Sunday, December 28, 2008

Re: Job Possibility

They should get someone with care-giver experience and who wants a long term agreement, not a fly-by-night gypsy like myself.
With the number of musical instruments I plan on getting for my next apartment I think I should live alone. Or do you want to live beneath a full acoustic drum kit?
My Christmas flu came right on time, reminding me why I planned on getting out of here before Christmas. I could blame my living situation but these germs found me for the last 5 years no matter where I lived. But sleeping in a refrigerator and working in a garden shed just makes the illness more miserable. Then a bike fell off the bike stand onto my big toe. 4 days left but I don't know if I'll make it. The conditions at Target are so unnatural I can't begin to describe them. To be surrounded by walls of junk thirty or forty feet high is unsettling. It's all brand new but reeks of junk. It's controlled chaos every day of the year. Target is very lucky for immigrants who will take $8 an hour to deal with that mayhem every day. It's a job that shouldn't be done but it's in high demand. I guess I'm the exception to question the conditions. And Impact really pulled a fast one when they got their workers to do their own accounting paperwork, drive their own cars, keep their own time, file their own orders, fax everything, in addition to the job of assembling furniture and bikes. If one thing goes wrong, guess who loses money? The key is keeping the employees separate and isolated. Don't let them organize. In other states the employee even has to rent the tools. Ha! Who said sharecropping was dead?
I plan to do the absolute minimum this week. No working class hero here.
All for now.

Friday, December 26, 2008

trapped in Target

In a new low for this shitty job I drove all the way downtown, 7th and Union, some bullshit law office wanted a new desk and file cabinets. I swear I'd be better off walking around to all the law offices in a square mile (there are hundreds) and giving them a card that says "Assemble Any Item" that's it. Charge half as much as they do at Impact and I get to be Johnny on the Spot in my own area. that would be better.
Of course I drive 12 miles to get to the office and the security people would not let me up because the insurance paper had not been filed. so that's a bust. All that driving. Useless.
Now my dispatcher tells me I can go to Cudahy, way the hell over by Bell gardens near. The conversation on the phone with the dispatcher was like this.

"You want to go to a Kamrt. They have more bikes than we originally thought."
I look out at the desolate asphalt landscape and sigh. I gotta be the hero.
"Ok. where is it."
"In Cudahy."
I wince. He might as well say "Kill Whitey Springs"
"That out east?"
"Yes, near Bell Gardens."
"Ok. Remind me how to get there."
"You take the 110 to...where are you?"
"7th and Union. Downtown."
"Take the 110 to the 10."
"To the 710."
"South on the 710. Don't go to the 115. That's too far."
"South on the 710 to Cudahy. To Atlantic. 8100 Atlantic."
"So south on the 110. To the 10. East on the 10. To the 710. south on the 710. Got it. What's the work order?"
"That'll take an hour."
"I gave you until 1."
(It's 10. At 1pm they will put out a phone call to me if I haven't signed in yet.)

So I go and it takes an hour (It's 6 miles away but, you know, traffic and accidents and the car overheating and an attempted car jacking...)

I get there and can say with certainty that Kmart 3337 is where Huffy bikes go to die. this old wood floor warehouse up a conveyor belt and bullshit. I set up shop and proceed to build one bike an hour for four hours. These bikes are so poorly made and the tires are completely twisted and the parts are falling off them that I spend more time searching the floor for parts that may have fallen out of the broken boxes. Awful.
Fernando, another tech, tells me stories of ten years ago when Huffy was in Ohio and made their bikes here. ha! That is a long time ago as these bikes are now made in China and are complete crap. They get ridden once or twice and then returned where the parts will never arrive. Awful. So this is where Huffy bikes go to die. Fernando shakes his head and says these bikes are the worst of the worst and this store is the worst of the worst.
" I haven't been here in two years and there are still the same bikes waiting to be repaired."

