The morning crowds passed out, evening crowd ain’t been bailed out
When I raised a sip of my ice cold beer one of the creatures appears

Her face looked as if better days decided to go along it’s way
A life time full of shitty times in her going down shit faced life
She looked around hoping to see anybody but a guy like me
She rolled her eyes ’cause I was better than nothing at all

Another beat down neighborhood with a dank and dreary bar
Filled with the usual denizens of a darker slip down life

Imagine my surprise when she order me a brew
Trust me, in this place, that’s quite a coup
She sidled up behind me and started right in
Didn’t ask me how or why or how I’d been

I’m sure she didn’t know my name
And that’s just fine, everything being the same
I know we’d never spoken, a nod or two a time
Her voice was broken and way past it’s prime

She told me he was always an asshole
And in life bullshit takes it’s toll
I listened with nary a glance or off hand remark
Her hands moved in vapor trails, eyes dead as sharks

Whatever she said was sordid, if I did understand
This wasn’t what I wanted, hardly what I’d planned
The telephone’s ring moved her way more than it should
She jumped right up and smiled like she understood

She told the bartender to tell ‘em she’d be right there
Said there’s nice people she’d like not to hurt in here
Then asked to watch her bag while she powdered up her face
As much as I thought better of it, I said I’d stay in place

She laughed real loud when she came out
Blue lights flashing proved there was no doubt
Came over and smiled at me one more time
“Told him that I’d do it, I’d perpetrate this crime.”

She said that as I watched her reach deep within her bag
“I told him I’d do it if told me that my titties sagged.
Told him I’d cut it and use it for a straw.”
I watched as she placed it in a state of awe

“That fucker didn’t believe me. Thinks he believes me now?”
I told her that I was sure, yes ma’am, and how.
She thanked me for my time, said she wished she was my chick
I smiled as she walked out watching that penis swizzle stick.

5. Pissues

You know life’s getting tough
When getting cock blocked
Gets a whole new meaning
The days of some dirt bag getting in you way
That’d be so wrong now and not just because
Homie don’t swing that way

You may think getting blocked from a hottie
Is the worst canceled party in your pants
But you don’t know so I’m telling you do
It’ll only get worse when you can’t go to pottie

There’s a crinkle in my tinkle
A blunder in my bladder
My flows a no go
And it’s starting to really matter

I got pissues
Trouble with my urinary tract
I got pissues
Would love to have my old piss stream back

There was a time not so very long ago
When I’d stand right up and let it go
Some days I would go for so long I’d be
Writing love sonnets in the wintry snow
Now I couldn’t do a semi colon
Even if you offered me loads of dough

Now I stand for a couple a hours
Dribbling out a CC or two
Telling them when there’s a knock on the door
I’m just trying to piss I am not a senator

There’s a crinkle in my tinkle
A blunder in my bladder
My flows a no go
And it’s starting to really matter

I got pissues
And it ain’t that much fun
I got pissues
You better not laugh at me, son

What used to be laissez faire
Is filled with dread, I wanna hide my head
I’ve mapped out every rest room
From Boise on east up to Bombay
You may think I’m overreacting but you don’t know fear
Until you have to take a piss in a grocery store

Zevon told us that his shit’s fucked up
Well, my shit’s pretty fucked up too
But if what I heard about Warren is true
Right to the end his cock could doodle-do

There’s a crinkle in my tinkle
A blunder in my bladder
My flows a no go
And it’s starting to really matter

I got pissues
Where’m I gonna go?
I got pissues
I always have to know

I went to see a doctor
‘Cause I was starting to get concerned
He told me it was natural
It was just time for my turn
When I asked if there were alternatives
This medical genius turned and said, ‘Depends.’

