Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Calm Before The Storm

Here's the incinerator for my resentments.

 The cold weather has arrived and I keep the fires burning nightly in my van. Even though the resentments are fuel enough for my cold heart.

Azek is some kind of PVC material that was molded into a board and is supposedly indestructible. That would include the snowflake fine dust particles that filled the air and our lungs around the playset. But I guess wood is also a cause of lung problems so who knows? My conclusion was that if there were a way to make living in a van seem luxury then rich people would buy it and brag about it at their holiday cocktail parties.
"What brand of van do you live in?"
"Ford. 1969."
Sips glass of whiskey.
"Really?"
"Yes."
"What kind of gas mileage does that get?"
Pops shrimp cocktail in mouth.
"None. It is on blocks made of indestructible plastic that I bought for $11,000 at an exclusive Home Depot Outlet sale. Typically it cost $30,000, but I know a guy." Wink wink.
"Wow. Honey, we should live in a van as soon as the kids are in college."

A guy lives in a plastic and aluminum single-wide trailer in Strafford and he's some kind of junkie/lowlife but when the wine and cheese set spend 4X the price of a piece of wood to put plastic on the side of their house behind the police station then they are suddenly trendy fuckheads.



Here's an interior shot of the van at dinner time. Lentil soup and hot dogs have been a staple lately. Last night, I stuffed the stove full of trash I found on the ground and when it finally combusted flames shot out the top high enough to make me quickly rehearse grabbing the fire extinguisher. It was about 20 degrees and the freezing rain pelted the fiberglass roof but I was warm enough to sew patches on all my worn knee pants. If anyone has wood let me know.

 Here are the new rotor and brake pads installed on the Grand Marquis. That bracket gave me some problems but it was only because I forgot I had an 18mm socket hiding in the bottom of my tool bag. And there was no room to leverage the torque wrench. I'm mailing the old rotors to the junk dealer in S.F. so he can sell them at the flea market. The roof leaks on the Grand Marquis of course and a puddle forms in the backseat. Totally false prestige that personifies the inauthentic paradigm of wealth equating status.
 When I wasn't looking, Elmer Fudd stole my moped.
The story behind the Fred F. juice bottle and the orange capped madman is too strange. I will say that I took a sip of the 38 year old Flintstone juice and hallucinated for 40 hours. No wonder the country is so fucked up.
Speaking of things that make me lose sleep, I fully intended to spray some wd40 on these rusty outlet screws but I forgot because we had to rush rush rush like ants moving grains of sand. Now I'm going to have to sneak over there in the middle of the night and spray them so the rust will not inhibit the flow of electrons. Also, I'm pretty sure I reversed the white and the black wires when I put it back together.
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Man in the Van by Oggy Bleacher is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 Unported License.