I felt it was an insult to accept $12 for my work so I just threw my paperwork away and gave the bikes for free. to accept money for that work would have been saying that I thought it had value but when I KNOW those bikes can never be ridden more than a block or two without falling apart then I know that these bikes were not worth assembling, but I assembled them anyway, and that was my mistake, my sin. So I shouldn't be rewarded for it. That Kmart was a slummy, rotten, evil place. I wanted nothing from them.

the next day I got sent back to my old Target in Culver City and wound up in a garden shed with the busted or defective christmas wreaths and broken toys. Awful. The place closed early and there I was building these bikes in the cold and damp and dark. christmas eve. I kept thinking, why should I go home and feel sorry for myself in that broken down van? Why bother? Well, because the Target had closed and now I was trapped in a cold garden shed.
It just gets worse and worse with this job.

Just a plug for I am listening to Connie Francis radio and am loving it. Linda Scott. Ricky Nelson. Dusty Springfield. Elvis. It don't get better than that and the station pics songs and artists based on what YOU like and I must say they are doing pretty good.
merry christmas everyone!

Monday, December 22, 2008

casita fireplace
it is called the casa adobe de san rafael. It has a "Monterrey corridor" a fancy name for a covered porch. I like it. I also like square houses with a courtyard in the middle. That's class.
I went to the Casa Adobe because it was just down the street from the clinic I went for my surgery and it was the only green square on the map. I didn't think the map was right until I opened the old wrought iron gate and stepped back in time. Very nice. I want to recreate this fireplace my own house one day.
Glendale was a strange place but this one historic building made the experience good. It's the real California to me because it's like a ranch. Something out of a Steinbeck book.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Best Christmas Story Ever

Best Christmas Story ever —
My brother was spending his first Christmas in Iraq during the gulf war in 1990-1991. There was a great build up to this war if you remember with Bush Senior really laying it on and Saddam calling for the "Mother of all wars" Remember? We thought Iraq had some great arsenal but it turned out to be a house of cards. Saddam swung on the end of a rope some 18 years later, but that's beside the point.
My brother was going off to Iraq to cover the war and no one knew if he was coming back. In fact, my father considered him dead already.
So pops would shuffle around the house, deeply depressed while I slept on the couch, crippled by a foot injury which had dashed all hopes I had of becoming a professional baseball player. My baseball glove, probably a Christmas gift years earlier, collected dust, utterly useless like my foot.
My pops would pass me in the morning and give me one of those smiles that a dying dog gives when its stomach ulcerates. I wanted to kill my father, to put him out of his misery but I was too weak and suicidal.
"How did you sleep?" my father would ask.
"I didn't sleep. I lay here thinking about what a waste everything is."
I had heard my father shuffle to the bathroom to piss all night long. he hadn't slept either.
"Well aren't you a ray of sunshine?"
"Keep mocking me. Go ahead."
"I wonder what Brooklyn is doing."
Brooklyn is my brother. My dad said this with the tone of voice someone reserves for a wake.
"Probably loading his automatic rifle to kill some loitering kids."
I meant it. That's what the army actually did anyway. Dropping death on innocents every Christmas.
"God damn it. You think you know everything."
My dad was pissed. His face got red. He got in my face.
"You don't know what you are talking about!"
I turned away.
"Ok, dad. Sure. You're right. Whatever. Go on."
I waved my hand at him, taunting him like a little kid. He slapped my arm and raised his fist.
"You don't know a THING!" he yelled. "You know nothing. NOTHING!"
His fist shook in the air between us. A pathetic christmas tree leaned against the wall in the other room, undecorated, dying for want of water. My foot throbbed. The x-rays had been bad news.
"Go ahead. Fucking kill me. Kill me like Brooklyn is going to kill those little kids."
Spit drooled off my dad's chin. He had been spitting with rage. He hated me so much right then, all his hate boiled over. He stepped back and we stared at each other for a few moments. I wanted to fight him but was too weak. I had been on a hunger strike to protest the war. The only person who knew of this hunger strike was my family. It had been two days since I had eaten.
"Every day the United States spends in Iraq I will not eat." I had pronounced during a dreadful Thanksgiving dinner during which my dying grandmother had gotten drunk and dropped a glass of wine on the table cloth. As he carved the Turkey my father had said that if Brooklyn died he would assassinate the president.
"Whatever," I said. "You live in this country. You pay your taxes. If Brooklyn dies then you killed him. You're a coward, just like every other tax payer in America. No one has courage. This is the most disgusting country in the world. I renounce my citizenship. I renounce this family of rapists."
I lay back on the couch, my sweat had long ago discolored the fabric of the seat cushions. My father turned away and got his coat. He normally ate some oatmeal before he left but this time he just slammed open the door and banged down the icy steps to drive to work. I could hear him peeling out on his way down the driveway. I was so unhappy. I was crippled and depressed and had no future and was hungry and in a country that had betrayed me, was killing in my name, was a fraud. Across the street some Christmas lights blinked in the post dawn fog. Red white and blue red white and blue. Patriotic Christmas lights, like the yellow ribbon on the tree out front, a marketing strategy by Kmart.
I struggled to my feet and with the help of my crutches I stumbled to the front door and opened it, knocking down a Christmas wreath hung on the door knob. I looked at the yellow ribbon and the newspaper on the snowy front walkway with the headlines "We will win!" and a smiling, blood thirsty President Bush. I looked across the neighborhood. The first time I spoke my voice broke like dry sand. The second time was loud. The third time was a scream.
"You all ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