I’m hoping for a eureka
To flow from my urethra
A healthy stream of urine
So it sounds like it’s pouring

There’s a crinkle in my tinkle
A blunder in my bladder
My flows a no go
And it’s starting to really matter

I got pissues
It’s giving me the blues
I got pissues
I’m telling you it’s true

I woke last night from a dead deep sleep
It happens a dozen times a night
But this time I was slow on get up
So the result I’m sure you know

I got pissues
A crinkle in my tinkle
I got pissues
Blunder in my bladder
I got pissues
And now I have to go

There was another chorus
Another line or two
But if you’ve been paying attention this far
You know I have to go

6. Corner Bar Star

A new bar opening in my neighborhood
‘Course this was back a decade or two
It was shiny and new back then
The seats were cushy and the bar burn free

Every once in a while I’d see a chum from school
Good thing they recognized me I never woulda them
Not that I was stuck up it’s just that wasn’t me
I had a path that I’d try to set me free

Every time I’d go there they’d always bring up her
A girl I knew from back then when I lived back there
I never do answer the rumors they heard
Or the way things often are misunderstood

I knew her back when
She was a model when
She was a thespian when
She was a dancer when
Days and decades passed when
I’d often wonder if she became that star

I’d sit there and be told of the good times
When we were the best of friends
Truth be told I didn’t know them now
Any better than I did back then

But I smiled and let them go
Memories glow better without light
Especially ones about the girl most likely
To be a star, go far, never be seen in this corner bar

I knew her back when
She was a model when
She was a thespian when
She was a dancer when
Days and decades passed when
I’d often wonder if she became that star

Like I said, the decades passed
And things changed further still
I happened past that corner bar
Surprised that it stood still

I didn’t know the bartender
Or the guys battened to their seats
But one or two remembered me
And could wait to pass on news

They said she was a regular
That girl we used to know
They said she was still beautiful
That girl who had to go

I knew her back when
She was a model when
She was a thespian when
She was a dancer when
Days and decades passed when
She became the corner bar star

Maybe I should have stayed
Talked, had a drink or two
They told me she was coming
She’d be thrilled to see me again

If I knew but I’m pressed for time
Tell her I said hey, that I’ll stop in again
But it’s not likely because, from what I see
Sometimes it’s best to keep it real when

She was a model then
She was a thespian then
She was a dancer then
Days and decades passed then
She became the corner bar star

7. Axe Murdering Drag Queen

It all started back on that fateful day
When he got a funny feeling on the docks of Thunder Bay
It’s when the old locals began to say
No doubt this boy’s one hundred percent – having a fateful day

He ran right on home, tears flowing from his eyes
The rouge on his cheeks like his mind in distress
He made his grand entrance to his families surprise
An axe over his shoulders, his dress quite a mess

Axe murdering drag queen
There’s a psycho on the scene
Axe murdering drag queen
He’ll cut you in half while you scream

When he woke up much later he saw what he’d done
He picked up the pieces he’d hacked in a sack
He knew now he’d never be their favorite son
So he jumped the next jitney to Hackensack

He worked on his style with those of night
A little mascara, his boots made of leather
Always so confident he always was right
Made that PETA bitch cry who spoke high of pleather

Axe murdering drag queen
There’s a psycho on the scene
Axe murdering drag queen
He’ll cut you in half while you scream

He chopped up another when he turned twenty one
A wanna be rival with a plan of attack
Whose heels snapped off when attempting to run
He cowered there pleading, he’d take it all back

He laughed at his rival and swung with his might
One well placed stoke and he wasn’t so together
Not much of a struggle, not much of a sight
As blood spilled over his lucky peacock feather

Axe murdering drag queen
There’s a psycho on the scene
Axe murdering drag queen
He’ll cut you in half while you scream

Axe murdering drag queen
Still voguing on the scene
Axe murdering drag queen
Swinging with him’s such a scream

Axe murdering drag queen
It started back in Thunder Bay
Axe murdering drag queen
No doubt this boy’s one hundred percent – having a fateful day

8. Ironic Fedora

I was traveling for business, away a night or two
Stopped off at a corner bar, as I often do
The joint was filled with locals who paid no never mind
They went about their own damn biz, swinging to their own damn song

It wasn’t long till she found me, they always have to know
How come I was hanging round, they inevitably want to know
I told her I was doing business, just a short run through
She said this town’ll change you even on a short run through

