Monday, December 14, 2009

WWI: Writing While Intoxicated

This was destined for Maxim or some similar rag but I ran out of steam...

“You can be sure they’ll be selling that stuff when the moon begins to rise.
Pretty bad when you’re looking at the man when the light shines in your eyes.”
Neil Young
Let’s Go Downtown

“A working class hero is something to be.”
John Lennon

Buying weed in Todos Santos and Cabo San Lucas and La Paz
By Oggy Bleacher

Of course you didn’t want to smuggle some chronic down from Los Angeles or San Diego, you fucking sissy. And let me tell you where that choice will lead you, like the bull to the hook, when you meet that special someone who is willing to let you put you-know-what into you-know-where as long as you…you know. You will, dear friend, find yourself in a room of tattooed junkies who were “deported” for unspecified reasons and now live with their “aunt” and casually say things like, “Bitch, get the fuck out of here and don’t come back without some money.”
Can you say that sentence without stumbling? I dare you. Go ahead. Try and say it and be convincing enough that a beautiful Mexican stripper/junkie will turn around and shuffle out of the room fully intending to make you some money, by hook or crook, so you can get her high and fuck her silly. I’d bet a bathhouse hooker that you don’t come close. Something will give you away as a phony, an actor, a cunt and the girl will not come back. She might not even leave. She probably will just get what she wants from someone else in the room and you will never be respected again. That’s the kind of risk you run when you try to talk some shit to beautiful strippers. They are a reflection of your own ego, and thus, will devour dishonesty and expose every flaw. So, when I say these cats, the ones you will buy weed from, can say, “Bitch, I’m gonna slap your fucking face if you open your mouth,” without flinching and, most importantly, get results, then you know that I mean business. In short, you will be a long way from OXXO.
Mind you, they will not talk to you this way, unless you happen to be a beautiful stripper who is hooked on the junk they are selling. They will treat you, the customer, with respect. The bitches will come and go but the gringo with dough must be respected. He is like the new god arriving on ships that fly, blond hair flying, throwing money at every shrimp hawker and drug dealer. Drugs! Drugs! Farmacia! Pharmacy! Drugs! Buy Drugs! Buy my drugs! Buy these Drugs! Take Drugs! This is an old old game. The native and the invader. 400 years ago the locals watched their children get dragged into the forest as slaves or sacrifices. So the fact that all the new invaders want are some cheap drugs and a donkey show is a big improvement, don’t ya think?
You will be a long way from OXXO or any other abbarotes tienda or Ultramarino as you knock on the door without a number.
Quien es?
Es Raoul
What you want?
All we got is $200.
Can’t you split it?
You want the shit or not?

And that’s the big question ,isn’t it? Do you want IT? How bad do you want IT? When do you want IT? How much do you want to pay for IT? Can you answer all of those questions? When you can then you will enter that door, the tattooed man stepping aside to give you barely enough room to get in the door, and you will know the price of leaving all your pot in San Diego.

An aside here; isn’t traveling a means to an end, and if that end lays behind a tattooed man then so be it. Everything in moderation, say the sages. Well, it isn’t like you’re begging in the street for pot. You are moderately clean and fed and you have reliable friends who are nearby and would intervene when you cross the line. What more can you do? On second thought, don’t answer that. This isn’t a philosophy class. It’s a lesson on how to buy pot in the Baja. Don’t make me say that again.