Saturday, December 20, 2008

How did I end up here?

Of all the places
Of all the faces
fixed in frozen memory

here I stand
lost in time
how did I end up here?

Here...this dirty fare
the filthy air choking down on me

here, this circus sad
the clowns are gone
the carousel is still

How did I end up here
here among the beaten
souls that have not eaten
souls that have no home

how did I end up here
the song has all but died
life has left me here
how did I end up here?

Lyrics from 'The Sons of Job - The Musical"
by Oggy Bleacher
If anyone knows Vince Clarke of Erasure then tell him se's supposed to write the music to the musical.

purpose driven lives

took a trip to some commercial centers. It was awful but it helped me define my objections to the state of our culture. Some people lead lives drive solely by marketing. either they are marketers marketing to others or they are marketing influenced consumers. this is dishonest because it is disconnected to a purpose. there is no purpose. it is RE-actionary. you react to marketing or you react to what the market can be influenced to buy. It has not purpose and is circular and pointless. It's like packaging plastic bags in a plastic bag to sell at a plastic bag store so someone can put his plastic bags in another plastic bag on his way to the plastic bag manufacturing plant. where the fuck does it end? It never ends. More Dove deodorant to wear on your way to the Dove deodorant plant where everyone is trying to figure out how to sell Dove deoderant to people on their way to the Dove deodorant plant. does anyone know what they are doing ? does anyone choose what they are doing or do they simply react to the petty whims of the moment?
Some people aspire to be as pointless and purposeless as Americans. DON'T!

These are all marketing vehicles. The man in the van does not promote any of these crappy products. The man in the van was at Costco and he bought an apple pie. Just give more apple pies. They didn't make those in China. That's for damn sure. In fact the apple pie was the only American made item in all of Costco. Pretty prophetic.

Friday, December 19, 2008

in the future...

serial killers will be hunted by the government to be forced into service as mercenaries. This ultimately creates a crown jewel of mercenaries, "The Death Squad". These serial killers have found their zen together. They are an all star team of killers. Then the bureau of justice decides they are too strong and too good. They must be eliminated. So another crack squad of killers is assigned to kill them under the guise of a separate assignment of attacking a country of drug lords. First the death squad gets the idea that the other squad is going to try to kill them so they pretend to be dumb at first then get the drug lords to team up on them. The best of the second squad is spared so the three teams can team up against the department of justice. IT WAS ALL PLANNED BY THE DEATH SQUAD from the beginning. The Final confrontation decides the fate of humanity.