She had cotton candy hair and bon bon eyes
Said she hailed from French Lick
That’s back in Indiana
Said her name was Bessie and killed two guys in Jersey

She said the first one had it coming
She didn’t like him right on sight
But there was something ’bout the other
That boy seemed to be all right

First guy was a hipster, something she never liked
Bebopping to that smug attitude
Making himself a little too self aware
That boy carried no substance at all

That guy, she said, he had no chin
And not even a drop of chagrin
It was an esoteric thing with him
Taking on the latest cause with a whim

He wore these jeans with buttons
That didn’t button anywhere
She said that really bothered to her
Buttons oughta button somewhere

Then there was his chapeau
And that’s when she knew he had to go
It was his ironic fedora that pushed her to the edge
That ironic little fedora and she knew he had to go

After a drink or thirty two
I think I asked about murder two
What was it he did or didn’t do
To make her sure he was through

You can imagine my surprise
Blinking through blood shot eyes
To see that I’m now laying
Next to that bloody fedora. . .ironic

Before I blacked out, I was sure for the last time
I asked her why she did it, why she felt it was my time
She said I was a gentleman, laughed at all her jokes
She said I was good company and quite a bit agreeable

But there was something in my countenance
A little swagger in my step
I begged her pardon a moment or two
I wanted to tell her that my hips had screws

She killed two guys in Jersey
Guys she said she saw through
One was the ironic fedora
The other’s the reason this song is through.

9. Past

Her words rang absurd
A bygone era
Of the come on art
A long lost error of time

Her words seemed to pulse
With a life all their own
She was famous, she was regal
She was never forgot

You can tell she was someone truly sublime
Who never released those days of her prime
She remembers everything that time forgot
Ignoring the ravages it has wrought

I looked into her eyes
And saw her dancing there
Passionate and free
A touch devil may care

She told me she had tons of friends
And, of course, gentlemen callers
She reveled in the attention
And gave in to it’s ascension

She was once feted as the queen of it all
But as the parties shuttered fewer did call
She remembers everything that time forgot
Ignoring the ravages it has wrought

In a different time
Much different a place
I’m sure she was something
The queen of this face

Lift her up on the count of three
She lived with a style and grace
We can’t let the queen die
In this seedy, run down place

Feted by the famous, admired by the crowd
No one else was with her for her final bow
She now forgets what time forgot
Ending the ravages it has wrought

10. I Killed A Girl

Another awesome Friday night
Turned into another morning mess
But the only thought I was having was
Who the hell belongs to this dress?

I can be quite sure that I got drunk
I’m not so sure if my pink got sunk
Or something a little off kilter
Coulda been spilt on or in her

I killed a girl
Not sure how
But quite sure
I killed a girl

I know she was there for the sixteenth shot
But I’m not so sure what the Cuervo brought
Can’t be sure what I thought after that
Coulda been mayhem coulda been hackey sack

The only thing I’m sure of
What I can truly confess
That she was quite the looker
But now my rugs a mess

I killed a girl
Nothing else could be
I killed a girl
Guess I’ll go and see

Walking past the doorway
Didn’t know what I’d see
Expected kidney’s in the pantry
Spleens in the kitchen sink

There was blood along the threshold
Which I followed, thoughts gone wild
I’ll be honest with you folks
That’s just part a what had me reeling

I was thinking about prison
And how I wouldn’t fit there
But it looked like it’d be impossible
To keep my asshole rare

Cause I’m sure
I killed a girl
Gotta get to Ecuador
Cause I killed a girl

Didn’t want to
Didn’t mean to
Wonder if she’s blue?
How’s the weather in Peru?