So let’s back up…you are at a club…Buddha, let’s say for the sake of the discussion, in San Lucas. It’s ladies night and the ladies are getting their free drinks and the men are hungry for sex with drunk ladies. (This ain’t rocket science, folks) You meet a girl from San Francisco who is pouring out of her tank top. You can’t keep your eyes off her cleavage and she touches you on the arm every time she leans toward you to talk and she has to do this a lot because Buddha DJs play their house music as loud as the law will allow, which for downtown San Lucas is pretty fucking loud.
“I wish I knew where to get some weed,” she yells. Which is chick code for, “Do you know where to buy some weed for me?”
You know a guy who knows a guy who sells some weed so you naturally say, “I can get some. You wanna smoke on the beach?”
Her eyes widen and she leans close into you and touches your arm and then lets her hand slide down to your knee, she’s practically fucking you at the bar, her perfumed hair is an inch from your nose. Her ear with a single diamond earring in it is close enough to lick. Her breath is hot on your neck. “Totally,” she gushes, and gives you a tease kiss.
And that’s enough to get the whole ball rolling. A better man might hold out for a lady who already has pot, or a lady who is already drunk, or a lady who only wants cock, and there are lots of those girls at Buddha, tons of them on the dance floor and more on the way in bicycle taxis or clicking across the brick streets in their purple heels. Again, the question is how badly do you want it? Do you want it now or later? Well…she’s waiting.
Two phone calls locates the guy who knows a guy. He’s next door at Squid Roe. You hustle over there and he says he forgot his wallet and he can’t go with your because he can’t pay his bill. Motherfucker. What a line of bullshit. But you can’t waste time so you pay his tab, sure he’ll pay you back, and the two of you walk…wait, a third guy and his girlfriend are coming too. They want some pot too. So all four of you exit and hail a taxi van. The driver hears the address and takes a 100 peso deposit. Then he begins to drive.
“You want some blow?” asks the driver.
“Got any pot?”
“I take you to get pot.”
“There’s no point. We’re going to a plug we know.
“No, I take you to mine. He’s mas cheaper.”
“We got a guy.”
“Is good pot. Mas better at my connection.”
“Naw, just go to our place.”
“You don’t want no blow?”
The couple who are tagging along buy $100 pesos worth and snort it all from the edge of a credit card. Then they begin to make out. His hand is under her shirt. You can’t see her hands. How much time has elapsed since your hottie from S.F. kissed you is hard to estimate. How many Cuba Libres did you drink? How many White Russians?

Ode to Kerouac

Jack Kerouac was barefoot when he typed in his second story apartment on the edge of Mexico City. The humidity haunted the border of his room, the window, the garden outside, the moon in the sky, the clouds passing through time on the way from the fifties to the sixties and beyond. Dogs ran wild in the streets as the sons and daughters of those dogs run wild some fifty years later. Bolero music from the dance hall down the dirt street rolled in his window casually, dreamily aiding our hero in his mission. He wasn’t capturing the time, nor defining his experience any more than Miles Davis defines a Dorian scale as that pattern or series of notes defined by a certain half step/whole step intervallic regularity. Kerouac, rather, typed like a pianist improvises at the piano, his words pouring fourth without editing or creative criticism. This was his tribute and his song cycle.

abandoned projects...

Every writer has some projects that sort of get off the the point the get in a list of future projects, but never get done. Here are some of mine that I just uncovered... Well, one did get completed.

  1. Man disappointed in Anna Nicole Coverage on local news
  2. Underage boy finds himself viewing inappropriate material on internet
  3. Poker success depends on luck, says local man.
  4. Man solves problems of the world
  5. Bush gives country back to the people. Finds obscure passage in constitution.
  6. Man breaks with Girlfriend up over PC/Apple question.

Apple/PC Debate Too Much For Local Couple

By Oggy Bleacher

Feb 9, 2007

After months of trying to work out their personal computer differences, Rebecca F. and Sam Q. have decided to call it quits and go their separate ways. The East Phoenix couple leaves behind a bundle of miscellaneous cable adaptors, several computing manuals and a hard drive of broken dreams.

“Firewire?” asked a frustrated Sam as he packed his HP Pavilion into its crate. “If she mentions firewire one more time…”

Rebecca, in the middle of answering an email on her Powerbook G5, muttered, “Ok, Mr-control-alt-delete. Your PC is so much better than mine. Why don’t you use the help and support feature. Maybe there’s a relationship wizard feature that will solve our problems. Shazaam!”

Sam paused for a moment, the passion of his loyalty to PCs clearly evident on his flushed face.

“You see?” said Sam. “It’s just impossible. Our computers have made this relationship untenable. We’re not the only ones. A gay couple we know broke up because they couldn’t agree on DSL or Cable Internet. Think about it! Why isn’t anything being done about this?”

Sam and Rebecca’s problems are not unusual claims computer consultant Mimi Leftwich of the Miami, Florida based firm Circuit Solutions.