"I feel like a Tutsi in Hutu-ville"

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

pics of george's house

george's house

Woofie the dog.

It's not every day you get a tour of one of the filthiest run down houses in America. This is a cross between the house Buffalo Bill lives in in Silence of the Lambs...and you average garage. unfortunately there is only junk here. no sweet condition Triumph motorcycles. Just junk and some dogs and used up people.

on the bright side

At least I didn't have enough money to invest with Madoff. I thought losing $800 on a crappy car was bad. At least I get to drive the car. I don't know what the investors got from paying for Madoff's apartment. IT's this credit fixation we all have. There is no actual money being paid for things. It's just phantom currency. I think it's a real problem. And so many jobs were overpaid because there was no actual money to pay for the position itself. So if you have a job that shouldn't exist in the first place then why not have a high salary too?
Regulation is cheaper than intervention. That's the lesson. George has 13 credit cards and shuffles the balance between them. How can I have sympathy for the credit companies? They give him cards and have no idea what kind of situation he is in. He's TRYING to run up debt because he knows he can't pay it off. And they keep giving him more credit. Like Madoff said, "There's no innocent explanation."
I just don't understand where the money went. I mean, there was actual money being invested but where did it go? I guess the details will come out eventually.
IT seems easier to just be honest.
I read an old Groucho Marx quote, "The secret to life is honesty and fair dealing. If you can fake that then you've got it made."
It looks like Madoff was a fake but not brilliant enough to get away with it. I don't trust any broker. It's not an honest business.
all for now.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Oh Yoko

What is this all about? I gave my notice and the bastards don't even have the guts to call me back or even acknowledge that I gave them the boot. Bullshit. I went to Inglewood to instal a new sidepanel on a file cabinet...and then went to an Office depot and built two chairs and a right return for a desk. I'm ashamed to look in the mirror.


thanks for the box of gifts. The van is actually deathly cold so I will be sleeping in that shirt you sent me. And I had to cover the van with a tarp to keep the rain out. This cold weather was exactly what I was trying to avoid. I have given my notice at the cotton field and hope to be leaving as soon as I buy my freedom. Maybe when Obama is inaugurated there will also be an emancipation proclamation for white slaves such as myself. One can hope our people will be free one day.
It's just one crisis after another here at George's. Just imagine feeble old grandpa, gasping and wheezing but STILL trying to start the fire and cook for five people and three giant dogs. There are mountains of paperwork teetering next to the fireplace. Ash is overflowing onto the carpet. Meanwhile the newest tenant is driving a car with no hood and a battery in place of the passenger seat, but instead of doing anything he is beating on a drum video game. It's totally out of control and though I try to keep his computers running they are beyond hope. And the printers are all falling apart. It's too much. That and the wheezing. He's lucky that he won't live long enough to have a stroke, though his blood pressure is high. And his blood sugar topped out at 334 the other day. 334! 210 is type 2. 334 is like a worlds record. But he insists on pie and twizzlers and soda. It's a household of the doomed.
I gotta go take the ash out of his fireplace now.
thanks again! love marco

this sucks

I'm really suffering here in the van. It leaked pretty bad on my bed. Then I went to Inglewood to assemble a bookshelf right next to the projects. I was certain I'd be killed. Then I went back to Inglewood and passed the remains of a car and tell-tale bullet cones and police. Crenshaw and Manchester. The worst. Freezing. Wet.
So I gave my notice. Fuck this job. I should just stop going but I feel a week or two is still possible. But if I get gunned down because I'm trying to make $25 assembling a fucking shitty Chinese computer hutch then I'm going to punch god or the devil in the fucking face.
Then I see a nice mexican trailer for rent and I'm dying in the van and I've got to sell this other shitty van before it kills me.
This is all bullshit. The fuckers stealing peter to pay paul the car companies that built this shitty van are asking for money? Fuck them. They can't build a car worth a shit.
I'm pissed. In general. And I'm not healthy and I'm not playing the guitar. this fuck ass job. Awful. I can't wait to quit. Then I'm going south. I don't care.
How are you dealing?