Creeping through the living room
That’s when I finally knew
It could have been bad
It could have been worse
The actual honest story is
It was just her fucking curse

I fucked a girl
Bleeding the whole time
I fucked a girl
Which suits my ass just fine

11. Warren Said

The indifference of heaven
Is like an air conditioner hum
Another sacrificial lamb
Until you’re statue numb

We’ve got to get out
Got to change up our game
We’ve got to get out
Even if the place is the same

You be my French inhaler
I’ll be your excitable boy
You be Suzy Lightening
I’ll be your envoy

We’ll pretend it’s the Vieux Carre
Maybe the Rainbow Bar
We’ve got to stand in the fire
For one last chance to know ourselves

The mornings have been ugly
Evenings ain’t that pretty at all
Let nothing come between us and
Our tenderness on the block

You be my Carmelita
I’ll be your hula hula boy
You be my Jeannie
I’ll be your Roland

We’re accidental martyr’s
In our house of disorder
Why look for the next best thing
When it’s never too late for love

It could be the same basket case
But we could be in Veracruz
Spend our night in the switching yard
Because no ones in love this year except you and I

You be my Ramona
I’ll be Frank and Jesse James
You be my volunteer
I’ll be your worrier king

You be my French inhaler
I’ll be your excitable boy
You be Suzy Lightening
I’ll be your envoy

12. Bartender
NOTE: Male

I’m your bartender
Your doctor, your nurse
Sometimes you love me
Others I’m your curse

I see everything
And hear even more
If you get bitchy
I’ll show you the door

This isn’t fun, it isn’t play
Eight hours every fucking day
You can go but I gotta stay
It’s the way I bring home my pay

NOTE: Female

I’m your bartender
So I size you up
Open some buttons
You’ll fill my tip cup

You can hit on me
I’ve heard it before
No, I won’t date you
I’m just here to pour

This isn’t fun, it isn’t play
Checking out my ass is okay
Don’t get handsy and you can stay
My tits are here to get me paid

NOTE: Duet

I’m your bartender
I’ll pour you a shot
And dollar draft beer
Till your liver rots

I’m your bartender
I thought you should know
The truth is that I
Can’t wait till you go

NOTE: Female
Don’t stare at my tits
NOTE: Male
I think you’re a twit
NOTE: Female
I’m here for your tips
NOTE: Male
You fucking ass shit

NOTE: Duet
This isn’t fun, it isn’t play
Be good to us we’ll let you stay
We’re only here to make out pay
Trust us, it’s gonna stay that way

Give me your money
I’ll get you another
Your to go beverage
We call your Duh – Rink

I’m your bartender
Of that there’s no doubt
We’re ready to close
So fucking get out

NOTE: Everything stops as if unplugged. After a couple beats of silence:

NOTE: Male
Seriously, get out.
NOTE: Female
Right now you drunken bastards!

Hey look! We even have a cover idea from someone who asked not to be named!

Support

I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s because I let people talk for uninterrupted periods of time. Maybe it’s because I pretend to give a shit so often I’m damn good at it. Whatever it is, people tend to tell me stuff (truly amazing stuff you’d have to devise the most horrific torture to get out of me) and want me to support them in their endeavor.

It’s usually acquaintance types who do that so I guess that’s some of the explanation. Don’t get me wrong, I do things for my actually friends too but those things lean more towards lifting, hiding, or disposing of heavy things. They know better than to tell me their deepest, darkest demons unless they need a laugh about it.

They’d never do something like want my shoulder to cry on during a divorce. Those people are more likely to run their plans for revenge past me to see if I can find flaws. But the acquaintance type needs to use me to vent. Sorry, spunky, I ain’t a heat exchange, peddle you’re piddling ass problems elsewhere.

That’s not to say I won’t be there because I will. I don’t mind helping someone in crisis as long as they don’t mind my using their sadness as fodder. It’s not really an even exchange (I have to sit there sometimes for hours without shaking whereas they don’t help write my bit about it) but one I’ve resigned myself to enduring.

This acquaintance has been talking about his pending divorce for what seems like longer than he was married. I listen and nod and try to see if there are any flaws in my revenge plans. And, truly, I don’t mind. As long as there are rules. Rule, actually. That rule states, you come to me. I don’t go to you. I don’t go with you. I don’t actually do anything. Seems fair. If you’re going to beat on my ear drum all day I shouldn’t have to travel to get the pounding.

“Would you come to a support meeting with me?”