“Couples need to understand that bringing together computers of such different origins and interface as an HP and a G5 is just asking for trouble. Unless you enjoy constantly monitoring the cross-platform compatibility of your hardware then you are guaranteed a life of fruitless trips to Radio Shack as you attempt to engineer the digital equivalent of a Middle-East Peace treaty. I’m saddened, but I’m not surprised.”

According to Mimi, at least half of her clients fit into what she calls the “Diplomat” category.

“Typically these couples come to me after the problem has already escalated from acute to chronic. What was at first a minor disagreement between the perceived difference between [Apple-based] iTunes and [Windows-based] Windows Media Player has become a complicated war. Each partner must defend their computer or else look foolish….The first thing to understand is that neither one is wrong.”

Try explaining that to Rebecca and you’ll get a different story.

“He [Sam] kept making cracks about all the accessories I purchased for my G5. He said Apple customers were a kind of cult. He wouldn’t even enter the Apple store downtown. He said the glossy white powder-coating on everything made him uncomfortable.”

Rebecca says the beginning of the end was when the couple purchased a common LCD monitor for Christmas.

“He could just plug the monitor into his monitor port. I had to buy a cable adaptor to use the video port. Sam just snapped.”

“Why do I have to convert my WMV files to mp3? Why? It’s not fair! Furthermore, I’ve asked that she remove all the songs of mine that she converted and put on her iPod.

Long suppressed opinions about the varying degrees of quality, the alleged monopolies, the copyright infringement, all came into the light.

“It’s the stage I like to call soft reboot,” says Mimi. “If there is a chance to salvage the relationship and purchase some USB flash drives then now is the time. Technically, flash drives are cross-platform and files may be used freely on both a PC and an Apple as long as the software is identical and both computers are operating on updated operating systems and there is no user protected file access issues.”

For now Rebecca and Sam are resolved to start their lives over.

“Date another Apple girl? Never. They’re so smug it makes me sick. Her computer crashes just as much as mine. She’s not perfect!”

“Don’t mix apples and oranges,” jokes Mimi, “but mixing Apples and PCs is just a matter of drawing up a hardware compatibility plan and sticking to it. It’s one of the many services a computer consultant like myself offers and it gives me an added sense of accomplishment to help take the mystery out of cross-platform computer interfaces while saving a relationship at the same time.”

This one is just bad... IT was supposed to be a parody on what we actually do to cats when we neuter them. But mixing white rum and a computer didn't work in this case...

Local Man out to Eradicate Cats

I’m sick of them! Sick to death. I don’t want to just kill cats. I want to torture them and forever banish them to hell by disabling or amputating their genitals.

empty promises

Cyberdyne promised us overtime. See, that's not a bonus to your average joe, but when you are trading in old pesos at the bank then you are at the stage where hours matter and time and a half is the difference between me getting to Guatemala in the spring or in the summer or never.
Well, Cyberdyne pulled that promise back and I'm told to come in at the regular time. 8 hour shifts. no overtime. no saturdays. See, I want saturdays. I need the 57 hour week because a 40 hour week is like enough money to keep me poor. But I'm not going to get it. This week is a 40 hour week and next week is that christian holiday and the week after that is a new year thing. So I get fucked out of 5 overtime days. That shit adds up. Guatemala just dipped back over the horizon. The mood at cyberdyne plummeted despite the flyers advertising christmas meals on Wednesday.

The conversation at the table was rough: paroles, drug counselling, ex wives, missed kids, layoffs, executions, drunk driving. And no overtime. One sample

"You stand up for the star spangled banner. Right? So you should take your hat off."
"Players don't take their hat off. People don't stand up."
"Man, when I was a kid..."

we haven't been around each other long enough to be hateful.

As long as I got one week of work at the regular pay then I can survive. Obviously I'll be broke if I pay rent and can't find work so I will be forced to move south.

The weather is good for skiers. The cold has killed one of my batteries so now it is running on the secondary battery. I poured a gallon of hot water on the windshield today to get to work. The gallon jug had milk in it so now the front of my van is white.
Creative Commons License
Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.