$300 / 1br - Beach Front Residence for Rent (Punta Gorda)

Beach Front Residence for Rent for $300 USD per month! Includes a fully furnished trailer with bedroom, kitchen and sala, 2 bathrooms, water and power included in the price. Location is Punta Gorda, close to San José del Cabo, in Los Cabos, Mexico. One of its kind opportunity. Available immediately. Call during office hours

These were supposed to be the pictures I would post, me in the van next to a gorgeous beach. Running water. Power. Cooking beans on a stove. instead of this, a picture of me with a damn oxygen sensor of a crappy dodge van, even as Chrysler GOES OUT OF BUSINESS. what a joke! What a disaster!

I fucked it all up. Everything is fucked.

freezing and ranting

I just wanted to play guitar and be a bum. Working has fucked everything up!

P.S. That's Genesis "Supper's Ready" playing in the background. Maybe the only good thing left in this world is old Genesis.

Countdown: 16

Gave my notice today. These bitches don't even deserve two weeks. I'm not sure why I care about keeping in good standing with them. They suck shit. Send my ass to Inglewood. Jesus! Worked in a fucking ghetto. Building a bookshelf in a closet that was maybe 10 X 6. Next door I heard someone argue, "I gave you a five and five ones. I done gave you that shit!"
It was a bitch. And then I fuck up and put the damn backing on backwards, so the "faux cherry finish" was facing the wall instead
of the front. That cost me ten minutes pulling nails out of cardboard. What a shit job. What a complete waste. I'd rather do this job for free. The pay is an insult. I got my paycheck stub today and just threw it into the fire. I don't even want to know what they think this is worth to them. It won't remotely come close to what it is worth to me. But to send my ass to Inglewood was an insult. Especially when people say, "You're going to mexico? You better be careful."
Oh yeah? No shit. Careful? Oh, I must be a fucking asshole. I MUST LOOK LIKE A COMPLETE ASSHOLE! You think Inglewood, Crenshaw and Manchester, south central los Angeles is some fucking care-free carnival? huh? You think it's safe on Crenshaw and Manchester, for a white boy, in his fucing broken down mini-van? You think that's safe? I'd rather go to beirut! I'd rather run naked down the street in Mumbai. This is Los Angeles, the ghetto, it's one of the most dangerous places on earth. To open up a business you have to go to the projects and ask permission from the gangs...and pay protection. That sound safe to you?
So save your advice about being safe because unless you live in South central then you have absolutely no idea how dangerous it was for me to go build that bookshelf today. Not a clue. That $15 wouldn't even buy me a .38 special to defend myself.
But don't worry, I go back tomorrow and will probably be gunned down for my tool box and mini-van keys. Shit, you ever been in a post office that looked like it had been bombarded? Well, I went to one today and I was scared shitless.
Let me say that going to mexico, knowing that executions happen daily, is not safe. But I KNOW that going to Inglewood isn't safe either. Plain and simple. But going to mexico is at least taking control of my destiny. Going to Inglewood is just being a bitch for my company. they send me to the worst place on earth to build furniture because they don't give a fuck.
So I gave my notice. "I'm moving to the east coast. When do you want me to drop my tools off."
Plain and simple. no excuses. No bitching. Just get out while I can. So I've got about 16 days of work left. give or take. The bike assembly didn't work out at all. I saw my numbers and I was spending too much time. Below average. Bullshit. What do they care?
It's about 40 degrees here. I'm freezing every night. The big storm hit last night when it was too dark to see the rain pouring inside the van and onto my bed. The only way to know where it leaks is when it rains. So this morning was a nice adventure running around in huge cold puddles outside in my poncho trying to get a tarp that would cover the windows.
I saw that La Paz is about 70 degrees right now. So I really fucked up by delaying my departure so I could take this craptastic job. Now I'm stuck here and I might as well drag it out and try to make some money until I get robbed or killed by some thug from Compton. But sure, I'll be careful in Mexico. Cause I'm such an asshole that I don't know how to take care of myself. I'M A BIG FUCKIGN ASSHOLE THAT NEEDS YOUR ADVICE ON SAFETY! OBVIOUSLY! WHAT AN ASSHOLE I AM!
days without Mcdonalds: 10

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Rock N Roll Nigger

It's a patti smith song. she knows how to rock.