Are you unaware of the only fucking rule about me helping you, spunky?

“It’d mean a lot to me.”

What was that? I can be mean a lot to you?

Of course we all know I went. I’ve never been to any type of support meeting. I don’t even wear underwear, that’s how little support I need!

We walk into this room and it’s full of whiny, complaining, ex-hating twits. They ruined my life! They got my house! They weren’t the person I married.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. And right across town your ex is saying the same shit about you. Roll with it or get rolled over, chuckles.

When we were trying to sit it turned out there were only single seats. He’s hesitant so I pushed him in the direction of a seat between a crying woman and a guy who was rocking back and forth. I found a seat between two guys who were glaring straight ahead. My peeps!

I’m listening to the stories and, yeah, okay, fine. Life didn’t work out the way you planned. Do you think I wanted to be doing this for a living? Do you think I want to be here? Do you think I’m not having a heck of a time stopping myself from laughing right out loud?

As time goes on people start to whine down. The leader looks around and sees that everyone’s had a handful of snivel snacks. Except me. He starts to ask why I came and I don’t want to make my acquaintance seem even more of a whiny maggot than he is so I say I’d rather not discuss it.

Turns out that’s like waving black eyeliner at a goth.

“I’ve been listening to everyone’s stories and I feel for you all, I really do.” I always say that when I really don’t. Gives an air of care, don’t ya think? “But that’s not me.” I can tell they’re trying to have me shed some light on my darkness but I stop them. I guess the only thing I can do to get them to stop badgering me is to come clean.

“Besides, the only reason I’m here is for the alibi.”

You’d think a conglomerate of gloom like this, with revenge fantasies in their heads, would find that, if not funny, at least a damn good idea.

Good Answer

A guy begins to relate a story to me,

“I wish you were there, you would have died.”

I looked him right in the eyes and said,

“Then I’m glad I wasn’t.”

Make ‘Em Like You

I was editing an exceptionally lame script for this guy. It had been pretty painful because, evidence to the contrary, he thought every word was a gem. The script has slight chance at getting read; slim chance at getting moved up the ladder; no chance at getting sold. It’s hack, plotless, and poorly structured.

I really could do nothing for it. The patient was dead and rigor had set in. Of course, I didn’t know that when I took the job but knew I was in an overflowing bucket of shit and potatoes before page one was turned.

I did my job as quickly as possible. I hate the smell of rotting brain cells in the morning. I sent him back his script with my notes. I was as kind as I could be. I’m not totally evil. He’s not a pro so I treated it as such. I’m not saying one day he can’t be the greatest writer of all time but I’m also not saying I can’t become a flamenco dancer.

It took some doing but I did make some points that stabbed through his cement encrusted head. I’m not saying it wasn’t a contentious arrangement or that he will pay attention to my notes or that any of this matters but, just as we are ending our acquaintance, he says,

“They don’t make ‘em like you anymore.”

I smiled at him and responded with,

“That’s because my parents are dead.”

Toys

I’m outside of the coffee shop talking with a gentleman while his kid stands there quietly. After the Monday snow storm we had people are in a pretty good mood to have a day that clear and 44 degrees. That’s how low this winter has beat out standards.

He tells me that K-Fed is going on tour with Britney and getting five grand a week to watch their kids.

“Five grand! To watch his own damn kids! That’s not right!”

“Shit, I’d go on a baby killing tour for five k a week.”

I know what you’re saying, ‘Hey, idiot! Why would we want to hear about that? It sounds, and I don’t want to say it, normal.’ And you’re right. Impatient, but right.

I’m near the end of the transaction when his kid holds up his Mr. Potato Head, asks if, when I was a kid, I had a Mr. Potato Head.

“Nope,” I began. “I had a Mr. Potato Salad.”

The kids looking at me like the idiot I am when, about ten feet in front of us, a guy steps away from a vehicle he was talking into and the car pulls away. It’s not even ten feet away when he yells,

“Hey! Get back here!”

The car stops. Feeling as if his will has been followed he begins to walk toward the car as it shifts into reverse and knocks him down.