Rock N Roll Nigger

Baby was a black sheep. Baby was a whore.
Baby got big and baby get bigger.
Baby get something. Baby get more.
Baby, baby, baby was a rock-and-roll nigger.
Oh, look around you, all around you,
riding on a copper wave.
Do you like the world around you?
Are you ready to behave?

Outside of society, they're waitin' for me.
Outside of society, that's where I want to be.


Baby was a black sheep. Baby was a whore.
You know she got big. Well, she's gonna get bigger.
Baby got a hand; got a finger on the trigger.
Baby, baby, baby is a rock-and-roll nigger.

Outside of society, that's where I want to be.
Outside of society, they're waitin' for me.

(those who have suffered, understand suffering,
and thereby extend their hand
the storm that brings harm
also makes fertile
blessed is the grass
and herb and the true thorn and light)

I was lost in a valley of pleasure.
I was lost in the infinite sea.
I was lost, and measure for measure,
love spewed from the heart of me.
I was lost, and the cost,
and the cost didn't matter to me.
I was lost, and the cost
was to be outside society.

Jimi Hendrix was a nigger.
Jesus Christ and Grandma, too.
Jackson Pollock was a nigger.
Nigger, nigger, nigger, nigger,
nigger, nigger, nigger.

Outside of society, they're waitin' for me.
Outside of society, if you're looking,
that's where you'll find me.
Outside of society, they're waitin' for me.
Outside of society. (Repeat)

Days without Mcdonalds: 9

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

The price of failure should be failure

you produce a crappy car for twenty or thirty years then you should go out of business. You work at a factory that produces crappy cars then you should be out of a job. That's what capitalism is about. If you don't like that, if you want handouts or handups or handjobs or bailouts then YOU SHOULD MOVE TO CHINA. Work at the fucking factory producing these incredibly shitty bikes I'm assembling. NO ONE SEEMS TO MIND. Shit, they even opened a chain of stores to specifically sell Chinese crap. But if Dodge can't make a car or a mini van that doesn't fall apart after five years then they can close their gates. If the past twenty years of failure add up to a 30 billion dollar bailout then capitalism is dead. If a government regulates commerce then we no longer have capitalism. IF a government rewards failure then we don't have capitalism. Go look up the definition of capitalism.
Now, it's clear that capitalism doesn't work at all so maybe we shouldn't have capitalism. Lord knows we have to compete with slave labor in China and Malaysia and Vietnam so it's impossible to beat those prices. But the quality should have been better, and it wasn't. A 15 year old kid in Vietnam simply builds better shoes than a 30 year old trained seamstress in Colorado. What does that tell you? That America is a absolute fraud.
Maybe the homeless guy who talked about the 4th Reich in the United States where even the Jews have joined forces with former Nazi warlords to obliterate and enslave the underclass is right. Maybe this isn't all some gigantic fuck up. Maybe it is part of the larger plan and this is actually a diabolical success...for the 4th Reich.
I don't know. But the news, the fucking airline stewardess-style news that is complete crap really makes me wonder what is going on. It's too clean to be a failure. These people are too smart to repeatedly talk about a cat whose face is being sewn back on...instead of several homeless people who were killed on the PCH. So is it an oversight, or a deliberate smokescreen?
The culture is poisoned. The government is broke. The people are illiterate slobs. Yes, mouth breathers, that means you. Our cultural peak was Elvis. Think about that.