During his protests (“What the fuck are you doing you crazy bitch!?!? was one of them as he dusted off the seat of his pants) I shake the guy’s hand who I’ve been talking to, shake the kids head, and say,

“Love is in the air and it’s crashing to the ground.”

I walk past the car as the guy gets in screaming as she pulls the car around and through the parking lot.

Gotta love young love.

Fellow Man

I had to exit the building on non-vital business. As you could imagine, the building has many methods of egress. Some more desirable than others.

I’m not talking about the opulence of the doorway or kindness of those you meet along the way. I’m talking about what it spills out to. I’ve exited into many thorny or weird situations (I was leaving through a service elevator, threw open the outside door and had a guys head – still attached to his body – thud between my feet. Another passenger looked at him and said, “Hi, Chuck.”) so, as you could imagine, I’m hard pressed to pay it any mind.

I turn a slight corner and see a guy facing the wall. That’s never a good sign due to the fact there are limited reasons to be doing that.

A) A time out
B) He’s pissing

Just so you know, it’s never letter A.

I see fluid shimmer between his feet. He must have heard me but that didn’t stop the flow of production. He turned his head to better face me, blinked himself into focus a time or two and said,

“I wouldn’t step in that. It’s coming out burning like hell.”

Who says man has ceased looking out for his fellow man?

Do The Right Thing

As I’ve mentioned before (right here actually – http://tinyurl.com/66xexy) there are certain words, phrases, and actions I find inelegant. Not that I could ever be considered elegant (I swear and glare too much for that) but that doesn’t stop me from blanching at others.

I’m not talking about the common words that don’t exist but are heard daily or ones that are mispronounced. I’m talking about phrases that are full blown lies (have you ever called someone at 3:17AM who said they’re there for you 24/7?) and one of the biggest is, “Doing the right thing.” As in,

“I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

“I just want to do the right thing.”

“I’m here to do the right thing.”

“That’s why I’m here. To do the right thing.”

The sentence structure is almost endless but they only have one thing in common. They are lies. Blatant, flippant, out-right lies. No matter the phrasing, what they really mean to say is,

“There’s no way in fuckin’ hell I wanna be doin’ this but I couldn’ think of a friggin’ way outta it.”

I’ve never heard ‘doing the right thing’ and not checked the lock on my chastity belt.

Over the past few months I’ve been dealing with the reigning king of do the right thing. I’d inwardly moan when I’d see him walk in because every transaction was mind-numbingly similar. He’d tell me, even though it’s not his problem, he’s here to do the right thing. Facts are malleable to right thingers. In this case, the absolute fact, backed up by signatures and government issue identification, is it is his problem.

Then he’d give me some of the money he owes. Well, he’d put it on the counter but never actually release it. He’d toy with it. Caress it. All the while telling me his tragic tale of woe.

What’s often also true with right thingers is their tale is an S.I.W. They robbed those people. They did those drugs. They did the time. Sounds like self-inflicted wounds to me.

The next step, with the cash still being fondled like a passed out prom date, is threats. Some from past lives (“If I was still the guy I was I’da shot you by now.”); some vague (“I know what time you get here.”); some delusional (“I know powerful people.”). Each time we’d get to this part in the proceedings I tell him if he doesn’t want to pay, don’t. But stop giving me shit.

That’s when there’d be a stand-off. For a moment. Then he’d explode. Screaming, banging, carrying-on. More threats. More excuses. More examples of him doing the right thing followed by negotiation. I’d tell him we’ve negotiated a buy out, signed by him of his own volition, and that’s what we’re sticking to. Once I said that, he’d go back to threats. This time less on my brain seeing more sunlight than is generally deemed safe and more on getting his powerful people to bring the company down.

After I’d tell him to do what he had to do, whether that was pay or not, kill or not, topple the company or not, he’d toss (yes, toss. I’d end up with a chest full of twenties) the money at me. Well, part of it. Like I said, this went on for months so he’d always short pay.

But, finally, like a persistent rectal itch, it too passed. I gave him a paid in full receipt, he called me all kindsa colorful and hateful names, and I didn’t give him another thought.

Until now.

A gentleman introduced himself with the air of someone who figured I’d know who he was. Imagine his surprise when it turned out I had no damn clue. Flustered, as only someone with an ego inflated to his level could, he pulls out his official government identification.

Boy did I feel foolish! How could I not know the city councilor of a section of a city I not only don’t live or work in but wouldn’t even pass through? So I guess you knew there was only one thing I could do to make up for my faux paux. I gathered all my sincerity and said,

“Yeah? So?”

The nerve of some people! In the presence of greatness with an utter lack of respect. I don’t know, sort of sums me up, don’t you think?

He begins to explain why he’s here. He didn’t need to, I knew why he was here the moment I saw his cracker jack prize ID, but he did come all the way across city lines so I let him go. Until the story began to verge into the realm of fantasy.

After my sixth utterance of,

“That’s not what happened.”

I reminded him, again, that, being indoors, we use our indoor voice and if he continued to talk over me we would not get anywhere with this situation.

How come it’s never the pissed off person in front of you who’ll do the real damage? It’s always some unseen gawdhead of immense power who will do you in? I mean, I have people, but I’m more of a hands on kinda guy with my problems.

“I know people in your city hall.”

“Are we gonna play my father can beat up your father?”

I asked if he knew this guy, a well-connected politician in his city way above his pay grade. Then I asked if he knew this guy’s political second. Then I asked him if he knew this other guy. He balked at the third name. I smiled knowing the third guy was the power behind that lineage.

“Let’s focus on the issue at hand, shall we?”

I do my own dirty work but I’m not above showing my hand.

Of course, not all people have the same self-reliance. He threatens us with every branch of city, state, and federal hound he can think of. To each I respond,

“Bring it on.”

We run a clean business. We’re up to code. But that’s not why I’m so cocky. He’s played out. He’s pulled out everything he has and none of it matters on this side of town. I can see him slowly reach this conclusion. As he does, his tone changes. Not his volume, he’s still as loud as a car crash, but now he’s directly defending his constituent.

“The only reason he was here was to do the right thing.”

“If so, why did he pull the same shit you just did? Every time he stepped in here he’d threaten me with bodily harm, threaten the business, and end the proceedings by throwing the money he legally owed at me.”

“That’s not how he tells it. You don’t know what you’re talking about. He must have dealt with someone else.”

“I was the only one who dealt with him. I’m the only one without an agenda. I’m the only one telling the truth. And do you know how I can prove that?”

“How?”

“By telling you he threatened to, to quote, ’sic my juice on you.’” I look him in his eyes and with as much derision I can twist into my voice say, “You’re his juice?”

He begins, sadly, at the beginning. As he regales me with tales of the damage he can do I softly say,

“He’s paid. No longer a client. We have no further business with him. We have no further need of your presence in this building.”

I turn and walk to my desk. I knew that wasn’t going to get him to exit in any reasonable time but I knew while he babbled I could get some paperwork done. I do like to make the best use of my time.

I let him go on for a few minutes before I put down my pen and look at him. He stops talking long enough for me to say,

“As you can see, I’ve got more pressing items to take care of so let’s get to the end. You came here. You juiced all over my floor. Now, you can go back and, just like your constituent, spin any tale you’d like. How I cowered at your presence. How you saved the day and taught the evil business to respect those who are only trying to do the right thing. Whatever you want to say. Just leave so you can do it.”

Boy, some people are difficult to make happy. Here I am giving him an opportunity to shine in the eyes of the community and all he can do is threaten me. I guess it’s true, people do get the government they deserve.

“You haven’t heard the last from me.” He bangs on the counter while I file papers. He stares at me. Waiting for me to look him in the eye to see those vibrant orbs of power. I do and smile.

“I’m sure if you don’t get that park renovation through the council it will be.”

I see his glare slip.

“Good luck with your re-election. At least you’ll get one vote.”

Okay, so I may let people do my dirty work from time to time.

But I never show my entire hand.

Those politicians I mentioned? I’ve written speeches for them.