P.S. As I typed this my computer crashed. Coincidence?
Days without McDonalds: 5

Sunday, December 7, 2008

mexican scam

I just heard about a scam that is done in Mexico that you should hear about. They steal or find my cell phone, Call you and say I'm in the hospital and You need to wire money to get me a doctor. It's like virtual kidnapping. I guess they could steal my phone and say they kidnapped me too, but I kind of like the angle of saying I'm sick and can't talk and you need to send money and there is no time for you to fly down there. Anyway, don't send any money. This scam could happen in Los Angeles too. Your number is right on my cell phone. I'm not sure how to protect against it. Just insist on seeing proof. I shouldn't even carry my cell phone. nothing is safe.
all for now

Fashion Rules

picture me in the bowels of a Target receiving warehouse, surrounded by plastic
toy bikes "Made in China". Dozens of mexican girls in red target shirts walk
around using laser scanners to scan bar codes off giant cartons of diapers. I'm
assembling a little girl's bike "misty" and putting the plastic streamers into
the handlebars by licking the plastic end and forcing it through a little hole.
I'm wearing ear plugs not only because of the impact wrench I use but because of
the hip hop music coming from a nearby boom box. I pause to ponder my life and
see a sticker on the side of the misty bicycle, on the side of every misty
bicycle across the country in every target store getting ready for thousands of
little girls on Christmas morning. What does the sticker say?
"Fashion Rules!"
It's truly horrifying. You don't want to know what the Barbie bike sticker says.
ten seconds later I slice my finger open on a jagged piece of metal left over
from the Chinese factory. A target "team member" walks by and says, "Nigger,
please". Over the loudspeaker I hear a tony bennet Christmas song cut off by
"Good evening Target guests. Could Angela please come to housewares. Could
Angela please come to housewares."
This was a job I should have passed on. I could just buy a bike and take it
apart. I'll give all the money I make to charity.

in hiding

I had to move into the backyard of my old house. The police raided Third street and they came with guns. So I'm assembling bikes and keeping my head above water for the next month. Have you seen the news lately? I've very concerned. Am I dreaming? It's like some graphic novel has come to life. Trillion dollar bailouts. Factories closing. Groups of Chinese going on tours in California to buy houses. Driving in luxury suvs purchasing houses. HOME BUYING TOURS!! Vast areas of Arizona being leased to oil companies. No water. Which brings me to the latest shitty Bond movie. What complete shit. It makes Bond a sissy. And it was as confusing as hell. hard to follow. too jumpy. When you can't get a good Bond movie then things are really bad.
I'm baffled by everything...and distracted...probably depressed. It's like every man for himself. I only feel right when I'm playing guitar. That's it. That's my only outlet.
Was there much chaos over there when Mumbai got attacked?

Friday, December 5, 2008

Santa's Nigger

`The man in the van has sworn off all mcdonalds food. No more! He found himself vomiting in the backyard last night. What came up? A Mcdonalds milkshake, some indian food (probably rancid) a ham sandwich, a license plate. He's like a shark. You can tell where he lives by what he throws up. Awful.

Then the sweating and stomach pain. DIdn't think I'd go to work. But I made it and struggled through some bikes. It was slave labor. No music except the christmas musak. At first I called myself a christmas elf. No. THat was too kind. I'm Santa's nigger. That's more accurate. I'm his bitch. I build the shitty bikes for him. I gotta get a picture of the sticker on the side of this girl's bike that says "Fashion Rules" I almost lost my shit when I saw that. What awful propaganda to put on a bike for a little girl. Jesus! Fashion Rules? Where? In Hell? Fuck Target. Don't buy anything from that chinese import agency. All they sell is chinese shit. And every mistake that a chinese slave makes ends up costing this nigger money. Have some balls America! Stop buying exported chinese junk! Stop it! It's destroying everything. Fashion RUles? SOme chinese girl is slapping that sticker on these bikes and I end up assembling them. God damn it! Fashion rules? $70 for a day of assembling that piece of shit. And it ends up polluting the world with it's crappy slogans and shitty workmanship. It's a piece of junk.

That's all.

Days without Mcdonalds: 1
Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.